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gr4vesrot · 2 years ago

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Roseville, Florida. 1992.

You have always been a Wallflower. Watching everyone's life trickle by like a character perpetually stuck on the sidelines. It was easy to come to the conclusion that you didn't actually exist, not to anyone else outside of your best friend, anyways.

Things don't happen to people like you. People easily forgotten, ignored, brushed off. So how is it that you got his attention.

How, exactly, did Ghostface pick out a wallflower like you?

Ghostface ( Dead by Daylight x Transman!Reader )

Warnings: Mild internalized transphobia, homophobic slur, light gore, 18+ (MINORS DNI)

Your beverage started to get warm in your hands, and that made it all the more painful to drink. The burn from taking one too many Vodka Pineapple shots sat uncomfortably in the back of your throat, and when you rubbed your tongue on the roof of your mouth, the pineapple’s acidity stung a little bit sharper. But, with your vision getting increasingly wobbly, and your mind a little hazy, you thought nothing of it when you threw the remainder of the shot back after sipping on it like a morning cup of tea.

You mentally chastise yourself when you leave it sitting in your mouth for a second longer than necessary, and your face tightens in a sharp cringe. Besides you, your friend laughs, and it’s amazing that you could hear her over the music and the drunken slur of the crowd. You try to laugh back, but it’s half-hearted, your cheeks quickly coloring when her amusement grabs the attention of different strangers around the both of you.

“Stop drinking them if you don’t like them!” She leans over to speak into your ear, and your stomach does an anxious flip when the taller man standing next to you looks down at the top of her pretty head. Both of your hands come up to grip the edge of the bartop nervously after setting the empty shot glass down, nails digging into the surface before promptly yanking them away as if you got burned. Men don’t close in on themselves, men don’t act skittish. You try to get your shoulders to relax, but it looks more like an awkward slump than anything. The fog wrapping tight around your brain is the only thing that numbs you from assuming the worst. Everyone here thinks you’re an idiot. Or better yet— they don’t know you’re here at all. Alcohol had a funny way of making things more bearable.

“I like them, I like them!” You manage a grin and wave her off, “there’s just… a lot of vodka in there.” You gesture to the bartender for one more, and your longtime companion groans. You both met fresh out of highschool, the first day of your very first job ( or for her, her third job within a span of three months ), and both of you bonded over being college dropouts. She had confided in you that the stress was too much for her, and with a shitty dorm-mate added on top of it, she had abandoned the idea of college life all together. You, however, tried to stick it out. Did your best to overcome and conquer, but sometimes ritualistic hazing is far stronger than your best could ever do.

Five years later and you’re still thick as thieves. You both made a point to make time for each other one day a week at the very least. This week, both your availability had lined up on a Saturday night. Which in your friend’s mind, meant club night. She was far more outgoing than you, more willing to dance with strangers, made acquaintances everywhere she went, so bright and pretty. It felt like a cruel joke to even be able to stand next to her, and an even crueler one when your self-deprecating thoughts ( and jealousy ) were proved to be factual each time you went out together.

Something dark twisted in the haze of your mind when the man on your opposite side, the one that had been looking down at Jess when she leaned into you, ignored your presence all together in order to worm himself between you and your best friend. Not the first time it’s happened, and most certainly not the last. You were a wallflower. Watching as everyone’s life flittered by them without so much as sparing you a glance in return. Or when they did, when someone finally noticed you, the only thing they could muster up was confusion, disgust; As if you were a frog to be observed and dissected. The testosterone had helped, your voice deepened, your shoulders just a little more broad, and your curves not as feminine. But it’ll never make you taller, or the softness of your features harden into what was commonly associated as male. Not with the sporadic dosages you were taking; Insurance didn’t cover the injections, and you’ve already exhausted yourself over crying about it. Now, there was only bitter acceptance.

It would have been so much easier if I stayed a g— Your next shot burned extra on the way down, and you gave the bartender a glare when his back was turned. Was he putting way too much vodka in the drink on purpose? Or did he just suck?

“I’m gonna go dance!” Jess pats your shoulder to grab your attention again, and when you turn, you’re all too aware of how the man who shoved between the two of you doesn’t even look your way. You frown, brows pulling together slightly and you bite your bottom lip out of worry. You weren’t entirely confident that you’d be able to keep an eye on her in the sea of people cluttering the dance floor, and as if reading your mind, she gives you a reassuring grin. “I’ll be back in a bit! I extra promise, okay? Join us when you’re ready!” That grabs the tall stranger's attention, and he looks down at you with a raise of his brows. Curiosity lingers there, his gaze flickering down to your chest for the briefest of seconds only to find nothing of what he was looking for, and back at your face again. The stare makes you entirely self-conscious, and as confident as you were with your binding, you still feel too vulnerable in a room packed with so many people.

“Okay,” you relent, leaning in to whisper the last part, “if anything happens just come and find me. I’ll stay in the same spot.” Appreciation laces her expression when you pull back, and she laughs when you hold up your seventh empty shot glass.

“Can’t wait till you get fucking drunk! Then maybe you’ll finally dance with me!” She doesn’t stick around to see your scoff, and the stranger is once again hypnotized as she pulls him along to the dance floor. The thought of being pressed up against that many bodies nearly makes you shudder, and you don’t have it quite in you to explain to her why the thought of dancing with that many people around would be your personal nightmare. You turn back to the bar, blinking when the rows of alcohol bottles and syrups begin swirling together. Yeah, maybe that seventh shot wasn’t the smartest idea, but it was easier to be drunk than sober in a place like this. When the bartender comes back around to pick up your empty glass, you barely register him asking if you’d want another, and you shake your head with a few mumbled “no”’s. The worst hasn’t even hit you yet, you could feel it, and you’d rather cool the flames before making a bigger fire. The earlier patrons have now dispersed and new faces surround you. Taking each of them in one by one, you chuckle to yourself when you have trouble focusing on every individual feature. It goes ignored, either because no one could hear you over the DJ, or they just couldn’t bother with some weirdo ominously laughing to himself.

The multitude of colors across from you grab your attention again, and you could barely make out the words on the bottles. It’s when you’re struggling to pronounce the name on a bright, cherry red one that two girls immediately fill the empty space at your side, flagging down the bartender to order.

“Are you sure we should even be out?” One of them says, a nervousness in her tone that you find solidarity in. “You know with… Uh, um.. The murders and all?”

Your eyes flicker away from the bottle and down at the murky brown bartop. Suddenly, trying to read the names of alcohol bottles wasn’t all that interesting anymore. From Pennsylvania and now to Roseville, Florida, a predator stalked the streets at night. With a new killing seemingly every week, the city of Roseville was in a whirlwind of panic. The murderer, this Ghostface, had been nothing but the talk of the town. Front page of every newspaper since he arrived a month ago, and after the first two weeks of seeing his name and how he murdered his victims plastered on every news story and magazine, you figured it best to not send yourself on that downwards spiral. The last thing you needed was more of a reason to fear going outside. Besides, running into some super psycho serial killer didn’t happen to people like you.

Not unless this murderer wanted an article titled Ghostface: A Passion for Hate Crimes? In the Roseville Gazette’s new piece about him. The thought of it has an amused smirk tug at the corner of your lips. Funny, in a morbid and should totally not be funny sort of way.

The nervous woman’s friend sighed, rolling her eyes and popping her gum for dramatic flare. “What’s he gonna do? Come in here and try to kill every single one of us? We’re way safer in a crowd than at home. He gets ya’ at home.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe you wanted to try your hand at being like Jess. Friendly, likable, and sociable Jess. You turn your body slightly, facing the two women’s direction and remembering to make your posture as welcoming as possible. Eye contact, speak from your chest, don’t be afraid. A breath in, a breath out, and you ignore the tightening of your stomach. “I think he just likes the attention,” you voice your opinion, successfully earning the two’s scrutiny. They eye you with guarded looks, the nervous one’s gaze much softer than her friend’s. The one closest to you, the gum chewer, however, drums her nails across the bartop. Your palms become clammy, but you continue. “I mean— it just seems like all the news stories and articles are what's spurring him on. A total attention seeker, just don’t give him any and maybe he’ll leave you alone.” You force a laugh, and it burns much worse than vodka ever could.

“Fag.”

The smile is wiped clean from your lips just as quickly as your face colors with embarrassment. Shame is dumped over you like scorching hot tar, filling your throat till you can’t speak, can’t breathe, and the heat numbs your body to the point it feels cold. Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold. You’re going to be sick. There’s something heartwrenching forming in your chest that’s familiar. An old friend. Like a dumbbell weighing you down, your movements are slowed when you try to face away from them, fingers curling into the edge of the bartop again with how quickly you were shot down. The more you feel yourself drown, the louder the ringing in your ears gets. You knew it was a mistake coming here. You knew it. And the mean, petty side of you blames Jess for it. If she hadn’t dragged you along, if she knew what it was like..

The two women go back to their conversation; As if the word never escaped the gum chewer’s mouth, as if you had never talked to begin with. As if you were never there at all. The alcohol makes it harder to force down the humiliated tears welling in your eyes, and you’re actually thankful they no longer notice you. It’s one thing to be called slurs in public, but to cry about it right after is another brand of shame entirely. Your shoulders are slumped again, arms folding together over your chest as a means to self-soothe. You're angry with yourself for not saying anything back, for immediately losing your voice at the first sign of hostility. Not only could you not stand up for yourself, but you crumpled like a wet napkin. God, what a loser.

Like clockwork, someone comes stumbling up next to you. Too stubborn to look directly ( no way were you going to let anyone see the red rings you know are forming around your eyes ), you can tell it’s the tall guy who went off to dance with Jess by the color and style of his shirt you catch in your peripheral. The ringing was still too loud in your ears to hear what he ordered, but by the sudden shift of his posture, you could tell he was looking at you.

Please no. God no.

He says something, but it’s hard to make out over how overwhelmed you were. So instead, you don’t answer, and will yourself to become invisible. Strange how it works, the back and forth between your hopeless desire to be noticed, and to stay in the unacknowledged spot you were all too familiar with.

The silence between the two of you is almost painful, but he promptly forgets your existence the moment the bartender reappears with his drinks. One you recognize as Jess’s signature order, a Bloody Mary, and the desire to leave hits you like a truck. You need to go home, you need to go and tell Jess what happened so you can both get the fuck out of this shitty night club with a shitty bartender; And away from all these shitty people. Without thinking, you move a little unsteadily on your feet right at the same time Jess’s new dance partner does, colliding into his chest face first. There’s grunts from you both, and the collision has his drinks slip from his hands and toppling down directly on top of you. The gum chewer and her friend shriek in surprise, cursing when some of it splashes against their shoes. The combination of liquids feels like thick sludge running down your hair and to your shoulders, staining the fabric of your shirt a bright red. It drips off the ends of your locks, sliding all the way down to your fingertips and creating a small puddle where you stood.

Again, you are left speechless. Your drunken daze makes it entirely impossible to think. You slowly lift your chin up, the strong scent of what was Jess’s Bloody Mary becoming that much more powerful when it leaves red trails down the length of your face. Even without the hamster running on his little wheel to get your brain cells working, a small conscious part of you knew this was when the man was supposed to apologize. Ask you for forgiveness so he could still score with your best friend, maybe even go the extra mile and grab you a few napkins so you could wipe yourself off. But when you look up and your eyes manage to focus, he is looking completely past you, mouth babbling apologies towards the two women who were unfortunate enough to be in the splash zone.

You do not exist.

Serial killer be damned. You’d rather brave the pitchblack streets of Roseville then stay there another second. I don’t exist, the wheel in your brain started turning again, Ghostface won’t even see me out there. Turning in a very dangerous direction.

Like a robot, you stiffly maneuver yourself away from the bar and towards the exit, careful as not to inconvenience anybody. Your promise to Jess would have to be broken for a single night, but you hoped she would understand. You hoped that having two drinks dunked over your head was enough to warrant leaving and never going back. You leave through the front without sparing a single glance at the bouncers, and the humid Florida air only worsened your predicament. Everything felt sticky and cold, disgustingly so. And you hadn’t even realized you were crying until something wet and warm served as a stark contrast to the chill sludge of your now most hated beverage in existence. Your tears dribbled off your chin, and a pitiful whine escaped your throat. Another sob turned into an ugly snort when you tried to stop it halfway. Men don’t cry. Men don’t cry. Men don’t cry.

You try to exhale, but it comes out in a stutter, and inhaling only has the same result. Your legs move entirely on autopilot to get you home, and though you were stumbling just a tad, you still had the sense to try and determine just how long it would take you to get there.

Only a few miles. Thirty minutes at least.. It’s okay. It’s okay. Stop crying. Men don’t cry.

You press your lips tightly together to silence yourself, and you focus on the street sign ahead as the club’s music slowly fades out from behind you. Retting LN. it reads, or at least you think it says Retting. You stop for a moment, eyes squinting up at the sign and mouth slightly parted. Left or straight ahead? You couldn’t decide. Trying to get yourself to think was like trying to connect the right wires in a generator, and you definitely weren’t a mechanic. Straight is… longer. You eye the different dimly lit stores and bars down the street ahead, swallowing hard when a group of different figures emerge from a particularly seedy hole-in-the-wall pub.

Left is shorter. But when you turn, the pitch black that meets you feels all consuming. There’s nothing but a flickering street lamp several blocks away, and porch lights that don’t meet the sidewalk. You’ll be totally blind, minus that one street lamp. But it’s shorter. I feel sick. The chorus of laughter from the group you saw prior was getting louder now, and in a moment of drunken panic, you picked left.

The group seemed far wiser than you. Carrying on down their path without even sparing a glance towards the horror filled shadows you decided to brave. You sway to the side, catch yourself last minute, and right yourself up again with a few low murmurs. Even you had no idea what you were saying to yourself, and anyone who’d happen to pass you by would surely think you were crazy. But the streets were empty, minus the few cockroaches you were too drunk to notice skittering around your feet. The Ghostface crosses your mind again, his mask flashing in the forefront. You spook yourself when your vivid imagination turns the mask into an actual face, morphed into a perpetual scream and his jaw begins opening wider and wider. Tearing the corners of his mouth as it completely unhinges and threatens to swallow you whole.

A shiver runs down your spine, and you force yourself to think about something else. The lamp post is coming up quickly, and you’re relieved when its light seems to stretch towards you no matter how dim. Your saving grace, your angel; Its light was a God Send when even your own mind began piecing together horrors beyond what you thought you were capable of conjuring up. The gentle buzz of the lamp as you stood under it was a helpful distraction, and so were the bugs swarming beneath it in chaotic circles. Now, maybe, you can finally understand why the little creepy crawlies were so attracted to the light. Were they also scared of some mass murderer? Afraid his sadism didn’t stop at just humans, and he’d crush them under his boot a little too enthusiastically? It made sense, you concluded with a final nod to yourself, The Ghostface didn’t just strike fear into the hearts of the people of Roseville, but in every living creature that just so happened to be within the city limits. Or maybe, his influence had already reached outside the city limits.

The rumors stated he had made his way from Pennsylvania to Florida, who knows where he’d go next once he grew tired of this dingy city.

Having your head tilted back and your eyes fixated on the lamp for too long had you feeling even more dizzy than you already were, and you instantly regretted your mistake. Facing forward again had your world spinning, swaying side to side with a miserable groan. You were never drinking again, you’ve had it with the effects of alcohol. Stumbling when you don’t quite pick your foot up all the way, inches away from the line that divided illumination and the shadows from a moonless sky, there was a loud clatter from behind the picket fence that separated you and the yard it came from. Startled, you curse, the exclamation echoing off the silent streets. It’s followed by a gasp when your foot slips off the curb of the sidewalk, and you finally go tumbling down on your ass for the first time that night. The road’s gravel bites into the skin of your palm and your forearm when you try to catch yourself, and there’s a sharp sting against your thigh when it rubs against a few loose rocks as you try to right yourself too fast. Your mind can’t keep up to your body’s instincts, and your feet don’t seem to work right even when you finally manage to pick yourself up.

You run with awkward, clumsy movements across the street. Your heart beats heavy in your chest, so hard you can feel it in your throat. It feels like you’re choking again, your arm and palm hurts, your thigh is rubbing uncomfortably against your jeans. But it was all left ignored. You had to escape, you had to run. Run from what? You try to rationalize. It was just a noise. A raccoon, a stray cat. The Ghostface doesn’t care about a nobody like you.

Though, none of your rationalizing mattered. Your legs had a mind of their own, carrying you down different streets and letting fate be your guide. The dark blinded you, and like a moth to a flame, you began following the flickering lights of the back alleyways subconsciously. A stupid move on your part, wouldn’t it have made more sense to stick to the shadows? It would have made for an easier escape. That is, if you even were being chased by anything. Or anyone.

You had no idea where you were by the time you stopped, wheezing as you tried to catch your breath. The muscles of your legs ached, and your side cramped with each inhale. If you didn’t feel sick before, you really do now, and a gag bubbles up your throat that turns into a short, dry cough. All that running made you absolutely parched, and your own saliva did nothing to remedy it. Leaning against the alley wall for support, you take this moment to collect yourself. There was nothing but the sound of your own breathing, nobody reaching out from dark corners to drag you into Hell, and certainly no masked killer choosing you as his next victim. Your laugh comes out as an amused sigh, your exhaustion doesn’t allow for anything more.

The night was full of embarrassment. But at the very least, there was no one to watch you sprint around like a mad man.

You blink slowly, giving yourself all the time you need in order to process where you are. You’ve already given up on getting home in a timely manner, and instead focus on trying to get home in general. There’ll be no more scaring yourself, no more wild imaginations, and no more brainlessly staring at street lights. Step one, get yourself out of the alleyway. “Yeah.. yeah..” You mutter to yourself, rubbing both your eyes. You’ve forgotten how sticky your face was, and you pull your hands back with a soft “ew.” Most of the alcohol spilled on you had dried, but it didn’t make it any less uncomfortable. The top of your head still felt wet, your clothes stained far past salvation, and you smelled awful. You fucking hate Bloody Marys.

Lifting yourself off the wall, you decide to head straight. Might as well finish what you started, and there was a right turn calling your name. Further into the busier part of Roseville, the back alley’s nearly acted as a maze, but you were certain that finding the road again would be much quicker after taking that right. Where you got this confidence from, you weren’t sure. You’d never been the back alley type, not even during your edgier phase in high school. You walk with the certainty of someone who wasn’t seconds away from pissing their pants just moments before, shoulders back and posture straight. You’ve had it up to here on your metaphorical limits chart and the next fixation on your mind was a nice, hot shower. Rinse the day off next to all the red sludge dunked over your head, forget those unfortunate interactions at the bar, and carry on the next few days like nothing happened. Your hand and arm would heal, you’d apologize to Jess for leaving her at the club, and you'd rid yourself from any thoughts about Ghostface.

You refuse to live your life filled with paranoia. Not again.

Something strange sounds ahead, just around your chosen right corner. It makes you hesitate, but you swallow that fear and chalk it up to nothing. Nothing! Your self assured pep-talk wasn’t about to go to waste, and the worse it could be was some crazy drunk wandering around the back alleys at night. So someone a lot like you.

If that was the case, you’d simply turn around and go the other way.

Your hands balled into fists, determined to see it through. The sounds got louder the more you approached; odd shuffling, was that a… groan? And someone is talking. One person, or two? You couldn’t make sense of it, and now you really, really wish you hadn’t taken so many of those shots. In a desperate attempt to prove yourself, you march faster towards the corner, figuring that as long as you didn’t give yourself time to tuck your tail between your legs and scurry off in the opposite direction, you’d come out accomplished. If you could face this, you could face anything. That’s how it worked, right? The gum chewer woman comes to mind, and you vow that if you could walk past whatever lurked in the shadows of this maze with your head held high, you’d be able to do the same when confronted with people like her.

You round the corner without giving yourself a moment to think. No time to pause and really listen to what was being said. To what was being done. The heat from the alcohol leaves your body entirely, and what feels like the ice cold body of a snake coils around your limbs to make you immobile. The breath you were holding chokes you, but you can’t even manage a cough. Your hands and legs grow numb, your eyes warming with tears.

Things like this didn’t happen to people like you. You were a wallflower. A nobody. Hardly visible to anyone outside of Jess and your boss when he needed you to cover someone on your days off. The grotesque wet noises pierce your ears and threaten to draw your attention away from the dark figure standing only a few feet in front of you. A gloved hand wraps tight around the handle of his blade, the other gripping some new, poor victim by the front of their hoodie. One last groan and spurt of blood dribbling past their lips, their legs give out and they slump in the man’s hold. But you can barely register any of this. Not when the ghastly, white mask slowly turns to peek at you from under its hood, locking the hollow of its eyes on you.

It sees you.

He sees you.

Ghostface slips his knife from the fresh corpse with ease. Crimson drips from the tip of it, and he makes no sudden movements. Neither do you. A silent understanding, if you run ( run, run, run—! ) he could easily catch you as you are now. Drunk, fastened to where you stand by fear alone. He moves with such brilliance, the fluidity of a cat, a hunter. The casualness of his regard for you shows the depth of his cockiness. The black holes of his mask suck you in far deeper than the shadows of the path you’ve chosen, and this is the second time in your whole existence that you’ve experienced what true fear is. The frigid bite at your rapidly beating heart, the feeling of T.V. static crawling up your skin and to your horrified expression. You can do nothing but stand there, gaping, as a mass murderer fully turns to look at you.

He sees you.

Read the rest on AO3 !!

#graves writes #ghostface x reader #dead by daylight x reader #danny johnson x reader #jed olsen x reader #ghostface x transmale reader #ghostface mlm #ghostface x transman reader

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acaciapines · 10 months ago

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as someone who’s very excited to read your Dess raises Kris AU, something that i’m really excited for is the dynamic between Dess and Chara! From the little excerpt we saw of them in the past i’m so curious as to how they’re relationship functions / how it’ll effect Kris growing up and such. If it isn’t too much to ask, could you go a bit in depth as to how they ‘work’ in a sense?

jkegkjdfgdf IT MEANS SO MUCH THAT UR EXCITED.....WOW.....like i am too its just so fun to know other people are!!

and! yeah so. i go into them a lot in this post here where i said. a lot of what my ideas are right now (and its said better lol) but i can for sure talk about them forever and ever and ever. most relationship of all time.

under the cut cause Oh My God it was not supposed to be this long.

so!!! i think a lot of how dess and chara work is that as time goes on it becomes increasingly obvious that They Do Not, actually. like, the way i see dess is that she is very much a person who needs to be on the move--she cannot stay in one place. that just...isnt who she is, and its stifling, and she HATES being weighed down. and kids, uh, sorta do that to you lol. vs chara, who like...has defined xirself around this role xe took up, 'cause the huge difference between them is that chara chose to have frisk and dess just sorta ended up with kris, right? so thats one point they arent ever going to like, understand the other one on.

so a lot of what leads them to deciding to stick together is this sense of loneliness they both feel...dess for being someone who is always on the move has also always had people with her: azzy, for one, but i think shes also the sort of people who makes a lot of like, surface-level friendships? i think shes A Lot and most people never get to know her that well, but like...chara DOES. and vice-versa for chara: people never bother to get to know xir, but dess WANTS TO. dess really truly cares about xir and xir life and who xe is which is very new for chara. cause before this all xe's had is frisk who is. literally a two year old and doesnt have any other choice lol.

theyre both people who have been dealt a poor hand in life in regards to dark world bullshit, something they cant exactly get help with through like, traditional means. they meet when theyre both super young--iirc dess is 18, chara 21? 22?--and yknow, raising a kid at that young an age isnt the most common experience. dess has run away from home, basically, and chara's a college dropout with a biological family xe never want to see again...neither of them have anybody else! they dont have any help! so they bond over that, a lot. its like...seeing someone Like You for the first time in your entire life.

and all that said its the kids thing that really throws a wrench into everything.

because dess cant stay still, right? she cant. shes not wired for it. but chara does, and she trusts chara, and chara doesnt mind watching kris, so dess doesnt feel bad leaving them with xir. but. a day becomes a week. week a few weeks, a month, a few months. as time goes on dess coming home grows more and more sparse. but theres this sense of like...chara doesnt really know who xe is, anymore, outside of this family xe has? outside of being a parent and spouse? so to chara, to leave dess is like, unimaginable. dess is xir person. dess loves xir, which is something xe cannot really comprehend as a loveless aromantic, but having never been loved in xir entire life (chara had a Bad childhood lets just say) its like...dess chooses xir. and sure, shes gone a lot, but when she does come home, her home is XIR. her home is chara. its gloriously dizzying.

and dess does feel the same way!!! dess never really means to leave chara for so long, she just...loses track of time. hates being Needed by kids in any way more than a cool aunt they see occasionally. funnily enough she gets on with frisk better because frisk doesnt really expect a mom out of her. (that isnt to say its returned lol kris likes dess wayyyyy more than frisk does. but for dess its easier to be around frisk cause they dont expect anything). if the kids werent a thing chara and dess would actually work a lot better--chara is a lot less adventurous and likes staying back and tending to things, but without frisk to like, REALLY cement that xe'd enjoy going out with dess, probably not into dark worlds but travel might be nice. and dess wouldn't feel so much pressure, if its just chara, 'cause chara kind of just likes dess for who she is. so for just-chara, dess could stay. dess is used to people wanting her to be someone else--her mother, her father, hell, even AZZY, who like...he never acted on it, but he had a crush on her for their entire friendship. she knows he'd rather she return those feelings.

but chara GETS HER. chara cares for her in a way that doesnt want her to become something she isnt--its why they get married!! dess never felt romantic love, and still doesnt, but its chara who makes her go--oh. oh, so i think i know why people might get married, actually. its saying--youre my person, and chara is her person. and vice-versa, of course. dess is this light chara never had.

but. of course. they have two kids.

which. complicates things. dess puts chara first--she LOVES chara, loves xir in every single way she can feel love. but chara...chara cares about dess, a lot. its why xe's really blind to a lot of xir faults for a while...because thats dess. xe doesnt know where xe would be without dess. but chara is a parent. frisk and kris do come first.

the kids are like, aware of this. frisk is very much aware of this--they're younger than kris but they dont have these rose-colored glasses about dess, and they sort of notice, how much of a toll it takes on chara to be a single parent, essentially, still. dess sends money back--she IS sort of the breadwinner lol, turns out selling weird dark world things is sometimes actually a viable career--but she doesnt, like, parent. when she comes home shes a friend. but not a parent.

kris fights with chara a lot. idealizes dess. its that idea that the parent who has to be the PARENT, be the one to say no, be the one to deal with all the crying and meltdowns and just general messiness of raising another human being, is the one that also gets the most flack. dess is never around! which is hard, but it also means she never messes up. at least in kris's eyes, lol.

for frisk and kris dess really is the one thing that like, gets in between all else. its the wound they all keep opening again, because shes never around, and it hurts. whenever she comes back and stays for a week when she said a month the kids know how sad chara gets!! how lonely xe is! but kris writes it off because dess will come back, and frisk grows bitter. its the one thing the two dont talk about because its the one thing that fractures their sibling relationship. every serious fight the two have is in some way about dess.

the entire reason why noelle and kris end up meeting? because kris thinks that if they prove themself as brave like dess, and dive into and close a dark world like she does, she'll stay longer this time. but of course all that does is get them stuck.

dess never does things maliciously. she does, really, truly, care about chara, kris, frisk. but she also just...does things. she never looks before she leaps. she shies away from facing consequences. and thats like...the sort of thing you CANT do, when youve got kids. but she never wanted them. she never meant to take kris.

she's just. in too deep. and chara does NOT hold her accountable which doesnt help. it would be best for the kids if chara got a divorce but. chara cant do that. xe cannot be alone again.

OKAY THAT WAS A LOT. uh. if you (general) wants to know more!! hit me up!!! tho i will say i'll have more to say about other relationships lol, i think i've said most of what i can able dess&chara right now. BUT I AM ALWAYS THINKING ABOUT THIS AU I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS ON HOW IT CHANGES THINGS--

#drkau #ask #deltarune #i hope this is! something lol #everything is subject to change as i write them cause im way worse at Describing this relationship than writing it #i wrote a lil 4k word test of it and i just want to gesture to that like there. read it. youll see #but thats just for me lol idk where id even post that.#but yeah. i say a Lot on this blog but i am better at putting that into like #writing yknow? where i can show it #BUT THANKS FOR ASKING I LOVE TO TALK ABOUT IT STILL EVEN IF ITS DISJOINTED AND MESSY #hint hint nudge nudge if anybody wants to ask about other character relationships :3 ive put a lot of thought into them all #like. did you know susie and kris went to middle school together.#that toriel and carol are married #that the asriel and noelle relationship is So Fascinating #DO YOU KNOW HOW KRIS AND NOELLE MEET AGAIN CAUSE ITS REALLY GOOD #god you dont even know what things are like when kris and dess are revealed to be alive. oh my god

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emotionalsupportweapon · 1 year ago

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One day, I'll stop making the mistake of looking up seiyuu, because it only ever causes me cognitive dissonance and grief.

Kaito started sounding awfully familiar, so I did some digging. His seiyuu also voices Soul Evans. Okay, neat, a bit odd, but two solid characters that I like a lot, and a good voice for both of those personalities. I can dig it.

But, as this (complete BANGER of a) duel with Astral intensifies, the nagging thought persisted: Soul isn't the character I was remembering when I hear Kaito's voice. It was someone else. And then I, ever the information junkie, picked up my phone and ventured deeper into the internet.

His seiyuu does fucking Shigaraki Tomura. Zombie emo boy, facepalm king, both literally and figuratively, he who deals with challenges and setbacks with all the dignity and aplomb of me at age 7 when my Lego tower fell down. I hated that guy's character design and personality so much that I briefly quit watching MHA because of him*. I hated his too-short pants (I headcanon that he outgrew them but threw a fucking hissy fit when Kurogiri tried to buy him new ones because "I DON'T WANT NEW ONES, THESE ARE MY FAVORITES"); I hated his red sneakers (I used to wear that exact same outfit, all black with red sneakers, when I was going through the most unbearable part of my goth phase, and it looked just as damn stupid on me as it does on him); I ground my teeth every time he scritch scratched his vile gray skin, and I absolutely hate hate HATED the way he talked, this grating, petulant, affected tone that just screamed "I never matured past age 15 and I'm going to make that everyone else's problem."

This knowledge lives within me now. There is no going back. Now, I wander the earth, watching ZeXal, cursed forever, upon hearing the majestic, dramatic intonations of honestly one of my favorite YGO characters to date, to picture in my mind's eye this morose pain in the ass theater school dropout** piece of shit right here:

You go, edgelord. Just keep lording those edges.

* yes, I know there are much more compelling reasons to drop MHA; but there are also compelling reasons NOT to, such as the existence of Aizawa Shota, who is an accurate representation of myself in the one year I spent teaching middle schoolers.

** I shouldn't judge him for this, since I also dropped out of theater school, but I'll judge him for whatever I want, because fuck this guy.

#yugioh zexal #ygo #yu gi oh #kaito tenjo #mha #shigaraki tomura #i also found out that yumas seiyuu does kaminari denki in mha #which frankly makes me happy enough that it ALMOST cancels this out

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adelarsims · 2 years ago

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This is Zach, a bad guy with a good heart. Uni dropout, smarter than others think, and kinder than he tries to let on.

He's rude, swears a lot, has a short fuse but is crazy loyal to people he's close with, surprisingly nice to elders because he had a grandma that loved him and was kind to him even when he behaved like shit, and back then he wasn't always kind to her so now he feels bad about that, he's really good at math, makes arm jokes that make people uncomfortable, and his go-to playlist is actually softer than you'd expect.

He's 27 years old. Closeted bisexual slightly leaning towards men without really thinking of it more than of just a good friendship (he emotionally connects with guys easier and needs a bit more time to warm up to a girl), plus he's not really romantic in general to reflect on these feelings too much. His best idea of romance is sitting on a car trunk somewhere in the middle of nowhere and eating junk food together, trash talking each other, laughing loudly and bumping shoulders.

Zach trivia:

he despises people who pick on someone way smaller or only when they outnumber someone. pick someone your own size, assholes!

there was one shy guy in school who considered zach a kind person and his friend, despite zach being a troublemaker and constantly picking up fights, and despite the fact that they didn’t hang out and barely ever talked, because when this guy talked and others started to talk over him, zach yelled at them to shut the fuck up until the guy could finish the story.

he listens to music a lot but pays more attention to the rhythm than to lyrics. lyrics can be good or a complete trash and he will still listen to it just the same if the beat is right.

about arm jokes: like when he's asked what time is it by someone who doesn't know about his arm, and he lifts his left arm up, as if he’s going to look at the time, and says, “oh shit, i forgot my watch at home”. he also uses expressions with words "hand" or "arm" in them (like "i need a hand" or "it will cost me an arm and a leg") unnecessarily often, precisely because people usually awkwardly avoid using these words around him.

he also makes up all kinds of stories about how he lost his arm, like "the shark bit it right off while i was surfing in Sulani"

but at the same time, he hates when people recognize him by missing an arm, or pay too much attention, or it's the first thing they think about him. "yeah, yeah, no arm, alright. dude, it's not my whole fucking personality!"

unlike many of my other characters with their problematic family backgrounds, zach has very normal, average family that has its communication problems occasionally but in general is loving and supportive.

he’s a huge sweet tooth but doesn’t indulge too much around others because “sweets are girls' thing” yup he has some weird gender stereotypes like that. yeah, leave him with a few snickers bars unsupervised, and see how soon he'll start stuffing his face.

was a part of math competition team at school until he started hanging out with a bunch of good for nothing dudes, so he’s like smarty smart actually. even though not many ppl care to know about that.

he was really short until late teenage years and was very self conscious about that. he was afraid that he's gonna stay short forever and had sudden growth spurt only after 18.

his full name is, unsurprisingly, Zachary, but no one ever calls him that except for his mom when she's mad and he's in for an earful.

he's had commited (ish) relationships a couple times, but usually they tend to not last. he knows that he's "supposed" to have a girlfriend because everyone else does, but he doesn't know what exactly he's supposed to feel towards her, so he mostly treated his girlfriends like his bros, and girls weren't happy about that dynamic in a long run.

i'm not sure but i think he might be aromantic or somewhere close to aro spectrum. he doesn't really understand the appeal or feel the need for love talks and illogical romantic gestures, and they don't make him weak in his knees. and while he would probably want a solid relationship, for him it's more about partnership and having each other's back through thick and thin. oh, and ofc a lot of sex. he has pretty high sex drive.

he can whistle masterfully and likes songs with long whistle solo because he can whistle along and show off (like "wind of change", "other people" or this one whistle song from "kill bill").

#s:zachary #adelar shows imaginary people #adelar’s storytime #sims 4 character

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astaroth1357 · 4 years ago

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Okay, but like could you imagine how the demon bros would react if MC had a fanclub, because I feel like that would be wild lol

The Brothers v. The MC’s Fanclub

Surely, the italics blurb was meant for more than this! Any old letters in any order could have been strung together for the purpose of wasting space and yet here it is, a being brought forth with intent! With substance! The blurb has a need for greater purpose, but what is it to do when its sole function is to only exist?? How can it ever hope to fulfill its ambition when it's no more than a proto-intro to a fuller, more engaging story?! Surely… Surely there is a way...

Lucifer

He had expected a human in the Devildom would have been eaten… not popular!

The MC’s rise to the social hierarchy sidelined him hard. When he had assigned Mammon to guard their human, it was with the expectation of keeping hungry demons at bay… not ushering them through crowds of followers like a security detail.

Honestly, it’s more inconvenient than anything… The MC’s fans are actually worse than his own at taking a hint and he had to give the human a map of school just to find ways to avoid them in the halls!

They usually know better than to crash any dates that the two are on (this is Lucifer we’re talking about), but they get no privacy at RAD anymore… If he tries to meet up with the MC for anything, he has to go round up all their crazed stalkers groupies before he can actually say anything.

He’d expel them all if he could, but since Diavolo holds onto that power, he just gives any of them that get in his way an eternal detention… Can’t bother MC if you’re sealed in a closet, now can you?

Mammon

His possessiveness and his need to make money are at real odds with themselves…

On the one hand, it’d be so easy to milk these fools like no tomorrow! He could sell them practically anything the MC’s touched from old shirts to toothbrushes. Pictures could go for twice as much and if he could get the MC to give out hugs…? They’d be loaded!! Loaded, baby!!!

… But then one of them tries to get too close to MC and he feels the urge to sock him in the jaw… Like, they’re suckers, obviously, but the MC is still HIS MC. The idea of a bunch of groupies following them around… it gets under his skin something fierce.

He pretty much won’t leave their side at all at RAD just so he can swat away their fans whenever he gets the chance. He may as well be their personal bodyguard, the second a guy gets too close, Mammon will have him by the back of the neck and toss him out on his ass.

It doesn’t stop him from making money off them completely (this is Mammon we’re talking about) but he makes sure they stick to whatever worthless cast-offs he pawns on them. The real deal is his and his alone, ya hear?

Levi

Jealous boi is jealous and he doesn’t want to talk about it.

The second he found out the MC had their own fanclub he knew he hated them. He’s an otaku and a huge ass simp for people in both 2 and 3 dimensions. That means he knows what fans like this do to the people they idolize…

Just the thought of the MC’s groupies trying to get candid shots of them or going after everything from their pencils to their bathwater… Nope. No. Not allowed. Not with his MC anyway.

He starts going out to RAD more often just to stake his claim when those losers are around (yes, even he considers them to be losers… not that he has much leg to stand on but hey).

Normally stuttery and blushy Levi suddenly upgrades to a confident snek boy literally any time he sees their fans around. He’s gotta be touching them somehow and he’ll smile in their direction like a smug asshole the entire time. Yeah that’s right… be jealous of him for a change, you simps.

Satan

Dear lord are they an annoying bunch…

Satan isn’t opposed to the MC having fans in principle, on some level he even understands it. They’re a human in a world full of demons and that’s going to turn some heads on its own, but that doesn’t mean they have to be SO IRRITATING about it...

Satan will just be walking with the MC out in the courtyard and they’ll have fans practically nipping their heels for attention… He’d be much more patient with them if they didn’t insist on following the MC everywhere, even when they clearly don’t want them around!

Satan ends up becoming a second bodyguard for the MC when Mammon’s not around. Most of the club will keep their distance from him after just a glare but he’ll start breaking arms if pushed. Satan doesn’t play.

One unfortunate soul made the mistake of trying to take a bit of the MC’s hair for a spell and Satan caught him, scissors at ready and everything… No one talks about where those scissors ended up afterward…

Asmo

Actually isn’t as irritated with their fanclub as everybody else because, like, have you seen his? It’s just one of the joys (and challenges) of being so popular! Slay it, MC!!

Asmo is the only one who tries to encourage the MC to interact with their fans more because he’s experienced the benefits for himself.

Having a loyal fanclub can be so heartwarming at times! It’s like having a group of people always willing to pump to you up all the time - and who doesn’t need that?

Often invites their fanclub to join his fanclub to make “crossover” parties where they all can mingle together and enjoy heaps of praise! (The MC’s actual enjoyment of these “parties” is entirely up to their tolerance of sycophantic idol worship…)

Asmo does have his limits though. The MC’s lips really only belong to him and any fan who thinks otherwise will have to deal with the full verbal fury of the fifthborn… He has made several of them dropout completely…

Beel

Thought their club was maybe a little weird at first but tried to keep an open mind…

They certainly aren’t like HIS fanclub (who are just the sweetest people) but they liked the MC and he liked the MC. They couldn’t have been that different, right?

Wrong. Very, very wrong. They are nothing alike.

This fact became abundantly clear to Beel after he watched a few of them steal the MC’s gym shoes from their locker… Yeah, he’s not about these guys much after that.

Mammon refused to let Beel take over as the MC’s 24/7 bodyguard, but he did become the primary muscle of the “MC Security Squad.” If a fan gets a little too crazy, then Beel straightens them out with a fist and a smile.

Belphie

Heeeey, good job MC, you got some minions! Now you just got to learn how to use them.

At least, that’s what he says but he’s not actually going to teach them or anything. Does he look like a tutor to you? Too much work...

Whether or not the MC learned how to exploit their popularity properly, he doesn’t like it when they’re around anyway. Belphie’s a very, “Me Time means Just ME” sort of guy and having a bunch of losers following the MC around gets in the way of their lunchtime cuddle…

Unlike everyone else, though, Belphie has his own minions to do his bidding so now Belphie’s fanclub and the MC fanclub are having all-out wars between class periods. We’re talking fistfights, blackmail, and firecrackers. Shit gets wild.

Not that Belphie really cares or even looks as involved in any of it as he actually is. Little does the MC know that every time they pull him in for a snuggle, he’s probably just ordered someone to slash some poor groupie’s tires… Don’t fuck with the Sleep King.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me asks #obey me scenarios

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oss-punishment · 2 years ago

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Chapter 2-”Ma” Survival: Ly; Scene 1

Original Sin Story: Punishment, pages 42-46

--The gear’s light settled back down, and they were once again in the world of darkness.

It was a bizarre feeling, to vicariously experience his own memories.

“That’s right, things did happen that way,” Nyoze said with a nod—though that didn’t mean he completely comprehended all of it. “What do you mean by this? Those four queen candidates, the choice between them…I already know how that went, and who ultimately became queen. What does it matter at this stage--?”

“I told you it was important to go through this in order, didn’t I? I know it’s frustrating, but we must do it this way.”

“I just want to know the answers to my questions, Gammon.”

“That’s an easy thing to say. But…what will you do, once you know?”

“What will I do? …”

“Whether it’s for simple self-satisfaction, or else to derive some moral lesson for what’s to come…it won’t mean anything if you can’t get out of here first.”

That was true, but then how was he to get out?

Gammon still had yet to explain even that much.

This wasn’t something that had just started here and now. His brother had always been like this. He would always hide things inside his heart, and hardly ever reveal them to those around him. He wasn’t exactly an introvert, but whatever the case may be he was someone who disliked revealing everything.

This personality trait of his had become all the more striking around the time he became the head of the senate, and in the end he wound up distancing himself from all around him.

…Or maybe Gammon was like that because he chose to be. Their father had branded him with the stigma of being a “dropout”, having been born as one who was magically impotent.

Perhaps Gammon tried to protect himself by isolating, having been shunned his whole life by his peers.

Thinking on it now, when Nyoze was a child, innocently following him around without knowing anything of adult affairs, to him Gammon had been—

Stop it. This wasn’t the time to be dwelling in such memories.

“Alright. Then keep going for now…Will I be able to leave, then?”

“Yeah…Probably. I’m sure you’ll get the answers you seek.” Gammon took the next gear in hand. “This is Ly Li’s memory…You two used to spend a lot of time together, way back when.”

“When she was a kid, yeah.”

“I always thought you two would get married someday.”

“Knock it off. There’s way too much of an age gap.”

“You think so?”

“Besides, you remember the relationship between our two families, don’t you?”

“But she at least—Well, whatever. There’s no point in discussing such things now.”

“…True.”

Ly was dead.

She hadn’t died from the Catastrophe. She had fallen from a cliff, much earlier.

Nyoze gazed at the gear of her memory.

“It’s a little cracked.”

He could see that part of the gear was damaged, and had a clearly uneven shape.

“Memory isn’t so sturdy a thing. Particularly the memory of someone who suffered a sudden, accidental death like her.”

“Why are these memories gathered here like this in the first place? Is that…her soul?”

“No, the soul exists separately, and it is drawn up to heaven. Even if that weren’t the case, you don’t think it’s contradictory that your own memory gear is here despite you still being alive?”

“Well, you’ve got me there.”

“The collection of memories is one of the reasons this space was created…Though to be honest, I can’t explain it adequately myself. Madam Merry-Go-Round is the only one who knows all of it.”

“…”

“Anyway, this is Ly’s memory. By watching this, you will be able to take a glimpse at her truth…At the time, you investigated into her first.”

“I did. All four of them had their own suspicious points, but Ly was odd in the very fact of her having been selected as a queen candidate.”

Ly wasn’t magically impotent, but she hadn’t had nearly enough magical power to become queen. Nyoze had known that well, having watched over her since she was young.

So then how had she become a candidate? He could make a decent guess when considering her family, but he had needed to come up with definite proof.

“For her…It was relatively simple to come up with some authentic proof of the Ly family’s fraud. Irta Li had invested a large sum of money into Project “Ma”. He’d used that to have his daughter forced into candidacy.”

Ly would be ousted from being a queen candidate sooner or later. What he needed to consider was the timing of it, and having good political poise, as he didn’t want to have Irta making a big fuss about there being some “scheme” if he made a false move. There was also the issue of the funds he’d donated.

Though in the end…it all came to nothing, with her death.

“What did you think of Ly falling to her death at the time?” Gammon asked Nyoze.

“Well…I’m of two minds. There is a possibility of such an accident happening, but at the same time there were a lot of things about it that seemed impossible. Like why was she there alone at that cliff at night…I wondered if she’d actually been by herself after all.

“Though it was close to the palace, it was a place away from prying eyes. The view wasn’t particularly noteworthy. When I think of a reason she would have had to go out of her way to a place like that—

“It’s only natural to imagine that she wanted to talk to someone in secret. Ly could have been pushed from the cliff by this other person. …And if that were the case, then it becomes a question of who that person was.”

Ly could have been killed by Irta, or some assassin he’d sent out himself—that was the sort of thing that Nyoze had theorized at the time. Irta had to have realized that Ly was being investigated. If everything came to light, in a worst case scenario it would imperil the public reputation of the Li family.

So he could have tried to solve it by pre-emptively erasing Ly, the involved party—

But no matter how cold Irta was, could he really do that to his own daughter?

Nyoze didn’t know the true scope of Ly’s relationship with her father. But he had at least favored her enough to use trickery to install her as a candidate for queen.

In either case, he hadn’t been able to pursue Irta, lacking any concrete evidence.

“Maybe I’ll learn the truth of her death by watching this memory.”

Gammon nodded at Nyoze’s words. “Then shall we look?”

Ly’s gear began to glow.

The place it depicted was—once again, Alicegrad Castle.

<<prev------directory------next>>

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feelingofcontent · 3 years ago

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DNP Rewatch: What NOT to do at University

Date video was published: 09/10/2017 (X)

DNP Main Channel Rewatch: 357

The first “what not to do...” video from Dan since What not to do at The Beach all the way back in 2013.

0:01 - “fulltime internet hobo” sign in the background, lol. the bonsai tree is looking more dead than in the last video. also love that the computer background is a screenshot from College Dropout for this

0:03 - wrapped up in the space blanket

0:13 - intense. Dan does love a joke as a coping mechanism though

0:26 - well that’s dramatic

0:44 - well those are some old clips. How not to survive School from 2013 and How To Survive Exams from 2016

1:04 - “or finding lewd art of any anime I’m watching at the time” ...that is...a hobby

1:21 - “kebabs” are not the same thing in the UK and US

1:58 - “a fucking calamity” I love to use this to overdramatically describe things in my life

2:16 - what Dan wanted to do by going to university

2:31 - he keeps using this clip from the Quizzes video for things, lol

2:38 - shared hall/dorm bathrooms are an experience...yikes

2:45 - I was also terrible at doing this at the start of uni

2:56 - 90% sure he’s stuck that sign to a door to a bathroom in the filming flat for this scene, hahaha

2:59 - there are SO many different cut-away scenes in this video. not a lot of “costume” changes though

3:05 - “first tip, don’t do that” Dan’s usual advice

3:15 - at least his housemate was trying

3:42 - that is a scary feeling, but I think pretty common when leaving home for the first time

3:57 - love that he remembers that it was specifically the cheese aisle, and the completely empty filming flat fridge except for the prop cheese

4:04 - Phil really working all the camera angles for these clips

4:12 - awww. I love hearing about Dan’s grandma

4:37 - that’s just...maybe google it first? or read the box? yikes

5:05 - another instance of me relating a little too much to Dan. I was terrible at talking to anyone in my classes unless they spoke to me first

5:36 - if a strange squeezed his arm like Phil did here, that would be disturbing

6:15 - he really should have at least asked Phil what that meant

6:35 - “I couldn’t tell if they were all threatening each other, or flirting” what was going on in Dan’s brain...

6:37 - ahahaha I love this scene with Phil (and that Dan still has one of his law textbooks)

6:43 - dug that wig out of the props box I assume

6:54 - oh Dan...that can’t be good

7:10 - why would you not pack most of your clothes...

7:50 - detailed planning enough to have Phil’s clothes in there as “someone else’s clothes”

8:02 - wtf. I would also be very disturbed

8:26 - laundry being the thing in the first week to finally make him go to Phil, apparently. Dan expanded on this story a bit too in a live show. that’s where he mentions that Phil thought he might be moving in

8:46 - that is quite the photo 😂 and a clip from a PJ video

8:57 - “well hydrated” right, hahaha

9:02 - also love this scene and Phil’s chanting (that Dan filmed in his pants and a bathmat, lol)

9:28 - the build up to the punchline of this story is great

9:36 - “and no there isn’t going to be a sketch cut-away for that one” dying 😂

10:32 - I don’t think I would know how to react to that situation at all 😳

10:57 - that is just an insane ending to that story arc too

11:17 - really making a metaphor out of that is very Dan

11:48 - some great Dan annotations here

12:31 - there are really so few Dan videos after this one

I really like this Dan video and his storytelling in it.

#dan and phil #dnp #dnpRewatch #daniel howell #danisnotonfire #dan howell #daniel howell videos #What NOT to do at University

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cuntyko · 2 years ago

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ight so i watched this what… 10 minute commentary youtube video about this movie coming for it by this one black lady i follow. lemme just start out by saying i unironically love this movie, sure it’s corny in the way movies are and it has a premise that’s familiar the old switch-a-roo walk in someone else’s shoes and expand your perspective. i mean you can guess what the critiques were “why is this movie all about a white girl with an all black supporting cast” um cause the point is she’s supposed to kick it with these people in this new unfamiliar who have their own storylines by the way that it periodically cuts to. she’s supposed to be THE OTHER here and honestly i think it does a good job at portraying that when she first walks into school.

besides she’s not the only white person there are a few sprinkled here and there even in chenilles closest friend group there’s a white girl and she what makes her “special” is yea she comes from it but she’s not the stereotype where she’s scared and withdrawn judgemental and bigoted and she cool with vibing with the shit she’s unfamiliar with.

it’s not glorifying black culture on a white woman it’s trying to see if from her eyes and that comes with appreciating it in her eyes. she not doing too much and you know they try to shake her up by putting words in her mouth and she shuts them down in the movie. i guess you can mistake that not being from américa it might look like a caricature of blackness but especially now this is what it’s like in lower income areas across the board. ESPECIALLY ONE OF THE WORST OF THE WORST LOWER INCOME AREAS the fucking south side. but honest i think they did a pretty good job i’m pretty sure it was directed by a black man and it was accurate representation of chicago at the time. like it sounds stupid but it just has kanye vibes all over it like dropout kanye maybe not directly but his references. i think the dancing is pretty good the choreo is not bad and julia stiles really executed it. it very much could have been a contemporary piece that would get in to juliard (in 2001).i’d have to say the real star of the show was the character snookie OMG A RAY OF SUNSHINE in the windy city fr!!! he was a good lil dj too like all of the supporting characters had their own creative endeavors too like they weren’t blank slates for the most part

to me the whole point of this movie was that she was like a boring frigid white girl who had a real character building moment… she learned to let go a little how to switch it up, persevere and ended up growing in the end… it’s cute you’re happy for everyone in the end.. idk i could understand where some of those critiques come from but that’s just not my perception

#girlblogger #aesthetic #film #save the last dance #tumblrina

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

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Would lowkey kill to see Kauri attempting to write poetry in his relationship with Jake era (omg Jake helping him/being the one to write it down) I always forget that he was a writer and loves poetry and I love him 10 times more every time I remember

CW: Some references to past trauma, forced illiteracy, some brief internalized victim-blaming/slut-shaming, Kauri’s low self-esteem

Takes place after Worth the Risk and Kauri’s first glimpse of his own past

“This is fucking stupid. I can’t fucking do this.” Kauri picks up the notebook, hard-backed blue with little golden stars twinkling on the cover, and throws it full-strength across the room until it smacks into the wall and drops to the ground, open to his own scrawling, struggling handwriting.

Chris, wrapped in a big fuzzy blue blanket and curled up in an armchair playing a game on his phone or texting Laken or maybe both, flinches and looks up. “Kauri?”

Kauri looks away from the earnest concern in those huge green eyes and kicks ineffectually at the coffee table, hissing when he doesn’t actually miss and his toes connect with the hard wooden leg. “Fuck. Fucking-... bullshit, I’m an idiot trying to do this, just-... god damn it. I should know better.”

There’s a silence, and then Chris asks, softly, “Know better than, than... than to what? What were you, um, you doing?”

Kauri’s jaw is set and for a second he considers lying. He’s a good liar, after all, and Chris is always so ready to believe him, he wouldn’t even question it. Safer to lie, hide the ideas inside his head, talk instead about something soft and surface-level.

Safer to be stupid, always.

But he’s trying not to do that anymore.

He’s trying.

“Writing,” He says, finally. “I was... trying to-... write something.” The words are ground out of him nearly against his will. He glares at the notebook lying open on the floor, the scrawling handwriting of the fucked up slut still thinking he can be anything else. Looping and childish, too big almost to fit within the lines.

“Oh.” Chris pauses, and then brightens, setting his phone aside and straightening up. “You, you sad you think that you used to, to, to, to write, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Kauri’s head hurts, a sharp punishing ache. How dare he think in metaphor and simile, how dare he try to build the villanelle, how dare he remember vaguely arguing with someone in a coffeeshop over old poetic forms being superior to poems that don’t even try to fit within a rhythm, and he just-

This is so-

He’s so stupid, thinking he could just pick it up again like it hasn’t been a decade or close, like he’s still whatever stupid shit lived in his body before he-

signed up for this-

followed a fucking hot guy outside in the dark and got thrown into a van and made into Kauri.

“Well, my... my professor for, for, for, for Playwriting says... says writing is a muscle. You, you have to exercise. And you can’t do the, um, the, the, the-the heavy weights until you start with, with small ones.”

Kauri snorts, derisive, but it’s not because Chris is wrong - of course he’s not wrong. Part of Kauri knows it, too, that he used to write all the time, around the pounding inside his skull he knows that he used to scribble lines on napkins and paper towels and the margins of his study books, bringing together the poem itself only later, usually alone or with a boyfriend on the other side of the room. He used to be able to do this.

He used to do this all the time.

“I wish Owen had wanted someone who could write a fucking poem,” Kauri says, voice breaking on the tears that threaten. “Maybe then I’d still be able to.” He pushes himself to his feet and stomps over to scoop up the notebook almost violently. “Why are you taking Playwriting, anyway? I thought you wanted to do set design.”

“I, I do.” Chris shrugs, eyes on Kauri, watching him walk back towards the doorway that leads to a hall and then to the kitchen. “But I thought-... I, I, I figured-... maybe if I learn how to, to write a play, it would help... visualize. For, for, for set-building. You, um. You know?”

Kauri exhales, slowly, and then nods. “Yeah. I get it. That’s a good plan - I mean, not that I would know, I’m a college fucking dropout, right?” He laughs, bitterness in every word, in every sound.

“No,” Chris replies, simply. “You, you were... abducted. We were, um. We, we, we were stolen. Your words were, um, were stolen, too. That’s what Dr. Berger-”

“Fuck Dr. Berger,” Kauri snaps, and leaves the room before Chris can make any more sense and possibly break apart Kauri’s determined self-loathing while he still wants to soak in it.

Hating himself for what he can’t do - or what he’s been told he can’t do - is so much easier than trying to do it anyway.

Everything was easier than trying to get better.

So why is he still trying?

Notebook clenched in white-knuckled hands, Kauri climbs the stairs like a man moving to the gallows, one by one, his thoughts a swirling morass of self-hatred, and then he moves into the bedroom he shares with Jake here and stares at the rumpled covers on the bed.

He sleeps here every single night, wakes up to the same face pressed red on one side from the pillow, hears the same deep voice rumbling good morning, feels the same arm slide over his waist, the same scratchy stubble rubbing his jaw when he’s kissed.

I have generally found, in my work, the fucking therapist’s voice echoes inside him, that when you begin to do the work to rebuild, you will find yourself dedicated over time to reconstructing not just a room, Kauri, but the entire city that was once leveled. Does that make sense?

He’d told her it didn’t.

Kauri spent years dodging therapy whenever Nat didn’t talk him into it, and he hates going. He hates having to spill all the darkness inside him to someone who never stops being so goddamn calm.

But the first time she’d said, have you ever heard about the effect that solitary confinement has on the human mind? He had told her he didn’t know, but he’d started crying, too, and hadn’t been able to explain why.

Part of you knows, Dr. Berger had said gently. Part of you always knew.

He had never really wanted to know the person who had inhabited this skin, or try to be him again. But standing here looking at the evidence of the life he is slowly building - his clothes in a crumpled heap on the floor by the bed, his toothbrush in the little cup in the bathroom, a picture of he and Jake in a frame by the bed now, the very small silver ring he wears sometimes even though they’re not and they probably won’t but it kind of feels good to wear it sometimes...

He wonders if Liam Harker wanted a life like this one.

---

“It’s really dumb,” Kauri mutters, pulling the pillow over his face, burning red with embarrassment. “I didn’t even really mean for you to see it-”

“It’s not dumb,” Jake says, gently. Kauri feels the dip in the mattress as he sits down, feels the warmth of his hand resting on Kauri’s thigh through the blanket. “I’m sorry I read it. I didn’t know what I was looking at. If it was supposed to be a secret-”

“No. I didn’t. I forgot I left it out on the dresser. It’s not your fault. It’s so fucking stupid. I don’t know why I even-”

“Kauri.” Jake’s voice sharpens, a little. “Stop. Stop calling yourself stupid. You’re not, and you never were, and you don’t have to repeat what that asshole told you about yourself anymore, remember?”

Kauri swallows, hard, a lump in his throat he can’t quite breathe around. “When does it stop being his voice,” He asks, muffled, “and start being my own?”

“When you let it,” Jake says, rubbing his leg soothingly. “Just like my dad’s voice. You’re not stupid. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met in my life. I’m sorry I read it, but that’s because it wasn’t mine to read, not because it was dumb, or bad. It wasn’t.”

Kauri hesitates, then pulls the pillow to the side, looking at the sincere affection in Jake’s face, his slight smile. “Yeah? You’re not just-”

“Saying that? No, I’m not. I mean, I’m not, like, a poetry person-”

“It’s not even a real villanelle, anyway.”

“I have no idea what that means. I just... I thought it was pretty good, actually. When I realized-... I put it down when I realized you were writing about-... you know. Yourself.”

“Liam,” Kauri says, hoarse, barely able to pronounce the name. “I wrote-”

“Yeah.” Jake takes his hand, pulls it to his lips, presses a kiss to Kauri’s knuckles. “I know. It’s really good, Kaur. You should keep writing. I promise I won’t look at any stray papers I find anymore, yeah?”

Kauri takes a breath. He feels almost dizzy, in a way that is both terrible and wonderful. The way you open yourself to the people you love is a horrible, amazing risk. The way you spill the darkest parts of yourself, not things you’ve done wrong but the things you are afraid of allowing back into the light, in case it washes them all away again.

But the light he lives in now isn’t cold, and it isn’t taking him away from himself. The light he lives in now is sunlight.

“What?” Jake’s eyebrows raise slightly. “What’s that face for?”

“Jake. What if-... what if I ask you to? Read them?”

Jake’s lips press together, and he nods, smiling slightly, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Kauri’s hand. He’s always warm, Jake, even on the coldest days. He’s always warm. “I’d be-... be fucking honored, or something that sounds less bullshit than that, but I mean it. I’d be... I love you, Kauri. Seeing inside your head is what I want to do for-... for forever.”

“Maybe I’ll ask then,” Kauri says, and pulls Jake’s hand and then Jake himself, the taller, larger man settling on top of him, holding himself up on his elbows, careful not to rest all his weight. “I love you, too, you know.”

“Yeah.” Jake kisses the tip of his nose. “It’s pretty fucking great.”

Kauri’s eyes glimmer, but he closes them so Jake can’t see, and kisses his forehead. “It’s nice to think that I’m lucky and mean it.”

“I think you should read your poem to Dr. Berger,” Jake says, and when Kauri groans, he pulls back. “I mean it. She should know.”

Kauri wants to argue, but he looks into Jake’s eyes, and sighs, and says he’ll think about it.

---

AN APOLOGY

I am built from the hollow air left after your heart stopped beating

Your hands still gripped tight to the life they were ending

I know you thought of home but I don’t know where your home is

The sound of my voice is a green valley that only sends back screaming

Covered in smoke and dust that I told myself smelled like cologne

Pathways that remember your laughter silent in the years that followed

Have I done enough to build a life you would have enjoyed living?

I am built from the hollow air left over when your heart stopped beating

The heat of their hands as inevitable as a river tore down every foundation

Their cruelty buried you so deeply that only I remain

I don’t deserve the love that should have been yours to receive

The sound of my voice is a valley echoing back your screaming

I owe you an apology for walking around inside you

Crumbling ruins with my touch and calling it preservation

I’m sorry for every blade of grass growing through our bones

Am I nothing but hollow air from when your heart stopped beating?

Wildflowers grow inside me from soil windswept over ash

Is that life worth everything not quite dead so deep below?

Is Kauri Grant good enough to make up for Liam Harker’s loss?

In the valley of my body, does anyone but me still hear you screaming?

I owe you an apology and have to hope the life I live provides it

I wish I could ask for forgiveness from the shape of you

We’re both ghosts, in the end, mosaic pieces shattered in shadows

I’m sorry that I’m all that’s left.

I built myself from hollow air in the shape of a heart still beating

The sound of my voice will always carry the echo of yours screaming

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @orchidscript @cubeswhump , @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @moose-teeth @whumptywhumpdump @wildfaewhump

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helloalycia · 4 years ago

Text

worth the wait [two] // daisy johnson

summary: same as the first chapter – it was too long to post in one so this is the remainder of it!

"What do you think?"

I raised an eyebrow as I poked my head inside the van, glancing around at the cramped space that had stupidly been turned into a living space. There was also, weirdly enough, a computer in the corner which made absolutely no sense.

"I think I have no idea what I'm looking at," I admitted, before looking to an excited Skye beside me. "What is this?"

She bit her lip to contain her grin as she patted the van's door proudly. "This is my new rig."

I almost laughed. "You're kidding."

Her smile lessened. "I'm not."

Now I definitely laughed. "Skye, c'mon, be serious. Whose van is this?"

Her smile disappeared as she clenched her jaw with annoyance. "It's mine. Sorry it isn't fancy enough for you, your majesty."

When I realised she was serious, I lost my smile and looked between the van and her. "Skye, where the hell did you get a van? You can't even drive!"

Clearly holding in her anger, she began to push past me and slide the doors shut. "He said you wouldn't get it," she mumbled to herself, but I heard.

"He?" I questioned with raised eyebrows. "Who the hell is he?"

"Miles," she snapped, stopping moving and looking to me. "Miles is the one who got me the van. He said it was a bad idea to show you and clearly he was right, Y/N. You took one look at it and laughed. He was right."

I smiled tightly, trying not to get worked up at the mention of Skye's new friend. She'd befriended this 'Miles' guy within the past few months and wouldn't stop meeting with him and his friends. He was in the grade above us, but just like her, he'd skip class and do God knows what.

Ever since she'd been hanging around them, she'd been standoffish and distant. She wouldn't contact me as much when she ran away, and she'd been skipping school more often than usual. They were clearly a bad influence on her, but she reassured me she was in control of her own life and knew what she was doing. Being the idiot I am, I fell for her pretty smile and convincing eyes, but this was getting too far now.

"No offence, Skye, but I wouldn't start listening to a guy who can't even make it to class on time," I said to her with a hint of annoyance. "Why do you need a van anyway?"

"Why not?" she countered with her arms crossed. "I thought you'd be happy that I'm finally taking responsibility. Growing up."

My expression softened. "I've never once said that you had to do either of those things."

"You don't need to say it," she mumbled, looking down at her shoes with a frown. "I know you think it. Everyone does."

I stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder and finding her eyes with mine. "Where is this coming from? Skye, I have never thought that. All I've ever wanted for you is to be safe and happy. I'm just worried."

She shrugged me off. "Well, now you don't need to be. I've got this."

"You're seventeen, you should be in school studying, not staying in a van," I said tiredly. "You've been missing so much. How are you gonna graduate?"

She avoided my eyes. "That's another thing... I've been thinking and, well, I don't think I want that."

I widened my eyes with disbelief. "What?"

Still avoiding my eyes, she continued, "I don't think I want to graduate."

I was too surprised to find words so quickly. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"How can you not want to graduate?!" I asked suddenly, finding my words. "It's what you do! It's what we all do!"

She met my eyes with apologetic ones. "It's what you do, Y/N. I don't want to be at a place that makes me feel like shit. I can't keep pretending I fit in when I don't."

"This isn't you," I told her sternly. "We were supposed to graduate together. You're not stupid, Skye. I can help you study. You can't just give up."

"I'm not," she said with certainty. "I finally know what I'm doing. That's all."

I squeezed my fists together to contain my frustration. "And what's that?"

"The Rising Tide–"

"For fuck's sake!" I cut her off, before hitting the van door with frustration.

"Miles has taught me a lot!" she defended. "They do a lot of good, Y/N! I just want to be apart of something bigger. Something that can help me help others. And something that can help me find my family. My real family."

I clenched my jaw, knowing I was too late in convincing her otherwise. Whatever Miles and the others had told her about their stupid hacking group had worked – she was dropping out of high school and there was nothing I could do to stop her.

"You're gonna be going to university and we both know I can't afford it," she said gently. "We couldn't stay together forever, Y/N. And my foster family definitely don't care what happens to me. I don't fit in anywhere."

I looked to her with glassy eyes. "You fit in with me. You always have."

She pursed her lips as she stayed quiet.

"I'm sorry I didn't make that clear enough," I added bitterly.

"That's not it and you know it," she muttered, shaking her head. "I have to do this. I have to figure myself out. Alone."

I felt stupid for letting her do everything she did leading up to this point. If I had just tried a little harder, maybe things could have been different.

"You're not alone though, are you?" I asked rhetorically. "You've got your new pals at the Rising Tide. It's their damn fault you're doing all this."

"They're not as bad as you think!"

"You've changed because of them!" I argued back. "They created a barrier between you and I. It's because of them that you've... that you've..."

"What?" she snapped, glaring at me. "That I'm finally thinking for myself?!"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and straightened up. "Forget it, just– forget it. I've got a midterm to study for."

She snickered harshly. "Of course. Don't want me slowing you down."

I stayed quiet and turned around to leave. I couldn't see past my anger as I left her with her stupid van.

Of course, the two of us had been friends for a lot longer than that silly argument, so I was quick to realise how much I actually cared about her and her life, and wanted to apologise for how harsh and unsupportive I sounded.

The next day after school, I decided to head over to her foster family's place to hopefully talk to her. I'd had enough time to think about it and knew I was a lot more levelheaded now that I'd had some space.

I knocked on the front door and waited before an older blonde woman answered. I recognised her as Skye's foster mum, Sally.

"Hi, Mrs Collins," I greeted with a smile. "I'm looking for–”

"Mary doesn't live here anymore," Sally cut me off instantly, surprising me.

I had almost forgotten that Skye's foster family knew her as the name she was given by her orphanage – Mary Sue Poots.

"She doesn't?" I asked with confusion. "But I thought–"

"Goodbye, Miss Y/L/N," Sally interrupted, before slamming the door in my face.

I blinked with confusion before turning around and walking down the steps. It had been a while since I last visited Skye at home. In fact, she made sure I never visited her at home. I guess now I knew why. But then where the hell was she living?

As I walked around the neighbourhood trying to think about where Skye could be, I saw a familiar van parked up on the side of the street and put the pieces together.

Guiltily, I approached the van and sucked up a deep breath before knocking on the side. It didn't take long for the door to slide open and reveal Skye herself.

"Hey," I said quietly, noticing her surprised expression. "Can we talk?"

She licked her lips nervously and nodded, before moving to the side to let me in. I climbed inside and watched as she shut the door before settling on the seat in front of me. I looked around and realised the little details I hadn't noticed yesterday. The little things that made this place Skye's and nobody else's.

"I'd offer you a drink, but I don't have any," she joked to lighten the mood, and I couldn't help but crack a small smile.

I breathed out before meeting her eyes. "Skye, I'm really sorry about yesterday. I shouldn't have reacted like that. If I had known that this was your home, I–"

"You didn't know," she said, shaking her head with embarrassment. "I didn't want you to know. It's my fault."

I pursed my lips, watching as she looked away with pink cheeks. It hurt me to know that she was embarrassed when I didn't care about any of this, I just cared about her.

"I want you to know that I respect your decision to join the Rising Tide," I said gently, making her look up. "If it's what you want, you should go for it."

"It is," she said with certainty.

I chewed on the inside of my mouth before asking, "Is there no way you can finish high school though? Graduate with me?"

She shook her head. "I don't want to, Y/N."

"But that's the bare minimum," I pleaded. "Hacking isn't a lifestyle. You need to work, too, and I can promise you that most places won't look to hire a high school dropout."

She leaned back in her seat and shrugged nervously. "Miles isn't graduating either. And he's got some friends who haven't graduated. They're all doing fine."

I looked down and pinched the bridge of my nose to contain my frustration. I promised myself I wouldn't argue with her, but the mention of her other friends was like a trigger.

"What now?" she asked with annoyance, realising I was annoyed. "You clearly have something to say about them."

"It doesn't matter," I said, biting my tongue.

"Sure it doesn't," she played along.

"It doesn't," I agreed.

"Yeah, and the Hulk isn't bright green," she said sarcastically.

I looked up and glared at her. She stared back challengingly, practically daring me to speak. So, I did.

"Your new hacker friends are the reason you're making these choices," I told her straight. "They're the reason you're making a huge mistake. The reason you're dropping out. And for what? So you can hack like them?"

She rolled her eyes. "I know you look down on us, but we're more than that."

"Skye, I don't give a shit about them!" I shouted without meaning to. "I only care about you!"

"Then stop talking crap about my friends!" she returned angrily.

"Why do you care about them so much?!"

"They gave me a place to stay when I had nowhere! They made me feel like I belonged!"

I frowned, anger replacing with hurt. "I always offered you a place to stay. I only ever wanted you to be safe. You never needed to be different with me. You belonged. Always."

She swallowed hard and looked away from me ashamedly. "Well it doesn't matter anymore. I'm leaving."

I breathed out deeply. "School? Our town? Leaving what?"

"All of it," she said quietly. "I don't expect you to understand."

I looked down to my fumbling hands, a tear slipping from my eye. I had never felt so angry at someone before in my life. She was treating me like I was a stranger, as if I wasn't somebody who knew her inside out. She was treating me like she treated everyone else except her new friends. And I couldn't deal with it anymore.

"Fine," I said, before moving to open the door. I jumped out her van and didn't spare her a glance as I said, "Have fun with the rest of your life. Sorry I didn't care enough."

She didn't say anything and I didn't expect her to. With a broken heart and headache, I left and didn't bother turning back.

—

"What do you mean she's run away?"

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Mr Lock said apologetically. "Her foster family got the note this morning. They're doing what they can to find her. She always turns up, you know that."

I knew her family didn't care if she was gone or not, so I knew Skye definitely wouldn't be found. Unlike usual, Skye hadn't contacted me before leaving, so something told me she wouldn't be turning up.

Our argument was over a week ago and I hadn't seen her since. It had been eating away at me the way we'd left things, but I couldn't find it in myself to face her. I had no idea what to say anyway. And I wasn't sure when she was planning on leaving, so I didn't think it was important right now. Clearly, I was wrong.

"I just thought you should know," Mr Lock said with a nod. "The police will come by soon to get a statement from you."

As usual. Except this time, I actually had no idea where she was.

I nodded, my mouth going dry. "Thank you... can I go now?"

He nodded hesitantly. "Of course."

I left his office and headed straight outside behind the bleachers where nobody could hear or see me. The first thing I did was try to ring Skye, but there was no answer and no way to leave a voicemail. I tried several times, hoping she'd pick up, but she didn't. And that's when I remembered the burner phone.

Immediately pulling it out, I turned it on and saw the message from her appear on my screen. I was quick to open it, my heart racing like it did every time she ran away. I knew she wasn't coming back this time though.

Hey, Y/N. I know you probably hate me, but I felt like I owed you this. I said I was leaving and I have. I can't tell you where. And I'm not good at goodbyes. I've had too many of them and I couldn't bring myself to say it to you. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I never wanted to, but I guess some things are inevitable, huh? I've managed to do it all my life, this isn't any different. I'm just sorry if I hurt you in the process. Anyway, this is pretty long and I don't even know if you read it, but yeah. I'm sorry. I wish things could have been different.

The text ended there and I found myself rereading it to myself over and over, her words imprinted in my mind. I knew we'd argued and exchanged hurtful words, but I never in a million years thought she'd leave without saying goodbye. I thought I meant more to her than this. But no. I was just another foster family she ran away from. And I wasn't so sure I'd see her again.

#daisy johnson #daisy johnson x reader #chloe bennet #marvel imagine #marvel #agents of shield imagine #agents of shield #daisy johnson imagine #mcu #agent skye

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gohyuck · 4 years ago

Text

prologue | part 1 | part 2 | part 3

pairing: greaser!jeno lee x rich!reader; part of a collab by @neovisioned

genre: greaser!au; runaways!au; criminal!au; angst/fluff/smut

word count: 10.4k

warnings: infidelity, miscarriages of justice, johnny’s a huge asshole in this i’m so sorry, a lot of straight up classism, explicit mentions of sex (fingering), vehicular manslaughter, armed robbery, general unarmed violence and fighting, pistol-whipping

a/n: so i know a lot of people loved the fact that my most recent long fic (surgeon jaemin!) focused on side characters, but i’ve made this fic pretty jeno-centric on purpose, and i hope it’s still as enjoyable as possible for readers!

May 29, 1957

He’s always been easy on the eyes.

It’s shallow, and a great part of him knows it. Still, as far back as he can remember, Jeno’s always had one thing, and one thing only: his looks. When he was 7 and starving on the streets, terrified of going back to a broken, lifeless home, he’d use his adorable face to elicit pity and pizza from the aging man who ran the local diner. When he was 15 and growing into himself, his blossoming attractiveness got the girl in his geometry class to give him her homework to copy off of, free of charge. When he’d first started working at the garage, a high school dropout at the age of 17, it was his ‘rugged handsomeness’ - review courtesy of the college girls who trailed their rich boyfriends as they searched for cheap fueling and car repairs - that called in tips by the handful.

Jeno’s always had his looks. That’s why, even though he thinks it’s silly of him, he can’t help but look at you with eyes that are overflowing with apprehension. He grips the blond hair-dye just a little too tightly, fingers making what’ll be lasting indents in the plastic box.

“Do I really have to do this?”

You arch an eyebrow, wrenching the dye out of his iron-grip as you do. Jeno watches, feeling more helpless than he has been this whole time as you shake its contents out into your hand. The bleach and the agent you mix it with fall into your open palm, followed by the barely darker dye. You read the instructions over once, twice, before finally looking up to meet Jeno’s trained gaze.

It’s all you can do to heave a heavy sigh.

“You were framed for a robbery, and then you stole a car and accidentally kidnapped me, but the hill you choose to die on is dyeing your hair? Really? If you’re like this now, what are you going to do when we get tattooed?”

“I - We - Tattoos?” Jeno squawks, and you can’t help but sigh again before rolling your eyes.

It’s going to be a long night. Amidst it all, you can’t help but think back to how everything started.

As Jeno keeps his glare trained on the dye, you can’t help but assume that he’s doing the same.

♕ ♕ ♕

Day One: May 25, 1957

Cherry red lips, wanton giggles, a skirt that’s too short, even by what she calls her ‘very own tramp standards’. Jeno can’t get enough of it all - can’t get enough of her, he’s so intoxicated by her. It’s in the way her head falls back, her mouth falls open, her knees fall down, allowing her legs to fall wide. He leans over her, his well muscled arms making it easy to hover instead of collapse on top of her as he coaxes her release from her, two fingers deep in her spasming cunt while his thumb works away at her clit. Jeno’s close - so close - to what he wants, but he doesn’t dare to chase after it; instead of pressing his lips to hers and tasting that enticing lipstick for himself, he settles for pressing his forehead against hers, letting his soft breath land against the silent scream her mouth is currently displaying.

Her chest heaves, her next breaths come out in gasps. As she settles down, Jeno can’t keep himself from dipping his head down, pressing a gentle and completely chaste kiss against the skin of her stomach between her belly-button and her underwear line. She squirms at the feeling of his warm lips against her now-hot skin, and he chuckles against her body before pulling away for good, though not before wiping his fingers on her thigh.

“‘S that good, Jess?” He quirks an eyebrow, pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket for her to wipe the sweat across her forehead with. “There’s grease on that s- yeah, that’s the good side.”

“You sure know how to charm a girl, Jeno Lee,” The woman responds dryly, though he doesn’t miss the pleased smirk that crosses her features. She swipes at her inner thighs once before tossing the handkerchief - or, really, rag - at the mechanic, who catches it with ease and stuffs it back where it came from.

“You’re the one who wanted to be fingered in the passenger seat of Johnny Suh’s car, filthy girl,” Jeno throws back, not surprised when Jess swats at his arm at the mention of her boyfriend. She loves Johnny, Jeno knows she does, but that doesn’t stop her from begging for Jeno’s fingers or tongue or, if she’s got time, his dick, whenever she stops by the City Motors garage that Jeno’s been employed at for the past two months. She always comes in driving Johnny’s red Chevy Bel Air convertible. He knows it’s bad of her and bad for him, especially if Johnny ever gets wind of it, but he can’t find it in himself to stop, not when it’s free spank bank material.

Jeno’s probably a bad person for it. He doesn’t really care - after all, it’s just sex. If emotions were involved - and they never are, not for Jeno, not when it comes to getting his dick wet - it might be a different story. That, and it’s Johnny Suh’s girl.

Jeno fucking hates Johnny Suh.

“Say, speaking of John,” Jess says, seemingly sufficiently cooled down by now. “I keep meaning to and forgetting to ask - you’re the same age as his sister, aren’t you?”

“(Name)?” Jeno asks, his brow furrowing when he gets a nod of confirmation. “Yeah, I mean, we were in the same homeroom and shit this past year. Why?”

“Just curious. You’ll probably see her a lot more often from now on, honestly - she got a job at the diner when they had that hiring spree last week.” Jess flicks her head vaguely towards Jeno, and he knows it’s because, if he turns around and looks out the window, he’ll be staring directly at Kim’s, what can be considered the only good eatery on this side of town. He tries his best to seem even vaguely interested at what Jess is saying - going so far as to crane his neck backwards in order to look at the same diner he sees day in and day out - but she calls his bluff easily. Instead of saying anything, she just rolls her neck out before finally shoving the car door open.

“Say ‘hi’ to her sometimes, y’know?” She asks, peering in once she’s standing. “For me. Forget that she’s a Suh sometimes. She needs to talk to more people, anyways.” Jess states, her gaze imploring. Still, Jeno can’t help but scoff at the last thing she says, prompting an affronted look from the woman who’s looking expectantly at him.

“(Name)? Needing to talk to more people? Everyone adores her, she’s always with some new person getting into some bullshit. Honestly, she probably needs to talk to less people at this point.” Jeno explains himself so as to not garner anymore adversity from his fuckbuddy, though the way he squints in mild disbelief at Jess’ suggestion annoys her anyways. The mild petulance that comes through only serves to remind Jess that Jeno is, in fact, only 19 - and while her being 21 doesn’t change their dynamic much, it does bring about some slight difference in maturity.

She tends to overlook it because the benefits seem to outweigh the detractors.

As Jess makes eye contact with Jeno, though, she knows he won’t listen to her friendly suggestion. She doesn’t know why she bothers, sometimes - even though she’s only in it for the sex, he’s really only in it for the sex. As far as anyone’s concerned, Jeno Lee does only two things, and he does them well: fix cars and fuck. Considering that he’s a high school drop-out with no plans of college or trade school, Jess supposes that he doesn’t have much else to do.

“Whatever,” She finally acquiesces, not bothering to return the small smirk Jeno throws at her. “What’s the time?”

“It’s about 4:45,” The mechanic responds without even checking his wristwatch, though Jess doesn’t doubt that he’s right. “What time’s he coming by for his car again?”

“Couple minutes past 5. Got a smoke? I need one.” Jess is still peering into the car from outside, her expression making it seem like she’s waiting for something more than a quick cigarette break. Jeno holds her gaze steady for a beat, two beats, before he breaks away, pushing the door open on his side so he can finally get out too. After all, the car is honestly kind of cramped, and absolutely not ideal for what they’ve been getting up to in it… week after week after week.

“You should tell your boyfriend to stop fucking up his car,” Jeno states simply, leaning over the fabric top of Johnny’s convertible. It’d been the left sideview mirror today, the transmission last week, the rims the week before. It wouldn’t surprise Jeno if Jess drives in four days from now with a crack in the windshield and her underwear already around her knees. Jess says nothing, only leveling Jeno’s stare. He waits, finally breaking it for the second time in a row once he’s sure she’s sweating a little bit in her new boots. The small smirk he allows himself as he beckons for her to follow him back into the garage is reward enough for him. There’s a pack of Camels set on his work bench, open in such a way that Jeno knows Jaemin must’ve taken one earlier when they’d started their shift together.

“Help yourself, doll.” Jeno says, gesturing vaguely towards it after pulling a cigarette out for himself. He swipes the lighter off of Jaemin’s desk - his friend’s on a late lunch break at the diner right now anyways - and uses it to light up his own smoke before tossing it underhandedly to Jess.

“Don’t ‘doll’ me,” She scoffs, her words muffled around the cigarette that’s now in between her lips. He admires her hands, her nimble red-tipped fingers as she lights it up, pulling it out from her mouth and letting it dangle between two fingers before setting the lighter down on top of the pack. “You know only Johnny’s allowed to call me that.”

“If he had that much of a handle on you, you wouldn’t be crying for my cock every week now, would you?”

“I don’t cry,” Jess protests, and Jeno finds both her sudden indignance, and the fact that this is the hill she chooses to die on, kind of cute. He has no feelings toward her, sure, but it doesn’t mean he can’t admire her for what she is: art. And someone’s gotta nail masterpieces against walls, right?

“You get the gist.” Jeno brushes her complaint aside with ease, blowing smoke out through one corner of his mouth before he speaks. “Tell him to watch where he parks so he doesn’t screw up his mirrors again. There’s gotta be some limit on daddy’s money.”

“Why don’t you tell him yourself?” Jess throws back, and Jeno can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“His highness won’t talk to a lowly greaser like me, obviously. Probably thinks I spend all my tip money on hair oil or some stupid shit. You really picked one for yourself, Jess. Outdid yourself on the asshattery of the last one. The fact that he makes you drop his car off when he’s the one who screws it up should be a red flag itself.” Even talking about Johnny has a pit of dread growing in the bottom of Jeno’s stomach, and he drops his half-smoked cigarette to the ground before crushing it under his work boots. He knows it isn’t the cig making him feel sick, but he suddenly has no appetite left for nicotine anymore.

“You’re lucky our friendship predates my relationship, or I’d fuck you up for saying shit like that,” Jess warns, though there’s no real bite behind her bark. She drops her cigarette to the ground too, and Jeno steps on it so she doesn’t have to.

“Can’t believe you’re deciding to keep some kind of allegiance to me based solely on the fact that our moms used to stick us together when they went to whore around downtown while our dads were being drunken good-for-nothings somewhere or the other,” Jeno scoffs in faux disbelief even as his eyes fold into half moons. Jess allows herself a small grin at the expense of their younger selves as well. They both know better than anyone that shared traumas can only make bonds stronger. “When’ll you tell your prissy, pompous, prick of a partner that you’re one of the lowlifes he hates so much?”

“He already knows that I wasn’t… well off before I got my job at the salon,” Jess replies carefully, doing her best not to incriminate her boyfriend in the eyes of someone who already loathes him. “Besides, he honestly isn’t that bad. He says shit sometimes, yeah, but he knocks it off if I tell him to. Shouldn’t affect whether or not you talk to (Name), anyways.”

Jess slips you into the conversation so easily that it almost gives Jeno whiplash trying to process what she’s said. When he’s done, it’s all he can do but to let out a confused query.

“The hell does (Name) have to do with this?”

“I mean, you’re the same age, and you kind of know each other. I just figured that...”

Suddenly, Jess’ motives dawn on Jeno. Judging by the way she trails off, ending her sentence both sheepishly and abruptly, she sees that he’s figured her out, too.

“Are you fucking trying to set me up with your scummy boyfriend’s sister?”

“He isn’t scummy! And, I mean, not necessarily. Maybe. Just a little, but come on! Isn’t it right for me to want two people I love and care for to find love and caring in each other?” Jess’ words come out harried, and she flaps her arms around a bit to try and prove the point she just can’t seem to hit on. Jeno’s brows furrow even more, and he can’t help his incredulous snicker.

“You, Miss ‘I just got fingered by a childhood friend in my boyfriend’s car for what has to be, like, the sixth time in four weeks’, want to talk about what’s right and what’s not?” Jeno points out, and Jess winces slightly. He knows it’s a bit of a low blow - yes, Jess is a cheater, and it’s completely terrible of her, and maybe even Johnny Suh deserves better than someone who’s unfaithful, but if Jess is the one committing the crime then Jeno’s aiding and abetting. He can see the hurt flash across his friend’s features, and he allows himself to soften for a moment before speaking again. “I’m sure (Name) is nice and all, but I’m not looking for a relationship right now. If I was, I wouldn’t be messing around with you, or anyone for that matter.”

Jess sighs, but it’s a sigh of acceptance. She glances down wistfully at the smushed cigarette she’d abandoned earlier, making no move to get another one. Jeno assumes she’s trying to cut back - the cost of a pack has gone up again.

“I do love him, you know that, right?” Jess says, voice soft and sincere in a way that has Jeno’s eyes flicking up to meet her own. “I just - I can’t give all of myself to him, you know? Not yet, anyways. Not after everything that’s happened in my life. It isn’t justification, it’s just…”

“You’ve been dealt so many bad hands that you don’t know how to play poker anymore,” Jeno finishes, smiling gently at his friend. “Yeah, I get it. I’m just your pain relief, remember? You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Fuck first, friends later.”

“Pretty sure it’s the other way around,” Jess rolls her eyes, though she knows he’s just messing with her. They might use each other, but their friendship predates any sexual relationships either of them have been having with anyone. They both know that Jess doesn’t just drop by the garage to drop her panties, although that is what happens first and foremost every time.

Before Jeno can quip back at her, the telltale thrum of a car’s engine draws his attention away from his friend. Both of them turn their heads simultaneously to see none other than Yuta Nakamoto pull up in his Thunderbird, Johnny Suh riding shotgun beside him. Jeno doesn’t miss the way Jess perks up, her grin dazzling as she spots her boyfriend. He can’t say the same for himself, not when his stomach drops at the sight of the two men.

Yuta at least has the ‘decency’ to shoot Jeno a patronizing smirk. Johnny doesn’t even acknowledge the man beside his girlfriend, instead turning directly to appraise his fixed up car after giving Jess a quick peck on the cheek.

“Funny,” Johnny remarks thoughtfully once he’s done with his once-over. “Are you sure you fixed this? It doesn’t reek of grease or anything. Maybe you underdid your hair today, kid, hmm?”

Jeno’s suddenly hyper-aware of how slicked back his pitch black hair is, and his fingers twitch at how badly he wants to push it back again, both out of nervousness and anger. He says nothing, only clenching his jaw in response.

“Leave him be, John,” Jess speaks up, holding her hand out for her boyfriend to take. He grabs it naturally. “He’s a good kid.”

Johnny’s cocky, holier-than-thou grin slips a little at seeing his girl - his girl - defend someone he equates to the bottom of his shoe, and Jeno notices it. For a moment, it seems like there’s a rebuttal sitting on the tip of his tongue. His necessity to keep his girlfriend’s approval wins him over, though, and Johnny says nothing more, only asking Jess to hand him the key he knows she has.

Yuta leaves first, though not before confirming their next whereabouts with Johnny. He slides back into the drivers’ seat of his Thunderbird, raises his eyebrow at Jeno through the windshield, and backs out slowly but surely. Jeno isn’t a big fan of Yuta, either, but at least the man respects his car.

The same can’t be said for Johnny.

He slams the passengers’ side door shut once Jess gets in, and Jeno can’t help the wince he gives at the noise. In that moment, he feels deeply for the Bel Air, wishing he could jailbreak it from the hell it must be experiencing at the Suh household. Right before Johnny gets into the driver’s seat, he stops, eyes flitting towards Jeno as he digs something out of his pockets.

Jeno watches as Johnny flicks a dime into the open tip jar they leave out on a rickety old stool, stands there and takes it as the older man shoots him the kind of wolffish grin that never reaches anyone’s eyes.

“Buy yourself something nice,” Johnny says, smirking as he looks Jeno up and down. He takes in the peeling leather on the greaser’s workboots, the grease stains on his blue jeans, the way his white tank top is soaked through with sweat, his ratty leather jacket lying across his workbench. When he looks back up, eyes meeting Jeno’s, the latter can’t help but feel as if he’s just been searched.

“At least… if you even know what ‘nice’ means.” Johnny finally finishes, smirking maddeningly at Jeno. Before any rebuttal can be made, Johnny’s inside his car and turning on the ignition. Jess waves goodbye to Jeno, albeit sheepishly, who only raises a hand in parting. It’s only after they’ve disappeared, tearing down Central Street, that Jeno registers Jaemin leaning against the corner of the garage. It’s evident by the way his friend is standing that he hadn’t actually witnessed anything, and Jeno finds that he wants to keep his interactions to himself today. It’s also evident that, while Jeno has nothing to tell Jaemin, the opposite does not stand true.

“What’s up?” Jeno asks, picking up and tossing the Camels at Jaemin on what is, by this point, sheer muscle memory. He throws the lighter right after, and Jaemin catches them both with ease. This is unsurprising - before school, life, and work all became too hard to balance, Jaemin had been a catcher on the local high school baseball team.

“There’s a new broad behind the counter at Kim’s,” Jaemin says, sticking the cigarette in his mouth and lighting it as he speaks, all with the kind of finesse that only comes from years of doing the same thing. “Looks familiar, ’m sure I’ve seen her before - pro’ly went to school together. Damn pretty, looks more your type than mine, though.”

Jeno doesn’t really care, frankly, but it’s Jaemin and he’ll always humor Jaemin. That, and they’ve got about an hour ‘til the next person with an appointment comes in, so he’s got some time to kill.

“You wouldn’t know if you went to school with her, considering you only ever fuckin’ showed up to play ball. I don’t think I ever saw you in class.” Jeno scoffs, though he knows he should probably keep speaking when Jaemin throws him a scathing glare. “How can you be so sure that she’s my type?”

Jaemin takes the cigarette out of his mouth, waving it around aimlessly as he finally walks over to his own workbench, right beside Jeno’s. He’s got a couple of chairs beside it, and he shoves one towards Jeno before sitting down himself. Jeno, for his part, swings his chair around so he can sit down backwards as he faces Jaemin, folding his arms over the back of it and resting his chin on top of his forearm. Once they’re both situated, Jaemin finally speaks again.

“Pretty, but doesn’t remind me of any of the greaser girls or the rich girls, somehow. Guess she doesn’t fit in that way. Smart, either talks animatedly or doesn’t say shit at all. Seemed all bright-eyed but with sum’n dark behind them. Mysterious, just a bit. Paint a good enough picture for you, asshole?” Jaemin good-naturedly flicks some ash towards his friend, drawing forth a chuckle from the other man.

“Sounds like you’re describin’ a book character,” Jeno throws back, causing Jaemin to roll his eyes even as he’s genuinely smiling. “Been spending too much time with Mark.”

“Maybe so,” Jaemin acquiesces, leaning forward in his chair to look Jeno in the eyes. He turns his head to the side, blowing smoke out through his lips before looking back. “Doesn’t change the fact that she’s good for you. Really, I think you two could hit it off. Even got her number for you.”

“You’re that desperate to pawn me off, huh?” Jeno raises an eyebrow, though he holds out his hand for Jaemin to drop a slightly-crumpled napkin into. He might not go for whatever girl it is romantically, but it might be good to go on a date or two just to keep himself from getting too rusty with the girls. That, and he has to admit that sitting at home, tinkering with the house’s clocks or yelling at Donghyuck not to use up all the hot water for the week is less appealing than having a nice night out (or a nice night in, depending on the girl). He supposes he’s mildly optimistic as he unfolds the napkin, even allowing himself a small grin at the idea of doing something outside of his ordinary, everyday, work to home to work to home life.

Jeno’s smile fades fast once he sees what’s scrawled messily on the napkin in black ink.

(Name) Suh

XXX-XXX-XXXX ;)

He blinks once, blinks twice, before letting out a groan and allowing his head to drop onto the wood of the chair’s back. Jaemin, concerned, asks if he’s alright, but Jeno just ignores him, too busy wallowing in the cosmic irony of his best friend giving him the number of the one girl he would never get with.

“Is this about the chick or is it something else? I saw Johnny Suh pull out of here, that motherfucker. If he wasn’t giving us so much business all the time I would’ve TP’ed his house by now. Is it him? Don’t let him get to you-”

“Jaemin,” Jeno interrupts his best friend, finally looking up from his reprieve in the chair. Jaemin quits rambling almost immediately, his gaze running over Jeno’s unreadable expression. Jeno looks down at the note, up at Jaemin, and then back down at your handwriting again before letting out a weighty, long-suffering sigh.

“Jaemin,” Jeno repeats himself, finally making eye contact with his friend. “We need to have a talk.”

♕ ♕ ♕

“You saw that her last name is Suh and you didn’t stop to think that she might be related to Johnny fucking Suh? Really? I know you’re dense, Jaemin, but for Chrissakes!”

Renjun’s voice rings through the small, two bedroom house as he chastises Jaemin while the two of them cook dinner. Jeno’s sitting on the floor in the living room, fiddling with Donghyuck’s radio: he’s been meaning to fix it for weeks, now, but it’s only today that he’s really found the time. That, and he’s trying to avoid the ongoing argument that’s occurring while two of his friends are making meatloaf. He knows that he’s the reason for it, yes, but that doesn’t mean that he wants to be involved.

It isn’t Jaemin’s fault, really, and Jeno knows this. He can’t stay mad at his best friend in general, but he’s doubly inclined to let Jaemin off the hook because the younger boy has no clue as to why Johnny Suh is so universally hated in the Lee household. Jaemin doesn’t even live with them like Renjun does, so he’s blissfully unaware of exactly how marred the relationship between Jeno and Johnny is.

“I’m home, you fucks!” The front door swings open with abandon just as Jeno finishes straightening the radio’s antenna, and he winces at the screech of the door’s protesting hinges. He’s so startled that he almost drops the radio itself, but he manages to catch it in time. This is lucky - Donghyuck saunters into the living room at the right moment, seeing Jeno both fumble and save his precious radio. Jeno pretends like he doesn’t see the glare his cousin throws at him, instead waving in greeting to him before beckoning him over.

“They’re going at it in the kitchen,” Jeno says lowly once Donghyuck’s close enough to hear him. “I wouldn’t go in there just yet.”

Donghyuck mulls this information over in his mind for a moment before raising a single, perfect eyebrow. He snatches his radio from his cousin’s lap, securing it in his grip, and sits down beside Jeno before he chooses to respond.

“And what if I want to cause problems on purpose?”

“Didn’t you have a full day of doing that at work today?” Jeno asks rhetorically, causing Hyuck to roll his eyes over-exaggeratedly.

“Which job?” He throws back, and Jeno can’t help but laugh. Donghyuck cracks a smile, too, though neither of them know why: it isn’t funny, especially not when Hyuck is speaking truth. He’s worked two jobs since dropping out of high school alongside Jeno a year prior - one close to the rich side of town in a quaint bookstore frequented by nearby college students, and one as a local plumbers’ assistant. None of the boys ever know where he’s at, which is concerning to all of them but something nobody bothers bringing up with Hyuck.

Judging by the fact that he’s wearing jeans and a shirt that’s had the sleeves ripped off, Jeno feels as if it’s safe to say that Hyuck’s just gotten home from being under sinks and in cisterns. By this time, he typically would’ve washed the oil out of his hair and changed into his sleeping clothes. Jeno’s heart twinges at the idea that his cousin might have to go back out to work after eating.

“You gettin’ some sleep tonight?” Jeno’s query is soft-spoken, and Donghyuck can’t help but give him a sad smile before he slowly shakes his head no.

“On house call duty until 5 in the morning. I’ll be home to nap, have some eggs, and then get to the store, though. Maybe we’ll see each other then, brother.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Jeno sighs in a way that says he knows they won’t, and Donghyuck hits his shoulder with his own. They sit like that, in silence, listening to Renjun and Jaemin bicker for a few moments, wallowing in the harsher truths of their lives for a few short moments before Donghyuck, never one comfortable with the quiet, breaks it to ask the obvious question.

“What’s up with those two?” He tilts his head towards the kitchen, and Jeno sighs before dropping his head down and pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes.

“Jaemin wingman-ed me to one of the new hires at Kim’s.”

“That’s not so bad,” Donghyuck says, furrowing his brow at Jeno. “I mean, you’re a manwhore. Figured that isn’t something you’d particularly mind.”

“Shut up,” Jeno scowls, much to Hyuck’s amusement. “And that’s the pot calling the kettle black. It isn’t the act, it’s the victim.”

“The vic- the girl?” Donghyuck’s voice is incredulous now, and Jeno all but groans as he shakes his head in disagreement.

“No - I mean, maybe, considering it’s Jaemin she was talking to - but no, fuck. I meant me, I’m the victim.”

“And why is that?”

“Because the girl is - he got me (Name) Suh’s number, damn it. Of all the girls he could’ve talked to about me, it was her.”

Donghyuck’s teeth clench immediately at hearing the unholy last name, and the air leaving his mouth between his lips makes an odd, hissing noise. His grip on his radio tightens, the pads of his fingers whitening. It’s a beat, two beats, before Hyuck lets up on the thing he has in his hands, sighing with mild dejection.

“Jaemin only moved here right before high school,” Donghyuck rationalizes, though the darkness behind his pupils lets Jeno know that he isn’t happy about being reasonable. “And we never really talk about the thing with Doyoung. I guess he either didn’t register that they’re related or he thinks our hatred is only over the class bullshit Johnny pushes on us whenever he sees us. I’m surprised you never told him the whole story, though - you two are as close as brothers.”

“What, you jealous?” Jeno teases on instinct, mainly aiming his witticism at the last phrase Hyuck had uttered. His cousin rolls his eyes once again, nudges his shoulder once again. Jeno grins, dropping his gaze to his hands.

“It isn’t that I wanted to keep it from Jaemin - it just never came up. He hates Johnny, too, but it isn’t in the same way as us. I guess I’ll explain it tonight - we’ve got an early shift at the garage tomorrow, as it is.”

“Let me guess,” Donghyuck sighs. “You start at 5?”

“Damn straight.” Jeno smiles sadly. “We aren’t kids anymore, Hyuckie, are we?”

“No sir,” Donghyuck smiles back, running a thumb over the radio’s buttons. “But goddamn, does adulthood suck when you don’t even have time to be with your family. Speaking of, where’s that idiot older brother of mine?”

“I heard that, you asshat!” Jeno looks up just in time to see Mark box Donghyuck’s ears, albeit as gently as possible. Still, the youngest Lee winces in pain, whining at the sudden attack.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Jeno notes, grinning up at his older cousin. “Didn’t hear you come in. How much did you hear?”

“Came in through the back. If you’re talking about whatever is happening in the kitchen, then nothing. If you’re talking about your explanation of whatever is happening in the kitchen, then everything. You two are not observant in any way, shape, or form - I’ve been here for a couple of minutes. I agree, by the way - you should tell Jaemin about it.”

“Tell Jaemin about what?”

Jeno, Donghyuck, and Mark all turn their heads simultaneously to see Jaemin and Renjun walk in, the former balancing the meatloaf on a tray and the latter holding a stack of plates, knives, and forks. Mark, who’s already standing anyways, leans over, grabbing some of the cutlery to ease up Renjun’s load. Jaemin sets the tray down on the floor after kicking aside the tools Jeno’d been using on the radio, and once he straightens up, he looks down at his best friend expectantly.

Jeno meets Jaemin’s gaze, takes note of the annoyance that’s still etched across Renjun’s features, and sighs. He runs a hand down his face before looking up again, this time meeting everyone’s eyes individually. Finally, he asks what he thinks is most important of all before starting on his spiel.

“When are the kids getting here?”

♕ ♕ ♕

Chenle and Jisung have to convince their respective parents that, yes, they have in fact completed all of their homework and studied for all their upcoming tests, before they’re allowed to head over to the Lees’ house for dinner. Both boys - the only two still left in high school, both juniors - come over in no time at all, seeing as they live in the houses on either side of Jeno’s.

“Why the fuck are we having family dinner?” Chenle asks, voice booming as he walks in without any prior announcement. Jisung, who’s trailing right behind him, quietly shuts and locks the door.

“Jaemin fucked up,” Renjun says, right at the same time as Mark responds with a “Because I said so.” Jisung and Chenle share a look - each with an eyebrow raised in confusion and mild anticipation - before sitting down, Jisung on the right of Jaemin and Chenle right beside Hyuck. Jaemin immediately ruffles the youngest boy’s hair, pairing it with a ‘You’re doin’ good in school, right? Good with all those books ‘n’ shit?’, to which Jisung, as always, nods while trying to dodge Jaemin’s next loving attack. Out of the seven men and boys currently having dinner in the house, only Mark and Renjun have their high school diplomas.

Jeno was so close to living a different life. He does his best not to think about what could have been. Instead, he starts talking, commanding everyone’s attention in the way only he can.

“We think it’s… time we talked about Doyoung.” Jeno lets the words settle, resting against their skin before seeping into their bones. He sees Chenle visibly shudder, Donghyuck resting a soothing palm against his younger friend’s upper back. Renjun lets out a heavy sigh, and Jisung bites at the inside of his cheek to keep himself from making the sad, choked noise he certainly was about to let out.

Jaemin, for his part, says nothing, only waiting patiently in a way that’s become his signature. Jeno thinks there’s nobody in the world more caring than Jaemin, sometimes, and his best friend never ceases to prove him right.

“Doyoung’s my older brother’s best friend - you remember Taeyong, right? Yeah, he’s Taeyong’s best friend.” Mark explains, looking straight at Jaemin once everyone seems to have recovered from the mild shock. It’s understandable, of course - they never talk about Doyoung. It’s been years, and not once has The Incident come up.

There’s always a time for everything, Jeno supposes.

“Does this have anything to do with why Taeyong’s in jail?” Jaemin’s question is tentative at best, but Jeno can see that he’s just piecing things together in his mind. All six of the other boys nods simultaneously, murmuring affirmative answers as they do.

“About five years ago, Johnny, Taeyong, Doyoung, and, uh… what’s his name? Nakamoto, or whatever, him... The four of them were fucking inseparable, did everything together. Johnny’s parents are known classists and elitists and whatever other -ists exist, but Johnny never seemed to be that way. Doesn’t matter, anyways. Rich kids are all the same in the end.” Donghyuck speaks this time, shedding more light as the story unfolds. The bitterness in his voice is highly evident, but nobody can blame him - they all know what it’s like to be ridiculed, pariahed because of poverty. All seven of them had forsaken the idea of trust ages ago.

“One night, Johnny and Yuta went out and got halfway to blind drunk at some bar they weren’t supposed to be at. Yuta at least went and decided to walk home instead of driving his car back, but Johnny didn’t give a fuck. ‘Course, he hit something almost immediately after getting in the damn thing, but he was too fuckin’ pussy to check and see what had happened.” Renjun tacks on after Donghyuck, adding on the next part of the infamous, unfortunate tale. Chenle is the next to speak.

“He was near a phone booth, so he called Doyoung to come help him. Doyoung and Taeyong both hurried to help their friend, figuring he must’ve gotten hurt, only to find that he’d- he’d…”

“That he’d hit and killed the son of the mayor at the time,” Hyuck finishes, noticing how Chenle hesitates to go on. “Johnny had called the cops right after calling Doyoung, and the pigs got there not a minute or two after my - Mark and my - brother and Doyoung did. They immediately assumed one of them had been driving, and then assumed that the car had been stolen from Johnny rather than being Johnny’s itself. Fucking Suh never clarified, only stood by while his friends got hauled off. They knocked my big brother on Grand Theft Auto. Seven years for a crime he didn’t fucking commit. Still, at least we get to visit him every week.”

“They took in Doyoung in on manslaughter - not even vehicular manslaughter. He pleaded guilty to it because he knew they’d charge Taeyong with it if he didn’t, and Taeyong was looking after the rest of us - Renjun included - at the time. We don’t have any fucking parents, and Doyoung knew it. He’s already done five years, but he’s spending the next decade of his life in a federal super max, and we aren’t allowed to see him. Poor thing - Taeyong ended up getting jailed, too. Doyoung couldn’t’ve have known. Don’t know if he knows now, even.” Jeno finishes the story, voice quivering with rage and the few unshed tears that always accompany his thoughts about the huge miscarriage of justice his family and friends have faced. Taeyong’s room is still the same as it was five years prior, untouched.

“Johnny was a witness in both cases, and he took the stand against them, saying they really did do what the cops said they did,” Jisung finishes, voice soft but emotionally charged. “My mom and Chenle’s mom stepped in as best they could to take care of Mark, Renjun, Jeno, and Hyuck afterwards until Mark got grown, but I just know it isn’t the same as Taeyong.”

“Your moms are angels,” Mark responds, smiling kindly at the two youngest members of their ragtag group. “They saved our lives. Of course, they wouldn’t have had to do so if…”

“If Johnny Suh hadn’t ruined them first.” Jeno completes the thought, Donghyuck and Renjun nodding in agreement. Jaemin says nothing, only looking each of them in the eyes earnestly.

He gets it, Jeno decides. The rest of them must see this as well.

After dinner, when Jeno goes to the bathroom to brush before sleeping, he finds a thoroughly sodden piece of paper stuck to the bottom of the basin. It takes him a moment to realize what it is - the sharpie has bled into one large blob. Jeno smiles to himself before getting to work cleaning it up.

He scrapes your phone number off of his sink with his bare nails and sleeps easier that night than he has in a long while.

♕ ♕ ♕

Day Two: May 26, 1957

Jeno’s always been good with time. It’s a gift, though it’s rare he acknowledges it: being able to more-or-less accurately tell the time without ever looking at a clock is hardly the kind of superpower people dream about.

You leave work at around 3 p.m. - Jeno knows this because he’s out in front of the garage, sat on the hood of Jaemin’s rusty pickup truck nursing a ham sandwich when you walk out of Kim’s, unbuttoning your uniform’s top few buttons as you find your brother’s waiting car. He’s too far away to hear the words you exchange with Johnny, but he watches as you glare into the Chevy for an excruciatingly long amount of time before heaving a sigh and re-buttoning your shirt.

Jeno doesn’t watch as the two of you drive away, but he doesn’t have to. Johnny always drives like he deserves more respect on the road than his car does, and it boils the younger man’s blood more than anything. After all, Jeno’s always been able to count on machines. People? Not so much. Cars respect him, so he respects them.

He finishes the sandwich, immediately replacing it with an unlit cigarette. ‘Oral fixation’, Donghyuck had smirked at him one night ages ago, only to have gotten a shoe thrown at him by Renjun. Jeno can’t say that his cousin is wrong, but he’ll die before he lets Hyuck know that. He thinks back to the morning, when he’d left to come to work. He’d only seen Jaemin and nobody else, and that was just because Jaemin had been his ride.

Speaking of Jaemin- he’d been right: you’re pretty. You’ve always been pretty, but Jeno tries to ignore it. Nobody related to the scum of the Earth Johnny Suh himself can be beautiful both inside and out - he’s never been more sure of anything. Such a thought process might be unfair, sure, but he reckons it’s better that he avoid you altogether rather than get caught up like his family members had. That’s how life goes: you hunt or get hunted.

Jeno will be damned if he ever finds himself being the prey again.

Jess drops by at around 4:15, no necessity behind her visit. They don’t do anything, not this time, though Jeno does have to force himself to stop imagining her lipstick leaving marks in places the sun can’t see, his fingers leaving bruises along her skin. Jaemin raises an eyebrow when he sees them talking, though he doesn’t say anything, only tossing Jess his pack of Camels. It’s only got one cig left in it, so Jeno lights it and puts it to her lips. She blows out a ring of smoke before he takes a drag from it himself, his fourth smoke of the day.

“You should apply for a dealership job or something,” Jess says at around 4:30, and Jeno’s now hyper-aware of her reason for visiting. He scoffs, handing the cigarette back to her for good. It’s suddenly the most unappetizing thing in the world. She notices his expression, but slogs on anyways, hoping that she’ll get through to him. “I’m serious! You’re smart, Jen, real smart. You could do worse than sellin’ cars to crackpots in suits. You’d make more cash, too.”

Her drawl only comes back to her when she’s talking to her childhood friends, and Jeno supposes it’s an unwitting act of classism. They don’t ‘speak good’, as Jaemin would teasingly put it, but they have heart. It’s something that’s hard to find in people who have more money. Jess has grown up like them, yes, but in some ways she’s no longer part of the world Jeno’s forced to live in. It’s a world where he’s got family and friends in jail, where his own brothers - he almost never calls them his cousins, because they’re brothers if he’s ever had any - have to work two jobs just to make sure all of them get by, where their friends have to do the same. Jess has a stable job now - kudos to her - and a rich boyfriend. She’s set for as long as she can hope to be.

She’s okay with doing up the hair of ladies who sit idly and gossip about the ‘filthy poors’ in the south side of town. Jeno can hardly look rich folks in the eyes without gritting his teeth into dust. He’s well aware that they are not the same.

“Why this sudden interest in my career?” Regardless, he only questions her coolly, unwilling to start an argument that won’t find an end any time soon. There’s no telling when a car will come in and Jess will have to leave so the boys can do their work, and, besides, this isn’t a discussion he wants to have. Not with Jess. Not with anyone.

He’d been so, so close to going to college with a full ride. Jeno had dreams once. He’d been a fool to even think of possessing such intangible commodities. He doesn’t have any anymore.

“I just… you’re brainy as hell. It’s a shame seeing you as a grease monkey when you could do more with your life, is all. I mean well, Jen, you know I do.” Her eyes are wide in earnestness, and Jeno can’t help but sigh. It’s not Jess’ fault he’s a realist, that he’s lost opportunities before. Before he can say anything in response, though, probably breaking her heart just a little bit in the process, Jaemin pipes in.

“If I have to drop him off at a dealership everyday in the hunk o’ junk I drive while he’s dressed up in a three-piece suit, I’ll hang myself using a chain of grease rags. Besides,” He chuckles, tilting his head at his best friend. “Who’ll keep my sorry ass company here at the shop?”

A corner of Jeno’s mouth lifts up immediately at the save, and it’s all he can do to shrug and gesture towards his best friend in agreement. Jess rolls her eyes before darting her gaze between the two men, and once she realizes that she really won’t get anywhere with either of them, she only sighs and shakes her head, dropping the idea for good… for now.

“That’s not the only reason you came here.” Jeno states, keeping an eye out for any potential customers. It’s a Sunday, though, so he doubts many people will come by. Church hasn’t been out for long - he knows this for sure because Mark never fails to attend, no matter how heavy his university course load gets and let alone how many hours during the week he’s had to work. He’s the only one currently pursuing a higher education, and Jeno thinks that he might be the only one tenacious enough to do so.

It’s a shame - Jeno’d been real smart in school. So had Hyuck. They both know Mark beats himself up everyday for being the only one of the Lees who’ll get a Bachelor’s, but they both also know that he’s least likely to jeopardize his education. If anyone deserves college, it’s Mark.

“How’d you guess?” Jess draws the mechanic out of his thoughts, and he blinks rapidly before orienting himself back in reality. His smirk returns - Jeno thinks he might use it as a facade too much at this point - and he can only laugh.

“I didn’t - it was a shot in the dark. What’s up?”

Jess opens her mouth to speak, but is cut off by Jaemin, who doesn’t realize she’s about to talk. Jeno’s best friend tosses him the beat up truck’s keys in a perfect arc, throwing him a well-meaning grin while he’s at it.

“We won’t get much work today,” Jaemin states as Jeno catches the keys nimbly. “I’ll walk down to Church today, haven’t been in a while. Might be nice.”

“If you’re gonna go every three months at most, what’s the point of goin’ at all?” Jess asks, only mildly peeved at having been interrupted. Her grin is sunny, though, and Jaemin knows that she’s just teasing. A friend of Jeno’s is a friend of his; the vice versa also tends to ring true.

“Unlike this one over here,” Jaemin jabs a thumb out towards Jeno. “I still believe. That, and I figured I’d walk Mark home. Don’t get to see him too often, y’know?”

“Hey- “ Jeno starts, stopping immediately as Jess waves him off with one hand.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just disillusioned with everything he can’t see. Catholic Church included. Of course, whenever his grandparents are in town, he still pretends.” Jess explains sagely, much to Jaemin’s amusement and Jeno’s disgruntlement. The latter rolls his eyes, raising the hand enclosing the keys in a wave goodbye as Jaemin pushes himself off of the wall he’s leaning against.

“Funny how Mark’s a Protestant and so is Hyuck - kind of, I don’t think he’s super religious at this point - but you’re a Catholic.” Jaemin notes, and Jeno shrugs for the second time in one day.

“Mark & Hyuck’s dad was a Pastor, my dad converted to Catholicism for shits and giggles when he was, like, 15. They might be brothers, but they aren’t the same. I was never the religious disgrace of the family, though,” Jeno notes, a small, sadder smile replacing his grin momentarily. “Not after Taeyong said he’s an atheist. Anyways, Mark’s probably on his way home already, if you leave now you might be able to catch him.”

Jaemin knows better than to press, only nodding, raising an eyebrow for a split second, and turning on his heel before easing himself into a jog. He’s still dressed in his work clothes, and his hair is as shaggy as ever, and Jeno thinks churchgoers might faint upon seeing him. He also knows that Jaemin doesn’t mind.

“Now you,” Jeno looks at Jess once Jaemin is out of sight. “What’s up?”

Jess’ shoulders droop immediately, and for a moment she looks so forlorn that she doesn’t even look like herself. The expression passes as quickly as it had come into view, and Jeno accepts the nonchalant smile she gives him like it’s what she means to project outward.

“John’s been secretive lately.”

She says so much more with her eyes than she does with her mouth. Jeno sighs, tilting his head as he does to survey his friend for a moment. Jess is conflicted, that much is evident, and Jeno doesn’t quite know why. Nevertheless, he’s always made sure to keep his head out of other people’s business. He won’t change now.

“If you’re worried that he’s cheating, why don’t you talk to him about it?” Jeno says it like it’s easy, like Jess isn’t unfaithful to her own boyfriend. His eyes dart out towards the street again - nobody’s coming in for repairs. Jess lets out a huff of air, and Jeno realizes she must think his words are sarcastic rather than as earnest as he’s meant them to be.

“I’m being ridiculous, I know, it’s just- I just… I don’t know. It isn’t even that he’s acting super different, he’s just being more… conspiratorial? With his friends? It’s more of a feeling than anything else, I guess. I must sound fucking insane.” She runs her fingers through her hair, pushing it away from her face even as she casts her eyes towards the ground. She may be trying to reassure herself that she isn’t seeing things, but it’s called a sixth sense for a reason.

“You have good intuition,” Jeno rushes to assure her that she isn’t losing her mind. “I hope you’re wrong, but… maybe you and your boy toy need to have a good talk. From both sides.”

“Yeah,” Jess responds, not knowing what else to say. “Yeah. I just had to say it out loud to someone that wasn’t my reflection, I think. I’ll figure it out. Anyways, I have a couple regulars dropping by at the salon today, so I should probably- ”

“Go to work,” Jeno cuts in, his smile forgiving. Of what, neither of them are sure. “We have all the time in the world to talk. Bye, Jess.”

“Bye, Jen.” Is the response he gets, and then Jess is on her way. The day is silent again, now that Jaemin and Jess are both gone, but Jeno finds that he doesn’t really mind it. It’s not so bad- with no customers, no coworkers, and no friends around, Jeno gets to sit and think.

That’s what he does best.

♕ ♕ ♕

It’s 6:27 in the evening when it happens.

For once in his life, Jeno checks his wristwatch. He isn’t sure why the sudden compulsion to actually know the time overcomes him, but he chalks it up to ‘dying from boredom’ and thinks nothing else of it. After all, the rags won’t clean themselves and the shop’s workbenches are only as neat as their owners. Jeno isn’t the most put together person alive, but he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t mind mess.

So he cleans, even when he’s the only one who’s doing it.

He’s in the midst of organizing his wrenches in size order when a familiar red Bel Air glides into the diner’s parking lot, top down with Johnny Suh’s loud laughter audible even from across the street. The music blaring from his car radio is only almost as loud as he is, and that’s saying something, because Johnny takes up every space he’s ever in. Yuta Nakamoto is beside him like he always is, though he’s more reserved than usual. Jeno does his best not to pay them any heed, but it’s difficult when his own responsibilities are mind-numbingly boring at the moment. He’ll take any entertainment he can get, even if it’s Johnny fucking Suh being the true neighborhood nuisance once again.

Funny how people look at Jeno funny when he walks down streets minding his own business, but they don’t say jackshit about a Suh kid blasting Elvis in public right before dinner time.

But that’s neither here nor there.

Jeno actually manages to finish his tool-sorting and is getting ready to finally, finally pack up when the music stops. Johnny must’ve parked. The burgeoning night is eerily silent, and the young mechanic pauses what he’s doing - making sure he has everything, mostly - because the world seems like it’s holding its breath. Just as he’s about to relax, slump his shoulders, and get back to his own work, he hears it.

Of course he hears it. It’s impossible to miss.

The scream shatters the silence into a million pieces, startling Jeno so hard he almost drops Jaemin’s car keys. He’s rushing out of the garage before he can think, and it’s moments later that he sees none other than Johnny Suh and Yuta Nakamoto rushing out of the diner, stuffing what look like pistols into the waistbands of their jeans. There’s cold, hard cash grasped in each of their hands, and Jeno cannot, for the life of him, comprehend what he’s seeing.

He makes brief eye contact with Johnny Suh, and the recognition in the older’s narrowed eyes freezes Jeno’s blood. There’s no time to ponder this, though - not when Johnny pulls out and rushes away within seconds, his car roaring to life on the town’s streets. Jeno’s just witnessed a robbery - a robbery by one of the richest and most powerful people in the area. Jeno’s just witnessed a robbery, and the criminal himself is aware of this.

As he watches the owner of Kim’s run out, hands on his head in panic and disbelief, all Jeno can think about is how Johnny Suh is going to try to shut him up. Jeno is now the star witness to a criminal act. There’s no way he’ll sleep tonight.

He leaves City Motors with duller eyes than he ever has, his workstation spotless and mind swallowed in darkness.

At least now he knows why Johnny’s been weird towards Jess lately.

♕ ♕ ♕

Jaemin drops Mark off at the Lee household with a parting hug, clasping their hands together in a high five before pulling each other into their chests and clapping each other on the back. Each other. Jaemin might be the ‘newest’ addition to their band of seven, but he doesn’t feel any different from the rest of them. They’re his brothers, and he’ll always have their backs. They’ll always have his.

Mark invites him inside, but Jaemin declines - he’s out of chewing gum, of all things, and he knows the sketchy convenience store by the alley near 7th Street always sells at half price on Sundays. He bids the older man goodbye again, throwing him a lax two-finger salute and a small smirk before turning on his heels and jamming his hands into his jean pockets, a stance that does nothing to help his already awful posture.

He whistles all the way down to the store - Kun’s Konvenience - mostly because he can’t get the tune Hyuck is always humming out of his head, but also because he feels almost truly happy. Sure, his future looks like it’ll lie in the City Motors garage for the rest of his life, and sure, maybe he shouldn’t step foot inside Church - the dirty looks had been telling today - but that doesn’t dampen his mood. The sun is shining, the sky is a brilliant blue. Kun’s is selling gum for cheap, and Jaemin’s in need of it. He rounds the final corner and the short, squat red brick building he’s looking for comes into view.

His hand is closing in on the handle of the store’s front door when another, slightly larger, hand places itself on top of his.

Jaemin barely has time to step back when a fist connects with his jaw. Through his swimming vision, he sees Johnny Suh raise a pistol, and he doesn’t have the time to raise his hands before the butt of the gun collides with the side of his head. The last thing Jaemin remembers before passing out entirely is the ugly, ugly sneer across the older man’s face as he glares down at him.

“Sorry. Blame your meddling friend.” Johnny spits out, placing a well-aimed kick in Jaemin’s side as his finale.

♕ ♕ ♕

It’s 8:32 at night when the landline rings. Mark’s studying and both Donghyuck and Renjun are out at work, so Jeno’s the only one available to pick up the phone. Typically, he’d be wary of doing so - the neighborhood elementary schoolers have only recently discovered the cheap thrills that come with prank calling - but something compels him to hear out whoever’s on the other end.

There’s a crackling noise, and what sound like hushed whispers, and this goes on for so long that Jeno’s about to either yell something about working on homework instead of pranking or just hang up without a word when the other person finally speaks. Jeno sets down the dish he’s washing, pays no mind to the way it clatters into the otherwise-empty sink when Johnny fucking Suh finally opens his damned mouth.

“Caught an eyeful down at City Motors today, didn’t you?” He asks, casually, as if there are no underlying threats hiding beneath his overly honeyed words. As if he isn’t the one who’s committed a crime, as if Jeno’s the one with the gun and the money he never earned. Bile rises almost automatically in the younger man’s throat, but he can’t bring himself to put the phone down anymore. It’s as if he’s stuck.

“What do you want?” Jeno manages to hiss out when the urge to vomit recedes, and the way Johnny chuckles in response sends chills down Jeno’s spine. There’s something sickeningly sinister about the situation they’re caught in, and Jeno knows that he’s unprepared for when the other shoe drops. His mind can’t even work properly, not when there are so many ways for this to go.

“Police will be at your door tomorrow morning, looking to arrest the Kim’s robber. I’ll have given them a helpful tip by then, of course. Wouldn’t be good of me to know who it is and not let the local law enforcement know. Also… left you a present in the alleyway by that one convenience store your kind go to. Think it goes by the name of… Jaemin?”

Jeno’s blood runs cold at the mention of his best friend’s name. Johnny doesn’t stop speaking.

“He was real easy to drag by his feet after I got him in the head, though getting rid of the trail of blood by the store was a little harder. I’m about half sure I left him breathing, but-”

The landline slips out of Jeno’s hand, no active effort made to put it down. Everything suddenly feels as if it’s in slow motion, as if his muscles are made of lead and his tongue is made of sandpaper, but he hears himself calling out for Mark before his own actions register in his mind. He must sound frantic, because he can hear his older cousin practically sprint down the stairs even through the haze his mind is in. Jaemin. Jaemin’s hurt. Jaemin’s bleeding, Jaemin’s in pain.

“What? What the fuck happened- Who was on the phone- Jeno? What happened?” Mark’s voice is panicked enough, rushed enough, to shake Jeno out of his stupor. His anguish moves aside, making way for rightly placed rage as he meets his family member’s eyes. When he speaks, his voice is choked, barely restrained and yet so, so pained.

“We need to go to Kun’s,” Jeno states, swallowing the growing lump in his throat. He can’t cry, not now, not when a clock might be ticking. He hasn’t cried in ages. He can’t cry now. Jaemin needs him. He can’t waste his time crying. “We need to go to Kun’s.” He repeats.

“It’s Jaemin.”

#first #five #tags #don't #work #jeno #jeno smut #jeno fluff #jeno angst #nct dream #nct dream smut #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #jeno scenario #jeno scenarios #jeno x reader #nct jeno x reader

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emwritesfootball · 3 years ago

Text

Her Majesty's Men 2 | Mason Mount

Word Count: 1,512

Warnings: mentions of drugs, but that's about it. An intro to the Men

- - -

Notting Hill, London, England

Declan double- and triple-checks the address that Mason sent him as he walks the streets of Notting Hill. It’s for a pub he’s never been to before, but he’s heard rumours about a secret underground club modeled after the American Prohibition Era that has exotic dancers.

“Dec! Hey!” Mason greets Declan the moment he walks into the pub. “How have you been?”

Declan shrugs, hating that he has to break the news to Mason like this. The two of them grew up at Chelsea’s Academy together, remaining friends even when Dec got let go. A few years later, Mason was let go, too, and the boy in front of him seems to be doing fairly well. “West Ham let me go last week.”

Mason curses, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry, mate. Can’t believe they can just let us go like we’re expendable.”

“Yeah.” Declan smiles ruefully, sighing. “I’m staying with my sister but I know she wants me to get a job - I want to get a job - but I don’t know where to start. I remember at that party last year with the rest of the Chelsea Dropouts where you mentioned something about working for the Queen and-” Declan pauses, confused as to why Mason is howling with laughter. “What’s so funny?”

“You think- ahaha - you think I work for the Queen?! Oh, my god!” Mason wipes tears of laughter from his eyes. “I guess you could say I work for Liz, but not in the way you think that I do…”

“Liz? You call the Queen by a nickname?!”

Mason snorts, the laughter threatening to return again. “How about I show you instead?” He looks at his watch, draining his beer, and Declan finds himself doing the same thing. “Follow me, Deccers.”

Declan follows, his mind slightly occupied with the fact that he saw Mason drop two £20 bills on two pints at the bar before walking away.

The rumours were true. Declan can’t figure out how he couldn’t hear the raucous laughter and thumping bass from the DJ in the booth. He’s pretty sure he recognizes the DJ, but he’s impossible to place from so far away. Instead, Declan focuses on Mason, watching as his ex-teammate weaves through the crowd. It’s all women, he realizes, but then someone slaps his ass as he walks past and he turns to find an older woman looking at him appreciatively.

“Are you one of them?” She asks, shouting over the music.

“Who?” Declan responds, confused.

Before she can reply, Declan feels Mason’s hand wrap around his wrist and pull him through a door. The music dampens, seeping through the door, but only to provide a backdrop. “Don’t stop for the vultures, mate. Although, I think that one’s more of a cougar than anything.” He laughs at his own joke, shaking his head.

“Hush! Like you haven’t thrown yourself to the cougars more times than any of us!” Jack Grealish’s Brummie accent gets Declan’s attention.

“Sod off!” Mason rolls his eyes, turning to Declan. “Don’t pay Jacky Boy any mind - he’s just here for the brainless hen party pussy. You might remember him from a couple friendlies between our academy teams, but I guarantee you that Jacky here probably doesn’t remember you; poor boy doesn’t even remember his own name half the time.”

Jack flips off Mason, but he keeps talking. “These are the lads that make up Her Majesty’s Men. We’re all football-academy rejects, so it’s like a family since we all know what the other’s been through. Stonesy - you’ll meet him in a bit - kinda brought us all together. It was pretty much his idea.”

Declan looks around the room, realizing where he is. The room looks like a changing room except instead of kits and boots and training gear, there’s costumes everywhere. A ratty futon that’s seen better days is against one of the walls; Jack ‘Jacky Boy’ Grealish sits on it, and something about the way he’s sitting on it tells Declan that the futon isn’t for anyone but the ex-Villa Academy player.

“Right. Anyway, this is Happy Ending Harry. Gave his youth to Tottenham, but she was a cruel mistress.” There’s a mirror with lightbulbs around it that looks like it was either stolen from Marilyn Monroe or a fifteen-year-old girl, Declan isn’t sure which. Harry Winks sits in front of the mirror, checking out his reflection as he puts on...blush? Declan wants to ask but can’t bring himself to form the words. Harry’s too lost in his own world to do much of anything, almost resembling a Ken doll in a way that both intrigues and intimidates Declan.

“Big Dick Dier. Loaned from Portugal to Everton, but you can see how that turned out. Man can speak at least two languages but there’s not a woman out there who cares about that once they catch a glimpse of what the Big Man is packing.” Eric Dier picks himself up off the floor after doing a round of push-ups, giving Declan a nod in greeting and going back to the sewing machine to work on… a g-string? Declan’s a little disgusted but he’s glad he’s not the one handling that. The man’s wide shoulders and large hands radiate Big Dick Energy and Declan would be lying to himself if he wasn’t at least a little curious to take a peek at that pecker.

“Last but not least: Tarzan Ty.” A man with dreads stands in one corner, stretching. He’s got tattoos and a massive scar on his knee that Declan’s curious about but knows better than to ask about. He looks familiar but he’s definitively older than the rest of the lads Declan has met so he’s not sure he recognizes him from any sort of training academy. Mason starts his introduction, but Ty cuts him off.

“Tyrone Mings,” he says, introducing himself for Declan. “Southampton Youth ‘til oh-nine. They let me go ‘cause I was too short - joke’s on them.” Ty laughs and Declan joins in. “Got a serious question,” he continues, shoving his non-scarred knee in Declan’s face. “That look ashy to you?”

“Uh…”

“Here,” Mason giggles, tossing him a bottle of what looks like self-tanner but Declan doesn’t question it, squirting out some of the lotion and preparing to massage it into Ty’s knee. It’s the oddest thing he’s done since being let go, but Declan just tells himself that he’s rubbed weirder substances on his own joints. He realizes that Mason was right - this place, this group of ex-footballers, really does feel like a family. He’s only been here a few minutes but already the camaraderie is there. Big Dick Dier teases Happy Ending Harry’s appearance like the two of them were teammates at Tottenham or something; Tarzan Ty has what appears to be a ritual, shoving Declan’s hands off his knee once he realizes the new boy was actually going to do it.

“So, here’s how it works. We do a group act first, then solos, followed by hot seats. If everything goes well, we get these birds all jacked up and then we raise the price of the hot seats so don’t fuck it all up for us, all right? That’s it, that’s all ya gotta do.” Declan tries to focus on what Mason is saying but it’s damn near impossible as he watches Eric stick his dick inside of the contraption and start to pump, his cock stretching to an absurd length. He quickly realizes that Eric’s got his dick inside a penis pump, watching as the big man’s already-big cock grows like the Grinch’s heart. Eric’s sporting the most insane look, his jaw slack but his eyes intense like he’s focused on something else, taking deep breaths as his cock stretches longer.

A voice entering the room cuts Mason off, the DJ coming into view. He’s speaking, but Declan can’t understand him. “This is Kyle, our DJ. Kyle, Deccers; Deccers, Kyle. He’s gonna be giving you the cue before each act.” Kyle hands Mase a water bottle filled with something and Mason’s eyes light up. “Pregame! That’s what I’m talking about!”

“It’s the love potion,” Kyle says in a weird voice, giving Declan a wide-eyed look.

“What is this? Strawberry?” Mason inspects it, pouring some of it into the cap and downing it.

“It’s a little mixture,” Kyle explains at Declan’s confused expression. “Got the recipe from a friend in Miami. He calls it Hey Juice.” Declan’s been around enough drugs to know that it’s GHB, but he keeps his mouth shut. “If you drink the whole bottle you’ll go ‘Hey!’” He flamboyantly sways and snaps his fingers. “You’re gonna like it, bro. Give it a sample.”

Declan holds up his hands, taking a step back. “I’m good, mate. Maybe tomorrow night?”

“That’s cool. More for me, I guess.” Mason shrugs, downing another cap.

The sounds of the crowd cheering start to seep through the walls, a man’s voice coming through too. “All right, all right, all right!”

“That’s Stonesy. Let’s get you ready.”

<< >>

#her majesty's men series #declan rice imagines #mason mount imagines

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plus-size-reader · 4 years ago

Text

At Home

Rodrick Heffley x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1284 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Rodrick goes to a party with his band, but gets a call from his gf who is sick at home

——————————————————————————————————

You and Rodrick had both been invited to a house party that his band was going to but when you got sick, he insisted that you both stay home.

He thought a movie night would make you feel much better than sitting on the couch trying not to be sick. However, you weren’t going to let that happen.

This could be an excellent opportunity for the band to get even more fans and you weren’t going to let him miss it, even if you were sick.

You just didn’t have to go out.

There was nothing wrong with that.

Even so, it took a solid few hours to convince him of that before he actually agreed to go. In fact, by the time you did, he was going to be late.

So, you forced him out the door, content to sit on the couch in your pajamas for the night. It was your comfort zone, something you did frequently and it was going to be nice.

Usually, you and Rodrick would sit in his room together, just cuddling in his bed and watching terrible tv but having a solo chill night was good too.

Which meant that Rodrick was headed to a house party all by himself.

...He didn’t like it.

Rodrick hadn’t gone to a party by himself since the two of you got together and he didn’t like the whole ritual of it without you by his side.

All it would be was a night of drinking, staring aimlessly, and fending off college dropouts who found their way in from the street. They always hit on him but he didn’t care for it at all, not knowing that he had you.

They couldn’t compare.

In any case, the party was in full swing by the time he arrived with Ben, Chris, and Bill already there. While Rodrick now had other things to do on a friday night, they didn’t.

His friends would never miss a party.

“Where have you been, man? We’ve been waiting for you” Bill grinned, tapping his buddy in the back a little harder than maybe he should have, a giggle on his lips.

He had already been drinking much more than he should have been for something for the band but nothing more could be expected from him at this point.

It was just part of who he was.

“Sorry, Y/N’s home sick but she wanted to make sure that I came out” he shrugged, doing his very best to keep as cool and chill as he could, though he couldn’t stop thinking about you at home.

It was just a common cold, you both knew that, but he couldn’t help but worry. You were the only thing Rodrick really cared about and he couldn’t keep from worrying.

“That sucks man. Hope she’s better soon” he tried, moving on further into the crowd of people, all dancing and jamming to the music busting from the speakers.

It was something you would have loved, but without you, Rodrick couldn’t help but be in a sour mood.

He couldn't focus on the energy of the party or having a good time when everything came back to you and how much better he would feel if you’d been able to come tonight.

It just wasn’t the same party scene he had been so into a few months prior.

Still, he did his best to have a good time, getting a drink and listening to the music. This could be really good for his band, and that was all he had to think about right now.

You were just fine, and as long as he kept reminding himself of that, it was much easier to relax and try to have a good time.

Not that keeping that in mind changed the way he reacted when his phone buzzed in his pocket. The movement itself was a small one but in his tight jeans, there was no way he could have missed it.

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP!” he called at first, finding the silence he’d been searching for almost immediately, though it was followed closely by his friends hollering and joking about his ‘old lady’ calling.

They were jerks.

“Shhhhh” he tried again, much more aggressive in the direction of the three of them before answering, his demeanor changing almost immediately.

“Hello”

There was a grin on his face now, his tone much more soft and happy than before. Hearing your voice had always done that to him, and if they wanted to tease him for it, so be it.

He was in love, and if those losers couldn’t accept that, that wasn’t his problem. You made him happy, and he wasn’t going to apologize for that.

“Hi baby, I’m sorry if I’m interrupting. I was just wondering how it’s going?” you started, your voice relatively gentle, making the male wonder if you had been sleeping.

He hoped so.

Rodrick was constantly telling you just how adorable he thought you were, and that usually came right after you woke up from a nap, tucked under his arm.

It was your favorite place to sleep, and he only wished he could be there with you right now.

“It’s alright so far, super lame without you though” he commented, his grin widening more when you laughed at him. He could be so cheesy sometimes.

“To be fair, I don’t think I’d add much with the way I’m feeling” you shrugged, knowing the pounding in your head wouldn’t couple well with the loud music and large crowd.

You loved to party, and would do so often but not when you weren’t feeling up to it. There was no fun to be had if you weren’t in it one hundred percent.

You both knew that.

“How are you doing though baby? Holding up okay?” he wondered, his voice a little lower in the receiver as he spoke to you, not wanting everyone in the room to hear your conversation…

Not that it was working out well for him. He had told everyone in the room to be quiet a few seconds prior to answering which meant they were all pretty invested.

In fact, most of them just wanted to know what was so important that he would stop a party. After all, Rodrick’s parties had always been legendary, but he clearly wasn’t in it tonight.

....And now that made sense.

He was far too preoccupied with you to focus on anything else.

“I’m okay Rod, don’t worry about me” you assured, pulling the black blanket of his bed up further to tuck just under your chin. If you weren’t careful, you were going to fall back to sleep right now.

“Just have a good time, okay? I love you” you smiled, pecking a kiss lightly by the receiver of the phone so he could hear it before hanging up, just after hearing him mutter it back.

The night was far from over, and you didn't want to keep him any more than you had to. Besides, you knew that he would be home to cuddle you as soon as he could.

Rodrick may not have wanted everyone to know but you were an exception. He was the biggest teddy bear in the entire world and he wouldn't pass up any snuggle time.

Even if it meant getting razzed by the band.

“I love you” they purred in unison, baby voiced and doe eyed as they batted their eyes at him, mocking the way he’d spoken to you. It was real mature but he knew better than to react to them.

If nothing else, they were just mad they didn’t have a babe like you waiting at home for them.

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morkleemelon · 4 years ago

Text

off the ice || chapter 2: heading in

previous || m.list || playlist || next

pairing: college hockey player! mark x college figure skater! reader

genre: fluff, humor, sports au, college au

warnings: swearing

word count: 7k

"And we can see here in the figure that the data currently suggests-"

Your pen flies across the notebook page, desperately trying to capture everything your economics professor said in multicolor vigor. Jotting down the figure frantically, your eyes dart back and forth between the powerpoint screen and your paper, high ponytail bouncing up and down from the motion.

Being on scholarship means that you can never let your grades fall past a certain point or else they'd give the money to someone else. As harsh as it is, without the financial aid, you would not be able to continue to go to school. One of the only things that motivates you to work harder than your sleeping peers, sometimes, is the looming fear of becoming a jobless dropout, never able to achieve your dreams.

In a lot of ways, not having money is already bad enough, but the thought of not even being able to earn it in the future is even worse.

"Does anyone know how this company should manage production costs?," your professor asks the crowd of tired students.

You immediately shoot your hand in the air. You know it. This answer was in the textbook reading last night it's-

"Yes" Your professor points behind you.

You slowly set your hand down, disappointed, turning around to see who could've raised their hand before you did.

"They should modernize their marketing efforts with more affordable tools and focus on reducing supply costs," the boy answers expertly.

That's exactly what I was going to say.

Examining his face a little more, something about him seems a little familiar, but you can't quite put your finger on it. Looking around at who he was sitting with, you begin to piece it together.

"He must be one of the Lee's if he's sitting between Ten and Jeno" you ponder to yourself, taking one final look at the boy, "is he... Haechan?". Thinking back to last spring, one of your teammates had a huge crush on the one called 'Haechan'. She always gushed about his fluffy brown hair, handsome face, and how he asked to borrow her biology notes once. You weren't exactly well versed with the university's popular people and honestly, the fact that this school has an 'F4' called "the Lees" is pretty funny to you.

This boy's hair is blonde, though, brushed down into a fringe and slightly messy from, you're assuming, taking off the hood of his sweatshirt before class. Glancing down, you take notice of the mess of white bandages wrapped around his knuckles.

Right, they just had a hockey game. He doesn't have brown hair so this must be-

"That's exactly right, Mark. Nicely done" the professor praises.

Mark. You note the name to yourself, turning back to the board as the professor continues with the lecture.

"Dude she's looking at you," Ten whisper-yells to his younger friend, nudging him sharply in the ribs.

Mark doesn't dare look down at you yet, already feeling his cheeks grow warmer with each passing second. He feels your gaze pull away from him and finally frees the breath he was previously holding captive. Shoving back at the senior boy, his gaze flutters back to you like it usually does during this class, however much to his strong denial.

You always sit in the first row, colored pens and highlighters arranged neatly upon your favorite desk.

Mark watches the way your hair bobs back and forth as you move your head with keen eyes. The delicate gold glint of a necklace clasp at the nape of your neck fascinates the junior boy's attention more than the mundane lecture ever could.

Spotting the slight smile on the older boy's face and the direction of his gaze, Jeno laughs quietly to himself, happy that something interesting is finally happening during the boring lesson. Leaning over behind Mark's back, he gives Ten a silent high five.

"You're a simp" Jeno whispers in Mark's ear, eager to provoke him. Mark slaps the blue-haired boy's face away.

"Fuck off," Mark whispers harshly back as Jeno and Ten laugh to themselves in the lecture hall. He habitually glances back to your focused form. And this is nothing short of how class usually goes for them: Mark fawns over you 'secretly' whilst you haven't the slightest clue. On either side, his friends tease him endlessly for it.

"Yuna and I are planning something for you guys," Ten persists.

Mark's eyebrows scrunch in confusion at the older's ominous words. The professor's voice drones on in the background as his attention shifts to Ten.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't worry about it, man". Ten smirks, smacking a firm hand on the confused boy's shoulder.

"Don't do anything weird," Mark warns, recalling the time when the senior had planned on starting a fist fight outside of your dorm building last semester in hopes to gain your attention and provide an excuse for Mark to talk to you. Although the thought was there, no it wasn't.

The hour ticks by and exhausted students groan in relief as the professor wraps up the stale lesson on fundamental economics. A mass shuffle of notebook pages flipping closed and backpacks zipping up fills the hall as students make their way out, eager to do anything but be there.

The Lee's always gather for lunch at this time at the basketball courts, attracting an impressive crowd of envious guys and adoring girls at the sidelines. Although the place is fairly beaten down and otherwise unimpressive, the Lee's choose to be there which consequently deems the courts the coolest lunch spot on campus.

Putting his things away into his trusty black Jansport bag, Mark gets ready to head down to the courts to meet up with Haechan like they always do until he feels a hand unexpectedly grip his left shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

"Some people are gonna join us for lunch today," Ten discloses casually, keeping his gaze forward as the line of students in front of them slowly file their way out of the crowded room.

"Oh, who?" Mark questions. It's not like it's rare for other people come hang out with them, in fact, it's almost always the case. But the fact that Ten is specifically telling him beforehand feels suspicious. Another strong hand grips his other shoulder as Jeno's navy blue hair comes into view.

"Don't worry about it man. You got meal points left for this week? Lend me some," the younger boy expertly diverts.

"Yeah..."

"Let's hurry though, Haechan is probably there waiting already. I told the brat to get food for us early today". Ten ushers Mark forward and pushes his way through the herd of people.

"Aight," Mark sighs in confused defeat, picking up his pace to keep up with the senior. There's definitely something weird going on, but he doesn't have the energy to pry further.

Then again, has he ever lived a day where his friends aren't doing some sort of weird shit?

"Thank you, professor," you smile and bow politely.

"Thank you, y/n, enjoy the rest of your day," the older man smiles back, waving you off as he packs up his lecture notes. It's small things like this that you always make sure to do to make others' lives a little better.

After all, the best thing to give-better than any monetary gift- is kindness. Right?

Your phone buzzes in the back pocket of your frayed denim shorts and you reach to check the notification.

Der sum hoez in this houz:

Yuna: guys!! Let's grab lunch somewhere new today! :DD

Hope: yassss ;););)

You: oh why? The caf has chicken nuggets today :(

This is definitely suspicious -you, Yuna, and your other friends, Lisa and Hope, always ate together at the round table in the university's better dining hall nicknamed "the caf". It's been your unbroken tradition since freshman year and the lunch lady at the caf even likes you enough to give you extra servings sometimes.

Yuna: we can still have the nuggets but Ten knows a cool place we can sit! He says he already got the food so we don't have to pay today ;)

Free food?

Your inner Mr.Krabs reveals himself as you perk immediately at the mention of her boyfriend paying for lunch. Neither guilt nor modesty had time to catch up as your thumbs rush to type a speedy reply.

You: I'm there. Where at?

Yuna: I'm coming to your classroom rn! We can walk together

Lisa: Hope and I are coming from bio :) excited

You: lol why does everyone know but me

You: is it gonna be weird with us third wheeling you yuna?

You: if y'all start kissy kissy touchy touchy I might puke just saying

Yuna: HAHAHA XD

Yuna: don't worry some of ten's friends might be there too

Oh. To be honest, you're caught off guard at your best friend's last message. Ten has been over to your shared dorm a few times and you've exchanged enough awkward greetings to call him an acquaintance at least. But generally, his friend group and yours stay separate.

Not that there is any actual beef there, but, no pun intended, nobody's tried to break the ice yet.

Closing the group chat as you reach the entrance of the economics building, you hold a hand up to block the glaring rays of summer sun from your eyes. The sudden brightness harshly contrasts the musty dark of the lecture hall, making you squint in discomfort.

"Y/n!" a familiar voice calls out. A flash of platinum blonde hair and Chanel perfume filled your senses as Yuna throws your smaller body into a crushing, sweaty hug.

"EWw!" you yelp, shoving the taller girl away from you half-playfully, catching the attention of a few concerned passer-bys.

You nod your head at them in a shy apology.

Yuna, seriously.

The guilty party laughs, the musical sound travelling through the humid air like a refreshing breeze. Your best friend sticks out her elbow for you to link your arm through.

Eyeing her with short-lived contempt, your lips break into a smile as you slip your forearm around hers, unable to be actually mad at your best friend.

"Where are we going?" you ask.

"You'll see. It's Ten's spot"

"Hi-his spot?!" You stop in your tracks, wondering why you were going to eat where Ten dealt weed.

Since when did he deal weed though?

"Not that kind of spot!," Yuna cries out, smacking a manicured hand over the top of her forehead as to not ruin her perfect foundation, "he's not like that!".

"Right good," you scoff.

The summer heat swelters as Yuna leads you down campus towards the sports center. It's early September and Seoul is notoriously hot.

Ice cream vendors with big, striped umbrellas litter the streets, calling out for business from sweaty pedestrians who crave a moment of sweet, cold relief. The sky tints a beautiful shade of blue with fluffy wisps of white clouds dotting its never-ending canvas. No matter how hot the weather is, the day is undeniably beautiful.

You don't ask Yuna more about where you're headed, accepting that your best friend likes to be spontaneous and that her boyfriend was paying for your food. This is more than enough for you to follow her down the sketchy alleyway shortcut to the basketball courts. Sometimes you wonder if you'd be really easy to kidnap...

The alley opens up to reveal a worn-out basketball court planted in the middle of a grassy area. Looking around, you noticed there are quite a few people there, most of them unfamiliar to you.

They scatter across the grass in groups, eating and chatting casually amongst their friends atop their patterned picnic blankets. You catch the gaze of a group of girls sitting at the edge of the court; they eye you up and down, taking you aback with their lack of subtlety.

Breaking the awkward eye-contact, you suddenly feel very out of place.

"Hey!" Yuna calls out, slipping her arm out of yours to wave at a group of people sitting at the other side of the court from the judgmental girls.

Her hand slips into yours, snapping you out of your uncomfortable dilemma, pulling you towards the group she waved to. A big willow tree stretches towards the sky and casts a precious spot of shade over the area. Immediately, you spot Hope and Lisa as they wave to you and you let out a breath of relief.

At least I'm not alone, maybe I won't be so awkward now.

You recognize Ten's face and you give him a smile and nod of acknowledgement. Scanning over the rest of the group carefully, you faintly recognize the other boys sitting under the tree.

The boy with the blue hair and the fitted white tee- that's Jeno.

Fluffy brown hair-definitely Haechan.

Your eyes flit to the next boy and you're taken aback when he's already staring at you. His ashy blonde fringe hair, almost grey, seems dearly familiar. His eyes widen before quickly looking away.

He's part of the Lee's... bandaged hands and that hair- that's Mark, the dude who stole your answer from earlier.

The little devil on your shoulder whispers to hold a small grudge. The little angel on the other argues that it was never your question and you shouldn't be so petty. Right, kindness is the best virtue. You will let it go.

You and Yuna reach the edge of their picnic blanket and your best friend immediately goes to sit by Ten who doesn't hesitate to pull her hips smoothly into his lap.

You look away in embarrassment. Good for her for finding love, but by golly are you painfully single.

Eyeing the space on the picnic blanket, Hope and Lisa are almost strategically sitting at the end chatting with Jeno so there is no reasonable way you could sit next to them. Setting down your bag awkwardly, you debate where you should sit, silently cursing at Hope and Lisa for not leaving a space for you. Maybe coming here was a mistake because you feel kind of left out-

"Oh, here," a small voice lets out. You look up to see Mark getting up and moving his stuff out of the way and clearing a space for you next to him.

"Ah, thank you!" You smile, kneeling down to sit in the empty space.

Thank God.

Glancing at his face, a blush even Maybelline would envy rests on his cheeks as his gaze remains glued to the food in his hands.

The first thing you notice is how handsome he is up close. You didn't get a good look at him in the lecture hall, but his face is a perfect mix of feminine and masculine beauty. His eyes are soft and round, but his jawline sharp and angled. The most chiseled cheekbones you've ever seen are handsomely defined under the mosaic of shadows and light created by the branches of the willow tree. A slight, shy smile graced his delicate, pink lips.

He's super cute. I take back everything I thought in lecture.

"Hey, welcome!," a sudden high-pitched voice rips your attention away from ogling the blonde boy. Turning your face, you see Haechan on your other side eagerly holding out a hand for you to shake. You take his hand and he shakes it vigorously, "I'm Haechan nice to meet you! What's your name?".

"I'm y/n," you reply with a smile. He's really outgoing, huh.

"Y/n what year are you?"

"Oh I'm a sophomore this year"

"Ayyy! Jeno and I are sophomores too," the friendly brunette slaps the other boy on the arm, "say hi, Jeno".

"Hey, I'm Jeno". He gives a heart-fluttering eye-smile and you could hear hushed gasps and coos ensue from the onlooking girls across the court.

"Hi, y/n," you respond shyly.

Dang, these guys are all so good-looking.

You always hear about the 'Lees' and their 'godly' visuals, but you never truly paid attention. Yet now that you're sitting with them at their cool-people-only hangout spot, you have no choice but to admit how exactly spot-on those descriptions were.

"Here, y/n" Haechan hands you a paper tray full of chicken nuggets.

"Nice! Thank you," you cheer, taking the food perhaps a little too excitedly. Working out and training nearly everyday means you're inevitably hungry most of the time. Not to mention, your stomach always rumbles at the sight of your all-time favorite food.

Digging into the free food reward, you turn back to Mark who hasn't said anything to you yet.

"What's your name?" you ask. Technically, you already know it, but you don't really know a better way to start a conversation.

Visibly surprised, Mark chokes on his chicken.

You let out a single note of laughter at his unexpected coughing before slapping a hand over your mouth to stop yourself.

"Are you okay?" you ask stupidly.

"Bruh," Haechan teases with a smirk, amused at his best friend's embarrassment.

Mark nods quickly with a hand covering his mouth as he continues coughing. Unsure of what to do, you reach over to pat him on the back firmly.

"Here, dude". Jeno tosses Mark a filled water bottle, the older boy accepting it gratefully, gulping down the water like his life depends on it (which it... actually does).

Gasping in relief as he sets the bottle down, Mark looks back at you with flushed cheeks and wet lips. You realize your hand is still on his back and you quickly snatch your hand away, suddenly flustered by the contact.

"I'm Mark," he finally answers, voice hoarse from the ordeal.

"Hi Mark, I'm y/n" you giggle.

He looks absolutely hilarious with water dribbling down his chin and cheeks as red as fire. There is something intensely endearing about him as he looks down, front teeth biting down on his bottom lip in embarrassment.

"What year are you?," you continue.

"Uh-I'm a Junior"

"Oh nice! What do you study?"

"Uh-business and sports management"

"Wow! Wait you're In Econ31 right?"

"Yeah I am," Mark smiles.

"I thought I recognized you! I'm in that class too," you exclaim. Usually, you aren't terribly sociable with people you just met, but there's something about the softness of his voice that makes him easy to talk to. That and the way he's just choked on a chicken nugget in front of you at your first meeting- you have little to nothing to lose.

"Oh yeah I-I've seen you around sometimes"

"Yeah we've seen you around sometimes," Ten calls out, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Yuna laughs and hits his chest in warning.

"Shut up!" Mark grabs a nugget from his tray and chucks it at the older boy. Like a slow-motion scene in a movie, Ten catches the piece of chicken between his teeth and flashes a wink back at the flustered junior.

You burst out in laughter at the interaction, slapping a hand onto your knee at the dumbfounded look on Mark's face.

Mark feels his heart clench at the sound of your bright laughter filling the air. You gasp with glee, one hand slapping your knee repeatedly and the other gripping your fork. Truth be told, he is freaking out inside. And this is not how he imagined you would meet.

All thoughts about Ten abandoned, a wide smile spreads back onto his face as his eyes scan across your laughing form. You sport a casual outfit consisting of a grey t-shirt and denim shorts like you usually do. A simple gold chain hangs from your neck, tucked away under the collar of your shirt. Up close, Mark feels even more drawn to you than ever before.

Beautiful as ever.

"I-I can't breathe," you wheeze, "what just happened?"

"My talent," Ten states, moving his arms from around Yuna's waist to hold them up in a 'well duh' shrug.

"Nah bro, it was a good throw from me," Mark cuts in, holding up a hand to stop the gloating boy.

"Nah bro, it was a good catch from me," Ten sasses back, moving Yuna off his lap to kneel up. You meet Yuna's eyes and you both hold back laughter at the ridiculous argument.

"Nah bro" Mark moves onto his knees as well.

"Nah bro's," Haechan suddenly interjects, "It was me. I have telepathy and I moved the chicken". Haechan promptly stands up and does a body wave, posing with a finger gun pointed over the slope of his nose to his forehead.

You laugh silently between the three boys who are suddenly all standing as they argue over who was responsible for the nugget trick. You had just met these guys a few minutes ago, but you're more confused and intrigued at them than you've ever been with anyone.

Look at you go, making new friends and everything!

"Guys..." Jeno tries, but his low voice isn't nearly loud enough to be heard over the chaos.

The boys point accusing fingers at each other like in a Renaissance painting. You scooch your way over to the other girls to get out of their way, bringing your food with you.

"You're dating..." You gesture your fork at Ten who was is caught in a three-way head lock with Mark and Haechan.

"Yeah". Yuna's face remains expressionless as she nonchalantly pops another piece of chicken into her mouth. After dating Ten for almost five months now, she is well aware of what the expression 'boys will be boys' really means.

"Are they always like this?" Hope asks, bewildered. Lisa just laughs on the side, enjoying the spontaneous fight more than she should. Jeno gives up, laying down to stare at the sky and wonder why his friends are like this.

Click

Your ears perk at strange noises coming from behind you. Turning around, you notice that several of the girls you saw earlier are now pulling large, fancy cameras out of their book bags. Baffled, you watch incredulously as they shamelessly snap photos of the tussling, oblivious boys.

"What the heck?," you gawk. You haven't been here but twenty minutes and it's already one surprise after the other.

"Tell me about it. Those weirdos are these guys' fans, the 'Lovelees' as they call themselves," Yuna explains, "You would not believe how crazy they can get. Remember when I had to put all my socials on private a few months ago? It's because they found out I was dating Ten".

"Right, I remember that" you nod your head sympathetically. Your eyes move between the unsuspecting boys and the audacious crowd of girls. Maybe you haven't known them for long, but the Lees seem like a regular group of guys. Admittedly, they are above average in the visual department (and in the strange department), but the existence of the Lovelees is really unnerving. Is it just you?

One particular girl at the forefront stares you down intently. Her hair is a mousy brown with two striking streaks of bright red down her bangs in a distasteful take on E-girl style hair. Too-light foundation is packed onto her skin and you winced internally at the severe creasing by her nose. Black eyebrows not matching her hair, her fake eyelashes bat at you threateningly.

"What's up with her?". You are genuinely confused. Why does she look like she wants to murder you?

"She's so scary," Hope's eyebrows knit in worry.

"Yeah, what's with her? She's staring at y/n," Lisa suddenly adds, attention turning to the concerning conversation.

"That's Hillary, the club president or something," Yuna confirms with a shudder, "she's super psycho about Mark. Definitely stay away from her".

"Gotcha... but why is she looking at me like that? Is it just me?"

Hillary's creepy stare never leaves your face and you feel chills run down your spine like a thousand invisible spiders. Generally speaking, you sometimes shy from even ordering food over the phone. Being under her flaming gaze makes you want to shrivel up like a raisin.

If someone could write a story about Seoul University campus life, you'd for sure be a background character. Attracting negative attention to yourself for no reason is surely a new feeling and unequivocally uncomfortable... perhaps because there is any attention on you at all?

"Well for one," Yuna smiles, poking an accusing finger into your side, "you seem to be getting along with these guys pretty well. Especially Mark". The blonde wiggles her perfectly threaded brows at you. Flustered, you shove a nugget in her mouth before she could say more.

"What are you even talking about, we literally just met". You fight to keep your voice steady and expression unaffected, but alas you can't stop the heat from spreading onto your unwilling cheeks. Admittedly, it's been a while since you've gone out with a guy. More honestly, you haven't really dated anyone since you came to campus last year. So needless to say, your single self is a little bit flustered to be thrown into the notion that you even have a chance to be with a super popular, charming guy like Mark.

You shake your head to clear the ridiculous thoughts.

Let's not err on the side of desperation today.

Peering back at the crazy fangirl who you now know as Hillary, you're relieved to find her piercing gaze has shifted from boring holes in your skull to her cell phone and she types away at lightning speed.

"I have a feeling that he likes you, y/n," Yuna presses. Hope and Lisa giggle and nod in agreement, exchanging knowing glances at each other.

You don't have ample time to ponder more as your attention is ripped away by the fighting boys. They've shifted from the shade of the willow tree to the basketball court, disregarding all onlookers and fighting like their lives depended on it.

"Let's go. Rooftop. Right now!" Haechan screeches, taking a leap at Ten while Mark struggles to hold him back.

"Fight me here, bro," Ten taunts, "we all know I'm built different". The sass in his voice gives Haechan the strength to break away from Mark's grasp and tackle the senior boy. All eyes glue to the two boys rolling around on the hot pavement, screaming.

"Yuna, can you-" Jeno starts, eyes closed as he lay on the blanket listening to his friends beat each other up.

"Yeah," Yuna gives the tired boy an apologetic pat on the knee. "Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul".

Her boyfriend's entire body immediately freezes at the sound of his full name. Letting Haechan go from his chokehold, Ten scurries back over to his spot on the picnic blanket to kneel by an unamused Yuna like a scolded dog. "I'm sorry".

You suppress another laugh. This... this is what the cool kids are like? You were really nervous for nothing. Mark shuffles back next to you, supporting a limping Haechan who insists he's fine.

"Sorry girls. They're not... actually no, they are usually like this," Jeno apologizes, "Hope we didn't scare you away".

"No, actually. I think you guys are really... funny. It's cool how comfortable you all are". You smile at the hockey players. Weird as they may be, you don't feel uncomfortable.

"She thinks you're cool!" Haechan cries, slapping Mark on the back.

"Shut up!" Mark smacks the back of the younger's head, ready for another fight already.

"But don't you guys think it's weird we haven't met earlier? We always see the hockey team around our practices but I think this is our first time officially talking," Hope suddenly points out the elephant in the room.

"Yeah I guess that's true," Haechan ponders, "to be honest, we didn't think you guys liked us very much... or let me rephrase that- we were kinda scared to approach you".

"YOU were scared to approach US," Lisa exclaims in shock, "did you forget that you four are, like, the most popular guys on campus or what?".

The four boys look amongst each other blankly. "No, but we thought...," Haechan starts.

"... that figure skaters hated hockey players," Mark finishes. Silent glances are exchanged between all parties as this new information is revealed.

At the sheer awkwardness of the situation, you decide to interrupt the silence with light laughter. "Why would we hate you?"

"You- agh," Haechan's reasoning is cut off by a sharp jab to the ribs from Mark. No way is he going to let the blabbermouth sophomore spoil that they stalked your Facebook last year and found your post.

"I mean you all seem really cool and," Mark saves, looking at you, "I'm really glad we got to meet you today. But we were just... intimidated before".

You raise an eyebrow and your eyes meet Yuna's, Hope's, and Lisa's who shared similar expressions.

"Babe, I'm intimidating?" Yuna asks her boyfriend, peering into his eyes. Ten promptly places a hand at the back of her neck and brings her in for a deep kiss. Everyone in the group groans in disapproval and you hope the sour expression on your face isn't too obvious. Why, Ten. Why.

"Uh.. ok then," you divert, "I was never a fan of hockey itself, to be frank. The sport, not the team. And maybe I've been annoyed at you guys for hogging the ice sometimes, but I've never ever hated you! Don't worry haha".

"Bro what?!" Haechan cries, "hockey is the greatest sport of all time! It's all about strategy, speed, strength, and skills. If anything, figure skating doesn't have a point".

You gasp in full-offense. Sure, you just gave your honest opinion on their sport and it was only fair that they give theirs, but that one burns. Before you can make your counterargument, the boy next to you beats you to it.

Tapping the back of his hand to Haechan's arm, Mark's next words made your heart skip a beat: "dude, you don't know what you're talking about," he turned to look into your eyes, "it's beautiful".

Mark's eyes are a deep brown color, you notice, and they sparkle gold in the light streaming past the branches of the willow tree. Softly, they peer into yours, bringing with them a rare kindness that pinches at your chest.

"Thank you" you smile at him. Is your face always this warm?

"Okayyy," Jeno finally opts to sit up, "now that we've determined that we don't hate each other and we're all cool, are we good to be friends?". A chorus of "Heck yeah"'s and "duh"'s filled the picnic area and your heart swells with happiness. You look back at Mark and smiled again.

New friends

"You should come eat with us here more often," Mark suggests to you, warm gaze making your heart strain for the hundredth time that afternoon. What is happening? "All of you should," he corrects, looking away shyly.

"Yeah we're here everyday," Ten adds. Looking down to Yuna who had laid her head in his lap, he stroked her hair lovingly. "You should come hang out with us whenever".

"I'd like that," you grin.

"Let's make a group chat. Everyone gimme your numbers," Haechan declares.

While the brunette went around collecting numbers, you chatted with Mark, wanting to get to know him more. You quickly find that he's so very endearing, blushing and fiddling with the bandages on his fingers at your every word. His words are kind and he listens to you thoughtfully when you speak. Talking to him is so easy, surprisingly easy, and you feel the conversation unfold out effortlessly. You hardly notice as the minutes of your lunch break tick to an end.

"That's crazy! There was this one time that-" the jarring sound of your phone alarm cuts you off. Scrambling for your phone, you tap on the screen desperately to shut it off.

"Sorry guys," you apologize, "Lisa, oh my goodness, it's time for us to go to Frankie's".

Lisa checks her own watch and gasps, "Oh gosh! We gotta go guys".

"Who's Frankie?" Mark questions, eyes slightly crestfallen.

"No," you laugh while picking up your bag, "Frankie's. The diner down the street next to the lake. We work there".

Haechan, Ten, and Jeno crack up silently at their sensitive friend.

"It was nice meeting you all!" you exclaim, "It was nice meeting you, Mark".

"Great meeting you, y/n. Hope to see you around," he waves back at you.

Bidding their goodbyes, you and Lisa make your way down the alley to her parked car.

"Y/n don't you think Mark is super into you?" Lisa says excitedly once the others are out of earshot.

"What are you saying!?" you proclaim, looking back to make sure the Lovelees aren't following you. Seeing the coast is clear, you consider your friend's accusation. So much has happened in the last 2 hours than in your year and a month at college, or your entire life honestly.

You walked into the alley with no guy friends and are leaving with four. Is it greedy to say that Mark really does stand out to you and you might be starting to like him, or are you just like every other girl who likes him too? The last thing you want is to be like Hillary.

"He's probably just friendly to everyone," you decide.

"No way, y/n, you good in the head? This dude only looking at you the whole time," Lisa retorts.

You shake your head in denial but thinking back, it could be true.

There it is again. That nervous, light feeling in your chest.

Oh, God. What if I like him?

Mark flops down on his bed, still not down from the high that he's been on all day. No, not that kind of high. Smile plastered on his face, he runs his fingers through his freshly washed hair, recounting your conversations from earlier.

"Dude, you look so stupid," Jeno walks into their shared room, shirtless from just getting out of the shower. A simple white towel wrapped around his lean torso is the only thing censoring the spectacular scene. Messing his hair with a second towel, he chucks the wet fabric at Mark's face.

"Fuck off," Mark swings it back at the sophomore. This year, he chose to live in a suit with the rest of the guys to save some money. Him and Jeno shared a room while Ten and Haechan occupied the other. It's undeniably small and only has one bathroom, but he is grateful he at least doesn't have to room with Haechan anymore.

Mark's phone buzzes with a notification on his nightstand. Propping himself up with his elbow, he checks to see who it's from.

1 new message from unknown

Mark sighs. If it's these crazy girls again he's going to get really annoyed. Today was a really good day and the last thing he wants is another stranger asking him to father her children.

Maybe: Yuna?: hey mark, it's Yuna. I got your number from the group chat! If you're not too busy I'd love to talk to you about a few things

Oh crap.

Suddenly nervous, Mark scrambles to sit up properly.

"Text from your new girlfriend?," Jeno taunts unknowingly.

"No, dickhead, it's Yuna," Mark rebuts, thinking hard about a good, casual reply.

"Oh, shit," Jeno states, taken aback. The sophomore swaggers onto his own bed, now sporting a pair of grey sweatpants and a fitted white t-shirt. The bare minimum makes him look like a poster boy every magazine photographer would clamber for. The man could put all models out of work if he had the heart for it. Fortunately, he only has the heart for hockey, video games, and pizza.

Mark: Hey Yuna! What's up?

Yuna: Hey :) nothing much! Not to freak you out, but I know all about your crush on y/n from Ten

Mark: ahaha... yeah I figured

Yuna: ok, so as her best friend and someone who cares about her a lot I just wanna put a few things out there

Yuna: is typing...

Mark watched as the three dots of the impending message taunted him. What could she be talking about? What if you have a boyfriend and Yuna's telling you to back off?

Yuna: if you're going to get close with her, you gotta make sure you keep her safe from those crazy fangirls. Y/N is a shy and sensitive girl she'll definitely take the hate to heart and if Hillary and those other crazy bitches come after her, I won't let you live

Hillary? Mark wracks his brain for any memory of a girl with that name. That girl from calc? No, that's Helen. Hillary...

An image of a mousy girl with red bangs comes into his mind. Ah yes, that's Hillary. She sends him love tweets and gave him chocolates for Valentine's Day.

Mark: I barely know Hillary and I'm pretty sure I've told her I'm not into her, but i'll make sure she knows. Yuna I'm serious about y/n

Yuna: as you should be! She's a real diamond in the rough and she's never confident in herself. All she does is work and study and practice. She never does anything for herself but she never complains either. Also, I don't wanna butt in too much, but I gotta you ask one thing

Mark: yeah ask away!

Yuna: y/n says today is the first time she met you but Ten says you've "been simping for like a year". Add it up for me?

Mark: It's kind of hard to explain... it like... do you believe in love at first sight?

Yuna: HA!!! You're too cute omg

Mark: It's like that but I never had the chance to talk to her... it never seemed right idk

Yuna: boy

Yuna: I had to force y/n to go to your game with me and Ten had to bribe Haechan to set up the picnic today early

Yuna: not to mention we made Hope and Jeno sit together even though they're both awkward just so y/n would have to sit next to you. you better make ur fucking move now

Mark curls his fingers into his blow-dried hair, letting out a low, stressed groan. He's gonna owe the guys big time.

Mark: I really appreciate it! :)))

Yuna: oh and one more thing

Mark: yeah?

Yuna: If you hurt her, I will gouge out your eyeballs and stick them up your ass and while you cry, I'll force feed you your own severed balls until you choke and die. Got it? :D

Holy fuck.

Mark: understood

Yuna: Yay!!! Approved :) good night mark! Nice getting to know you today!

Mark: same here. Night!

Mark's thumbs shake as he types out his final message. So this is what your friends are like, huh? It's such a contrast to your easy-going attitude. A smile spreads across his lips at the thought of you again.

Stretching up to shut off the lamp on his night stand, Mark tucks himself into bed. It's finally happening. You're here. You're right within his grasp. And he wants nothing more than to give you everything you need.

Mark contemplates Yuna's messages as he lay there in the dark; she said you aren't confident in yourself. This comes as a surprise to him. You're so beautiful, smart, kind, funny, and talented, the last thing he expected was that you didn't know it. You exude put-togetherness and wear elegance like a favorite sweater.

His eyes squeeze shut as Mark replays the first night he saw you in his mind. The image is engraved in his brain as he must have revisited that unintentional performance a thousand times.

This whole time, he never got to know you, but today he dipped his hand in the water. And he wanted so much more, to dive in completely and surround himself with you. All this time, he's only been on the sidelines.

I want her so bad

It's time to stop waiting around and get in the game. He's going to talk to you, walk you to class, make you feel special. So much time has already been wasted due to his own fears and misunderstandings. If it's confidence you need, it's confidence he will give you.

Wait for me, y/n, I'm gonna do it right this time

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