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ladyeliot · 3 years

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Welcome Seaville. Chapter One. [T.S. / J.H.]

Series: “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong”

Prologue

Pairing: Tony Stark/Justin Hammer x Fem!Reader / Best Friend Steve Rogers

Summary: 1987. The exchange term is over, so you return to your hometown, Seaville, just before Christmas. The reunions with friends, the first day of school, everything goes back to the way it used to be.

Warnings: Insults, piques.

Word Count: 3465

A/N: Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

December 1987

It would have been enough to say that this was just another ordinary Christmas in the small Maine town of Seaville, but it was not. The Christmas lights were brighter, the streets were more beautiful under the clear splendour of the moon, and the wind brought a sweet smell of sea salts that gave you a pleasant sensation. You peered through the passenger window and let the east wind envelop you and welcome you home again. Seaville was welcoming you in its entirety and you were leaving it.

It had been just four months since you had left the coast of Maine to head off to fulfil one of your many dreams, to spend a term in the French city of Paris. Nothing in your life could have compared to that singular experience, and you even hoped to return next year having been accepted to the University of Paris, but, equally, nothing could compare to the love you felt for home.

"Please roll up the window," your father insisted. "I don't want you to spend the whole Christmas holidays with the flu."

And of course nothing could compare to your dear father.

As you rounded the corner into your little residential area you could almost smell the sweet scent of hot chocolate and puffy clouds that your father had promised you when he picked you up from the airport. You got out of the car so quickly that you barely paid any attention to the bundle of suitcases your father was trying to pull out of the boot without any help.

As you had predicted, as soon as you turned the lock and opened the door, the smell of cocoa filled the whole house. You allowed yourself a few seconds to take in the view, the fireplace lit and adorned with the three corresponding boots, the Christmas tree in place, without the star on the top, as that was your job, and the coats sorted on the hanger by colour. All the same as always.

"Don't worry, I can manage," your father said almost breathlessly as he climbed the porch steps.

You laughed and grabbed one of the three suitcases that were blocking your father's path. You both closed the door behind you and followed each other into the kitchen as if it were tradition. The chocolate was still warm and the clouds had dissolved, just the way you used to like them. The conversation with your father went on for so long, explaining to him everything you hadn't wanted to tell him over the phone, or through letters, a method your father had forced you to maintain, for we should note that his job was as a literary writer, although he sometimes resorted to writing a few newspaper columns to make a little extra money.

The point is that the little family had been talking for hours on end, not realising that midnight had already passed, and that tomorrow you had to go to the institute to settle bureaucratic matters due to your return.

"Bonne nuit, chérie," your father said in a chaste French accent, kissing your forehead.

"Bonne nuit, papa," you smiled back, preparing to be reunited with your room.

Your room, which you had not yet had the pleasure of entering, was as usual, oblivious to the fact that your father had changed the quilt on your bed so you could sleep warmer. You flopped on your back on the bed, but just as a memory came to you, you quickly got up and went to the window. What your eyes beheld brought a laugh and a sense of relief and happiness, how could you not have noticed it before?

By chance of life, you were lucky enough to have discovered true friendship in the person who lived right across the street from you. When you and your father moved to Seaville, due to your mother's death 10 years ago, you chose that quiet residential neighbourhood to settle down and raise a small family. You met Steve Rogers on your first day of second grade, and from the moment you discovered you lived across the street from each other, a beautiful friendship was forged.

For ten minutes you couldn't take your eyes off the window of the house across the street, right next to yours. A large light blue cardboard covered the whole space and a few letters in capital letters decorated it with "Bon retour". Obviously you had kept Steve constantly in mind during your term away, long phone conversations and a few postcards proved it, but during the flight back you were afraid that he had forgotten about the day you were coming back, a rather stupid fear. So, with the comfort that gesture had brought you, you decided it was time to go to bed and get some rest, as the next morning was a long day ahead.

The sunbeam fell incessantly on your face, the curtains could barely block its power, you had assumed that you were not a good early riser, but that morning you woke up in a good mood, not even the strong smell of charred toast was going to take it away from you.

"Wow, nice smile," your father notified, offering you a plate with two pieces of toast blackened under raspberry jam.

"Thanks!" you took the plate and took his usual seat. "I'm looking forward to seeing Steve, and catching up with Natasha. Although I hope they've got things to tell me too. What are you doing today?"

"I have to finish the chapter of the book to hand in to the publisher," he sat down next to you. "And I also have to go to the mall to pick up a gift."

The smile on your face that morning widened, there were only two days left until Christmas, so it was obvious that the gift I was supposed to pick up would be for you. Even though you had everything planned, and had brought some presents from Paris, you still had to buy the last detail for your father.

Just then the front doorbell rang, and you realised that time had run out on you when you noticed that you were still in your pyjamas.

"Shit!" you exclaimed, taking the last bite of toast and heading upstairs. "I'll be down in five minutes!"

Just as you disappeared your father headed off to greet his visitor. You could hear Steve's voice as you hurriedly went about getting dressed, combing your hair and getting your backpack ready for class, not forgetting to grab two rolls of film to develop, but when you heard his laughter you couldn't help but laugh too, even though you had barely heard the reason for his action. You rushed downstairs and from the third step practically threw yourself onto Steve's back in a laughing embrace.

"Have you grown up? No way, let me see you," Steve scoffed receiving your customary punch on his shoulder.

"Hey, nice cartel," you arched an eyebrow pointing to his house.

"You think so?" your friend asked. "I'm glad you liked it. I spent three poster boards until I was proud of my work. "

Steve's sincerity did nothing but thank you for the small detail he'd had for you. But time was passing and you still hadn't left the house.

"Come on, guys! You're going to be late for class," your father informed you, offering you your lunch bag. You took it with a kiss on the cheek and ran after Steve, who was waiting for you by your bike in the garden. That morning you couldn't keep a smile off your face and Steve couldn't take his eyes off you.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you said getting on your bike.

"You're so happy. It's not normal to see that smile at eight o'clock in the morning," Steve's comment made you laugh a little.

You both set off in the direction of the school, it usually took you ten minutes to get there by bike if you cycled at a leisurely pace, but you were still able to catch up. On the way Steve was interested in the photographs you had taken during your stay in the European city, as you had sent him some of the ones you had had time to develop. Photography was a way for you to escape, your mother had dedicated all the years of her life to the art, and perhaps it was an incentive for you to admire her.

"It's different, Paris inspires me, it's so romantic and bohemian that it's very easy to get carried away," you explained. "That doesn't mean Seaville isn't, it's... different."

Steve listened attentively to your every word, possibly one thing you both had in common was a sensitivity that you only showed when you were both alone.

It didn't take you long to realise that the school was nearby, as the amount of cars queuing at the entrance informed you of your arrival.

"Welcome back," said Steve as he entered with you through the main door leading to a long corridor lined with lockers.

You both headed towards your locker area, you didn't know why you expected anything to have changed, but everything, literally everything, was still the same.

"There you go again! Have you been deported?" that voice, which you hadn't missed, made you roll your eyes. "I had hoped that you would have climbed the Eiffel Tower and let yourself plummet. But here you are, again."

"I had hoped that one of your absurd inventions would have exploded and you would have been shot to pieces with them," you shot back with a sarcastic grin. "But not all dreams come true."

"And I had hoped that being a senior in high school you two could get along," Steve interrupted. "But I see that's impossible."

A wide wry grin on Tony's face competed with yours, but you added a snip and he countered by trying to bite your finger.

"Lovely welcome Tony," Natasha joined the group hugging you from behind, depositing a kiss on his cheek. "Wait, do I smell Parisian perfume? You haven't turned into one of those French repipes have you?"

You were grateful for Nat's presence, who was your ally against the daily struggle against Tony, for after all Steve was a neutral lynchpin in the battle. Nat shook Steve's hand and when he went to greet Tony he tried to give him a kiss on the lips, which resulted in him getting punched in the arm. The bell rang, breaking up the group, depending on which subjects you were in.

"Meet me later in the cafeteria and continue to catch up?" you commented to Steve who was going the other way with Tony.

"As always."

You gave him a parting smile, but your gaze met Tony's who blew you a kiss in the air, causing you to squint and grimace.

"And we're still catching up?" repeated Nat with a quizzical arch of his eyebrow.

"I've got a lot to tell you, and I hope you've got a lot to tell me..." you arched an eyebrow.

"It all depends on the present you brought me from Paris," replied your friend, winking at you.

You laughed, but the two of you parted ways just inside the administration offices, where a long morning of tidying up awaited you.

After two hours of filling out forms and making photocopies of the documents you had brought from the institute in Paris, you had become quite an expert. You had hoped to have an hour to spare before lunchtime to escape to the developing room to develop the film, but that seemed impossible. When the bell rang, you had barely had time to approach the room and put the film in your locker, which you had been assigned to since sixth grade when photography had become your obsession, so you made your way to the cafeteria and found your friend sitting at your table, right next to the big window overlooking the football field.

"Where were you? I was waiting for you to start eating together, but this pizza... it was tempting me," Nat took a bite of pizza like there was no tomorrow.

"If I tell you I've been reading absurd, meaningless documents all morning..." you snorted sitting down across from her and pulling out your sandwich. "If I knew that, I wouldn't be going to Paris."

"You know that's not true," Nat arched an eyebrow drawing a smile from her. "You would have gone to Paris even if you had to repeat one more grade in high school."

"Anyway, I need an update," you began, turning serious. "Has anything interesting happened while I've been away? Anyone new? Anyone who's been stirring things up?"

"New? No, anything interesting? Neither. This Seaville Murph, there's nothing going on here," Nat shrugged finishing his slice of pizza.

"I'll look for the bright side. At least I haven't missed anything," you shrugged.

"I guess you could go away for ten years and when you came back everything would still be the same," Nat looked around. "Where are the boys?"

"I'll bet you five bucks they're on the football field," you commented. "By the way, have you written the application for Brenau yet?"

"It's practically finished," your friend reported. "I'll go over it during the holidays and send it off in January. Are you ready to move to Paris next year and drive the Parisians crazy?" Natasha winked. "You haven't been hiding some movie adventure from me all this time?"

"Oh! Of course," you said wryly just as Steve and Tony made their big appearance. "Now that you mention it, as I was strolling the first evening in the Luxembourg Gardens I heard a sweet melody in the background and headed for it. There was a man playing the saxophone and I stopped to listen to him for a couple of minutes. I was so absorbed that I hardly noticed that a boy had stopped right next to me until he said 'Ne pensez-vous pas que Paris a un charme particulier?' Then I looked at him, he had the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen," you paused your story to make a false sigh. "Then we strolled until late at night, and we met every evening so that he could show me the most beautiful corners of the city. I think those were the most romantic months of my life."

Three pairs of eyes stared at you showing completely different feelings. Natasha, who was sitting opposite you, was holding back her laughter, Steve, who was standing holding his tray next to Tony, looked completely confused by what had just happened and Tony was arching an eyebrow somewhat curiously at the story. At this point neither of you two could hold it in and started laughing, snapping the boys out of their trance.

"What was that?" asked Steve sitting down next to you. "Is that true? Because it would annoy me if you hadn't told me."

"Come on! He's pulling your leg," informed Tony jokingly and taking his place next to Nat.

"Wait how are you so sure my story isn't true? Couldn't I have my romantic history with a Parisian?" you rebutted somewhat indignantly at his certainty.

"Was he blind?" Tony arched an eyebrow.

For your part you squinted, just as Tony got a jolt of shock after getting stomped under the table by Nat because of his comment. Steve's change of conversation made it easier to keep the argument from escalating, but something always happened to spoil civilised conversations. A few minutes later, Tony was struggling with the Ketchup sachet which he couldn't open to spread on his burger, such was his desperation that when he took a bite of the sachet, it burst causing the sauce to hit your dress. Nat's eyes along with Steve's widened in anticipation of the contest between the two of you.

"You're an idiot Stark!" you quickly grabbed a couple of napkins Nat offered you so you could remove the sauce before it left a mark.

"At least it matches your dress," Tony interjected, holding back a laugh.

Cursing through your teeth, you headed for the food counter with the intention that some cook would have one of her magical ideas to make the stain go away. Tony followed you without letting go of his burger, even though Steve and Nat advised him to stay quiet and sit down.

"Come on Murphy! It's hardly any different from the red fabric of the dress," he said stepping up beside you, and knowing how much you hated it when he called you that.

"How many times have I told you not to call me Murphy?" you said scrubbing the stain with soap and water.

"It's your name," she shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not my fault your parents decided to name you that."

You bit down hard on your lip so you wouldn't have to blurt out all those things that were running through your mind, and put on an act in the middle of the cafeteria. You were lucky that at that instant someone appeared and diverted Tony's attention.

"Ready for Stark debate class?" Justin Hammer, with whom you shared a few classes introduced himself to you.

"Of course Hammer. I can't wait to see you try to put your meager vocabulary together in one sentence," Tony took a bite of his burger, causing sauce to smear his mustache and chin.

"Come on Tony, you've got a lifetime to be an idiot why don't you take a day off?" Hammer smiled slightly.

You couldn't help but smile at the comment, to which Tony noticed and became uncomfortable.

"Hammer, everyone has the right to act stupid for a while, but I'm not really the one abusing that privilege," Tony took another bite of his burger. "So fuck off."

Justin Hammer had gotten what he wanted, and his success was grounded in a half-smile as he walked away, leaving Tony frustrated. Within seconds he turned to you, so you gave him a raised eyebrow.

"You don't abuse that privilege?" you asked, referring to what he had just said to Hammer. "Please, Tony..."

Your smile faded just as Tony dipped his finger into his burger, and, bathed in what little ketchup he could get his hands on, rubbed it all over your right cheek.

"You're despicable!" you exclaimed wiping your cheek.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"Don't thank me for the insult, it's always a pleasure," you cocked your head to the side and widened a fake smile leaving him alone, returning to the table.

The doorbell once again brought the lunch hour to an end. Tony followed you and jumped on Steve's back with the burger still in his hand, while you and Natasha gathered up your bags and belongings.

"Hey, what are you doing this afternoon? I thought we could all go to Barry's and catch up," you suggested to Natasha as you headed towards the lockers.

"I've got dance class, and I guess since it's the last one before Christmas it's going to run until dinner time," she lamented.

"Did someone say Barry's?" Tony slowed his pace and interjected into the conversation.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," said Steve. Barry's at 7pm?

"Nat's got dance class," you commented, opening your backpack to put your books in your locker.

"Guys, I know I'm a one-off, but you can go without me, don't worry," Natasha shrugged. "We can meet up tomorrow."

"Okay, but tomorrow you have to come with me to the mall, I'm still missing a present for my dad," you leaned in front of her.

"That means you already got mine," Tony winked at you, you hated his sudden mood swings.

"Yeah, a single ticket to the farthest place on the planet," you said, cocking your head.

"You know you'd miss me," he cut you short and you nudged him.

Oblivious to Tony, you added, "So I'll see you at Barry's this afternoon, and it's okay if you don't show up Stark."

"Believe me it's the last thing I feel like doing, but where Steve goes I go."

Taglist Open (DM) - @ravishingreid

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pocketsedition · 3 years

Text

seth gordon headcanons

it's his birthday, and his character really has become such a huge part of my life, so i figured i'd do this for him even if it seems a lil ooc at times he was still a human and i think we forget that

one time he ate ice cream with a fork and hasn't stopped since

also the type to bite ice cream but only to spite kevin certain people

his normal laugh is just a quiet one but when he laughs hard enough it's just a wheeze and that's when you know it's genuine

he stayed up till 2am watching shitty tv shows to go around and say he hated them he really didnt

he dyed his hair at one point in late middle school/early high school and got in so much trouble for it but it was the most fun he'd had

he was close with one of his younger siblings and he wishes he managed to keep in touch with them constantly, but by the time he think he figured out how it was too late

made pinky promises with said sibling, and before he left for college they promised never to forget each other. he guesses in the long run he didn't break the promise, but he wishes he knew better before running

his handwriting is like that sloppy all caps handwriting

he ran a shitpost account at one point and absolutely nobody else knows about it and he refuses to believe anyone ever will

he only ever used those gatorade waterbottles

intentionally gets all his hoodies bigger. doesn't have a reason he just finds it more relaxing

definitely had a marvel phase probably was a toxic stan too but we aren't gonna talk about that and his favorite character was tony stark

probably actively hated on the dc fans too

he did photography as an elective in high school because he thought it'd be an easy a and ended up actually tolerating the teacher (the teacher let him get a pass on most of his missing homework assignments, if he eventually turned them in)

it kinda stuck in the long run and for a while he had a picture he took of allison as his background

actually allergic to kiwis

also allergic to peanuts but absolutely refuses to admit it

he also had acne as a teenager

chews on his hoodie strings a lot but only in private, it's a habit he picked up from when his depression got really bad

he hates strawberries and green apples

he had a teacher he was close to and also got along with her husband - the everetts. he often hung out with her after class back in 4th or 5th grade and she always gave him jolly ranchers. her favorites were the green ones - he didn't like the green ones, he liked the red jolly ranchers. after they left without warning seth, he only ever ate the green ones

he refuses to watch anime or any 2d show/movie at that

it's mainly an inside joke between him and matt from when they were hanging out in their earlier years of college, but seth actually once managed to convince a kid the earth was flat

when he was a kid his favorite star wars movie was return of the jedi, now its the empire strikes back

he mainly listens to nf (relates a lot to the music) but whenever he had to join matt and dan somewhere and dan blasted taylor swift, he gradually went from yelling at her to turn that shit off to just listening to the music

his favorite color is a dark shade of green

i think the most important one is he was starting to get better. he was on the verge of finding some form of happiness for the first time in his life before being killed

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soukokuwu · 4 years

Note

can i get uhhhh university au with dazai yeah okay

➥ genre: fluff, university!au

➥ pairing: dazai x reader

➥ synopsis: it’s your final year of university, and the infamous suicidal bastard has just returned.

➥ warning: mentions of suicide — it’s dazai

➥ word count: 2.1k

➥ a/n: sorry this took a while prod but here’s to me hoping you like this take on a university au ✨ only the second au i’ve done (apart from grim reaper dazai) but i hope it’s okay!!

Take a chance

Mumbles stir in the lecture hall as a tall, lanky man with brown hair and bandaged arms stroll in. You look past your friend’s head to see the infamous male take his time to get seated, far in the back corner away from everyone else. He’s awfully laid back for someone who’s half an hour late for class. But why wouldn’t he be? He’s —

“Dazai Osamu.”

Attendance after being away from school for a few months: taken.

You watch as he leans back in his seat, barely even listening to the lecture. His hands fumble in his awfully dirty brown satchel for something, and seconds later his fingers are thumbing on the pages of a book with a bright red cover.

The Complete Guide to Suicide.

What a name for a book. Not that you‘re surprised. Is that where he got the inspiration for his suicide attempt? That is what he is famous for. His failed suicide attempt a few months back. It got the whole school in an uproar. Nobody even knew what exactly happened, but all that anyone knew was that paramedics were spotted outside his house. And given how he’s always had bandages wrapped around nearly his entire body, everyone just assumed it was self-harm.

You never understood why nearly every girl swooned over him when he said the same thing to each one of them. That Dazai was always basking in the limelight, always sat in the most visible part of the room. That Dazai never caught your attention.

But this Dazai does. And as his gaze shifts from his book to you; you know in that moment — you catch his too.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Attraction is a weird thing.

You spend the next few weeks simply observing him whenever he’s near. It’s intriguing — he’s intriguing. His change in behaviour, especially, is what piqued your interest. Why would an infamous casanova, who was already suicidal before, tone down his behaviour after an actual attempt? Is it enlightenment?

“Do you want to tell me what’s on your mind or should I coax it out of you?”

The smooth, velvety voice floats to your ears, startling you. You didn’t realise you had been staring in his direction for far too long. You gulp, looking around you. Anything sounds loud in the deathly silence of the library.

Dazai sits himself next to you and his eyes gloss over the book nestled between your palms. “Do you have an interest in photography?” he asks as he swiftly grabs the book from your hands and scans the pages. It’s a beginner’s guide to photography; you’d been meaning to try — that’s why you joined the photography club even though it’s your senior year.

“What does it matter to you?” you whisper back, shooting him a glare and attempting to get your book back. Dazai pulls it further away from you though, and he seems amused by your puzzled reaction.

That day he spends pestering you about what you like — for what reason, you have no idea. But you are flattered, somehow, and you entertain him. You don’t push it though, you don’t ask him what you’ve always been asking in your mind. It’s a touchy subject, and he’s surely aware of your curiosity, but even so you don’t say a thing.

It is the least you can do — to see Dazai for who he is, instead of what he’s done. Surely he’s gotten bored of that already.

And that is why Dazai stays with you for the rest of the day. You are vastly different than the others, and he hasn’t figured out why, but he figures it’s at least worth it to try.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A photograph can capture powerful things, but there’s something it can never picture.

Click.

Dazai Osamu looks beautiful in picture, but the things he makes you feel — that’s the real treasure you hold dear, the thing that a photo can never capture. No, he isn’t your boyfriend — could you even call him your friend? You know next to nothing personal about him. Yet.

There are days when he’d sit next to you in lectures, much to the surprise of everyone else. Your friends knew to leave you two be — Dazai isn’t awfully friendly with anyone else. In fact, he rarely even spoke to anyone apart from you. It isn’t nearly as special as everyone makes it out to be though, they don’t know that your conversations mainly centre around the unimportant small talks. It isn’t anything lovey-dovey — and why did your heart sink a little thinking of that?

Other days you barely speak; just two acquaintances passing by each other in the hallways in exchanged silence. Those days you find yourself wanting to reach out — but there’s an unspoken fear that stops you.

“Hey, quit dreaming, my belladonna,” Dazai hums, smirking once he sees he’s caught your attention.

“Who’re you calling yours?” you snap back, positioning your right eye behind the camera lens and another ‘click!’ sounds in the empty classroom.

As you continue taking photographs of your muse, you can’t help but notice the way the bandages are wrapped around his arms more sloppily today than they were usually. You swallow the lump in your throat as the lens zoom in on his wrist, a seemingly fresh scar visible between the gaps in the bandages. You shift the focus onto his neck this time, and you see another scar there. You try not to make it too obvious that you are hovering the focus on them, but he knows anyway. Dazai always knows.

Click.

And then you have a realisation. As you straighten your posture and look up at him properly, your heart leaps when you catch that smile on his face. It isn’t a normal typical, happy smile. It’s much sadder, much... hollower than that. It’s nothing sinister, just helpless in a way. You’ve seen sad smiles before, but none quite as meaningful as his.

“You wanted me to see?” you ask, despite every muscle in your mouth begging you not to.

Neither you nor Dazai liked to get attached to anyone, but you’re about to make the both of you cross that line. Dazai knows that. And he lets you continue anyway. In fact, he dares you.

“Ask me.”

Do you dare?

“Why—” you bite your tongue, but then you peer at his inviting eyes, and feel a little more encouraged. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” His voice isn’t teasing, he isn’t trying to toy with you. Dazai knows there is a lot you wish to know about him, and he’s curious to know what’s been hanging on your mind the most.

It’s the same as everyone else’s answer, although when it comes from you, Dazai is most likely to see through how genuine it is. You don’t ask from mere nosiness. You care. And so he tells you while you continue to photograph him — everything that built up to that moment he used a razor to draw a deep vertical gash up his forearm, everything that contributed to that decision, that cry of defeat.

You try not to cry from just hearing his story, you didn’t want him to feel that you pitied him. Although maybe a part of you did, after all, why else would you crying then? But Dazai sees the way your fingers tremble, the camera following with.

“I can stop,” he offers. But you instantly shake your head. You want to hear about him, you want him to be able to tell his story to at least someone, even if it’s someone like you — someone who can barely do a thing.

But you can’t be more wrong, and you don’t realise it yet. Because you’re the first person he chooses to let in, and is reciprocating well, accepting him for who he is — someone beyond the scars, although they seem to be the main focus of your project. But he smiles as he sees you write up the title for it at the end of the day.

The things that make you beautiful.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They say it’s possible to miss a moment while you’re still living it — that it’s bittersweet. And they were right. That’s how you felt after that day, in the empty classroom with him, about your entire senior year.

“When the school year ends I’m going abroad, there are some things I need to deal with.”

His words echo in your mind on a loop. Dazai didn’t have to explain anything further, you understood perfectly. The gentle tone of suppressed sadness you can never forget. He’s trying not to sound it, but you can still tell that whatever’s hurt him still does. That, though, he doesn’t hide from you.

The final school year goes without a hitch — your grades are up, a considerable thanks to Dazai for teaching you nearly everything. He’s highly intelligent for someone who looks like they put nearly no effort into school. He knows even about subjects that he doesn’t take.

Dazai is probably the only reason why your senior year goes better than you expected it to. Your photography project ended up beautiful. There isn’t a thing about Dazai in your pictures that is out of place. The lighting, the shot, the composition — you were satisfied with it all. But you never turned it in. You chose to hand in another less significant project.

Some things you just have to keep them close in your heart; some things are better kept private, intimate.

Some moments make you feel like time is at a standstill — for you, they‘re usually the ones that you treasure most. Like the way his arms casually brush against yours as the two of you walk out of school together, the way he puts his arm around your shoulders when you bug him for a picture together, or even the way he accidentally falls asleep on your shoulder on the bus ride home. It’s these small things that tug on your heartstrings.

But time waits for no one. And graduation day came faster than you expected. Dazai is missing that day, and you find yourself anxious. Did he do something to himself? Or did something happen to him along the way? You find out he never opted to participate in the ceremony at all though, through your friends no less. Why didn’t he tell you?

You can’t manage to stop fidgeting as you wait in line to receive your degree on stage. It’s obvious to everyone but you — and then you get a text.

Stop being so nervous, belladonna, you look gorgeous today.

You try to look around for him in the crowd, but everyone looks like minuscule dots on a canvas; you can’t see clearly.

I’ll meet you after it ends, I’m so proud of you.

And he does. He walks towards you with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, but you just charge toward him and throw your arms around him, with Dazai twirling you on the spot once you do. You feel like you can’t be any happier until your eyes catch the suitcase he’s trudged along beside him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It takes absence to value presence.

That’s how you’ll feel after he enters through those doors to the departure area, you’re sure of it. That’s why you’re sheepishly holding on to his sleeve like a child. A silent question you pose to him: do you really have to go?

And the answer lay in his apologetic smile.

“I planned on leaving while you were at the graduation ceremony, but I pushed my flight back.”

You furrow your brows as you meet his gaze. It takes you back to the first time he laid eyes on you from across the lecture hall.

“Why?”

“I wanted to see my beautiful belladonna graduate,” Dazai replies coolly, tousling your hair gently. But you both know there’s more to it than that. There’s one other thing, one other reason he wanted to leave while you were occupied: Dazai Osamu is horrible at goodbyes. It’s why he tried to kill himself only when his roommates weren’t home too. And yet he’s willing to try for you.

This is one moment you wish would last forever. You didn’t want to have to say goodbye. Is this farewell? Would you ever see him again? You didn’t even dare to ask, you’re too afraid of the answer.

But you find the answer as he turns to head for the gate. The way he lightly presses a kiss on the top of your head, the way his heart pounds erratically against your chest as he hugs you goodbye, the way he doesn’t tell you a sayonara, and in the way only Dazai knows how.

There are many things that are left unspoken between you and Dazai. And as you wave goodbye and watch him disappear in the crowd, you have the utmost confidence that one day the fog will clear and everything will fall into place, that your one day of clarity will come.

And that one day you will meet Dazai Osamu once again.

tags: @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes

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varianfortunate · 3 years

Text

Blinding Tears (Jostonio Angst)

Highschool teacher Hanahaki Star tear AU! the whole story is from Joseph’s POV

I see him again. Antonio, his long black locks fluttering behind him. He has them tied in a ponytail today. Probably to keep them out of his face, though that’s pointless, because he has a long strand in front of his face. I glance at him for a moment. He’s smiling as usual. I continue down the hall of our college. We’re both teachers here, and I head to my dorm. I put in the key when I hear someone speeding down the dorm halls towards me.

“JOSEPH DID YOU TAKE MY ROUGE LIPSTICK AGAIN?! I ALREADY TOLD YOU THAT COLOR LOOKS BAD ON YOU!” Mary yells, running toward me.

“Mary, I already told you, IT’S MINE NOW!” I yell. Suddenly, Michiko enters from the elevator. Me and Michiko are neighbors, and Mary instantly cleans herself up and smiles.

“Hi Michiko!” Mary waves.

“Hello Mary, hello Joseph. The lipstick is Mary’s Joseph, give it back.” Michiko says.

“Fine Michiko…” I say. I open the door to my room, walk in, and lock it. There’s no way in hell I’m giving it back it looks a m a z i n g on me. After about five minutes I hear Mary yell through my door.

“HOESEPH YOU BRING ME MY LIPSTICK! IT WAS A SPECIAL EDITION!” She shouts while banging on my door with her fists. I hum with a smile and make some tea.

“Hmm, I wonder what that was, must’ve been the wind!” I exclaim, accidentally spilling hot water on myself.

“FUCK!” I yell, clutching my burnt arm.

“KARMA!” Mary yells through the door. I hear her walk away and I hear Michiko enter her dorm. I sigh and run some cold water over my red arm. I don’t know why- but at that moment, the rainbow tears that plague me fall from my eyes.

“Shit-” I start, trying to wipe them off. I hold one in my hand and let it drift in my palm. I must’ve started crying from the pain. The more I move the tear the more hues it becomes, shifting from pinks to blues to pastel oranges. And then I let it fall into the sink, and as it falls, it glimmers into other colors. I sigh again and finish making my tea once I stop crying. My vision is always really blurry after I cry, but it tends to lighten up. My eyesight isn’t as good as it was prior though. I pour my tea into the cup and put in an earl gray tea bag. I used to use the leaves when I lived with my parents, but I can’t afford them anymore, so I don’t buy them. I remember drinking Earl Gray with Claude… No. I shouldn’t think of- Shit. His death anniversary is next month.

I walk out of my dorm. It’s time for study hall. I told Mike he needed to study, as with Naib, and Norton and Ganji and Aesop. Those stupid children. As I’m lost in my thoughts, I run into Antonio.

“Oh, Joseph, I apologize, I didn’t see where I was going,” He says in his Italian accent. I look down and notice him holding his violin case.

“It’s alright, I was lost in thought and didn’t see you” I smile.

“Oh, Joseph, I was wondering-” Antonio starts before he quickly grabs a handkerchief and puts it to his mouth and starts coughing.

“Antonio?” I ask.

“It’s nothing,” He shoves the cloth into his pocket.

“Would you like to hear me play Violin?” he asks.

“Uh sure! Let me just cancel study hall first,” I say.

“Alright,” He says. I pull out my phone and send out a remind to my students.

Alright everyone! Study hall is cancelled today!

I only receive a response from Aesop, he just thanked me. I follow Antonio to the woods behind the school. I know there’s benches set up around here, I have an assignment for my photography elective that has them take pictures here. We stop at a bench. Most of the fall leaves are gone, leaving a cold chilly wind and bare branches. I sit on the bench, and Antonio puts his case next to me. He opens the case and pulls out his Violin. It has a weaving vine design on the side. He takes out his bow and starts getting into position.

He lifts his bow to the strings and starts to play 24 Caprices by Niccolo Paganini, whom Antonio just happens to share a last name with. His fingers fly on the neck of the Violin as he plays the complicated tune. I pull out my camera from my bag, which I had brought for study hall. I snap a picture of Antonio playing the Violin. I notice he’s only playing the last part, as the entirety of the song is about an hour and a half long. I start to cry. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I know… at some point, maybe soon, I won’t be able to see him play the violin like this. I won’t be able to see… Him.

“Joseph?! Are you alright?!” Antonio quickly rushes over to me.

“I-I’m fine, I was just- It’s nothing…” I say quickly rubbing away the tears so he can’t see. I look up at him and I can’t even make him out. I blink a few times and he comes into a slightly blurry focus. He’s frowning. The first time I’ve see him and he wasn’t smiling.

“Joseph… Do you want to go back?” Antonio asks me.

“O-Okay,” I say. We head back to the teacher dorms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was like any other day. Mike threw a paper plane at Norton, but hit Naib and Naib grabbed it and started yelling at Mike. A regular Math and photography class.

I walk into my dorm. Mary always kind of backs off during this week. The week Claude died. She knew him too, but she doesn’t like thinking about him. Because he died tragically. I look at the face down picture frame on the table at the entrance to my room. The place I put my keys, my bags, shoes, things like that. I pick up the picture. I have to squint to make it out. I’ve been fearing this week. Ever since I contracted this disease about five months ago, I was fearing this week, because I knew I would cry a lot. The picture is of two boys, at their high school graduation. They look the same. Both with fluffy white hair. Though, one boy has it in a side ponytail. That was Claude. We looked virtually the same. However when he contracted tuberculosis, he coughed all the time, unlike me, and so you could always tell us apart for those many months.

I put the picture down. They said it was tuberculosis, but I know the real reason, and the real reason he didn’t get better. It was Hanahaki, and he didn’t want the surgery. He wanted to continue loving the one who had rejected him. His flower was the daffodil. I put them at his grave each year, and I cry. I sob at his headstone. I’m startled by the blur of my vision. No, not now, I don’t want to cry now. No… If I start I’m not going to stop, and I just want to see him… I want to see Antonio again before my vision disappears forever.

I wipe the tears away in a frantic rush and search for the picture I took of Antonio a week ago. I find it, and start crying again because I know that one day I won’t be able to see him. I just wish I could see him forever. Ever since I started my job here a few years ago, he’s taken my breath away. I imagined myself as Joseph Paganini, but I know that it’ll never happen. I’ll be Joseph Desaulniers till the day I die.

I cry myself into a restless sleep, and when I wake up photos are scattered around me. Old pictures of me and Claude, pictures of Antonio from the few times we hung out together, and pictures of me and Mary and then, the picture. The picture of me, Mary, and Claude. The one where we’re ten, and I just learned how to use a camera. The first picture I took. I get up from my bed and look at the day. It’s Sunday, and Claude's death anniversary.

I grab my coat and walk out of the building, my camera bag at my side. I buy some Daffodils and take the bus to the Cemetery Claude is buried at. I get off the bus and head in. I go down the rows, and rows, and rows of graves, until I reach one of the gated areas. I insert the key. This is the section that all my family is buried in. I pass by quite a few graves until I reach Claude’s. I place down the Daffodils, and I feel the tears brimming my eyes. Claude… Why didn’t you just get the surgery? Why did you keep on loving someone who rejected you?! Why… Why did this happen to you?!

The tears flow down my face like rivers, the crystalline shimmer of their numerous hues falling on the ground below me. I cry there for about an hour before heading back, knowing Antonio wouldn’t be at the dorms for he had taken leave for two weeks for his family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I cried too much that week, and I cried the next week for fear of not being able to see Antonio when he returned. I can barely see.

I’m standing in front of my bathroom mirror. My vision is so blurry I can’t see myself no matter how much I squint, and there’s dark patches in the corners of my vision, as if I’ve put a vignette on my vision. I poke and prod at my face trying to feel what it looks like.

“I just… wanted to see him… one more time, one more time in reality see him properly, one last time,” I say. I bang my hand on my sink and it bleeds. I must have bent it weird. The text to speech turns plays on my phone.

“Antonio Paganini heart said, Hey, I’m back, can I come visit you in your room?” Siri says with her British voice.

“Hey Siri, reply with, Sure, I’ll open the door for you,” I say. Siri replies for me, and I clean up my hand before heading to the door. I open it, and Antonio is already there.

“Hello Joseph,” he says.

“Hi Antonio,” I smile.

“Come on in,” I say, moving out of the way to make way for him.

“Joseph your room-” He starts.

“Ah- sorry about the mess, It was my twin brother’s death anniversary last week and I got caught up in grading,” I try to cover up the mess which is actually due to my blindness.

“It’s alright,” He says.

We hang out for several hours before he heads back to his dorm. When he goes back I cry again because I wanted to see him clearly. My vision doesn’t un-blur this time. I lay on my bed and look up at the ceiling. Antonio’s dorm is above mine. I wonder what he’s doing…

Before I know it, I drift off to sleep, not knowing what would await me in the morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“JOSEPH, JOSEPH WAKE UP!” Mary yells, shaking me awake. She used her spare key.

“H..Huh..?” I ask groggily, opening my eyes to a blurry Mary.

“Joseph, Antonio… Antonio is dead!” She says.

“What..?” I ask. There’s no way… Antonio isn’t-

“I just saw him yesterday! How could- how-” I feel my tears welling up in my eyes.

“Mary… You’re joking aren’t you?” I say.

“No. I would never be that cruel Joseph. You know that. He wrote you a note…” She says handing it to me.

“Mary… Can you read it for me… I… I won’t be able to see it…” I say. She doesn’t question it, and takes it from my hands.

She inhales, and starts reading.

“This letter is meant for Joseph Desaulniers eyes only,

Dear Joseph,

I’m sorry this is how you had to find out, but I have Hanahaki disease. It has spread through my whole lungs which means it will impair my breathing, and I will soon pass away. I know you have Star Tear disease, and I hope it wasn’t for me, because your vision is not worth losing for me. Joseph, you are a beautiful, the most beautiful person I have ever seen, and I wish I could spend the rest of our lives experiencing that beauty with you. Though as of now, that won’t happen. My flowers are red roses meaning love and passion. I hope that you are not too distressed by this news. I hope that you can make it through this, and that you’ll forget about me. I hope that we meet again. I love you Joseph Desaulniers.

Love,

Antonio Paganini”

That’s the end of the letter, and I cry again, but, I notice, my tears don’t shimmer with their many hues, they’re just… tears, no glimmer of the stars, no crystalline clear shimmer. Just… water.

“I’m sorry Joseph… I’ll give you space…” Mary says, leaving the letter next to me and leaving. I grab the letter and clutch it to my chest. I cry for what seems like hours, and then I draft a response.

Dear Antonio,

I love you too. I’m sorry I didn’t confess sooner. If I had just been faster, I would have been able to save you in time, and I wouldn’t have lost my vision. I do not even know if I am writing this properly for I cannot see my words. If by some miracle you were to come back to life, I would hug you, and hope to see you clearly through my own two eyes. I wish to tell you how much I yearned and loved you. I can never forget you Antonio. You are my love, you are the breath that fills my lungs, you are my will to get up in the morning, you, Antonio, are my world. My everything. And I love you more than I could express with words. My tears are regular, but they now burn me, as my tears are for you, in mourning for the love we could’ve had, mourning, you. I love you Antonio Paganini, and I miss you.

Love,

Joseph Desaulniers

Word Count; 2432

Written by: Basketoffrogs on wattpad (Aka me) (Can find the fully edited detailed with bold and italics for more drama tomorrow)

#jostonio #joseph desaulnier #antonio paganini #violinist #photographer #idv #identityv #idv fanfic #jostonio fanfic #antonio x joseph

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ghostly-cabbage · 4 years

Text

Frigid (Chapter 1)

Danny Phantom fanfic

Genre: Horror, Angst, Enemies to Friends

Fic Rating: M (Language, Underage Drug Use, Violence and Gore)

Summary: Wes and his brother Kyle have just moved to Amity Park. Wes is only worried about fitting in, but all the ghost nonsense is making that harder and harder. Something weird is going on in this place, and his chemistry lab partner is no different. Seriously, what the hell was up with the Fenton kid and why did everyone ignore it?

Danny is a junior in high school, and pressure is squeezing in on all sides. Keeping good enough grades to graduate, and dealing with the snoopy new kid wasn't bad enough, but he's starting to feel like his parents are getting closer to figuring out his secret. Jazz is off at college and he didn't realize just how helpful it was when she was home to cover for him.

Danny's been able to keep his secret at school for one reason, and that's that no one cares to watch him close enough to connect the dots. Wes is different.

AO3 FFN

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"The air is different here," Wes said, looking up at the swath of stars across the sky. Kyle exhaled a plume of smoke that clouded the view.

"Shit. Don't get all poetic on me now." Kyle coughed his way into a laugh and Wes kicked his shin just hard enough to hurt.

"Ow!"

"Shut up dude, I mean it's colder here. More humid or something too."

"Yeah, definitely nothing like home." Kyle swung his legs back and forth off the brow of the roof. "How was your first day of school btdubs?" He offered Wes the joint pinched between his fingers. Wes waved him off.

"Thrilling, nothin' like being the new kid," he said.

Kyle shrugged and took another hit.

“‘S not so bad, my day was chill,” he croaked out while trying to keep his breath held in.

Wes scrunched his nose at the smell. “Jesus dude, that stuff smells worse than normal.”

“Yeah—” he puffed out the cloud of smoke “—the shit here isn’t as good. Missin’ that green triangle right about now.” Kyle let out a wistful sigh. Wes almost wanted to ask how he’d found a dealer already, but it was Kyle. He always found someone. It was like his supernatural ability to sniff out someone who’d sell to minors.

“Anyway, basketball tryouts are at the end of the week, right? Cheer up my man, you’ll get mad chicks once you make the team.” Wes shot him a glare. Getting chicks was the last thing on his mind. He was more preoccupied with the fact their dad uprooted their entire lives to move to fucking Illinois. Illinois!

“Whatever dude.” There was a brief silence, before Kyle bumped his shoulder into him. He took another deep drag off his joint, the static burn filling the air like white noise. The stars continued to glimmer coldly in the sky, and it sent a pang of homesickness through him. It was bullshit.

“Any classes you like?”

“Psh. Hardly… Well. There’s a photography class—”

“Didn’t you mention something about chem at lunch?”

“Oh. That.” Wes started to get angry just thinking about it. “Yeah. Chemistry two. Apparently we have to have a lab partner for the whole semester. Which wouldn't be a big deal but I got stuck paired with a dude that’s ‘banned for life’ from using the chem equipment.” He used his fingers for the air quotes. “So I’m probably gonna have to do everything.”

Kyle took a breath like he was about to say something, but Wes pressed on. “What the hell do you even have to do to get banned for life from using the chemistry stuff?”

“Dude! Maybe your partner got busted for making drugs! That Breaking Bad kinda shit! That’d get him banned fer sure fer sure.” His words slurred around the edges.

Wes almost laughed. “You’re high Kyle. If you saw him you’d understand. This guy isn’t a drug lord, trust me, he’s a twig. No way he’d be involved in anything dangerous. If that guy does anything more exciting than video games I’d eat your hat.”

Kyle gasped. “Brooo!”

“What?”

“Somthin’ to eat sounds wicked. Wanna swing by that... Nasty place, what’zit called? We saw it on the way in.”

Wes rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh.

“Nasty Burger?”

“Nasty Burger!”

“As a majority of you are aware, it’s a new school year, which means as per new school district regulation it’s time to report to the gym for the annual ghost safety course, and later today at an unspecified time there will be a ghost drill.” Mr. Lancer droned at the front of the class. The other students around Wes all groaned like they’d been assigned a pop quiz, rather than that being the most batshit crazy thing they’d ever heard. Uh, what the hell? He raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Weston.”

“Did... you just say ghost safety course?” Kids around him chuckled and shared knowing looks. It was like he was on the other side of an inside joke.

“Regrettably so, Mr. Weston. Everyone single file to the gym please. Leave your bags here, you’ll be back before the third period,” Lancer said as he gestured to the door. Wes stayed sitting for a few seconds longer than the class, trying to make sense of what he’d just heard. Ghosts? Like actual ghosts?

“Hey, Fenturd, can’t wait to see how your parents fuck it up this year!” Wes turned towards the back of the classroom to see a tall broad shouldered guy, Dash if he remembered right, shoving past Danny Fenton, AKA his chem lab partner. Danny lurched to the side, stumbling into a desk. There were two other kids that Wes hadn’t seen before standing behind Danny, a goth girl and a dweeby kid in a beret.

“Bro, I still have the picture on my phone from when they couldn’t get Mr. Fenton out of that ghost netting,” said an equally massive asian guy. The small knot of kids around them all laughed and filed past Danny and his presumed friends. Danny was glaring daggers at the back of Dash’s head.

So… Danny’s parents were the guest speakers, and they were giving a talk on... ghost safety… Seriously, did anything here make sense? Wes followed after the crowd, trying to wrap his head around it. The odd trio started following a few paces back.

“Great. Just what I need to kick off the year again,” Wes heard Danny grumble.

“Oh come on Danny, It wasn’t that bad,” the goth girl said.

“Nah, it was pretty bad.”

“Tucker!”

“What?!”

Wes tried to continue listening to their conversation but the person in front of him turned around to look at him.

“You’re the new kid right?” She asked. She had long blonde hair and perfect makeup.

“Uh, yeah. Wes.”

“I hear you’re trying out for the basketball team, right?” A few of the popular kids walking in front of her glanced over their shoulders to look at Wes.

“Y-yeah. I was point guard on my last team back home.”

“I don’t know what that means.” She tossed a lock of hair behind her shoulder. Her eyes were burning into him like she was personally judging where he fit into the social caste system of the school. “But good luck. I’m Star, by the way. My boyfriend’s on the football team so don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh please Star, you’re like, totally out of his league, basketball team or not,” a new voice cut in from just in front of Star. Another girl with dark wavy hair turned to look at him. She had dark olive skin, almond eyes and thick eyelashes. “I’m Paulina, but I’m sure you’ve heard all about me already. People are kind of obsessed with me, they can’t help it.” She said it with a smile and a cute giggle to punctuate her sentences. He’d seen her in homeroom yesterday, and he knew right off the bat she was top of the hierarchy, her and Dash both seemed to have a pretty solid hold on their popularity. If he was going to survive here he needed to make sure they liked him, or at the very least had nothing bad to say about him.

“I can see why, it’s nice to meet you,” he said. The two girls shared a look, shrugged and turned their attention away from him.

He let go of the breath he’d been holding, feeling like he’d just passed some sort of test. He’d never exactly been a popular kid. In elementary school he was small and easy to pick on. Unless Kyle was around, who had a nonchalant courage about him, even as a kid. It’d taken a lot of work for Wes to figure out how to fit in just under the radar of the big fish.

He stepped into the bustling gym along with the rest of the Junior homeroom class. The bleachers were pulled out, and the class dispersed to find their place to sit. Wes bobbed his head over the shoulders of other students looking for Kyle. It took some work but eventually his eyes landed on his brother. He was lounging, taking up two seats worth of space on the far left side of the bleachers. He made a beeline for him, and took the stairs two at a time. The clamor of the student body filled the room, and when he sat down he had to speak over it.

“Dude, can you believe this? A ghost assembly?” His brother had never been the most believing of the supernatural. But this place, openly acknowledging the presence of ghosts? He’d like to see Kyle try and refuse to believe now.

“Yeah man! This school must really love Halloween.”

And there it was.

“Kyle. It’s September.”

“And? Bro they got the Halloween decorations up at wally-world already, why not have a fun Halloween thing?” Wes frowned, and clicked his tongue. He propped his chin against his hand and watched as the school started to settle. His eyes wandered the rows until he found the goth girl. Danny and the kid she’d called Tucker were with her. They were sitting in the section over a row down. Danny had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his black NASA hoodie, and a pinched look on his face. He couldn’t exactly say he blamed the kid, the thought of his own dad showing up to give a presentation made him shiver in horror.

They’d set up a stage in the center of the gym. Principal Ishiyama stepped up to the podium, and tapped the mic.

“Hello students of Casper High! For incoming freshmen, allow me to officially extend a warm welcome, and to all returning students, welcome back!” She was way too chipper for the time of morning. “As many of you know we have to review some safety precautions. Now, this may not be new information but I expect you all to pay attention and be respectful regardless. With that, allow me to introduce local ghost experts: Jack and Maddie Fenton.” Ishiyama moved back, clapping for the guests. The crowd gave mixed reactions. Most people looked like they were only applauding out of awkwardness. Wes was definitely included in that category.

A man and woman with brightly colored… jumpsuits? Hazmat suits? Whatever they were, came forward. The man was intimidating from the pure size of him alone. Jesus christ, he looked like a NFL linebacker. Next to him, was a slight and fit woman. She spoke first, standing at the podium.

“Good morning everyone! My husband and I are honored to be welcomed back to run through the safety course with you kids!” Mrs. Fenton was peppy and direct with the way she spoke and the way she moved. “As of last year the manual ghost alarms were installed around the school.” Maddie motioned to the projector screen behind her that had been lowered from the ceiling. “As you can see here.” The picture on the projector showed huge red buttons ringed by yellow and black caution trim. Wes had seen them around before, but he’d figured they were for... tornados or something, they had those here right?

“If you see a ghost you are encouraged to press this button so that the school can evacuate and the correct professionals may be notified.”

“By that she means us!” Mr. Fenton shouted, popping up in front of the projector. She moved on as if the interruption hadn��t even happened.

“Whatever you do, do not engage with a ghost. Ghosts are highly dangerous. Even a low level ecto-entity can be a threat to your life and well-being!” Her voice was grave, and practically oozed with conviction. Wes looked over at Kyle, gesturing towards the stage, incredulous.

“Really? Nothing to say about this?”

“What can I say, they’re pretty dedicated. Dude, Wes, it might be an ARPG, like remember the Halo 2 ‘I love bees' thing?”

“I hate you. This isn’t even anything close to—”

“Shh!” Someone who sounded like a teacher hissed at them. He turned his attention back to the presentation, annoyed.

“Now, let’s go over what to do if you think you’ve been possessed or otherwise overshadowed by a ghost! First thing to look for are gaps in memory or consciousness. Changes in mood or violent tendencies can also occur. Keep an eye on your friends and loved ones. Remember that no one is immune to being overshadowed by a ghost, unless you purchase a Fenton Specter Deflector available on our website!” Almost out of nowhere, the woman pulled out what looked like a metal belt. There was silence in response, and she cleared her throat.

“If you or someone you know has been or is currently possessed please seek help immediately, go to your teachers or parents.” Wes watched as she moved on to the next subject, talking with the fervor and simplicity of an expert. Screw whatever Kyle said, this wasn’t just for shits and giggles or some halloween event. Something was different here. The other students, despite seeming bored, looked like they fully believed her. Maybe people here would actually believe him about what happened when he was a kid.

The hazy memories crept along his skin, making the hair on his arms stand on end. His dad told him he had an active imagination. He knew it wasn’t that.

“Finally, let’s go over what to do if a ghost fight breaks out!”

“A ghost fight?” he echoed, brows furrowing.

“As we’ve said, do not engage or interact with ghosts for any reason—”

“Hey, what about Phantom?” Someone from the crowd shouted. A murmur of agreement rippled through the students.

“Who’s Phantom?” He wondered out loud, and a guy sitting in front of him turned to give him an affronted look.

“We strongly discourage interacting with Phantom especially! When it comes to ghosts, it’s simple. There are no good ghosts! Ghosts are ectoplasmic post-human impressions driven only by their obsession! They are not human and don’t care about the havoc they wreak.”

The crowd murmured again, the disapproval evident. A few kids shouted unintelligible things, but they sounded defensive. Wes didn’t get it, the Fenton lady seemed to know her shit, why argue?

“Quiet! Quiet please!” Ishiyama called over the voices. Eventually the students settled, and the Fentons wrapped up their presentation. Everyone seemed disappointed that nothing embarrassing happened, until Mr. Fenton underestimated the height of the stage, and face planted onto the gym floor. The students broke into an uproar of laughter, and Ishiyama rushed to the mic to dismiss everyone back to homeroom. Wes couldn’t hold back a laugh, and glanced over to see Danny hunching up his shoulders. If Wes had to describe someone that looked like they wanted to disappear, it would be Danny in that moment.

The walk back to the classroom was uneventful, though he was pretty sure he heard Mrs. Fenton repeatedly calling out “Danny sweetie!” Wes was really glad he wasn’t that poor bastard, talk about humiliating. He tried to ignore the pang that twisted inside his stomach. Still, it must be nice to have a mom around.

Fifth period started in four minutes, and Wes was stuck fiddling with the lock on his locker. The damn thing looked like it’d been fished off the titanic. The wheel made an awful squealing noise when he twisted it, and even when the lock popped, he had to yank on it to get it to unlatch all the way. He put in his combo for the third time and pulled. It came undone and if it weren’t for holes on the handle he’d have gone stumbling backwards. He opened the locker and was just about to grab his History textbook, when an ear splitting alarm blasted from the overhead speakers. He jumped and spun around, hands coming up to cover his ears.

It wasn’t like a fire alarm, instead of the shrill school bell ringing, it was a long whooping siren that echoed up and down the halls like a nuclear strike was incoming. Wes had to hand it to them, it sounded creepy as fuck. The emergency lights flashed in the hallways, and the kids around him started to make for the exits.

“Your attention please,” an automated female voice came over the speaker, offering a brief respite from the siren. “A ghost has been sighted in the building. Please evacuate or get to safety as soon as possible.” Holy shit, was this really happening? The siren began its wailing again. His heart thundered in his chest, and he looked both ways up and down the hall. He didn’t see anything, except for Lancer standing at the end of the hall, directing students to an emergency exit. Wes remembered then that Lancer had said something about a “ghost drill”. Of course that’s what this was. Just a drill. Wes let out a shaky breath, and went to close up his locker before he headed out.

Which in retrospect wasn’t the greatest idea. In less than a second, something changed. The hall felt darker, and the air grew cold. Not cold like someone left the window open, cold like he’d just walked into a meat freezer. It prickled against his skin, and he felt a deep sense of dread sink to the bottom of his stomach.

“Little lamb…” Murmured a soft voice. It echoed up the hall, and Wes forced himself to turn and look. He shouldn’t have, he really shouldn’t have. It was the shape of a woman, but she was floating a foot off the ground. She had stringy hair, and bangs that partially covered her empty eyes. In her hand looked like a shepherd's crook. Wes slammed his back against his locker, his knees locking up. He felt his hands start to tremble. Not again, he didn’t want the nightmares again.

The hall was empty, the last few terrified kids were gone.

“Little lamb... separated from the herd… Don’t you know there’s predators?” Her voice echoed unnaturally, it’s clarity sending chills across his skin. She was hardly speaking above a whisper, but it was rough and cracked, like something had happened to her voice. But the thing that was worse was even at barely a whisper, he could somehow hear her over the sirens. Like she was right next to him breathing the words into his ears.

The alarm cut out and the automated message looped. The woman—ghost lifted her crook to point at him. “Little lambs have to come back home,” she said. The sound of panting and low growling filled the hall. A green shape, low and lean flew out from behind her. It closed the gap between them in three strides flat. It’s eyes glowed red, and white teeth slavered toxic green. Wes’ voice stuck in his throat and he couldn’t scream, he squeezed his eyes shut and hoped he’d wake up.

Wes felt the air stir in front of him, and he heard a meaty crunch followed by a deafening caterwaul. His eyes flashed open to see the mountain lion-like creature picking itself up off the ground on the other side of the hall. And directly in front of him, it was another human shape, another ghost. They had white hair and a black jumpsuit on.

“Bad kitty! What, did someone forget the catnip?” It was a guy’s voice that echoed around the hall. The shape cast a glance over his shoulder at Wes. He gulped down a breath, it was a boy about his age. His eyes glowed the same neon toxic green that painted the hall in its supernatural light. He looked like he was about to say something, when the big cat hurled itself at his flank. Its massive front paws slammed into his midsection and they disappeared into the wall.

The shepherd moved towards him, and Wes felt like he was going to pass out or throw up. Maybe both, both sounded okay. She was focused entirely on him as she drifted over the floor. She was four feet away, and the expression etched onto her dead face made his stomach twist. This was worse, this was way worse than even the nightmares. Her empty eyes leaked tears.

“It’s dangerous. There’s predators.” She lifted a hand like she was trying to reach for him. A blast of green light suddenly filled his vision, and the girl let out a scream. She was slammed backwards into a set of lockers and she slipped down to the ground. Wes’ gaze snapped to where the blast of energy had come from and saw the ghost boy. He was floating six feet off the ground, and his right hand was glowing green. He had a long deep slash across his side that was oozing and dripping globby green ectoplasm.

“I’ve never seen you before,” he said. “What do you want?” his tone of voice was firm and sharp, it felt like ice. The girl looked up at the boy. She opened her mouth and screamed. It was a raw terrible thing that petered off into an agonized gurgle. The ghost boy arched a brow, but before he could say anything else the Shepherd melted into the wall.

“Shit,” the ghost puffed. He turned his eyes to Wes and he stiffened again. Right, he wasn’t exactly out of the woods yet. “You must be new here. Piece of advice, run away next time, okay dude?” The ghost boy looked up at the ceiling that still had the alarms blaring and rolled his eyes. In the next instant he shot through the wall where the shepherd ghost had disappeared.

Wes let out a breath and sunk to the floor, shivering from head to toe. What the hell was that?

#danny phantom #danny fenton #ectober2020 #phandom #phan phic #danny phantom fic #wes weston #kyle weston

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scxrlettwxtches · 5 years

Text

worn out jackets pt.2 | hwang hyunjin

Genre: badboy!hyunjin x class president!reader, fluff, angst

Warnings: violence!

Word Count: +10.0k

Description: Hwang Hyunjin and you were now what were considered to be very good friends, but that doesn’t mean your relationship was a smooth sailing as the two of you wanted. The fact that you’re head over heels in love with him also doesn’t help that much.

Author’s Note: hahahaha remember when i said this would be posted in like a week? i lied. im so so sorry this took literally a month to write and im still not totally satisfied with it, but i really hope everyone enjoys it!! as always, my ask box is open to rants and comments about my writing, since there are little plot lines that i didn’t have time to fit in. :)

Part 1

After that incident with his parents, Hwang Hyunjin walked you home. Whether he was trying to be a gentleman or just paying back the favor of you comforting him, you couldn’t tell. He didn’t say anything during the whole journey, but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

It seemed your mother had stopped by the house that day, since the spare key was back where it was supposed to be: under the door mat. Hyunjin stood behind you silently as you opened the door, but it was a comfortable silence, not like the suffocating aura from before.

“Thanks for walking me home, Hyunjin,” you said softly, bowing politely. Hyunjin’s posture looked relaxed as he smiled gently, waving off your thanks. You waited for a second to see if he would say more, but he didn’t.

You shut the door, threw your backpack on the couch, and were well on the way to taking a nice long nap when you heard Hyunjin call out your name.

“Hey, Y/N?” Startled, you moved back to the entrance, your hand on the doorknob when Hyunjin spoke again, “D-don’t open the door.”

Frowning, you obeyed and waited for whatever he was going to do or say.

“I’m too much of a coward to say it to your face,” his voice was muffled by the object between the two of you, “but from the bottom of my heart, thank you for everything that you do for me.”

By the time you had snapped yourself out of whatever trance you had fallen in (because The Hwang Hyunjin was thanking you what the fuck—) and flung open the door, the boy was already gone. With the street empty and gloomy, it was almost as if he was never there to begin with.

ii.

From that point on, the rest of the detentions with Hyunjin were actually quite pleasant experiences, if you had to admit. Despite still being infamously late to every one of his classes, he always seemed to arrive to the detention classroom before you did. He’d walk over to snatch a large stack of papers from your bag, and the two of you would work silently for the hour and a half. You never asked him to help you, but you couldn’t say no to the possibility of getting yourself some decent shut eye when you got home.

Neither of you said much during these detentions, though Hyunjin would occasionally walk over and tease you about how strict you were with your grading. In return, you’d chastise him for giving Minho passing grades when it was clear that he had failed, but would flunk Jisung just because (“he drank the rest of my apple juice without asking!”).

Just like that, Hyunjin’s week of detention ended, and so did your reason to spend time with him.

You couldn’t help but be a little disappointed about this. In a week, Hyunjin had broken past the tall, unyielding walls of your heart, and it scared you that he now had the most ideal opportunity to just walk out of your life, never to come back.

However, to your relief (and delight), Hyunjin stayed.

It wasn’t a dramatic change, at least not at school. Both of you still lived in completely different universes that never crossed, but it came in the form of a fresh bento box in your locker that you definitely didn’t make, or half of your work being magically graded and slipped into your backpack during lunch break. You weren’t sure how Hyunjin managed to figure out your locker combination to sneak in your lunch or steal some of your teacher’s paperwork, but you knew it was him.

Because of this, you decided to show that you were there for him too. Yours came in the form of class notes that you would slip in his bag when he wasn’t in the room, or the secret pieces of paper you’d slip in his locker to warn him about which teacher was close to giving him detention. True to your word, you had removed his detention from the school system (and maybe even a couple more).

It wasn’t the ideal friendship you wanted to have with him, but it was comforting to know that someone was watching over you.

Once out of school, however, Hyunjin was a totally different person, clinging to you like a koala to their favorite tree (you were the tree, sadly). After the detention week, he had never once failed to walk you home, always making sure you were safely inside before leaving.

Now, three months later, he was still waiting for you outside the school like he was every other day, hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, eyes closed as he was lost in whatever music he was listening to through his earphones. With the winter sunset as a backdrop and the relaxed expression on his face, Hyunjin seriously looked even more handsome than normally did, and you didn’t even know how that was possible.

Pushing down your embarrassing thoughts, you quietly walked up to him and kicked his shin lightly. You honestly didn’t know how the “bad boy” Hyunjin persona was so ingrained in the school population when he would literally lose his shit if someone so much as tapped his shoulder without him knowing they were there.

“Y/N, what the fuck,” he groaned, bending down to rub his leg dramatically, “I wait for you until six o’clock to walk you home, and this is how you repay me?”

You raised your eyebrows in amusement, “Didn’t you say you had to model for the photography club after school, and that’s why it was only ‘convenient’ that we went home at the same time?”

Hyunjin blushed, “Yeah, of course. That’s what I meant, dummy,” he said defensively, and you wondered if he knew how adorable he looked with his cheeks puffed out in a frown.

“You’re the dummy,” flicking his forehead as he was still crouched down, you began walking to the school exit, “Photography club doesn’t even meet today.”

Imagining Hyunjin’s face with glee, you kept walking, knowing that the athletics god would catch up to you in no time. Whenever your Class President duties caused you to stay after school, Hyunjin always found a stupid excuse to stay after as well. To say they were stupid was an understatement, since he had reused the same one multiple times and had even once mentioned joining a club that didn’t even exist anymore. But you guess it was kinda cute, seeing how determined he was to walk with you even when it meant cutting into his personal time.

Hyunjin caught up to you with a brisk walk (which shows just how fast he was and how athletically incompetent you were), huffing. His cheeks still had a dash of pink on them as he complained, “Could you stop embarrassing me like that?”

“I’ll stop embarrassing you when you stop lying about having reasons to stay after school other than to walk with me.”

“Me? Walk you home?” Hyunjin’s face contorted into a mock horrified expression, “Preposterous.”

You couldn’t hold in your laugh this time, and you sent a weak punch to his shoulder. These were your favorite times with Hyunjin, the moments in life where neither of you had to worry about your status, your friends, your daily troubles. It was like nothing else mattered in these moments except you and Hyunjin.

As the two of you rounded to the school bus station, you felt two fingers gently graze against the back of your hand, sending electricity up your arm. It was these hints, these subtle actions that cause you to wonder if Hyunjin was actually trying to make a move. Yet, the thought would leave in less than a millisecond, because his fingers have never made it to the palm of your hand, much less to the point of lacing them together with yours.

“Why didn’t you say you were home alone yesterday?” he asked, leaning against a pole and silently offering you the only seat at the station.

“Okay, I’m one hundred percent convinced that you hired a spy to stalk me at this point,” you accused with no bite in your voice, “How in the world did you know that?”

“Jisung saw you walking to school this morning, and your mom always drops you off if she was home.”

“So, Jisung is your spy?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hyunjin rolled his eyes, with a strange amount of bite in his voice, “Like I would spend money to employ Jisung. I wouldn’t even accept his services if they were free.”

“Did something happen between you and Jisung again?”

Now that you were objectively friends with Hyunjin as well as Jisung, it didn’t take long for you to see the evident tension between the two. From what you’ve heard from both sides (and Jeongin, because Jeongin can get all the tea with his dimple smile and puppy eyes), it’s a lot better than before, but you couldn’t help but sense a sliver of agitation in Hyunjin’s voice whenever your conversations led to Jisung.

The boy turned away from you, staring at the pavement, “Not exactly,” he grumbled, and you decided not to push, since Hyunjin was the type to come to you if he needed your advice. It was clear that there was something, though, and you were thinking about how you could squeeze it out of either Jeongin or Jisung when the bus pulled up abruptly.

Seeing that it was already quite late for a school day, the bus was pretty empty, so Hyunjin and you got your pick of seating. As always, he offered you the window seat, apparently because “it’s farther away from the aisle where strange men could bother you.” It was a pretty valid reason, you had to admit, and you slipped into the seat without much protest.

As the bus chugged on, passing multiple stops, you began to notice that Hyunjin’s normally excited eyes were dropping slightly, as if he were about to fall asleep. That’s weird, you thought, because Hyunjin did look a bit tired in his classes, too. Glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, you saw his head fall for a split second before he caught himself and stayed awake for a moment before falling back into an uncomfortable slumber.

Still, no matter how much he tossed and turned, he never seemed to lean to your direction. It was too obvious to be a coincidence and you wondered why it felt like Hyunjin was subconsciously trying to avoid falling asleep on you.

Gently, you tapped his thigh to get his attention, but not in a way that could wake him up abruptly. God knows that’s the worst thing you could do to a person.

“Hyunjin,” you whispered, and his eyes fluttered ever so slightly at your call, “if you want–um, if you want to lay your head on my shoulder, you can.”

If he were fully conscious, you were sure that he would’ve refused, making some stupid excuse while trying to hide the blush on his cheeks. It was always a mystery to you, why Hyunjin, who soaked up physical interaction like a sponge, would always seem to shy away from it whenever it came to you. Were you just so out of his radar that he doesn’t even want to give you the false hope?

But in that moment on the bus, Hyunjin was probably too sleepy and too delirious to think about your words carefully, because he accepted your offer by snuggling against you. Snuggling. You. He rubbed his head against your shoulder, his soft black hair tickling your face, and his arms snaked around yours, holding it tightly. You thanked your lucky stars that he was fast asleep, since your face was probably the shade of a ripe tomato.

As he slept on, you finally got an up close look at his face (not that you didn’t have the chances otherwise, you just always found yourself looking away whenever he got too close), and you frowned when you noticed a pallid yellow looking bruise on his left cheek, skillfully masked with makeup. You also take note of the scar under his eye, not covered with any foundation but still blending in with the rest of his complexion. You remember when he got that, about a month ago, because he had knocked on your door with a sheepish smile and a dark shades of purple mottling his face.

Naturally, you had freaked out, dragging him into the kitchen to nurse his wounds. You eventually learned that this wasn’t a one time occurrence, especially since he began showing up at your door on various days with some sort of bodily injury.

Hyunjin never told you where the bruises came from, except when he reassured you that they weren’t from his parents. It was no secret that bad boy Hwang Hyunjin got into fights, came to school with bruised knuckles and cuts on his cheeks, but now that you knew him, now that you knew Hwang Hyunjin wasn’t all just thorns and sharp edges, you worried for him.

In the back of your head, you wondered if the boy knew how much you cared, or if he even bothered to know at all.

The bus soon neared your stop, and you sadly had to break up what was quite a comfortable position for both of you. Shaking your shoulder lightly, and brushing the hair out of his face, you whispered, “Hyunjin, it’s time to get up.”

The boy groaned, rubbing his cheek against your shoulder stubbornly, but you began pulling away, “Idiot, we’re gonna miss our stop!”

“Okay, okay,” Hyunjin mumbled a reply, obviously still only half conscious, but awake enough to sit upright just as the bus pulled into the stop. A little worried that he might collapse, you kept a firm grip on his arm even as the two of you stepped onto the street. It wasn’t until you could feel him steadying himself that you let go.

The two of you walked in silence, falling into routine. The streets in your neighborhood were relatively empty like usual, which got a little unnerving when you had to walk home yourself. Even with Hyunjin walking home, you still found yourself on high alert whenever you heard a strange sound, or felt the chill of someone watching you.

“Oh my god,” Startled, you whipped around to glance at Hyunjin, who brought his hands up to cover his face in mortification, “I fell asleep on you, didn’t I?”

You nodded silently, trying to act more casual than you were actually feeling. The blush on Hyunjin’s face could be seen through his fingers as he visibly panicked, “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t think I would—“

Waving your hands frantically, you dismissed his worries, “It’s okay! I asked you first.”

Hyunjin’s eyes were curiously wide, “You did?”

You laughed off your embarrassment, nodding, “Yeah. It was pretty cute, to be honest,” you added as an afterthought.

(You didn’t know, but this was the moment Hyunjin began to think—began to hope—that maybe his feelings were being reciprocated. If you were at least half as in love with him as he was with you, he would be satisfied.)

As the house came into view, the embarrassment of the moment died down, and Hyunjin began to grow talkative again, “Are you home alone again?”

“For a little,” you said, staring at the pavement, “My mom’s coming home really early morning.”

When you unlocked the door, Hyunjin silently keeping watch of the street, you started hesitantly, “Do you want to come in and chill?”

This wasn’t the first time you’ve asked, and Hyunjin has hung out at your place multiple times. For a moment, you thought he would say yes; you could see it in his eyes and his body language that he wanted to stay.

“Nah, I can’t today,” Hyunjin said sadly, running a hand through his hair, “I’ve got work.”

You felt a sudden pang of annoyance (and hurt, because Hyunjin didn’t have to lie just so he didn’t have to spend time with you), “You and I both know you don’t have a job, Hyunjin,” you tried to keep the taste of bitterness out of your voice.

Despite your efforts to hide your growing disappointment, it was at moments like this where it was clear that Hyunjin could read you like an open book. Immediately, he moved towards you, his expression apologetic as his hands twitched, almost as if he was holding himself back from reaching for you.

“I really wish I could stay,” Hyunjin tried to look you in the eyes directly to convey his sincerity, “It’s just, Channie-hyung wants us to do this thing tonight, and I really can’t ditch this time.”

You shook your head, “It’s fine, really” you said, and you genuinely wanted to believe it was. It wasn’t your place to be clingy, you reminded yourself, and it certainly wasn’t your place to be disappointed that he wouldn’t stay with you.

Hyunjin could only stare forlornly as you entered the house, the air between you thick with a tension that hasn’t existed since you first started interacting. Before you closed the door, you managed a smile as you said, “Tell the boys I said hi.”

iii.

What a disaster.

The moment you shut the door on Hyunjin, you sank to the wood floor, your head in your hands as you sighed dejectedly. Three months. Three bloody months, and the two of you still faced the same problem as you did when you hated each other.

Why was it that when it came to Hwang Hyunjin, you were just unable to voice your true feelings?

It was easier for a while, when you had finally learned to look past his expensive clothes to see the vulnerable boy underneath. It was easier back then to be true to yourself, because the two of you shared a mutual understanding that made you close. You found a kindred spirit in a world full of lies and expectations, and he found someone who was willing to accept him for who he was.

Now, you found yourself just as flustered, as helpless as when you first met him, because in just three months, it was not an exaggeration to say that Hwang Hyunjin held your heart in his hands. It terrified you, because every time you spoke to him, it felt like every casual conversation, every brush of the hand, every giggle meant the world to you. And the worst part was that he probably didn’t even know.

Hwang Hyunjin made you speechless in the best way. He made you laugh in a way you didn’t even know you could. He made you forget about the unpaid bills, the upcoming exams, the college applications that had consumed every moment of your life. He freed you from your own anxiety, calling you late at night just so you wouldn’t be up alone studying. He helped you with everything that you had always thought you would have to bear alone, and that was only a portion of why he was so special to you.

Maybe, just maybe, you were ready to accept that you were in love with Hwang Hyunjin.

After what felt like an eternity, you pushed yourself off the floor, wiping some wetness off your cheeks. Not even a boy like Hyunjin was going to distract you from doing your work, and you got quickly lost in your house chores while blasting your “sad girl hours playlist.”

On top of your seemingly miserable love life, there were a lot of things that you worried about as a senior in high school. Your mom still worked three jobs, and after taking on extra hours for one of them, you barely ever see her any more. If you were being honest, you had been mulling over the idea of not applying for colleges and just going straight to work. After all, any university would cost a shit ton of money that you didn’t have.

People would be mad, you thought amusedly, if you made it known that you weren’t planning on applying to universities. Your teachers would be most furious, not because they actually care, but because their star student dropping out after high school would be absolutely scandalous for their reputation. Jisung would be mad too, because he knew how much you studied throughout high school and knew how much you wanted to graduate with a degree.

And Hyunjin—Hyunjin would probably offer to pay for your education if you so much as mentioned that you didn’t have the funds to attend a university, and that absolutely could not happen. You didn’t want his pity money, and you certainly didn’t want to feel that you were leeching off him.

As much as you wanted a diploma to hang in your house, you’d rather work right after high school than beg for money from anyone.

So, it really looked like you were going to be a post-high school dropout.

Awesome.

You slaved away over your housework until it was well past 10 pm, which was when you realized that it was a good idea to sit your ass down and eat some dinner. With some effort, you put together a gourmet meal of ramen and some leftover bulgogi, and were eating contently in the kitchen when your phone buzzed. You jumped at the sound, because it’s rare that anyone would be calling you at this hour.

Without even glancing at the caller ID, you picked up, knowing that it was probably your mom (or a panicked Jisung who forgot what the homework was), “Hello?”

“You picked up,” a familiar voice replied, sounding relieved. The line cracked slightly as your heart skipped.

“Hyunjin?” you asked, standing up already, “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

There was a moment of silence, and you were literally one second away from dropping everything you had to run to Hyunjin’s house when he spoke again, “No, everything’s fine. Just—“

Hyunjin trailed off before speaking tiredly, “I just wanted to hear your voice, that’s all.”

“I’m flattered, I really am,” you said, blushing slightly even though he couldn’t see you, “But something tells me there’s more to the story. Where are you?”

“I’m—,” there was a strained groan, and you immediately grew alert, “I’m actually on your street. Do you think I could crash at your place for a bit?”

You were stunned for a moment, too shocked to say anything, and Hyunjin immediately accepted the rejection with a bitter chuckle, “Guess not.”

“No, no, no!” you said frantically, “I was just caught off guard. Of course you can stay. I’ll come let you in right now.”

“Wait,” Hyunjin spoke sternly as you walked to the door, “Don’t open the door until I knock on it. There’s some drunk people walking around here.”

“There’s always at least a couple drunk people on this street,” you said mildly, but did whatever Hyunjin asked of you anyway.

“I know,” he replied, “but I’m still allowed to worry.”

His voice sounded close, and you could very faintly hear his real voice through the door as you heard someone shuffling around before knocking lightly. You hung up the phone and took the deadbolt out of your entrance.

“Not that I don’t enjoy your company,” you started as you pulled open the door, “but what exactly warrants a visit at ten—oh my god, Hyunjin.”

Standing in your doorway was a sheepish looking Hwang Hyunjin, more bruised, battered, and bloodier than ever.

iv.

“I know I’ve looked better, but can you please stop staring at me like I’m turning into a llama?”

There was no time for small talk, at least for you. Without so much as an indication that you had heard him, you yanked him into the hallway by his jacket, shutting the door quickly behind you. Hyunjin yelped, but followed you obediently and without much resistance.

Shoving him unceremoniously into a chair around the dining table, you immediately began fussing around him, cupping his face in your hands to check for cuts on his face, running your hands through his hair gently to feel for bruises. You didn’t have any idea what you were thinking at the time, only that Hyunjin was hurt, Hyunjin is in pain, why is Hyunjin bleeding. Then, you attacked his leather jacket, taking it off rather roughly when you observed that he didn’t seem to be majorly injured. Your hands then dived for his white t-shirt before you regained an ounce of self control and held yourself back.

“Can you take your shirt off?” you tried to push away your embarrassment as you gestured to the white piece of clothing. Hyunjin had never been injured enough for you to have to do any work on his chest or abdomen, and now you were being faced with the alarming prospect of seeing Hyunjin with his shirt off for the first time.

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, “You seemed well on your way to do it yourself just earlier,” he sounded rather amused, and your cheeks flushed bright pink.

“I’m not going to take your shirt off for you, Hwang Hyunjin,” you snapped, and turned away to grab some disinfectant wipes and bandages. You heard Hyunjin chuckle softly as he wriggled out of his t-shirt.

In any other occasion, you would’ve been flustered beyond belief, blushing and making a quick exit. As embarrassing as it was to admit, you had never been close with many boys, certainly not to the point where you’ve seen any of them up close without a shirt. And it wasn’t a surprise to see that Hyunjin was really fucking hot.

But that day, all you could see were the dark purple bruises mottling his body, the thin slashes that looked eerily like knife cuts. The embarrassment dissipated, and you could only stare in horror because why why why—

Hyunjin had grown silent as well, watching you carefully as you knelt down in front of him and began cleaning his wounds. He didn’t flinch when the antiseptic touched his open cuts, and you found your hands uncontrollably trembling as you dabbed as his wounds.

You could feel frustrated tears pooling in your eyes as all you could focus on were those injuries, those god forsaken injuries, and—

“Hey, hey,” you felt a large, gentle hand over yours as they stopped your movement, “You’re shaking. What’s wrong?”

Blinking the tears away, your hands fell limp in his, and you wanted nothing more than to sink into Hyunjin’s embrace, “Why are you showing up like this again?” you whimpered, trying to keep your voice steady, “You were literally here last week and now it’s even worse—“

“Well, I never asked to get beat up,” Hyunjin snorted, and his indifference to his own health hurt you. Is he completely oblivious to the fact that every injury he suffers pains you too?

“Where are you even going to get this hurt every week?” you finally find it in you to ask, because you’ve had enough of Hyunjin showing up with wounds that you didn’t know how he got.

Hyunjin tensed, you felt his hand stiffen over yours, “I...can’t say,” he spoke slowly.

“Why not?” you asked, frustrated. You turned your hand over to lace your fingers into his, a gamble on your part, but Hyunjin reciprocated easily, holding your hand as if it was the only thing he wanted to do.

“I just can’t,” Hyunjin repeated tiredly, looking at your intertwined hands intently with an emotion in his gaze that you couldn’t read.

“Are you not allowed to tell me, or do you just not want to?”

Hyunjin groaned, a twinge of annoyance in his voice, “Why are you so caught up about where I was?”

His tone of voice set you off the wrong way, and you retracted your hands as you replied defensively, “Well, if you’re going to be bleeding out in my kitchen every week, don’t you think I have the right to know?”

Suddenly, the look in Hyunjin’s eyes changed. He was no longer the open, vulnerable Hyunjin you just saw a moment ago. The air around the two of you was electric with tension, and his expression grew ever so slightly colder as he asked quietly, “Am I not welcome here anymore?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hyunjin,” you replied simply. You will never reach a point in your life where you wouldn’t drop everything to help Hyunjin if he ever needed it, maybe because in your heart, you knew he’d do the same for you.

“You’re never unwelcome here,” you stated honestly, before gesturing to him and the pile of bloody wipes and bandages on the counter, “but this has to stop.”

From his posture and his expression, you could tell that Hyunjin was far from calming down as he scoffed, “And what exactly is this?”

He was deflecting, you knew it, but you weren’t so infatuated that you were going to let him walk all over you, especially since he was the one coming to you for help, “What I mean by this,” you hissed, “is you coming over with bruises and cuts that you can’t explain. It’s you showing up at ten in the night and expecting me silently patch you up without asking you questions. It’s you,” your voice cracked ever so slightly, “coming with injuries that just get worse by the week, and you still won’t tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Hyunjin stood up abruptly, his expression so icy that you could feel a strange chill just by looking at him, “You’re not my mother, so stop acting like one,” he snapped. Hyunjin seemed to regret his words the moment he said them, it was a flash of guilt in his eyes that was instantaneous and sharp, but he didn’t apologize, gritting his teeth as pride got the best of him.

“You’re right,” you heard yourself say, walking over to him slowly. Grabbing the set of bandages and antiseptic wipes, you shoved them into Hyunjin’s arms, “I’m not your mother. I thought I made that crystal clear the day I lied to her just to protect you.”

“That should be everything you need,” you give a quick glance at the materials in Hyunjin’s arms, “I’m not going to tell you to get out. There’s food in the fridge if you’re hungry. You know where everything is, since you invite yourself over so much. But I’m done helping, at least until you start being truthful.”

Hyunjin’s eyes lost their intensity as he watched you swing your bag over your shoulder. Putting the bandages on the counter, he asked in confusion, “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“It’s ten in the evening,” Hyunjin retorted, moving to put on his leather jacket as well.

“That didn’t seem to stop you.”

“That’s totally different.”

You nodded sarcastically, “Of course, everything’s different for you.”

“Stop being difficult,” the boy sighed, as if he was tired of fighting with you, but that only infuriated you more, because why was he speaking like you were the one making things hard for him?

“Sorry, I’ll get out of your hair then,” you said humorlessly, pulling open the door to welcome the biting cold. It seemed like it was only then that Hyunjin realized that you were being serious about leaving, because his eyes grew wide as he stretched out his hand instinctively.

“Wait, Y/N—,” you slammed the door shut before Hyunjin could finish. You could hear him making his way towards you, walking as fast as he could down the hallway, so you ran.You sprinted down the street, turning corners by instinct to get as far away from Hyunjin as you could.

Congratulations, you told yourself as tears dripped down your face.

You just pushed away the only person you had ever desperately wanted in your life.

By the time you made it to Jisung’s house, you were probably bawling. He lived pretty close to you, which was actually the reason the two of you became friends in the first place. Unlike Hyunjin, Jisung wasn’t wealthy. He wasn’t even well off, and you knew his parents were often out late at night to work double shifts, just like your mom. So, there was a high possibility that Jisung was home alone.

You punched the doorbell with unnecessary ferocity, your arms crossed tightly to defend yourself from the cold. To your luck, Jisung was still awake, and you heard him shouting as the door unlocked.

“Y/N? What the hell are you doing here?” He asked worriedly, pulling you into a quick hug, “It’s so late and—are you crying? What happened?”

Jisung dragged you into the house, sitting you down in the living room as he wrapped you in a thick blanket. His immediate kindness only made you more emotional, and you continued sobbing into your hands. Jisung had disappeared for a few minutes to return with a cup of hot tea, since you were freezing.

“Woah, woah, what’s going on?”

Gently, he pulled your hands away from your face. You must’ve looked like a mess, red-faced with tears all over, but Jisung didn’t mention anything, only crouching in front of you while gently comforting you.

“I fought with Hyunjin,” you said when you could finally breathe properly.

Jisung frowned, “Was Hyunjin at your place?”

You nodded, “He comes over every week whenever he’s all bruised up and hurt, a-and today I guess I was just really sick of him coming to me but he won’t ever tell me what happened and then everything just blew up—“

“Y/N, breathe,” Jisung stroked your hair to calm you down, because you were hyperventilating at that point, “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“He hates me.”

“I don’t think Hyunjin will ever be capable of hating you,” Jisung let out a chuckle, as if he knew something you didn’t, “As cringy as it is to say, that idiot cares about you more than he cares about anyone else in the universe. He was probably was just too riled up from earlier to think about what he was saying.”

“What happened?”

Jisung looked conflicted, and for a moment, you thought that he wouldn’t tell you either, “He got into a fight,” he said cautiously, as if he were treading on thin water.

Even through your tears, you couldn’t help but scoff, “Really? I thought he just fell down every single staircase he walked on.”

Jisung cracked a smile, looking visibly relieved that you were able to joke around, “Hyunjin…has a knack for pissing off the wrong people, and that tends to get him in trouble.”

“He’s also the son of some really fucking rich parents, so there’s eyes on him wherever we go. Whether he wants it or not, people will know who he is,” Jisung continued, moving to sit beside you on the couch, “It didn’t help that freshman year Hwang Hyunjin was angst embodied in an attractive, athletic body and he was able to punch people left and right but still relatively get away with it.”

“As much as he got away with it before, that shit catches up to you eventually, and now there’s a lot of pissed off people that want to settle the score with him.”

“What, so he just hosts a fight club where everyone lines up to kick his ass?”

Jisung laughed, “I think you’re underestimating Hyunjin, Y/N.”

“Well, he’s the one showing up beat up every week, so I don’t have much to go on,” you replied sarcastically.

“Trust me when I say this, Hyunjin knows how to throw a punch,” Jisung said, and the truthfulness behind his voice slightly worried you, “And Hyunjin doesn’t really look for trouble anymore, at least not like before. If anything, he’s getting caught up in shit mostly because of us.”

“Us?” you frowned, “Who’s ‘us’?”

“Did you really think that Stray Kids was just a dumb posse name we made up to be the next Mean Girls of high school?”

“Absolutely, and you will never convince me otherwise,” you said, deadpan.

Jisung rolled his eyes and ruffled your hair, “Can you stop deflecting? I’m trying to be serious and answer your question,” a smile betrayed the corner of his lips, and you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter just spending time with him.

“Look, Stray Kids don’t just prance around the school and do dumb stuff,” Jisung said, “We do bad things, things that could get us in huge trouble. We hack into companies to expose exploitation. We steal and sell in markets that absolutely are not legal. None of us are good people.”

You were still reeling from the load of information that just got dumped on you, but you weren’t going to allow Jisung to fall into that self-deprecating hole, “You’re a good person,” you said firmly, “The rest of the boys are good people, too. You wouldn’t be comforting me in the middle of the night if you weren’t a good person.”

Jisung managed a smile, “You’re always so determined to see the good in people you care about,” he gently took your hand in his, “I wish you could stop and see the good in yourself sometimes.”

There wasn’t anything you could say to that. You knew your worth, and you knew your limitations, so what was he talking about? You weren’t ever insecure about your status either, just bitter.

The boy seemed to understand your disbelief at his words, because he asked softly, “Why can’t you accept that Hyunjin is in love with you?”

You leapt out of your seat, standing away from Jisung as if stung, “He’s not in love with me!” you snapped, your anger rising to hide your sadness, “We were friends at most, and after today, I’m not sure we’re even acquaintances anymore.”

Jisung grew heated too, because he was tired of seeing you unconsciously hold yourself back from finding love because you thought you didn’t deserve it, “You’re so observant about everyone around you. You saw that Jeongin had a cold days before we realized. You say that Chan was having problems sleeping, so you lightened his schoolwork. You saw that Minho liked to dance, so you made arrangements for him to join the school dance club even though he wasn’t a student. You notice everything, big and small, so why can’t you see that everything Hyunjin does revolves around you?”

“Hyunjin has grown up so much in just these last three months, because of you,” he spoke softly, “He stopped smoking, which we had all agreed was a lost cause since we’ve tried to stop him for years. He hasn’t brought a random girl home for months. I know you’re stressed out because he shows up all beat up every week, but he would’ve shown up every other day if you had known him before. He doesn’t even like to fight anymore, it’s more of a necessity and a consequence from his past.”

“He’s so happy now, because of you,” Jisung whispered, pulling you back to the couch, “Why can’t you see that you mean the world to him?”

“I can’t,” you said, trying desperately to control your voice, “If I give myself that slightest bit of hope, I’ll be disappointed. If I let him in completely, he could destroy me. Jisung, look at me now, I’m trying to push him out and everything he does still hurts,” your voice cracked as you struggled to hold back your tears.

“We’ll just hurt each other,” you said quietly, Jisung pulling you into his arms as your cried silently. He silently wished to whoever was listening that you’d see Hyunjin would never, not in a million years, wish you pain. He was forced to watch for months as the two of you teetered around each other, too afraid to make a move but so desperate for each other’s company.

“We’re too different to make it work, Jisung.”

vi.

Going back to school the next day was torture. You had stayed the night at Jisung’s house, too drained to walk back home when it was so dark. You didn’t feel any better in the morning, and when you stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, your face was still puffy and blotchy from crying yourself to sleep.

Jisung and you walked to school together, and he seemed determined to make you feel better. You humored him as best you could, because you really were grateful for his company. Jisung could make you forget about your problems, if only for a moment, and he joked and quipped the whole bus ride to the school.

By the time you made it to your locker, Jisung following you with his books already in hand, you had managed to push the Hyunjin fiasco out of your head almost entirely. Yes, it still hurt, like a dull ache that wouldn’t go away, but you weren’t going to let him affect the rest of your life.

“I’m hurt,” Jisung was saying with that adorable pout on his face, “Stop slandering my breakfast!”

“Half of the egg shell was literally in my rice,” you replied, the corner of your lip quirking up amusedly, “I can still feel the scratches in my throat.”

“Oh, very funny,” Jisung let out an exaggerated laugh, “Remind me never to cook for you again.”

“That’s fine by me. Honestly, maybe I should make breakfast for you and give it to you at school. After this morning, I am highly concerned,” you said cheekily, before you sensed someone watching you. Turning around, your smile fell as Hyunjin looked at you from down the hall, his gaze unreadable.

The two of you stared at each other, and all of the pain from the night before came flooding back. He was still sporting those nasty cuts on his face, and his knuckles were wrapped poorly, no doubt done after you had left. He looked conflicted, as if wondering whether he should confront you. You probably had the same look on your face because, as much as you two had your differences, you didn’t want to leave any bad blood between the two of you. Hyunjin’s body moves towards you as his mouth opened to say your name and–

“Y/N, are you coming?” Jisung called from behind you, delicately tugging at your sleeve, and the connection snapped like a dry rubber band. Hyunjin stopped in his tracks, his whole body physically tensing up as if he had been slapped. The guilty expression had disappeared, and as you turned to give Jisung a gesture that you’ll follow him soon, you noticed his jaw clench angrily. His hand clenched into a tight fist as he leveled you with that infamous Hwang Hyunjin glare, the one that froze your heart. With a newfound vigor, he spun away from you, and without a look back, turned to walk down the opposite direction of the hallway without even giving you a chance to speak.

Utterly stunned by what had just happened, you blankly followed Jisung as he gently led you into the physics classroom, only answering him with nods or shakes of your head.

In that split second, Hyunjin’s eyes had flashed with so many emotions that you couldn’t decipher all of them clearly. Anger, frustration, coldness were just the few you could see. You found part of you wanting to run after him, to yank him by the arm and ask him what the fuck his problem was. But the final bell stopped you in your tracks, and you turned reluctantly towards your physics classroom.

As you pulled out your textbooks to get ready for class, your eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from the empty desk three seats to your left. Hyunjin’s normal desk. Was he skipping again? Frowning, you unconsciously began tallying the amount of absences he’s received in the last month. What if the teacher gets fed up suddenly and sends him to detention?

Without any conscious thought, you had begun fretting over Hyunjin again. Then, halfway through class and with your notebook filled with less than satisfactory doodles, you came to the mind boggling realization that it wasn’t your job to worry anymore, especially not when he paid back your kindness with distrust.

“Y/N, do you want to stop daydreaming and solve this equation on the board?” A sharp voice pierced your thoughts, and you flinched at your teacher’s pointed glare. You took a long look at the question as your brain began to put the pieces together, and stood up calmly, taking the chalk from your teacher’s hand.

Feeling the scorn boring down your back (your teachers never really liked you, the result of being too smart but too poor to afford full tuition), you solved the problem methodically and without hesitation, not even glancing at your teacher’s face. You knew it was right, anyway.

Jisung gave you a discreet thumbs up as you sat back down, shutting out your teacher and her obnoxious droning. A discreet slip of ripped notebook paper slid onto your desk, and you turned to look at Jisung who raised his eyebrows expectantly. With a quick roll of your eyes, you quietly glanced down at the note.

Did anything happen with Hyunjin today?

You scowled, scribbling furiously. No, it’s literally nine in the morning. Focus on class, idiot.

Stop moping, you scolded yourself. Your world doesn’t revolve around Hyunjin. You’ve gotten by every day without him, and now that he won’t be there anymore, you can still get by. You thought of his smile, the one that made his eyes disappear, the one that made him lean against you for support from laughing too hard. It hurt, but after seeing Hyunjin’s hardened gaze in the morning, you supposed it really was too late.

You spent the rest of the day drowning yourself in your studies, and Hyunjin’s seat remained empty.

vii.

School felt like those bombs that had frustratingly slow countdowns to them, and you were never as glad to leave as you were that day. Fortunately for you, student council wasn’t scheduled to meet after school, and you were one of the first people to step out of the building.

Your mother wasn’t picking you up this time. Actually, she'd been coming by less and less once she had found out that you actually had someone to accompany you home. You glanced at the time on your phone: 4 pm. And unconsciously, you found yourself sitting down on the side of the steps, waiting for your usual partner.

The moment it dawned on you, your face flushed, because how childish was it of you to expect Hyunjin to walk you home? You shuffled around awkwardly, but didn’t stand up. As much as you hated to admit it, you really wanted to walk with Hyunjin. Maybe it was just a safety issue, and maybe it was just your hope for a final attempt to patch together your fragmented relationship.

Besides, despite everything that would happen in his life, Hyunjin always remembered to go home with you. It was almost a ritual at this point, and as the minutes passed with no Hyunjin in sight, began to regret taking his presence for granted.

Five minutes, then ten minutes, and finally fifteen minutes passed, and you were ready to give up. Sighing quietly, you swung your backpack over your shoulder and you began to walk home alone. You stared at the school door forlornly, as if your staring would make him magically appear. Of course it didn’t.

You could almost hear him as you walked by yourself. You could almost smell his expensive cologne, hear his high pitched giggles, feel his hand brushing over yours. And more than any other moment in the past two days, you felt utterly, completely alone again.

It was an “again” situation, you tried to tell yourself, this isn’t any different from middle school, when all you knew were loud snickers, damp notebooks, and marked up desks. You were back to square zero, but the most painful part was that you had gotten to at least square ten smoothly before getting emotionally sucker punched in the gut.

Your phone buzzed in your hand as you walked down the empty streets, listening to whatever music you had saved on your playlists. Actually, a lot of the music you listened to was recommended by Hyunjin whenever you hung out at his apartment. He had pretty good music taste, if you had to admit.

It was a text from Jisung, asking if you had gotten home safely. You replied with a smiley face, since you weren’t exactly at home yet but there were only a couple of streets left.

You were still paying attention to your phone when your peripheral vision caught two men hanging out on the left side of the street. It was a rather narrow alleyway, and now that you were already walking, there wasn’t a way you could turn back without seeming obvious. One looked frighteningly well built, and the other was lean and tall, smoking a cigarette casually. Your eyes kept them in check as you tried to pick up your pace, and it soon became pretty clear that neither of them were drunk, which was suspicious. Only drunk people mingled in streets like this one.

You felt a leering pair of eyes track your movement as you passed them, your heart beat erratically as you prayed that you were only imagining things. The smell of smoke filled your nose, but you refused to give away any indication that you had noticed the men. You were five feet past them and beginning to lower your guard when you felt it. An unfamiliar hand grabbed your shoulder, and your heart jumped up to your throat.

There was no time to check whether the hand was hostile or not, so you reacted instantly, whipping around to slam your elbow into the outstretched arm. It was the big man, who grunted in surprise and let go of your shoulder instinctively. You took the split second to start running, but your meager attack did little to deter such a well built man, and he grabbed you by the waist, dragging you as you screamed.

You thrashed and thrashed, kicking and punching with very little force behind it. Your brain ran on overdrive, and in a last ditch effort, you managed to yank out the metal hair clip in your hair. It wasn’t sharp, but it did have a blunt pointed edge, and as your long hair fell out of its bun, you slammed the clip into the man’s thigh.

It broke through the skin, you could feel it and hear it as the man howled. Without missing a beat, you rammed it into the same spot again, and his hold on your waist loosened. Moving around, you stabbed his leg one more time before you managed to slither away, wasting no time as you bolted as fast as you could.

A sharp pain caused you to shriek; you had forgotten about the second person who finally decided it was time to get involved. He caught the ends of your long hair, and with a harsh tug, he yanked you to the ground, your hands scraping along the rough pavement.

“I have to give it to you,” the man sneered as you scrambled to regain your bearings, “You weren’t as easy as I thought you would be.”

As he thought? Was he waiting for you? You didn’t even know who he was! Your brain was woozy from adrenaline, and your thoughts ran a mile a minute.

“I don’t think I’ve seen anyone fight Yekwon like that,” the man sounded mildly intrigued, as if studying a surprising science experiment, “And since he’s over there moaning like a bitch, I guess I’ll have to return the favor for him.”

Without warning, a foot slammed into your stomach and you gasped for air, the pain spreading all over your body as you curled around yourself. Something was definitely bruised or cracked or broken, and you couldn’t hold the tears that spilled, every breath you took sending a wave of shock from your abdomen.

You just wanted it to end. The fight had left you, and when the man pulled you back up on your feet using the back of your collar, you could only struggle half heartedly. He seemed displeased that you kept your head down, trying desperately to avoid eye contact, and he pulled your hair backwards, forcing you to look at him.

“I have to admit, you’re pretty cute,” In any situation, the man would have been relatively good looking, but all you could see was a monster that you couldn’t escape, “I can see why he likes you.”

The smile on his face turned manic, the hand tangled in your hair moved like a flash, slapping you so hard your face went numb, “You shouldn’t waste your time with the likes of him,” he sounded sad, “I’m much better company, don’t you think-?”

“Really? Assaulting random girls on the streets,” you could almost cry because you knew that voice. You were sure it was him, even though the man’s body blocked you from his sight, “Damn, Minhyuk, you just keep lowering my expectations.”

“You insult me,” Despite being caught, Minhyuk’s voice rang gleefully, his grip going back to your hair as he swung you into view, “Do you think I have that much time on my hands?”

You’ve seen Hyunjin angry before. You’ve seen when his innocence is overcome by the darkness in his heart. You’ve seen the many faces of Hyunjin that he had when his walls were up and armed. But the moment the realization hit him that it was you, Hyunjin had never looked more utterly terrifying.

“Shocked?” Minhyuk laughed, unaware of Hyunjin’s change in attitude as he lapped up his own small victory, “Did you really think you could fuck with my business without some payback?”

“You hit her.”

Hyunjin’s absolute calm was unsettling, causing shivers down your spine as you watched Hyunjin fall deeper and deeper into his own rage. The light in his eyes had faded, and was replaced with a look of cold fury. He stared at you, growing angrier with every wound he counted.

A moment passed and a whirl of black flew at you. The grip on your hair immediately disappeared as Minhyuk was suddenly thrown back by a bullet-like punch to the face. You rolled away, taking cover on one side of the street, watching as Hyunjin destroyed Minhyuk one punch at a time.

“You fucking hit her,” he was snarling now, grabbing hold of Minhyuk’s shirt and slamming him against the wall. In vain, the man tried to fight back, but a Hyunjin pushed over the edge wasn’t someone you could just beat.

Jisung was right. Hyunjin could pack a punch.

A chilling crack cut through the air as he snapped the man’s wrist with a deliberate force, “You don’t get to fucking touch her with your filthy fucking hands!”

Minhyuk fell to the floor, whimpering in pain, and the burly man stood farther away, his hand still clutching the wounds that continued to leak blood onto the ground. He stared at Hyunjin with a mix of hatred and fear, but didn’t make any moves to attack him.

Hyunjin, after assessing the situation and knowing that the fight was over, ran to your side, his hands hovering over your face, but too afraid to touch you, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault, fuck.”

Your heart couldn’t stop racing as you tried to control your breathing, “It’s fine,” you panted, a hand over your chest, “I’m fine.”

You didn’t notice the broken smile as Hyunjin repeated your words softly, “Yeah, you’ll be fine, I promise.”

As gently as he could, he pulled you up, swing his leather jacket over your shoulders as he maneuvered you onto his back. You instinctively buried your face in the crook of his neck as he murmured with the softness he’d only ever give to you, “Let’s patch you up at my place.”

Before he turned the corner away from the alley, he addressed the Minhyuk once more, his voice coming out as a low, frightening snarl, “If you so much as breath near Y/N again, I’ll break more than just your wrist.”

viii.

You must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because when you finally realized where you were, Hyunjin was already setting you down delicately on his couch. Even with his efforts to be as gentle as possible, every movement caused you pain, and you bit your lip to avoid crying out. Taking his bulky leather jacket off your shoulders, Hyunjin absorbed the sight of your unseemly wounds.

His jaw clenched tightly with every bruise, every scratch that he saw, and he tore his eyes away from your body before he’d actually erupt in fury.

“I’ll grab some supplies,” Hyunjin spoke softly, trying his best not to startle you, “Let me know if you need anything.”

Your instincts urged you to respond, but you couldn’t even expend the energy to nod, much less say anything. At the corner of your eye, you caught the helpless expression on Hyunjin’s face and your insides turned. The moment he was out of sight, your hand crept up to your stomach, which was rippling with low currents of pain. You gently felt around, and something was definitely bruised.

Hyunjin walked back into the living room, freezing when he saw the pained expression on your face as you clutched your stomach.

“Did he,” the boy gripped the bandages in his hand tightly, “did he touch you there too?”

You shook your head, trying to ignore the pain, “No, but he kicked me pretty hard.”

“He kicked you,” Hyunjin repeated, his expression growing murderous, “I should’ve killed him.”

“Don’t. It’s just bruised, anyway,” you dismissed his worries, since Hyunjin didn’t sound like he was joking.

Hyunjin didn’t look like he was convinced, but he let it slide for now. As the anger died down, he seemed to shrink in confidence. He avoided your eyes, gently starting to disinfect the multitude of scratches that marred your legs. You stared at him as he worked, your brain moving sluggishly as you tried to decipher his silence.

He had begun methodically, obviously having cleaned injuries before. It made you wonder about the disaster that was Hyunjin’s bandages on his knuckles, especially since he seemed to know exactly what to do. As he made it to your arms, though, you noticed that Hyunjin had gradually started trembling. It was slight at first, his hand shaking as he wrapped a particularly nasty cut on your elbow, but as he worked down to your palms, it became rather alarming. You tried to catch his expression, but the long black hair hid his face from your view.

Hyunjin’s movements began to grow less steady as his hands began to grow out of control, and that was when you pulled yourself out of your trance-like state. Closing your fingers over the hand that was currently dabbing alcohol over your palm, you prodded gently, “Hyunjin, are you okay?”

The boy froze, his hand tensing in your grasp. You were beginning to worry that he had stopped breathing when he finally spoke, his voice hoarse and defeated, “God, I really don’t deserve you.”

Your heart jumped as you frowned, “What are you talking about?”

“It’s my fault. This is all my fault,” Hyunjin said brokenly, “Minhyuk found you because of me. Minhyuk targeted you because of me. He fucking lay his hands on you,” his breath hitched as even the mention of the incident sent his blood boiling, “because I was too selfish to let you go.”

You could only listen with your eyes wide as you felt Hyunjin clutch your hand like a lifeline.

“I always knew I would never be able to move forward from my past,” he started, “Even after Chan, even after clearing much of my name on files, I realized that it was hopeless, because no one will ever really forget my actions.”

“Chan told me to be careful, told me that spending so much time with you would put you in danger,” Hyunjin said quietly, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb, “But how could I stay away when you’re the one person in the world that actually makes me want to keep on living?”

“Oh, Hyunjin,” you couldn’t even spend time to mull over what essentially was an indirect confession, too busy trying to understand what Hyunjin was trying to get to, “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he said earnestly, finally looking at your directly as if trying to convey his sincerity, “I know you don’t think that’s true, but you mean more to me than anyone else in the universe. I’m not lying, Y/N, please understand—I need you to believe me, please—“

“Okay, okay, I believe you,” your unoccupied hand buried itself in Hyunjin’s hair as you rubbed his scalp placatingly because Hyunjin had begun to grow desperately frantic.

He leaned into your touch, as if it brought him a sense of comfort that nothing else could in comparison, “I thought it was fine,” he whispered, “I’m with you all the time anyway, I could protect you if something happened. I was so fucking stupid, and the one day I couldn’t make it in time to walk you home, you got hurt.”

You hummed to show that you were still listening, your hands continuing to massage through his soft locks in an effort to calm him down.

“I’m so jealous of Jisung,” Hyunjin confessed suddenly, catching you off guard, “He can spend time with you so comfortably, and you two are so close, I hate that I’ll never be able to understand you the way he does.”

“Jisung and I understand each other due to circumstances,” you agreed slowly, “But we don’t have to live similar lives to understand each other, Hyunjin. Don’t you think we’re connected by something else?”

Hyunjin opened his mouth to reply before shutting it immediately, his eyes exposing his hesitation. When you gazed at him questioningly, he steeled his nerves, and spoke the words that had been threatening to burst out of his chest for the last three months.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your jaw went slack, “Y-you’re—what?”

“I’m in love with you,” Hyunjin repeated more definitively, but his voice was tinged with a sort of resignation, as if he had completely accepted that his confession wouldn’t be reciprocated, “I have been for months.”

“But—you never,” you struggled to get your words out as, “you always pulled away from me whenever we started to get closer. You’re so clingy with everyone else but you always avoid me.”

Hyunjin chuckled, “Y/N, if I let myself fall, I’ll never be able to stop liking you.”

“And why is that a bad thing?”

“Because I can’t be in love with you!” Hyunjin said frustratedly, ”I’m too dangerous, too broken, too scared to treat you right. I’m not good for you, Y/N.”

“Why don’t I get to decide that?” you asked just as fervently.

Hyunjin flashed with hurt, “Stop phrasing it like that.”

You frowned, “Like what?”

“Like you love me.”

“Oh, Hyunjin,” you sighed, a smile peeking at the corner of your lips, “I can tell you with absolute certainty. I’m also in love with you.”

Hyunjin froze for a long, torturous moment before his eyes grew impossibly wide as he grabbed both your hands, “Really?” His voice sounded so innocent and so hopeful, and all you wanted to do was to wrap your arms around him and fall in his embrace.

“Really.”

Hyunjin leaned in closer towards your face, your foreheads touching and his hands delicately placed on your arms, “I’m worried that I won’t be good enough for you,” he murmured, “I’m scared that I’ll put you in danger. You deserve the world, Y/N, and I’d give it to you in a heartbeat, but I’m afraid that I won’t be able to.”

“I don’t need the world, Hyunjin,” you brushed his cheek as your face flushed a bright pink. He was so close, you could count his eyelashes and see every imperfection on his face, “I just want you to let me in.”

Hyunjin giggled, his breath fanning your face. Cupping your face with his hands, your lips were only millimeters apart when he answered, “Deal.”

As his lips pressed against yours with all the gentleness and love that Hyunjin held for you, your heart finally lost the weight you’d been carrying ever since you realized how far you’d fallen for him. And maybe, just maybe, you two loved each other enough to make this work.

#hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin imagine #hwang hyunjin scenarios #stray kids #stray kids reactions #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #my fics

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #435

from yesterday, don’t feel like updating the answers. :^)

When you get married what do you think you’ll put most of your focus and money into? Uhhh. I really don't know... I mean maybe doing all I can do avoid debt? That's what my parents mostly argued about, and I know financial strain can really affect a couple. I never want that burden. Who in your life causes you the most stress or negative feelings? My damn self. Have you ever had a teacher that also taught your parents? No; my parents didn't grow up here. Wait! I THINK Mom had one of my college professors? I don't recall for sure, and I definitely don't remember who it was. Are you the type of person who seeks out revenge? Nah. Are there any songs that inspire you? Certainly, such as "Life Won't Wait" by Ozzy Osbourne, "Get Up" by Shinedown, and more. How do you feel about celebrities getting involved in politics? Do you think that the celebrity world and the political world should be kept apart? Not at all; everyone has the right to share their opinion and should not feel like it's necessary to censor it. Let them be people with morals and beliefs, too. I'm totally fine with them CHOOSING to be quiet about controversial subjects, but they're more than welcome to share their thoughts on any topic. What is one pro of living where you do, and what is one con? What is a pro and a con of living where you wished you lived? I guess the only real pro (and this is horrible to be the first thought) is that we're under the radar; like, not really a target for terrorism or anything, lol. I'd get kinda nervous if I lived in, like, Washington D.C. or something. We have A LOT of cons: there is NOTHING to do, we're essentially a hub for crime, the scenery is boring and bland as fuck... I could go on for a long time. I'd love to live in many areas in North America, but I'll go with Alaska, since that would absolute RULE. A strong pro would definitely be the cold climate and the sights, but it would definitely be a con to me when that relentless dark era lasts for months on end. I need the sun (from inside anyway, ha ha) sometimes, because it being dark for what, half a year?, would really damage my happiness. What is your favorite episode of your favorite TV show? Referring to Meerkat Manor, it's actually the one where Mozart dies, I think, even though it destroyed my heart. I just think the writer portrayed it as so beautifully tragic, and the clips shown were so pretty. Does having others watch you do things make you uncomfortable? What sorts of things make you extremely uncomfortable if you are watched while doing them? Are there any things that give you confidence to do if you have an audience? ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY. Do NOT watch me on the computer (especially when writing), I literally will not draw if someone's watching (inevitably besides in Art classes, I think Sara is legit the only person who's watched me draw a bit), I really don't like people watching me edit photography, I'm nooot a fan of others seeing me exercise (though I kinda have to suck that up with having a personal trainer), etc. etc. Just don't watch me do anything, lol. I don't know what actually boosts my confidence if I'm being observed. Does someone in your house speak a different language on a regular basis? No. Do you follow or care about any big sports events? Not at all. Are there any activities people normally do together that you prefer doing alone? Hm. I dunno. If you are going somewhere where you’ll have to wait for a while (i.e. a doctor’s office), do you bring something to occupy yourself? My phone, yeah. How long is your favorite song? I checked, and it's almost six minutes. Do you think you’d ever want to be “internet famous”? I'll admit I've somewhat thought about it, only because my career choices are running so dry, and I'd be able to do it alone. However, I've got noooo idea what I'd actually do, and I also don't think I could handle ridicule or anything like that for any reason. Having a spotlight on me would stress me out. Who was the main cook of your Thanksgiving meal last year? My older sister. What moment in your life have you been most scared? Probably this one occasion where Dad had to pick my sister and me up from school one day and make the 30-minute drive home. Well. He was clearly in a hellish mood because he was flying. He ran stop signs and red lights, passed people illegally... I was in the passenger's seat and absolutely convinced we were going to crash. I can barely believe we didn't. Who was the last person you slow danced with? -_- Do you prefer headphones or earbuds? Earbuds. I like how they block out external sound better, and they don't hurt my ears like headphones do. What person/people do you trust the most? My mom. Who in your life do you care about more than yourself? My parents, sisters, my nieces and nephew, Sara... A lot of people, if I'm being honest. I don't value my life as much as I should. Which wild animal would you most like to have as a pet? I am DESPERATE to rescue an opossum one day. :''''( What teacher did all the high school boys/girls have a crush on? I have no idea. Have you ever felt seriously violated? No. Do you watch American Horror Story? I adore(d) the first season; it was mine and Jason's "show." We watched most of season two as well, but I lost interest in the later half of it. I haven't really watched it since, save for the pilot episode of some season I forgot. Does your hometown have any urban legends/scary stories? Not to my knowledge. What’s the scariest nightmare you remember having? Something involving my dad that I won't speak about. Pancakes or French toast? Oh my god, French toast. That sounds delicious rn. Are there any apps you’re addicted to? Not addicted, nah. Did you have a favorite stuffed animal as a child? Yes; it was a bunny holding a multicolor polka-dotted blanket. Do you still collect stuffed animals? Hell yeah. Have you ever had eggs cooked over a campfire? No. What colors of mascara have you worn on your lashes? Just black. What font do you usually use? I mean, it depends on what I'm doing. Is it supposed to appear professional? Aesthetically pleasing? It varies too much to answer this with one font. What about font colors? Usually just black, but again, it depends on what I'm writing. Are you good at making graphics or designing layouts? Ha, no. Do you put gel or mousse in your hair? No. Sleep with just one pillow? No, I use two. I am VERY uncomfortable with just one. Ever woke up crying? Yeah, from nightmares. Do you like big dogs or small dogs better? It depends on the breed and their energy level. I don't really prefer one over the other as a general judgment. Are you going to graduate high school on time? I did. Been to the zoo lately? No, but I'd love to go. :/ Now that I'd consider myself at least a pretty decent photographer, I'd love to see what shots I could take. I LOVE photographing animals with how unpredictable they are. It's like playing the lottery; you really don't know what you're going to get, but you have the chance for seriously priceless moments. Even if we could afford the trip, though, I know I wouldn't last long whatsoever with my legs being as weak as gelatine. I know especially that there's a notable incline in the path, and I'd never make it up it. I really, really look forward to the day where I can really start feeling a difference in my body thanks to the gym. Have you ever been to Mississippi? No. What did you do for your last birthday? We went to The Cheesecake Factory. Do you like to cook? No. What is the worst thing that has happened to you in your entire life? If I'm looking at the big picture and what truly damaged my pleasure in life the most, it'd be developing depression and such intense anxiety. I've given up so much and changed so negatively because of it. Do you know when your next family reunion will be? We've never had one. My family is too spread out. What is your favorite thing to do with your significant other? I'm single, but even in a relationship, I love playing video games together. I've got multiple memories of just having a great time doing that. Where is “home” for you? Wherever Mom is. Is there an animal that creeps you out? Whale sharks, maggots and other bug larvae, centipedes, many beetles, and some other bugs. What is the name of the last band you discovered? Uhhh.. good question. I admittedly don't listen to new music a lot. I tend to stick to the stuff I know. Do you prefer group projects, or would you prefer to work alone? I would rather kick my ankle against a Razer scooter than do a group project. Have you ever been to Hooters? No. Do you have a brother? What’s his name? Yeah, Robert, but everyone calls him "Bobby." Have you ever thought that your life was so bad you wanted to give up? About a billion times. I still do sometimes. Do you have a ceiling fan located in your bedroom? Yes. Have you ever been in a lighthouse? No, but I was supposed to visit one in the fourth grade. The water was way too aggressive that day, though, so we had a change of plans and went to a closer island. Hell, it might have been the better option, because it had horses. I remember collecting seashells, too, and just watching the power of the ocean hammer at the shores. It was really pretty. Have you ever been bitten by an animal? Only playfully, like by a cat. Well wait, I think my old baby iguana may have bitten me once (he sure tried to, ha ha), but I don't remember for sure. Did it rain today? Yes. It rains pretty much every afternoon here in the late summer. What was the name of the last dog you pet? Zeke, my sister's German shepherd. He's adorable. Has your luggage ever been lost at the airport? Did you get it back? No. Do you have certain friends that you hug every time you see them? I pretty much always hug my friends when I see them. I'm a big hugger. Have you ever witnessed a tornado? No, thank the fucking Lord. Who is your favorite person to talk to when you’re down? Sara. What are you listening to right now? "Blood For Blood" by Powerwolf. Can you get over people easy? Hell no. I do NOT handle loss well AT ALL. And not just romantically. What was the last thing you carried to your room? A drink. Do you drink water that comes from your sink? Only once it's been filtered. Have you ever prank called the police? That is fucking awful. No. What’s your LEAST favorite smiley? XD looks so stupid to me I'm sorry lmao xD reigns supreme. Do you like Italian food? Yeah, more than I used to. Have you ever put red lipstick on just to make lip marks on something? No. Do you watch Shane Dawson on YouTube? Isn't his career pretty much toast now? I DID used to love his videos, though. I still occasionally watch his fiance, though, and he pops up sometimes. Regardless of everything, I still think he's funny as fuck. Would you ever spend a day to see what it’s like to be homeless? NOOOOOOO NO NO NO NO. I am TERRIFIED of living on the streets someday. I want NO idea what it's like. Is the house you’re currently living in over 50 years old? I highly doubt that. Have you ever had a yard sale? Many. What is your favorite color? Baby pink. Did you have a good day or a bad day? Today was extreeeemely dull and felt like it lasted eons. Do you know anyone that has/had cancer? I sadly know maaaaany. Have you ever read somebody else’s diary? No, that is incredibly rude. Do you enjoy going to school? I hated it from start to end. Like I have good memories, but overall, I hated school. Were you a big jump roper back in the day? OHHHH YES. I almost learned how to double-dutch, even. I could jump with two ropes, but not jump in with two. Are you a local celebrity? Definitely not. Do you eat candy daily? No. I'm already fat dude, I don't need candy. I avoid candy as best as I can. Do you get nervous with public speaking? Like you would not believe. How old were you when you got your driver's license (if you have it)? I'm 25 and still don't have it. Has someone of the opposite sex ever told you they loved you? Yes. What memory are you most afraid of losing? Meh, I don't know. A lot of what I consider my "favorite" memories I'd honestly be better off losing, probably. Who accompanied you to your first concert? My mom, younger sister, and Jason. Would you rather have tickets to see your favorite band in concert, or $100 to go shopping? TAKE ME TO THE OZZY CONCERT. What do you usually eat for breakfast? It really varies. I'd say cereal most often, probably? Do you wish you were more outgoing? Yeah. Do you know anyone who wears a hearing aid? I don't think so?

#survey #surveys #random questions

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dianapana · 4 years

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SasuHina Month 2020 - Day 5

Prompt –Collage AU

Long Distance- Part 3

Hinata POV

Sasuke drives like a pro; whenever I’m in the car with Ino I fear for my life, Neji drives really smoothly but he always goes really really and I mean really fast so, I find myself griping the side of my seat a lot. But with Sasuke the speed is good I don’t feel like we’re about to pierce to the vail of time and his movements are confident and easy; he seems to be at ease. We’ve been on the road for about 45 minutes and we haven’t really spoken much but the silence is pleasant and it doesn’t bother me.

“So, you’re from Konoha and about my age how come we never met in school?” Sasuke is the one to break the silence.

“I was homeschooled until 10th grade. And after that I went to Suna Academy for girls. I am what you would call ‘sheltered’. My mom told my dad I should attend public school before university but he just about had a heart attack. He didn’t really want me going to University either” I didn’t mind being homeschooled I’m more of an introvert and I know that; it’s not because I didn’t go to public school it’s just how I am and I’m ok with that. But I did want to go to university so I fought for that as well and when mom came to my aid too dad didn’t stand a chance. I’m happy with my decision; I’ve made a few really good friends and enjoyed the experience so far. I also loved the freedom of doing whatever I wanted without asking for permission. I’m not a party person but I did discover I enjoy certain things that mom or dad would never allow.

“Ah makes sense. My older brother was homeschooled for about 2 years but neither mom nor dad really liked that so when I started school, they sent me to public school from the get go”

“Are you going to be a senior this year?” he looks older and more mature than I do, or at least than I feel.

“Yep, what about you?” I look from the corner of my eyes at the way his muscles move in his arm when he changes the gear. He’s not built like most guys in my classes.

“I’m also going to be a senior. What’s your major?”

“I only declared my major last semester so despite it being my last year I’ll have a lot of courses to take. I’m majoring in education. I was accepted on athletic scholarship and have been a starter on the hokey team since the second semester of my freshman year so I plan to either go pro or coach. What about you?”

“I major in creative writing and minor in photography or as my dad says, I’m paying money to become a starving artist. I’ve never seen a hockey game; my sister likes it and played a little in middle school but I was away in Suna so I never went to any of her games.”

We talk a little more about collage, I find out that he lives with one of his teammates who is also his best friend and another friend that’s a tattoo artist and is majoring in fine arts at KU. I also applied there but the creative writing program is better at the UoA. I did hear that the graphic design department from KU has some of the pest teachers in the country. I told him about Ino who I met at orientation but, we also share the same minor; her major though is flower arts, surprisingly she has a lot of business-oriented courses to pretty much teach her how to run her own shop. We’re about 15 minutes away from KU and once again I feel guilty; he’s been on the road for 4 hours even though under normal circumstances he’d just now hit the road. After passing KU we finally hit the highway and Sasuke speeds up but it’s still comfortable.

We talk a little more for the following few hours and I’m surprised by how easy it is to talk to him. He even explains hockey to me as briefly as possible and says he’ll invite me to a game when the season starts. The implication that we will talk after the end of this pleases me. We’re about half the way to Konoha when we stop so Sasuke can fill the tank and so we can go to the bathroom, maybe drink another coffee since we drank the extra ones I packed as well already and eat something. Thankfully the gas station has a McDonalds next to it.

Sasuke POV

Once we hit the road again after eating the only noise is the radio but we don’t talk. The silence isn’t unwelcomed and awkward. After a couple more minutes I peek at Hinata and see she has fallen asleep. I dim the music a little and continue driving. We have about 5 more hours to go.

About 4 hours later I make another stop at the gas station; I need to go to the bathroom. Hinata hasn’t woken up yet. I’m debating whether to wake her up or not when her phone starts ringing loudly and waking her up anyway. She wakes up and answers in a hurry while rubbing the sleep away from her eyes.

“Hey mom. Yea we’re about…” she looks towards me and I mouth ‘1 hour away’ “1 hour away. We just stopped at a gas station. I’ll see you soon ok? I want to go to the bathroom. Bye” she hangs up not really waiting for a reply.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry I fell asleep for like 4 hours.” Her cheeks are red and I can tell she feel guilty and embarrassed but I shrug.

“No big deal” It looks like she wants to apologize again so I get out of the car. Each of us goes to the bathroom and then Hinata buys some snacks and I get myself a Pepsi and we get back on the road.

Hinata rips open the packet of candy she bought and eats a few. “Do you want some?” she asks. Usually I’m not a huge fan of sweets but I do want some sugar to get energy so I nod. I can’t take my hand that instant off the wheel so I make a small pause with full intention to extend it in a few moments but before I can do that Hinata leans over and pops a candy in my mouth. I am shocked and I look at her from the corner of my eye and she is frozen in place, her face red as a beat.

“I…umm I am sorry” her voice is barely a whisper and she leans back in her seat. “I did that without thinking sorry. I do that whenever Ino drives. In the beginning she would take her hand pff the wheel mid turn and it would freak me out so I developed this habit of feeding her rather than her letting go of the wheel. I am so so so sorry” she talks really fast and her hands are over her cheeks.

“It’s ok. You just surprised me” I say. Hinata I realize is very socially awkward. She blushes easily and apologizes a lot about everything. Despite me trying to reassure her she doesn’t talk much for the rest of the road.

Hinata POV

The candy incident happened almost 20 minutes ago but my heart still beats way too fast. I did that on instinct and the moment my fingertips touched his lips I was gone. I am way too aware of him now to be able to talk to him normally. Even if I don’t want to I notice everything about him. From his muscles that shift whenever he moves the slightest bit, to his beautiful profile, to his dark and shiny hair.

I keep my hands joined in my lap because I’m scared, I’ll do something embarrassing again. I want to touch him. I want to take pictures of him. He would be a great subject for a photoshoot. Images of him in a studio dim lighted and a bit destroyed fill my brain. He would suite something grunge or maybe something with neon lights to give him an eerie atmosphere. That is his attitude, if we were to talk about his looks, he is handsome and beautiful; he would look good surrounded by white, that would make him look like an angel. The angel analogy starts to run while when I imagine him naked with only a silk sheet over his lap. I feel my cheeks growing redder again.

I shake my head and look out the window. The familiar scenery tells me we’re only about 15 minutes away from my house, after waking up I gave him my address to put into the GPS. I curse myself for sleeping half of the ride. There’s no use lying to myself. I like Sasuke, he’s easy to talk and cool. His good looks only aid this predicament.

“We’re almost home” I say.

“You don’t sound that happy. You did say you didn’t want to return. Why is that?” He answers, eyes still focused on the road, his voice even. He really does not think about the candy incident. The knowledge hurts a little. I kind of wanted him to be as shook as I am.

“I liked the freedom I have at University. I’ve never really been the one in charge before” Mom and Hanabi are the only ones home which means we will be doing a lot of shopping. They’ll make me try on things I don’t particularly like. Most of my closet consisted of thing mom and Hanabi think look good on me but that I don’t like to wear so when I got to University I started selling them.

“I get that, I feel the same. That was also my reason for not coming back home” He admits and it shocks me a little, Sasuke doesn’t seem like someone that would let himself be controlled by someone else. This makes me relate to him, admire him for admitting something like that, Neji is very prideful and he would never say something like this.

When the car pulls to a stop in front of my house, I have to admit I am glad. I like spending time with him but I feel myself developing a crush on him that can only lead to my own demise. I look to the front door half expecting mother to come running outside but she doesn’t. Sasuke gets out of the car as well and helps me with the suitcases. I go to open the door but it is locked. I unlock it and the house is silent. Sasuke asks me where to take the suitcases and I abuse his kindness and tell him to follow me to my room. In the mean time I call mother.

“Hey mom I got home…but where are you?”

“Hinata baby I’m over at Mikoto’s come with Sasuke. She wants to meet you and we can all have a nice late lunch or early dinner” Her voice is chipper and light, is…is mom drunk?

“O….k?”

“See you soon baby” She says and hangs up on. I look at my phone and then to Sasuke.

“Um…she’s at your house” I say and he laughs.

“Of course, she is. How did we not see this coming?” Sasuke asks rhetorically as we walk back to the car. I top to lock the door. “I mean they are best friends so of course they are together.”

The drive to his home takes about another 10 minutes and this time when the car stops mom and another woman, I assume Sasuke’s mother wait for us on the front porch and they each have a wine glass in their hands. Mom is smiling wide and chats with Mikoto lively.

“Are they drunk?” I say out loud. Sasuke narrows his eyes.

“I don’t know about your mother but my mom is a lightweight. If she drank a glass of wine, she is not only drunk but wasted.”

“Mom can’t hold her alcohol very well either” I admit, we both turn to look at them still chatting away, obvious to the fact that we have arrived. We turn to look at each other and chuckle a little.

“Come o let’s go join them, drink a glass of wine too. Why should they be the only ones to have fun?” He says and gets out of the car. My heart is beating faster once again. I can’t move for a moment. Sasuke opens my door and extends his hand to me, I look at it and take it. His skin is warm and rough but I feel sparks going up my arm. I look up at him and he’s smirking at me. The sun is just now setting behind Sasuke and it gives him a golden glow. That is the moment when I realize that I already like him, this boy I met today. He lets go of my hand to go get his own bags but I can still feel his touch. I close my eyes and take a deep breath in. When I open them he’s next to me and nods towards out mothers, I nod back and we start walking up the driveway. The two of them finally see us, put their wine glasses down and come towards us for hugs. Mom kisses my cheek and tells me how much she missed me; than she hugs Sasuke and thanks him for bringing me while Mikoto hugs me and tells me how nice it is to meet me.

Looking at this scene with them so happy makes me realize that I don’t regret coming home. I’m glad I could make mom happy. I’m glad to see her having fun with a new friend. I peer from the corner of my eye towards Sasuke. I’m glad I came because I met him. I’m still looking at him when he turns his eyes to me as well and smirks. I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder if he feels even remotely like I do. Even if he doesn’t, I hope he will still be my friend because Sasuke Uchiha is pretty cool and I’d love to have him in my life. If his mother is anything like him, I can’t blame mom for calling Mikoto her best friend already.

Part 1 (This happens after the 2nd and 3rd part)

Part 2

#sasuhina month #sasuhina #sasuhina month 2020 #shmonth2020 #sh2020 #sasuke #hinata #sasuke uchiha #hinata hyuuha #diawrites #dia-story

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willowistic22 · 4 years

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Dot : #3 Newsies OC

Ok hehehe new newsies oc lol. Kinda my first ever OC but I’ve only gotten around to write a proper character sheet for her now. So yay I got it done after like..... months already??? whoops

Basic Info :

Name : Nora “Dot” Conlon

Birthday : July 29th

Gender : Female (She/her)

Heritage : Italian

Family : She is Spot’s little sister. They’re just a year apart. Their father looked after them for the most part till he died when Nora was 9 years old (Spot 10) and they were taken care of by their uncle, which is their father’s younger brother.

Appearance : Nora is basically as tall as Spot, but her features are more feminine and small compared to Spot’s big and muscular ones. Jet black hair, almost dark brown when the sun shines on it but it’s actually just black, gently curled at the end when it brushes with her shoulders. Honey eyes like her brother. Ivory tinted rose complexion but it’s cleaner than Spot’s. Natural peach lips. So basically a female version of Spot Conlon.

Further description :

- specifically canon :

Nora isn’t exactly a newsie. She’s mostly a seamstress at a local tailor shop but sometimes sells newspapers on her days off. Though she does have a dream of being a book author. Her lucky selling spot is at a local market or sheepshead at times. Spot and Nora’s uncle was already struggling living on his own, and was made harder after taking two kids in. But he couldn’t abandon them since they’re family and he owes their father (who is his older brother) a lot. Spot was already a Brooklyn newsie before the siblings had moved in with their uncle but permanently slept at the Brooklyn Lodging house when he was 12 to make more space at the apartment. He frequently visits his family for the occasional dinner.

At times, Nora would sleep at the lodge as well. When she’s done selling and got carried away hanging out with her brooksie friends till it got too dark. Or Nora just felt like spending the night with her brother by her side. She gets along with the other brooksies. She teams up with Hotshot to play tricks on Spot or the other brooksies. She hangs out with Smokey (my other Brooklyn OC) on the side while the two watch the brooksies from the docks dipping in the water since Nora doesn’t really like swimming in front of a lot of people who are mostly boys. She bonds with the other newsies through casual conversations, messing around, and sometimes the small but kind gestures she does like sewing the tear in their clothes, giving away stuff, bringing them some food, or helping them go back to sleep after waking up from a nightmare. She’s also very good at various card games and has been known to be the best at them. Though, she gets very competitive when competing with Race because they’re just both equally good!

When the strike happened, she was 15. She felt unsure about it. Unsure whether to tell Spot to get Brooklyn to join or say nothing and agree with his decision in not joining the strike. But when Brooklyn did, Nora supported the Brooksies by providing the food they couldn’t pay. She meets the Manhattan newsies that way but has already met a few before the strike, like Albert because he's been friends with Spot since before the strike. Nora meets Kathrine and Sarah and instantly becomes friends. She frequently third wheels them on secret dates, and it covers it up to look like a casual girls night!

- specifically modern :

His uncle’s finances can barely support a family of three, so Nora works part time as a seamstress after school. Despite her skills at sewing, she has a passion for writing and photography. She later works for a magazine mostly as a photographer but sometimes as a columnist for a certain section. Her dream is to be a wildlife photographer because she loves animals and traveling!

So I’ve mentioned that in the modern era Spot, Hotshot, Albert, and Smokey are street racers (well in their teenage years at least). Nora is no exception. She’s a badass behind the wheel. Spot taught her the ropes and soon learned a few more tricks on her own. Despite her brother’s support in street racing, he explicitly means cars. Motorcycles on the other hand is a different story. Spot knows Nora can keep herself safe on the road whether it’s with a car or a bike, but some people don’t. Unlike cars, bikes don’t have doors or any other form of protection from getting hit. Spot knows how to ride one, but barely uses that skill to get around because of that specific reason. So instead she asks Hotshot to teach her. Other than her car, she goes around the city with her vespa or borrow Hotshot’s sports bike if she wants to feel a bit like a badass.

Nora wasn’t introduced to Spot’s Manhattan friends until she had reached adulthood. Race and Spot’s relationship was still casual for so long and after talks with Nora their relationship got serious. It took years to convince his brother to trust his feelings and he feels it’s the best thing Nora has ever convinced him to do. So one night where the huge friend group was planning a hangout, Spot invites Nora to tag along. Despite her friendliness, she doesn’t really extend her hand in friendship with others often so it got her a bit nervous and needed to change her outfit about seven times before arriving at their hangout place. She still didn’t like her outfit. To her surprise, she clicks with the others just fine! Spot was glad since she doesn’t have many friends in general. She hates everyone from her old high school other than Spot, his friends Nora has adopted to be her own friend, and probably like two other people from her grade (i.e. her best friends).

- applies to both :

So Nora is a very tough girl that doesn’t like taking shit from anyone. Yes, she’s kind hearted, friendly, and graceful in general. But get on her bad side and she’ll beat the crap outta you! Spot taught her how to fight by giving her little bits of advice throughout her life when she’s required to use her fist. It’s to the point where Spot got her alone and properly trained her how to punch. And with such an inquisitive nature, she kept on asking for more which led to her fully being able to defend herself by the age of 14. She may seem friendly on the outside, but that doesn’t mean she’s your friend or even trust you. Nora displays the difference between tolerating and liking someone.

Her untrusting instinct towards people in general came from her bad experience from being abandoned by her mother. No one ever knew why the woman abandoned her family in the first place. Her father tried his best to be vague any time his children asked, but it was safe to say there was a more specific reason why she left. Their father’s last wishes before he passed away is to not answer that question. It frustrated the siblings but they honored it at the end. Nora hated the feeling of being abandoned. When she got older, she began to understand the concept more and had a short period in her life where she had trouble with her self image. But she picked herself up and became the woman her friends know and love.

Spot and Nora are actually really close. Nora was the first one that started calling him Spot because anytime the two holds slingshot competitions, her brother is always spot on. Ever since that started, Nora always refers to him as Spot. Occasionally, Spot calls Nora dot after joking about the little black dot just below her right eye. It became a brand for the two. Spot and Dot! Their personalities range from ‘the-exact-same-person’ and ‘polar-opposites’, there is no in between. They’d do anything for the other. Other than perhaps Racetrack and Hotshot, Nora is the only one that gets to see Spot vulnerable. Heck, she was the first one! Is Spot the overprotective big brother? Yes and no. He knows Nora can handle anything that comes her way. She doesn’t need help when someone is bothering her. Spot would hold her hat and proudly watch her tussle with a stranger that decided to get on her bad side. But there are times where she trusted the wrong guy with her heart. A few devastating heartbreaks indeed but she was lucky that it didn’t do much damage, other than maybe ruining her trust in others more. And to that, Spot hunts those assholes down till they get a proper beating :)

It was a pretty funny story of how Nora and Crutchie met. She fell for him. As in she tripped over something while walking and landed on Crutchie and caused the two to fall on the pavement. In canon era, Nora was in Manhattan and was running late to be somewhere else. She tripped and fell on top of Crutchie, causing all the paper he still needed to sell to fly off to the distance. After apologizing, they had a short conversation and it got her mesmerized by the boy. In modern era, the same thing happened. Only it was Crutchie’s textbooks that fell and he’s the one running late for one of his morning classes. Their conversation was short after that but they impressed the other quite well. They met up again when Spot invited her to meet his friends from Manhattan. They had a more in depth conversation on their own while their friends were having fun and Nora was definitely crushing on him hard.

(I still got more headcanons for her but that would make this post even longer. Feel free to ask questions if you’d like to know more about her!)

#newsies #newsies oc #oc #oc: Dot

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dew-line · 4 years

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Life, death, and rebirth – developing and redeveloping a personality on a progressing timeline

So. I had a little fun today. The last task on the psychology course was to write an essay on personality development based(ish) on Mischels theories about personality development. The guidelines were a tad loose, and I choose to run with it. The text below is what I submitted, hopefully I’ll get som feedback on it tomorrow or in a few days and I’ll keep you posted on that. :D //Jimmy How does one begin to describe, in any relatable fashion, the development of one’s personality, especially as it is a work of perpetual process? One must, I assume, begin at the beginning: I was born. Then there was nothing until I developed a basic sense of self awareness and the ability to define myself in relation to other people and objects. In that very moment I created the world; but you may rest easy, for I am a humble god. Especially so since I stopped demanding the immediate satisfaction of my basic needs and allowed myself to be shaped into this present form by the mold created by my parents and by society; by boundaries drawn by cultural and linguistic traits Thus, like the Christian God I was made flesh and blood – now writing before you as this maculate conception, ever learning as I progressed over the years, constantly striving to fill out this rudimentary sketch of “me” drawn by my parents with ever more content and subject matter. I learnt of poetry and philosophy – the power of word and thought, and thus, in my late teens, I entered a new phase. Let it begin with these words from the gospel [abridged] of St. Charles the Inebriated.

”Born like this

Into this

Into these carefully mad wars

Into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness

Into bars where people no longer speak to each other

Into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings

Born into this

Into hospitals which are so expensive that it's cheaper to die

Into lawyers who charge so much it's cheaper to plead guilty

Into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed

Into a place where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes

Born into this

Walking and living through this

Dying because of this

Muted because of this

Castrated

Debauched

Disinherited

Because of this

Fooled by this

Used by this

Pissed on by this

Made crazy and sick by this

Made violent

Made inhuman

By this

[…]”

Charles Bukowski – ”Dinosauria, We”.

Now, I may not have turned out quite as bitter and fatalistic as the aged Bukowski, but I do confess to a certain faiblesse for the absurd, in Camus’s use of the term, that existence is without meaning and purpose, and that beauty lies in –the absurd– meeting between this knowledge and continuing to striving too, despite this knowledge, fill life with love, beauty and personal meaning.

I was born into a classical working class home at 09:28, December 25th 1974, the first child of a young mother and an alcoholic and controlling father; two parents that had the unusually common sense for their time to realise that they should not be together, and thus early becoming a child of separation – my parents were not married. I was doomed to the life of bi-weekend migrations between families – as this was long before the enlightened era where parents manage to handle child care in an adult fashion and share the weeks equally – a conduct that, in my case, created a feeling or rootlessness and a sense of drifting rather than establishing solid connections within either family – my mother and my father’s new families respectively. This rootlessness in turn created the foundation of a lifelong fear of abandonment and also of a shyness that manifested itself in an extroverted way – acting like the class clown, hiding emotions behind first erratic behavior and later, as I grew older and developed an arsenal of wit and amassed at least a modicum of knowledge – in early attempts at humor. I also developed the foundation of a contrarian mindset that is still present to this day. I despise the consensus – mainly because a consensus promotes a lack of progress and a lack of progress is the base definition of death. However, when I was a child the main reason for causing disruption, even if I was not aware of it at the time, was that it is easier to hide where there is disorder. Being judged by one’s behavior was far more preferable to being judged on who I actually was.

It was at this age, around the age of seven or eight, that I came to the conclusion that religion was not the answer. Being introduced to a light version of Christianity in an after-school setting, being taught the core concepts of the New Testament, I promptly told the teacher that it was nonsense and, if I recall correctly, was not invited back for the second semester. Much to my mother’s dismay, I presume. By this time, we had left Uppsala and moved out into the countryside, a move that lead to an increased isolation on my behalf – this suited me perfectly as my main interests, especially as I started fourth grade, turned into literature and music. My mother had always read out loud for us when we were little, and I have always had a strong imagination – making the immersion into literature both smooth and welcome. Music also became an important present at this early age – literature and music has followed me ever since. The main part of the eighties was spent in my room reading and listening to music.

What beautiful time it was.

Reading has had a huge impact on the forming of the person that I am today. All adults that I was surrounded by, in a formative sense – part from teachers – lacked any higher education and we did not really discuss much at, particularly not on my mother’s side, where I spent most of my time. My father, on the other hand – and this is based on long term memories, I cannot vouch for the validity of these memories as I have not spoken to the man in over 20 years – had a creative side – he tried to keep up to date, enjoyed certain intellectual activities. And whisky. And to listen to music. And whisky. And occasionally to beat his kids. Personally, I can’t remember to have ever being beaten by him, that seem to have developed later. My two brothers on my father’s side got to take the brunt of it as I can remember, however – he also had a knack for the words and was happy to share his opinions on how useless we were. That one has stuck with me. As I grew up and became older, and also stronger, this abuse increasingly became a greater and greater problem for me – culminating in me eventually starting to step between my father and my younger siblings when he got ”into the mood”. Eventually, however, I came to the point where I could not keep doing this and as I neared adulthood the relationship with my father and also my father’s side of the family slowly ebbed out. Initially, and for some years I felt that I had let my siblings to fend for themselves, but that feeling is long since passed. I have processed this, and I have moved on. It had to be done.

I once asked my mother why they did not put any pressure on us when we were younger. Why they never pushed us to do better in school or had any opinions on what we choose to study in high school. The answer was that they wanted to let us choose for ourselves, that we should study what we wanted. The guidance counselor, I remember, told me to look find a job in a warehouse. Packing vegetables at the COOP. The direct result of that was that I ended up studying for two years to become a bricklayer. I had no ambitions. I choose what I knew, since my stepfather and my father both worked in construction. I should not have been there. My only proper skills after being through the Swedish school system in the 80’s and early 90’s was a decent grasp of English. There were no jobs for me in construction, nor would I have been interested if there were any. If change was to come it was not through family, the school system or anything else. It was through me.

Looking back, however, it is interesting to see how much my life has been formed from the experiences of these formative years. I have no friends or acquaintances from before I started studying at university for the first time in 1998. Non whatsoever. I was social, I had friends – but I have never been sentimental – and I would rather let friendships run out from time or distance. No strong ties, no risk for emotional trauma. One might say that I started to reconstruct my life in my early twenties, I got into a new profession, I applied and got accepted into Grythyttan, Sweden’s premier hospitality industry education, a higher education under the management of the university of Örebro. This pretty much meant everything. Getting away from Uppsala and then – by the slight detour of three years in Grythyttan – to Stockholm meant everything. There is a reason why the Stockholm tends to draw people to it: the chance to rebuild yourself, to turn you into the person you want to be, to let yourself take center stage, if you will. Those were the formative years. They were great years. Working in the restaurant business in Stockholm in the early 2000’s was a smorgasbord of hedonism; food, wine, spirits, drugs. The sky was the limit. What a time to be young. And had not an underlying feeling that there must be more to life kept on nagging me I’d probably still be there today, standing on the brink of being a burned out wreck – but instead I got out, I diversified and got into wine import, into copywriting, photography – always searching; and I think that I am finally starting to get an idea.

I woke up one morning in December 2018, taking stock of my life. What I had done, where I had been, where I was and what I wanted to do. The same day I applied for a late admission course at Södertörn and started studying the very next month. I am very curious to see where I will end up.

#the DEW line #psychology #mischel #essay #forfunsies

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momentofmemory · 5 years

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fictober - day thirty-one

Prompt #31: “Scared, me?”

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe (Spider-Man/Tom Holland Films, Captain America)

Characters: Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Michelle Jones (mention)

Words: 2917

Author’s Note: i have been patiently waiting for an opportunity to pair these two all month, and today i happened to see a still from ffh that showed art supplies in peter’s room and just. bam. practically 3k. having also done inktober this month, this serves neatly to combine the two. oh—and this occurs about 4-5 months post endgame.

>>Brooklyn & Queens (don’t throw shade, draw it)

Signing up for Ms. Hart’s Drawing I class is the most singularly idiotic thing Peter’s ever done, and considering he accidentally hitched a ride into space four months ago, that’s saying a lot.

It all started when he found Ben’s old film camera in the storage boxes they’d gotten post-Blip. He’d showed it to MJ—it’s artsy and it’s old, so she was sure to know what to do with it—and she’d looked at him with her usual level of curiosity disguised as ambivalence.

“You know Midtown’s offering a Darkroom Photography class next Fall, right?”

Peter didn’t know that, but once he did it was all he could think about.

He brings it up to his guidance counselor, and while she’s surprised by his interest, she tells him he can fit it into his schedule—but only if he takes the spring semester drawing class to meet the prerequisites.

It’s that fateful decision that leads to him sitting in Yellowstone Park for two hours straight, trying and failing to translate the still life from this morning’s class onto the paper in front of him.

He holds his pencil at arm’s length and tilts it to the side, one eye closed. He’s not entirely sure how that’s supposed to help, but it’s what all the artists in the movies do, so he figures it’s worth a shot.

The image looks just as small and useless as it did before.

(Although to be fair, that might be because it’s a photograph on a 4.7 inch phone screen, and not an actual, full-sized object.)

Peter wishes MJ were here—he’d initially picked the park because MJ said she’d help him figure out lighting, but she’d gotten caught up in some kind of decathlon prep right as they were leaving school. He hasn’t heard a word from her since, so he’s honestly given up on the idea of her coming at this point.

Peter groans and flops back onto the grass, notebook falling onto his chest and arm across his eyes.

“I should have stayed Blipped.”

He’s fully intending on lying there until nature takes over and he’s turned into ant food, when he’s interrupted by an elderly gentleman’s voice.

“You all right there, son?”

“Only questioning my own mortality for want of a stable light source—” Peter halts mid sentence, realizing the voice sounded weirdly familiar.

Peter lowers his arm from his face and finds himself staring into the eyes of none other than Captain Steven G. Rogers himself.

“Holy shi—” Peter nearly punches a hole in the ground with the amount of force he exerts in leaping to his feet. “—shingles. Holy shingles. Sir.”

He only just remembered that one story Mr. Stark used to tell about the language thing, but Captain Rogers just seems amused by his slip up.

“Sorry if I scared you there, Queens.”

There’s a twinkle in his eye that makes Peter wonder if he didn’t do it on purpose, but he feels the need to defend himself either way. “Scared? Me? No no no no, I was just… cold.”

It’s seventy-five degrees in the shade, and Peter’s been sitting directly in the sun since he got here.

He shoves his notebook behind him with his foot and brushes non-existent grass off his jeans. “Um, anyway, what’re you—what’re you doing out here? I mean, not that you need a reason, since it’s a public park and you’re part of the public I guess, I mean you’re like half of the reason the public is even still here, so, uh—”

Cap looks like he’s trying not to laugh, and Peter wishes the ground would swallow him whole if only to get him to stop talking. “—what I mean is that I uh, I didn’t realize you were still hanging around in New York, Captain Rogers. America. Sir.”

He’s not entirely sure what the ex-super soldier’s official designation is these days, but Cap just starts to sit down on the grass, gesturing for Peter to do the same.

“Just Steve is fine,” he says, legs folded cross-legged under him. “Pretty sure Sam’ll kill us both if he hears you referring to anyone but him as Captain America now. He’s pretty taken with the new title.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Peter crosses his own legs and twiddles his thumbs. The politics of legacy heroes must be wild. He makes a note to never let anyone go by Spider-Man except himself.

“So can I… help you?”

Even as Peter asks, he can feel his throat seizing up at the thought. Before Thanos, he’d have given anything to team up with Captain America, but now…

Now, his heart’s accelerating from than just hero worship.

“No, no. Nothing like that.” Steve’s looking at him closely, eyes strangely sharp for the hundred plus year old body they’re staring out of. “Actually, Tony asked me to keep an eye on you.”

Peter looks up in surprise. “Mr. Stark said that?”

“The words he used were a bit stronger, but yes,” Steve says. “Not that he needed to. Even if you’re from a trashy borough like Queens, you’re still a New York boy.”

Peter gasps in horror, tensions forgotten. “You’re literally from Brooklyn! That’s like, infinitely worse!”

“Not according to ExtraSpace.com, which ranks it as the best borough for housing.”

“Whoever taught you how to use the internet should be criminalized, sir.”

“Steve,” he repeats.

“Right. Steve.” The name still feels weighty on Peter’s tongue. “…If I’m Queens, can we make it even and I call you Brooklyn?”

Cap laughs, and Peter barely has time to think oh my god Captain America laughed at one of my jokes before he realizes the man’s nodding towards Peter’s sketchpad. “Tell you what, you can call me Brooklyn so long as you tell me what’s got you longing for death this evening.”

“Uh…” Peter flounders, trying to find a cooler way to say homework. “Just some bottles.”

Not cooler, Peter. Very, very not cooler.

Steve raises his eyebrows.

“By which I mean drawing bottles! Glass, still-life bottles. Totally kosher ones. Not like, alcohol ones.” Peter scrambles for his notebook. “I’m not legal yet.”

To his surprise, though, Steve holds out an open hand. “May I see?”

Peter turns red enough that if he looked in the mirror, he’d probably think he had his costume on. “…Sure?”

Steve takes the notebook from him and starts paging through it, lingering every so often to trace over his lines. Peter watches the other man’s gnarled hand to avoid thinking about the fact that Captain America was looking at his high school level, B graded sketchpad.

What even is his life.

The only benefit from Steve looking at his drawings is that it meant the other man’s eyes weren’t directly on him, and that lends Peter the courage to ask the question that’s been in the back of his mind ever since he first saw Steve’s white hair.

“…Did you really go back?”

Steve’s hand stills over a poorly done rendition of an onion skin. “By go back, I assume you mean ‘stay.’”

Peter’s not sure he hasn’t just walked into a dangerous topic, but he’s never been good at knowing when to stop. “Yeah.”

Steve nods in a way that makes Peter think he’s probably a lot like that, too. “Then yes.”

A young couple walk by a few yards away, but pay them no mind—Peter’s not in his costume, and the general public doesn’t know what happened to Steve. They could easily pass as just an average grandfather and grandson, enjoying a day in the park. Peter’s eyes follow them until he’s sure they’re out of earshot, anyway, then he turns his attention back to Steve.

“So that makes you like…” Peter pauses, quickly running the numbers in his head. “…A hundred and ten? A hundred and eighty if you count the ice?”

The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches up. “Something like that.”

There’s a glint in Steve’s eyes that makes Peter think he might have wildly missed the mark; he stows that tidbit away for later. “Huh. Wow.”

Steve turns another page. “Does your professor know you’re drawing from photographs?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess?” Peter frowns, wondering how Steve could tell. “Does it matter?”

Steve hums, his brow furrowed in thought. “Camera lens aren’t the same as an eye—flattens the shapes differently. It can throw off the lighting, too.”

Peter tilts his head, then looks at his phone, still lying abandoned on the ground. “Oh.”

“Don’t worry.” Steve turns the page. “It’s a disadvantage when drawing, but it’s also the main advantage of actual photography. You can distort the world to fit the message you’re trying to tell.”

“Isn’t that lying?”

“All of art is a lie if you think it’s a direct interpretation of reality, Peter. The truth of art isn’t in always in what it depicts. It’s in how it depicts.”

Even though they’re his own drawings, Peter cranes his neck over Steve’s shoulder to look at his sketchbook. To him, they just look like the average still life.

He wonders what Steve sees.

“How’d you know so much about art?”

“I was planning on being an art major, before the war,” Steve says. “And then I became one in 1957.”

Peter starts, eyes widening as Steve turns the page and finally reaches the sketches he’d been working on that afternoon. “You…”

He trails off, unsure of how to pursue that without offending the older super. Steve, for his part, says nothing further and just flips back and forth between Peter’s second and fourth failed attempt at the three-bottle composition.

Peter clears his throat. “When you—when you decided to go back. Was it hard?”

“Dr. Mortyn’s decision to grade on the curve was infuriating.”

Peter scowls; frustrated at what he can only assume is Steve being deliberately obtuse. “No, I mean—not being able to… change things.”

If Peter’s honest with himself, he’s both a little confused by and a little jealous of Steve’s decision. Confused, because he can’t imagine walking away from the fight when there’s still so much work to be done, can’t imagine going backwards in time when all he ever wants to do is move forward. But also jealous, because…

Because Peter’s tired, and he’s only been doing this for two years—if he’s tired now, then he can’t imagine how he’ll feel once he’s been doing this for as long as Cap did (if he makes it that long). Because Peter’s watched superheroes fight and die and sacrifice everything, and the memorials he passes in the street make him feel so small and insignificant that when he goes out on patrol, it makes him wonder if anything he’s doing really matters. Because he feels like he’s doing nothing right now but he’s terrified he’s going to be called on to do everything one day, and he’s just not sure he’s enough.

Steve finally reaches the last sketch in the notebook—the one Peter’d been working on before he’d given up on the whole thing. Steve looks at the forms for a long moment, then flips to the back of the book and carefully tears out a blank page.

“Where’s your pencil, Queens?”

“My—” Peter’s not entirely sure Steve isn’t just changing the subject on him, but he scrambles for the writing utensil regardless. He finds it and two more laying a few feet away, and gently blows an ant off the tip of the black one before offering it to Steve.

Steve accepts it, and starts sketching an outline of the composition.

“Your grasp of form is good,” he says, shapes quickly coming to life under his deft fingers. “Your proportions are mostly correct; there’s not too much difficulty on perspective. The composition is already set for you, so that’s no issue.”

He finishes the draft, still unshaded, and hands the sketchpad back to Peter. “So why do you keep redoing the same drawing?”

Peter looks between the sketched lines in Cap’s drawing and his own iterations. “Because they’re not the same?”

“The outlines are. Does the rest matter?”

“Well, yeah. Once you add in the shading…”

Peter flips through all the sketches he’d made today—one, two, five, seven; hundreds of eraser marks on all of them. They’re all wrong, but they’re all wrong just a little differently. One has light sources that seem to defy all the laws of physics, jumping in every which direction. Another has marks that were supposed to be highlights, but wound up being darker than the actual shadows. Still another has values that are so close together the shadows make the image look flatter than even Steve’s quick sketch.

He looks up at Steve. “It makes the final thing totally different.”

Steve smiles in response, and starts filling in his own sketch.

“Local colour is your biggest problem,” he says. “You’re trying to match everything to the colour your eye thinks it’s seeing in the photo—like in this one, where your darkest shadow on the white bottle is still brighter than the lightest highlight on the black bottle.”

“And that’s bad?” Peter frowns, catching his lip between his teeth, and starts his eighth version of the image while Cap continues.

“Not necessarily.” Steve runs the pencil over the edge of one of the bottles, darkening its side. “Shading is always a tricky thing. There’s a lot of things to pay attention to—shadows, highlights, halftones. Local colour. One of the most important rules is making sure your lightest dark is still darker than the darkest light.”

“Is that last one supposed to be a metaphor?”

“It wasn’t intended, but you can certainly take it that way.”

Peter hums in response, and moves on to outlining the second bottle. “So in my drawing, do I just ignore the colour?”

“The original context always matters,” Steve replies. He pauses to point out a discrepancy in one of Peter’s lines before continuing. “Your white bottle is always going to be whiter than the black one overall. But if you’ve got a highlight on both—that highlight’s the same. And if you’ve got a dark shadow on something, don’t be afraid to make it as dark as it needs to be to provide contrast.”

Peter nods, and after a few minutes, finishes his outline and starts shading. Steve offers pointers every so often, and he’s barely a quarter of the way through the first bottle before he can see a marked difference between this sketch and his last one.

“So,” Peter says eventually. “When I asked how you handled not being able to change things…”

Steve pauses, his pencil hovering above the page, and waits for Peter to finish.

Peter looks down at his drawing and thinks about how it’s exactly the same as all the others, and yet totally different, too.

“…The answer is that you did.”

Steve smiles, the edges of his eyes crinkling, and turns his attention back to his sketch. It’s all the confirmation Peter needs.

The scritch-scratch of pencil on paper fills Peter’s ears as he thinks about that revelation. Whatever Steve did, it can’t have been major—not in the universe-shaping, blatantly obvious kind of way he’s used to Avengers working. He wonders if it was enough.

Peter erases a shadow on the middle bottle he’s decided has gotten too dark, and then glances at Steve, who’s started adding all kinds of textures and details to his own drawing.

It’s clearly the same picture, but the art is something else entirely.

It’s enough.

Peter’s certain Steve has better things to do, but the retired soldier stays with him for another hour, either telling him stories about the Avengers or old school New York, or gently correcting something about his art form. By the time Peter’s done, the sketch isn’t great, per se, but it’s at least good. Steve helps Peter pack his things back up, and then hoists Peter to his feet with a strength that belies his older body.

Steve then hands Peter the drawing he’d made, and Peter almost refuses until he flips it over and sees that Steve’s written a phone number on the back.

“Let me know if you ever need anything, Queens. Including, but not limited to, more art lessons.”

Peter grins from ear to ear. “Thanks, Brooklyn. You too.”

The next morning, Peter turns in a drawing that still looks a little wonky, but it’s so dramatically improved from last time that MJ gives him a halfway impressed thumbs up, and it’s enough to make him take back every disparaging thing he’s said about the class.

That evening, Spider-Man heads out onto the streets with more excitement than he’s had in a long time.

He doesn’t do anything of a particularly groundbreaking nature—nothing that will change the outlines. There’re no aliens, no world-ending weapons, no last minute, jaw dropping rescues.

But there is Mr. Delmar, who needs help repainting the store sign that’s too high for him to reach. There’s a sixth grader, who’s putting up posters for her lost dog until he finds it eleven blocks away. There’s a would-be mugger, who’s had one too many bad days but Spider-Man listens to them all, and then helps him register at a homeless shelter.

It’s nothing so grand as saving the universe. It won’t get him shrines in the streets, or murals on skyscrapers, or even a mention in the paper.

But it’s something: a few more highlights, a little more definition, a bit more right in a world where there’s so much wrong.

And that, Peter decides, is not nothing.

#fictober19 #peter parker fic #steve rogers fic #mcu fanfic #peter parker #steve rogers #fanfiction #spiderman #memsfic

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