#four if you count the thing i came up with where the gang plays baseball against Koga and some of his packmates | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonfox281 · 4 years

Note

idk what u think about prompts but imagine having dick beat up jason in front of all his men lmaooo, just like they're sparring and the newbies think that jasons obvi gonna win but jeff and trevor are like, 'just wait' idk

It was Friday night, not to mention the last Friday of the month, meaning paperwork. Jason had been scrunching up in his office for the past eight hours checking over files to files, rubbing face, cracking neck.

He was tired. He was homesick. He had definitely missed dinner tonight, and also patrol. It was three o’clock when Jason checked his watch again. Three, Dick was probably sleeping at home by now. And if Jason managed to magically finish everything tonight, he’d probably be sleeping in the guest room with Beast taking over his side of the bed.

Or so he thought. He was just about to pick the pen back up when the door slammed open so hard it shook the room. Nightwing stormed in and strode toward in front of his desk, full-on mask, uniform.

“Honey, you scared me.”

“Spar. Now.”

“Come again?”

Dick groaned and pulled Jason off his seat by the front of his shirt, dragging him all the way to the common room. Yeah, the gang common room, where most of his men found their fight club spirit. Along their ways, his workers dropped their jaws staring at them. In Jason’s defense, that little grip of Dick was very powerful.

Dick threw him down the only leather couch in the room that everybody knew was only for Jason to sit. His men gagged on air. Okay, to Jason’s defense, again, he who was passively dragged all the way here, was no less surprised than any of them.

If his reputation wasn’t already spontaneously damned under Dick’s hands, he would probably be really embarrassed.

“Your men think I can’t beat you.“

Ah, his men were idiots.

“They also think you always pretend I’m better to save my ego.“

Ah, his men weren’t idiots. They wanted Jason dead.

“Do you believe them?“

Dick snorted and swiped his hair back with his chin tilted up. Ah, the killer move. He knew Jason would be down on four limbs for that sexy trick. “No. I want to show them.“

Just like that. Just like that, Jason lost his jacket, popped the top buttons of his dress shirt and rolled his sleeves up, gearing his ass for the beating. Dick stood a few steps away, grinning like Cheshire cat. Oh yeah, Dick just loved him playing around with three-piece suits.

“Ready?“

His men cheered, stood tight against each other around the ring. Great, if his floor wiping ass was going to be a public one, better give them a show.

“Okay.”

They walked in circle first, grinning at each other. Sparring wasn’t something new, it was just as much of a routine to them as eating breakfast or taking the dog out.

In the end, Dick launched first, which okay, Jason hated that. Dick was fast, absurdly fast, his body was built to be fast. He dashed from left to right, front to back like a hummingbird in the air just to fuck with Jason’s eyes.

“You’ve got this Boss!”

His men applauded. Jason felt a little jolt of energy because as stupid as it was, it was a little encouraging.

He saw a trace ahead and threw his fist. Dick dodged, as expected, bent his back backward in a 90 degree and slid down the floor on his knees. Jason, with luck, thank God, managed to grab on Dick’s collar just when his back twisted a little painful and threw him over his shoulder. The crowd went wild.

Usually, that would be it, but oh, Dick wouldn’t have been Nightwing and Nightwing wouldn’t have been Dick if that was it. He spread his legs wide midair and curled them around Jason’s neck before his body got down the ground, pulling Jason off his feet. The crowd went silent.

Jason choked up when he slammed down the floor. Dick grunt over his head. When he mentioned he wanted Dick’s legs over his shoulders for the rest of his life, this wasn’t what he was implying.

Dick tightened his lock around his neck. Blood rushed to his head, Jason’s ears were ringing. Okay, enough game.

He growled, pushed all his force and stamped hands down both sides of Dick’s hips, teeth grinding.

“Come on!“ Dick shouted.

Jason carried both of their deadweights from a really fucked up angle and slowly lifted them up from the ground. Everyone was so quiet, a whispery gasp “holyshit” from someone came out as loud as a bang.

“Stupid-Pit-juice-urgh!“ Dick hissed and tired out. His legs slid down, releasing air back into Jason’s system. Dick fell and landed on his hands in a three-point landing.

Jason wrung a few buttons off and cracked his neck. His men were roaring, stomping their feet down the floor. For fuck sake, they were sparring, not opening a metal concert.

“Get him Boss!“

“You’re double his size. He’ll snap in a sec.”

“Show him what real man is, Boss!“

Dick clearly wasn’t happy with the chanting, and neither was Jason. That was the thing about the common room, it wasn’t just for people served exclusively to them, it was for the whole gang. Men didn’t know what Nightwing was, what he was capable of, what Jason was capable of for him.

All they saw, for now, was what met their eyes, a pair of long legs for a big man on a big chair. Gotham Kingpin and his shiny toy.

In a short second of catching his breath, Jason saw the guys in the team circled around a table, shielding themselves away from the crowd, drinking, half watching, half talking.

Those were the men that knew the true Red Hood and Nightwing, those were the key chains in the system. And those were the ones who knew exactly how this night was gonna end up like.

Jason cracked his knuckles and huffed. “You know I still have paperwork, right?“

Dick tilted his head. “You know I’m still your husband, right?”

Okay, point taken.

“I’ll tell you this. If I lose, I’ll help you with paperwork.”

Jason’s shoulder dropped. “Really?” Because Dick had never wanted Jason’s work to meddle with him around a 10 feet range.

“Really really.” Dick laughed.

Jason struke forward with a false kick. Dick bit the bait and duck down on instinct, oh but he was damn quick. He caught the knee Jason threw over just in time not to eat the full force of it. But that made him double down, and double down meant showing his neck even for just a slight second. Jason only needed a slight second.

Jason grabbed on his nape, which he knew was one of Dick’s sensitive spots, and hit his chin with his palm. No, there was no way in hell he would punch Dick in the face. That wasn’t what they did in sparring. And John would definitely chase him with a baseball bat if Dick ever got back with a black eye.

But who said that hit didn’t count. Dick stumbled back on his steps, managed to wring himself out of Jason’s grip like a fish. He came by the edge of the ring, touched his chin with the tips of his fingers, grinned.

Okay, now Jason was royally dead.

“You know, tonight was a bit boring.”

“So you needed a punching bag? Really?”

Because Jason totally did not enjoy playing punching dummy just so Dick could do moral lessons to toxic masculinity. Use Jefferson next time.”

Dick jumped forward and Jason was steady for the worse, until Dick vanished in thin air. Jason was an idiot, he should have known, he was fucking used to this. Dick did a full flip and spin in the air and landed right behind Jason’s back. He barely turned back in time to block the foot that flew right at his face. But that was a total mistake.

Dick used Jason’s grip on his ankle and sprung himself in a full-body spin and caught Jason in a double leg grapple. Nightwing’s signature double leg grapple was what put even Deathstroke down on the ground. So there was nothing to be ashamed of when Jason ended up the same and slammed down the floor.

Dick grabbed one of his arms before Jason could try lifting them up by sheer strength again, straining it up in a painful angle. This time, it was a full-body lock. And that was it. Jason might be strong, but he wasn’t Superman.

He tapped the floor with his only free hand before he went out of air. Dick released him with a sigh and did a kip-up to get back on his feet.

“That was fun.“

Jason laid spread on the floor, breathed. Thank god that flashy 360 spin of a double leg grapple shut even a fly up in the room. And thank god he was Dick’s husband and they were only sparring, or else Jason would have lost his neck.

But hey, guess none of the shit head in this room dared to light take him now.

“Trevor,“ He called. “What’s the time?”

Trevor came by his side and squatted down, check his clock. “16 minutes.”

“Your water.“

“Thank you, Jefferson.“ Dick took the cool towel and water bottle from Jeff and grinned down at Jason. “Don’t you have paperwork?“

Jason rolled his eyes. And because he had already got enough of a night, he purposefully missed the way both Jefferson and Trevor turned away to hide their suppressed laugh. People still circled around the ring, right where he laid, starting, gagging on air.

“Take a good look.” Jason heaved, slowly got up, dusted his shirt, checked over the ripped off buttons. There went his Bottega Veneta shirt. “Don’t ever provoke him again, clear?”

The gang shouted back “Roger.” and quickly spread out.

Dick came by his side, gave him a hand. “Come on, I’ll help you with the files.”

Ah, Jason just loved him so damn much.

#jaydick #mob wife au #writing prompt #My writing #Jason Todd #dick grayson

302 notes · View notes

hawklanthebard · 3 years

Text

Fractured Diamond: Chapter One

"Good game today, guys!" Leon spoke as enthusiastic as he could between short breaths as he wiped his red, drenched face with one of the handtowels Taka, of course, had prepared for them. "Whew! Today'd kick insomnia's ass."

"Language, Kuwata." Taka chided as he grazed an ice-cold water bottle against Leon's cheek.

"What? 'Ass' isn't a swear word. C'mon, man. Mondo swears and you say nothing. And he says worse things than 'ass'!"

Taka hadn't broken scolding eye contact with Leon as he handed a bottle to Mondo. "Swearing is part of Mondo's character. I still scold him for other things, like when he doesn't completely wipe his face after eating. I always have to pick off a grain of rice from his mouth when we pass in the hallway."

Leon smirked. "Oh, is that what you call it?"

If he was paying attention and his abs weren't sore, the red-head would've been able to duck from the basketball as it bouched off his sweaty midsection with a hard, wet pat. "Oof!"

"Next time, I'll aim lower, Kuwata." Mondo shot a half-wholehearted-half-serious glare. Although, he wasn't completely sure why he'd even bother hiding the implications. Everyone in Hope's Peak knew. It was practically an unavoidable subject. Still, he supposed it was worth protecting Taka's honor, even if it was from a half-wit joke.

Leon's knees buckled as he leaned against a locker for support and the other arm clenched over his abdomen. "Noted." he groaned with a pained smile as he sat down to catch his breath. "What about you, Fujisaki? You were a lot faster today."

Chihiro brushed a soaked strand of hair from his eyes. "Oh. Thank you. Although, all of that praise should go to Mondo. It was his training that got me here." The little programmer exchanged a sheepish smile to the biker, who then returned a genuinely proud one.

Chihiro came a long way since their first year, posing as a girl as not to be called out for being "weak for a boy". The jeers from students in the hallway didn't help much either. But with much time and patience, Chihiro was finally able to come out to Mondo, then slowly to Taka and Leon. All three were unconditionally supportive and swore to keep the secret. Even mustering up the courage to ask to play Shirts vs Skins with them.

"Hey, don't give me too much credit. My role was easy, but you did the hard part on your own. Askin' for help takes guts." Mondo gave himself a sad chuckle as he scratched his shoulder. Guts he wished he had. "Maybe one day, you'll be playing Skins against me."

"Oh, that reminds me." Leon chimed in. "I've been meaning to ask this. I know why Chihiro chose to be Shirts, but why you, Mondo?"

Mondo looked up from where he was sitting, previous traces of humor silenced. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean, c'mon. A big muscular guy like you? I'd thought you'd wanna show them off."

"What, you trying to hit on me?" Mondo hid his suspicion with a chuckle. "I mean, we all know you chose Skins to show off that new piercing." Maybe changing the subject would steer Leon away, Mondo thought.

Much to Mondo's relief, Leon's cheeks grew pink as he glanced at his new shiny nipple ring. "Oh yeah, ya got me there." he laughed, running a hand through his hair. "Uh, so, you think Maizono noticed? Think she likes it?"

"Heh. I wouldn't count on it, Kuwata. I think she's into that Naegi kid she hangs out with."

"Huh?!" Leon gasped, "Am I trying too hard? Is she more into ordinary guys?" Mondo reached a hand to Leon's shoulder. "Relax. You've got just as much as a chance with her as that smelly mechanic dude has with the princess chick."

"But that guy has NO chance!" Leon cried, sweeping Mondo's hand off his shoulder.

"Sorry, bro." the biker laughed. Leon turned away embarrassed, face redder than his hair. Mondo knew he would have to make it up to him later, but right now he's just glad that avoided talking about...that....with Leon.

Ding dong, bing bong!

The school bell rang to announce the students to return to their dorms for the night. Saved by the bell, as they say.

The four boys made no rush to put on their street clothes, they were going to put them in the laundry anyway. They stuffed their gym belongings into their own duffle bags and headed out the locker room. Mondo had stuffed his school jacket in there too, leaving on his tank top. A decision he'd soon regret.

Leon glanced at Mondo's shoulder, something peeked under the white fabric, just between his neck and shoulder blade. A faint scar.

"Hey, Mondo. How'd you get that scar?"

His words were cut short when he bumped into the biker's back with a strong thud. Leon looked up at Mondo, who didn't glance back. His eyes shrouded in shadow from his hair, but the aura around him was unmistakably filled with something Mondo gave off regularly, but only on very bad days with just the four of them; Rage.

"What did you say?" the biker spoke menacingly, causing the baseball star to cower like a homeless kitten.

"I-I just asked where you got that sca..?"

"I heard you, dipshit!" Mondo spat, "I'm asking how did you know?!"

"Uh, I...can.." Leon swallowed, his body shaking like a leaf.

Taka placed a gentle hand on Mondo's shoulder, trying to ease the tension. "Hey, what's wrong, bro? Leon didn't mean to cause any strife." Despite his attempts, Mondo's anger hadn't faltered.

"Did you see it too?! Or you?!" Mondo shot a panicked glare at Taka and Chihiro, who felt as if his fragile heart had left his chest at the sudden accusation. Leon stood between them, facing Mondo again.

"Hey, calm down, dude! It was me! I was the first and only one who noticed it. Don't drag them into this!"

"For your sake, you'd fuckin' better be the only one who knows! If your nosey ass tells anyone, I'm gonna make sure it's the last mistake you ever make, Kuwata!" And with that, Mondo stormed out of the gym, leaving the three shocked and confused.

Mondo slammed his door so hard, he'd sure knock it off its hinges if he did it again. Tossing his duffle bag on the floor without a care as to where it landed, he stomped to the bathroom sink and splashed some cold water on his face, an anger management technique he learned from Taka. When he was done, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. His pompadour shroud over his face, strands of long light brown hair scattered everywhere in a tangled mess. He didn't look like the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader. He didn't look like a Diamond. Like a child afraid of their own shadow, he was a coward afraid of his own scars. He was just as weak as he was then. That day.

#danganronpa #mondo oowada #mondo owada #Kiyotaka Ishimaru #leon kuwata #chihiro fujisaki

15 notes · View notes

angeleyesmalek · 5 years

Text

Late Night Blackout

Pairing: Elliot Alderson x Reader

Summary: When the lights go out, you don’t want to be home alone in a bad neighborhood.

Warnings: So. Many. Run. On. Sentences. Also, just really bad syntax & diction. This is just a hot mess. Probably cursing too. Please forgive me for this atrocity.

Word Count: 2,235

One nineteen in the morning was quiet, well, as quiet as it got in New York City. You were alone in your apartment, the only sound throughout the tiny space was the slicing of your fan through the humid air and the loud buzzing and grumbling of the shitty air conditioning unit in your home. It must’ve been a hundred degrees outside, and it was at least eighty in your tiny little shoebox.

Kicking off your covers didn’t help much, so you laid in bed. The ceiling wasn’t interesting, but you found yourself staring at the off-white wall, zoning out and projecting the movie in your mind on the blank space. You made up stories in your head, imagining what life would be like if all your dreams came true, playing out conversations that would never happen.

A sudden jerk of silence yanked you from your meditation. You shot up in bed, noticing that your surroundings were so dark you couldn’t see much. Usually, the city lights would illuminate the space enough to outline everything, but this was darker than that. Plus, all the lights in your apartment were out. The clock on the stove, your computer’s lights, the night light in the bathroom that helped you when you got up in the night. They were all off. It was a blackout.

You flopped back onto your mattress with a huff, dreading the heat that would undoubtedly begin creeping into your home. It took a few hours for the temperature to rise to unbearable heights. You felt the beads of sweat dripping down your body everywhere. You couldn’t take it anymore.

After lugging your body up, you clambered over to your window, ripping your curtains apart to open it. The slight breeze, although stale from blowing through the city, was at least slightly cooling. A sigh escaped your nose before you retreated to your bed.

This was as good as it was going to get, and you knew it.

Living in a bad neighborhood put you on edge. Living alone in a bad neighborhood, well, looking over your shoulder was second nature by now. That’s why you didn’t close your eyes at first. Your window lead to the fire escape, so if someone wanted to, they could technically climb in. You’d taken all the appropriate precautions against it, but you rarely opened your window when the power was on. Now, the power was off.

Blackouts were a free for all for robberies, burglaries, and breaking and enterings. You’d seen the aftermath many times, and you’d heard so many stories. You didn’t want to be one of those stories. So, you kept an eye on your window and your ears peeled.

At two fifty-six, you wished you hadn’t opened your window. A loud crash echoed through the streets, and your blood ran cold. When you sprung out of bed to lock your window, you caught a glimpse of a gang of robbers entering the bodega across the street while you drew your curtains. Chances are, the grate wouldn’t lock without electricity, so the robbers had probably picked manual the lock easily.

Four masked figures got to work. The one who broke the glass on the door opened the door and entered the store followed by another. Two stayed outside. One held a baseball bat and continued working on the windows. The other stood watch.

You watched the scene from between your curtains for less than ten seconds before you retreated from the window, grabbing your phone to text the only other person who might be awake this late. You hoped he hadn’t fallen asleep already. When you found Elliot in your messages, you began to type, “Hey. Can I come down & stay the night? I know it’s late, but I don’t really want to be alone in this blackout.”

You stared at the message for a minute before you returned to your home screen and locked your phone. Just when you let it fall to your side, the device vibrated.

Elliot’s name lit up the screen with his response. “Sure.”

A little bit of fear evaporated from inside you. You mentally thanked the kind man who you lived above while you grabbed a blanket. Before you headed out, you also grabbed a cd sitting on your desk. It was by an artist he’d mentioned the last time you talked. When you saw it at the store, you bought it without thinking. Only after did you regret it. You wondered if he already had the album, or if it was an album he didn’t like. You almost returned it, but you never got the opportunity. Now, you were going to see him, so you figured you’d at least offer it to him.

Then, you approached your door, checking if the coast was clear through your peephole. You didn’t expect to see a candlelit Elliot approaching your door. After you quickly unlocked the deadbolt, you slid the door open just as he was lifting his fist to knock.

Elliot looked warm in the orangey candlelight. He looked like he came out of a dream, his eyes sparkling more than usual with the reflection of the flickering flame.

“I was just about to head down,” you mumbled.

“Wanted to come get you,” Elliot explained, “Figured you were kind of…” His words trailed off. He knew you were scared, but he also knew you were reluctant to admit it. Elliot didn’t know why you were ashamed, but he didn’t want to push it. The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable. You were already frightened, and he knew you’d get defensive if he said anything that would make you run off.

Your gaze fixed on the floor. You were well aware that he knew. However, in a monotonous tone, you muttered, “Thanks.”

“We can stay here if you want,” Elliot offered. He thought it might make you feel better if you were in your own safe space, as opposed to his.

“Nah,” you disagreed, “I don’t want to drag you out of your place just because I want company.” In reality, you knew being in your place would set you on edge. At Elliot’s, you’d feel completely surrounded by him, protected in a bubble of Elliot. You wanted to feel protected, even if you didn’t want to admit it.

Elliot didn’t press you further. Instead, he nodded at you. You locked your door and began the stroll down the stairs. He was wearing his usual black hoodie and a pair of black sweat pants. It made you wonder if he was burning up with the heat. After all, you were in shorts and a baggy top, and you were still sweating.

The thought was quickly forgotten when you both approached Elliot’s door. When he pushed it open, you snuck inside behind him only to notice Flipper slowly dragging her tired little body over to you so she could sniff you and give you a few sleepy licks. You scratched her ear before you encouraged her to go back to sleep. Elliot’s voice caught your attention.

“Why do you have a blanket?”

He noticed the fabric tucked under your arm while you had been stroking Flipper. You explained, “Wasn’t sure if you’d want me to sleep on the floor, so I came prepared.”

Something flashed in his eyes, hurt perhaps. Elliot’s expression was almost guilty. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

The only light inside radiated from the candle Elliot held in his hand and his laptop screen that was resting on his bed. Even his computer setup was dark. You’d never seen it like that.

“Do you have any more candles,” you inquired, “It’s kind of hard to see.”

Elliot nodded in understanding before he pointed to a cupboard under his kitchen’s counter. “Yeah. I didn’t light them because it was so hot. They’re in the far cabinet.”

You quietly padded over to the counter where you set your blanket and cd before kneeling and grabbing a candle and a lighter. Once it was lit, you rose back to your feet before speaking again, “Thanks again… I wasn’t sure if you’d be awake. I thought you might just go to sleep early if you couldn’t work on your desktop.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Elliot revealed to you.

You confessed, “Me either.”

Your breath caught in your throat when you turned to face him again. He was shrugging off his hoodie, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath. You’d never admit you had a thing for him, but it was hard to deny it at the moment. All you wanted to do was stare at him and drink in every inch of exposed skin. However, you turned your focus to the candle in your hand. The flame flickered, but you brain was replaying the image of Elliot in your head.

In your peripheral vision, you noticed him shuffle back over to his mattress. Elliot made himself comfortable after lying down, and he grabbed his laptop to continue typing at the keyboard.

A moment past where you stood awkwardly in your place, but you got ahold of yourself and strolled beside Elliot’s bed. You sat down on the floor with your legs crossed like you were in kindergarten. It only took a few seconds for Flipper to stand from her spot and lazily drape herself in your lap. She quickly returned to her slumber, and you took comfort in her steady breathing while you soothingly stroked her little head.

You didn’t notice Elliot stealing glances at you in the soft candlelight. However, he couldn’t help himself. He was grateful you’d texted him. He liked spending time with you. You didn’t force him to talk in times like these. You didn’t mind the silence. He liked that.

Your leg began to fall asleep about fifteen minutes later, so you scooped up Flipper as gently as you could before you stood. “Where should I set up shop,” you asked Elliot.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged, “The couch is brutal, though.”

“Well, it’s probably better than the floor, and I don’t want to intrude by staying in your bed.”

“I don’t mind.” Elliot’s voice was soft, but you met his eyes to see that he was serious.

Still, you asked, “You don’t?”

Elliot shook his head, but you still weren’t convinced.

“Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want you to feel like you have to. The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable or overstep any boundaries.”

“You’re not,” he assured you, “I promise… I don’t mind.”

Your voice was timid when you repliedd, gazing at the floor with a nod, “Okay. Thank you.”

It was quiet for a second before Elliot resumed his typing on his laptop. Taking that as a sign to continue preparing for bed, you placed Flipper on the empty side of Elliot’s bed as gently as your body would allow. She didn’t appear to be bothered, so you shuffled back over to retrieve your blanket. You also picked up the CD before you stalked over to the mattress and blew out the candles. Once it was dark again, you set your blanket down and held the CD out towards Elliot.

“By the way, I got this for you.” you announced, “I don’t know if you already have it, but I know you mentioned the album last time we talked. I can always take it back if you don’t want it, though. I don’t mind.”

Elliot stared at the plastic case, but after a moment, he accepted it and looked it over.

“I don’t have this one,” he mumbled, flipping it to the back, “Thank you.”

You only replied with a quiet, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Elliot echoed.

Then, you climbed into bed, trying your best to shift your weight in ways that wouldn’t disturb Elliot and Flipper. Once you were comfortable, and as close to the edge as physically possible, you felt your body beginning to drift off.

Just before you embraced sleep, you slurred, “Elliot?”

He hummed to indicate that you had his attention.

“You won’t let anything happen tonight, right?”

“Promise.”

“Thank you. Goodnight.”

You were surprised when he tells you, “Sweet dreams.”

It made you feel warm and fuzzy inside, but not in a bad way like the heat. It prompted you to advise him, “Get some rest soon, okay?”

“I will.”

You knew Elliot was lying, but you couldn’t resist suggesting it. You cared about him, and you wanted to do whatever you could to help him. To your surprise, you felt a dip in the mattress from Elliot’s side after he powered down his laptop.

Barely cracking your eyes open, you glanced over your shoulder to find him lying on his back in the dark. Your eyes fell closed again and you returned to your previous position. It took you even more off guard when Elliot wrapped his arm around you, gently pulling your form away from the edge before his touch retreated.

“You looked like you were gonna roll onto the floor,” he explained, “Goodnight.” He punctuated his statement with a tender kiss to your cheek. It probably would have been longer than a peck if it wasn’t so hot, but you weren’t complaining.

“Goodnight” you beamed back at him in the dark. You would be giddy if you weren’t so exhausted, and gradually, sleep embraced the both of you.

Tagging: ask to be tagged here

#cherry fails at writing #elliot alderson x reader #elliot alderson imagine #mr. robot imagine #yes i know i haven't been posting much lately but life has been crazy since i got sick & i'll be traveling again this weekend #i hope i get a chance to write and to post. so far i just have like 12 stories i'm only like halfway through but i keep alternating #between all of them so it's not like i'm gonna post something i don't finish because it's not fair to you guys.#this was just so forced & so many jumbled words that hardly make sense. i'm really sorry. i'm kind of ashamed.#there's probably some mixing tenses & sentences that make you go 'wtf' so i'm really sorry.#words? i'm sorry. i don't know them.

35 notes · View notes

imaginingsvt · 6 years

Text

Four:Project Shining Diamond (FINAL CHAPTER)

// what was originally supposed to be a scenario turned into this instead? inspired and based off this video HERE. all credits for the video go to @hoon-seok

// warnings: fighting everywhere, murder, kind of cursing?, just lots of fighting and angst pls help

// sneak peek: “I love you so much, Coups. I love you and Gyu, and Minghao, and Hannie, and Seokmin, and Jun, and Josh, and Hansol, and Seungkwan, and Wonwoo, and Chan, and Soonyoung, and Jihoon.” You breathe a laugh, choking back a sob as you wipe your face with the back of your hand before licking your lips. “I’m not gonna hurt myself, Cheol.” You shake your head, leap forward again to cling to his shirt, burying your face against his chest once more. “I’m not gonna hurt myself, Seungcheol. You’re gonna hurt me.”

// poly!svt x reader

// word count: 3037

It feels like it’s been years—like it’s been an entire century since he’s felt your touch, since he’s felt your love. Looking around now at the twelve other boys he’s devoted his entire life to, he knows this is it. This is what it’s all come down to. And though there’s a tremble somewhere between his chest and stomach that warns him today is not the day, he can’t help himself. Even if he pulled back his orders, the others wouldn't follow. Because this is all everything’s led up to. It’s all led up to this—you.

The car ride’s been long and tedious, but Seungcheol opts to keeping silently to himself as he tries to hold his sanity. Today, all thirteen boys are travelling in the same bus; normally, they’d split between two or even three different vans, but with the poem he’s memorized by heart in mind, he’s trying his best to keep his team together and safe.

“S.Coups,” Cheol looks up at the voice, sees Mingyu peering at him from the driver’s seat. “We’re here.” The leader puffs a breath through his lips before standing; it seems as if all the noise has fallen still, his members’ eyes on him.

“Be… cautious today.” Seungcheol speaks aloud. His voice is piercing the air like a dagger at his very heart. “We’re here today for Y/N, and that’s the only objective. Get Y/N, and get out. Understand?” The twelve boys solemnly nod. “Put your hearts into it. Today, just like every other day, she’s all that matters.” And then, as if they’re playing some kind of cheesy storyline, Hansol rises from his seat as well and shouts,

“For Y/N!” The boys one by one rise after that, shouting the same words, and the whole bus is shaking with their excitement at getting back what is rightfully theirs—getting you back. The atmosphere is lively with shouts and cheers, and Seungcheol is laughing along, looking around at his family when he meets the eyes of Jihoon. He feels a lump rise in his throat.

The sky is gray and chilly when Seungcheol steps out of the bus, followed soon by his members, one by one, until they’re huddled together before the entrance of an old, creaking carnival. Everything is so gray and suspicious that Cheol doesn’t have a chance to voice his opinions before Jihoon speaks.

“This… is a little alarming, don’t you think, S.Coups?”

“We’ve been through worse,” Seokmin replies instead. “And if it means saving Y/N, then it’s worth it! Right, S.Coups?”

“Right,” He murmurs, and his breath billows out before him in white, ghostly swirls. “Keep on the lookout, boys.” Slowly, they all depart into separate groups, entering the creepy carnival and looking around for any sight that their treasure has been there. Seungcheol takes to leaning against an old booth that seems to have once promoted throwing baseballs at glass bottles. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, begins going through his notes for something important he’d written down before leaving.

“Looking for the number Y/N called you from?” It’s Jeonghan who’s approached Seungcheol so suddenly, leaning against the same booth so their shoulders are brushing. “News spreads fast in Seventeen. You know that, S.Coups.” He doesn’t quite know how to respond, so Seungcheol takes to chewing his lower lip instead, finding the number he’d traced back from your voice last night. He decides to call back.

Jeonghan is staring at him the entire time, waiting, just as the leader is, for a familiar, loving voice. But the line rings, and rings, and rings before going silent. He curses under his breath.

“No answer.” He mutters. Jeonghan is about to respond when the sudden sound of a loud gunshot rings in the dead silent carnival air, almost giving the place an even creepier vibe. All the members stop still at the sound, first staring at each other, and then at Seungcheol. “Head out!” He orders after a pause, leading the way to where the shot was heard from.

His heart is beating in his chest and the quietness from his members is putting him on edge. Nevertheless, Cheol keeps following a noise that is steadily growing louder as he keeps walking, something like movement… like shouting… like fighting.

And then there it is.

There’s a large field, expanding miles and miles from where the carnival originally sits on, and there, to all of Seventeen’s surprise, is absolute chaos.

“Is… is that Rap Monster? From Bangtan Boys?” Dino’s voice is barely audible even though he’s shouting over all the noise, and Seungcheol gulps, nodding.

“And there’s JinJin of Astro, too.” Joshua elaborates, not even the smallest of smirks on his face.

“And GOT7, and BLACKPINK, and Red Velvet, and AKMU, and VIXX, and NCT…” Vernon mumbles, and Seungcheol can’t find anything to say because everyone’s there, all of them.

It’s a giant crowd of people from different gangs all fighting each other in this empty lot, the gray sky overhead almost egging them on. There’s shouting and screaming and guns and knives and blood and… and there, in the middle of the crowd, is you.

It’s as if everyone’s been under put under a magic spell; either nobody has seen you yet or they’re choosing to ignore you, but there you’re standing there, tears streaming down your face. He hears another gunshot, flinches as he sees somebody drop dead out of the corner of his eyes.

“Try to stop them!” S.Coups loudly orders over the noise of the fighting. “Figure out what’s going on and stop them! Say the name!”

“Seventeen!” The boys shout before splitting off once more into groups. Seungcheol, however, has given himself a more important order. He walks straight through the fighting crowd to the only person who matters right now, the only person who’s worth saving—you.

“Y/N!” He loudly calls out, quickening his walk so now he’s sprinting towards you at full speed. “Y/N, it’s—” And he abruptly stops some feet from you, because there’s a gun in your hand.

“Coups?” Your voice is raw and vulnerable, so extremely different from the rough and tough atmosphere that it’s breaking his heart. “Coups, is that you?” He licks his full lips, nods as he approaches ever slowly, all too aware of the gun being gripped by your fingers. “Coups, you’re-you’re here!” You hiccup, and why does his heart hurt so much? “Where’s the rest of them? Where’s the rest of my boys?”

“They’re… out there.” He responds, now so close, he can see the tear stains all over your face, eyes wild and glazed. “They’re trying to stop this. Y/N… what’s going on? Why do you have a gun?” You bite your lower lip, squeezing your eyes shut as you begin to wave around the gun.

“I can’t tell you, Seungcheol! I want to tell you, but I can’t! They told me not to!” He’s furrowing his brows, trying to avoid the wild waving of your gun in case you accidentally pull the trigger.

“Who did? Who told you, Y/N? Was it someone here? What’s going—” You suddenly burst into tears, sobbing relentlessly now, and Seungcheol’s so taken aback, he’s starting to worry for your own sanity.

“I’m so happy you’re here, Seungcheol! I’m so happy you guys came for me!” You suddenly leap forward and throw your arms around his neck, overwhelmed by all your emotions that you suddenly feel a pumping love in your chest for the thirteen boys who have travelled so far just for you. S.Coups, surprised, takes a moment before wrapping an arm around your waist, savoring the feeling of your hug as you sob into his chest, but it doesn’t take long before he’s reaching to take the gun from your hand.

You feel the weapon being wriggled from your grasp and immediately jump back, and there’s something so much like fury in your wild eyes that Seungcheol, for once, is kind of scared.

“Were you trying to take this from me?” You screech, pointing at the gun. “Cheol, why would you do that to me? How could you betray me like that?”

“That’s not what I meant, Y/N,” He immediately defends. “I just don’t want you to be holding something so dangerous; I don’t want you to hurt yourself!” You laugh, tears still streaming down your face as you back away, gun still wildly swinging.

“I love you so much, Coups. I love you and Gyu, and Minghao, and Hannie, and Seokmin, and Jun, and Josh, and Hansol, and Seungkwan, and Wonwoo, and Chan, and Soonyoung, and Jihoon.” You breathe a laugh, choking back a sob as you wipe your face with the back of your hand before licking your lips. “I’m not gonna hurt myself, Cheol.” You shake your head, leap forward again to cling to his shirt, burying your face against his chest once more. “I’m not gonna hurt myself, Seungcheol. You’re gonna hurt me.” Everything's happening so fast Seungcheol’s not sure what you mean, and he’s about to reply when he suddenly feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns to see Mingyu standing there, stony faced and panting with smears of blood all over his face and clothes.

“S.Coups, we need to move out now. Things are getting to be too much. If we don’t leave now, we’re gonna die.” His eyes find yours, and a whole new wave of tears flood your eyes as you move forward to grab Mingyu’s hand.

“Gyu, you’re here!” You gasp out, and his eyes glaze over as he stares at you with the first sign of emotion in months—love.

“Y/N…” He whispers, moving closer. “Y/N, you’re safe.” You nod, tears streaming down your face, but before you can say anything else, Mingyu’s face scrunches into something of pain as a stain of bright red blossoms over his white shirt. He falls over onto the ground before you or Seungcheol can do anything about it, and there, standing some feet away, is Wendy of Red Velvet.

Dino suddenly tackles her to the ground but you can’t pay much more attention, because Mingyu is there on the ground, dead. You fall to your knees before him, flip him over so you can hold his cold face in your hands.

“Oh, Mingyu,” You sob over his body. His eyes stare back up at you, lifeless. “Mingyu, you were first. I didn’t think it’d be you, baby.” You lean forward, cry against his face as you press useless kisses against the golden skin you loved so much. Your lips find his, but they don’t move—Mingyu is dead.

Seungcheol doesn’t know what to do; his hands are trembling at his sides as he’s staring down at the both of you: the only person he loves with his entire heart and soul and his best friend, his family, dead and bleeding on the ground. Realizing that Mingyu is actually dead and not coming back, Seungcheol runs both hands over his face before burying them in his hair, slightly tugging with the anxiety of not know what to do.

“S.Coups!” He turns on his heel at the voice, finds Jun waving at him from across the crowd to gain his attention. “We need to move out, now!” He’s about to say more when he’s suddenly stabbed by someone from Astro, Seungcheol can’t be too sure. His eyes go lifeless, like Cheol himself has caused so many times before, but his heart pangs this time.

“Jun!” Minghao shouts, and he’s running across to his friend before suddenly falling lifeless at the sound of a gunshot.

“Cheol!” You suddenly cry out, no longer on Mingyu, but you’ve got his blood all over you hands and clothes. You fling yourself against his body, grip his shirt as you try to capture his whole attention. “Seungcheol, please, please listen to me: Cheol, you have to kill me.”

“S.Coups, Joshua’s dead!” Jeonghan’s yelling at him from some yards away, desperation and sadness in his voice. “S.Coups, we have to end this!” There’s another gunshot and when he turns to focus on Jeonghan, he’s bleeding on the floor.

“You have to kill me, Coups!” You shout again, gripping his shirt even tighter. “You have to shoot me and kill me!” He looks back out at the field, finds that there are only ⅓ of the original people who were there are still alive. There’s bodies on the floor, so many bodies, it’s made an entirely new ground. He feels that he’s quickly panicking, and there’s so much happening that he doesn’t know who to pay attention to—what to do. “Seungcheol, kill me!” You shriek. He turns to you, sees the tears streaming down your face, the lunatic glaze in your eyes.

“Why… why would I kill you?” He murmurs, but you don’t explain any further, just hold the gun against your chest and take his hand to hold the handle. S.Coups looks over his shoulder, tries to find someone, anybody, to help him take care of the situation—to help him save you.

But out there, in the time span of just a few minutes, only three remain standing, the ground a battlefield of dead people. He’s in too much of a daze to recognize who it is that still stands, but Seungcheol thinks he can recognize Jihoon’s face in the tiny group.

“Seungcheol, please,” You murmur, capturing his attention once more, and Cheol turns to stare at you, your eyes glazed and wild. “Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please,” Your lips are moving quickly with your repeated words, and there’s suddenly the sound of somebody gurgling before two loud shots. He checks back over his shoulder, and nobody is standing anymore. They’re all gone.

“Everyone’s already dead,” You whisper to him, and you press the gun ever more firmly against your chest, your grip on Cheol’s hand tightening as you shove it against the handle, begging him to take it. “They’re all gone, Coups. There’s only one choice left. Just do it, Seungcheol. Pull that stupid trigger, and make sure the bullet pierces my heart just like you and twelve other boys did so long ago. Everyone else is dead, anyway. So, just do it. Do it. Kill me!” You’re shrieking at him again, shoving the barrel against your chest, and Cheol can’t take it anymore—there’s too much on his mind.

He pulls the trigger.

It’s the sound of the loud shot that finally clears his mind of all thoughts, and it’s like life is suddenly playing in slow motion as he watches the life drain from your eyes, watches as you tip back and fall to the ground. The echo of the gunshot seems to ring from all places as if humiliating Seungcheol, and he feels the tears come as he collapses to his knees, falling before you as the blood begins to blossom on your shirt, pools into a small puddle on your chest.

“No,” He whispers helplessly. “No, what have I… Y/N, no!” He grabs the hem of his shirt, rips it off in one swift movement before wadding it up and pressing it against your chest, desperately trying to stop the bleeding, trying to save your life. But it’s too late. He knows it’s too late, but he doesn’t quite want to believe it. Your breathing has already stopped, your eyes are an empty void, and there’s nothing he can do to stop the stupid bleeding.

“Y/N, please,” He’s begging, crying, and his tears are falling onto your face. “Dammit, Y/N please!” Suddenly, there’s a loud ringing, and Cheol looks up at the old rusty speakers he had previously thought no longer worked. They ring once, twice, three times to signal an announcement. And there’s your voice.

“A tale of boys that began as thirteen Will undoubtedly fall when another one comes A tale of boys and a girl as fourteen A prophecy in death and pain it sums”

It’s the exact same voice recording that was on the USB he’d burned on his desk, and the memory of listening to it with Jihoon only makes his heart pang ever more. As the poem continues, he silently whispers it to himself, already knowing it like a daily mantra.

“In the month of October blood will be spilled A revolution so carefully planned will burn All but one will not be killed A battle of love he will refuse to learn

“A tale of lovers who were once fourteen Will crumble apart when only one is seen”

Your voice echoes across the empty carnival, ringing in Seungcheol’s ears like white noise. He bursts into tears, feels his entire body rack with each sob that tears his voice raw. Nothing is left for him… he buries his face into the crook of your neck and smooths back your hair like he remembers you liked so much.

“Y/N, please,” He desperately murmurs, voice cracking and choking back sobs. “Please, Y/N, tell me what’s going on… please, what’s… what’s happening?” And then the speakers respond, ringing three times once more before suddenly echoing your voice except, this time, it’s steadier. This time, you sound serious.

“This concludes Project Shining Diamond.” Immediately, he rises to his feet, spins to face the speakers.

“What?” He shouts, voice louder than it’s ever been. “What does that mean? What’s going on?” He feels a sudden bubbling anger in his chest. And then, without thinking, he takes the gun he’s shot you with and begins shooting at the speakers, the metal sounds pinging in the gray sky. “Tell me what that means! Bring them back! Bring them all back! I want my family back, and Y/N too! Tell me what’s going on!” His voice is raw from shouting so passionately, but all that meets him is absolute silence.

Seungcheol breaks a sob, falls to his knees as he buries his face in his hands. Why does it hurt so much?

“Please… somebody… anybody tell me… what’s going on? Don’t abandon me. Just… please. Help me.”

This time, nobody responds.

//admin miely//

52 notes · View notes

idiosyncrasy-at-its-finest · 4 years

Text

get over it

Nov. 18, 2020. spent my study hall writing this– my new thing: not proofreading! enjoy. it’s long. five pages long in google docs. good luck!

I have a tendency to overthink, to force, to meddle. Can one meddle in their own life? Apparently.

Get over it, I tell myself constantly. It happened so long ago. Don’t get hung up over this; it’s been four years. Get over it.

No. Not that it was traumatic or anything, but it was a fairly big deal to me. Not a life “event” per se, as it was a collection of experiences that fused into one regret, but it’s left its impact on me. A big one, if the numerous pieces of writing inspired by it might show.

I had a best friend. We met in fourth grade, when his best friend bet me and my closest friend at the time five dollars we couldn’t tag him. He wasn’t the fastest runner, she was a lacrosse player, and I was still full of energy and excitement. And then another class was coming out to recess and he tapped in his friend, said we’d have to tag this kid. He was short, with a cute smile, and a small scar beside… I forget which eyebrow… left or right. I forget.

He was a fast runner, the kid who ran the pacer without breaking a sweat, his carefree smile growing sharper as each competitor dropped out. The PE teacher would always have to stop the recording when it was just him running back and forth. He’d keep running. We’d clap. He’d realize it was over. He’d run to us, not even grabbing a drink of water from the water fountain. His hair would be raised and pushed back, the wind styling it.

That day in recess, I didn’t tag him. Neither did my other friend. When we got called to go back in class, I tapped his shoulder. He said it didn’t count, which it didn’t, but what did count was that I’d made a new friend.

Fifth grade, we shared the same advanced math class. When I waited in the halls, he’d pass by. And then he’d stand near me. When I stood outside a classroom for a course we didn’t share, he’d smile. At some point, he began stopping slightly when he saw me. And then he was bringing lollipops to school and giving one to me when our eyes met, smiles exchanged, and hands brushed– an exchange sweeter than candy.

One time, during recess, the others went to the kickball field. I decided to hang around on the playground. He came to me, was a little less happy than he normally was– didn’t want to play sports with his friends. He was wearing a gray dri fit shirt, I remember, and a dark pair of basketball shorts. We laughed the whole recess, and when I stepped in line to go back in, my friends teased me about us. I’d brushed them off, grinning because we’d created an inside joke. One about baseball and how my athletically-challenged self would one day be the best player the world ever saw.

We started signing each other’s things. Autographing– so that when the other got famous we could sell it, of course. Preparing each other for financial pitfalls. How kind.

Sixth grade. Open house. We were in the same class. I was excited. He didn’t even spare me a glance. I didn’t call out to him; I didn’t want my mom to see me reach out to a boy.

We became best friends, though. Our class had a ship name for us. I hated it– outwardly. Actually, in the beginning it didn’t bother me. But then my friends would point out how he teased me, how he stared when I ran my fingers through my hair (I finger-brushed my hair rather than properly take care of it– still don’t properly brush it). They suspected he liked me. I proposed to him, one day. After a photo for spirit day, when I’d stayed kneeling since I was taller than him, I pulled his arm. I stared into his eyes. Will you marry me? He said yes. And then he gave me his cheese stick at lunch to seal the deal.

And then I grew uncomfortable, because after flaunting our “relationship”, the whole grade knew. They congratulated us, and asked us when the wedding would be. So I broke it off, told him in an over dramatic fashion, hand thrown over my forehead that it’s not you. It’s me. And then he didn’t talk to me for three days. Maybe he did like me. Up until then, whenever a boy liked me, I was suddenly disgusted. But this realization, that my best friend– short, sporty, caring, funny, amazingly sweet, smart– might like me… made me giddy. And then in March of 2016, I began to like him.

Uh oh.

You see, I was a pretty strange kid. I made funny faces, I told gross jokes, I was physically aggressive. And then… and then I liked someone. I didn’t want him to see how “weird” I could be. I started acting differently. Even though we were best friends and there was no way he hadn’t already realized what a lunatic I was.

Sixth grade was also when I began to read wattpad. I wanted a guy best friend. I wanted my parents to like him, for him to crawl into my bed during cold and scary nights without it being weird, for us to be elementary school best friends turning into something more… I forced him into a mold. For what?

Our relationship turned strained. Before I left, I made him promise to always be my best friend. A desperate attempt to keep him. He agreed.

I don’t have a best friend right now. I don’t like the term, I don’t use it. Because he’s my best friend. It’s like a dying wish, but a leaving wish. Equally as important. I made a leaving wish.

I’ve since come to realize– or since manipulated the situation into one to make myself feel better– that he’s the one who broke the promise. He changed. After I moved, replies got short. Conversations turned dry. He eventually unadded me on snapchat.

So… why dwell on these unfortunate elementary school events?

My mom started watching Dawson’s Creek recently and I’ve been tuning in. It hurts. To see on screen what I’ve longed for for so long. What I longed for that ruined a friendship.

Dawson and Joey, best friends. Grew up together, sleep in the same bed. I was a military brat; I never lived anywhere longer than three years consecutively. Now, I’ve been in the country I’m in for four years, this being my fifth. I’ll be here until I graduate, making the grand total six years. Too late to make an elementary school best friend, but a highschool best friend… a guy I can talk to about anything, even sexual things (though my experiences in this field have been slim to none… they’ve actually just been none). And I almost had it. And then I got too attached again. We haven’t talked in three weeks or so. I hope it doesn’t turn into three years like it did with…

It’s too late. I was watching the show, thinking about a guy who lives in my neighborhood. The guy that both my parents like, that my mom really likes because he walks me home at night after traditional biweekly movie nights, after long walks. It’s a comfortable group of three, me, him, and another girl. For a bit, she’d insist on how cute a couple we’d be. But I didn’t like him like that. I certainly could– it wouldn’t be hard. But he deserved better than to be someone’s second choice. Or third, I suppose, if the context is me trying to find a guy best friend to intertwine my life with.

I’m too easily manipulated. Teen writings made me yearn for a specific type of friendship; my friend could easily convince me to like the sweet boy next door (but not really next door, more like a few streets up). The boy a few streets up.

Watching Dawson’s Creek has made me realize it’s most definitely too late for me to develop a relationship where we can tease each other, where when I’m changing, he takes too long to turn around because “what? Not like I haven’t seen you naked before” because we’d bathed together as babies. Too late to begin to sleep in the same bed with a member of the opposite sex, a member of the sex I’m attracted to.

I can’t have that. I won’t ever have that. Even if, when I go to college, I make a great guy friend. It won’t be the same as the highschool relationship I’ve romanticized for years now.

I sat on the floor, bum resting on a soft blue cushion, tub of Magnum ice cream cradled in hands, spoon dangling from between parted lips. I’m not going to get that. Ever. So I need to stop pining for it. Because it’s not going to happen.

But I have a neighborhood gang. A group of friends who watches a movie every other Friday, who gets together at least once a week to sit in a field and talk about life. A friend to walk to school with and a guy who breezes past us on his bike, sending an easy smile. I already have a wonderful, beautiful trio. Outside of that, I have other friends. A friend who doesn’t live in the neighborhood but that I can call without hesitation, knowing she’ll pick up even if she’s in the shower, at dinner, with other people. I have good, reliable people in my life. I don’t need a boy next door, a boy a creek down best friend. I have a boy a few streets up. I have a girl a brisk walk close. I have a girl a call away.

I have my parents, not lax enough to let me walk out the house without providing a heads up, not chill enough to let a boy in my room, not absent enough for me to do whatever I want. True, I wish I had a few more freedoms, but… I should be content with my life. I have so much.

And it hurts– to have to let go of my fantasy. Of this dream I’ve clung onto for so long my knuckles have turned white, my nails have dug into the flesh of my palms, crusted over blood surrounding fresh pools. Of this idea I’ve fallen in love with, head over heels, straight into a beautiful, soft lie. An unattainable, unrealistic, unhealthy fantasy. It’s not something I can get. Wanting it will only continue to upset me.

And why should I be upset? When I’m a few strides away from a field, from a small playground, from a bubble tea store, from school, from my friends. I don’t have a creek, I don’t have a boy who can run the pacer without panting after, who only has a light smile I pretend is just for me on his face. I have something real, somethings. I have life. My life.

I’ve come to this realization recently, that I can’t get what I’ve always wanted. Maybe that’s why I keep clinging onto my youth, because I’m hoping to fulfill some pipedream. There’s a lot of things in my life that have been affected by this unhealthy obsession.

It still hurts, like a breakup, a fresh wound. Maybe the latter would be the better comparison– I’ve never been through a proper breakup. Things that have felt like it, maybe. But not a romantic one.

Oh wait. Too late now, but before the boy a few streets up (or at the same time I became friends with him), there was another one. The guy who texted, shared memes, called to study, manipulated, rejected on Valentine’s Day. A story for another day, I suppose. But you can bet that he was also ruined because of my dream.

It still hurts. But I’m happier now– or at least on the path to get there. Because I’ve pinned down a very big problem and am trying to put it behind.

0 notes

theforgottenrp · 4 years

Photo

Player’s Name: Script Player’s Age: 25 Player’s Pronouns: she/her Player’s Timezone: Central Standard Time Other Characters: Angel Morgan, Kip Rodgers, and Stoney Mcguire

Age: 22 Pronouns & Gender: he/him & cisgender Sexuality: Pansexual Alignment: Neutral Member Group: Civilians Occupation: Unemployed Faceclaim: Douglas Booth

Bio: Frankie Presley was born to a mother that he hardly remembers, and a father that he would love to forget. Since his mother passed away when he was just a toddler, she had left Frankie with a very abusive father who would much rather knock his sons around with a bat, than go outside and play baseball. The only real person Frankie had to look up to was Marlon. Marlon was the only stability Frankie could find in his chaotic little world. Frankie was hungry? Marlon was there. Franky was sleepy? Marlon was there. Some kid made fun of Frankie for his nail polish? Marlon was there. Dad was angry? Marlon was there.

That was the fact he would always count on. Marlon was there.

That’s what got Frankie through most of his young life. Of course, Frankie’s father had been a force. Not even Marlon could always keep him down. Frankie settled on that fact until one evening when he got home a little earlier than Marlon to find their father in a particularly foul mood. Frankie ended up half conscious and locked in their closet until Marlon found him a few hours later. Frankie can’t remember much of what Marlon said that afternoon. He can remember him helping him back to his bed, and then making sure he took something for all the pain that never went away anyway. He just remembered falling asleep after that. When he woke up again, Marlon was packing their bags and they left.

Frankie only asked once about their father, worried he would find them if they ran away. Find them and kill them, honestly. When Marlon said he wouldn’t be a problem anymore, Frankie didn’t ask anymore questions.

The year of the Crybabies was a weird one for Frankie. He didn’t quite fit in with them the way Marlon seemed to. He didn’t talk like them or walk them, which made Frankie feel more out of the loop. He also felt like Marlon was pulling away slowly and surely. Frankie tried to stay, really. He tried hard to fit in, but after about a year of it he finally asked Marlon if they could leave. When he said no, and his answer didn’t exactly satisfy an annoyed little brother, Frankie up and left. He was strong enough to make it out there by himself, right? Soon enough he found the Toy Soldiers. That’s where he remained for the rest of his life as a gang member.

Frankie meant to make his way back to Marlon, honestly. He had planned to age out of the Toy Soldiers. He knew his brother had aged into the Killjoys, and that was the plan for Frankie. Then they would be in the same gang again, and everything would be okay. Frankie’s point would have been made, and Marlon would be there again.

Then the bombs came. Frankie asked around about Marlon, even searched for him. All with no information. Frankie finally one day had his own realization that this was it. Frankie was scared, and he couldn’t find his brother. Marlon wasn’t there.

Frankie hasn’t spent a day sober since. Anytime he would come just a hair closer to sobriety, he would pop another pill or drink another drink. Anything to get his mind off of his failure, and maybe get him one step closer to Marlon. That’s all he could hope for, really.

Personality: stubborn, blunt, reckless, resourceful, intelligent

Secret: “I left my brother out of petty spite. I just wanted to annoy him, and prove I was strong enough to do things without him. Now I regret every day of that.”

#frankie presley #accepted

0 notes

miissmr · 7 years

Text

The Night Sky

I’m still trying to figure out what the next chapter of the road trip is missing, but every time I stare at it I get more frustrated. I have no idea where it came from, and I have no idea where it went. But, the idea came to me, and I couldn’t shake it, so I wrote it. I hope you enjoy.

word count: 4,985 Summary: Lucas moves to New York for his final year of high school, and he meets a certain brunette who woes him by being herself, then with a song.

Lucas has made it through his first week at his new high school in a new city. He still didn’t understand why his parents refused to let him stay in Texas with Pappy Joe to finish his last year of high school. Lucas was doing well in Texas. He was managing a GPA of a 3.3, he was looking to be team captain of his school baseball team for the second year, he’s life was great—that was until his parents told him about his father’s job transfer that sent them all the way to the Big Apple.

It wasn’t so bad though he had made a few new friends.

There is Zay. He was the first one to approach Lucas, and extend an invitation to Lucas to come eat lunch with him and his friend when he saw Lucas at lunch alone. Zay is able to make anybody feel comfortable with his sense of humor, and that is what made Lucas feel comfortable.

There are the two geniuses, the power couple, Farkle and Smackle. They both, at first, made Lucas feel a little uneasy asking him questions about everything, but after a couple of days Farkle seemed to have warmed up to Lucas; although, Smackle was going to need more time.

Then there is Maya. She was quiet, but Zay said that was because her best friend was gone for another week, and she missed her. But, the few times she did talk, Maya seems to be a fiery person who loved her art, since Lucas noticed she spent most of the week glued to her notebook.

Finally, there is someone name Riley. Lucas only heard about since she was the best friend who was gone, but he wasn’t really paying attention. Lucas was too busy wishing he was back in Texas. Where he still wishes he was.

Monday came again, which meant a new school week started, and Lucas walks to his first period, but instead of sitting in the back, Zay has a seat saved for Lucas closer to the group in the third row three seats back. It is the only class the five of them have altogether.

Lucas sits there listening to the four of his new friends talk about their weekend, but if Lucas was being honest he could care less. He was supposed to fly back home for the weekend, but when things fell through he couldn’t go. So, it left him spending his weekend sulking in his bedroom.

Lucas stares ahead only snapping out of it when the bell rings. He listens to his teacher talk intently but stop when the door opens, and that is when he sees her. He had no idea who she is, but he couldn’t stop from staring.

“Wow,” he whispers—his mouth gaped a little.

However, this doesn’t go unnoticed. Farkle hears Lucas, but he didn’t know what has his new friend in a hypnotic state, that was until he follows his line of sight to no other than Riley.

Farkle turns to Lucas. “That’s Riley. She’s one of us,” Farkle whispers.

“One of us?” Lucas questions.

Farkle laughs quietly. “Yes, one of us. That’s Riley, who we were trying to tell you about, but you never seemed to care. I bet you wished you listened now. One tip, don’t stare too long. She’s Mr. Matthews daughter, and he can be a bit overbearing.” Lucas slowly looks away, and Farkle tries his best to stifle his laughter, so he wouldn’t cause attention.

When Lucas turns his attention to the front of the class, he notices Riley looking over her shoulder at him, but when he catches her, she quickly looks away, and the rest of the class Lucas spends glancing at Riley, and lucky for him Mr. Matthews didn’t notice.

Lucas spends the rest of his day trying to find Riley hoping the next class he has is with her, but it isn’t. The next he sees her isn’t until lunch with the rest of the gang.

Lucas is the last one to the table, and as soon as he gets close, his eyes automatically locks onto her.

“Oh, look it’s Lucas,” Zay says when he sees Lucas approaching.

The second Lucas reaches the table Riley’s eyes land on him, and she can feel the pace of her heart quicken.

“Lucas this is Riley,” Zay gestures to the brunette beauty, “and Riley this is Lucas, who I’ve been telling you about,” Zay places his hand on Lucas’ shoulder pulling Lucas down next to him.

“Hi.” Riley smiles at Lucas, and the fluttering in his stomach starts.

“Hey,” Lucas replies, and he thinks he sees Riley’s smile widen.

“It’s nice to finally have Riley back from Philadelphia. I know you love your grandparents, honey, but the next time you decide to extend you summer vacation can you please take me with you,” Maya says as she wraps her arms around Riley making Riley laugh.

“I’m sorry, peaches. I didn’t think my parents would actually let me miss the first week of school when my grandpa asked.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter I’m just happy you’re back,” Maya says. And, as Riley laughs, Lucas couldn’t agree more. Maybe moving to New York isn’t so bad after all.

Months pass, and Lucas has settled into his new school with his new friends. They all welcomed him in happily. Inviting him to their movie Fridays, to their houses to meet their families, inviting him to everything like he’s been apart of the group for years.

Lucas is growing a separate bond with each one of them. Farkle and Zay were quick to welcome Lucas into the group, and the three of them became best friends, having sleepovers together, playing video games, having their own inside jokes. Lucas thought he and his friends were close in Texas, but being friends with these two, showed Lucas what true friendship is. Although, Lucas sometimes had to play mediator between the two when things got a little intense during one of their video game nights; he wouldn’t have it any other way.

With Maya, she and Lucas had developed a sister brother relationship with endless teasing, and with Smackle, Lucas had to wait a little longer for her to feel comfortable around him, and he around her with her unorthodox ways, but once they were both comfortable, their friendship became important to Lucas.

And with Riley, she is the one he had become closest with next to Farkle and Zay. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt an instant connection to her, and once the two started talking it was hard to get the two to stop.

They shared stories with one another. Lucas told her about his life in Texas, and the nights he spent on his roof, his safe place, staring at the stars, and how he wished he could have one more night like that, and Riley told him about her life in New York, and how her safe place was her bay window.

Lucas had never met someone like Riley. He had never talked to someone the way he talked to Riley, and Riley felt the same about Lucas. Without realizing it, they were slowing falling for one another.

It’s April, now, and for Abigail Adams High School that meant it is time for the annual school talent show.

“So, Riley, the talent show is this month,” Zay says as the six of them get to their lunch table and scatter out taking their seats. Zay turns his attention to Lucas. “It’s a good Riley story. Last year she lost a bet to Maya and had to try out for the talent show. You got to know Riley a bit since you moved her,” Lucas tries to hide his smile, “so you know how she can be when she’s a little nervous. The five of us,” he gestures around the table, “were sitting in the back expecting a little Riley meltdown. We had no idea what she was going to do, so when she walked on stage when a guitar strapped around her we were all flabbergasted. None of us knew she played. Not even Maya here,” Zay nudges in Maya’s direction.

“Which I still haven’t forgiven you for that,” Maya says to Riley, who is sitting next to her, and Riley swats her hand at Maya as she pops a grape into her mouth trying to hide the tint of red in her cheeks.

“Anyways,” Zay continues, “she comes up and starts to do a cover to a song. I swear the second she started all our jaws dropped, and as soon as she ended almost everyone was on their feet cheering for her. She ended up taking second place.”

“I wish I could have been there to have seen you perform,” Lucas says looking at Riley, and he swears he sees a change of color in her cheeks.

“Maybe you’ll be able to see her this year,” Maya says in a questionable tone looking at Riley.

Riley sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. It was hard enough for me to get up there the first time around. I don’t think I can do it again, but if you guys want we can still go and watch everyone perform.”

Everyone, besides Lucas, wanted to keep trying to convince Riley to perform. They were sure this year she’d take first, but no matter what they said Riley just shrugged it off. Lucas wants her to perform, but he isn’t going to convince her to do something she doesn’t want to do. So, instead, he sits there listening to everyone hopeless fail.

A few weeks pass, and soon it’s Friday, the day of the talent show. The six of them meet outside the auditorium, and once they are all there, they make their way inside.

They watch routine after routine come up; three girls doing a hip hop dance, two different comedy acts, Bobby Mitchell and his magic act, a boy doing a solo dance performance.

Towards the end of the talent show, Riley excuses herself to go to the bathroom.

“I hate to say but we only have one more act for the night,” Mrs. Peterson announces, and the crowd boos. “I know, I know. I don’t want the night to end either, but I promise you won’t be disappointed with this last act. So, without a further ado, Riley Matthews.” Mrs. Peterson gestures to the right side of the stage, and Riley walks out making the gang’s mouths gape.

“Did you guys know she was going to do this?” Maya asks, and everyone shakes their head.

Lucas’ eyes study her, and he feels nervous for her. But, he also feels excited that he’s finally going to be able to hear her sing. He watches her, and he can see that she has a bit of nerves bubbling inside of her by the way she’s tapping her fingers against her thigh, and he wants nothing more than to be able to reassure her of herself.

“Hi everyone. I’m Riley Matthews.” The crowd cheers making Riley giggle into the microphone which echoes through the auditorium, and Lucas can feel butterflies in his stomach. “So, I’m going to be singing a song for you all, but not just any song. This is an original song, and I really hope you like it,” she says, and Lucas feels a lump in her throat form when she says the last part because he thought Riley was staring directly at him.

Riley places the microphone into the microphone stand and swings her guitar in front of her. The auditorium becomes quiets, and a second later she begins to strum.

♫ I always thought the city was beautiful Never been able to find a flaw But that all changed The day I met you ♫

Lucas breath hitches as soon as the words leave her mouth. Riley glances up, and Lucas is almost certain she looks directly at him—making him feel like she is singing to him, that she wrote the song for him. She quickly returns her line of sight back to her guitar, but Lucas doesn’t mind his only thought right now is that Riley looks breathtaking and her voice is angelic.

♫ I never cared that the lights shined all night I never cared that I couldn’t see the stars I never cared That was true until I met you ♫

Lucas has not once peeled his eyes off Riley, but Riley has not looked back up; he didn’t mind. He’s too hypnotized by her voice.

♫ Now, I sit by my window wishing the city wasn’t so bright then maybe I’d be able to see the sky and be lucky enough to see a shooting star and have a chance to wish for you ♫

♫ In movies there’s always a couple sharing a moment under the darkness of the night with the stars shining above And I never knew how much I wanted that Until I met you ♫

Riley looks up again, and she looks in the direction of Lucas, holding her gaze for a few seconds before looking back at her guitar. Lucas can feel his heart racing, and he’s almost positive if Riley’s playing wasn’t ringing through the auditorium, then the sound of his pounding heart would be.

♫ Now, I sit by my window wishing the city wasn’t so bright then maybe I’d be able to see the sky and be lucky enough to see a shooting star and have a chance to wish for you ♫

Riley sings the final word and strums the final chord, and Lucas’ mind still has him convinced that this was a private show for him. That she wrote the song for him. But, that instantly changes when he hears an uproar of cheers fill the auditorium snapping him back to reality.

He looks around the room, and he sees majority of the audience up on their feet clapping and whistling for Riley’s performance. It takes him a second to realize that he was the only one of the gang not on their feet cheering their friend on, and he quickly jumps up.

“Go Riley!” Lucas shouts clapping his hands.

He sees a smile plaster across Riley lips as everybody cheers for her, and he finds it adorable when she tries to hide her smile. Riley gives a quick bow before exiting the stage, and Lucas is stuck there wishing the song was about him.

“Abigail Adams High Talent Show First Place,” Zay reads from the trophy in his hands before passing it back to Riley. “If that isn’t a cause for celebration, I don’t know what is. So, I propose we go get milkshakes at the dinner, what do you say?” He drapes his arm around Riley’s shoulders, and she laughs.

“That isn’t necessary,” Riley says, and Maya jumps in front of Riley.

“Not necessary? Of course, it is. My best friend just won first place in the talent show with an original song.” Maya moves to the other side of Riley linking her arm with Riley’s. “So, yes milkshakes at the dinner.”

The six of them make their way to a dinner that is only a few blocks away from the high school. Maya, Riley, and Zay walk in the front with Riley still sandwiched between the two, and Lucas, Smackle and Farkle walking right behind them.

“Riles, I do have one question. I pretty sure we are all wondering.” Maya glances at Zay and then behind her, and Riley nods for her to continue. “The song, who was it about?”

Riley knew the question was coming, but she was hoping it wasn’t in front of everyone. She feels the heat rush to her cheeks. “It-it was just a song. It wasn’t about an-anybody,” Riley fumbles with her words, and Maya immediately smiles.

“You can’t lie to us, especially me,” Maya says, and Lucas sees Zay nudge Riley.

“It’s about Caleb, right? I see the way you two look at each other, and I watched you look directly at him the couple of times you looked up.” Zay smiles at Riley knowingly, but Riley only looks at him confused. However, Lucas doesn’t see that look.

He only sees the smile on Zay’s face, and the only thing going through Lucas’ mind is of course it isn’t about himself. Why would it be him? He’s only known Riley for eight months, and Caleb, she’s known him probably way longer.

“It isn’t about Caleb,” Maya chimes in. “It’s about Aaron. You started tutoring him this year, and I might have read one of the notes he gave you.”

“Maya!” Riley screeches. She pauses for a second before continuing. “But, not it’s not him either, and it was only that one note and I let him know we were strictly friends.”

“So, it’s about somebody!” Maya says in a matter of fact tone, but Riley doesn’t say anything.

Riley sees that the dinner is just across the street, and she takes that as her opportunity to unlink her arms from Maya’s and dash inside, and everyone follows suits except for Lucas and Farkle who linger behind.

Lucas feels someone nudge his side, and he looks to see a Farkle smirking at him. “I know who you’re hoping the song is about,” Farkle says just loud enough for Lucas to hear.

Lucas doesn’t say anything, and when he doesn’t he feels an elbow in his side again. “I’m pretty sure I know who the song is about. I’m genius after all, but it wouldn’t take one to figure this mystery out,” Farkle says.

Lucas stops walking and turns his full attention to Farkle. Of course, he would know. Farkle was the one who figured out about Lucas’ crush on Riley when Lucas thought he was being very subtle about it.

“Who?” Lucas asks a little too eagerly making Farkle laugh.

“Now, where is the fun in that,” Farkle chuckles. “If you really want to know, you could ask her. But, I’m sure if you thought about it long enough you’d figure it out. After all, her obsession with not being able to see the stars didn’t come until you talked about the Texas sky.”

‘It couldn’t be,’ Lucas thinks to himself. Farkle takes the last few steps to the dinner leaving Lucas there in his thoughts. Lucas walks closer and stares into the dinner and at his group of friends. and his eyes instantly move to Riley. He can see her laughing, and he feels his heart racing. He wants nothing more than the song to be around him.

The next day Lucas couldn’t stop thinking about Riley’s son, or what Farkle said—for different reasons. Farkle’s words gave Lucas hope that the song was about him, but he also couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Riley wanted to see the sky covered in stars.

So, he begged his parents to let him borrow the car for the night. He knew Smackle and Farkle were going on date, Zay’s going to the movies with his mother to watch the new Nicholas Sparks movie, and Lucas is hoping that Maya hadn’t already made plans with Riley.

The phone rings once before she picks up. Hey Lucas, Riley says, and Lucas can hear her smile through her words.

Hey. Are you busy, right now? Lucas asks praying she says no.

I’m not anymore. Maya cancelled. Why?

Well, I was wondering if you wanted to maybe go somewhere with me. The hope is more than evident in Lucas’ voice.

I’d have to ask my parents if it’s okay, but I would love to. Lucas has to bite his lip to hold back his cheers. May I ask where it is we’d be going?

Lucas wants to tell her, but he always wants to surprise her. I kind of wanted it to be a surprise, but I will tell you it’s about an hour or so drive away, and I promise to have you back by ten or whenever you need to be back.

I’ll ask my parents, and I’ll text you if I can go or not.

Okay. Is the only thing Lucas can say before Riley hangs up.

He waits impatiently fiddling with his phone waiting for Riley’s text, but the longer she takes the less hopefully he is. He just wants one moment alone with her. Without Zay around providing his commentary, without competing with Maya for Riley’s attention, without Farkle secretly teasing him about his crush, and without Smackle unknowingly flirting with him.

He is more than grateful that the close knit group of amazing friends welcomes him into their group, and he felt more than lucky, but he wants, no he needs, a moment alone with Riley.

It takes Riley twenty minutes to text back, but when she does, Lucas’ lips curl until into a smile.

Riley They said it was okay, but I have to be back by midnight. Hope that’s okay.

Lucas doesn’t think twice before responding.

Lucas That’s more than okay. I’ll pick you up in half an hour.

The car ride to the destination is anything but silent—their voices along with the car radio bounce around the car.

“You were amazing last night.” Lucas glances at her and smiles softly. “How did you learn how to play the guitar?”

She smiles. “My grandpa. He’s been playing for years, and he always played when I was younger. I loved almost any nursery rhyme growing up, and every time I would sing one my grandpa would start playing his guitar for me. We were kind of a duo.” Riley laughs.

“Anyways,” she continues looking straight ahead, “as I started getting older I wanted to learn to play, so he taught me when I spent the summer in Philadelphia before I started high school. I mean during the years of watching him I knew some things, but that was when I really learned how to play. We’d be up as late as we could before my grandma came down to tell us to quiet down.” Riley’s smiles at the memory. “Then that year for my birthday, my grandpa gave me a guitar pick. That’s it, and I’ll admit I spent the rest of my birthday wondering when he was going to give me a guitar, but when my birthday ended and nothing I was confused and a bit disappointed. It wasn’t until Christmas when he surprised me with my own guitar, and the rest of the evening he and I played together. We actually play a lot together. The first week of school I spent in Philadelphia just spending time with my grandparents.”

Riley pulls herself out of her trance and looks at Lucas. “I’m sorry you just asked how I learned. You didn’t ask for all the other stuff.”

“It’s okay I like listening to you talk,” Lucas says before he can think, and he feels his cheeks grow hot at his words, but what he misses is the change of color is Riley’s cheeks as well.

He clears his throat. “So, why didn’t you tell anyone you were actually doing the talent show. I know you said last night you wanted to surprise us…but what’s the real reason?”

She slowly sighs. “I didn’t want them to make me more nervous than I already was. I knew Maya and Zay would pester me and beg me to let them watch while I practiced. Smackle and Farkle can sometimes be a little to honest, and honestly, the last thing I needed was any criticism they had run around in my head while I was on stage. And you…,” she looks nervously at Lucas, and he quickly locks eyes with her, “I-I don’t really have a good reason for not telling you.” She twiddles her thumbs.

“Well, besides the fact that you only just met me this school year.” Lucas chuckles.

“That’s not a problem to me. I mean I got in a car with you, and you won’t even tell me where we’re going. For all I know, you are taking me somewhere to kill me,” she says with a giggle.

“Who knows maybe I am,” Lucas jokes, and she playfully smacks his arm.

“Lucas!” She laughs, and it makes his heart soar. He hears her shuffle around in her seat, so she is facing him. “If I’m being honest, I wish I could have met you sooner. You quickly became one of the most important people in my life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Lucas feels his throat go dry at his words. He looks at her, and her brown eyes lock onto his. “You’re really important to me, too, Riley.”

Lucas returns he attention straight ahead, and a comfortable silence fills the car for the rest of the ride as they were both linger onto each other’s words.

Riley is in an awe state of mind as soon as she stepped out of the car, and she looks at Lucas who is already gazing at her.

“How did you find this place?” Riley ask through her smile.

Lucas steps around to the front of the car, and Riley follows suit. “A lot of online searching, but,” Lucas looks up and then at Riley, who has not stopped smiling, “it was worth it.”

Riley leans against the car, and when she sees Lucas has slowly slide himself up on top of the hood, she does the same. Lucas stares at Riley who is looking up at the sky—a smile wiped across her face showcasing her deep dimples.

“This…this is beautiful.” Her voice in sweet. Riley peels her eyes away from the sky and looks at Lucas. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Lucas smiles with butterflies fluttering in his stomach. “You’re welcome. I thought you’d like it.” Lucas looks up to the sky. “It kind of feels like I’m in Texas, right now.”

“Do you miss it there?” Riley asks, her voice quiet.

He looks at the sky a bit longer. Of course, he misses Texas. His family is there, his friends are there, but if he were to go back now he knew he would find himself missing New York and his new friends, more importantly Riley.

Lucas slowly looks at Riley, who is gazing at him waiting for an answer. “Not as much as I once did. New York is, well it’s my home now.” A wide smile spreads across Riley’s lips. They hold each other gaze for a minute or two before looking back at the sky.

Both lean back and look up. Lucas doesn’t think he’s ever felt such blissfulness. In the beginning of the school year, if his parents had given him the option to leave New York and go back to Texas, he would have taken it in a heartbeat. But, that all changed the second he saw Riley.

When Riley walked in class that Monday, everything changed. Her browns eyes captivated him, and ever since then they have kept him in locked in—not that he minds. Meeting Riley, growing close, and now falling for Riley makes the life Lucas left in Texas not as important. This is where he was meant to be, here with Riley.

They have been watching the stars in the sky for about an hour talking, and then Riley and Lucas see something shoot across the sky.

Riley instantly sits up with a smile she can’t contain. “Was that a shooting star?”

Lucas follows suit, and nods. “It was. Did you make a wish?”

Riley looks up at the sky for a second, and her eyes lock onto Lucas’ bright green eyes. “I did.”

“Well, whatever it is, I hope it comes true,” Lucas says with sincerity.

Riley doesn’t say anything, she only smiles at Lucas. She slowly leans back, and Lucas does the same. Lucas wants to ask if she wished for the person she sung about last night. He wants to ask her who the song is about, but being with her in this moment none of that mattered.

“Lucas,” Riley’s voice soft. She turns her head and Lucas does the same, and the pair stare into each other’s eyes. “I’m really happy you moved to New York.”

Lucas grins. “So am I.” Neither one looks away because neither one wants to.

Riley parts her lips. “Can…can we keep this place between you and I?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but Lucas heard her perfectly clear.

“Of course, and whenever you want to come out here, we can.”

Riley doesn’t say anything. She searches Lucas eyes, but she isn’t sure what she is looking for. All she knows that the way Lucas is looking at her at this exact moment is making her feel warm inside—the way his eyes made her feel the very first time he looked at her. Without thinking, Riley lays her hand on top of his dropping her fingers between the openings of his.

And Lucas, he looks down at their hands, and it was almost with this one touch, it answered all his questions. Riley didn’t have to say, and he didn’t need her to say—the song was for him.

#i actually really like the song i wrote #i don't think i've ever liked something i've written so much #rucas fanfic #i hope you enjoy #tell me what you think #riley mattews #night sky #lucas friar #high school rucas

76 notes · View notes

rolandfontana · 5 years

Text

From Gang ‘Shot Caller’ to Pastor: A Life-Altering Journey

Darwin “Casey” Diaz was once one of California’s most violent criminals. Brought to the United States as a toddler by his Salvadoran parents, he was a gang member at 11. At the age of 16, he was sentenced to almost 13 years in prison for second-degree murder and 57 counts of robbery. At New Folsom State Prison, his behavior earned him more than three years in solitary confinement.

That’s where he turned his life around.

Now describing himself as a born-again Christian, Diaz was nearly 24 when he emerged from prison with a story of how faith changed his life, and he has been sharing it with nationwide audiences ever since, while mentoring at-risk children. He turned his journey into a book, The Shot Caller, co-written with Mike Yorkey. The book’s title references leaders in gang cultures; the ones who command respect and decide who lives and who dies from behind prison bars.

In a conversation with The Crime Report, Diaz discussed how law enforcement, parents, churches, and educators can work together to disrupt the violent gang culture plaguing communities in Central America and throughout major U.S. cities, the importance of positive male role models for youth, and why his story might help inform today’s tendentious immigrant debate.

The following transcript has been condensed and slightly edited.

The Crime Report: What compelled you to write this book?

Casey Diaz: I’ve been sharing my story for some 20 years in bible study groups, churches, middle schools and high schools. Every time I shared, I always had someone tell me, ‘You’ve got to write a book.’ Most people don’t want to talk about [gang culture] and no one wants to share the reality of it. There have been other gang books but none that really offered a solution. There weren’t any in-depth discussions about the violence, and then the perfect opportunity to write the book presented itself and I said ‘yes’ to the project.

TCR: Gang culture is a real threat not just in El Salvador but in U.S. cities like Los Angeles and Detroit. What needs to change?

CD: If we turn on the news, we’ll see that on a nightly basis there are gang killings throughout Los Angeles, Massachusetts, Washington D.C., New York [and other cities]. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that there are missing male figures in a lot of households, and in the Hispanic community as whole it’s become so common. [A couple] ends up having a kid and the guy takes off. Then there’s a single mom in a bad area with one or two kids, and that young man who left leaves that young woman in a worst-case scenario.

Abstinence education may sound old-fashioned but I think those are things the Hispanic community should be focusing on. Perhaps we could turn future generations around so that kids aren’t so vulnerable to gangs, drug dealers and the party scene which can lead to the same results.

TCR: El Salvador has an extremely male-dominant culture. In your case, your behavior changed through finding faith. What can be done to introduce more at-risk youth to faith?

CD: The church is still vibrant; it’s a huge help and a huge mentorship vehicle. I think the [churches] that are good today are the ones teaching to the Bible. We’ve gotten to a place where church is seen more as an entertainment than a practical teaching of God’s word.

Let’s say a single parent or a young family gets into a local church that actually teaches the Bible and healthy biblical principles. They see the male-dominance prevalent in Salvadoran culture gets turned away really fast. The Bible teaches that a couple is a team and how to be a healthy male leader.

TCR: You watched your father nearly kill your mother. Violence was a way of life and you didn’t know anything else. How can Salvadoran males escape this lifestyle?

CD: The church is number one, but other channels include local sports; joining a local baseball or football league at a local park or at your school. Not everyone that grows up in the ‘hood wants to partake in gang culture. It’s the pressure and the influence but there’s a whole pack of kids that don’t want to be part of that because they’ve joined in sports.

My kid is in a football team and he loves it. They learn what a team is and that you can’t win by yourself. You’ve got to bring others up and [teach them] that winning is really about bringing others alongside you. Sports is a great way to deter a life of gangs and crimes. There’s also the arts and music. They could join their choir group, do some playwriting, write or paint. As a parent, I’ve been able to sit and watch my daughters in plays and choirs and sports and it blesses my heart to see the vibrance in my kids when they’ve come together in a choir or a school play. They put in all their effort into something worthy and it paid off.

Back when I was in school there was education in the trades. I was in shop class. Here’s what I noticed about the gang culture: All of us sat in the back of the class. One, because we were all gang members and the second part is we weren’t book readers. Not everybody can sit in a classroom and absorb teaching. Some kids learn and thrive through hands-on work so bringing those classrooms back would be awesome.

That way, kids coming out of high school who don’t want to pursue college have already learned to work with tools and can go to a trade school. I own a shop and I enjoy working with my hands and building signage. Learning those skills in school helped me big time.

TCR: You are so incredibly vivid about your crimes throughout your book. The scene where you plunge through someone’s stomach with a screwdriver was difficult to get through as a reader. How did you psychologically get through writing about them?

CD: There are certain incidents in everyone’s life that you don’t want to remember or relieve and that happens so many times throughout the process of this book. I recorded all of my life as far back as I could remember. I carried a voice recorder and I think I recorded over 54 hours. I’d go to a local park and just start talking. I would come across those incidents I’d rather not talk about and it would turn my stomach because you could see the evil that I was living. I had no problem with it back then, but as a Christian now it’s very difficult to put it into writing.

Coming into this book I didn’t want to do a book that was just so Christian and fluffy. That’s what we have in our Christian libraries, with mega churches and small churches, it’s always a fluffy story. It’s Christian entertainment for lack of a better term. I didn’t want to write a book to convert people to be born-again Christians. I wanted to get it into the hands of those who don’t know the Lord and I know a lot of people are intrigued by crime stories.

I said, ‘Let’s write something that’s 100 percent real. It’s going to hurt to remember all these things but if I could capture an audience of non-believers and the rawness of how far I went and the realness of who God is, then I think we have a good book.’

TCR: In Chapter 5, you shared a thought-provoking revelation that you joined a gang seeking male approval. Do you think this is true about gang culture in general?

CD: Absolutely. You look at the prison population here in the United States. There are 2.3 million people behind bars and nine out of 10 grew up without father figures. When that positive male role model is absent it’s a big deal and it affects both genders. There were girls in my personal gang that went in for murder, assault and home invasions.

TCR: Your book points to the fact that you missed positive role models throughout your youth; What kind of impact have you had in your current role of trying to keep other youth from following a similar path?

CD: Three or four years ago, I took my kids to Venice Beach and as we were walking one of the kids I mentored when I was a youth pastor happened to be there walking in the opposite direction. He comes over and starts talking to us. He calls me ‘Papa’ and my wife ‘Mama.’

This is a young black man in his early 30s. When my kids asked him who he was he says, ‘Give me a second.’ He takes a little run and then comes back with about 10 teens and he looks at both of my daughters and says, ‘Your parents were my youth pastors and brought me to the lord when I was 13 years old and because of them I’m their youth pastor now,’ pointing to the kids with him.

You see first-hand the labor of your hands. The endless amount of time you spend with kids teaching them the Bible and taking them out on trips. What he got he’s now returning to the community. Those moments are special. The lasting effect is just incredible. He came from a broken house, with only a mom and sister in the picture. They struggled financially and emotionally. He lived in a very raunchy area but connected to the church and has lived a good life now.

“I put myself in their shoes.”

I put myself in their shoes. I put myself in their kind of mentality because I share a similar background with them. It’s easy for me to relate to them. I think, ‘How would I respond to this adult?’ I open myself up to these youth so that over time I can earn their trust. Trust has to be earned. They’re wounded and the last thing you want to do is continue to wound them. Being authentic goes a long way. If I don’t have the answer to something, I tell them, ‘Why don’t we look for the answer together?’ Being a good listener is so important as a leader. God has given us two ears and one mouth to listen more and talk less. Listening is an important skill that mentors need today.

TCR: How can parents, the education system, law enforcement, youth and the media work together to break the cycle?

CD: Through dialogue and having an open discussion. For example, a meeting at a library, park or neutral place, where you invite law enforcement and other members of the community. I attend clergy meetings with my local police department and we feed off each other’s perspectives and ideas and how we can help each other. Community members and business owners are willing to help, but a lot of times don’t know how. If we get a whole community together then we could change the atmosphere. Let’s get business owners, teachers, parents, clergy, church leaders, law enforcement, and the media together, and let’s discuss solutions rather than drawing up signs and picketing.

We want to convey the message to our youth that: You’re important, we want to see you survive, go to college, to be self-employed. What are we missing as adults that could help you guys out?

TCR: How do the issues this book brings to the surface fuel or combat today’s anti-immigrant rhetoric?

CD: Before I joined gangs, my mom sat me down and told me: ‘I don’t ever want to see you hanging up any other flag but the American flag. This is the place where you’re going to learn to get an education and you’ve got to respect this place.’

Man, that stuck with me. She also said: ‘You’re never going to get a government handout. You’re going to work hard and you’re going to contribute to the wealth of this place.’ I understand the economics and struggles of developing countries, but there’s a right way and a wrong way to enter this country. I understand it’s a hard thing when gangs have taken over places like El Salvador and Guatemala, and cartels have taken over Mexico, but if every country does its part (and it’s also a lack of leadership in these countries where there is so much corruption), then those countries will become safer. Those who choose to come to America the right way can pursue happiness without looking over their shoulder.

The message in this book is not just for gang members and inmates. It touches on immigration and domestic violence, which is rampant in our culture. It’s a tool that can perhaps lead to a better way of life and maybe end up in a local church and change the future of its children.

Christine Bolaños is a freelance journalist based in Austin, Texas. Her work is heavily focused on social justice issues and has been published by the Guardian, NPR’s Latino USA, The Crime Report, The Trace and many other news outlets. You can follow her work at https://twitter.com/bolanosnews08.

From Gang ‘Shot Caller’ to Pastor: A Life-Altering Journey syndicated from https://immigrationattorneyto.wordpress.com/

0 notes