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sunsents · 3 years

Text

Empty - F.W (1/2)

Gah daym this was a JOURNEY to write. I swore to myself to never write angst because, well I suck at it. But here we are, I swear this has a good ending because my heart can't bear that. I could've written this much better, so I promise to bring my A GAME for chapter 2. Enjoy, also Lee in this is a hate crime. This is very story telling-esk so I hope it flows well.

I wouldn't have written this chapter without the help of my good friend @mochiixjimin she helped me edit and spice up this whole thing so thank you so much to her! She's an amazing writer, go check out her work and show her some big love right now or else!! her wattpad

Chapter 1 out of 2 (Backstory)

Summary —> Life has always been a cruel joke to you, yet you simply play along. Overshadowed by Eva Burke your whole life, watching from the sidelines while everyone flooded each other with love, it would always feel like a joke.

Pairing: fredweasley x fem!reader

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST (with a fluffy ending in the second part) / One mature scene (18+) and then it's angst again <3 / Some slander / Offensive language

Rating: 18+

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

You were a bright child.

Beaming bright enough to keep a tight lipped smile during flu-shots, and enough to put on a happy façade when your dad threw away the drawing you had done of your family dog, rather than hang it up on the fridge.

Children have foolish dreams, and that was yours. Your friends in preschool boasted about their pictures being hung like trophies on fridges, with decorative magnets and even bigger pink bow ties.

The fridge in the Y/L/N manor was empty. Always empty, just how Ms. Y/L/N liked it. Empty marble floors with empty rug designs, and empty rooms with even emptier people living in it. They were both empty people. Hollow and void of any emotion, at least towards you.

You were different though. You were filled to the brim with ambition and hope and so many positive emotions that your parents never seemed to reflect on you. You were like those Disney princesses. The princesses always had hope, and when you have hope good things happen.

Right?

Your dad never meant to give you false hope. He just wished you’d keep your mouth shut as he worked until late hours. Using big words and having big aspirations, you shouldn’t have.

Mr and Mrs Y/L/N weren't bad people per say, just busy. They didn't know how to raise a child, this was obvious, because the purpose of even having a child was to fix their marriage. But a temporary fix wouldn't do it, it never did. There was always that hole on the roof, leaking rain of despair into their falsely built home that no bucket big enough could hold back. Because it always found a way to overflow.

They didn't know how to show their love, so they did it with money, clothes, toys and crayons that you would later use to draw pictures of your family, only to have them end up in the dumpster once again.

They spoiled you rotten, bought you gifts you never even dreamed of asking. You just shut up and enjoyed it, what else could you do? Whine and demand attention? Risk losing their favor? There was no favor to lose.

You got yourself a fat A plus on your third grade math test. Star stickers on your chest, you entered through the glass double doors of your house with a crooked smile - two front teeth missing of course - making your joy all the more endearing. Your backpack strapped tightly over your narrow shoulders, hanging low with all the crammed books you pushed before leaving school because you were just so excited to show your parents.

You received a big sloppy kiss from your Nanny, who practically was like a second mom to you, and dashed right into your fathers office to show him your new accomplishment.

"Good job, I'm proud of you."

You froze. You found a way to actually get their attention. The attention you so craved, the recognition you would die for. This was revolutionary. Basically a new era for you.

Nanny made you a star shaped cake that night, and sat with you while gently stroking your hair and listening to you blabber about how easy the math questions were. It felt warm, motherly love. Even if it was false, it would never compare to the love of your own mother, a love you would never get.

You spent all your night studying, your eyes burning under the harsh light of your lamp in the early mornings and your pencil, ebbing away over sheets and sheets of blank paper. Writing away your little hands off until they ached, just to snatch another A and get a good job.

This was good, it worked out very well. You became that student who looked forward to class, just to get a good grade and have the validation of your parents. The sight of your father’s lips quirk up even in the slightest, and how your mother’s eyes shone briefly in appreciation of your hard work, even if it was for a quick second, it was worth it.

Until the new neighbors moved in.

Mr. Burke was a round, cheerful man with an even rounder belly, and a big fat pipe that always hung on his lips. Mrs Burke looked and acted like those fairy godmothers you adored. You couldn’t believe such people existed. Mr Y/L/N invited them over for dinner, for courtesy. He was not happy about said courtesy.

He ended up liking the couple, they had a little daughter called Eva, who was small and adorable with round red cheeks and big doe eyes. Not only Mr and Mrs Burke, but the Y/L/N’s adored Eva as well. She was happy, always smiling, and her teeth weren't nearly as crooked as yours, not to mention she had pretty long hair like a princess.

You liked her a lot, took her to pick flowers, showed her the drawings you had prepared for the empty fridge; in case Mr Y/L/N ever had a change of heart and hung them up, you had been trying for three years and weren't giving up any sooner.

Eva was nice, kind enough to share her M&M's and very used to compliments unlike you. She seemed to get a lot from her parents and yours. The adults were so kind to her, always smothering her with love and kisses. You were happy for Eva, happy that Eva somehow managed to gain the favor of your parents before you did.

Little girls tended to be jealous, you weren’t. You were just glad to have a friend so cool, she didn't blush and stutter under praise and apparently her drawings were pretty enough to go on a fridge.

It was a Thursday afternoon when your mom smiled at you for the first time since your last exam grade. "Look, Eva drew us a picture, isn't it pretty?"

The crayola stash under your bed was no longer needed, they appeared clumsily dumped in the neighborhood trash the next day, most of them stomped under the pressure of your little sneakers. And the bundle of drawings you hid under your pillow, wishing on fairy godmother that one day they would be hung up too, were ripped; clearly a struggle given. You had paper cuts on your hands, and your Nanny thankfully applied ointment before Ms and Mr Y/L/N noticed, or rather, stopped to care.

Though you knew that even if you paraded herself with bloody fingers dripping to your elbows, they wouldn't care.

Nanny did, she was there. There when you were haunted with nightmares when the moon was particularly dark, cooing at you and letting you sleep next to her in that small bed of hers. There when you tripped and fell, small scratch resulting in a screaming tantrum. She was gentle, sweet, paid well.

You decided to go and pick flowers with Eva, and make a pretty flower crown for yourself, months after your drawing incident. Of course, you didn't have such silly dreams anymore. You didn’t wish to have your pictures hung, to have your mother wear the flower crowns you made and frankly you didn’t care for the sight of the sparkle in your parents eyes. Nanny’s was enough.

Eva agreed, dressed in a pink tutu Mrs Y/L/N gifted. You didn't comment, though deep down you gazed at the skirt in sparkling envy. Your mother never bothered to get you such pretty things. The two of you gathered saturated petals and nice ribbons while giggling amongst yourselves. Until, you accidentally caused Eva’s flowers to levitate.

Eva ran home, crying and calling you a witch. Mr and Mrs Y/L/N’s dirty looks made her feel shameful, and even dirtier when a letter addressed to her was dropped by a pretty owl you insisted on petting. It was from a school called Hogwarts, in the faraway land of London, and it seemed, not only you but Eva got the same letter the next day.

Though the Y/L/N’s and Burke’s were proud of Eva’s letter. They weren’t with yours.

— — — —

The ride to Hogwarts was interesting to say the least. You had so many questions unanswered, were you a fairy godmother too? Was that your destiny? Was that the reason you never got any attention, because you were destined to give instead of receive?

Eva was cheerful as always, making fast friends in newly bought uniforms and holding a pretty, long and thin wand, with designs flowing across the premise. Your wand was...functional. You were sad you couldn't choose, and that the wand chose the owner. It didn't make sense, what if you didn't want this wand? What if you wanted something charming like Eva’s? It should have been mutual.

It was while trying to find your way to the bathroom that you met the Weasley twins. Quite handsome, a year older and absolute fucktards. A word you learned from the two. Though you always found yourself laughing more at Fred’s jokes, you liked them both equally.

“Hey George! Look.” Fred had exclaimed, clinging onto his brothers shoulder and dragging him across. “Who's that girl?”

You introduced yourself, happy façade on, gentle words slipping out of your mouth like nectar. They had to like you, you told yourself. Just this once, more than Eva.

When sorted into Gryffindor, Eva, you and the twins became inseparable. Your group grew in second year, when Katie, Lee and Alicia Spinnet joined the bunch. You would make fun of the ghastly Potions Professor Snape, and imitate Dumbledore in the hallways to mess with the older students.

You loved your time at Hogwarts, and the adventures that came every year. Especially when Harry Potter joined.

“Hey Fred.”

Fred, who was fiddling with his bracelet you had bought him hummed in response, not bothering to look up.

You sighed, “Do you think the flowers can feel it when we pluck them?”

Fred turned at that, his bracelet was now tightly secure after his struggles. “I hope not.” he smiled, a faraway look on his face whenever he gazed at you. “You know, some people like pain.” he winked.

You merely looked at him confused, clearly way too young for...whatever that is.

He started laughing loudly, slapping his knee and causing you to scoff and slap him on the shoulder.

Third year was when it bloomed. The slight girly attention you gave Fred grew. Fred was...Fred. A handsome ginger, beater for their house's Quidditch team, always charming and charismatic that somehow oozed out of him whenever he did anything really. It was not unusual, every girl in school had a crush on him. That wasn't the case, Fred was one of your best friends, and you refused to entertain the idea of a possible...relationship.

Yet sometimes, you'd find yourself thinking about hugging and kissing Fred like you’d seen couples in your favorite movies did and you’d fall asleep with reddened cheeks and a boy with even redder hair in your mind.

But feelings couldn’t be controlled, nor easily hidden. Eva found out in your fourth year after hearing you mumble his name in your dreams. Fred Weasley was getting more handsome as years passed, and you found it hard to contain your feelings. You were crushing, hard.

Eva was...Eva about it. Happy, but nothing changed. She didn't tease like George did when he found out, nor did she act any differently towards Fred.

“Hey ____!” Fred had sat next to you, shaking the entire couch because he grew that tall during summer. “Got a new girl after me.” he looked at you, almost expectantly, as if you wouldn’t react the way you always reacted.

“That’s great Fred.” you smiled, gulping whatever lump that was forming in your throat and struggling to come out as vulgar words you wished to yell.

“Yeah,” Fred sighed, “It’s...great.”

Fred Weasley was a ladies man, and he wasn't afraid to show it. It was okay, because you were happy enough to be one of his closest, and that was enough. He often boasted about getting girls, and how successful his jokes were, and you always loved snapping back to him cockily, even more cockily than him. Playful banter was easy, comforting between them and when he turned away you would love to shyly entertain the idea of being one of those girl’s Fred talked about.

Fifth year, you had a sudden growth spurt. That was also the year where you discovered Cosmopolitan, Vogue and of course Witch Weekly. Hair no longer in a ponytail, legs shaved and smooth, short skirts with no nylons, you were a new person. After getting your period in third year, your spurt came late, but sudden. Way too sudden in the time of three months. It was hard to handle the changes occurring to your body. It was all too much that you had to become a lady and the fact that you didn’t have your mother to help was a pain you hid deep within.

It was as if whichever god above decided to squeeze your entire life into a summer and call it a day, because it was simply too busy. How ironic. No one saw your growth except old Nanny Gladys. Not Eva, nor her parents considering they went on a getaway and the Burke's, who had gone to Brazil.

But you were over that, you discovered the great telephone, and the great Hermione Granger, package deal with Ginny Weasley. You guys would talk on the phone for hours upon hours, Ginny obscuring your personality and Hermione altering your view on your parents. And Hermione was right, they were assholes. You didn't give a flying fuck about empty praises anymore.

You had become almost too tall for your older clothes, and your breasts were way too big to fit in the training bra you bought not even a month ago. Your hips, now wide and swaying as you walk became graceful, were decorated with long gem bracelets.

You cursed like a sailor that summer, ran around fields with family - your family being your dog, Jambo - bare feet. You stomped on flowers you used to pick as a little girl, stomping on those silly fairytale dreams you used to nurse, and never felt freer. For the first time ever you felt that maybe being empty could be more freeing than having false hope weighing you down.

Returning to Hogwarts was a big deal to students. Who changed, who glowed up after what happened last year - nothing, it was all childish drama.

Before your parents could even see your new self, your escapade to the Granger household was successful. The Y/L/N's didn't care, nor did they write. You knew it should’ve hurt, but frankly, you didn’t think having the pain in your chest was worth it. Hermione was awestruck, of course, after laying her sights on you for the first time since May and insisted on walking into the Entrance Hall, arm in arm with her and Ginny to show you off like some sort of revelation.

It was a revelation all right, at least to the boys, and some girls. It seemed no one saw you as a girl before. George oogled, and Lee was so shocked to find out that you were actually a girl with a pretty figure and an even prettier smile that he stopped clapping you on the back like he always did. Not a girl, you have become a woman. It was far too sudden, new uniforms and a whole new wardrobe had to be bought.

"____? You were a girl?" Fred joked, ruffling your hair like nothing changed between you. And that's when you realized, no slutty skirt, how much pushup your bra, or no matter how pretty your hair looked, Fred would always see you as ____, the girl with crooked front teeth and who once ate a worm in second year. Your teeth weren't crooked at all anymore - thanks to a few years of braces - and finally clear of uncomfortable metals but you felt as if Fred would always see the ghost of them on your pearly whites when you smiled.

He had this view of you that blinded him, caused him to treat you as he treated Ginny while he flirted and played footsie with other girls, including Eva.

That did not stop Eva from giving you false hope, and you took the bait, naive like always. Hope, that's what ruined it all. "You're beautiful now, of course you have a chance!" she said, rubbing your shoulder reassuringly, as if she had warmth to begin with.

It was all false, yet you still believed. You always had. Like a fool.

Ginny didn't like Eva, and maybe that's why you gravitated towards her. She was the first person who had ever met Eva that wasn't charmed by her kind smile and attractive words. Eva was...displeased. She grew up having the attention of everyone around, so when Ginny Weasley told her straight to her face that she wasn't shit, Eva seethed. The attention of Ginny changed nothing though, because Eva was the main character. Everyone - except Ginny, and secretly Hermione (though she would never say it) - loved her, they followed her around like puppies and praised her on her wonky wand work.

The upcoming Yule Ball brought great upswing to Hogwarts.

You were far too busy with her classes to take interest in the tournament - even though the dragon race was the gnarliest sight you had ever seen. Your goal was set, become a badass Auror and move out as soon as possible, so you didn't have to face your parents (except Holidays, yuck.)

But the Yule Ball was your chance. A chance with Fred Weasley.

You could ask to go as friends and maybe, just maybe a little hope and the night would end much more romantic than you had anticipated.

Plucking up courage was the hardest part, you practiced with your bathroom mirror so long that Ginny had to blast through the door and drag you out of her dormitory.

Fred Weasley agreed, why wouldn't he? You, his closest friend, asking to go as a group and drink all night while gossiping? It was a win win. At least that's what you told herself.

That was a lie, it wasn't a win win.

You gave it your all getting ready, dress silk, makeup and expensive shoes. You took a long shower, scrubbing and shaving yourself to a smooth gliding porcelain, only for it all to be washed down with reddened eyes and a boy with even redder hair.

Fred greeted you the same, danced the same, and you chatted the same; you were reminded again, for the second time, that you stood no chance.

Fred told you that he was going to get drinks, a quick trip to the booth and mumbled I'll be back in a second. He was not back in a second. Several minutes passed, and your worries caused your feet to follow after Fred's footsteps.

You ran, trying to find him in the empty corridors of Hogwarts, tears welling in your eyes because he wouldn't. He wasn't that cruel, life wasn't that cruel.

But it was, and in a distant empty classroom you saw Fred Weasley, on his knees and between Eva's legs, groaning and praising her like a starved man. Worshipping her like everyone else had, burying himself in her and completely forgetting the drink he’d bring back in just a second. He’d left you thirsty and alone in the Great Hall and left you to drink from a cup he hadn’t known to be forbidden. Yet Eva did.

Eva's perfect dainty hands tangled in his ginger hair, thighs clamping shut while her high pitched moans flooded your mind and echoed around your head. They were so loud that she couldn’t even hear the loud echoes of your footsteps and the woeful cries that left your lips as you ran. It wouldn’t be the first time she had ignored your pain for her own selfish reasons.

Your heart shattered, and suddenly you were six again, watching your parents praise Eva, hang her drawing on the fridge. A soft breeze tickling your bare toes, dangling from the small cushioned seat you sat on while you watched Eva braid Mrs Y/L/N’s hair. Emotionless, silent, not asking for anything, knowing that you won't receive in return. Eva's small hands carefully placed the flower crown on Mrs Y/L/N’s pool of hair, and she smiled, heart warming and hopeful. Suddenly you remembered the feel of your own hands tangling in between your locks as you stood on your tiptoes, trying to imitate your mothers braid on yourself in the mirror you couldn't reach. You pretended, only for a moment before it twisted into knots.

What a cruel joke, you thought as you watched Eva receive the world from Fred, from your parents, from your friends and from every damn person you had met.

You cried on a big set of stairs that night, your wails echoing as you asked whoever, whatever what you had done. What you had done to deserve such treatment from the people around you. It was rather cliche - and maybe a bit too dramatic. It was an uncomfortable seat of course, and your body, as well as your heart, ached. Pain, misery, false hope and enough hair spray to melt the ozone.

The princesses always cried on big sets of stairs, uncomfortable stone floors causing them to shiver while they hid away their beautifully animated faces in their perfect hands. This was different, there was no fairy godmother to fix your makeup and clone a gentlemanly Fred Weasley, a perfect prince. You knew, because you cried, and prayed and cried and prayed until your throat was sore. There was no fairy godmother, it was all a lie. There was no happy ending. There would be none.

No one came to find you that night either, and you had to drag yourself back to the Gryffindor common room, feet bare, mascara, blush - anything else you put on in hopes of being able to become like Eva even only for one night - practically nonexistent from the way your tears washed them away.

You didn't sleep that night, and your head was unusually clear, pounding, but clear. You laid awake, eyes blood-shot and stinging while your dress shuffled uncomfortably between your sheets. You were too tired to change, and your dress was far too pretty to be worn so short.

Ginny's words replayed over and over again. "They're not worth it." her voice was so clear, and true. Mr and Mrs Burke weren't worth it. Your parents weren't worth it. Fred Weasley wasn't worth it. Eva wasn't worth it. The midnight chirping of bugs invited themselves in from your open window, and blue moonlight streaks beaming down in lines from the tulle curtain flowed with breeze, it was calming.

You felt calm, for the first time in sixteen years. You felt calm.

Fred and Eva started dating that week. Everyone acted like they expected it, and you realized just how blind you had been. Eva Burke and Fred Weasley, golden couple of Hogwarts.

You watched them, emotionless, as they embraced with love and so much passion that you felt embarrassed. Embarrassed at how you’d blushed and squeal over Fred in front of Eva and George and anyone who had found out because now you knew. Now you knew that their amused smiles were probably pitying grimaces because they knew that you two were never meant to be. It was always Fred and Eva.

Fred was an amazing boyfriend, making sure Eva was taken care of, lovingly staring at her whenever and wherever, arm looped around her waist at all times; you realized they were truly not worth it.

"You disgust me."

You didn't mean the words to escape so carelessly, but when you said them, you realized you didn't want to take them back. The growing pit in your stomach felt weightless. "Excuse me?" said Fred, stopping his nibbling on Eva's neck, who was just as shocked. You scoffed, Eva already had enough purple bruises to parade around so why did Fred have the need to add more?

"You heard me right," George, Lee, Ron, Harry, Katie and whoever sitting in their circle stared at you, wide-eyed, Ginny and Hermione, however, were grinning devilishly. Kind ____, wouldn't hurt a fly, quiet at times and didn't know how to stand up for herself. It was shocking, but you were done pretending. You didn't want to be like that anymore, you wanted to say whatever came to mind and not worry about the consequences. "You guys disgust me, I know I should be supportive but you don't match, at all."

You turned to George. "And you, no you can't talk about Katie like that." George went pink. "You're disgusting for sleeping around carelessly and telling girls you'd write, stop giving people false hope. Grow up. You’re nearly an adult and you can’t even treat a girl right."

"And you Lee," Lee went quiet. "What gives you the right to make fun of me like that. I'll wear whatever the fuck I want, just because you don't have the courage to wear a headband. If you can talk about my breasts, I'll talk about your shrimp."

"Ron, you take advantage of Hermione then lead her on. Open your eyes, asshole."

"Harry, you're not the main character. You're not always going to be the center of attention, nor do you have the right to yell at your friends."

"Alicia, god you're so stupid. I'm sorry, you're great but such an airhead. No, you can't ride a Thestral if you can't see them, and stop eating quill ink they're bad for you."

You stood up, grinning proudly, heart loud in your chest you feared someone might hear. "Frankly, I don't wanna be friends anymore. I'm done with this façade, except you two, 'Gin, Hermione. The rest of you are just so fake." she gestured to them. "Boys," she nodded again. "Don't talk to me anymore, and Lee, give me back the money, think it's about time don't you think? I've been paying for you since third year."

And with that, you left. You left Three Broomsticks, grin wide and chest heaving. Hermione and Ginny ran behind, whooping and cheering you on as they laughed.

The news of your outburst spread fast like wildfire caught in wind. That week was bliss, you no longer had to watch Fred and Eva, nor did you have to act sweet to anyone. You didn't have to laugh along Lee's sexist jokes and look away to wince, it was pure bliss. You realized that the feeling of being free didn’t have to be momentary.

Pansy Parkinson was surprisingly a good friend, she didn't have the same fakeness to her, the one Eva had where her smile was too kind. She spoke her mind, though every Slytherin did, and you liked that. Ginny wasn't happy with your new found friends, but she couldn't separate you. You made your own decisions from now on. It was refreshing.

You told your new friends everything, eager to get it off your chest and breathe, and they listened. For the first time, someone listened. You didn't have to get good grades, nor did you have to act like a sweet angel.

You teared up the first time Pansy said; "It's not your fault,". You knew it wasn't your fault, but hearing someone else say it with such genuine eyes made you believe. Actually believe.

It started off with you watching from the sidelines as Draco and Blaise pranked, insulted and shamed whatever your old friend group did. It wasn't unusual for Draco to act this way, but he got especially irritated after hearing what you told them. Blaise, someone usually quiet, had stepped up and decided to somehow release the pent up anger he had for the Gryffindor students.

The year ended, and you had started to sneak in an insult or two towards Fred and Eva. It felt nice, like finally, step by step you were clearing your years of hidden jealousy. But, there was no one to tell you that this simply wasn't the right way.

That summer, you stayed at the Burrow. Ginny had invited you and you were quick to say yes; obviously a fact forgotten. Fred, George and whoever you had insulted last year stayed in the same house. You simply didn't want to go home, and if this meant seeing Fred Weasley then you had to endure it.

Molly Weasley was the sweetest person you could ever meet, and it was genuine. It felt genuine, you feared your teeth might rot if the woman got another word in. Molly greeted you as if you were her own daughter she hadn't seen in years. You felt valued, seen.

Until Eva was there, Fred invited her. You had to watch the only person you were able to love, introduce the only person he was able to love to his mother. It wasn't you. It would never be you.

And you realized, even after everything, Eva had once again found a way to be more loved than you.

The grin Molly broke out was nothing short of beautiful, and you couldn't help but smile as well. The smile wasn't directed towards you of course, and you sat on that small kitchen chair, celebrating a relationship that caused your ruin.

Eva didn't care that your friendship was over, nothing budged in her life. She still got the same attention, still received the same love from Fred. The same affection, the same attention and the same everything. Or so it seemed.

Though unlike Eva, Fred merely watched you with sad eyes.

You stayed clear of the couple and the rest. You hung out with Ginny and Hermione only, ignoring the dirty looks Ron and Harry gave you. The secret, whispered insults Eva threw your way. George didn't say anything, but he didn't object either. This was enough to show how he felt. At this point you really didn't care. Why would you, when they didn’t either?

You held your head high just like Ginny and Hermione told you to, and you spoke in a loud and clear tone whenever asked something. Eva didn't, she stuttered when you spoke to her directly. Her words scrambled against each other when she tried to voice her insults in louder statements than a whisper. For the first time, you felt relief. You felt intimidating, protected by the barriers you had built around yourself.

Longest day of summer hit, and it boiled. Tanning became a distant dream, you would bake in this weather, and you were thankful to the big AC box you had brought from home. You couldn't sleep that night, sweat beads falling down your forehead that was already covered in a thin sheen. You had decided to get a cold glass of water, not sure how you ended up face to face with Fred Weasley. His wand tip shone with blue light, and his freckles were much darker because of the sun. It seemed the sun decided to be cruel to Fred Weasley back and wash Fred over with it's deathly heat. He was sunburnt, this was an understatement. He was burnt.

You couldn't help but start laughing when you met, ignoring the proximity, ignoring the sleeping house, dead silent and a big leap from the lively Burrow, ignoring Fred's soft breaths he let out every other second. You couldn't live off on false hope anymore.

Suddenly it wasn't so funny anymore, and your face quickly fell. You took a big step back and inhaled, ready to ignore him like you had been doing for the past year. But Fred Weasley was a persistent man, and he gripped your arm and looked at you with determined, doe-like eyes. "Tell me what I did wrong." he said, adamant on fixing this, whatever this was. You both didn't know.

You stood silent.

"Please flower,"

"Don't call me that." you said, stern and gaze sharp. Fred didn't react, he kept on insisting.

"Please, tell me how to fix this. I can fix it," he pleaded, a plethora of empty promises fell out of his lips like nothing. He lied like it was nothing, he was oblivious to everything he and everyone around them had put you through. It was infuriating.

You didn't say anything. You knew he would not fix anything but maybe staying silent would give him the false hope that spinned mockingly in your head for the past eighteen years.

"I'm sorry, just please. I can fix this, I promise, don't be like that." empty tears fell down from his eyes. He looked empty, tired. They lacked the charm they usually shined with and you wondered if it was only you that caused such dullness. Eye bags prominent that you never noticed before. It all felt like a lie, a cruel joke.

Fred Weasley was simply a cruel joke. His presence could only be compared to a shot of whiskey, especially when you down it like how Hagrid nurses a Firewhiskey filled pint glass. You never know how it will hit you. But in the end, you'd always find yourself curled next to the toilet, crying your eyes out because your headache was simply too much.

He was sobbing now, hanging onto your waist like you would simply vanish and you let him. The grip he had on was like steel vice - almost concerning - but you didn't touch him, didn't say anything. You just let him be, like he did to you. Allowed him to hopelessly hang off you before you would eventually leave him alone, like he did to you. "Where did I go wrong? How could we end up like this? What went wrong?"

‘You’, but your voice couldn’t be found.

Questions were useless when the answer was already right in front of his eyes. You didn’t let a single tear fall, you wouldn't forgive yourself if you cried in front of him.

You blinked, and that night was over. Summer continued on like nothing happened, like it didn't leave you heart broken and in such shame yet again. You continued on ignoring Fred as he looked at you with sorrowful eyes. Looked at you more, with more than he did his own girlfriend.

You blinked and the school year started again with another terror looming around the corner. There was simply no need to keep up anymore, because school was easy. You attended classes, got good grades, a few scar here and there from Umbridge's torture chamber, a woman who stood at a whopping five foot three yet still teriffied an entire school.

You blinked and you had already become a proud member of Draco's insult the Gryffindor's club. You didn't even feel bad, being horrible to the people you hated for years felt like a breath of fresh air. You didn't go as far as physically hurting any of your old friends, but coming up with damaging insults was such fun. A lot more fun than sitting around with a fake smile.

You blinked, and you were already moving out from your childhood house. Mr and Mrs Y/L/N were unusually happy, this was a given. They would have a new empty room and make another office, like they didn't have enough already. You feared they would start getting rid of bathrooms once too into their work, and they would have to do their business in bushes or buckets. Scratch that, you didn't fear that, it would be fucking hilarious.

You blinked, and when had time passed too quickly? Where did all those empty childhood years had gone? You were already graduating, on your way to become an Auror. You had lost contact with all your old friends now, regretfully Ginny and Hermione too.

The war had hit too quickly, luckily you survived, so did your friends. Unluckily, it left you with a nasty scar right across your left brow. It looked sick, but the hit wasn't worth it. It hurt like a bitch. You could see, it was a close call but vision wasn't an issue. The trauma though, god did Bellatrix's breath smell bad.

When it was all over, you had seen Fred hugging his family tightly. It seemed the Weasley's all survived, and you gave them each tight lipped smiles while holding a bunched up rag to your head to stop the blood gushing out. This wasn't the reunion you wanted to have with Ginny, but hey, you take what you can get after a revolutionary Wizarding war you barely made out alive.

Before a franticly running Fred could reach you though, you apparated to your flat in Diagon Alley, ignoring the thrumming of your heart, and how you practiced in front of a mirror to congratulate their successful joke shop that morning.

#angst #hp angst #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley #fred weasley x y/n #weasley twins #fred weasley angst #fred weasley smut #fred weasley series #reader insert #harry potter fluff #harry potter fic #fred weasley imagine

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letarasstuff · 3 years

Text

Hold On

Summary: This is based on the song "Hold On" from Chord Overstreet. After weeks and months of arguments, hurtful words and pain Spencer's daughter is convinced that this is the only option for both's happiness.

Warnings: attempted suicide (not specified how), hospitals, angst, sad, hurtful words, mean Spencer in the beginning

Wordcount: 2k

✨Masterlist✨ _____________________________

Loving and fighting, accusing, denying I can't imagine a world with you gone

The last few weeks weren’t easy in the Reid household. There is not one day, where no loud screamed arguments are thrown through the entirety of the apartment.

“(Y/N), you have to see things from my point of view, too! My job is demanding and I can’t be there for every little competition you have”, Spencer tries to reason with his daughter.

“I have to see things from YOUR point?! Little competition?! DAD! This was the math olympics and, mind you and your busy schedule, it was not the ‘petty’ school round. I went against people from the WHOLE country! Just- I- Sometimes it would be nice to feel like I have a father caring for me for at least an hour. But I see, your job is more important than your child.”

Her father looks at her, speechless. He didn’t know how far she came in that competition. (Y/N) hasn’t said a thing, didn’t make a noise about it. How is he supposed to know all that then?

“Just because I’m a profiler doesn’t mean I’m able to read your mind. Just try and cut me some slack here, I- I need you to understand how important the things I do are. Can you try to be a little less ignorant, please?”

It feels like Spencer has punched her in the guts. For years (Y/N) backed down, knowing that her father’s work is in fact important. He is saving life for crying out loud, but is it really that selfish to ask for his attention every once in a while? Ever since she is basically able to be on her own it seems like he stopped caring for her.

“Ignorant? Oh Dad, you really are an amazing profiler”, the teenager says, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “You know what? Try and profile that!” She begins to walk out of the living room, showing him the bird. Seconds later her door smashes into the lock.

The joy and the chaos, the demons we're made of I'd be so lost if you left me alone

Is he really that bad of a father?

When (Y/N) was born, he swore to himself to be the opposite of his own. Spencer wanted to be there for his daughter any time she wanted him to. School dances, spelling competition, kindergarten graduation, the whole nine yards.

But when was the last time they did something as a family. From cooking and eating dinner together nearly every night they went to occasionally seeing the other at the breakfast table before heading out.

Spencer understands her now. He is not better than his father at the moment. He just missed a big event in his daughter’s life and blames it on her. He called her ignorant, even though he is the one that didn’t pay attention. The oh so amazing profiler forgot to show his child that he loves her. That she is more important to him than anything in his life. He needs her in order to function, her love is the only thing that motivates him to do anything.

He knows he has to talk to (Y/N) about it, he was wrong and mean. Spencer just wants to give her time to cool off.

Meanwhile the teenager sits on her bed, staring at the wall. He did it again. He said these hurtful words. Tears stream down her face, but she is numb to them.

Everytime he calls her something, (Y/N) memorizes it. She doesn’t have an eidetic one, but when it’s about mean things, everybody has an elephant’s memory.

Ignorant.

Selfish.

Egoistic.

Childish. And many more.

And her father is right. She is all of the above and so much more.

Maybe he is better off without her. Better off without having to act like he cares for her.

She is a burden, she knows that. Her mother knew that from the beginning, why else would she have left them? Left her? Nobody’s life wouldn’t be better, if she isn’t in it anymore.

(Y/N) thought long and hard about this. Tonight just confirms her thoughts and boostes her decision.

Quietly she makes her way over to the bathroom, locking the door without making a noise. Hidden under towels is her little box. The contents she complained about using for so long.

You locked yourself in the bathroom Lying on the floor when I break through I pull you in to feel your heartbeat Can you hear me screaming? Please don't leave me

Twenty minutes have passed since (Y/N) smashed her door. Spencer hopes it is enough time for a teenager to cool off. He knocks on her door, waiting for an answer.

Nothing.

He tries again.

Nothing.

“Sweetheart? May I come in?”

The silence is louder than any gunshot he heard.

“Sweetheart, I want to apologize. May I open the door?”

Still nothing.

Spencer enters the room, finding it vacant. Oh of course, the moment he wants to talk with her she is in the bathroom. The Reids always had a thing for timing.

He knocks at the bathroom door. “Sweetheart, are you in there? Of course you are. Dumb question. I- I want to apologize. What I said wasn’t right and it was hurtful. Can- can you come out? There are a few things I have to make right.”

To his bewilderment there is no answer. No noises. A whole lot of nothing. This scares Spencer. “(Y/N), please say something. I care. I do. I love you, please answer me”, he desperately says.

Still no answer.

Spencer feels like he doesn’t have a different choice. He takes a step back and a deep breath, remembering what Derek taught him. With a loud crash he kicks the door open.

There she lies. His child. His daughte. The one human he promised to protect no matter what.

Her body lifeless, a small box next to her. Spencer identifies the contents immediately. His heart drops faster than he thought it to be possible.

In an instant he kneels next to (Y/N), pulling her in. His hands are shaking as he tries to take her pulse. “No no no no. NO! (Y/N), baby please open your eyes. Don’t leave me, no! You can’t do that, I love you, I love you so much. Don’t leave me, I need you!”

Hold on, I still want you Come back, I still need you Let me take your hand, I'll make it right I swear to love you all my life Hold on, I still need you

(Y/N) is in and out of consciousness. The dark seconds are terrifying to her. She regrets her choice.

In the seconds she is conscient, she hears a warm voice. The teenager feels safe now that it is there. At first the voice is quiet and blurry, but she is still able to catch a few words.

“Don’t” “Me” “Love you” “Much” “Need”

As her body finally slips away, she feels at ease. These words, it feels like lotion on her wounds. Because she also loves the voice and its person. She needs them like they need her.

Long endless highway, you're silent beside me Driving a nightmare I can't escape from Helplessly praying, the light isn't fading Hiding the shock and the chill in my bones

Spencer acts quickly. He knows his daughter doesn’t have much time left. He picks her up, trying to grab as many important things on his way out as possible. The genius runs to his car, hoping and praying to all the gods above that it will work after months of not using the vehicle. The motor does turn on to his relief.

The drive to the hospital feels longer than any roadtrip Spencer ever went on. The seconds tickle down and just like that (Y/N)’s chances. Chances of a happy ever after with him in her life, hopefully.

Not once does she move, her body looking more like a doll than a human being. Spencer just prays that it won’t be like this for long. He needs her, the light of his life. She can’t fade, she is not allowed to. It will break him. Darken his own light.

He has to be strong now. The glass is half full, the hospital only a few minutes away. (Y/N) will make it. Spencer doesn’t have any other option than that.

They took you away on a table I pace back and forth as you lay still They pull you in to feel your heartbeat Can you hear me screaming? Please don't leave me

“I need a doctor! A nurse! Somebody! My daughter, she-” Spencer screams, entering the ER with her lifeless body in his arms. He can’t end the sentence. But it’s also not necessary. A whole team of people crowd around the young man, one of them pulling a stretcher behind him.

Reluctantly Spencer lowers (Y/N) on it, knowing that he can’t do anything more. His child’s fate lies in the hands of the medical staff now. He has to trust them with her. With his lifeline.

One doctor takes her arm, trying to take a pulse. He shouts something, but Spencer’s ears are deaf to his words. Everything goes silent as they pull her away. Away from him.

He falls to his knees as reality hits him. He may not be a father any longer. And it’s his fault and his fault only.

“Please don’t leave me”, Spencer whispers.

Hold on, I still want you Come back, I still need you Let me take your hand, I'll make it right I swear to love you all my life Hold on, I still need you

Lights flash her. They hurt her eyes. But there is a greater pain (Y/N) can’t locate where it’s coming from. Where is her father? She needs him. She has to apologize. There are so many things she wants to say to him. To reassure him that she knows her decision was wrong.

As people continue to scramble around her, the pain intensifies. It becomes nearly unbearable and stops suddenly. The last thing she hears after a shrill high pitched tone is the voice of her father.

“I love you.”

I don't wanna let go I know I'm not that strong I just wanna hear you Saying, "Baby, let's go home" Let's go home Yeah, I just wanna take you home

“Family of (Y/N) Reid?” A doctor asks into the waiting room, looking exhausted. Spencer looks up from the floor. He memorized every little bump while pacing back and forth. He hasn’t called anybody. He doesn’t want to alarm then, not now. The young doctor needs time to understand what’s happening.

“Is she breathing?” is his first question. The doctor's face takes a pitiful look. “We stabilized her. But (Y/N) is still not through. We can’t say if she makes it through the night. If she does, we are sure she will be on a good way to a full recovery. Tonight will be critical for that. But (Y/N) showed us she is a fighter, maybe the chances aren’t that bad.”

Spencer is led through several halls to her room. He sits down in an uncomfortable hospital chair next to his daughter’s bed. Her hand is cold against his warm one. His are still shaking as he brushes a strand of her hair out of her face.

The only thing that Spencer wants right now is for (Y/N) to open her eyes and ask him to go home. He wants to take her there so desperately. But he can’t. Because he is the ignorant one.

“Hold on, I still want you Come back, I still need you, Sweetheart”, Spencer says, pressing a kiss onto her knuckles.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse @big-galaxy-chaos

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962

@ellyhotchner

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x daughter!reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x teen!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #reader insert #x reader #x teen!reader #x daughter!reader #tw: suicide #Spotify

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beccascribbles · 4 years

Text

hcs series detailing what it is like to be a manager for the various haikyuu teams

karasuno | seijoh |

warnings - swearing

word count - 2.1k

you weren't immune to oikawa's charms, but being friends with him since middle school meant you were the least likely in the school to fall for him (you were also the least likely person he would mess with in that way, especially as iwaizumi would happily punch him for the trouble)

this meant you were a perfect candidate for manager of the team

when you all been first years, the team had come up to you and begged

ultimately, it had been iwaizumi who had finally convinced you (the sight of him almost begging you would be forever ingrained in your mind. boy did not want to be the only one responsible for oikawa)

by the time you reached your third year, you were immensely glad that you had agreed to manage the team

at times, it had been tough. dealing with oikawa's jealous fangirls often felt like a full time job. the amount of times you had sprinted into the club room to the shock of the team was ridiculous

one day, you had dived through the door, yelling for then to shut and lock the door as you crashed to the floor

iwaizumi had been by your side in an instant, worried gaze assessing you for injuries. when you let out a wince, rubbing at you arm, he was automatically assessing it for damage

"it's not broken," he assured you, giving your head an affection pat before his gaze turned to oikawa, eyes narrowing. "call your fucking fangirls off, shittykawa"

"i've tried," he whined, giving you an apologetic look. "clearly their love for me is too strong"

"maybe if they actually spoke to you, they'd realise what a crap personality you have," sighed matsukawa, slapping oikawa on the back affectionately and then holding the hand up to receive a high five from hanamaki

slowly, hesitantly, you moved over to the door, pressing your ear to the surface. through the wood, you could the girls, their high-pitched voices grating at your nerves

“i really fucking hate them,” you grumbled, moving away to sit on the floor beside hanamaki, who wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you leaned against his shoulder. “why did i let you convince me to join this club?”

this was directed to iwaizumi, who had the good idea to look sheepish. oikawa, on the other hand, collapsed down on the floor in front of you and spread out his arms. “because you love us, y/n-chan”

“not you,” you scoffed, poking him in the chest. he pouted

“that’s no way to talk to your childhood friend”

“it is when they have a swarm of jealous fangirls after you”

oikawa looked like he was about to reply, but a clip to the ear by iwaizumi was enough to distract him. he turned to his friend with a cry of outrage, beginning to bicker with the ace

while you would usually tell them to shut up, pull them apart, you couldn’t really be bothered. breaking up fights was for when you were on duty. training hadn’t started yet so you figured you could let them bicker

the second years clashed less than the third years but sometimes you were needed to break up the fights, particularly when kyoutani made a return to the team

while he was away, you had been one of the only ones who checked up on him, always telling him that if he needed to talk, if he was struggling with anything, you would be there

therefore, he had a lot of respect for you, placing you on a similar level to iwaizumi (the only member of the team who could get away with telling him what to do or scolding him angrily)

this meant that, when you appeared in front of him, placing a placating hand on his chest, his hackles would lower and he would back away, though the glare would remain on his face

truth be told, kyoutani was a little bit scared of you suddenly exploding on him, especially after the way you had snapped at him when he had first pulled off a risky play in practice

you had seen red when he had pushed kindaichi out of the way to spike the ball, marching over and grabbing him by the top to drag him away. it was the first time they had ever seen him apologise

while kyoutani respected you, the relationship you had with him was very different with the one you had with the other second years. kyoutani would never invite you to lunch. watari and yahaba on the other hand...

your week is not complete without a lunch with them. you aren’t even sure when you managed to form such a strong friendship with them, but it was likely when you agreed to help them in maths (it’s not yahaba’s strong point and he begged watari to join him)

you are the one responsible for stopping yahaba showing off, particularly when the gym floods with fangirls, most of them there to watch oikawa

he will flip his hair and affect an air very similar to oikawa which will frustrate you to no end. you will drag him off court by the ear, telling him to stop, threatening him with extra conditioning

matsukawa and hanamaki will definitely start snickering at the way his face reddens, focused more on this than the fact that they are meant to be improving their serves

you can always trust watari to help you out, no matter how much you insist that you don’t need it. he is the first to volunteer to help you set up the court, to help you carry the equipment for away games

now, the first years. if iwaizumi is the team dad, you are the mum

you dote on kindaichi and kunimi, trying to keep them away from matsukawa’s and hanamaki’s influence. you don’t want them to be corrupted by the pair. iwaizumi will help you but even he sees little point in stopping the inevitable

kindaichi was very awkward around you at the start. his brain couldn’t comprehend that a pretty girl was talking to him, let alone asking if he was okay, if he needed a drink

eventually, kindaichi relaxes. you are the one he turns to when he has a problem, explaining it all to you. if it involves another team member, you will encourage him to tell them, not wanting there to be fractures in the team. after all, aoba johsai thrives because of their great teamwork

kunimi is, as usual, very relaxed around you

most of the time, he barely acknowledges your fussing, simply waving you away and heading back onto the court to resume practice

however, if he wants to slack off (which he does often), it will be you he makes eye contact with. you know you shouldn’t condone this behaviour but, occasionally, you allow it. he promises he will pull through for the game and you believe him, though you do explain that if he slacks off too much it could mean risking his sport in the starting rotation

your quiet understanding is often what motivates him to keep going. he doesn’t want to disappoint you. plus, he has seen you angry and would rather not be the reason for that

oikawa is intimately familiar with your anger. the boy just seems to do everything possible to piss you off. what angers you most is the apparent disregard for his own health, but you don't take this out on him physically

you and iwaizumi team up to handle him, with both of you favouring a more violent approach (sometimes that's the only way to knock some sense into oikawa's brain)

while iwaizumi will throw either oikawa or various items such as volleyballs at him, you tend to favour a good old-fashioned slap to the back of the head

he always knows you're coming, his whole body tensing at the sound of your footsteps drawing closer to him. oikawa is almost more scared of you than iwaizumi, probably because you are more cold fury than fiery anger

that first night iwaizumi had asked you to stay behind after practice with him, your heart almost broke at the sight of oikawa pushing himself

you saw the sweat, watched him stumble, clutch at his damaged knee... but despite the pain, he kept pushing

as you watched, you grasped iwaizumi's hand, who was tense beside you, needing the physical anchor as much as you

"why does he do this to himself?" you questioned, watching as oikawa pushed up from the floor, landing awkwardly on his feet. still, he kept pushing

iwaizumi didn't bother to answer. the answer was obvious, and you both knew what it was. he needed to get better, for the team, for himself, for revenge

"if he keeps going like that, his knee will be permanently damaged and he can say goodbye to a volleyball career," said iwaizumi, jaw tight. hand still in yours, he marched onto the court

he finally released your hand to grab oikawa by the shirt and yank him away. his voice was a low growl as he spoke, "don't fucking complain. we've been here long enough and you're going home before you regret it"

"you're so... urgh, do you want to make me lose my mind with worry, tooru?" you sigh, wrapping an arm around his waist, more to reassure yourself that he was fine than to other support. he slung an arm over your shoulder, leaning on you slightly with iwaizumi at his other side

"didn't think you cared, y/n-chan," he teased, giving you an affectionate squeeze. you caught eyes with iwaizumi, rolling your own at oikawa's words

"of course i care. we both do"

from that night on, you and iwaizumi took turns watching oikawa, stopping him when it became clear that he was doing too much

on the nights when you had to watch him, you would sit in the corner of the gym on a video chat with matsukawa and hanamaki as you tried to do some homework (to be honest, you spent most of your time joking around and chatting, but the thought was there)

oikawa, though he never showed it, was grateful for you and iwaizumi's worry. it put a check on him which he would never admit to wanting, but needed desperately

on weekends, you and the third years will always meet up, be it to do homework or just watch a movie at someone's house

movie nights tend to be quite messy (it's not uncommon to be picking popcorn out of your hair at the end)

one time, you had fallen asleep on iwaizumi's shoulder only to wake up to his head flopped against yours and a snickering oikawa and hanamaki. the pair had taken great joy in drawing a moustache and beard on your faces, while matsukawa took photos (he's usually the one who takes your group photos and sends them to everyone at the end)

managing the team is mainly fun, though it does have its cursed moments

you weren't ashamed to admit that you cried, along with the rest of the third years, when you left

however, the tears did not stop you from giving your kouhais some strongly-worded advice

yahaba was warned to not think with his dick and to try his very best to not intimidate oikawa in his quest for some fangirls

kyoutani was told that you were only a phone call away and would not hesitate to scold him if he let his anger take control over his playing style

honestly, the only thing you wished watari was luck. he'd need it, especially as there was no manager to support them next year

kunimi you told to slack off less, though you wouldn't hold it against him if he did sneak off for a little nap during the school day so long as he was energised for volleyball

with kindaichi, you simply gave him a hug and told him to keep trying his best, to not beat himself up over every mistake he made

it was oikawa who insisted on a big group hug, pulling you and a rather disgruntled iwaizumi into his arms, the rest of the team happily bundling in

and, as you hugged each other, you were thankful iwaizumi had convinced you to join the team because you knew you had made friends for life

#haikyuu x manager reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #hq hcs #hq headcanons #hq manager hcs #seijoh x manager #seijoh third years x reader #seijoh x reader #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #hanamaki x reader #matsukawa x reader #yahaba x reader #watari x reader #kyoutani x reader #kunimi x reader #kindaichi x reader

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impostoradult · 3 years

Text

Media Market Research (and why its undermining all the things you love)

Trying to understand what is dysfunctional about Hollywood is an epic task, and the answers are like the stars – arguably infinite. Hollywood is dysfunctional for literally more reasons than I could count.

But market research plays a fairly heavy role in its dysfunction (IMO) and the time has finally come for me to add my professional two cents about this issue. (This rant of mine has been building for a while, FYI. Hence why it is so...comprehensive. There is a tl;dr section towards the bottom, if you want the high level summary)

*** For the last 4+ years I’ve worked in the field of market research, almost exclusively with major media makers like Warner Bros., NBCU, AMC/BBCA, Viacom, FOX (before Disney acquired them), A+E, etc. (this past year I quit the job where I was doing this work for a variety of reasons, many of which will become clear as you keep reading, but I am still listed as a consultant on the company website): https://www.kresnickaresearch.com/who/ (Rachel)

And just for comparison, here is a Halloween selfie I took 4 years ago and posted on my blog, so you can see I am who I say I am.

I know a fair amount about how market research on major media franchises is conducted and how it influences production, and a lot of these choices can also be at least somewhat tied back to the massive flaws in the market research industry and its impact. *** First, at the highest level, you need to understand market research in general is not well-conducted much of the time. Even the people doing a reasonably good job at it are VERY limited in doing it well because of financial constraints (clients don’t want to spend more than they have to), time constraints (clients want everything done as fast as humanely possible) and just the inherent problems within the industry that are decades old and difficult to fix. For example, all market research ‘screens’ participants to make sure they qualify to participate (whether it is a mass survey, a focus group, a one-on-one interview, etc.). So, we screen people based on demographics like race, gender, age, household income, to get representative samples. But people are also screened based on their consumption habits. You don’t want to bring someone into a focus group about reality TV if they don’t watch reality TV. They aren’t going to have anything useful to say.

However, a lot of the people who participate in market research have made a ‘side-gig’ out of it and they know how to finesse the process. Basically, they’ve learned how to lie to get into studies that they aren’t a good match for because most market research is paid, and they want the money. So, a lot of TV and film market research is being done on people who don’t actually (or at least don’t regularly) watch those shows or movies or whatever but have learned how to lie well enough in these screening processes to make it through. And because of the aforementioned time and money issue, clients don’t want to spend the time or money to actually find GOOD participants. They just accept that as an inevitable part of the market research process and decide not to let it bother them too much. So, a fair number of the people representing YOU as a media consumer are people who may not be watching Supernatural (for example) at all or who watch a rerun occasionally on TNT but haven’t been watching consistently or with ANY amount of investment whatsoever. You can see why that creates very skewed data. But that’s just the tip of the skewed iceberg. *** Second, media market research is conducted in line with the norms of market research more broadly, and this is a huge problem because media is a very atypical product. How people engage with media is far more complex and in depth than how they engage with a pair of jeans, a car, or a coffee maker. There are only so many things that matter to people when it comes to liking or not liking a coffee maker, for example. Is it easy/intuitive to use? How much space does it take it on my counter? How expensive is it? Does it brew the coffee well? Maybe does it match my décor/kitchen aesthetic? Can I make my preferred brand of coffee in it? The things you as a consumer are going to care about when it comes to a coffee maker are limited, fairly easy to anticipate in advance, and also easy to interpret (usually). How people mentally and emotionally approach MEDIA? Whole other universe of thing. Infinitely more complex. And yet it is studied (more or less) as if it is also a coffee maker. This is one of the many reasons I decided to leave the media market research field despite my desire to have some ability to positively influence the process. As so often seems to be the case, I fought the law and the law won. I could never make the other people I worked with in the industry understand that the questions they were asking were not all that useful a lot of the time and they weren’t getting to the heart of the matter. They were just following industry standards because they didn’t know any better and none of them want to admit they don’t REALLY know what they’re doing. Which leads me to point 3. *** Most of the people doing this research don’t have any expertise in media or storytelling specifically. They are typically trained as social scientists in the fields of psychology, anthropology, sociology, or math/statistics. And many of them do not have any kind of specialization or education in media/storytelling beyond the English classes they took in high school and the one Media Studies course they took as an elective in college. Most of them have a very unsophisticated understanding of narrative structure, thematics, tropes, subtext, etc. They mainly think in terms of genres at the VERY broadest level. Also, not infrequently, they don’t watch or have much knowledge of the shows they are supposed to be doing research on, beyond what they’ve read on IMDb or Wikipedia or what is generally common knowledge. Unless they by chance happen to watch the shows themselves (which often they don’t) they often know very little about the shows they are crafting these questions about. Again, partly because they think it is like the coffee maker, and you don’t need to understand it in any depth to research it. (I know this must sound insane to you as avid media consumers, but that is the general attitude among those who do market research) There is such a lack of sophistication in how people in the business side of the industry understand media and storytelling. Most of them are either MBAs or social scientists and their training has not prepared them to examine fictional works with the kind of depth that people in the Humanities (who are specifically trained to study texts) have. Somehow, despite the fact that the Humanities is all about understanding texts, that is the one discipline they make almost no use of in the business side of Hollywood. And boy howdy does it show. *** Point 4 – average consumers CANNOT ARTICULATE WHY THEY LIKE THINGS. Particularly media things. I know this sounds condescending, but it is my honest observation. It is unbelievably hard to get people to have enough self-awareness to explain why they actually like things, especially things as mentally and emotionally complex as media. What typically happens when you ask people why they like a TV show or movie, for example? They will tell you what they most NOTICE about the TV show or movie, or what is distinctive to them about it (which may or may not have anything to do with what they actually LIKE about it). They will say things like “I like the genre”, “I think it’s funny”, “The car chases are exciting”, “I want to see the detective solve the puzzle.” Sometimes you can get them to talk about what they find relatable about it, if you push them a little. But often they leave it at either the level of literal identity (young black woman), basic personality traits (she’s a social butterfly and so am I) or situations they’ve personally experienced (I relate to this story of a man losing his father to cancer because I lost a close family member to cancer). But the vast, vast, vast majority of them can’t go to the deeper level of: a) Why X representation of a young black woman feels accurate/authentic/relatable and Y representation doesn’t b) Why it matters to me that X,Y,Z aspects of my personality, identity, experience get reflected in media whereas I don’t really care about seeing A,B,C aspects of my personality, identity, or experience reflected in media c) How and why they are relating to characters when they can’t see the literal connection between their identity/experience and the character’s identity/experience. (For example, many people have argued that women often relate to Dean Winchester because a lot of his struggles and past negative experiences are more stereotypical of women – being forced to raise a younger sibling on behalf of an actual parent, being seen and treated as beautiful/sexually desirable but vacuous/unintelligent, his body being treated as an instrument for a more powerful group to quite literally possess, etc. Part of the reason Supernatural has always been such a mystery/problem for the CW and Warner Bros is they could never crack the code at this level. Never.) Part of the reason they can’t crack these codes is average people CANNOT give you that kind of feedback in a survey or a focus group, or even an in-depth interview (much of the time). They just don’t have the self-awareness or the vocabulary to get it at that level. Let alone asking them to articulate why Game of Thrones is compelling to them in an era where wealth disparity is creating a ruling class that is fundamentally incompetent at maintaining a just/functional society, which is especially concerning at this particular moment, given the existential threat we face due to climate change. And the truth is, that IS part of what people – even average people – are responding to in Game of Thrones. But what they’ll tell you when you do market research on it is: they like the dragons, they like the violence, they relate to Tyrion Lannister being a smart mouth, maybe they’ll say they like the moral ambiguity of many of the conflicts (if they are more sophisticated than average). But the ‘Dean Winchester is heavily female coded despite his veneer of ultra-masculinity’ or the ‘Game of Thrones is a prescient metaphor for the current political dynamics and fissures of modern western society’ is the level you ACTUALLY need to get to. And most market research can’t get you that because the people ASKING the questions don’t know what to ask to get to this level, and most of the respondents couldn’t give you the answers even IF you were asking them the right questions (which usually you are not) And I’m not saying average people are dumb because they can’t do this. But it requires practice, it requires giving the matter a great deal of in-depth thought, and most people just don’t care enough about it to do that while taking a market research survey. (I know this is going to feel counter-intuitive to people on Tumblr. But you have to remember, you are NOT average media consumers. You are highly atypical media consumers who have far more self-awareness and a much more sophisticated engagement with media than the average person watching TV. If you didn’t, you probably wouldn’t be here talking about it in the first place) Point 4.1 – People also lie/misrepresent their own experiences to market researchers because they want to maintain certain self-narratives. You have no idea how many people would get disqualified from our surveys for saying they watched less than 5 hours of TV a week. And sure, that might actually be true for a few of them. But if you watch TV with any regularity at all (which most people in modern America do) you probably watch more than 5 hours a week. The problem is, people think it makes them sound lazy to say they watch 15-20 hours a week, even though that’s about 2-3 hours a day (which actually isn’t THAT high). People lie and misrepresent their behaviors, thoughts and feelings because it can be socially uncomfortable to admit you do what you actually do or feel how you actually feel, even in the context of an anonymous survey, let alone a focus group or a one-on-one interview. People want to make themselves look good to THEMSELVES and to the researchers asking them questions. But that makes the market research data on media (and lots of other things) very questionable. For example, one finding we saw more than once in the surveys I was involved in conducting was people would radically downplay how much the romance elements of a story mattered to them, even large portions of female respondents. When we would ask people in surveys what parts of the story they were most invested in, romances ALWAYS came out among the lowest ranked elements. And yet, any passing familiarity with fandom would tell you that finding is just WRONG. It’s wrong. People are just flat out lying about how much that matters to them because of the negative connotations we have around being invested in romance. And never mind the issue of erotic/sexual content. (I don’t mean sexual identity here, I mean sexy content). The only people who will occasionally cop to wanting the erotic fan service is young men (and even they are hesitant to do so in market research) and women frequently REFUSE to admit that stuff in market research, or they radically downplay how much it matters to them and in what ways. There is still so much stigma towards women expressing sexuality in that way. Not to mention, you have to fight tooth and nail to even include question about erotic/sexual content because oftentimes the clients don’t even want to go there at all, partly because it is awkward for everyone involved to sit around crafting market research questions to interrogate what makes people hot and bothered. That’s socially awkward for the researchers doing the research and the businesspeople who have to sit in rooms and listen to presentations about why more women find Spock sexier than Kirk. (Which was a real thing that happened with the original Star Trek, and the network couldn’t figure out why) Aside from people not have enough deeper level self-awareness to get at what they really like about media content, they also will lie or misrepresent certain things to you because they are trying to maintain certain self-narratives and are socially performing that version of themselves to researchers. *** Point 5 – Qualitative data is way more useful for understanding people’s relationships to media. However, quantitative data is way more valued and relied upon both due to larger market research industry standards and because quantitative data is just seen as harder/more factual than qualitative data. A lot of media market research involves gathering both qualitative and quantitative data and reporting jointly on both. (Sometimes you only do one or the other, depending on your objectives, but doing both is considered ‘standard’ and higher quality). However, quantitative data is heavily prioritized in reporting and when there is a conflict between what they see in qualitative versus quantitative data, the quant data is usually relied upon to be the more accurate of the two. This is understandable to an extent, because quantitative surveys usually involve responses from a couple thousand participants, whereas qualitative data involves typically a few dozen participants at most, depending on whether you did focus groups, individual interviews, or ‘diaries’/ethnography. The larger sample is considered more reliable and more reflective of ‘the audience’ as a whole. However, quantitative surveys usually have the flattest, least nuanced data, and they can only ever reflect what questions and choices people in the survey were given. In something like focus groups or individual interviews or ethnographies, you still structure what you ask people, but they can go “off script.” They can say things you never anticipated (as a researcher) and can explain themselves and their answers with more depth. In a survey, participants can only “say” what they survey lets them say based on the questions and question responses that are pre-baked for them. And as I’ve already explained, a lot of times these quantitative surveys are written by people with no expertise in media, fiction, or textual analysis, and so they often are asking very basic, not very useful questions. In sum, the data that is the most relied upon is the least informative, least nuanced data. It is also the MOST likely to reflect the responses of people who don’t actually qualify for the research but have become good at scamming the system to make extra money. With qualitative research, they are usually a little more careful screening people (poorly qualified participants still make it through, but not as often as with mass surveys, where I suspect a good 35% of participants, at least, probably do not actually qualify for the research and are just working the system).

Most commonly, when market research gets reported to business decision-makers, it highlights the quantitative data, and uses the qualitative data to simply ‘color in’ the quantitative data. Give it a face, so to speak. Qualitative data is usually supplemental to quant data and used more to make the reports ‘fun’ and ‘warm’ because graphs and charts and stats by themselves are boring to look at in a meeting. (I’m not making this up, I can’t tell you how many times I was told to make adjustments on how things were reported on because they didn’t want to bore people in the meeting). (Sub-point – it is also worth noting that you can’t report on anything that doesn’t fit easily on a power point slide and isn’t easily digestible to any random person who might pick it up and read it. The amount of times I was told to simplify points and dumb things down so it could be made ‘digestible’ for a business audience, I can’t even tell you. It was soul crushing and another reason I stopped doing this job full time. I had to make things VERY dumb for these business audiences, which often meant losing a lot of the point I was actually trying to make) Point 5.1 – Because of the way that representative sampling works, quantitative data can be very misleading, particularly in understanding audience/fandom sentiments about media. As I’m sure most of you know, sampling is typically designed to be representative of the population, broadly speaking. So, unless a media company is specifically out to understand LGBTQ consumers or Hispanic/Latinx consumers, it will typically sample using census data as a template and represent populations that way. Roughly 50/50 male/female. Roughly even numbers in different age brackets, roughly representative samplings of the racial make-up of the country, etc. (FYI, they do often include a non-binary option in the gender category these days, but it usually ends up being like 5 people out of 2000, which is not enough of a sample to get statistical significance for them as a distinct group) There is a good reason to do this, even when a show or movie has a disproportionately female audience, or young audience. Because they need enough sample in all of the “breaks” (gender, race, age, household income, etc.) to be able to make statistically sound statements about each subgroup. If you only have 35 African American people in your sample of 1000, you can’t make any statistically sound statements about that African American cohort. The sample is just too small. So, they force minimums/quotas in a lot of the samples, to ensure they can make statistically sound statements about all the subgroups they care about. They use ratings data to understand what their audience make up actually is. (Which also has major failings, but I’ll leave that alone for the minute) With market research, they are not usually looking to proportionately represent their audience, or their fandom; they are looking to have data they can break in the ways they want to break it and still have statistically significant subgroups represented. But that means that when you report on the data as a whole sample – which you often do – it can be very skewed towards groups who don’t make up as large a portion of the show’s actual audience, or even if they do, they don’t tend to be the most invested, loyal, active fans. Men get weighted equally to women, even when women make up 65% of the audience, and 80% of the active fandom. Granted, they DO break the data by gender, and race, and age, etc. and if there are major differences in how women versus men respond, or younger people versus older people, they want to know that...sometimes. But here’s where things get complex. So, if you are doing a sample of Supernatural viewers. And you do the standard (US census-based) sampling on a group of 2000 respondents (a pretty normal sample size in market research). ~1000 are going to be female. But with something they call “interlocking quotas” the female sample is going to be representative of the other groupings to a degree. So, the female sample will have roughly equal numbers of all the age brackets (13-17, 18-24, 25-34, etc.). And it will have roughly 10% non-heterosexual respondents, and so on. They do this to ensure that these breaks aren’t too conflated with each other. (For example, if your female sample is mostly younger and your male sample is mostly older, how do you know whether it is the gender or the age that is creating differences in their responses? You don’t. So, you have to make sure that all the individual breaks (gender, race, age) have a good mix of the other breaks within them, so groups aren’t getting conflated) But what that means is, Supernatural, whose core fandom is (at a conservative guess) 65% younger, queer, women, gets represented in a lot of statistical market research sampling as maybe 50-100 people, in a 2000-person survey. 50-100 people can barely move the needle on anything in a 2000-person survey. Furthermore, usually in the analysis of data like this, you don’t go beyond looking at 2 breaks simultaneously. So you may look at young female respondents as a group, or high income male respondents, or older white respondents, but you rarely do more than 2 breaks combined. And the reason for that is, by the time you get down to 3 breaks or more (young, Hispanic, women) you usually don’t have enough sample to make statistically significant claims. (It also just takes longer to do those analyses and as I explained in the beginning, they are always rushing this stuff). To do several breaks at a time you’d have to get MUCH larger samples, and that’s too expensive for them. And again, I want to stress, this type of sampling isn’t intended to sinisterly erase anyone. Kind of the opposite. It is intended to make sure most groups have enough representation in the data that you can make sound claims about them on the subgroup level. The problem is that it can create a very skewed sense of their overall audience sentiment when they take the data at ‘face value’ so to speak, and don’t weight segments based on viewership proportion, or fandom engagement, etc. Point 5.2 – Which leads me to my next point, which is that fandom activity that doesn’t have a dollar amount attached to it doesn’t make you a ‘valuable’ segment in their minds. One of the breaks they ALWAYS ask for in data like this is high income people, and people who spend a lot of MONEY on their media consumption. And they do prioritize those people’s responses and data quite a bit. And guess what – young women aren’t usually high-income earners, and although some of them are high spenders on media, high spending on media and media related merch skews toward higher income people just because they HAVE more disposable income. Older white men are usually the highest income earners (absolutely no surprise) and they are more likely in a lot of cases to report spending a lot on the media they care about. Having expendable income makes you more important in the eyes of people doing market research than if you’ve spent every day for the last 10 years blogging excessively about Supernatural. They don’t (really) care about how much you care. They care about how much money you can generate for them. And given that young audiences don’t watch TV live anymore, and they give all their (minimal) expendable income to Netflix and Hulu, you with your Supernatural blog and your 101 essays about Destiel is all but meaningless to many of them (from a business standpoint) Now, some of them kind of understand that online fandom matters to the degree that fandom spreads. Fandom creates fandom. But if the fandom you are helping to create is other young, queer women with minimal income who only watch Supernatural via Netflix, well, that’s of very limited value to them as well. I don’t want to suggest they don’t care about you at ALL. Nor do I want to suggest that the “they” we are talking about is even a cohesive “they.” Different people in the industry have different approaches to thinking about fandom, consumer engagement and strategy, market research and how it ought to be understood/used, and so on. They aren’t a monolith. BUT, they are, at the end of the day, a business trying to make money. And they are never going to place the value of your blogging ahead of the concrete income you can generate for them. (Also, highly related to my point about people lying, men are more likely to SAY they have higher incomes than they do, because it’s an ego thing for them. And women are more likely to downplay how much money they spend on ‘frivolous’ things like fandom because of the social judgement involved. Some of the money gender disparity you see in media market research is real, but some of it is being generated by the gender norms people are falsely enacting in market research– men being breadwinners, women wanting to avoid the stereotype of being frivolous with money) *** In sum/tl;dr: Point 1 – Market research in general is not well conducted because of a variety of constraints including time, money, and the historical norms of how the industry operates (e.g., there being a large subsection of almost professionalized respondents who know how to game the system for the financial incentives) Point 2 – Media is a highly atypical kind of product being studied more or less as if it were equivalent to a coffeemaker or a pair of jeans. Point 3 – Most of the people studying media consumption in the market research field have no expertise or background in media, film, narrative, storytelling, etc. They are primarily people who were trained as social scientists and statisticians, and they aren’t well equipped to research media properties and people’s deeper emotional attachment and meaning-making processes related to media properties. Point 4(etc.) – Average consumers typically don’t have enough self-awareness or the vocabulary to explain the deep, underlying reasons they like pieces of media. Furthermore, when participating in market research, people lie and misrepresent their thoughts, behaviors, and emotional responses for a variety of reasons including social awkwardness and preserving certain self-narratives like “I’m above caring about dumb, low-brow things like romance.” Point 5 (etc.) – Quantitative data is treated as way more meaningful, valuable, and ‘accurate’ than qualitative data, and this is a particular problem with media market research because of how varied and complex people’s reactions to media can be. Also, the nature of statistical sampling, and how it is done, can massively misrepresent audience sentiments toward media and fail to apprehend deeper fandom sentiments and dynamics. There is also a strong bias towards the responses of high income/high spending segments, which tend to be older and male and white. Side but important point – Research reports are written to be as entertaining and digestible as possible, which sounds nice in theory, but in practice it often means you lose much of the substance you are trying to communicate for the sake of not boring people or making them feel stupid/out of their depth. (Because god forbid you make some high-level corporate suit feel stupid) *** What can be done about this? Well, the most primary thing I would recommend is for you to participate in market research, particularly if you are American (there’s a lot of American bias in researching these properties, even when they have large international fanbases). However, some international market research is done and I recommend looking into local resources for participation, where ever you are. If you are American, there are now several market research apps you can download to your smart phone and participate in paid market research through (typically paid via PayPal). Things like dscout and Surveys On the Go. And I know there are more. You should also look into becoming panelists for focus groups, particularly if you live near a large metropolitan area (another bias in market research). Just Google it and you should be able to figure it out fairly easily. Again, it is PAID, and your perspective will carry a lot more weight when it is communicated via a focus group or a dscout project, versus when it is shouted on Twitter. However, that’s merely a Band-Aid on the bigger issue, which I consider to be the fact that businesspeople think the Humanities is garbage, even when they make their living off it. There is virtually no respect for the expertise of fictional textual analysis, or how it could help Hollywood make better content. And I don’t know what the fix is for that. I spent 4 years of my life trying to get these people to understand what the Humanities has to offer them, and I got shouted down and dismissed so many times I stopped banging my head against that wall. I gave up. They don’t listen, mostly because conceding to the value of deep-reading textual analysis as a way to make better content would threaten the whole system of how they do business. And I mean that literally. So many people’s jobs, from the market researchers to the corporate strategists to the marketing departments to the writers/creatives to the C-level executives, would have to radically shift both their thinking and their modes of business operation and the inertia of ‘that’s the way it’s always been done’ is JUST SO POWERFUL. I have no earthly idea how to stop that train, let alone shift it to an entirely different track. BTW, if you want the deeper level of analysis of why I can’t stop rewatching Moneyball now that it’s been added to Netflix, the above paragraph should give you a good hint

#market research #Hollywood #media studies

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ray-ray-writings · 3 years

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Hey. Hey you. Idea time.

Teacher aus, not enough. Like after the whole Mr. WasTaken stuff where Dream was acting like a teacher and everything!? Just imagine a whole school Au!

Techno teachin English and he adores his kids but he’d be damned before he admits it. That one teacher who’s like “learn from history before it repeats itself.” Hates being forced to do a Shakespeare unit.

Sapnap teaching P.E. And encouraging even the less athletic kids to at least do something physical in his class. You know he pulls a prank with the Fitness Gram Pacer Test more than a few times.

George being a history teacher, I don’t know he just super fits the vibe of that one teacher you always adore who’s like “don’t worry too much about this class.”

Bad boy halo as a science teacher, man’s is the kind of teacher to give candy out to the kids who answer the questions so he can encourage attentiveness. (He teaches physical science and Skeppy teaches geoscience across the hall)

And like, much much much more, but the most important part here,

Could you totally do a reader x Dream where Readers an English teacher and Dreams a Maths teacher? :)

With all the love- 🌻 strikes again.

🌻 you have my whole heart. All of it. Because you literally have requested my dream au (pun sort of intended). Literally like this is going to be so self indulgent because I love this with my whole heart and the amount of times I have fantasized about this (especially with me studying to be an English teacher and Dream with his statistics and stuff) is too many times to count. So you literally have given me an excuse to be hella self indulgent on my own blog and I could kiss you on the mouth for it. This is a few like headcanon type things and a little bit of plot at the end.

I do have my own ideas of what role everyone has in the school and if anyone is interested I will definitely post those too! But for the main part, you just need to know the reader is an English teacher and Dream is a Math teacher. (But also completely agree with our beloved’s ideas about some of the other boys here and I definitely have assigned everyone their own subject haha)

We’re going to just start out with this general note: Everyone in the school ships you. Teachers, Staff, Students, Principal Philza, all of them want to see you and Dream end up together. You two hang out and playfully flirt all of the time.

Dream is almost late to school every morning. He has a horrible sleep schedule and so it causes him to wake up 30 minutes before he needs to be at school. You know this and so every morning you bring Dream coffee and something for breakfast. A donut, fruit, oatmeal, scone, just a little something to help him get until lunch. He is very grateful for it and always accepts your offer. When you first started doing it, he always felt really guilty about it. But you kept doing it and refused to take his money and so he came up with a new way to pay you back.

You two share the same prep period. Prep period, if you didn’t know, is a free period that teachers have where they don’t have a class to teach and they can use it to lesson prep, prep materials, grade papers, or just relax. So your prep period is two classes after lunch and so you always get a little bit snackish around this time and so in order to pay you back for you bringing him breakfast, Dream brings you a little snack every day. Something small, bag of chips, granola bar, some crackers, just a little snack to get you through the rest of the day. You two also spend your prep periods together. Sometimes you chat about your days, students, lessons, standards you have to meet. Sometimes you two just work in silence on your respect tasks. Usually if a student wants to talk to you during your prep period and they can’t find you in your room, they immediately check Dream’s right after because that’s where you would be. And the same for him and his students, if they need something and he’s not in his room, he’s definitely in yours.

You two also have lunch duty together. You two are in charge of monitoring the cafeteria and making sure that there are no fights breaking out, no food fights, just making sure everything is okay. So often times, you two take a walk around the cafeteria and just watch all the kids until all have been seated, and then you two grab some lunch for yourselves and eat together. Sometimes, kids will come over to where you’re sitting and chat with you, a lot of the time when that happens they’re trying to push you two together. You just roll your eyes and laugh them off.

You two crash each other’s classes all the time. For random reasons too. It started when Dream had left a few copies of a worksheet on the printer and you just so happened to print some things and pick them up. His classroom was on the way to yours and so you decided you would be a good co-worker and drop them off for him. So you did, not bothering to knock before you enter. All eyes snap to you as you walk into his classroom. Dream is in the middle of teaching. His arm is extended as he points to something on the blackboard. His emerald eyes meet yours and he looks shocked but he smiles. “Teacher Y/L/N… Is there something I can help you with?” You smile back at him and hold up the worksheets, “Sorry to interrupt. Left some on the printer Mr. WasTaken,” you tell him, walking over to his desk and setting the papers down. “Ah. Thank you, I appreciate it.” You give him a small shrug, “Of course. Have a good class. Pay attention!” You call to the class cheerfully before heading out and heading to your own classroom.

That day you opened a door you couldn’t shut. Every once in a while now, while you’re in the middle of teaching, the door will swing open and Dream will waltz in with a paper or something in his hand and go over to your desk before giving you a wave and a wink and heading back out. So you decided to do it too, even if you have nothing to give him. Students look forward to your classes now because they never know if the other one of you will make an appearance. One time, Dream walked in and you were so engrossed in teaching that you didn’t even notice. He walked over to your desks and took a seat and just lost himself in watching you teach. About 10 minutes later there is a knock on your door, startling everyone out of their focus. The door opens and there’s Tommy with a wicked grin on his face. His eyes immediately find Dream and he smirks, “Mr. WasTaken… Would you like to join the rest of us in class?” Dream manages to keep the blush off of his face, but he is internally dying. To save some embarrassment he says, “Yes I’ll be there in just a moment. I had a question for Teacher Y/L/N and I didn’t want to interrupt. Go back to class Tommy.” Tommy rolls his eyes but complies. You rush over to Dream and duck your head near his and speak in a low tone, “I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize you came in, what was your question?” Dream is a little baffled and thrown off, because he doesn’t have one. “Oh. I’ll just come back later and ask. Sorry for the interruption.” And before you can say anything else, he’s out the door.

You and Dream often charapone school dances. You two, much like when you have lunch duty, patrol around and make sure everyone is having a good time but is also behaving themselves. Students are always trying to push you two together during this, asking Mr. WasTaken if he’s going to ask you to the dance or at least ask you to dance. He always laughs and says no, no he’s not. Until one time he does.

He definitely gets his students in on it. He buys a bunch of flowers and has the students line the hall making a path from the entrance doors to his room. So when you arrive in the morning and begin your usual path to his room to drop off breakfast, you’re surprised to find a line of students offering flowers to you. You carefully take each flower and make your way down to Dream’s room. When you get to the end you find Dream standing there with a cheesy grin and an even cheesier sign. ‘I would love it if you could say that you was taken to the dance by Mr. WasTaken.’ You can’t help but let out a laugh and nod at the sign. “Yeah?” Dream asks to confirm. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go to the dance with you Mr. WasTaken… by the way, it’s you were taken to the dance,” you tease him lightly, reaching out and giving him a small hug before handing him his breakfast. He takes it, rolls his eyes, and hands you the sign. “English teachers.”

The day of the dance comes and you and Dream arrive together. He picks you up from your house and brings you a bouquet of flowers, red roses and sunflowers. Your outfit would match his and you would look stunning. It would literally take Dream a few tries to snap out of the trance you put him in. But he’s the perfect gentleman, opens the car door for you and closes it before getting in and driving to the school where he does the same thing, opening the car door and helping you out before closing it.

You two would have arrived a bit earlier before the dance actually started to make sure everything was taken care of. You two would definitely jokingly get your photo taken by the professional photographer that they hired for the event. It was a joke, but the picture came out so good and was just too good to pass up.

You two don’t leave each other’s side the entire night. You two just stick side by side the entire night, just watching the kids. You two join the students sometimes on the dance floor, vibing to the fast pace songs they played. Every time a slow song came on, the students tried to push you together and get you to dance together. “Who asks someone to be their date and doesn’t slow dance with them?” But you two just ignore the students and shoo them off to dance with each other and stuff. It’s not until they announce the final song of the night does Dream actually finally get bold enough to ask you to slow dance with him. Your face heats up at the extended hand and the hopeful look on his face but you accept it and the two of you dance. You somehow manage to end up in the middle of the room and even though there are plenty of people slow dancing, all eyes are on you two. You don’t care though. At some point, you lean forward and rest your head on Dream’s chest. You could very clearly hear his heart racing faster than you would think possible and you can’t help but wonder if it’s because of you.

As the song ends, you manage to pull your head away from him. You look up at him and find him already staring at you. You two just stare at each other for a few moments before Dream makes a bold move. He carefully leans forward and presses his lips to yours. You immediately kiss back, ecstatic that your feelings were returned. Around you, the entire gym bursts into cheers and applause and “FINALLY!!!!”

You pull away from Dream, giggling a little bit at the reaction of everyone. Dream doesn’t let you get far though. He tilts his head forward and connects your lips once more. “I just got you, I’m not letting you get away from me that easily.” You just giggle at that and kiss him back.

You two don’t pull away until the song is completely over. When you pull apart and look around, you find everyone staring at you. Some students even have their phones out and were recording you. The two of you just laugh and roll your eyes. “Dance is over… Get out,” Dream jokingly calls out to everyone causing waves of laughter to rumble through the crowds as everyone snaps out of their trance and begin to move. You and Dream stay to help clean up a bit after the dance before the two of you leave, this time hand in hand.

Dream would drop you off at home. He walks you to your front door and waits as you unlock the door. It’s quiet for a moment as you two try to figure out the next step. Dream finally clears his throat and offers you a sheepish smile. “I’ll see you Monday then?” You almost immediately answer with a ‘yep sounds good’ but stop yourself. “Actually… If you weren’t too busy, do you want to come in and watch a movie or something?” Dream grins at the offer and nods. “I’d love to… Thank you.”

The two of you head inside and just hang out for a while. You watch movies and cuddle on the couch. It gets to be really late and you refuse to let Dream drive home this late so he sleeps on your couch. The next morning you have a nice breakfast together before Dream tells you he really should get going, he still has some tests to grade. You of course understand that teacher grind and so you walk him to your door. Dream gives you a kiss before heading out and telling you he would see you tomorrow.

Walking back inside, you find his suit jacket laid over the couch. You decide to hold on to it. You’ll see him tomorrow anyway, you’ll just give it to him then. So the next morning rolls around and you arrive at school, the suit jacket adorning your shoulders. It makes everyone stop, look, and smile. You don’t even notice really. You make your way to Dream’s classroom, walking right in as normal. Dream glances up to see who it was before looking back to his work but he immediately looks back up in a double take. And he just stares. You extend the breakfast out to him and he doesn’t take it. Just stares. You’re confused.

“Dream?” He extends a finger and points at you, “You’re wearing… that’s my… that’s mine.” he manages to stutter out. You look at your shoulders and realize. “Oh. Right. Sorry. Here,” you say, trying to shrug off the jacket and hand it to him, but he stops you. “No, no, no. It’s fine… It’s better than fine. It looks good. Keep it on… Please?” He sounds so genuine that you pull the jacket back on, over your shoulder. “Okay… I’ll see you at lunch?” You ask, heading toward his door. He gives you a grin and a nod, “It’s a date.” Well that’s new…. But not unwelcome. “It’s a date.”

You two begin dating shortly after that. You also find out that there were two betting pools going on. One between teachers and staff and the other between students. The teacher that won? Techno. The student? Tubbo. Had you found out sooner, you probably would have been offended but now it just made you laugh. Your new relationship didn’t change anything really. You still did all of the things that you usually did, you just now could kiss each other. You definitely didn’t do PDA in front of the students for obvious reasons, but you two couldn’t be happier.

Thank you again so much for letting me do this 🌻 anon. This was very self indulgent and just thank you :)

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a-is-for-abel · 3 years

Text

“It’s a very odd sensation, standing over your own grave.” prompt from @givethispromptatry

Crows barked, throaty and dry, from their perch high in the gnarled branches of the tree at the head of the cemetery. The letters etched into the granite before him shined and the heavy mist settled over his shoulders, oppressive and thick.

He counted the crows in the tree, a rhyme coming to mind as the black winged birds called into the fog. "One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a funeral… Four-- Four for..."

A funeral… His brow furrowed. The name on the gravestone drew him back in and he eyed the letters. Bells from the steeple of a church coughed in the distance.

"It's a very odd sensation, standing over your own grave." He turned to see a man leaned against a tall gravestone, a lit cigarette in his fingers. "But you seem to be taking it rather well."

The man flicked a lick of hellish embers off the end and took a long drag. Smoke trailed from his lips and curled over his salt-flat empty eyes. "Say, you haven't died before have you? That'd make this a bit awkward-- See, I don't really do the whole doing someone else's do-over. Those contracts tend to get a little messy, if you know what I mean."

Dressed sharply in a suit jacket and trousers to match, the man didn't stand out quite that oddly against the backdrop of a graveyard. However, with no procession, he was out of place without the rest of the mourners to stand shoulder to shoulder with.

It was even harder not to notice the way he stood a little too tall, a little too pale, and a little too thin...

And the eyes--

He couldn't remember having ever seen eyes like that. Though, he also really couldn't remember how he had gotten here either.

The man frowned, cigarette dangled from his lips. "You're not very talkative are you. That's gonna make this a little hard if you don't at least start asking some questions."

"Who are you?" he asked, voice hoarse.

"Ah, there it is-- Everyone always starts with that one. Never a 'where am I, how'd I get here', it's always the who are you?" The man shrugged. "I got a lot of names, kid. Just make one up, it'll probably be better that way."

Paul. It was the first name that came to mind, risen like the valleys of weathered hands and deep-set wrinkles the name brought with it.

"Paul?" The man hissed, eyes scrunching as he flicked the cigarette onto the ground and ground it out with the toe of his dress shoe. "Wow, you're real bad at this. Look, I'll settle for something like, uh-- How's Paal sound? Good? Great."

Even as Paal dismissed it, he tried to latch onto the name Paul and the hands that came with it. Somehow, he knew those hands had shown him how to hold a chisel and carve with the grain and not against it. That they had smoothed down his hair and lain flat against the crown of his skull as the other drew a new line against the door jamb, and he had childishly smiled at the inch gap that had grown between it and the old one below.

"Well, now that we got names out of the way--" Paal reached into his coat and pulled free a scroll. "Let's get down to business."

The parchment unfurled with a dry cough, ink dripped over the page and rearranged itself into letters that shimmered, ruddy and wet.

"So, for starters, my contracts are pretty straightforward. I don't do all that funny business the others do." Paal pointed to the second line. "The overall payment is going to be your eternal soul, of course. The only exception I'll make here is if you can name something of equal value and I also deem said thing of equal value. Now, don't get all excited. Not a lot of things add up to a human soul. Unless you'll be trading someone's else's soul as your payment. Simple math and all of that."

His eternal soul? He looked at the cross atop the gravestone and wine-dipped stained glass and the pulpit of a church flitted to the forefront along with it.

"We on the same page here? You look a little lost?" Paal asked, tilting his head.

"Sorry, I just--" He furrowed his brow. "Am I dead?"

Paal pointed to the grave. "Is that your body in there?"

"I--" He looked at his hands. "I think so."

"I wouldn't say I'm a genius myself, but I think we can both put two and two together here."

He grit his teeth. "Right…"

"Fantastic-- Now, onto the good stuff." Paal pointed further down the parchment. "So, in exchange for said eternal soul, I grant you a few things. First off, you get to get up on your own two feet and walk out of that grave. A pretty good deal, right?"

"Deals go two ways."

"See, now you're catching on--" Paal pointed at him and then tapped the next line on the scroll. "Alright, so it's pretty damn expensive to bring a soul back to life. Maker's got an idea in mind and tampering with that's always gonna cost you a little extra."

"Do you mean money? I don't exactly..." He held his hands out, the empty state of his pockets hopefully obvious.

Paal laughed. "Money? What the hell am I going to do with money? No, no, no-- I need a favor."

"A favor?" He asked, eyes narrowing.

"Yeah! A favor. something pretty simple, actually. But to get that body back and with all your precious little memories intact, you gotta do something to pay for that. More than just signing off your soul, that is."

"And who exactly am I paying back?"

Paal grimaced. "You're asking questions you really don't want the answers to, kid."

"Fine." He rubbed at his jaw. "What's the favor then?"

"Bounty hunting. Or collecting, I guess?" Paal gestured vaguely. "Whatever-- Basically, a few folks deferred on their contracts and I need to collect on their souls a little early."

"How early is early?" he asked, squinting.

"Well, I'd say I'm a pretty generous dealer. I give you about how much worldly time you should've had-- Had things not gone absolutely shit for you." Paal held up a finger. "So, in this case, I'd be collecting these souls well before they croak from becoming all ripe and old like they normally would've."

"So, I get my life back..." He chewed the inside of his cheek and glanced at the cross on the gravestone. "Is that it?"

"Is that it?'" Paal mocked and then grinned. "Look at you, already driving a hard bargain."

"You wouldn't have come to me if my soul wasn't worth something."

"Did you come to that astonishing conclusion all by yourself?" Paal said flatly.

He glanced over the demon.

Or devil... Or whatever hellish equivalent he was supposed to be. The lack of the classic horns or even a tail made it hard to pin any kind of fiendish charm to him. Besides the eyes and the pallor of someone who's never seen the light of day, he looked rather ordinary...

And his memories, few and far between-- muddled even-- like he was reliving them from underwater-- As unreliable as those memories were, he still remembered sitting upon a pew in a sun-washed room, a pastor at the head of the church, attesting how the devil would always wager in ways that would seem fair and just, but never were.

"What else do I get?"

"Greedy, aren't you? Fine." Paal rolled up the scroll part way and pointed at a line halfway down. "You can't die. At least while you're contracted under me to collect souls. If you call on me and I deem the request reasonable enough I can and will help you. Think of it like, uh-- Praying to a guardian angel. Except I'm absolutely nothing like that and I'll actually show up."

"And collecting on these contracts? What does that entail?"

"Killing them, for starters." Paal said simply. "I can't exactly grab their souls when they're still kicking around like that. And a lot of them have found ways to sort of, eh-- protect themselves from me. But you're just a bag of bones, maybe a little bit juiced up when I'm done with you, but you'll be human enough."

He didn't feel like picking that last aside apart too much. "So, you want me to kill for you?"

"Yes."

"How exactly?"

Paal flicked his hand and the scroll snapped out of sight with a thwick. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled free a revolver. Six-shot, shined, scarred with engravings up and down the muzzle and wrapped around the barrel. Handle a bone-white ivory, pale and unblemished.

Paal held it out to him. "With this."

Dropped into his palms with little fanfare, he cradled it, as if a newborn lamb. He glanced up from the gunmetal shine after a beat. "I can't shoot."

"Oh, you won't have to. You just have to aim." Paal formed his fingers into a mock-gun and pointed it at his forehead before mouthing ‘pow'. "It does all the hard work for you. Unless you're into that kind of thing, then by all means I'll take the training wheels off of it and let you do the trigger pulling."

"No…" he swallowed, careful to keep the muzzle pointed away from himself. "Training wheels is fine."

"Fantastic. Do we have a deal then? All of this--" Paal gestured to the whole of him. "--for the meager, one time price of doing a simple chore for me."

He stared flatly.

"And your eternal soul after you've lived a long and happy life, but that's just semantics," Paal laughed, waving him off.

He tilted the gun in his palms and glanced down at his pockets. It wouldn't exactly fit very well… "Is there a holster?"

"Oh, right--" Paal patted his chest and fished around in his suit jacket before drawing out a belt. "Here. It's a bit used, but at least it's already worn in, right?"

Mottled stains scattered the edges of the leather belt and where intricate markings had been stamped and tooled into the holster itself.

"Thanks…" he said, pinching it between two fingers while trying to find a good way to hold the pistol with his other hand.

"Woah, don't sound too grateful there, champ," Paal said. "You'd think I wasn't about to do you the biggest favor of your life."

He paused in his inspection of the holster and gave Paal the flattest look he could muster.

"Get it?" Paal's grin dropped. "Not a funny guy then… Noted."

Finally, managing to holster the gun he slipped the belt around his waist and fumbled with the buckle before fastening it. "How exactly do we seal the deal?"

"Eager, are we?" Paal held out his hand. "Just shake my hand and that's it. None of that writ in blood nonsense."

He wrinkled his nose.

Paal flexed his fingers and held his hand out further. "Look, if you really need me to draw up a traditional contract and give you a copy, I can do that too, but it's dreadfully boring and I do enough paperwork as it is. I mean, what do you have to lose, honestly? You're already dead. I'm just offering you a second chance… and a little bit of revenge."

"Revenge?"

"No one ends up dead in a ditch with a pack of dogs eating their face without being fucked over somewhere along the road."

"I don't…" He knitted his brow. "It's hard to remember."

"Oh, it'll be like that for a bit. It gets better once we get everything settled. Trust me though, you've got quite the bone to pick with someone back up there. And I for one would love to see how it all pans out."

"This is a form of entertainment for you," he said flatly, eyeing the still outstretched hand.

"What's the harm in mixing business and pleasure?" Paal smirked. "Plus it'll be fun to see what you do."

"Can you not bring back the memories now?"

Paal tutted. "That's quite expensive, and we haven't made a deal yet."

"How do I know I even want to go back then?"

"Does it even matter who you were before if you get a re-do?"

He looked at the name on the gravestone. "Won't they recognize me?"

"Oh, no-- Uh, see, you're not going back into your original body." Paal grimaced. "I can only repair so much and those dogs really did a number on you."

"Great…"

"Don't worry though, I got a good one picked out for you. Close enough to be uncanny even. Just some little differences, barely noticeable."

He grimaced.

"Don't you humans love taking leaps of faith? What's with all the hemming and hawing? What happened to all that stupid recklessness?"

"Not all of us are stupid."

Paal groaned. "I would get stuck with the biggest coward this side of the Mississippi."

'Look, it's lil' yellow-bellied Bern!'

'Just take it from him. He's not gonna do shit-- He'd flinch at a fly if it looked at him wrong.'

'Pa said he's soft. That his own daddy made him like that.'

He blinked, flinching and scrunching up his eyes at the sudden, sharp jab that needled at his skull. "I'm not a coward."

"Then take my hand."

His head pounded, and if he really was dead he wondered why he could still feel that out of everything. If the sweat pricked along the back of his neck was more memory than actual sensation, or if the way his tongue had grown heavy in his jaw was all made up too. He eyed Paal's hand and the discolored fingernails, the sheet white skin, the odd scarring along the knuckles and on the palms.

'Leave and don't you ever come back here. And if I ever see you again, you'll be begging the devil to take your soul from me first.'

He grit his teeth, fingers curling into fists.

The voice bit across his cheek like knuckles, like blood on his tongue and smattered across his hands. It curled like snake oil and melted wax, like the dust settled over the rafters of an ever empty church and like floorboards stained with drying flecks of rust.

He reached for Paal's hand and Paal grabbed his wrist instead, wrapped his fingers around him and squeezed, hard enough he twisted with the motion. Paal didn't budge, no matter how he pried at him, and the hand burned-- Burned the way laying your palm across a sheet of ice stung and wormed its way deeper and deeper the longer you left it there.

He stumbled as Paal released him, clutching at his wrist and hissing. "What the hell?"

"Part of the contract. It'll fade in a second."

The burning stopped and when he let go of his wrist, a coiling band of white took its place. Sat snugly, flat and lined with black, was an ivory snake wrapped three times about his wrist. The head of the serpent rested along the heel of his thumb, eyes a nearly translucent blue. It faded, still standing out against his skin, more like an impossibly pale tattoo and less like the actual snake it was a moment ago. His arm ached dully with it, like he had come in from a long frigid day, and his fingers cramped as the feeling returned to the very tips of him.

"Oh, right-- You'll be needing bullets." Paal grabbed his hand and dropped a freezing piece of metal into it.

More followed as Paal fished around in his suit jacket for them. At the fourth one Paal paused. "What was that little rhyme you were doing before I arrived? I rather enjoy that one. The ending is always my favorite."

He watched where the bullets settled in his palm. The casings a blood-red ebony and the bullet itself the shade of bone.

"And four for birth…" Paal dropped another bullet. "Five for heaven..." Another. "And six for hell," Paal said with a smirk, manually curling his hand around the bullets and patting it. "Now keep track of those, they're not exactly easy to make."

He didn't tell Paal that he didn't finish the poem, that there was still one more line that needed to be said to complete it. Instead, he pocketed the bullets.

"Walk with me a sec--" Paal grabbed his shoulder and nudged him forward.

They meandered along the lines of graves, passing headstones that varied in shape and size, some cared for, with flowers and candles and even worn sepia photos left at their feet. Others were less fortunate. Grown over, dulled, and abandoned.

They stopped before one with a less modest headstone. A large stone cross jutted up from the top and an angel carved above the name of the soul that was laid to rest below their feet.

"You know, I really do think this is the start of a great partnership..."

He raised a brow.

"Marcus J. Bern--" He flinched at the name, not expecting it to fall from Paal's mouth so casually. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you."

He hesitated, shoulders drawing up, hand coming to rest on the gun at his hip. "Uh, you too…?"

Paal smiled, like he found that amusing. And he hadn't noticed how sharp his teeth looked until he was staring the oversized canines dead in the face.

"Now--" Paal said, placing his hands on his shoulders, dusting them off before squeezing lightly. "This might hurt a bit."

"What--"

Paal shoved him.

He fell and fell and the earth swallowed him whole.

Dirt and silt and death surrounded him. Impossibly endless and vast, the grave didn't catch him as it should have. And the chill that bit at his limbs gnawed feverishly, right down to the core of him until he felt a yell clog up with the hallowed ground packed against his tongue. Further and further he descended, gut flipping and twisting with him, until he thought this would be his new forever. That Paal had lied to him, and he would simply be doomed to free fall for the rest of eternity, until all returned to dust as it had once emerged and longer still.

Light broke up the darkness overhead and he reached for it, arm outstretched. The white snake coiled around his wrist writhed and burned at the first touch of it and dripping with pale ichor, his veins stood out a ghastly silver against him. A venom coursed through him as it wound further and further down, closer and closer to where his heart had thrummed to life and kicked against his ribs in a fevered fit. He clutched at his chest as the ground-- as something-- hurtled towards him.

Breath slammed into him with a rattling gasp and his eyes shot open.

Blinded, he blinked and squinted against the grace of a new day, trembling and shaking where he had woken upon the dirt. The cross of the gravestone cast a merciful shadow over him and he could see the tangled fingers of the tree beyond it.

Raucous caws chorused above him. A murder of crows dotted the grey sky overhead, having flighted from their perches high in the dead limbed oak.

One, two, three, four, five, six--

"And seven for the devil, his own self..." he muttered, hand falling to his hip and the gun now holstered there.

#writeblr #creative writing #writing #prose #prompt fill #original work #my writing #fiction #demons #gothic vibes #this is technically me testing out these two for a longer novel idea #the prompt just happened to fit really well #its a bit long but it got away from me #hell's comin' with me #making that the official tag for this i guess in case i ever expand on the two of them and the world etc #thank you for the prompt!!

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misseffie · 3 years

Text

Is Gendry illiterate?

Short answer: Probably not.

Long answer:

I’ve noticed a lot of fanfiction trying to address Gendry’s illiteracy once he becomes a noble. Most fics depict him as being completely illiterate. Some depict him as having some level of literacy, but not enough for his new position. So let’s try to figure it out, shall we?

Part 1: Literacy

We have this assumption that in medieval times no one could read or write unless they were part of the nobility. That is not quite true. Firstly, we have to understand what it meant to be literate by medieval standards:

“In Medieval times, “Literate” actually meant able to read and write in Latin, which was considered to be the language of learning. Being able to read and write in the vernacular wasn’t considered real learning at all. Most peasants prior to the Black Death (which really shook up society) had little chance to learn - hard labouring work all of the hours of daylight does’t leave a lot of energy for reading or writing.

It’s worth noting, however the panic amongst the ruling classes when translations of The Bible started to appear written in English. This really started in the late 14th Century (about 30 years after the Black Death). The level of panic suggests that the Ruling Classes knew that the numbers of people who could read and write English was far greater than the numbers who could read Latin.”

However, there is no language quite like Latin in Westeros. The closest we come to something similar is High Valyrian. Which noble children seem to have a basic understanding of. We can safely assume that Gendry doesn’t have extensive knowledge of High Valyrian - so he is illiterate in that regard. But I don’t think High Valyrian is as widely used as Latin was in the Middle Ages. It’s also not a language with religious significance. As the Faith of the Seven doesn’t use High Valyrian the way that the Catholic Church used Latin.

So… taking that into account. What I assume that is meant by “literate” in Westeros is being able to read and write in the Common Tongue.

I will say that even by those parameters I don’t think most of the commoners would have been literate. However, Gendry was not in the same situation as most of the commoners.

Which leads me to...

Part 2: Socio-economic class in Medieval Times

The level of literacy among the commonfolk has to be examined on a case by case basis.

Literacy among “peasants” varied a lot depending on circumstance. So, for example, it’s not strange that Davos, who was a smuggler prior to meeting Stannis, was illiterate. Or Gilly, who was completely isolated from the world and in terrible conditions.

But Gendry is in a different situation.

As @arsenicandfinelace pointed out in this cool meta:

Gendry was definitely born low-class, as an unrecognised bastard whose mother was a tavern girl (read: one step away from prostitute). But the whole point of apprenticing with Tobho Mott is that that was a major leap forward for him, socially.

As Davos put it in 3x10, “The Street of Steel? You lived in the fancy part of town.” Yes, a tradesman of any kind is leagues below the nobility, and could never ever be worthy of marrying a highborn girl like Arya. But Tobho Mott is a master craftsman, the best armourer in the capital city of a heavily martial country. As far as tradesman go, he’s the best of the best, and charges accordingly.

There’s a reason Varys had to pay out the ass to get Gendry apprenticed there. If he had stayed, completed his apprenticeship, and eventually taken over the workshop, he would have been very wealthy (by commoner standards) and respectable (again, by commomner standards), despite his low birth.

Tobho Mott is a tradesman and a craftsman. He is part of the merchant class. * Merchants are often referred to as a different class from the rest of the population. The merchant class in Medieval Times was closer to the middle class of contemporary times.

“By the 15th century, merchants were the elite class of many towns and their guilds controlled the town government. Guilds were all-powerful and if a merchant was kicked out of one, he would likely not be able to earn a living again.”

Mott would be considered to be part of the merchant class - and not even a common kind of merchant either. He was the best Blacksmith in all of King's Landing, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. So we can assume that Tobho Mott was a very wealthy and powerful craftsman and merchant.

“That many 'middle class' people (tradesmen, merchants and the like) could read and write in the late middle ages cannot be disputed.”

I’m not saying that all tradesmen/merchants/craftsmen were literate back then. It was still a smaller percentage than the nobility. Only the richer and more influential of tradesmen would learn Latin. But I think most of them would be literate enough in the vernacular to run a business. Considering Mott’s reputation and his clientele I’m certain that Mott is part of that literate percentage.

In season 2, Arya accidentally reveals to Tywin that she can read. Realizing her mistake she covers up by saying that her father, a ’stonemason', taught her. Of course, I don’t think that completely fooled Tywin but why did Arya say her father was Stonemason. Why did his profession matter at all? Surely it wouldn’t have mattered if he was a fisherman or a farmer... a peasant is a peasant, right?

Wrong.

“The Medieval Stonemason asserts that they were not monks but highly skilled craftsmen who combined the roles of architect, builder, craftsman, designer, and engineer. Many, if not all masons of the Middle Ages learnt their craft through an informal apprentice system”

“Children from merchants and craftsmen were able to study longer and continuous, so they were able to learn Latin at a later age. This way, everyone learned to read and write (some better than others) sufficiently for their trade.”

Stonemasons were the architects of the time and no doubt the top tier was literate.

Many trades (by the 15th C) required reading and writing, so it was taught to apprentices by the masters. We know from apprenticeship agreements that many masters were expected to continue the apprentice's literacy or start it, which makes sense for the wider viability of the trade.

The War of the Roses took place in the late 15th Century. So I’m guessing that that’s the time period that ASOIAF is mostly based on.

Part 3: Level of literacy

I think it’s safe to say that Gendry has some level of literacy. However, his “level” is pretty much up for debate. If he’d finished his apprenticeship it’s likely he’d have a decent level of reading/writing comprehension. However, near the end of his apprenticeship he was kicked out.

I’m not sure how much Gendry could read/write by the time that he was kicked out by Tobho Mott. But he’d already been his apprentice for 10 years (in show canon). More than enough time to get some basic reading/writing/basic math lessons.

It seems that show!Gendry is more likely to have a higher level of literacy than book!Gendry. In the show, he leaves Tobho Mott at 16, while in the book he is 14. This is just my own impression, but I think his education would be more complete by age 16 than age 14.

Not to mention that book!Gendry is still in the Riverlands and working for outlaws. But in the show we can assume that Gendry has been smithing in King’s Landing for years and it is insinuated that he owns a shop. Meaning he might have reached “Master” status and can take on apprentices of his own. It might seem like Gendry is too young for that. But it’s actually not that strange.

“Apprentices stayed with their masters for seven to nine years before they were able to claim journeyman status. Journeyman blacksmiths possessed the basic skills necessary to work alongside their master, seek work with other shops, or even open their own businesses.”

Considering that Gendry has been with Mott for 10 years in show!canon, it’s possible that Gendry was a “journeyman” and not an “apprentice” by the time that Ned meets him in season 1. But he might be nearing the end of his apprenticeship in the books.

Guilds also required journeymen to submit work for examination each year in each area of expertise. So, a journeyman who perhaps crafted swords, locks, and keys would need to submit each item to his guild annually for inspection. If the guild approved the craftsmanship of the products, the journeyman could eventually move up to master status.

The process of becoming a master could take from 2 to 5 years. Considering that Gendry is regarded as talented, it’s likely that he achieved this in a shorter period of time. As a journeyman he also needed to work alongside a master for 3 to 4 years before he could obtain master status. Which would still explain why he was so upset at being kicked out by Mott - it’s like someone getting kicked out while they’re trying to obtain a PHD.

By the time we meet him in season 7 it’s very possible that Gendry is now considered a master of his trade.

He also seems to be making armour and weapons for “Lannisters” which means he has a mostly noble clientele. He probably has plenty of fancy clients asking for custom-made products. With sketches and measurements and all that shit. Which is not surprising since he probably has a de facto reputation simply by merit of being Tobho Mott’s apprentice (lets ignore how dumb it is that no one discovered that Gendry was in King’s Landing since he made no effort to hide who he was or try to hide from the nobility lol).

Conclusion:

It’s safe to say that Gendry had some access to higher education. He can probably read and write enough for his line of work. It’s likely that his level would still leave much to be desired once he became a noble though. For comparison, imagine if someone left school at age 11 and was then required to write a college-level thesis. So he’d definitely need some “lordly” writing lessons and further education.

Gendry is still wildly uneducated for what he needs to do. So...

This meme is still gold 10/10

* Correction: Though Mott would be considered part of the same socio-economic class as merchants he is primarily a tradesman/craftsman, and would be referred to as such. Since merchants didn’t produce the goods they sold. However they could belong to the same guild, along with artisans and craftsmen.

#gendry baratheon #gendry waters #gendrya #asoiaf meta #got meta

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shokobuns · 3 years

Text

something sweet

maybe having someone to help you out in the stockroom wasn't so bad after all.

PAIRING: itadori yuuji x reader

GENRE: fluff, strangers to lovers

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

WARNINGS: almost stabbed, mentions of sharp things (boxcutters and broken glass), making out

it’s not like you had a problem with the same menial tasks everyday.

in fact, you would even say that it was a fun way to spend your free period. it was better than doing some complicated assignment or even having to talk to people with your lack of sleep and patience. coffee never allowed for a proper nap no matter how exhausted you were and your teacher wouldn’t allow that anyways.

it was an easy job that you could do with minimal help. all you had to do was put the beakers away, clean up the floor once in awhile, maybe pop some bubble wrap when new packages arrived. being alone in the stockroom was nice because you were able to turn on some music on your headphones, do whatever dances you felt like doing as long as you were still doing your job. no help was needed or wanted.

“where should i put this?”

you jump, nearly stabbing the blonde haired boy behind you with a boxcutter. luckily, he was quick, jumping backwards with a yelp as you took a deep breath in to process the situation. you didn’t accidentally hurt the boy in front of you, did you? your face falls and the initial rush of fear turns into guilt. “i’m sorry! i didn’t know you were there!”

“it’s okay,’ he responds with a smile, unphased by the fact his shirt had almost been slashed, ‘i understand. you’re probably here alone most of the time, right?”

“yeah, i wasn’t expecting for anyone else to be here,” you sigh before realizing what he had probably walked in on before the whole ordeal, “wait.. did you see me doing anything?”

“you’re a pretty good dancer if that’s what you’re asking.”

embarrassment. your cheeks feel unbelievably hot and your stomach turns while embarrassment settles in your body. this period was your alone time, your chance to flail about and having someone else witness it? definitely not preferable. although, he does seem nice and he hasn’t made fun of you. not yet, at least.

his voice brings you out of your train of thought. “so, where should i put that thing?”

he carries on as if nothing happened. thank god. “the flask goes in that cabinet, bottom shelf. you’ll see more just like it.” you reply, pointing to the space.

he mumbles a quick thank you before doing unloading more of the new flasks onto the cabinet. you work on your own, choosing to count the new magnets on the other side of the room, doing your best to avoid him considering you just embarrassed yourself in front of the stranger by nearly injuring him for asking a simple question. though, he looks slightly familiar, he’ll probably be gone tomorrow and that’s all that matters.

behind you, yuji takes small glances while he puts away the flasks, waiting for you to turn around and ask for his name. hell, he’s waiting for any type of question. after all, who sees a random boy in their work space and doesn’t question it at all?

when the next day comes, you’re proven wrong because he sits in the chair, awaiting another order from you. you curse under your breath before putting on a faux smile. “do you need help with anything?”

“do you need help with anything?”

“no, thanks. i’m good on my own. you can go back to whatever you do in this period.”

he scratches his head, eyebrows furrowing together. “i thought you needed help. that’s what my math teacher told me when he sent me here.”

“not really? i can usually get a lot done on my own. who told you i needed help?”

“gojo. i’m his teacher assistant, but i don’t know how to do the math he’s teaching, so i can’t really help anyone.” he explains

“oh, yeah! i had him for calculus last semester,” your eyes light up at the mention of your favorite white haired mentor, “weird guy. good teacher.”

wait. gojo’s teacher assistant?

you’ve heard your friends talk about him, given that they were in that exact class the blonde haired boy was supposed to be in right now. the one guy that pe teachers fawn over and coaches try to recruit? why did they put him in the math department instead of pe? what’s his name again? yuki? yugi?

“you’re yuji itadori?”

“yuji itadori.” he confirms and you’re relieved. good thing you didn’t mess up his name.

no wonder he looked familiar. miwa was fascinated by his physical ability, you distinctly remember her pointing him out during lunch and telling you about how he was ‘scarily fast’ and could probably ‘lift ten of her at a time.’ although, it was from far away and he was partially blocked by a girl with short brown hair and megumi, the intimidating spikey haired quiet boy in some of your classes.

but yuji didn’t look like someone who could lift ten miwas up close. maybe he was hiding behind the oversized hoodie he wore, but he was a kind looking boy with wide eyes and messy tufts of strawberry blonde hair. throughout the short time you’ve seen him up close, he always had a slight smile on his resting face. in short, he looked approachable and was seemingly friendly.

“so, do you need help with anything?” he asks again and you decide that maybe he can be of use to you. especially if he has the strength that miwa had described.

“actually, yeah. can you lift those boxes over there and bring them to the other side of the room? they’re kind of heavy-”

she was correct because he lifts the box, which is supposedly about thirty kilograms according to your teacher, with ease. now, you don’t have to constantly go back and forth around the room just to put the packaged metal away in a farther cabinet and he can probably just put them away himself, too. it goes that way for the next hour and a half, both of you staying in your respective sides of the room, putting away your own respective items.

“thanks, itadori.”

“call me yuji.”

“will do.”

over the next two weeks, you two don’t talk as much as yuji had hoped.

he still remembers gojo’s words of encouragement, his push to get his favorite student to talk to the person who drops off notes to the teacher across the hallway from time to time. he’s never talked to you and he doubts you would even know that he existed in the first place. in fact, he was perfectly content with just stapling the papers that gojo would give him, maybe getting his own homework done in the period, but he was insistent.

“i’ve seen you staring outside the window whenever they pass by, yuji. just talk to them.”

“it’s okay.’

“no it’s not. get to know her. what if they’re nice? hmmmmm?”

“i’ll talk to her myself at some point.”

that was all it took for gojo to leave him alone, not that he didn’t like gojo or anything, especially with gojo being his second favorite teacher in the first place, but he’s content with his little crush. and again, he doubted that you would remember him in your history class and from the looks of it, he was right.

he just didn’t expect to be sent at the very stockroom that you would be in. for the rest of the semester. gojo had definitely set him up for something.

yuji was in that conflicting position in which he didn’t know whether to start a conversation or not because he didn’t want to bother you. but he also wanted to get to know you up close. of course he can sense your exhaustion himself through droopy eyelids that threaten to close and your dependence on caffeine, something he had learned about you so far in these few weeks. the only thing, it seems like.

as for you, a short talk with your science teacher confirmed that he wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon and though you will miss dancing around the stockroom by yourself, he wasn’t bad company. he mostly kept to himself, often being more rigid when you barely spared him a glance. at the times you would speak to him, he seemed more excitable and easygoing, listening to every word you say.

“yuji?”

“hmm?”

“come help me by unboxing these beakers, alright?” you patted the spot next to you before sliding the blade down the tape, “don’t worry. i’m not gonna stab you.”

“i guess i’ll help,” he snorts, “don’t you usually do these by yourself?”

“yeah, but since you’re spending the semester with me in here, we might as well get to know each other right?”

the whirring of the fan, the sound of your voice — it all seemed to fade into the background as his heart thumped hard in his chest. a million thoughts, both good and bad, race through his head as he formulated different questions, answers, and scenarios in his mind, all of them being a jumble of fantasy and panic.

you wave a hand in front of his face in an attempt to catch his attention. he seemed completely frozen, staring at you with dead eyes and it’s now that you realize you haven’t seen him up this close. honey brown eyes, the soft curve of his nose, and were those crinkles under his eyes, too? up until now, you only knew him as the ‘athletic man who was bad at math’, but he was also undeniably beautiful with his carved face and strawberry blonde hair.

“yuuuuuuuji?”

“oh! i’m sorry! did you say you wanted to get to know me?”

“yeah, we’re kind of stuck in this room everyday for an hour and a half together. i might as well find out what your favorite color is or something.”

“red! my turn! what were you listening to when you almost stabbed me?”

“hey! it was an accident!” he giggles, slicing the tape seal down the middle and opening up the package and pointing right at it. “you see that? that could have been me. i should at least know what i’m being stabbed to.”

“meg thee stallion..”

“nevermind. she’s beautiful and i wouldn’t mind dying to her music.”

you snort, thinking up another question. maybe you should ask him about why that megumi guy was so gloomy? nope, might get too personal. what about the reason he’s here? nope, you already know.

“why don’t you do any sports even though you’re literally physically gifted?” you ask curiously. there’s still a smile on his face, but his expression becomes more wistful. you didn’t accidentally hit a spot, did you?

“my grandpa is in the hospital,” oh shit, you think, “i visit him everyday and if i was on a team, i would have to go to practice at the same time.”

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to hit a sensitive topic, but that’s sweet of you.’

“i don’t mind. and i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable.”

“no, it’s alright. let’s just keep asking questions then, okay?”

he nods.

in one hour, you learn that yuji itadori also likes karaoke, rice bowls, and that he’s just as bad at science than math. ironic. and yuji enjoys getting to know more about you, falling into easy conversation, becoming less of a nervous wreck. the more you speak, the deeper he falls into the trance and he silently thanks gojo for letting him get a closer look because you’re even better than what he could have imagined.

but the period is coming to an end and it’s time for him to carry off the last box of beakers to his side of the room. at least there’s time for another question and it’s his turn to ask.

“what’s your type?”

you place your fingers on your chin as you think for a moment, finding a common trait in every crush for a proper answer.

“i guess my type would be sweet boys. with pretty faces, like you, i guess.”

the response is nonchalant and you don’t think twice about it. maybe you were a little too tired to process how he’d interpret it or maybe a little too tired to filter yourself, but it slips out of your mouth like butter and you’re completely unphased. shameless, even.

meanwhile, the box drops to the ground and like before, every other noise besides his own heartbeat fades into the background, even the sound of shattering glass. heat creeps of his neck into his cheeks until his face is burning, his feet stuck in their place and his palms becoming uncomfortably sweaty. his mouth is wide open, but no words come out.

“yuji! we need to clean this, hurry up!”

your voice brings him out of his thoughts as he realizes what’s been done and immediately snaps back to carefully, but quickly, picking up the shards of glass and placing them in this box. “i-i’m sorry!”

“don’t worry. just leave the box on the counter and we’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

maybe you didn’t quite realize what you had said or what effect you had on him during that time in the stockroom because you continue everyday as if nothing happened.

it’s been, what? a little over a three weeks? and sitting next to you still causes his mind to go to odd places, ones with you. he starts to notice little things about you, too. how your tongue peaks out of your mouth when you’re peeling another sheet of bubble wrap off of some glassware, how you only count in even numbers when you take inventory of the containers.

god, you were adorable.

“yuji?”

“yeah?”

“did gojo ever tell you that there’s no cameras in here?”

“no? i thought they had security cameras everywhere.”

“that’s only hallways and classrooms. there’s none of them here. do you know what that means?”

“what?”

his head is already turned in your direction, the perfect opportunity to lean in and catch his lips. it’s small and he’s hesitant at first, but before you know it, your hands tangle in his hair, bringing him closer to you. he tastes like something sweet, like cherries, and his lips are warm. one hand rests on your cheek, his thumb brushing against it endearingly. when he pulls away, both of you are panting for air, the packages long forgotten.

“this sounds bad, but i’m glad that you’re terrible at math.”

“thanks.” he laughs and admires the look of your heated cheeks and swollen lips before pulling you back in for another searing kiss.

sure. being in that room by yourself could be fun, a perfect break with menial tasks lacking human interaction. you were far too tired to be patient with other people. but there was an exception.

#itadori yuji x reader #itadori x reader #itadori yuuji x reader #yuji itadori x reader #yuuji itadori x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuji itadori fluff #itadori yuji fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #🌟 — works!#🌟 — fluff!#🌟 — itadori yuuji!#🌸 — blossom #🌷 — sfw

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chaoticminhos · 4 years

Text

priceless

priceless; adjective; so precious that its value cannot be determined.

pairing: bang chan x reader

genre: angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, rich kid! bang chan au

warnings: none, lowkey sugar daddy channie but nothing is sexual

word count: 14.3k (oh my god)

a/n: this is a super long one, i’m sorry! i got a bit carried away

christopher bang. chris. bang chan. he was a boy with the whole world at his fingertips, diligent and hardworking. the kind of boy you could bring home and your mother would adore him. your father couldn’t dream of a better boy to date his daughter.

at least, that’s how everyone else would describe him. but you? no, to you, he was nothing but an arrogant asshole.

he flaunted the trophies and medals he won from swimming like they made him the most important man alive. he never missed a chance to point out that he was top of the class, even with being in sports. he could handle it all, such a balanced and sturdy young man, all of his teachers said.

people called him modest, but you couldn’t see it. not even a peak coming out from under the obnoxious fancy shirts he wore to school every day just to show that he had enough money to own that many different name brand clothes. your school didn’t even have a strict dress code, who the hell in their right mind would wear button up and dress pants in place of hoodies and sweats? a fucking prick who needs to prove in every way possible that he is better than everyone else, that’s who. he was mister fucking perfect and he never, not for one second, let you forget that.

you begrudgingly stepped into your first hour class and made your way to your assigned seat, groaning at the fact that in just a few minutes, the school bell would ring and you’d be forced to sit right next to chan for the whole 45 minutes the class lasted.

honestly, you thought your teacher was fucking insane for placing you and chris next to each other. and in a corner spot, no less! chris was pinned in between you and the wall, the only person other than you in direct line of contact for him being the two seated ahead of you. but that didn’t stop chan, no, he yelled over you to his friends as if you weren’t even there and it pissed you off. you’d offered to swap seats so you wouldn’t have to deal with his yelling over you, but he denied, saying that he didn’t want to get in trouble with the teacher.

“they’re assigned seats, y/n,” he’d said, “the whole point is we can’t just swap.”

students filtered in and, per usual, chan was one of the last to enter. he was almost always just on the edge of being late to the first hour, him and his friend hyunjin. they had before school swim practice and apparently it would kill their coach to let them off 10 minutes earlier so they wouldn’t be late to class. it didn’t matter though, the teacher waited for them every day. god forbid golden boys chris and hyunjin miss the first minute of class.

chan walked behind you to his seat, bumping into the back of your chair as he passed. asshole. there was plenty of room for him to get past you easily, he didn’t need to shove your chair.

the teacher began class just as chan plopped his bag onto your shared table, the straps from it falling across your notebook on your side of the table.

you brushed them off, pushing his bag further away from you. he sent you a look and threw his hands up in the air like you’d just ruined his bag.

“what’s your problem today?”

you looked up at him, breath slightly catching at his damp hair. he showed up to class like this every single day, with his hair pressed to his forehead and his shirt pressed close to his body, still damp from the pool and showering off, but that didn’t change the fact that every single day, he still took your breath away.

as much as you hated him, he was strikingly attractive. it’s a shame that people can’t have both good looks and a good personality.

you put a forced smile on your face, “same as always, bang. you.”

your argument was cut short by your teacher sending a small glare towards you, a silent order to be quiet.

that’s another thing that pissed you off. he had started the conversation, but you were always the one who got in trouble for talking. not once did the teacher scold him for talking in class, only you.

“you’ll be working with your table partners today--“

you didn’t even bother to listen to the rest, groaning and putting your head in your arms on the desk. you had requested not to always be partners with your desk mate, stating that you and chan didn’t get along that well, but your teacher insisted.

“chris is a wonderful person to be partnered with, y/n.”

and of course chan wouldn’t back you up on the request of different partners. he didn’t want to be your partner in everything, god no, but it simply wouldn’t look good for him if he complained about another student.

you looked back up when chan snapped his fingers right next to your ear, causing you to jolt up and send a glare at him. he pointed to the paper that your teacher had placed on your desk.

“we’re supposed to brainstorm together.”

“can’t we just do it separately and say we talked the questions through?”

he put a fake pout on his face, “you don’t wanna share your ideas with me?”

a grin spread across his face as your jaw clenched in frustration.

“i don’t want to interact with you, period.”

“i'm just as excited as you are--“

he was cut off by the sound of your stomach growling. you groaned, you hadn’t had time to get dinner yesterday and you couldn’t afford to buy breakfast this morning.

“someone’s hungry.”

“i didn’t have breakfast.”

“why, slept in?”

“couldn’t afford it.” you mumbled, not thinking much of your words, just letting them fall from your lips.

he laughed lightly, “couldn’t afford breakfast?”

your eyes slowly lifted from the paper to his face, casual mood from just seconds before long gone.

“not everyone was born on a pile of money, chan.”

“sorry, it was just a question.”

it wasn’t even 9 am and you already wanted to rip his head off.

“fucking forget about it, let’s just get this done so you can fuck off.”

he nodded in agreement, pressing his lips tightly together to bite back a response before reading out the first question before stating his opinions on the matter.

he didn’t bother you much more for the rest of the class period, just focusing on the work ahead of you two. he didn’t bring the breakfast issue up again, which honestly surprised you. it had obviously gotten a rise from you, you expected him to milk that for as long as possible.

you didn’t see him again until lunch, where your eyes were glued to the back of his head as you angrily went over the start of your day to your best friends.

“he fucking made fun of me for not having money.”

“he’s such a prick.” sooyeon said through a mouthful of chips, turning to show one of her friends something on her phone. she wasn’t really listening. she never did when it came to you complaining about chan.

sooyeon was your best friend along with jisung, but she has lots of friends other than the two of you. she was an easy person to be around, you understood why everyone liked her:

“i agree,” jisung said as he sat himself down next to you, “i don’t get why you’re so obsessed with him when i’m literally right here.”

you hit his arm, causing his tray to shake as he set it on the table, some of the chocolate pudding falling onto the table.

“i am not obsessed with him, jisung! it’s just hard not to think about him so much when he makes it a point to be a cock every single fucking time we interact.”

jisung ignored your reply, scooping up the pudding you caused him to spill and plopping it onto an empty place on your tray.

you moved to shove him again, but he instinctively reached his hands to your arms to stop you, coating your sleeve with the pudding that he had yet to clean off of his hand.

“jisung!” you shouted, unable to keep a smile from breaking out on your face. there was no real reason to be mad, it would wash out, but you wanted to give him a hard time for it anyway.

“you ruined my favorite sweatshirt!”

you grabbed his wrist, pressing his still dirty hand against the chest of his own hoodie, giving it a stain to match the one on your arm.

“what the fuck?” he called through a loud laugh.

“it’s payback, you dickhead.”

he wiped his hand off on a napkin before standing up and motioning for you to do the same. he packed the apple and chips from his lunch into his bag for later tossed out the rest.

“you are so lucky i have extra clothes in my gym locker.”

you followed him as he started through the cafeteria, “i’m lucky? you’re the one who got pudding on me first!”

“i don’t recall that ever happening. obviously it got on you when you were brutally attacking me.”

you hit him again, laughing as he led you out of the food court and to the gyms.

you hadn’t realized, but you’d walked right past chan and his friends as you were leaving. he observed the interaction between you and jisung and let out a nose laugh at the childishness of it.

he got up and tossed his tray. he’d heard jisung mention the locker room and it reminded him he needed to grab his math textbook from there, he’d left it there after practice that morning.

chan expected you to be in the girls locker room changing or waiting outside of the boys locker room for jisung to bring you a clean shirt, so he thought nothing of stepping into the locker room himself. what he did not expect was to be met face to face with you as you slipped one of jisungs hoodies over your head, chans eyes barely catching the bottom of your bra as you pulled the cloth down.

jisung was still shirtless, digging through his locker for a shirt that didn’t have pudding on it and didn’t smell distinctly of sweaty boy. he looked up upon hearing the door open, nodding to chan as he entered.

he didn’t acknowledge jisung, instead keeping his attention on you.

“you do know this is the boys locker room, right?”

your eyes widened in mock surprise, “really? i thought this was the music department. no wonder there’s no piano.”

he huffed as he walked past you and to his own locker where his book was sat on the bench beside it.

“why are you in here, anyway?” he continued.

“jisung is a dumbass.”

the boy in question turned to you as he slipped his own sweatshirt over his head, “you’re being quite an asshole to me considering i just gave you the one actually clean sweatshirt i had on hand.”

“maybe if you hadn’t gotten pudding on the one i was wearing i wouldn’t need to steal yours.”

chan cut in, “don’t you have your own clothes to change into?”

jisung responded for you, “she doesn’t have gym.”

chan nodded, “not surprised by that.”

he’d mumbled it, but you heard. first he’d made fun of your economic status, now he was going to take a jab at your body?

“what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

you took a step towards him and he put his hands up in defense, “you don’t seem like the sporty type.”

your eyes narrowed and he seemed to get what you had been thinking.

“no, oh my god! i’m not that low.”

you scoffed, “but you’re low enough to tease someone for being poor? come on jisung.”

you bundled your dirty sweatshirt into your arms and swung your bag over your shoulder before leaving the locker room with jisung hot on your trail.

when you entered your first class the next day, you were met with a plastic wrapped muffin sitting on the table of your spot.

you figured someone had forgotten it there from the day before and no one had noticed to move it. you inspected the wrapper, it was still fully sealed. deciding whoever left it there probably forgot about it and remembering you hadn’t been able to get breakfast that morning either, you unwrapped the muffin and took a bite.

and damn, muffins hit different when they’re the first thing you’ve eaten since dinner time the night before.

you were about halfway done with the tasty treat when chan found his way to his spot beside you. he was wearing a plain white button up that day. water droplets from his hair had fallen onto his shoulder and collar, making small see through patches across his collar bones. you caught yourself staring before he did, thankfully.

he pointed to the muffin in your hand, “you got yourself breakfast this morning.”

you nodded, providing no verbal response, just taking another bite of the muffin.

the bell rang and the teacher clapped to get the classes attention, stating that you’d be continuing the discussion activity you and your partner had started the day before.

you looked over to chan with wide eyes. it was supposed to take two days? the two of you had gone through most of the questions the day before.

“did we miss something?” he started, reaching across the table to drag your paper closer to him so he could see it. you sighed, he had his own sheet. it would have taken literally five seconds for him to get his own instead of hijacking yours.

“i think my brain is just too good for her assignments.” you shrugged as you took the final bite of your muffin, crumpling the wrapper in your hand.

“your brain? please,” he leaned back in his chair, turning his body towards you, “i’m obviously the powerhouse of this duo.”

you raised your eyebrows with a smile, “then what am i? the hot eye candy?”

he pretended to think for a moment, “no, i think that one's me too...”

your smile grew, the words were teasing but not in a bad way. you could not believe you were having a civil conversation with bang chan, let alone an almost friendly argument.

you tossed the rolled up muffin wrapper at him, hitting him right in the cheek. he scrunched his nose, “you’re fucking terrible.”

the words weren’t anything different from what you would expect him to say to you, but the tone was lighter than usual. almost playful. still, they seemed to snap you into reality. bang chan was not your friend.

you reached to the paper he’d taken from you and glanced at the last few questions, pointing to the next in line and reading it aloud.

“is it unethical for heinz to steal the pills for his dying wife?” (look up the heinz moral debate if you don’t know what i’m referring to)

he thought for a moment before responding.

“no.”

“why?” you prompted him to continue.

“it says he tried every ethical and legal way, he has no other choice. he doesn’t have the money to pay for the pills, stealing is the only option he has left.”

you nodded, making a slightly surprised face.

“what?”

“nothing. i just took you for the kind of person to be all, i don’t know, fuck the poor.”

you scanned his face and he looked almost offended at your remark.

“of course not, everyone deserves the same opportunities when it comes to things like this.”

the rest of the hour went the same, pleasant way. you had to keep reminding yourself every couple of minutes that he was not your friend. he was being oddly pleasant to be around that day, but he was still an arrogant prick.

you were met with another muffin on your spot the next morning. and the morning after that. and the one after that, too. and the next one, and so on. it became clear to you within the first few days that it couldn’t be a coincidence, someone was leaving muffins there for you every morning. you found it kinda weird at first, considering you couldn’t think of who could be doing it. if it was jisung or sooyeon they would just hand it to you, they wouldn’t go through the trouble of sneaking into the ethics classroom before school started to put a muffin on your spot. neither of them even got to the school in time to do that. but after a while, you just accepted it. you appreciated the little snack every morning, it gave you something to go to school for and it assured you that you’d be able to eat something, even if you were short on money.

after a while, you stopped finding it weird and started to find it cute and endearing.

jisung and sooyeon were convinced it was a secret admirer, that someone had a crush on you and didn’t know how to show it. you didn’t believe that idea, no one even knew you even existed other than the two of them and a couple other friends. still, you honestly couldn’t think of another reason.

either way, it changed your first period class from being something to dread because of the boy seated next to you into something to look forward to. that, and chris had been more bearable. he was still an obnoxious asshole and he didn’t deserve half of the positive attention he constantly had, but not every conversation with him was full of angry words and snappy remarks anymore. you were starting to realize that maybe some of the things he did weren’t really mean or annoying and it was just you finding different excuses to be mad at him, but you’d never admit that out loud.

you still didn’t call him a friend, and he didn’t call you one either. he would probably be embarrassed to call someone like you his friend. he still annoyed the living hell out of you, but you couldn’t make yourself have an undying hatred for him anymore. just a strong disliking.

but he was not your friend. he was still the same dickhead he had been the whole time you’d been in school with him. he wasn’t a nice person.

you still didn’t like him.

you seemed to repeat that to yourself quite a lot.

you smiled as you picked up the muffin from the table, you’d lost count of how many had been left for you by now. you unwrapped it and started eating, you’d stopped checking the wrappers for holes after the first few. it was silly, but you trusted whoever was leaving them for you.

hyunjin and chan walked into the room just as the bell went off. chan was laughing at something hyunjin said, his dimples showing. they’re something you’d grew to really like about him. you didn’t even know he had dimples before, he never smiled at you up until a couple weeks ago.

the teacher waited for them to reach their spots before beginning the lecture, talking for a while about something or another. you didn’t really pay attention, zoning out as you finished your muffin and tossed the wrapper at chan like you’d made a habit of doing with every wrapper you had.

it was funny, you thought. every single day, even though he complained about it, he would pick up the wrapper from wherever it landed and deliver it to the trash himself. he tried to make you do it originally, but you refused.

“you’ll be working with the same partner you’ve had all semester. i have rubrics up here if anyone wants a paper copy.”

you tuned in to the last bit of what your teacher said, catching on that she was assigning another partner project, and your partner would be the same as always- chan.

both of you pulled out your laptops and pulled up the work. neither of you complained about always being partners anymore, the same argument over and over again did no one good. plus, it’s not like he was the worst partner to have. because of his position as golden boy, he always did good on his work, assuring you that you’d have a partner that would do their share.

the project consisted of you drawing a topic from a hat the teacher passed around and finding the other group with that topic. you would be debating against that group on whatever topic you and chan had drawn.

chan let you be the one to draw from the hat and you drew ‘the morality of euthanasia (anti)’

you laughed at it, “kill the old, eat the rich.”

chan raised an eyebrow at you, laughing at your response.

“we’re supposed to be against it. don’t kill the old, no eating the rich.”

“you’re just saying that because you don’t want to be eaten.”

“oh, you got me. i don’t want to be cannibalized, how dare i.”

you were paired to debate against two boys, kim seungmin and lee felix. they were chans friends. they didn’t swim with him, but they sat with him at lunch and hung out with him a lot, you’d saw them around him enough to get that.

you spent the rest of the period doing general research on the topic. it wasn’t biased, so you were able to work with seungmin and felix on it, too. they were actually pretty fun to be around. you expected them to be stuck up and bratty like chan, but they weren’t. seungmin was really sweet and felix was super funny.

“i’m telling you, eat the rich.” felix spoke.

“that’s what i’ve been saying!” you called out, reaching your hand out to give him a high five.

“felix, you’re literally rich.” chan pointed out.

“no, channie, my parents are rich. i am simply living off of their rich people money.”

you checked the clock, realizing class would be ending in a few minutes. you packed your things back into your bag before turning to chan.

“she said we’d need to work outside of class. does the library after school work?”

he sharply inhaled, “i have practice and by the time it’s over the library will be closed. if you’re okay with waiting we can go to my house after practice?”

you were slightly taken aback by the request.

“uh, sure.”

“you can watch practice if you want, or even just sit in the pool room doing homework or playing on your phone or something and then i can give you a lift to my place.”

that solved the issue of finding a ride there and you figured he couldn’t live too far, you’d be able to walk home, so you agreed.

the last bell rang and you lifted yourself from your chair and headed to the hallway, meeting jisung and sooyeon by their lockers.

jisung raised his keys, “ready to go?”

“actually, i’m staying to work on a project with chan, i forgot to tell you.”

“you’re getting awfully close with him recently.” sooyeon teased, wiggling her eyebrows.

you would have hushed her just as you did every time she even dared to mention you and chan becoming closer, but jisung cut you off.

“here?”

“no, at his house.”

“do you have a ride there and home?”

“yeah,” you started, “he’s driving me there and i can just walk home.”

“walk?” jisung frowned, “how far away is his place from yours?”

you shrugged, “can’t be that far.”

he shook his head, “not happening. text me his address and i’ll take you home when you’re done.”

there was no point in arguing with him. he got super protective over you and sooyeon when it came to stuff like this. he said it wasn’t safe for you to walk home alone, that’s the whole reason he drove you and sooyeon home every day.

you barely had time to promise jisung you’d let him drive you home before someone was calling your name from down the hallway.

“y/n! chan said you’re watching practice?”

you looked at the source of the voice, hwang hyunjin. since when did he talk to you? or even know your name?

“yeah,” you replied, “i’m coming.”

you waved goodbye to your friends before jogging to meet hyunjin at the end of the hallway, letting him lead you to the practice rooms. you’d been in them before, you went to a fair share of sports games and meets, but it felt weird being in it with it so empty, especially alone with a boy you’d barely ever talked to. he noticed the tension.

“sorry, i’m hyunjin. chan’s been mentioning you a lot lately so i figured i should make myself present.”

“oh,” you laughed, “it’s not a big deal. we aren’t really close or anything.”

hyunjin raised his eyebrows and a smirk played at his lips, “so you’re not dating or anything like that?”

your face flushed red, “god, no. i don’t have a boyfriend.”

his smile grew, “good to know.”

your face grew even more red as the door to the locker room opened and chan stepped out.

“stop flirting with y/n and go get changed.”

hyunjin turned to him, “you seem to have forgotten that i am the captain of this team and i do not take orders from you.”

he punctuated the last word with a finger to chans chest as he passed him and entered the room to get ready for practice.

“how’d you know he was flirting?” you laughed.

“it’s all he does.”

chan stepping closer to you in his shirtless form did nothing for your blushed face. he was actually in more than he would be during meets, considering it was just a practice so he was allowed to wear swim trunks, but it was still a lot more of him, or any boy for that matter, than you were used to seeing.

to your dismay, he noticed how your eyes avoided him as he stepped closer to you.

“what, not used to shirtless boys?” he teased.

“unless it’s jisung, no.” you replied, eyes trained on the pool behind him.

he raised an eyebrow, “i thought you said you two weren’t a thing?”

“we’re not. he just has stupid high body heat and strips randomly in the middle of movie nights.”

he nodded, taking a step closer to you.

“you’re so flustered when it’s just me out here, are you gonna be able to handle the whole team?”

you stepped back, “i’ve watched swim meets before chan, it’s fine. it’s just weird because we’re alone right now.”

as if on cue, the door swung open and the boys streamed out of the locker room, hyunjin last. you didn’t really recognize anyone on the team but chan and hyunjin. they made their way to the edge of the pool and chan jogged to join them, pointing at the stands near the pool for you to sit down at.

the boys started to warm up and a small crowd of girls built up on the bleachers around you. none of them seemed to notice you until the coach entered and scanned the small crowd.

“you’re new a new addition.” he pointed out.

you were gonna reply that you were just there for the one day when chan cut in for you with a smile on his face, “i invited her, coach.”

the coach looked in between you and chan with a small smile.

“oh, you did?”

you didn’t know what it meant but his words had been laced with a teasing tone and it made yours cheeks heat up. did it matter that chan had invited you and you hadn’t just randomly showed up?

apparently it did. you got a tap on your shoulder and you turned around to face the person who did it.

“did chan really invite you specifically to watch?”

“i mean, yeah.” you began, “i’m going to his place after so he said i could just wait here.”

her eyes widened, “he invited you to his house?”

you grimaced, this was drawing more attention than you wanted, “it’s nothing like that, we have a project to work on.”

she hummed and nodded, focusing her attention back on the boys.

you thought you’d get bored during the practice and end up scrolling through your phone, but you didn’t. something about the way they moved so fluidly and easily in the water was captivating to watch. your eyes kept mostly to chan, but they drifted to hyunjin a lot, too. watching him, you understood why he was captain. he had such control of his body even under the pressure of the water, it was like it was moving according to what he willed it to.

practice ended and all of the boys jumped out of the pool and grabbed a towel, heading straight for the locker room. everyone but chan. he dried his hair off before slinging the towel around his neck and over his shoulders and walking up to where you were sitting at the bleachers. he leaned against the cold metal as he spoke to you.

“i just need to shower quick and get changed then we can go. i won’t be long.”

you nodded and gave him a soft smile. most of the girls who’d came to watch the boys swim had left already, but the few who hadn’t began whispering after seeing your and chans interaction.

you didn’t know why it was such a big deal, you were his partner for a project.

high school dynamics always confused you.

after a few minutes of mindlessly scrolling through your phone, chan pushed the door open and stepped out, calling to you to follow him out. he lead you through the school and outside to the parking lot. it didn’t take much for you to find his car, you guessed it was one of the few that looked like they cost more than you were worth. no doubt the other ones belonged to his friends.

to say you were surprised when he jogged ahead of you to open the passenger side door for you would be an understatement. he really had changed a lot from a couple weeks before. or maybe you just started seeing things differently.

he frowned slightly at your confused face as you approached the car.

“what?”

“i didn’t take you for the gentleman type.”

“how would you know? you’ve never gone out with me before.”

you shrugged, he had a point.

he slipped into the driver seat and put the key in the ignition. the startup was so quiet you wouldn’t have even known it was turned on if he hadn’t shifted gears and started to drive. you were so used to clunky old cars like the one your family had or the one jisung drove around in.

speak of the devil, your phone lit up with a message from jisung.

sungie🤢💗: at his place yet?

you: headed there now

sungie🤢💗: address ??

you: one sec

you lifted your eyes from your screen to look at chan, “hey, what’s your address?”

he looked confused, “why?”

“jisungs gonna pick me up when we’re done.”

he glanced at you before training his eyes back onto the road, “no he’s not, i’ll take you home.”

“sung already said he could.”

“i thought it was a given that i’d give you a ride home since i was the one to invite you out?”

you laughed, “since when is that an unspoken rule?”

he shrugged, “it’s just good manners.”

you leaned back into the seat, sending jisung a message than chan was giving you a ride home.

who knew bang chan even knew what good manners were.

you were right about his house not being far, he was pulling his fancy car into the fancy driveway of his fancy house within just a few minutes.

although you knew it was normal life for him, you were amazed that he could step into such a pretty house so casually. you felt like if you touched anything, it would shatter.

he slipped off his shoes at the door and you did the same, following him up a large set of stairs and into what you assumed was his bedroom.

you’d expected it to be neat, but it was the exact opposite, clothes tossed randomly on the floor and open chip bags laying around. you laughed at the condition of his room and he pouted as he hurried to try to clean up some of the mess.

“don’t make fun of me, i didn’t expect company.”

“who knew that you, bang chan, were so messy.”

“i’m a high school boy, what did you expect?”

“yeah, but you’re also the pride of the school.”

he huffed, plopping down onto his bed after deciding cleaning was no use, “i’m still just a kid.”

you sat yourself down next to him, pulling your laptop from your bag and opening it. you were immediately faced with the issue of not having wifi connection.

“chan, what’s your wifi password?”

“it’s super long,” he mumbled as he reached across your lap and took the device from your hands, “i’ll just type it for you.”

you didn’t have the time to scold him for just taking it from you, you were too busy trying to convince yourself that you did not feel butterflies in your stomach when he had gotten that close to you.

you just weren’t used to boys other than jisung being so casual around you, that’s all.

he handed your laptop back to you and rose to his feet, getting up and doing something behind you for a few seconds. you didn’t pay attention, already getting to work on research.

a few seconds later, you felt the bed dip beside you and chan was pulling his legs onto the bed and sitting with them crossed and his own laptop in his lap, his loose button up he’d worn all day now replaced with a plain black t-shirt.

your face flushed red when you realized he’d just changed his shirt with you in the room, not that it was a big deal. he was a swimmer and he was used to people seeing him shirtless, it didn’t mean anything to him, but it was still odd for you.

the two of you worked in silence for about an hour before he fell onto his back, closing his laptop and tossing it onto the bed beside him.

you let out a small laugh, “what?”

“it’s boring.” he groaned, “let’s get food.”

it didn’t take much for him to convince you to ditch schoolwork and get food instead. he led you back down the stairs and into a kitchen that you swore was bigger than your whole house, opening the fridge door and leaning down to look at its contents.

he shut the door and let out an obnoxious groan, “i don’t want any of this,” his eyes locked with your and a grin appeared on his face, “let’s go somewhere for food.”

you gave a skeptical look before a small smile took over your features, “okay.”

he walked up to his room with you and you grabbed your bag before the two of you slipped your shoes on and you hopped back into his car, him rushing ahead to open the door for you once again.

you buckled your seat belt, “where are we going?”

he shrugged, “what are you hungry for?”

“you’re the one who wanted to go out for food.”

“and now i’m asking you to choose.”

you huffed, “i don’t know, anywhere.”

he hummed and nodded his head, “the diner a couple blocks down from the school?”

you perked up at the suggestion, that was your favorite place to eat.

“oh my god, please.”

he laughed at your reaction, pulling the car from his driveway and starting the route to the small diner. as the building came into view, you wondered why chan even knew about this place. he could afford so many more fancy restaurants.

he held the door open and you stepped into the small place with a smile on your face, you hadn’t been able to come here for a while.

chris let you choose where to sit before grabbing a menu from the stack on the table and shoving it in your direction.

“get whatever you want, i’m paying.”

you tried to object, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. honestly, you didn’t fight too hard, either. it saved you from the trouble of finding the money to pay for it.

you still didn’t want to make him spend a bunch on you, so you decided to just repeat the name of whatever he ordered to make sure you didn’t get anything too expensive.

he ended up asking for a classic, just chicken strips and fries. you silently thanked him for ordering your favorite meal, repeating the same thing when the waitress asked what you wanted.

“would you like any sauce with that?”

you nodded politely, “barbecue, please.”

chan scrunched his nose and made a sound of disgust across the table, “barbecue is gross.”

you tried to hold down a smile as you glared at him, “says the one who ordered ranch! who the fuck eats ranch with chicken?”

“i do.” the waitress giggled, and you jumped. you’d kinda forgotten she was still there.

“oh, i’m sorry!”

she laughed, “it’s okay. what can i get for drinks?”

“i’ll take a chocolate shake, please.” chan answered first.

“i’ll take a chocolate shake, too.”

you folded the menu in front of you, content with your order.

“aw, come on.” chan made a sound of disapproval, “get a different flavor. if you want some chocolate, you can have some of mine.”

you felt a blush creep onto your cheeks, “um, okay, i’ll take strawberry then.”

the waitress clicked her pen shut with a smile, “i’ll have those out as soon as possible.”

you waited until she was out of earshot before speaking again.

“still think you’re fucking gross for eating chicken with ranch.”

he chuckled, pausing for a moment before responding.

“do you come here a lot?”

you shrugged, “i used to. i don’t too much now though,” you debated telling him the truth, you couldn’t afford to eat out much, but opted not to. you were still upset with him for his response the last time you mentioned your money issues.

“too busy.”

he nodded in understanding.

“what’s your favorite thing on the menu?”

you let out an unamused laugh, and it sounded a lot more harsh than you’d intended it to.

“why are you asking so many questions?”

he frowned, “just friendly conversation.”

you leaned back in your seat, “we’re not friends.”

you could have swore you saw something like hurt flash across his features before you were interrupted by the waitress setting your milkshakes in front of you.

you took a sip of your strawberry milkshake and any grumpy feelings you had for chan making you order it went out the window. it had been so long since you’d had a strawberry milkshake, or any kind other than chocolate. you always took the safe bet and got a chocolate shake, knowing you liked them, but you’d forgotten how good strawberry was.

you almost regretted snapping at chan as the two of you sat in uncomfortable silence waiting for the food to arrive. luckily, it didn’t take long, considering it was sort of late in the evening and there weren’t many other customers.

you made a gagging sound as the waitress placed a small container of ranch on chans plate.

the playful interaction seemed to give him the confidence to pick up conversation again.

“i used to come here all the time when i was little. me, hyunjin, felix, and seungmin got ice cream here practically every day in the summer.

you hummed in response, taking a bite of your food. the two of you ate in comfortable silence until both of your meals were complete. you shook your head lightly when chan motioned his chocolate shake to you, silently offering you to have a drink. you finished off your own shake with a sigh, leaning back into your seat.

“ready?” chan asked and you nodded in agreement, lifting yourself from your seat to stand.

you followed chan to the counter where he payed, leaving a generous tip for the kind waitress.

you watched as he opened the car door for you yet again and made a secret promise to yourself to beat him to it next time.

wait, next time?

you shook the thought from your head as you fastened the seatbelt across yourself.

you gave chan directions to your house and helped him find each turn along the short drive. it wasn’t far, you really could have walked home.

you couldn’t help but feel slight embarrassment as he pulled into your driveway. his car was probably worth more than your entire house.

you half expected him to make a rude comment about it, but instead he mentioned the small garden you had planted in the front yard, barely visible in the dark. it was lit up by your porch light.

“what do you plant?”

“huh? oh, flowers mostly. i might plant some tomatoes to throw at you though.”

he laughed as you stepped out of his car. he waited until your front door was shut behind you before pulling out of your driveway and making his way home, where he immediately found his bed.

he frowned when he saw two computers on it, you must have forgotten to put yours in your bag before the two of you left to get food.

he packed both of the devices into his school bag before getting ready for bed and crawling under the covers.

although he knew you’d only agreed to hang out for the project, he was glad you had. it seemed like he was finally breaking your shell of whatever you seemed to have against him.

you were digging through your book bag the next morning, muffin in hand, when chan and hyunjin strolled into the classroom, borderline late as always.

your eyes went to chan as he called your name while making his way towards you, lifting a laptop up in the air.

that’s where your laptop had disappeared to.

“you left it at mine last night.”

you thanked him as he set it in front of you, ignoring the whispers that erupted when chan announced that you’d been at his place the night before.

everyone in this class of all people should know it was just for the project.

he pulled his own out of his bag and typed in the password, getting right to work.

the class was quiet, no conversation between you and chan really happening other than when he cursed you out for throwing your muffin wrapper at him and as everyone was packing their things moments before the bell rang.

“my house again tonight to go over what we researched?”

you sharply inhaled, “i promised jisung and sooyeon i’d go to the basketball game with them.”

he shot you a skeptical look.

“i already told you i watch sports sometimes.”

“i’ve never seen you at a basketball game.”

“were you looking for me?” you teased.

he shook his head, “i’ve never seen you at swim meets either.”

you stood as the bell sounded, “i go to sports games, chan.”

he put his hands up in defense, “i never said you didn’t! just making observations.”

you hopped back into jisungs car after dropping your bag at your house, scolding sooyeon for stealing the shotgun seat while you were in your house.

the three of you had killed some time driving around in jisungs car and screaming the lyrics to whatever song came on, so the game was due to start in just about 40 minutes. you waited patiently in the like to get tickets, joking around with sooyeon and jisung to pass the time.

your turn came to purchase tickets.

“$5 a person, please.” the lady handing out tickets smiled sweetly. you assumed she was one of the players mothers.

sooyeon and jisung handed her their money as you checked your pockets for your wallet. where the fuck was it?

“y/n?” jisung questioned.

“i think i left my wallet at my house.” you said.

“i only brought enough for me.” sooyeon chimed in.

“me too.” jisung seconded.

you were getting ready to tell them to enjoy the game without you and tell minho you were sorry you couldn’t make it, that you’d just go home, when someone reached their arm around you, handing a $10 bill to the ticket lady.

“for her and me.”

you knew that voice.

“i don’t want your fucking money, chan.”

he raised an eyebrow, “sweetheart, you’ve been in my house. you know i can spare $5.”

sweetheart? where did that come from?

you huffed, allowing him to lead you out of line to give the people behind you a chance to get their tickets. sooyeon and jisung followed as you stepped into the gym and scanned the bleachers for seats.

“you actually came.” chan started again, “i thought you were just using it as an excuse not to hang out with me.”

“it’s not hanging out, it’s for school.”

“you’re saying you didn’t enjoy the diner yesterday, then?”

you gave him a light shove towards where you noticed hyunjin and felix sat down, “shut up.”

your friends followed you as you made your way up the bleachers and to the highest point, just a few feet from where chan was sat, sitting down in a big opening.

“excuse me,” jisung began, “what diner?”

you shrugged, “we got food after working for a bit, it’s not a big deal.”

“like a date?”

you slapped jisungs arm harder than you probably needed to.

“it was not a date.”

“did he pay?”

“yeah?”

he turned to sooyeon, lowering his voice, “it was totally a date.”

you shoved him again, “jisung, it was not a date!”

your eyes glanced towards where chan was sitting, surprised to see him already looking at you with a smile on his face.

oh my god, he heard them teasing you about him.

your immediate reaction was to flip chan off, which just made him laugh and turn back to his friends.

“you absolute cock,” you lowered your voice at jisung, “he heard you call it a date.”

he shrugged, “yeah, and he smiled about it.”

you ignored him, turning to face the court where the game would be starting soon.

“i’m just saying,” jisung continued, “would it really be that bad if you liked him?”

you didn’t answer him, keeping your eyes trained to the court and pursing your lips together in annoyance.

you didn’t notice that chan had overhead what jisung asked, something in his stomach dropping when he saw your negative reaction to the question.

he returned his focus to his friends, joining in on whatever conversation felix and hyunjin were on about. he tried to focus on them, but he couldn’t keep you off his mind, stealing glances at you every few minutes and hoping that maybe you’d be looking back.

he’d honestly hoped you’d sit with him during the game. there was enough room where he was seated for you and your friends to join, he didn’t get why you had to sit somewhere else. was he really that unbearable?

the game was just a minute away from halftime, the scores tied. you and everyone else in the crowd were on their feet, cheering on their respective teams.

you weren’t the biggest when it came to school spirit, but you were friends with a couple of the players. lee minho was someone you’d known for a long time, he’s actually the one who introduced you and jisung. you didn’t know whether to slap him or thank him for bringing the boy into your life, but either way, you always loved seeing the smile on his face when his team won.

minho had the ball in his control with the seconds ticking away at the timer. he passed it to someone else on his team, moving a few feet before they passed it right back to him. he was lined up perfectly for a three point shot.

you glanced at the scoreboard. 10 seconds until halftime.

he lined himself up to shoot and you cheered him on.

“you got it, min!!”

he released the ball from his hands and it went smoothly through the net just as the buzzer sounded, pausing the game with your team 3 points ahead.

although the gym may have been too loud for minho to have clearly heard what you said, chan heard it loud and clear.

min? you must be pretty close with him to call him that nickname, right? but chan had never heard you mention being close with lee minho before, so it couldn’t be anything serious. of course, he thought, with a twinge in his heart, you probably wouldn’t tell him if there was anything going on. as you’d made very clear the day before, you were not friends with him.

he watched as you rose from your seat and called to minho, stopping him from following the rest of his team to the locker room for a break before the second half.

he turned towards your voice, smiling when he noticed it was you. jisung and sooyeon followed you as you made your way across the gym and to him.

chan couldn’t hear what was being said from the other side of the gym, but he could see the way minho smiled down at you and wrapped you in his arms. he could see how you didn’t even complain about being pulled into the sweaty hug. if chan dared to hug you in that state, you’d probably kill him right then and there. on second thought, if he hugged you at all you would probably snap his neck.

without really thinking, he stood up and told hyunjin and felix he would be back soon. they exchanged a knowing glance as he crossed the gym to you, locking eyes with minho as he called your name.

he noted minhos arm hung loosely around your shoulders.

“i’m getting concessions. come with?”

minho raised his eyebrows at you, as if to ask “since when were you and chan close?”

“i don’t have money, chan, you know that.” you deadpanned.

“i know.” he rolled his eyes, “i’m buying.”

you were about to tell him to go on his own when minho spoke up, turning his face to you with his arm still around your shoulders.

“you go ahead, i should probably join my team.” he removed his arm from you, heading the direction of the locker rooms, “talk more after the game?”

“only if you win.” you teased.

“guess i got something to win for then.” he laughed, turning his back to the four of you.

chan unconsciously clenched his jaw at the interaction, motioning for you to follow him.

“you, too.” he pointed to jisung and sooyeon, “i’ll buy.”

jisung, never one to turn down free food, agreed immediately. you sent a glare in his direction, for all of the complaining you did about him, jisung seemed pretty pro-chan.

while waiting in line, jisung decided to start conversation.

“you’re actually kinda chill, y/n always makes you out to be an asshole.”

you hit jisung and chan let out a small laugh, one that could have easily been taken as amused if you didn’t see the hint of sadness lacing it.

“i can seem that way if you don’t know me.” he glanced at you before returning his eyes to jisung, “she’s getting to know me, though, so hopefully that changes.”

jisung nodded, motioning chan forward where it was your turn to order.

chan politely asked for just a sofa before stepping aside slightly to let you three order.

in natural jisung fashion, he ordered a soda and two pizza slices. sooyeon stuck with just a soda, and you got a soda and a small pack of m&ms.

chan payed for all of you before stepping out of line and sliding his wallet back into his pocket.

you all thanked him for paying as you headed back to the gym.

when you entered, he made his way back to his spot beside hyunjin, glancing back to see if you would follow. to his slight surprise, you did. you placed yourself on the bench next to him, jisung and sooyeon following suit.

his plan had worked, you had just sat down beside him willingly.

felix greeted you with a small wave, introducing himself to your friends. hyunjin did the same before a sly grin crossed his features as he pat his lap.

“i have a better seat for you, y/n.”

you reached across chan to playfully hit hyunjin, telling him to stop being a pervert, but neither he nor chan missed the blush on your cheeks at the comment.

you chatted a bit as a group before the alarm sounded, indicating that the game would be starting up again.

chan smiled in amusement at how into the game you got. he’d notice when you were sat a couple seats away from him, but he noticed it even more so now. he really had been wrong about you not caring about sports.

he watched as you clenched your fists every time the ball got stolen from someone on your team and cussed out the opposing teams members when they shoved one of your boys.

he chuckled as the same thing happened but with someone from your team shoving a boy from the opposing one, but you did not have the same sympathy when one of their teammates fell.

“get up, you’re fine!” you called, eyes following the ball.

you cheered whenever anyone from your team had the ball or scored, but you seemed to cheer a little harder every time it was minho in question. it made sense, you were friends, but chan couldn’t shake the frustrated feeling in his stomach every time you called minho's name.

by the time the game only had a few minutes left, the home team, your team, was up by enough points that it would take a real comeback for the other team to win.

they knew they had the game in the bag, swapping their normal varsity players like minho out with people who didn’t tend to get as much varsity playing time.

chan half expected you to lose interest in the game now that minho wasn’t on the court, but you remained just as invested as before, cheering on the younger players.

unsurprisingly, when the buzzer sounded, you were up by quite a few points. the whole of your schools team jumped up, congratulating each other on their win.

as everyone in the crowd rose and made their way out of the gym to head home, you stood, but remained in the gym.

after sitting with chan, felix, and hyunjin for the past half an hour, it didn’t strike you as odd when they stayed behind with you, sooyeon, and jisung as you waited for minho to shower off and meet you.

“y/n, chan,” felix singled you two out, “how’s that debate coming? pretty sure me and seungmin got this one in the bag.”

you stepped up a level on the bleachers to face felix, motioning between you and chan.

“we’re pretty confident.”

chan laughed, “are we?”

you shot him a glare for breaking your ruse, a laugh erupting from his throat. you took a small step to readjust your position, but your foot slipped off of the edge of the bleacher, causing you to lose balance. as you fell backwards, chan reacted quickly, wrapping his arm around your waist and planting his foot on the bleacher you’d slipped on to secure the both of you from falling.

you’d mentally prepared yourself for the impact, letting out a soft sound of surprise when it never came. chan helped you balance again and loosened his grip on you, keeping one hand on your waist as the other flew up to push your hair out of your face.

“you alright?”

you nodded, violently aware of his hands on your body but not really thinking anything of the interaction until you heard felix and jisung let out snickers.

you brushed chans hands off of you, “what?”

“oh, nothing.” jisung said.

just then, you heard the door to the locker room open and minho stepped out into the gym, changed out of his basketball attire and into some comfy sweatpants and a plain white shirt.

you hopped off the bleachers to go meet him, chan following immediately beside you.

you missed felix and jisungs snickers behind you, “he’s so whipped.”

minho glanced between you and chan again as you approached him. seriously, when did this happen? the last time he’d heard, you had nothing but dislike for him.

he nodded his head to address you, “dinner and ice cream?” he directed the question towards you, jisung, and sooyeon, turning to the others as an afterthought.

“you guys are welcome too.”

you smiled and accepted his offer, trying not to show that you really wished he hadn’t invited the other three. more specifically, chan. you still did not like him, you told yourself.

the more those words passed through your mind, the less truth you felt behind them and the more it felt like an empty phrase.

“where to?” jisung questioned as you all headed for the door to the parking lot.

“that diner a couple blocks away?” hyunjin suggested.

chan shook his head, “me and y/n just went there yesterday.”

you shrugged, “i’m fine with going again if you are.”

chan shrugged back, “it’s decided, then.”

you rode with sooyeon in jisungs car, you didn’t know exactly how the others pooled other than chan was driving, you recognized his car behind jisungs.

jisung parked the car and you stepped out, waiting for the others to arrive and join you before entering the small place.

when you did, you were greeted by the same woman who had served you and chan the night before. she looked between the two of you.

“back again? weren’t you just here last night on a little date?”

your face flushed red and you glanced at chan, his was bright red as well.

he started to politely deny but you broke in, “that was not a date.

she shrugged with a teasing smile, “you sure acted like it was.”

your mouth fell agape as you let her lead you to a table big enough to fit all of you, “no one tip her.” you joked, eliciting another laugh from her.

chan was surprised you’d been so calm about denying it, honestly. he’d expected a huge show, you making a point to make sure everyone in the restaurant knew you were not dating him.

he sat down and you,once again to his surprise, slipped in right beside him.

he frowned, it was like you said one thing but acted out another. you always made a point verbally to tell him and everyone else around you weren’t close but then you did things like that, deliberately choosing to sit next to him when you could have easily waited and positioned yourself between sooyeon and jisung or minho.

minho slid in next to you, jisung and sooyeon after him. felix and hyunjin sat on the other end of chan.

you opened your menu even though you were probably going to order the same thing you always did and a red flag shot off in your mind as your eyes locked with the prices. you’d forgotten you didn’t bring your wallet. you looked at your two friends, either they hadn’t realized their issue yet or just assumed someone else would pay for them.

you folded the menu back up and set it in front of you.

chan raised his eyebrows, “already decided?”

you nodded before softly speaking, “i’m not hungry.”

he frowned, “wanna just get a milkshake or something?”

you shook your head, playing with your hands in your lap.

he nudged you with his shoulder, “hey, my treat. get whatever you want.”

you looked at him with wide eyes, “you’ve already spent so much on me today.”

he waved you off, “$10 is not a lot, sweetheart. plus, i remembered you didn’t have your wallet when i agreed to come. i intended on paying for you anyway.”

you nodded, face flushing at his comment.

you’d be blushing if anyone called you by that nickname, you told yourself.

you made no move to grab the menu again, you would just opt for your usual.

the waitress arrived and took everyone’s order one by one. you decided to get another strawberry shake. after having the one yesterday, you remembered how good they were.

a few minutes later everyone’s drinks arrived, the waitress stating that the food would be done shortly. you took a sip from your milkshake before glancing over at chan.

“does the offer still stand from yesterday?”

he frowned and you gestured to the milkshake, indicating you wanted a sip.

he nodded, pushing it in your direction. you took a drink of the chocolate milkshake and then frowned a little, taking a sip of your strawberry one before tasting the chocolate again.

chan laughed, “what are you doing?”

“deciding which one i like more.”

he chuckled, reaching for your shake and doing the same.

“i think they’re pretty equal. both good in different ways.”

you agreed, saying they both had their own charms.

the waitress finally brought the food out and you had to bite back a remark as she set the ranch down on chans plate again. he noticed the look on your face as you eyed the sauce.

“are you going to fight me about my ranch again?”

you were going to reply, but minho cut in.

“i’m sorry y/n, do you have a problem with ranch?”

you looked between the two, “yes, actually, i do. who the hell eats it with chicken?”

the rest of the table caught wind of the conversation and joined in.

felix pointed at your plate, “barbecue all the way.”

jisung and hyunjin agreed, sooyeon stating that she liked both.

“okay,” jisung prompted, “but which ones better?”

“i swear to god if you say ranch we’re replacing you with felix.”

hyunjin pouted in faux hurt, “why not me?”

you shrugged, “or maybe hyunjin, i don’t know yet. we’ll hold a challenge to decide.”

she laughed, “not necessary, i’ll keep my spot. i gotta say barbecue over ranch.”

minho and chan groaned, they were heavily outnumbered.

“her opinion doesn’t count,” chan grumbled, “she’s not even eating chicken right now.”

you laughed and for a moment chan thought he was in a dream. the way your lips curled into a smile and your eyes shined while you laughed made his stomach do flips, the fact that he was the one causing your laughter just making it all the much better.

the meal was pleasant, fun and casual conversation flowing between everyone as you ate. the time to pay came and the waitress approached the table again, gathering the empty plates and glasses.

“how should i split the bill?”

chan spoke up first, gesturing between you and him.

“we’re together.”

felix scanned the table, “anyone need someone to cover them?”

both jisung and sooyeon timidly raised their hands, felix telling the waitress to but then on his tab. hyunjin and minho both payed their own.

as you all got out of your seats and headed for the door, jisung spoke to you.

“y/n, we should hang out with your rich friends more.”

chan heard the words leave jisungs mouth and prepared himself for your reply, but you didn’t say anything along the lines of what he’d expected. you would have. in fact, the words were just at the tip of your tongue.

“they’re not my friends, jisung.”

but as they almost left your lips, they didn’t taste right.

instead, you gave a small laugh, “or you could get a job and use your own money.”

“nah,” he waved a hand in dismissal, “who would drive you around then?”

you waved everyone goodbye as you hopped into the back of jisungs car, letting sooyeon take the front seat because you knew you’d be getting dropped off first anyway.

a week went by and it was finally time for the debates to start. each debate would take an entire class period, so you and chan didn’t have to go until the thursday of the week. you ate your muffin as quickly as you could, silently pouting to yourself that you would have to throw your own wrapper away today without even having thrown it as chan. what a waste.

you’d dressed up a little bit more than normal being that you knew it impacted your grade. you stood at the front of the room with felix and seungmin waiting for chan to arrive so you could begin.

he and hyunjin entered the room seconds before the bell rang, chan not even bothering to go to his seat to put his bag down, just laying it near the door.

you let out a small laugh at the way you, seungmin, and felix were dressed so much nicer than normal, but chan looked just as he did every day.

“you look nice.” was the first thing chan said to you.

you thanked him just as the teacher introduced who would be debating and where each team stood on the topic.

you and chan were set to give the first opening statement, which you’d both agreed you would say. but as the teacher gave the good to go, you found the words stuck in your throat.

chan noticed your nervousness, gently placing a hand on the small of your back and rubbing soothing circles with his finger.

if you’d been told a few weeks ago that chans hand on you like that would calm your nerves, you would have punched whoever said it in the face.

but now, as you focused on the way his hand felt against your back through the thin fabric of your outfit, you felt the anxiety lessen slightly. it was still there obviously, but you were able to get the words past your lips with a tone that made it sound like you were confident.

chans hand remained on your back until the opposite team's opening statement was completed and it was his turn to speak, getting into your first argument.

he’d taken a chance by touching you, but now he was glad he had. regardless of what you said, the way you reacted to his touch proved to him that you didn’t hate him. at least not as much as you claimed to.

the debate was rounded off and there were still a few minutes left of class. there would be no actual decided winner, just a grade to mark how well your teacher deemed your performance.

still, that didn’t stop you from arguing with felix that you’d obviously beat him and seungmin.

“we demolished you, lix.”

“you so did not,” he laughed back, “we actually had to go easy on your guys because we felt bad.”

the four of you argued playfully until the bell rang, releasing you to your next class. chan stopped you just outside the door.

“hey, y/n?”

you turned to him, humming to acknowledge you’d heard him.

“i’ve got a meet tonight, do you wanna come?”

you were taken aback by the question.

“oh, um, where is it?”

“it’s home,” he replied, “just a couple hours after school gets over, so you could probably just wait here if you wanted, we’re not really going to be practicing anyway.”

“i’d have to see if jisung can give me a ride to my house so i can pick up my wallet...”

“no need!” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small card, “use this.”

you frowned slightly at the piece of plastic, it was his fan pass, a free ticket for one person of each swim team members choice to get into every meet for free. each person only got one a season for the sake of still gaining profit, and chan was giving his to you?

you hesitantly took it from his hand, sliding it into your own pocket.

“are you sure?”

“yeah!” he beamed, “you’re the only one i could really think of who i’d want to have it.”

you felt your heart swell at his words, watching as he turned from you and headed to his next class.

you couldn’t fight the stupid grin from climbing onto your face and the giddy feeling in your stomach. chan wanted you at his games, more than anyone else. enough to give you his fan pass to make it easier for you to afford to come.

your heart did a summersault before dropping in realization.

you had been so focused on making sure you didn’t have any platonic feelings for him that you’d completely ignored the possibility of a different kind of feeling.

you had fallen for bang chan.

you didn’t mention your realization to anyone, not even jisung or sooyeon. the only mention of going to the swim meet was when you asked them if they wanted to go with you. sooyeon had to go to work, but jisung said he’d try to make it, letting you know minho would be there even if he himself couldn’t go.

they all went home to drop their stuff off before the meet, but you denied jisungs offer to give you a ride home. instead, you headed to where you the boys would be, as chan put it, not really practicing.

you entered the pool room and saw that he was not joking around, they really weren’t practicing. they weren’t even in swim gear, all just sitting in a circle on the concrete next to the pool and chatting. you noticed a pile of backpacks near the door and you added yours to it before stepping in further.

you weren’t sure whether to approach them or not, they didn’t seem to be doing anything serious, would it be okay for you to join them?

as if reading your mind, chan called you over to sit beside him, sliding closer to one of his teammates you didn’t know the name of to make room for you.

“who’s this?” one of his teammates asked with a curious smile.

“his girlfriend.” hyunjin piped up, earning a chorus of cheers from the rest of the teams. your face flushed red and chan waved his arms to calm everyone down, “y/n is not my girlfriend.”

you swallowed thickly, just a week ago you would have jumped to agree with those words, but now they made your stomach hurt. when did this change even happen? you couldn’t pinpoint it.

he noticed your discomfort, placing a hand on your knee to calm you down, hoping you would have the same positive reaction to his touch that you had that morning.

noticing the action, one of his teammates spoke up.

“not your girlfriend my ass.”

instead of responding to his teammate, chan directed his attention towards you.

“the meet starts in about two hours. i’ve gotta go in one to get ready, do you have someone to wait with you so you’re not alone?

you nodded, “i know minho is for sure coming, jisung might too.”

he wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of minho coming, but at least he knew you wouldn’t be sitting alone.

you thought it would be awkward sitting with chans swim team for an hour, especially considering how much they’d already teased you, but it was actually pleasant.

the group of you talked about random stuff, laughing and joking around. you’d even learned some of their names. jeongin and changbin were the two you spoke to most, aside from chan and hyunjin.

the time came when they had to go prepare for the meet and get changed and you waved them all goodbye, pulling out your phone to text minho and ask if he’d gotten to the school yet.

he responded almost immediately that he had just parked and would be in in a few minutes. you walked out to greet him by the ticket booth where there was already a line forming.

you slipped into line beside him and started casual conversation.

“do you come to sports stuff alone a lot?” you asked, referring to the fact that if you hadn’t been asked to come he would have been sitting alone.

he shrugged, “i guess. you don’t need someone with you to enjoy a sport.” he send a wink your way as he lightly pushed you with his shoulder, “everything is more fun with you, though.”

you laughed, stepping ahead to show the woman taking money the pass chan had given you. before you could get it out of your pocket, minho was thrusting a $10 bill to the ticket taker.

you stopped him, pulling the card from your pocket and showing it to both him and the ticket taker.

“i’ve got this, you don’t need to pay for me.”

he furrowed his brows in confusion, “chan gave you his fan pass?”

you nodded, a blush forming on your cheeks.

he nodded, swapping the $10 for a $5 bill to avoid getting unnecessary change.

you walked into the room and caught sight of your backpack. it was alone on the floor now, all of the boys had taken theirs with them when they went to get changed. you moved to pick it up, pausing when you noticed a sticky note on top of it.

paper clipped under the note was a small amount of cash, and scribbled across the piece of paper was a small note. you knew the handwriting right away, you’d been forced into too many ethics projects with chan not to recognize his handwriting by now.

“forgot to give you this! for if you get hungry :)”

you didn’t notice the smile on your face until minho commented on it.

“what, he’s your sugar daddy now?”

you shoved him lightly, laughing at his joke.

you swung the bag over your shoulder and pocketed the money along with the note (it was cute, you wanted to keep it).

being there so early, it was quite easy to find a good spot. chan had told you which lanes and pools he’d be racing in so you knew where to sit to be able to see him, too.

deciding to finally ask what changed between you two, minho spoke up.

“didn’t you hate him like less than a month ago? and now you have his fan pass?”

you shrugged, “he got less annoying. started acting like a normal person instead of an asshole.”

minho frowned, “he seems the same to me.”

you shrugged, “he probably acts different around different people.”

“so,” he continued, “are you two like...”

you shook your head as your face flushed pink.

“no, no. he just didn’t have anyone else to give the pass to.”

minho raised his eyebrows but hummed and accepted your answer anyway.

you hadn’t noticed time ticking by and the area growing more crowded as you talked until a man stood on a high platform near the center pool with a microphone in his hand began to speak, welcoming everyone to the meet.

the races began and chan wasn’t in any of the starting line ups, but hyunjin was. being the only other person you really knew, you focused on him.

watching swim was different than watching a lot of other sports, but you enjoyed it anyway. there was no fighting for a ball or scoring goals, no ball to follow, but it was just as entertaining to watch the way the water worked with every swimmer.

you were still amazed with hyunjin’s movements. you weren’t surprised in the slightest when his race ended with him being the first to complete the set.

as much as you found hyunjin interesting to watch, you couldn’t help but be happy as the first round ended and the second began, the first chan would be competing in.

you watched as he stepped out to the edge of the pool, scanning the crowd for you. he smiled and sent a small wave in your direction before getting into position to dive.

you ended up not using any of the money chan had given you for drinks and snacks, not even when minho got up to go get some food of his own. you stayed planted in your seat the whole time matches were occurring, always either trained on hyunjin or chan. there were the occasional time that neither of them were racing in any of the pools, but it wasn’t often and rounds were never long enough for you to leave without missing anything.

at the end of the night, the added up scores were close, but chan’s team had won. you weren’t as caught up on the scoring system of swimming as you were of other sports, but you didn’t need to know. the announcer let out the final scores of each team, your schools team coming out on top.

people stood and began to leave as the swimmers began towards the locker rooms and the team managers started cleaning up the pool area and covering the pools again.

chan waited for you before leaving to change, allowing you to congratulate him on the win.

minho said a quick goodbye, stating he had to get home and do some work before it got too late, leaving you and chan alone.

before really realizing what you were doing, you wrapped your arms around chan and held him in a tight hug. he faltered for a moment before wrapping his arms securely around you, holding you close to him. you moved to pull away, but he kept you locked in his arms.

“chan, let me go! you’re still soaked!”

“you hugged me first, you asked for this!”

your hands found his chest as you planted your palms there and pushed him away from you, suddenly very aware of the way his bare chest felt under your hands.

you retracted your hands from his body, wiping them on your pants to dry them off.

ignoring your thudding heart, you spoke.

“now i smell like chlorine.”

a sly smile spread across his face, “no, now you smell like me.”

you blushed and he took a step closer to you, closing the distance between the two of you and holding your elbows as he kept you close to him.

“thank you for coming.”

you smiled up at him and teased, “i only came because you asked me to. i really hated it.”

he gasped in faux hurt, “you mean to say you didn’t enjoy watching me shirtless for three hours?”

you shook your head, “hyunjin looked pretty good though.”

he chuckled and you felt his grip on your arms loosen as he moved one of his hands to your face, cupping your cheek.

the next thing you knew his lips were on yours and for some reason, that didn’t upset you in the slightest. you kissed him back, his lips were so soft for someone who spent half of their time in chlorine soaked water.

he pulled away and scanned your face for any sign of discomfort, a big smile covering his face when he found none.

“i’m not going to lie,” he chuckled, “i kind of thought you’d punch me when i did that.”

you laughed, raising your eyebrows, “i still have time to.”

he removed his hands from you and held them up in defense, taking a step back from you. you laughed even more at his reaction, surprising the both of you and closing the gap, hands going to his neck as you pulled him down into another kiss.

the moment was cut short as the locker room flew open and hyunjin stepped out, pausing in the door when he saw the scene taking place in front of him.

a smile crept onto his features and he spoke with a teasing tone, “i thought she wasn’t your girlfriend.”

you both laughed softly before chan responded, “she wasn’t.”

“is she now?” hyunjin prompted.

chan looked at you with his brows raised as if to ask “i don’t know, are you?”

ignoring the furious blush across your cheeks, you replied, “i mean, yeah.”

hyunjin clapped just hands loudly, “fucking finally.”

“language, hwang!” the coach called from across the large room.

“my bad,” he yelled back before directing his words towards chan, “you should get changed.”

chan nodded, sending one last smile in your direction before walking into the locker room and leaving you and hyunjin.

“when you realize i’m way hotter than chan, give me a call.” he sent a teasing wink in your direction and you laughed as he left the room, leaving you alone.

you waited patiently for chan to come back from the locker room, scrolling through your phone. you debated texting your friends the new update, but you figured you’d just tell them the next day.

despite being the last to go into the locker room, chan was not the last out. he came back to you just a few minutes after leaving.

he held his keys up, signaling it was time to go. you followed him to his car, letting him pull open the door for you. you slipped in as quickly as possible, slamming the door shut behind you and pressing the button to lock the doors.

chan sent a small glare in your direction, but you could see the smile threatening to poke through.

he held up his key fob, clicking his own button to unlock the doors. he made a move to open the drivers side door and pulled on the handle just as you clicked the lock again. you repeated this a few times before letting out a loud laugh and finally allowing him to get into his car, tossing his things into the back seat.

“we’ve literally been dating for less than an hour and you’re already terrorizing me.” he grumbled.

he paused for a moment before continuing, “straight home or are you hungry?”

you shrugged, “whatever you want.”

he nodded, pulling the car out of the parking spot, “food it is.”

he didn’t bother to ask what restaurant you wanted, heading to the same little diner a few blocks away he’d taken you to before.

you laughed as you entered the diner to see the same waitress that had served you the last two times you were there.

“do you ever go home?”

she laughed, “do you two ever eat anywhere other than here?”

“touché.”

you chose your spot before ordering almost immediately, you’d learned that chan also tended to stick with the same choice every time.

“hey,” chan called to the waitress before she could walk away, “guess what?”

“what, dear?”

chan reached across the table and grabbed your hand, “it’s an official date this time.”

she broke into a big smile, “i knew it was only a matter of time.”

you sat down at your spot the next morning with a pout on your face. for the first time in about a month, there was no muffin on your spot.

it wasn’t like whoever put them there was obligated to give you one every morning, but you’d gotten so used to it.

you looked ahead at who would be debating today, you couldn’t recall any of their names.

chan walked through the door earlier than normal due to the fact that there hadn’t been practice that morning because of the meet the night before. you smiled at him as he approached your table, but the smile dropped into a look of confusion as he placed a muffin ahead of you before slipping behind you.

he sat down, “morning, baby.”

when you didn’t respond, a concerned look crossed his features.

“what’s wrong?”

you held up the muffin, “you’ve been giving me these?”

he shrugged, “yeah. i remembered you saying you didn’t always get breakfast.”

as he smiled at you something clicked in your brain.

minhos words from the night before repeated themselves in your head.

“he seems the same to me.”

that’s because he was the same. that was it, he hadn’t changed. he never stopped being an asshole, he just never was one in the first place. he wasn’t ever a prick, you just had your heart set so strongly on hating him that you saw everything he did in the worst way possible. the things he used to do that annoyed you were now things you grew fond of. the way he bumped your chair sometimes in the morning used to make you livid, but now it brought a smile to your face. you used to want to rip his head off when he hummed while working, but you adored the sound now, even going so far as to not put in headphones so you could hear him. he was the same boy he’d always been.

he didn’t change, the way you saw him did.

but just as quickly as these became things you loved about him, they fell right back into being annoying habits.

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