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chilling-seavey · 4 years ago

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Amoureux - The Children’s Character Profiles

A/N Six children are a lot to keep track of so I made one-page summaries for each of them so we can familiarize ourselves with each of their personalities and hobbies!

Henry is the eldest of his siblings and who is known to his parents (and to this blog) as our little prince. His five siblings are just as royal as he is but he is the one who really brought together his family and started his parents on the road to the rest of their lives. Born on the 6th of August 1821, Henry is the only American born child but his nationality is definitely 100% British regardless. He was given two strong regal names, Henry and Alexander both appearing through history as English and French rulers. He was born into poverty but was named to be destined for greatness to seventeen-year-old Daniel and Louisa who had more love than money after fleeing Europe for the sake of their romance. Henry introduced them into the responsibility that parenthood was and forced them to grow up far quicker than they had anticipated. Even still, he is their little prince and they always seemed to have him on a bit of a pedestal.

Moving back to England to the Royal Family and growing up in a palace meant that Henry could get away with quite a bit. He was a naughty little boy like his father had been as a child but he never met much reprimanding from his parents, especially once they started to have more children and their attention was focused elsewhere. Young Henry wasn’t much of a jealous child per se but his younger brother was born the same year his Uncle Christian became King so the little prince who was once the focus of everything, seemed to be pushed back a few steps. This only made him act up a bit more, hiding around the palace and running everywhere instead of walking and putting up fits when it really wasn’t necessary. He just liked being the centre of attention.

After the havoc that young Daniel and Louisa caused across the country, they were determined to make up for it through perfectly properly behaved children…starting with Henry. It took a few years for his uncle to have children which meant, if God forbid his uncle died, he would take the throne (Daniel couldn’t because of his criminal record from being banished before he was born…having a ‘criminal’ on the throne wouldn’t look good to the public). Henry was young and he didn’t understand this too well and his fiery personality was perfect proof of it but he smartened up as he grew up, especially as he learned his place as eldest child. He took his ‘job’ as oldest child very seriously and took charge of his five younger siblings in every way from teaching them French to sneaking them into the kitchen for extra pastries.

It’s safe to say Henry was an active little prince and from a young age he took up horseback riding and eventually started playing polo when he was old enough. Henry was the perfect handsome mix of his uncle and his father with their soft brown hair and shining blue eyes (and his uncle’s dimples) and caught the eyes of young ladies from the moment he was school age. He basked in it too because he loved being the centre of attention – especially if the attention was from girls. There was nothing that the aristocrats’ daughters loved more than watching Prince Henry playing polo or accompanying him on rides around the garden.

Henry never had to become King but he was certainly up to the challenge if the situation arose. He was the pride of his parents and the eye-candy of his country and the key to his family’s entire stability, honestly. Our little prince.

Philip was the first British born child of Daniel and Louisa. He was conceived nearly as soon as the young parents moved back to England and was born into regality from his very first breath. He was born on the 19th of March 1823 at Highgrove where his family resided. He was named after both his British and French regal heritage, his middle name in particular stemming from his mother’s name and the most common name of prior French Kings. He had deep brown hair like his older brother but was the only on of two of the Seavey children to have their mother’s green eyes.

In fact, he was a lot like Louisa in many ways and it was safe to say he was a bit of Mama’s boy from the start. French came easiest to Philip and he often chose to speak it as much as he could – even though he kept having to be reminded by father, siblings, and staff to speak English please. But he could always speak French with Louisa at teatime. Philip was the most perfect little gentleman both with his manners, his dress, and the way he always cared for his mother and his younger siblings the best he could. If Daniel wasn’t around, it would be Philip at Louisa’s side, holding her hand as a boy and offering his arm as a young man. He had a soft spot in his mother’s heart that was for sure.

He was much gentler compared to his hyperactive older brother; but the boys, being quite close in age, got along well regardless. Henry was always one to help coax Philip out of his comfort zone and usually was the one who ended up getting Philip in trouble. The younger brother was more of the reasonable child and was best known to question Henry’s antics. Philip much preferred quiet hobbies like painting or piano – although painting was his favourite. He could paint portraits and landscapes alike and often helped himself to Highgrove’s grounds to get lost in the trees for an entire afternoon with his easel and canvas.

Daniel tried to get his second son into music since his first could hardly sit still at the bench long enough to set his fingers on the keys. Philip humoured his father enough to learn the basics of piano but as he grew up, he kept rushing off to paint or to sit quietly with Louisa in the drawing room. He much preferred the gentle romantic aesthetic of the world and he found his comfort in the green of the grass and the colours of the flowers and even scribbled little poems in the pages of his lesson books – only in French though so none of the staff could ever read them and laugh. He was a shy tender little boy and his mother saw the world in his green eyes and kind soul.

He was gentle but fair in his status as second-eldest and made sure to be the sensible one when his older brother might not have thought something through. Philip was there to ground his family and his siblings and to be the mediator if things got rough. His tame nature was enticing to many and his natural calm aesthetic and the way he saw the world was of nothing but the sweetest of souls.

Margret was the first of three daughters and the third of six children. She was born closest in age to Philip, being born at Highgrove House on the 25th of May 1824. She was the perfect mix of her parents after an eldest boy who took after the English side of the family and a second-eldest boy who took after the French side of the family. With her mother’s light strawberry blonde hair and her father’s bright blue eyes, Margo was the most perfect little princess. At least in her parents’ eyes. She was named after her father’s maternal grandmother and her mother’s maternal grandmother, respectively, making for the perfect combination of British and French.

She was a perfect mix of her parents by looks and a perfect mix of her brothers by personality. She was active like Henry and was just as sneaky as he was – but was better at getting away with it – and yet she was gentle and compassionate like Philip and admired the grace in the world. She tended to turn to French when she was emotional, ever since she was a little girl even having a nightmare in the middle of the night she would crawl into her parents’ room and whimper to her father about her “cauchemar”. Daniel could only really offer her comfort in English but his attempt was nice enough and she always fell right back to sleep in his presence.

Margret’s active side came out from a young age, always getting up to dance around the room when Daniel would be playing piano and it wasn’t long before she got her own ballet instructor. As a dancer, she knew a little bit about music too so she had just enough piano lessons to get by but her focus was on ballet. It wasn’t odd to find her practicing her grande jete’s down the hallways at Highgrove, nearly knocking over candelabras and unaware servants in the process.

Margo was graceful as a ballerina and she could use that to her advantage in her adventures with her siblings, especially when it came to sneaking into the kitchen for extra pastries – a Seavey original antic. As a young tot she was used to pouting her way out of trouble – those blonde curls and big blue eyes always melting any adult’s heart – but once she was older, she was able to cross the entire palace without making a single sound (made for sneaking out a bit easier as a teenager). She seemed to be so stealthy she could walk up behind any member of her family and startle them with a sweet “qu'est-ce que tu fais?” (what are you doing) over their shoulder. Daniel swore he was going to die of a heart attack by the hands of his eldest daughter because of this.

In terms of studies, Margret preferred the languages to the arithmetic or sciences; spending her time practicing French and Latin and keeping her nose in a book as she spun a row of ballet chaînés down the hallways. There honestly wasn’t a time Margret wasn’t dancing. She danced more than she walked truly. Music came easily to her father and dancing came easily to her; both of them constantly hearing music in their heads in their own ways.

Princess Margret was the idealized concept of graceful princess in and out of the palace and made her own appearances at the Royal Ballet as she got older. But she knew her place in her family well and was a gentle and persistent eldest sister.

Fredrick was the youngest surviving son of Daniel and Louisa. He was born in Highgrove on the 27th of February 1826 in the middle of a winter storm. His middle name was a strong English name often passed down from British royalty and his first name was the English form of the Germanic name meaning ‘peaceful ruler’. He was similar to his elder sister with his appearance with their mother’s strawberry blonde hair and their father’s blue eyes and from the moment he was born, his sister took quite the liking to him. The not-even-two-year-old Margret was captivated by her new baby brother and constantly asked to play with him as soon as she possibly could.

Most likely because of this, Fredrick grew up close with his elder sister and tended to copy more of her activities than his elder brothers. Daniel was a little worried he was going to have a second son that preferred tea over solid hobbies but Fredrick’s interests didn’t stop at the garden table. Up to this point, much to Daniel’s glee, Fredrick was his only diligent music student but he took more to the cello than piano which was quite unique. As a young boy, Fredrick was very close to his father because of his interest in the cello and they had lessons together almost every day.

Their slight hostility only began when Fredrick started his studies. Arithmetic didn’t come easily to him and reading and languages were boring and it took him a long time to finally learn how to read in either English or French. He never learned to read Latin. Daniel, once a young boy who detested his own lessons, grew up to understand the importance of an education in his children and Fredrick’s constant dismission of his studies drove Daniel crazy. He saw too much of himself in his youngest son in that case. They argued quite a bit about Fredrick’s studies and Daniel couldn’t understand why he just couldn’t learn the bloody lessons. It was often that Daniel took away his son’s cello to force him to get his work done. Fredrick learned how to swear in French just to curse off his father when he didn’t know what he was saying. Fredrick was a graceful child like his elder sister – and the meaning behind his name – but he could really swear like a sailor when it got down to it.

He never really cared for horseback riding too much but he found his outlet in archery. He was oddly good at it too and Daniel used that to his advantage to help Fredrick with his studies. He would write words on pieces of paper and stick them to the target and every time Fredrick hit one, he would have to read the word to teach himself to read. Any incentive that worked was good enough – especially after his tutor was deemed unfit after he was caught punishing the young prince with a ruler on his palm. Ever seen Louisa yell? You probably haven’t until that day. Fredrick stayed as the least studious of his siblings through most of his youth, much preferring to spend his time in the music conservatory or with a bow and arrow in hand.

Being the youngest boy, Fredrick had to sort of keep on his toes to keep up with his older siblings but he also had more of a gentle nature to support his younger sisters as well. For a middle child, he was a good mix of everything before him and, at the same time, almost fiercely independent.

Adelaide – sweet little Delia – was born on the 3rd of September 1828 right around teatime. It was a warm and sunny afternoon and she was delivered at her family home of Highgrove like her three elder siblings. Her name is Germanic for ‘nobility’ which was quite fitting for her family’s societal standing but her middle name is both a perfect mix of her French and British backgrounds. She was the prettiest of the Royal babies – at least that’s what the staff whispered, and what Margret decreed at her first look at her baby sister – and donned her father’s brown hair and her mother’s green eyes.

From a young age, Adelaide was charming and clever yet sensitive and she saw the world in more of an analytical sense. She asked “why” to everything (both in English and French) and lessons came easily to her from languages to sciences and arithmetic. She knew her multiplication tables at an impressive age and her constant shining colours often made her elder brother Fredrick envious. The likes of his younger sister was something that Fredrick hated to be compared to. Delia was Daniel’s little shining star because of her intelligence and her talent for music and her caring personality. For a girl in the 19th century, Adelaide was taking the world by storm and often questioned her tutors and her family about the ways of the world in terms of politics, sciences, and mathematics. She was a girl ahead of her time.

Adelaide could have been seen as ‘one of the boys’ but there was nothing she loved more than the femininity of life. Teatime with her family or going dress shopping or, especially, where she found her calling in singing. Adelaide had a set of lungs on her and that was apparent ever since she was a baby and could cry loud enough to wake up the servants in the basement. When she was a child, she could scream at the top of her lungs if one of her older siblings tried to play a trick on her – and she always got the pity. This only led her to discovering her gift of singing as a pre-teen, especially when she accompanied her family to the opera and the show brought her to tears. From then on, you could hear her practicing her scales all through the palace – and breaking a few glasses if she really tried. She even sang a few songs for her family and guests when she was older as the entertainer of the house.

Sure, she was arguably the prettiest of the children, but Adelaide was more focused on her studies and her singing than getting married and she was often blind to the callers that would come by the palace for her. Even during balls, she would bore her dance partners with talk of mathematics or sciences until they would up and leave her. Daniel was approached plenty of times by fathers of aristocratic young men who were appalled by Adelaide’s intelligence and scolded him for “not raising a nice young lady”. It never phased him, Daniel (and Louisa) were incredibly proud of their young scholar, especially within the fact that she was a woman, and if no boys wanted to dance with her, Daniel would always gladly take their place.

Henry was her protector since she was so blind to her callers that someone had to ward off the boys. Adelaide was a well-rounded princess and the envy of her siblings but – although she might have used her intelligence to pick on them as a child – she always treated them fairly and with nothing but love.

Victoria was Daniel and Louisa’s rainbow baby (in modern day terms). The Duke and Duchess expected not to have any more children after their son, Alfred, was stillborn in 1829. His death caused much grief in the young parents so they weren’t willing to risk that ever again. But Louisa fell pregnant again and gave birth to a healthy baby girl in the early morning of the 30th of April 1831. The relief that followed a safe birth only had Daniel and Louisa falling more in love with each other and with their new baby. She was named Victoria meaning victory; from overcoming and shining through a great loss. Her middle name was, of course, taken from Daniel’s younger sister. In fact, Victoria even looked like her aunt with light brown hair and those blue Seavey eyes and button nose. She truly looked like a little princess.

Victoria was in love with the idea of royalty and her family’s standing in society. She asked often when it was to be her time to be queen, always hoping for another answer than her mother or father’s usual “you’re a princess, not a queen”. If she asked enough times, they would let her be queen, right? She enjoyed spending time with her Uncle Christian who was king and hearing all the responsibilities he had and she especially liked travelling with him in the Royal Carriage (even after there was an assassination attempt that nearly took young Victoria with it). But she could relate a lot more to her Aunt Anna as youngest child and royal princess and they often went horseback riding around the palace grounds whenever they could.

With five elder siblings, Victoria grew up a little spoiled but also a little tormented. She always tried to keep up with everyone as best as she could and was willing to get up to just as much mischief as her brothers and sisters. She caught up with Henry on horseback and Philip with lingering afternoons in the gardens and clashed most with Fredrick in regard to music. Fredrick was a diligent cello student but Victoria was the only one of her family members to pick up the violin and the two often got into silent arguments with their bows in hand and trying to out play the other. Their usual bickering – as youngest son and youngest daughter – was expected to the other siblings and Daniel and Louisa often had to nearly force them to make up over whatever silly argument they were having.

Victoria could give or take her studies. She did well – especially in the languages where she even took up a little bit of German on top of French, English, and Latin – but would have much rather been with her violin or out with her horse. She could often be seen joined by her more musically inclined brothers and sisters putting on a little band performance for the family and/or guests. Victoria took her royal duties quite seriously – expected from someone who grew up begging to be queen – and she loved traveling into London to visit the public shops and, as she got older, helped to give speeches at various events. She was responsible and respectable and was determined to keep a good public appearance no matter what, not only through hos she carried herself but also within who she chose to spend her time around.

Of course, in the comfort of her own home was where Victoria’s spunky personality could flourish. Afterall, how else was she supposed to keep up with five older siblings?

#👑#character profile #writing #oc #why dont we #daniel seavey fanfic

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scullyy · 4 years ago

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Birthday Boy

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: It's AJs' birthday! The kids have gathered around for another rockin' hootenanny!

A/N: brUH I’ve been working on this for agesssss and it’s finally dooooneeeeee ~~and it’s still not my best but I TRIED and perfection doesn’t eXIST-~~ it’s a VERY belated birthday gift for @bluebutterfly1 cause she’s been wanting this foREVER. SHE'S AMAZING OKAY-

so yeah this is based off a deleted scene from TFS where it was AJ’s birthday and what not anyways ily and enjoy x

It was hard being a kid sometimes, not having the words to describe how you're feeling, not even knowing what it is you are feeling was also a bummer. AJ had hoped he would know when he got older, especially by Clem's age. He would know so many more words and feelings and extra stuff about the world. He had already learned so much just from Aasims' teachings.

But Aasim hadn't taught him why everyone was giving him strange looks this one particular winter morning.

Clem was the first, she wasn't as good of a liar as she thought she was. There was this...odd smile on her face. AJ recognised it as the same smile Louis makes whenever he tries to get out of trouble. Ruby, Violet and Aasim had immediately zoomed off into the school once breakfast was done, only running out to share little whispers with Clementine. Omar was cooking something in his special big pot, more focused than AJ had ever seen, but he refused to tell the kid what it was.

He hadn't even seen Louis! Not even during breakfast! The only other person outside was Willy, still stationed at the watchtower. AJ's curious mind and talkative nature tried to squeeze as much info out of the young boy, but he was able to keep his mouth shut for once.

It all led him to sit beside Clementine in an unusual silence for the two, one that didn't sneak past her. Nothing AJ did - or in this case, didn't - could slip by her radar. "Why the long face kiddo?" Clem bumped her elbow into his shoulder, attempting to steal his attention.

AJ picked at a speck of dry skin on his hand, sporting a very obvious pout. "Did I do something wrong?"

That caught her off guard. Her leg trembled from both the cold and her deeply-bundled nerves. Keeping a secret, especially one she knew AJ was going to love, was tougher than she thought. "What makes you think that?" Her eyes moved rapidly from AJ and the school doors, keeping her crossed fingers hidden beneath her thigh. The other kids better be done soon...

"No one is talking to me. Like when I shot Marlon and everyone got mad at me. I didn't like that and I don't like this." He kicked at the air, his little legs still too short to touch the ground.

"I'm sure everything is fine-"

As her hand reached out to hold him, he pulled himself away, jumping straight to his feet. "Don't say that! I know you're lying!"

His desperation near broke her heart. She could never say no to his cute face, damn him. Heaving a sigh of defeat, she gave in. "Okay fine, follow me." The other kids would surely be pissed at her for letting on too early, but she would rather that than an upset AJ.

And boy did that remove the frown from his face. He bounded around her as she got her crutches in order, kicking up sparkling snow behind him. "Where are we going?"

"The music room-"

The young boy had bolted off before she could finish, reminding her of another young boy she used to know when this all started. "Slow down, kiddo! You're not the one on crutches!"

His eagerness outweighed Clem's command, which was usually his law. He could hear muted talking from within Louis' music room, a few giggles here and there too. He crept closer to the door, utilising his amazing ninja skills. His tiny hand gripped the tinier doorknob, opening the door just a crack to find...huh?

The doorknob was set free from his hand, which had now fallen loosely by his side as he took one quiet step into the room. "What's this?" AJ disturbed the other kids, finding them in compromising positions. Louis was on his very tip-toes, tying some blue tinsel around the fireplace, Aasim and Ruby were lighting the last of the candles as Violet was gently moving the gramophone back into it's original place.

It was a real life record scratch moment.

"Oh shit," Louis broke the silence first, drawing everyone's line of sight to the intruder. He chucked the last of the tinsel up onto the mantle in a careless manner before throwing his hands into the air. "Happy birthday AJ!"

The other kids all dropped what they were doing, raising their hands in line with Louis. "Happy birthday!"

Said child stood there with his mouth hung wide open, taking in the sight. "What?" It was the only word racing through his mind.

Louis kneeled down to his level, sporting one of the biggest smiles AJ had ever seen. "It's your birthday little dude, gotta celebrate it big time."

"My...birthday?" Whatwhatwhatwhatwhat-

Willy tugged on the thick tinsel that ran from the fireplace to Louis' piano. "We managed to scrounge up some decorations from the drama class."

"And we re-used the banner from the party back when these guys got kidnapped." Ruby pointed to the banner above the doorway. The original message 'We're getting them back' had been scribbled out and somehow replaced with 'Happy birthday Alvin Junior'.

AJ spun around, his eyes bouncing between all the bright decor; the flickering candles, the weird fuzzy stuff on the piano, it was all so new. "You did this..for me?"

A slightly puffed Clementine finally made her way into the room, smiling with pure glee at how well her friends decorated the space. She stood beside her boy, trying to decipher what he was feeling. "What do you think AJ?"

"It's awesome!" He threw his hands up into the air.

Louis looked between his friends, all of them sharing evil little smiles. "So, who wants to go first?"

"First in what?" AJ questioned, nearly vibrating at wondering what else they could have planned.

Clementine gently nudged him forward with her crutch, pushing him into the centre of the room. "Gift-giving."

"Gifts?" He continued to question. So much new knowledge in such a short span of time.

Louis dead-panned, merely wanting the festivities to begin. "If you keep asking questions we're going to be here all day. Of course, we got you gifts! It's a thing you give someone to show appreciation or celebrate, and today little dude we're celebrating you."

"I'll go first since my gift is the coolest," Violet was guided over to AJ by Ruby, her smile never wavering. From behind her back she presented a roll up parchment, the corners slightly ripped.

AJ pulled it open and blinked rapidly, taking in the faded faces and text. "Green Day? What's that mean?"

"They were a really cool band, before everything happened," Violet nodded to the outside world. "I figured you could hang it up in your room. If I ever find one of their records, you'll be the first to listen, little man." Slowly guiding her hand to the curve of his shoulder, she gave him a gentle punch.

AJ was still hung up on why a day would be green but appreciated the thought from Violet nonetheless. "They look cool...but what's on their eyes?"

Green Day was a rare source of joy from Violet's sordid childhood, a fleating sense of nostalgia washed over her as she came to realise it'll do the same for him.

Ruby skipped closer to AJ once Violet took a seat on the piano stool, thankful that she got to go next. "I figured since you've become an A+ gardener, you could have this little guy," She brandished from behind her back a small pot, with an even smaller plant inside. "If you take good care of it, he'll grow big and strong."

"Just like me!" AJ was near bursting at the seams; the flower was rather dainty, small and barely purple, yet ready to flourish.

She gently pinched his cheek, gushing openly. "Just like you," Ruby bounced away on her feet, feeling another sense of pride at impressing the tot. She patted Aasim on the back, which turned more into a push when he didn't catch onto her actions. "C'mon, it's your turn now!"

Aasim shuffled over, not bothering to hide his gift. He cleared his throat before passing it to AJ. "Here dude," In his grasp laid a tightly bound book, his name carved into the leather cover. His precious journal that he guarded so dearly the night they first met.

AJ took it gently, treating the book as if it were made of glass. "But it's yours?" He questioned, remembering their first encounter. How times had changed.

Aasim shrugged, unsure of what to say. Dammit, he had this all planned out beforehand! "It's ours. Think of it as 'Ericson's History Volume One', you can finish it off if you like."

"This is cool, I hope I can write as good as you." AJ was so captured by his friend's neat handwriting, he didn't notice Aasims' sincere smile.

"My turn!" Willy yelled, pushing Aasim out of the way in the process. His gift was the only wrapped one, albeit it was wrapped in old textbook pages. A tear in the paper revealed a small piece of wood shining through. "It's a slingshot! Mitch and I used to hit walkers with them all day, now we can!"

AJ hadn't even finished tearing the paper away, but his heart still soared. "That's cool, I wish Mitch was here." He added quietly.

Willy lowered his head, gently fidgeting with his own fingers. "Me too."

Their friend's passing left a forever space in every room, an unnerving emptiness that will never go away.

"Okay Willy, my turn," Omar butted in, wanting to steer the conversation back to the joy. He handed AJ a wooden spoon with a neat little bow wrapped around the handle. "It's my best spoon. You can use it to help me cook dinner tonight."

Louis whipped his head to Omar, shooting daggers from his eyes. "You never let anyone help!"

Omar kept a strong smile as he turned to his friend, unphased. "No, I don't let you help because unlike you the kid actually listens to instructions."

"I listen, just like to take a more...casual approach to cooking." He shrugged, finding a sudden interest in his shoes.

"If by casual you mean undercooking the fish, then sure."

Louis poked his tongue out at his friend before sauntering over to AJ, ready to present the greatest gift of all fucking time. "I figured it's time for an upgrade, say goodbye to that crusty knife," Louis whipped out a small bar stool from behind him, holding it out in front of the boy. "I present...Stoolio! Get it? Cause it's a stool."

"Nope!" AJ beamed brighter than Clem had ever seen, despite the joke flying way over his head. Louis just had that effect on people. The stool was heavier than it seemed, as it immediately hit the floor when AJ took ahold of it. The faded wood declaring the weapons' age, AJ traced the deep cracks with his fingers. "I think I'll call it CJ, Chairles Junior, like my name."

"That's a much better name. It's strong like you too. It defeats monsters, protects people and looks super cool." He purred, selling the gift as only the best of the best.

AJ looked between his new weapon and Louis, letting the weight of it settle in his small palms. It was stronger than his little knife, though not as easy to hold as his gun. But if Louis could do it, so could he. "Sounds more like you."

Clementine noticed the hitch in Louis' breath, both their hearts thumping from the young boys' sentiment. Louis could feel his heart slip up into his throat, thumping faster than his breathing could keep up. "Uh, wow, thank you. It's both of us."

If only AJ was aware of how much his statement meant to Louis, how he would hold onto it during his weakest hours. If that kid could believe in him, he must be doing something right.

Louis cleared his throat, choking back a quiet sob as his heart settled back down. "There's one final surprise, from all of us." He hopped over to a box beside the ladder, dragging Omar over with him.

The boys reached into the box and began to lift something of great weight, as they struggled to keep a tight grip. "Just don't ask how we got it." Omar heaved, forgetting just how little muscle he truly had.

From the box emeregd something AJ could only imagine in his wildest daydreams. A...giant...Disco Broccoli!

The tot stood in pure disbelief, his jaw hanging wide open. "Is that-"

"Oh hell yeah it is," Louis sneered, maybe just a little more excited than AJ.

The boys set it down besides the dusty fireplace, with Omar wiping his brow. "You like it?"

AJ wandered closer, getting a better look. It was certainly Disco Broccoli, despite there being a hole in his cartoon hand. He had the cool glasses and everything! But he looked...funny. "What...what is it?"

Louis clasped the tots' shoulder, it was always a fun venture showing him something from the old world. Seeing the wonder in his wide eyes, made the hassle Louis went through to get the damn thing worth it. "It's a pinata, bro! You hit it and stuff is supposed to come out."

Omar tapped the side of the pinata, being greeted by a soft echo. "There's nothing in it, but it's still fun to hit."

"You can use Chairles Junior there." Louis was nearly bouncing at the idea as he handed the stool leg to the birthday boy, ready for the absolute carnage he was about to witness.

AJ gripped his new(ish) weapon tightly, eyeing down the funny looking Disco Broccoli. "Awesome."

Clem watched from the piano as AJ tried to lift the stool above his head, nearly tipping over from its' weight. Her thoughts drifted to a dream she had, Lees' words at the forefront of her thoughts. "Wanting to give him a childhood, but knowing what it takes for him to survive."

"You okay, Clem?" Louis bumped his shoulder with hers, breaking her away from her memories.

Nodding slightly, Clementine hoped he couldn't notice the tears in her eyes. "Yeah, thanks for this. It's amazing."

"No problemo, it's good to see him smile."

Clem continued to watch AJ laughing with his friends, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "He's been doing that a lot since we've arrived here."

Louis continued to gaze at her, despite her not noticing. "You both have."

Just as it had always been, Clem and AJ sat side by side together on the steps of the courtyard, appreciating the rare beauty of the sunset. The sky a gallery of purely blue and purple. Clem disrupted the silence first, after having spent a lengthy amount of time remembering Rebecca and Alvin, wondering if they would be proud of their young boy. "Can I admit something?"

AJ curiously turned to her, awaiting with an eager tap in his foot.

"I don't actually know if today is your birthday," She pouted. "I know it's at the start of winter, but that's it. There were no calendars, no way to check the date. I just kinda had to guess every year. I also don't know how old you actually are." If she had to guess, either six or seven. Without access to a calendar, all these years trying to keep track of the fleeting months grew tiresome and redundant. Each day was the same, a date made no difference. Hell, she wasn't even sure of her own age anymore.

"Maybe I'm a thousand years old!" He bounced like the truly giddy child he was.

Clem laughed openly into the chilly air. "Sure thing, Grandpa." She pushed at his shoulder before looking back at the sky, knowing deep within her gut that Alvin and Rebecca were smiling with her.

They remained in a balanced silence for a while, until AJ turned back to her. "I don't think it matters. I get bigger and stronger every day, no matter how old I am I'll always protect us."

Clementine wrapped her arm around him, pulling him in close the same way she always had and the same way she always will. "I know you will, forever," She pressed a firm kiss to the top of his head, smiling into his thick hair. "Wanna know what we're having for dinner?"

"What?"

"Beans with apple slices."

"BEANS!"

#twdg #the walking dead game #the walking dead game season four #twdg clementine #twdg aj #telltales the walking dead #twdgs4 #twdg the final season #twdg fanfiction #twdg headcanons #fanfiction #scullyy

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shes-an-oddbird · 4 years ago

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Christmas at River’s End Mall

Summary - A Christmas AU in which everyone navigates their seasonal jobs, relationships and Christmas spirit, or lack there of, through woven together tales inspired by holiday prompts.

Chapter 7- Pictures with Santa

Summary - Piper goes with Davis and his son to meet Santa before her interview. When she steps away to grab a coffee she ends up meeting someone new.

Prompt - Picture with Santa Relationship - Piper & Davis (Minor Piper/Kora) POV - Piper

Piper flinched as another child, standing way to close, shrieked with joy.

“This is taking too long.”

“I thought you wanted to see your godson meet Santa for the first time.”

“I never said that, I just felt bad that his mother had to work, so I thought his godmother should fill in,” Piper jumped back as several children ran between them. “If I knew it was going to be like this I would have reconsidered.”

Davis bounced his son, James, in his arms. “Don’t you listen to her, she’s just pretending to be grumpy, yes she is, she wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“Don’t talk like that, you sound like an idiot.” Piper's brow wrinkles in distaste. She hates baby talk. “I should have at least come with coffee.” She wonders if she would have time before her interview to grab a cup. She glances at her watch. It was already cutting it way too close. “I’m going to be late.”

Davis looks down at her amused. “Does it matter, how are you going to get a job as head of mall security if you can’t even handle being around a bunch of kids.”

“I don’t think I’ll be carting off kids to mall jail,” Piper snarks back, “When I talked to May about the job, she said I’m supposed to help cut down on theft and brawling on mall grounds.”

“Clearly she doesn’t have any kids.” A dark-haired mother in front of them spoke up with a knowing smile.

The father nods as well, “no kidding, you want to know how to get away with stealing just about anything?" he asks the pair and Piper wants to say no but chances were they were going to be stuck behind this guy a bit longer and being rude was not really an option. “Have a baby do it, when this one was a tot he used take things off the shelf right at check out, no one even noticed.”

“Yeah and you were the only one who made a big deal of it, marching a two year old back into a shop to give it back.”

“Carla I was teaching him a life lesson.”

The man’s wife rolls her eyes and ushers her family forward.

Piper shifts back and forth impatiently. As soon as an elf walks past, Piper quickly flags her down. “Excuse me, do you know how much longer it will be before we get up there?”

She glances up at Santa’s podium. “Maybe ten minutes, Santa’s being chatty today.”

Piper tries unsuccessfully to hold in her frustration. “Go get a coffee would you, you’re bringing down the Christmas spirit.” Piper shoots him a look before stepping out of line and wading through a sea of kids. “Bring back a snack for James, no chocolate or he’ll be a mess before the picture.” She waves in acknowledgement because her first option for responding would have been frowned upon in present company.

She takes the stairs up three flights and looks back down over the balcony to see if Davis had moved ahead much farther in line. To her relief only one more family had finished up. She wouldn’t admit it out loud but she didn’t actually want to miss James meeting Santa for the first time.

She hurries over to Mockingbird’s where Bobbi and a new girl are hovering over what looks like a well worn instruction manual.

“Hey Piper, what can we get for you?” Bobbi asks, while the new girl, Kora according to her name tag waits eagerly next to her.

Piper rattles off her usual order.

“I’ll get it!” Kora offers.

“She’s new?”

Bobbi watches the younger girl affectionately. “Yeah, she's very enthusiastic and a little clumsy,” Bobbi explains, “but she can make those cute coffee art designs on the drinks, like you see in commercials, which has been great for social media promotion.”

“What about coffee, can she make coffee?” because really, what was the point of bringing in customers if your coffee sucked.

“Actually yes, she’s really getting the hang of the espresso machine, which is fantastic because I myself, am about five minutes from pushing it out the window.”

Piper raises an eyebrow at her words. “Isn’t the Christmas tree lot like right below us?”

The barista brushes it off. “He moves fast.” And with that Bobbi gestures for the next group in line to step forward and Piper slides down along the counter, taking in the selection of snacks before grabbing a couple of boxes of animal cookies. They looked the least messy.

“Can I get these as well?” She asks Kora. She glances over her shoulder in surprise.

“Oh yes!” She moves to the register in a flash, quickly adjusting her total before returning to her beverage preparation. She adds a bit of cream and gives it a quick stir. Then picks up a cup cozy and scribbles something on in before she drops the beverage in and passes it over.

Piper glances at the cozy. Bobbi had ordered kitschy ones for the shop and this one has a one to ten “Hotness” scale on the side beneath where they wrote the customer’s name. Kora had written in an eleven and underlined it.

She doesn’t think much of it.

Piper picks up one of the lids from the dispenser and prepares to place it over the to go cup when she sees the design of a little heart on the top of her beverage and stops. Had she meant to do that? Maybe it was just a gimmicky thing Bobbi asked her to do.

“Is it okay?” Kora asks nervously.

“No, no its fine, but um,” Piper falters. Why wouldn’t it be okay? Had she done something she wasn't supposed too? “Do you make these for everyone?”

“No of course not,” she answers, puzzled by the suggestion.

Oh.

Okay.

She glances back at the little heart that is starting to swirl away into an indistinguishable blob. It was a little cutesy for her taste but… she looks back at Kora who is fidgeting uncomfortably.

“Thanks.” Piper places the lid on the cup with a smile on her face. “I’ll see you around?”

“As long as Bobbi doesn’t fire me.”

“Well hey, fingers crossed.”

***

Piper gets back just in time. The family ahead of them had just stepped up to meet Santa and she still has fifteen minutes before she was supposed to be at her interview.

“Here, one animal crackers for the whiney baby and here is one for James.” Piper teases as she hands the first box to Davis and then holds the second in front of baby James who reaches excitedly for them.

“You’re in a better mood.”

Piper shrugs and takes a sip of her coffee. “I guess.”

“Okay you guys are up.” The elf from before waves them forward. They step up to Santa’s chair. She man in the suit makes a believable Santa, with his pale blue eyes and kind smile. Unfortunately for them, James does not think so and when handed over to the Santa he immediately bursts into tears.

“He takes after you!” Davis doesn’t find her jest funny. He steps forwards to try and cheer up his son.

“No worries I’m great with kids.” Santa exclaims in a jolly voice. “What’s your name buddy?” He bounces the little boy on his knee and James momentarily stops to look at him. Suddenly, he reaches forwards, yanks on Santa’s fake beard and then screams even louder than before.

“Come on James, please don’t cry.” Davis pleads and attempts to apologize to Santa while she and the elf both try not to laugh.

“Alright you both suck at this, give him here.” Piper hands her coffee to Davis, scoops up James and looks him dead in the eye. “Look kid, you and I both know this is a little ridiculous, I mean you’re not even going to remember this except for maybe as your first childhood trauma but it means a lot to your doofy dad so let’s give him one little smile and get the heck up out of here.”

James stares back at her curiously and no longer crying. His large brown eyes blink at her several times from his tear-stained cheeks before a little giggle escapes him and she can’t help but grin back. “See you just have to talk to him like a person, not with that ridiculous baby talk, right kid?”

She passes James back to Santa who takes on a very professional tone as well, asking him what he wants for Christmas while the photographer snaps a photo.

“Not bad Piper, I’m truly impressed.”

“Thank you, I guess I’m just having a good day.”

“Oh yeah, why to you say that?”

Before she can respond the photographer asks Davis if he wants to be in the picture as well. In a couple long strides he’s at Santa’s side and looking back at the camera. The photographer snaps a couple of pictures and Piper peeks at the computer where the images immediately pop up on screen.

“Geez Davis, try smiling, you look like a damn robot.”

#agent piper #agent davis #kora (aos)#christmas at the mall #25 days of christmas

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talechaser-ffxiv · 5 years ago

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Okaeri - Welcome Home

Title: Okaeri - Welcome Home Word Count: 2288 (Est. 12 mins) Synopsis: P’shali finds himself taking care of the newest unexpected member of the family This was written as a continuations of @thedarkestdragonknight‘s stories, Blood On The Steppe, Fatherhood, His New Chapter, and At Home And Into Their Arms. As a warning, those chapters have some dark content that isn’t for those of delicate sensibilities, but hopefully I wrote this well enough that you can enjoy it without worrying about not knowing the whole story. That said, I hope you enjoy.

____________________________________________________

P’shali didn’t know how long he’d been sitting in the loft, peering past the edge of the couch to watch the boy nestled on the bed nearby. Some part of him was afraid of the child somehow climbing the rail and toppling over the edge—that’s certainly what he would have done at that age. Never mind the fact that the child was small, a tiny Raen boy barely five years old. Not only that, the boy was sleeping. He didn’t seem to be going anywhere for the time being. As the Seeker continued to watch the boy, he found himself racking his brain for an idea—any idea—to help bridge the gap and help the child feel at home. Jacques had filled them in on the boy’s tragic ordeal, and the puffy redness to P’shali’s otherwise sunken eyes betrayed the fact that he had spent much of his usual sleepless night crying. When he had stopped crying, he made sure to see his partners off for the day. Jacques and Swath had their usual day-to-day work to do, after all... and Jacques had likely made plans to visit the market to find things to help them look after the boy. That left him to watch the child in the meanwhile, something that he’d thankfully had experience with as the oldest of his siblings. He’d just never had to handle tending to a child more traumatized than he was.

He found himself thinking and thinking and thinking. What could they do to help him feel at home? They lived in the Mist, so the boy would hopefully enjoy the sea air and find comfort in it... He hadn’t spoken a word since he’d come into their home. Could he even talk? Did he even speak their language? Nonverbal communication seemed essential... he would have to figure something out. Though that would depend on the boy actually feeling comfortable with him, and he didn’t even know if the child had ever seen a Miqo’te before... what if he got scared? He didn’t have Jacques to help him if something went wrong... Now he was the one that was scared. He took a deep breath, settling back on the couch as he tried to relax. He was just thankful he didn’t have any commissions to work on at the moment—the benefits of being a freelancer, apparently. Still, he always felt antsy when he wasn’t making things. Right now, that anxiety was just growing and growing as he struggled internally with his worries over the child. There was a brief pause in his thoughts, and then the light came on inside his head. He had an idea now. Glancing back to the child once more, he crept away slowly, doing his best to avoid creaking the stairs as he slunk off to get to work. ———

It had been another bell or three or more before he finally heard shuffling up in the loft, but he had his back turned the entire time, attention focused on his work while he kept one cautious ear turned back towards the sounds. The room was filled with the scent of food, of salt and fish and seaweed. He was currently cutting the yakizakana into small, manageable pieces, setting it on a plate alongside a small bowl of rice with natto on top, some miso soup, with some umeboshi on the side—pan-seared fish, rice with fermented soy beans, soup, and pickled plum. His guild-sponsored trips across the sea had paid off, thankfully. It was a simple enough meal to make; he just hoped it was familiar. Comforting. If nothing else, he just hoped it made the boy happy. Tiny feet plodded carefully down the stairs, no doubt following the arrow signs he’d made to guide the child to his destination: the kotatsu. He’d made it for himself ages ago, and he usually kept the thing upstairs in his own room. He’d dragged it downstairs as quietly as he could, piece by piece, before reassembling it over some soft carpeting. He didn’t have the material to make tatami yet, and hadn’t thought of a need for it before this. He had to make do where he could, after all. He could hear those quiet footsteps faltering, slowing down as they drew closer, before stopping completely once they reached the table. He was almost certain he could feel a pair of wide eyes staring at him in what he could only assume (and hope) was surprise or confusion. Once the plates were finished, he turned to risk a glance at the boy—sure enough, he was staring. Swallowing hard, P’shali took a deep breath before lifting both plates, setting them down on the kotatsu. Hopefully he wasn’t breaking some unknown cultural rule here—he just wanted the boy to have a good meal with things that were at least vaguely familiar. He laid out two pairs of chopsticks alongside each plate, followed by the bowls of soup and rice. He could see hunger in the boy’s eyes, in his expression... but also fear, shyness, which caused hesitation. P’shali could relate to that, all too easily. “You slept a long time, I hope you’ve got a healthy appetite.” P’shali grinned at the boy, gesturing slightly to his stomach with his hands as he spoke. It was reflexive—he was always one to gesticulate from time to time as he spoke, but it was almost a certainty if he suspected a language barrier. He couldn’t help it. “Are you hungry?” P’shali watched the boy as he fidgeted shyly, waiting as patiently as he could with each passing second dragging on like minutes before the tot finally nodded. P’shali smiled again, more gently this time, gesturing to the side of the table with the smaller portions—he was still a child after all. “Let’s have some breakfast. I hope you like it.”

He gently helped the Raen child to his seat, handing him a pair of chopsticks to eat with. He’d had to make them himself, a proper size for such small hands, but he had more than a few pairs for himself—spend enough time in Kugane, and enough practice could be had learning to use the things. He almost preferred them to other utensils now. Once the child was settled, he took his seat across from him, smiling before picking up his own chopsticks. At least the boy seemed to be a little more at ease, though he was almost painfully shy. Again, something he could relate to, which made it all too easy to exercise patience. As long as he could keep things going like this for just a while longer, Jacques would be home, and things would be easier to handle.

Their meal was eaten in silence for the most part, though he could tell the boy was amused whenever he messed up and fumbled with his chopsticks. The boy held them more naturally than he did, and while he wasn’t exactly clumsy with them, he made mistakes here and there just to make the boy laugh. Sure, it meant he ended up with fish in his soup and plum in his rice, but the boy was relaxing. He even got a particularly hearty laugh when his fur stood on end from getting a particularly sour bit of plum in his mouth at once. All in all, things seemed to be going well with the boy.

The boy… that thought made him sad. He didn’t know his name… and the child didn’t seem inclined to talk anytime soon. What could they even do?

————

Cleanup after their meal went by easily—more bonding was had over washing the dishes and getting splashed with water from time to time. Once everything was cleaned up, P’shali took the boy up into the loft, laying out large sheets of paper and wax crayons for them both to use. He didn’t want to risk a mess of paints just yet, but he figured this would be a good way to keep the boy occupied. He took a seat beside him, handing the boy a crayon. The child stared at it in silence. P’shali waited patiently.

Did he not know what to do with it?

After another moment’s wait, P’shali picked up a crayon of his own. He leaned over the paper before drawing a rough sketch—a simple, childish doodle of a certain Xaela. The boy’s eyes seemed to light up in recognition. P’shali smiled to himself, but kept it in check as he drew the next person. He drew Swath next, overemphasizing the leporine ears to make sure the boy would recognize him too. He drew Sebha’to on Jacques’s other side, making sure to draw him with that added Keeper fluff… making a mental note to hide the drawings once they were done here. He wasn’t sure how any of them would take to seeing such childish caricatures of themselves.

A tug on his sleeve distracted him, and he saw the boy pointing to himself. P’shali grinned back at him before drawing him next. He made sure to draw him next to Jacques—he had a feeling the boy would like having his doodle-self next to the one that had saved him. Once the drawing was done, he looked back to the boy. The boy had now occupied himself with his own scribblings, using his own crayon to fill in the empty space beside his own portrait to draw some crude shapes. P’shali’s ears began to droop as he watched—it didn’t take long to piece together that the boy was drawing his own family.

P’shali waited for him to finish. He was surprised the boy wasn’t crying by the time he was finished. The child was young enough, maybe he didn’t fully understand what had happened? He knew enough to know his parents weren’t around. But did he know that they weren’t coming back?

The familiar sting of tears behind his eyes forced him to push those thoughts back.

P’shali picked up a separate sheet of paper before he began drawing again. The images were crude, childish, but recognizeable, and the story they told was one he knew all too well. It was the story of a young boy who was so ill-behaved he got chased away from home, ran away out of spite and hurt before getting himself too lost to find his way back, who was stuck wandering before he eventually found a new family to love him as he was. He chose to leave out the part about the Calamity—the boy was too young to know what it was, and he didn’t want to scare him with it. He could feel the child watching him drawing by this point, and he could only hope that he understood.

While he was drawing the last part, drawing the crude doodle of himself with Jacques, Sebha’to, and Swath, he felt another tug on his sleeve. The boy was pointing to the original drawing before pointing to him, and it took P’shali a moment to understand. He’d forgotten to draw himself. He gave a slight nod before adding his own self-portrait to the drawing, short and fuzzy… not unlike his father. That was a bit of a scary thought. He loved his father, but he didn’t know how to process being so much like him when he was still so young.

He could hear the boy giggling, and he could guess why—he’d drawn himself ridiculously tiny, smaller than he’d drawn the child. P’shali made a face, sticking out his tongue before crudely writing the Doman character for ‘small’ over his own head in the drawing. He was short and he knew it. He knew the boy would be taller than him by the time he was fully grown, too.

As if reading his thoughts, the boy answered him by writing the character for ‘big’ over his own drawing. He watched him closely—it looked like he was trying to write more, but the way his expression screwed up, it was clear to P’shali that he didn’t know how to write, not completely. The boy’s writing was smudged, shaky… he could barely read it. He could vaguely recognize the characters at least… or thought he did. His knowledge of the language was shaky at best, and the boy’s poor writing skills didn’t help. Still, he was fairly certain he could guess what it said.

“…Sui…getsu… right?”

The boy looked up at him. There was confusion at first, so P’shali wrote out the characters more clearly. Those were the ones he recognized. Water, and moon. They stood out to him, so he remembered them for the most part. “Suigetsu.” He looked once more to the boy for confirmation. The way the child smiled was reassuring, but he didn’t know for sure if he was on the right track. If nothing else, it could serve as a temporary name until he recalled his true name. He opened his mouth to speak further, but stopped as he suddenly had the tiny Raen in his lap, hugging onto him. He could feel the tiny horns pressing into his shirt as the boy’s face was buried against his breast, but he didn’t mind. He simply wrapped his arms around the child in kind, smiling warmly.

“…welcome home, Suigetsu…”

He brushed his hand over the boy’s hair, keeping one arm around him to support him. He hadn’t held a child like this since he was still with his tribe, it was a surreal feeling to say the least. Still… it felt right. Suigetsu was their child now, their responsibility… their family. He would do whatever it took to keep him safe… to keep him happy. It would be a long road for him to recover from his trauma, but they were here for him at least.

P’shali held Suigetsu close until the boy was ready to let go. Gently, he sat him down on the floor again, before smiling as he held up the crayon again.

“So… what shall we draw next?”

#ffxiv #ffxiv rp #mateus rp #ch: p'shali #P'shali Talechaser #ch: Suigetsu Cresent #fluff #family #children #parenthood #Shali would be a good dad I think #an awkward dad but a good dad #also Suigetsu is adorable and I will fight for him

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solange-lol · 5 years ago

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not so typical love song - ch. 3/13

Chapter Title: Strawberries & Cigarettes

Words: 1,741

Art by @lizzybizzyo! <3

read on ao3

—

Over the course of the next few weeks, Nico and Blue exchanged numerous emails. Whether he was at school, at home, or anywhere in between, Nico did his best to reply as soon as possible. It even ended in his phone being confiscated a few times in a couple different classes. Nico couldn’t help it, though; every time a new email popped into his inbox there was an unfamiliar fluttering in his heart and itching in his hands to reply just to hear what Blue had to say.

One morning Nico had forgotten to set his alarm, and in his rush to school had no time to read the most recent email from Blue, much less respond to it. He snuck out of lunch and headed for the library and their computers that afternoon. It was a risky task, considering their computers were right there in the open and anybody, including Blue himself, could walk behind him, but it was a risk Nico was willing to take. The service at their school was beyond shitty; Nico really wasn’t in the mood for waiting half an hour just for the email to load. And something about their most recent conversation had Nico’s heart racing.

He had suggested a John Snow costume for himself before casually asking Blue what he planned on dressing up as. He knew for a fact that the Stoll brothers were once again hosting their famous Halloween party that nearly the entire school showed up to. As long as it wasn’t something stereotypical like a pirate or a ghost, there was a chance Nico might be able to at least scope out who Blue may be. It was no secret that Nico’s curiosity was growing on who was behind all the emails, but Blue was a private person and refused to give out too many details.

Nico logged in quickly to his gmail and opened the unread notification in his inbox.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 28 at 6:07 AM

Subject: Re: Halloween Costumes

I’m sure you would look great in a John Snow costume. Not just anyone can pull off that hair, but something tells me that you can. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a trick or treater.

I’m not dressing up for Halloween though. My mom has this tradition of going to the Halloween open mic night at some bar, which leaves me stuck at home handing out candy. (Don’t worry, I still have pumpkin sweater to wear for the occasion. It’s the ugliest thing you’ll probably ever see.)

For me, Halloween is all about the Oreos with the orange frosting in the middle. I’m not usually one to indulge in a lot of sweets, but chocolate is my downfall. And those Halloween edition Oreos are a personal favorite of mine.

-Blue

While Nico was disappointed to not get any more of a lead on who Blue was, he still felt himself smiling at the Oreo obsession.

He typed out a response as quickly as he could, hoping to still be able to make it back to lunch so he could eat before the period was over.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 28 at 12:37 PM

Subject: Re: Halloween Costumes

It’s unfortunate that you’re not dressing up, I feel like you would be someone to come up with a witty costume but it’s actually GOOD. (i.e. not the ‘holy cow’ costume I did with my friend a few years back with involved cow onesies and angel wings and halos. Never again.) At least you aren't crushing that childhood trick or treater spirit with that pumpkin sweater, which I hope one day I get to see.

And you’re not wrong about the Oreos. I hope whichever party I’m being dragged along to this weekend has them because they are freaking delicious.

-Angel

He attached a gif of cartoon pumpkins floating down onto an Oreo cookie that was already covered in orange frosting. Just as Nico hit send, Mr. Brunner wheeled up to him.

“Hey, Nico!” Mr. Brunner said. “How are you? You’re smiling pretty big, so there must be something good going on!”

“Oh, um,” Nico cleared his throat as he quickly put the computer to sleep. “Nothing crazy. Just checking grades. I got an A on my English paper.” He actually got a B+, but he needed a coverup quick before Mr. Brunner asked any more questions.

Thankfully, it worked. “Oh, great job!” Mr. Brunner said, placing his hand on Nico’s shoulder. “I’m glad to see you’ve been pretty happy these past few weeks.”

Nico forced a laugh. “Uh, yep. Just having a good month.”

“Good, good.”

There was a few seconds of silence before Nico spoke again. “Anyway, uh, I need to get back to lunch. Have a good day, sir.” He turned quickly, barely catching Mr. Brunner raising an eyebrow at the formal tone. He nearly ran straight into Octavian as he rushed out the library, who just gave him a dirty look, which Nico ignored.

“Where have you been?” Reyna asked once he reaches the courtyard. The weather was nice today, not too cold, unlike the past days that month, so the school allowed students to eat outside if they chose.

Nico dropped down in the seat next to her. “Library. Just checking grades.”

Reyna nodded, clearly not completely believing him. “Here are your burnt tots because you have horrible taste,” she said, thankfully dropping the subject and also said tater tots onto Nico’s tray.

Nico nodded in thanks, before picking the not-quite-ripe banana off his tray. “And here is your green banana because you like disgusting things,” he shot back as he handed it to her. Reyna only hummed in agreement.

Piper looked between the two of them, brow furrowed.. “You guys are weird.”

“You get used to it after a while,” Jason sighed next to them.

They continued to chatter as Will, Cecil, Lou Ellen, and the Stoll brothers slid onto the other two empty benches around their table. Nico ripped open a pack of Oreos that he had brought, which earned him a small lecture from Piper about eating dessert before he had lunch.

“Am I right, Will?” she asked the boy across the table once she’s finished.

Will just shrugged and nodded. “Sure.”

“Thank you.”

As Piper went back to her conversation with Jason and Reyna about halloween costumes, Will nudged his hand. Surprised, Nico looked up at him.

“Oreos,” Will smiled. “I love those. Halloween ones are the best.”

Nico laughed shakily, but it felt like his heart had just leapt to his throat. “Yeah, though good luck trying to get any of mine this time. I don’t give up that easy,” he managed.

“You’re in luck then,” Will said with a grin as he reached into his back pocket “—because I brought my own.” He displayed a package nearly identical to the one Nico was holding, but with orange filling rather than the classic white cream ones in Nico’s hand.

He laughed with Will, but his mind was racing.

Did he just find Blue?

Was is possible that he would find Blue so early on? They had only been talking for about a month, there was no way Blue would drop it easily.

And yet, part of him could hear Will’s voice echoed in some of the emails he’s received. He can imagine Will laughing at his awkward childhood stories, or blushing as he types out one of his own. They’re goofy, fun messages while still being reserved. It would fit for Will.

“Nico? Nico—” Piper waves her hand in his face, zapping him from his trance and tearing his gaze away from Will who, thankfully, was too wrapped up in a conversation with Cecil to notice him staring. “Hello? Anybody home? What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing, sorry. Just tired. Uh, what’s going on?” He blinked a few times, focusing back on Piper. Her brow was furrowed, but she didn’t say anything.

“Just planning the Halloween party,” Travis said from across the table, high-fiving his brother. “Our mom’s out of town for the week again, so we’re going full swing. Everybody’s invited!”

Nico just smiled at the enthusiasm. The Halloween party had been tradition since their freshman year, and it was only getting bigger as they got older. Being surrounded by a bunch of drunk kids wasn’t usually Nico’s choice of event, but this was the only party he ever really attended, so he could stand it. Once a year, at least.

“You are going, right?” Will asked. “Because I couldn’t do karaoke alone.” Nico was surprised that Will was asking him. Maybe deep down he knew something too.

“Yeah,” Nico smiled. “Yeah, I’m going.”

---

Nico found himself watching Will in their environmental science class. It’s last period, the only class they had together. Will sat two rows over from him, and further in the back while Will sits up close to the teachers desk.

Blue’s most recent email, which he received shortly at his lunch, plays in his head. But this time, he hears it all in Will’s voice.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Oct 28 at 1:21 PM

Subject: Re: Halloween Costumes

I’m glad to see we are in agreement about the Oreos, that would have been a dealbreaker for me.

On a totally different, non-cookie related note: is it weird that I have no idea what you look like but I can’t stop thinking about kissing you?

-Blue

Nico sucked in a breath, hearing those words over and over again, the test in front of him forgotten. Instead, he watched as Will’s curls bounce when he leaned forward, and Nico could just barely see a glimpse of his pink tongue dart from between his lips for just a second as he concentrated. He watched freckled, tan skin that lead from his neck and under his shirt, down his arms all the way to his palms. They danced like stars as Will scribbled in another answer.

“Nico,” the teacher called, and Nico quickly looked over to him. “Eyes on your own paper.”

He’s about to look away when Will turned around and time seemed to stop for a moment. Will flashed a soft smile and shook his head at him. Nico smiled and rolled his eyes back, but inside, it felt like he might explode.

#solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #pjo #heros of olympus #nstls #pjo hoo big bang

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blog-in-a-corner · 6 years ago

Text

TSOTBL - Plight

YALL IM SO SORRY THIS IS COMING OUT LATE SJFHFNJ

Kim couldn't stop thinking about the cave system behind the library. It was so very intriguing, she could explore it all day. Unfortunately she couldn't, as Lucinda and Aaron didn't let anyone go inside, for everyone's safety of course.

“Hmph it's not fair, that cave is so cool and I can't even explore it….” Kim moped, body flopped over the couch. “Aww c'mon Kim, there's still the library...!” Garroth reminded, trying to lighten her up. “True, true, but still…” Kim mumbled, bummed out. “Maybe when we're done with the lodge, we can go somewhere you'd like.” Garroth suggested. “I just wanna go back home. To my rock collection, my tamagotchis, and my two frogs, Peanut and Tater Tot…” “Don't worry Kim, we'll all be home soon.” “Yeah... what are you gonna do right now anyway?” “I think I'm going to go and read my book right now.” “Again? I mean, I understand how addicting a good book can be, but you've been spending hours in your room reading for the past few days now. Sometimes it feels like I don't see you unless we all eat, or have to clean.” “Stop nagging me about it geez! There's nothing to do here, so what if I spend most of my time reading a book? It’s just something I really like, why is that such a problem?!” Garroth snapped at Kim, defending himself. “Hey I was just saying! Geez, I….I didn't mean to make you upset, I'm sorry…” Kim trailed off, feeling bad. “Ahh erm, no I'm sorry. I'm just used to people.…point is I'm sorry! I shouldn't have snapped at you that way, it was uncalled for.” “Ah it's all fine, maybe I'll give that book of yours a read! Judging by how much you like it I'm sure it must be good!” “Oh, um, sure… I'll let you give it a read….I guess...but I'll give it to you when I'm done with it because you read faster than I do!” “Oh yeah true. Well I guess I'll see ya later then?” “Yeah sure.” Garroth said, walking to the stairs. “Well, I guess it's just you and me couch.” Kim said to herself, slowly dozing off on the couch, as everyone else were in their own rooms.

Aphmau was by herself in her room, lying down on her bed, contemplating and reminiscing.

“Urghh Kim's not happy with me...she probably thinks I didn't talk to Zane about the whole being mean thing. I can't just put Zane's feeling aside, and the Ro'meave family drama is not a can of worms I want to keep opening, but just….argh why do I have to be caught between this crap!” Aphmau sighed to herself, smacking a pillow on her face. “Then there's this whole Aaron thing! Are we broken up, are we not, do I still want him, does he still want me, ugh! It's all so frustrating! The only person I don't have any troubles with right now is Lucinda, and that's because Lucinda is the best at avoiding drama….even when it came to breaking up with Ivan, as ugly as the situation became she handled it better than I would have…”

Aphmau stared at the ceiling of her room, it was cracked, with some of the wood from under showing out. The years of the lodge were so very visible from just the wood alone.

“Drama, drama, drama...this is highschool crap. Why can't I just be friends with everybody instead of deal with all of this family drama and romance problems...I wish I could give up sometimes, but what kind of friend would that make me? To just give up when things get hard? Not a very good friend to say the least….” Aphmau thought to herself, sighing audibly. “What kind of friend am I being by letting all this drama slip through my fingers? I should just straighten up and handle this like an adult! Because guess what I am one! But...I don't know, Aaron wanted to get away from all the drama and I don't want to make things worse by accidentally creating tension between everybody, it's already enough that I'm here….ughhhh why Irene why!”

She slumped to her side and grabbed her phone. She began to look through her photos.

“Gosh, despite everything that happened way back in highschool, I still miss the days where I could just hang out. Whether it was spending hours playing video games with Garroth and Laurance while snacking on junk food, or binge-watching anime with Katelyn and Kawaii~chan. Now here I am with all of...this I guess. I shouldn't be so negative though, I had good times then, even when the whole Jury thing happened...if I had good times then, then I can have good times now! I just have to stay positive.” She sighed, in a sense of relief. “Now let's just...take a lil’ breather to not think about all this crap.” Aphmau muttered, as she flopped over on the bed.

Lucinda was fiddling with her wand, alone in her room, casting spells.

“Praefexero.” Lucinda muttered, waving her wand around the room. Magic twirled around the room, in various shapes and colors, it faded almost as soon as it came.

“Nothing...let me try one more time. Praefexero…!” once again magic made its way around the room, but it faded as it did before. “Nothing? Dammit Praefexero!” Lucinda shouted in frustration, this time the spell poofed into a cloud of smoke unlike the previous times. “Calm down Lucinda, calm down, getting frustrated just makes things worse…” She coughed, clearing the smoke with her hands. “I know there's something about this place there's gotta be! But I'm not getting any readings! This place isn't normal, that much I can guarantee!” She grumbled, putting her wand away. “Stupid magic, what good is being a prodigy if I can't even detect what the hell is wrong with this place...Kim's acting weird, the cave was full of all sorts of bad energy, Garroth's acting kinda off too but I don't know if it's anything serious or if he's just being dumb again, I haven't been able to sleep at all these past few days and just! Ughhhh!” Lucinda smacked her head against the wall, groaning in frustration. “I just want to go to sleep….or have some kind of shut eye at the very least…guess I'll have to just bear with it.” Lucinda looked down at her wand, it was a really simple wand. “I almost regret bringing this wand, I wish I didn't leave my better wand at home. Then again I didn't anticipate this shit to happen at all, I wasn't about to bring an incredibly expensive wand to some run down shit hole.” Lucinda sighed, slumping down on her bed.

________________________________________

Zane was walking down the stairs, heading to kitchen.

“Man I can't wait until I'm able to leave this stupid lodge.” Zane muttered to himself. “I've just about had it with all of this cleaning crap. Why couldn't they send professionals out here. Cheapskates.”

As Zane walked by he noticed Kim, fast asleep on the couch.

“Hmm only if I had a marker would I scribble on her face. But Aph would probably scold me.” Zane thought aloud, turning his attention back to the kitchen. “Guess I'll make myself a cup of coffee while I'm down here.”

Zane went over to the kitchen and set some water to heat.

“Huh? Where the hell did my coffee cup go? I put it in the cabinet...so help me if one of these neanderthals is using my coffee cup-” “Looking for this?” A voice said from behind him. “GAH WHAT THE-Kim?!” Zane yelled, spooked by Kim's sudden appearance. “What are you doing standing behind me-and why do you have my coffee cup?!” “I just found it.” Kim said rather blatantly, holding the coffee cup out in front of herself. “You better have not used it or I swear I'll-” “So how's Garroth?” Kim interrupted Zane bluntly, putting the coffee cup down, not seeming to care about Zane's coffee cup dilemma. “Wh-What? How the hell would I know?” Zane snapped. “You're his brother. I thought he was acting a bit...strange lately, and I'd figured you'd know why. “So what? That's just Garroth acting fucking stupid as per usual. Trust me the guy is fine. He couldn't be helped to feel anything else than an irritating happiness even if his life depended on it.” “Hm...that's what..I thought you would say.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “No one….would be able to tell if you died, your blood runs cold all the time….” “Tch, you think I care?” “No. I...do not…” Kim replied, walking over to the sink in the kitchen. “Yet neither do I.” She said, grabbing a knife from the rack. “You really don't...know a person..until their dead. From there on out...you can learn everything about them. Though….being dead...is very...very unpleasant... especially if you just couldn't pass on…” “Yeahh...I, uh, guess so…” Zane said, weirded out by Kim's behavior. “Is... saving someone's life worth it? Or...is it meaningless to save someone who's fated to die regardless?” Kim asked, looking to Zane. “What a stupid question to ask, of course saving another person's life is worth it, there's nothing more valuable than allowing someone to live a longer life, so that none of their friends and family, would have to mourn them.” Zane replied, annoyed at the question. “So why...do you...provoke evil and bad karma?” Kim asked looking Zane dead in the eye. “What..?” “You…really don't get it do you?….” “Kim, what the hell are you saying?”

Kim coughed and shook her head, she then stretched lightly and yawned.

“Oh hey the water is ready.” Kim pointed at the bubbling water. “Uh are going to explain to me what the hell you just said?” Zane hissed. “I just said the water was ready take a chill pill geez.” “What-no! What you said before that!” “I didn't say anything before that I just woke up...well not just this moment. You know when you wake up and feel hazy for a while?” “That doesn't...yeah okay. Never-fucking-mind.” Zane told Kim, leaving the kitchen. “Geez what's his problem?” Kim mumbled, as he walked out of the room. “Gosh these blackouts are getting worse and worse, I don't even remember how I got here! Well….at least I can make myself some coffee.” Kim sighed, worried about her current predicament. “We'll be gone soon, then I'll be able to get myself checked out... hopefully.”

________________________________________

Garroth stood at the entrance to the cave, he gazed upon the structure.

“So this...this is it…” He muttered, picking up a stone that resembled the one he had given Kim the other day from the floor. “It...it only takes one…”

#aphmau #mystreet #writeblr #fanfiction #garroth ro'meave #aaron lycan #lucinda #kim #zane ro'meave #tsotbl

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honeylikewords · 6 years ago

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Frank being a dad to Peter is my all time fave! To consider: little kids are always brutally honest so we can assume Peter was the same, even when it came to frank's crush on the kind single mom who lives across from them. the night before Peter asked if frank "like liked" her, he chuckled and ruffled his sons hair "think I do bud." He didn't expect Peter to march down the hall the next morning, ring the doorbell and loudly announce "my dad is in love with you, will you come over for dinner?"

GOD THIS IS SO C U U U U T E

(please don’t tag as k@stle, thank you!)

Peter is just really blunt and really honest because 1) I’ve always headcanoned Peter as being a combination ADHD-autism spectrum, so honesty is just his go-to and he can’t, on a very fundamental level, get his head around why lies or “tactfulness” are supposed to be good things 2) He’s a kiddo, so kids are just straight up and don’t see why lying is needed (unless they’re being Crafty(TM)) and 3) His dad always taught him to be forthright, sincere, and truthful, so he’s not gonna LIE and go against everything his dad taught him!

So when he catches his dad smiling a lot after the nice lady brought them a casserole, or how Frank will make an extra effort to wave at her when they meet in the hall, Peter starts to catch on. He recognizes that kinda behavior from TV and from how the older people he’s met and talked to describe their feelings, and so he puts the pieces together in his head.

“Dad,” he says, one night, as they’re sitting on the couch, Frank watching the news and Peter coloring in his Paw Patrol coloring book, “Do you like the lady who brings us tater tots?”

“From over in 4b?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, scribbling one of the dogs a firetruck red hat. “Her.”

“Sure I do, buddy.”

“Right, but do you like her?”

“I just said I did,” reiterates Frank as he clicks the remote to change the channel to Food Network.

“But do you like like her, Dad?”

Frank takes a moment, pretending to be very invested in this episode of “some person cooking some kind pasta dish with unnecessary zucchini”. Then he smiles and Peter can see the creases around his eyes rise as Frank turns his face away to hide his smile behind his hand.

“Yeah, bud. I think so.”

“...That’s really great!”

Peter climbs up out of his spot on the couch and crawls over to Frank’s lap and gives his dad a big hug, grinning up at his shyly smiling father, Frank desperately trying to pretend his isn’t as happily flustered as he is.

The next day, Peter has his slightly too big backpack on and waddles over to the apartment door for 4b, then rings the doorbell. Fast footsteps are heard and the lock clicks open to reveal a girl of Peter’s own height and age, peering out at Peter from the crack in between the door and the frame.

“Hi, Peter!”

“Hi,” he smiles back. “Is your mom home? I gotta tell her somethin’.”

“Yeah!”

She runs off to get her mother, then returns to the door, guiding her mom by her hand. The woman looks slightly confused, but more in a happily-exasperated way than an annoyed one. She waves at Peter kindly and asks him what it is he needs.

“I gotta tell you somethin’!”

“Yes, Peter, what is it?”

Peter adjusts his backpack straps and looks up at her with a big, broad, crook-toothed smile.

“My dad said he like-likes you, which also means he loves you, and I think he’d really like it if you love him too, so I think you should come to our house and eat dinner and have a playdate, or real date, I dunno! Anyway, bye.”

He turns around and starts walking back to his apartment, only to look up and see Frank leaning out the doorway, bright red across the face. Frank had been trying to flag Peter down to get him back inside for lunch, only to overhear the whole conversation.

Frank makes sheepish eye contact with the woman frozen in her doorway, her daughter still holding her hand, and Frank balks, making the most embarrassed, uncomfortable smile in his life.

“A-huh, urgh, uh, kids, am I right?,” Frank says with all the shame in the world ringing in his voice.

He then grabs Peter and guides him back inside the apartment before shutting the door in a nervous gut-reaction to hide from the consequences of his son’s need to tell the truth.

Frank is getting ready to give Peter the scolding of a lifetime for “spreading rumors” and “twisting the truth” when he hears a gentle knock at the door and his stomach drops with anxiety. He peers out the peephole and, oh, god, it’s her, and she’s standing at their door, rocking back and forth on her heels.

He shoots Peter a look that reeks with “one peep and you’re grounded ‘til you die” energy, then opens the door shyly, rubbing his neck.

“Heeeyyyyy.”

“Hi, Frank.”

An uncomfortable, silent beat passes between them before both start talking at once.

“About what happened--” “Peter sometimes says things--”

“You first,” she says, seeming flustered.

“Well, uh, I just... I didn’t say that to Peter. I didn’t say I love you. That’d be way too weird to tell my six year old.”

“Oh, absolutely,” she agrees as she gives Frank a warm, slightly skewed smile.

“But... you know, I... I did say that I like you.” Frank takes a deep breath, trying to swallow his shame. “And I meant that.”

“...Oh, thank God.”

“What?”

“Because I was coming over here to say that maybe we should go out. You know, on a trial run.”

Frank grips his door, making it squeak slightly under his strong hands. He blinks at her once, then twice. Then beams, broad and wide, from ear to ear.

“...You forreal?”

“Well, yeah,” she replies with a sweet shrug, seeming so cute that Frank wants to cut all pretense and just kiss her. “I mean, we shouldn’t let our kids get too involved--”

“‘Course not,” Frank agrees.

“--But I think it’d be... nice to see you more, Frank. So how does dinner sound? My place? Seven, tomorrow?”

“...I would like that.”

They hover in the door for a second, unsure of what to do, until she leans forward and, ever so subtly, kisses his right cheek, making Frank tense up with an overabundance of emotions and stimulus. She gives him a tender smile, then makes her goodbyes, headed back for her apartment.

As Frank closes his apartment door and lets out the breath he’s been clutching onto for dear life, he turns to see Peter peering at him from behind the couch, smiling ruefully.

“She kissed you, Dad,” he says, pointing. “She like likes you, too!”

“Pipe down, boy,” Frank grumbles with a grin. “Come eat lunch, and no more matchmaking ‘til you’re twenty.”

#long post /#messages #frank castle #peter parker #pettyprocrastination

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thestrangerwolves-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Wolf Moon - Part 2

Season 1 Masterlist

Word count: 1614

Warnings: none

Note: Sorry it took me so long, guys! God, I'm not good at this. I have a test week coming up, but after that school will be over. Then I'll have time to wrte again. Sorry, guys!

Y/n, 2:13AM Scott, are you okay?

You stared at your screen, sending another text when he didn’t respond.

Y/n, 2:14AM Scotty?

Y/n, 2:14AM We’re so sorry for leaving you behind in the woods!

Why wasn’t he answering?

Y/n, 2:15AM Please say you’re alive.

You decided to give it a sec. When he didn’t react, you grabbed your phone again.

Y/n, 2:30AM SCOTT!

Y/n, 2:38AM C’mon!

You started to get really frustrated.

Y/n, 3:04AM Scott, please answer!

He didn’t answer. He probably wouldn’t. You gave up and tried to sleep. Then, a few minutes later, you heard your phone buzz.

Scott, 3:30AM Hey, just got home. Got attacked by some wild animal. Don’t know what it was. Pretty nasty bite, man!

Relief filled your body. You didn’t even read the text, you just immediately answered.

Y/n, 3:30AM Scott! Oh, thank god, I thought something terrible had happened!

After a few minutes, you realized what he’d said.

Y/n, 3:46AM Wait, what? Are you okay?!

Scott, 3:50AM Yeah, I’m okay. Tired, tho. Goodnight, Y/N/N xx.

You grinned. Goofball.

Y/n, 3:51AM Sleep well Scotty. See you tomorrow. Oh, ps, make sure you’re not gonna bleed to death tonight. Okay loveya <3.

“Okay, let’s see this thing.” Stiles said. Scott lifted his shirt and showed a large white patch with some blood leaking through. Stiles ooh-ed and you frowned. “Oh my god, that’s- ew.” You squirmed. Stiles tried to touch it, causing Scott to jump a little.

“It was too dark to see much, but I’m pretty sure it was a wolf.” Scott told. “A wolf bit you?” Stiles said in awe. “Uh-uh.” Scott hummed.

“No, I don’t think so. It couldn’t have been.” You said. “I heard a wolf howling.” Scott said with a ‘try to explain that’-tone. “No, you didn’t.” You pondered. “How do you know?” Stiles asked.

You rolled your eyes. “California doesn’t have wolves, you dumbasses. Not in, like, sixty years.”

“Really?” Stiles and Scott asked in sync. “Yes, really. Can we just believe y/n for one single time?” You said.

They both stared at you for a second, then turned to each other, turned back and stared at you with looks of regret. They didn’t believe you. Great.

“Well if you don’t believe me about the wolf, then you’re definitely not gonna believe me about when I tell you I… Found the body.” Scott told. Your eyes widened with surprise and Stiles jumped a little. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, man, I wish. I’m gonna have nightmares for a month.” Scott whined. Drama queen. “Wh- Oh my god, that is… Disgusting, but pretty cool.” You said. “Dude, that’s freaking awesome! I mean, that’s seriously gonna be the best thing that’s ever happened in this town since…”

He got distracted by the beautiful, somehow perfect Lydia Martin. She was a friend of yours, but for some reason always ignored Scott and Stiles. Oh, and an important detail: Stiles was hopelessly in love with her.

“…Since the birth of Lydia Martin. Hey Lydia! You look…” Lydia brightly smiled at you as she walked by the three of you, not even spending a second looking at Stiles nor Scott. “…Like you’re gonna ignore me.” He looked at you with a defeated frown. “Sorry Stiles, I don’t know why she doesn’t talk to you. I can’t do anything about it.” You apologized.

“I know, I know. It’s Scott. Scott, you’re the cause of this, you know. Dragging me down to your nerd depths. I’m a nerd by association. I’ve been scarled nerded by you.” You rolled your eyes and grinned as the bell rang. The three of you turned and walked into the building. The new school year had officially started.

In the first class, you sat next to Scott and in front of Stiles. Your teacher was a chubby man, probably in his late 50s, maybe in his 60s. He was writing something on the whiteboard in front of him, standing with his back to you. “As you all know, there indeed was a body found in the woods last night.” He began. Scott and you looked over to Stiles, who winked and soundlessly snickered.

You looked around and saw that the three of you were the only ones actually listening. People were quietly talking, passing notes, applying make-up and playing on their phones.

“And I’m sure your eager little minds are coming up with various macabre scenarios as to what happened. But I am here to tell you that the police have a suspect in custody.” The teacher turned around, revealing what he had written on the board. “KAFKA’S METAMORPHOSIS”. We looked over at Stiles again, who had a confused frown on his face, then he shrugged at us.

“Which means, you can give your undivided attention tot he syllabus which is on your desk outlining the semester.” You groaned. This was the last thing you wanted to do right now. You wanted to start writing, when you saw Scott flinching next to you.

He looked around, picked his ear, then froze when he looked outside. There was a girl sitting on a bench, going through the stuff in her bag. She was calling someone, then hang up when the principal walked up to her. She must’ve been new.

“Scotty, are you okay?” You whispered. Before he could answer, the door of the classroom opened. The principal walked inside, the girl following. While the principal introduced her as Allison Argent, I observed the girl a little.

She had long, dark brown curls that were draped over her shoulders. Her brown eyes looked around the classroom nervously, her hand fumbling with the gloves she was wearing earlier. You saw Scott staring at her in complete awe.

Allison sat down in the chair behind Scott, and Scott immediately turned around with an awkward smile, handing her a pen. She frowned at the pen, then looked at Scott and smiled sweetly while taking it. She quietly thanked him, while he turned around with a proud smile on his face while the teacher continued the lesson.

When class was over, you were basically kindapped by Lydia. “Have you seen that new girl, Allison? She seems really cool. I wanted to invite her to the party this weekend. Wanna walk with me to talk to her?” She asked. “Yeah.. Sure.” You said. It’s not like you didn’t like Lydia, but sometimes you felt like you couln’t really be youself around her.

You decided to ask her something. “Hey Lydia, is it okay if I invite Stiles and Scott too?” “Who?” “Stiles and Scott. My two best friends, the boys I’m always hanging out with?” You said. You hoped for a yes. “Oh. Them. Whatever.” You took that as a yes.

“That jacket is absolutely killer. Where’d you get it?” Lydia asked Allison when you were at her locker. You saw Scott staring at Allison with heart eyes, and Stiles was discussing something with a random girl.

“My mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco.” You hummed with impression. Lydia pointed at Allison with a smirk. “And you are my new best friend.”

Lydia’s boyfriend, Jackson, appeared behind her. “Hey, Jackson.” Lydia greeted him with a kiss. Allison and you just kinda stood there , awkwardly looking and grinning at each other.

Lydia turned away from Jackson to talk to Allison. “So, this weekend, there’s a party.”

“A party?” Allison asked. “Yeah, Friday night.” You answered. “You should come!” Jackson finished.

“Uh, I can’t, it’s family night this Friday. Thanks for asking.” Allison confessed. You personally didn’t believe her, but you didn’t blame her for not wanting to hang out with Jackson and Lydia. They could be absolute jerks sometimes.

“You sure? I mean, everyone’s going after the scrimmage.” Jackson tried to convince her. “You mean like football?” Allison asked. Of course she didn’t know that lacrosse was the sport in Beacon Hills High School.

“Football’s a joke in Beacon. The sport here is lacrosse.” Jackson laughed with a cocky smile. “Guys, is it okay if I go tot he field already? I want to talk to Scott before practice.” You said.

Lydia and Allison nodded and sent you a friendly smile while Jackson just kept talking about his success in lacrosse. Such a selfish reptile. (hehe)

“Scott!” You called, jogging up to him. “Hey.”

“Hi, Y/N/N! Something wrong?” He greeted. “No, not necessarily. Um, earlier today, I saw you looking a little weird, almost like you were… lost. It was right before Allison was introduced.” You noted.

“Oh, yeah. That… that was nothing, don’t worry. It-It was probably just a fly irritating me or something.” He muttered.

Stiles walked up tot he two of you, his hands full of his lacrosse gear. “Scott, if you play, I’ll have no one to talk to on the bench. Are you really gonna do that to your best friend?” He whined. You coughed loudly, trying to prove a point.

“Y/N, you’re not here every practice. You aren’t even always at games!” Stiles explained. “Well I’m here now!” You snapped.

Scott ignored your discussion, answering Stiles. “I can’t sit out again. My whole life is sitting on the sidelines. This season, I make first line.”

As he walked towards the field, his eyes were drawn to Allison, who sat down on the stands with Lydia.

You had a minor inside debat about who you were gonna sit with; Allison and Lydia or Stiles? You decided to join Stiles, since he now sat all alone.

You jokingly poked him in the ribs, causing him to quietly laugh. Then you heard the coach yelling. “Let’s go! Come on!”

Practice had officially started.

Tag list: (tell me if you want to be added or removed)

@prof-scribbles @logophileharry @jurrasicpork @koizorahana @thebestof-spn

Inspired by: @bilesbilinskix

#teen wolf rewrite #rewrite #teen wolf #mtv teen wolf #stiles x reader #stiles stilinski x reader

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ontheoffroad · 7 years ago

Text

Crumb Coat |Jikook

Summary: One thing Park Jimin knew he had always loved doing was making people happy. It’s the reason why he started baking in the first place. He just wanted to spread the sunshine in his life that he had come to find. So when his bakery starts to get popular and he needs to hire, what happens when he starts to fall for his cute new employee? AO3 | Jimin Prologue-Jungkook A/N:-Tw: There is some minor bullying in this prologue and the use of a word even I hate using, so please if that makes you uncomfortable please skip over from the 4th until the 5th line break (maybe even the 6th because I use the word retarded and I just have it explained to a young Kookie)- Hi guys! This took me forever to get out and I'm so sorry ToT This one's quite a bit longer than Jimin's, but I couldn't stop writing lol, I'm kinda iffy towards the end of it. But I hope you guys like it!

Jeon Jeongguk was a poster boy of getting by. He got average grades without really trying. He didn’t talk much in class, but he never bothered anyone so his teachers let it slide most of the time. He was talented at most things he tried, he just wasn’t interested enough to keep up with any of them. That’s all he wanted to do. Get by. Ever since he was a kid, Jeongguk had always stuck to himself. It’s not that he didn’t want to be with the other kids, it was more the other way around. From a young age, Jeongguk didn’t really talk outside of his house. No one really knew why, not even really himself at the time. Everyone tried coaxing him into it, thinking that bribes of food and toys would help. And when that wouldn’t work, he got punished for not acting like the other kids. He was isolated from at the age of five and others could see that too. When he would wave at the other kids instead of saying “hi,” they would roll their eyes and run away. At lunchtime, a teacher would quickly say what he wanted for lunch after he would point it out and then leave without saying goodbye. He sat alone, the words “Can I sit here?” not being able to form in his throat. He was tired. He was alone.

At least that was until the Jeon family got new neighbors, the Mins. They had a son about his age, a few years older. He was quiet as well, but Jeongguk knew he meant to be. The other boy wasn't like himself. He had a voice that he's able to use whenever he wants to, he can make friends, he can talk and play with them without being outcasted. At the age six, Jeongguk hated someone other than himself for the first time.

His hatred didn't last very long once the other boy started speaking to him like he was a normal kid through. The other boy offered to play with Jeongguk, despite being years older than him. He helped the younger boy with his schoolwork and even would try to teach him new things. He would play him music that he has downloaded onto his iPod recently that he wouldn't let anyone else touch.

Min Yoongi became the friend that Jeongguk had been needing. Yoongi also became the first person out of the Jeon household to hear Jungkook speak, and the older boy was honored.

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When Jeongguk first started to speak at school, he was in the middle of second grade. Nobody actually knew how to take it, but they were all shocked to say the least. (He could have sworn his teacher actually almost cried.)

Although Yoongi was still in the school, Jeongguk knew that this was something that he would have to work on himself. He couldn't have his older friend by his side all the time, he knew that. That's not how everything is going to work out in the end.

He's not always going to have Yoongi by his side, scaring everyone off and sticking up for him. He's not always going to have a teacher pointing out his lunch for him. He's going to have to learn to explain himself, what he wants. This was something Jeongguk knew that he needed to do on his own. This was something that he needed to do to get on with his life, to get by.

He knew he needed to start out small. But he didn't know how. He knew that he couldn't just start...talking. The stares are already going to be too much, talking in front of everyone and having their attention on him will be way too much. Small.

In class the next day, he made a decision. While everyone was writing on their worksheet, Jungkook took a deep breath and raised his hand. Once his teacher noticed him, she huffed, needing to get out of her chair to get to him. Before she stood up, the two made eye contact and Jungkook shook his head, standing up. Jungkook brought his worksheet over with tentative steps, his teacher’s confused and curious gaze weighing him down.

“What can I do for you, Jeongguk?” His teacher asked, curiosity laced her voice. When he didn't answer right away, she started questioning him. “Are you done? Do you need help?”

“I..I-I don’t get this part?” He finally answered after a few moments, his eyes glued to the paper in his hands. He whispered it, his teacher barely able to hear it. She thought that she had imagined it, that this was all some kind of dream that she was having. But when he looked up at her, his eyes were wide, obviously scared.

“Yeah,” she said to herself, barely above a whisper. She cleared a portion of her desk off so Jungkook could bring his worksheet around. “What, uh, what part are you have trouble with?” She asked the boy who appeared next to her. She kept her voice soft, not wanting him to retreat into himself. She wanted him to know that she's there to help.

Jeongguk nodded, reassuring himself, before he placed the piece of paper on the desk in front of him. He pointed to the portion with scribbles and eraser marks. “Here.”

Small steps.

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It took Jeongguk a while longer to open up to his peers. He started out by just whispering to his seatmate, asking if they understood the topic of discussion. He saw the boy next to him jump, his eyes increasing in disbelief. Disbelief that the boy who had stayed silent all these years finally said something to him. Not just a wave, not a point or some awkward motion. Actual words. He was too stunned at first to answer the boy next to him, causing his face to flush and the boy to retreat into himself. “Ye-yeah, yeah,” he finally stuttered out as he moved closer. “Did you need help?”

Jeongguk only nodded back in response, words catching in the back of his throat once again. He pointed to the problem that they were working on, just as he had to his teacher a few week ago. “Oh this one?” His seatmate confirmed. “I honestly didn't get it either at first,” the boy confessed, sensing Jungkook's uneasiness. “I had to get help from Seonsaengnim the other day, but after she explained it to me I got it. I probably can't explain it better than her, but I can try?” His seatmate chuckled quietly, trying not to disturb the others around them.

By the end of the (very messy) explanation, Jeongguk understood the content and ended up getting the correct answer. He gave the biggest smile to his seatmate, causing the other boy to smile as well. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“It’s no problem…” The other boy trailed off, not knowing what to call the boy next to him.

“Jeongguk,” he responded barely above a whisper.

“It was no problem, Jungkook-ssi,” the boy repeated with an unsure smile. He wasn’t sure if he heard him correctly or not, but he didn’t want to seem rude by asking again. “I’m Yugyeom, by the way.”

Jeongguk nodded at the introduction. He didn’t have the heart (more like his anxiety was too high) to correct Yugyeom or even to tell him that he already knew his name.

Yugyeom tried conversing with Jeongguk more throughout the day, getting short answers or none at all. He really didn’t mind as much as he thought he would initially. When it came to lunchtime, Yugyeom turned to the boy seated next to him. “Would you want to sit with me at lunch?” He asked. “It’s usually just me and a few of my friends who eat together. Most of our friends are older than us so they eat at a different time so we try to stay together, y’know?”

Jeongguk gave a shrug as an answer. Yugyeom stood up, grabbing Jeongguk with him. “I’m taking that as a ‘yes.’ Let’s go!”

Yugyeom chatted the entire way into the lunch room. He talked about his friends and about the menu for the day. He asked Jeongguk if he was thinking of skipping out on anything, to which he got another shrug in response. “I’m honestly not sure either,” Yugyeom told him as they entered the cafeteria. Once on line, the boy got up on his toes to try and look above the heads of the people before them. He scrunched up his nose when he sees how long it actually is. “We may actually be here for a while, Jungkook-ssi,” he complained when he fell back down on his feet. He turned to face the boy next to him with a pout. “I’m starting to get really hungry, too.” As if to prove his point, Yugyeom’s stomach growled loudly. Jeongguk couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, making the other grin.

When Yugyeom got back down on his heels, Jeongguk had a look on his face. It took a moment for the boy to figure out what it meant, but he thought he figured it out in a decent amount of time without it being weird. “My friends?” He guessed. He almost sighed in relief when the other nodded as an answer. “They aren't here yet. They're class always comes a little later, so I'm always the one to get the table. It's not big deal,” he shrugged, but then glared at the slow moving line in front of them “but they don't have to waiting as big of a line.”

Jeongguk couldn't help but roll his eyes.

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Jeongguk liked Yugyeom. The other boy was different compared to himself. Where Jeongguk was silent, Yugyeom was loud. While Jeongguk wanted to keep to himself, Yugyeom got to know everyone. While Yugyeom talked, Jeongguk didn't. But it didn't make him uncomfortable like it did with the other kids over the years. Yugyeom was bright and warm, like the sun on a summer day. It was different from the warmth he felt when he was with Yoongi.

He knew that he could trust him.

So, he started opening up more to him. After a few months (and Yoongi’s pestering of “When are you finally going to tell the poor boy?”) Jeongguk finally corrected Yugyeom on him name. “Dude! Why didn’t you tell me this before?” He joked, giving Jeongguk a light punch on the arm. Jeongguk felt bad, so he told his new friend that he could keep it as a nickname of sorts for him.

Jeongguk also started talking more. He felt more comfortable with Yoongi or Yugyeom around him, but he would try his best otherwise. Others teased him for being soft spoken and for being quiet still, but now he had someone beside him in class. The words still hurt, but having Yugyeom there made them less powerful.

His parents started to see the change in him. He was smiling more when they went out, would go out of his way to speak certain things to people, his voice would stutter but with time got louder. One night at the dinner table, his mom asked him what had him in such a good mood. “A friend.”

The couple exchanged an odd look together because they knew their child’s friend and he hadn't had this much of an impact since he younger. “Yoongi-ya?” She questioned.

Jeongguk shook his head in response, the smile present on his face widening. “Gyeom-ah,” he answered before stuffing his face.

“Who?” His dad asked.

“Yugyeom-ah,” Jeongguk clarified. “He sits besides me and he helped me understand something. Now we're friends.”

The boy was too invested in his food to see the ecstatic looks shared between his parents. “Why don't you invite Yugyeom over this weekend?” His mom suggested. “We could have him and his parents over for dinner.”

“Sure,” Jeongguk shrugged. “I'll ask him about it tomorrow.”

“We should invite the Mins as well!”

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“Sounds kinda lame,” Yugyeom told the other while they waited on the lunch line the next day.

Jeongguk laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, but you know parents.”

“Didn't you say that they were going to invite the Mins too?” Yugyeom gave him a disapproving look. “Is that that kid you always hang out with? The older one?”

“Yoongi-hyung?”

Yugyeom scrunched his nose up at the mention of the older’s name. “Yeah. I'm not sure why you hang out with him constantly. He's a bit of a jerk and kinda a loner.”

Jeongguk was floored. He didn't know what to say in response to his new friend. He's known Yoongi for years. He knew that he could be quiet and a little intimidating because of it, but the elder had always stood up for him when no one else would.

“He's honestly a loser,” Yugyeom continued when Jeongguk didn't say anything.

“But y-y-you don't, you don't know him,” Jeongguk managed to stutter out. He mentally cursed every deity he could think of for not sounding confident sticking up for his friend.

Yugyeom glared at his newer friend. “I know some what he said to my friends. That friend of yours needs to watch his mouth. No matter how much older he is, he's not my hyung.” They took more steps in line, edging closer and closer to the food. “You may want to rethink who you want to be friends with in the near future if you want to get anywhere here,” Yugyeom suggested before going quiet, not talking the rest of the time they were on line.

Jeongguk kept his head down while they got their food until Yugyeom addressed him again. “C’mon,” he sighed. “I don't know why you're sulking. But there more people for you to meet, let's go.”

They made their way over to the table, the two boys unusually quiet as they walked, lunch trays in hand. They both wave at Yugyeom’s friends, some at the table earlier than normal. Jeongguk had started opening up to the other boys recently, becoming louder, more sure of his voice. He still didn’t feel entirely comfortable with them like he did with Yugyeom, but he did feel himself getting there. At least he was until new people joined their lunch table that day.

Yugyeom introduced them, their names going over Jeongguk’s head as he watched the looks they gave him instead. “No way,” the one sitting directly in front of him smirked. “You’re the freak who doesn’t talk.” Jeongguk sunk into himself as the boy snickered, elbowing the other to his left.

“ Dude ,” the one being elbowed stares at him with wide, questioning eyes. “Is it true that you like, don’t have a voice box or something like that? I heard from someone that’s why you don’t talk.”

Yugyeom leaned over the table to smack the back of the boy’s head. “You some kind of idiot, Bam-ah?” He shook his head as he sat back down. “You guys just don’t know him. Jungkook-ah,” Yugyeom nudged the boy besides him, encouraging him, “ talk .”

When Jeongguk didn’t respond, the boys on the opposite side of the table started laughing. “Told you,” the one Yugyeom had called Bam just before laughed, “no voice box or something like that. How do you two communicate?” He asked Yugyeom.

The boy’s frustration was quickly starting to show on his face. “We talk ,” Yugyeom turned to Jeongguk next to him, “like normal people .”

The boy across from Jeongguk finally spoke up again, mouth full of food. “Geomie, you aren’t sure your new friend isn’t like...retarded or something?”

“No, he’s obviously just stubborn is all,” Yugyeom glared at Jeongguk before focusing his attention on his food.

The rest of the lunch was spent with Jeongguk silently eating his lunch as the others talked about nothing and everything. They didn’t bother to try to talk with him anymore, only glancing at him here and there to remind themselves that he in fact was at the table. Maybe Jeongguk was just stubborn, it’s what everyone else called him when he wouldn’t talk. He was very picky with whom he talked with, maybe that’s why no one liked him up until now. But he couldn’t help it, he just wished that people knew that.

He wished that they knew that since he was young, the thought of talking with someone made his chest tighten, his heart race in his chest. He wished that they knew that the thought of meeting someone new made him want to run in the other direction and how being in a crowd makes him freeze up. He wished that they knew how he could talk with people normally, but whenever he tries his voice just gets caught in his throat.

Jeongguk barely noticed that they were being dismissed back to their classes, the shuffling of trays and footsteps bringing him back to reality. He quickly got himself together, putting his tray away, before being dragged back to the classroom by Yugyeom. “What was that?” He hissed at him, grip on his arm tight as they walk in the halls. “You made me look like such an idiot in front of them .”

Jeongguk opened his mouth to apologize, the words failing to come out. But Yugyeom took his silence for something else.

His friend scoffed. “Really, you’re not going to say anything ?” Yugyeom let go of the quieter boy, shaking his head once again that day. “Whatever,” he said, irritation obvious in voice as he started to walk ahead of an upset Jeongguk.

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The dinner table that night was quiet at the Jeon house. Jeongguk had stayed silent the rest of the day, Yugyeom had barely spared him a second glance after their exchange in the hallway. His parents knew better than to push him to talk if he didn’t want to. They knew that their son was comfortable around the two of them to open up once he’s ready to, he had always been that way. That’s why they’ve never forced him into talking with others when he was uncomfortable with it, they’ve only encouraged him and tried their best to help him any way they really could.

They included him in their conversation on how work was, plans for the weekend, what shows were on that night. When the couple saw their son’s untouched food, concern started to take over both of them. “Is there anything on your mind, Gukkie?” His mother reached over and placed her hand gently on his.

“You can always talk to us about anything,” his father reassured him, getting up and moving to the seat adjacent to the younger.

It took Jeongguk a few moments to say anything to his parents, the memories of earlier that day replaying in his mind. His hands move to play around with the food on his plate, unable to sit still. “What,” he started off with a small voice, “what does it mean when someone calls you ‘retarded’?”

His parents tensed up beside him. His mom’s hand tightens slightly on his, his father’s face grows darker. “Did someone call you that?” His mom questioned, voice light. When Jeongguk didn’t respond, she knew that she got her answer, but she knew better than to push any further. “It’s not a nice word to call someone, Gukkie. People use the word to be mean and instead of saying ‘stupid’ or anything else they use that word that has an actual meaning.” She looks up at her husband, unable to express what she’s trying to say, at a loss for words.

“Know first, Son,” Jeongguk’s father puts his hand on the younger’s shoulder, trying to get his attention, “you aren’t to repeat that word, okay? Like your mother said, that’s not a nice word to say to someone, ever. If someone says it to you again, tell someone or us. Kids your age may think that it’s ‘lame’ to go to tell on each other, but it’s never okay to call each other names. Also, don’t listen to those kids who said that to you, okay? They just don’t understand you and can’t take the time to do it.”

Jeongguk took a moment to take everything in, nodding to himself as he did. He looked up at both his parents, love and concern overpowering both sets of eyes. “Thank you,” he muttered with a small but grateful smile.

“Anything for you, Bud,” his dad chuckled lightly, ruffling his son’s hair. “Now eat, you must be hungry.”

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After that incident, Yugyeom couldn’t bother hearing Jeongguk out. He stopped talking with him and helping him out during class. He wouldn’t wait for him anymore for lunch or sit with him anymore. Jeongguk had caught Yugyeom and his friends a few times laughing at him or talking about him. It was as if the past few months hadn’t happened, as if they were never friends to begin with.

It broke Jeongguk.

Without Yugyeom, he was back to being that strange kid who didn’t talk. That strange kid who no one wanted to be with. That strange kid who only had that one older friend who everyone thought was obligated to hang out with him since their parents were friends.

Without Yugyeom, he was back to being alone.

“I never liked him anyway,” Yoongi admitted one night after one of their combined family dinners. Jeongguk looked away from the tv at his friend, giving him a questioning look. “Yugyeom. I know that you’re still sulking about what happened with that kid, don’t deny it.” Yoongi mutes the tv once Jeongguk turned his attention back to it, not answering him. “I know you don’t talk about it, but you know you always can with me right, Guk-ah? You’re like my brother.”

Jeongguk knew that he could rely on the elder for anything, that’s why he didn’t tell him. It wasn’t something that could be fixed, it wasn’t something that he could have help with. He was alone again, and it was something that he needed to face alone.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Yoongi stated.

“What then?”

“That you’re alone and that this is something that can’t be done with help.” Jeongguk’s jaw dropped, causing the older boy to laugh. “Of course I got it right. Now, just tell me, what happened.”

And so he did. Jeongguk told him everything from how everything was fine between the two friends, how much time they spent in school together and at lunch together. But then how at the one mention of the elder that day it got a little rocky. Yoongi snorted at that, confusing the other. (“I’ll tell you later, kid,” was the only answer he got to that). He continued onto the lunch and the words thrown at him by the nameless boys and how Yugyeom reacted, not letting him apologize. About how now whenever he passes by them he hears them laughing and hears the names that they call him.

By the end of it, Jeongguk was on the verge of tears and Yoongi was trying his best not to explode. “I told you,” the elder repeated through a clenched jaw, “I never liked him.”

“But why, hyung?” Jeongguk sniffed, rubbing at his eyes.

Yoongi’s eyes grow cold. “His friends are punks,” he explained, “and who you hang out says a lot about you and what image you’re trying to set.”

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Over the years, Jeongguk thought it better to stick by himself. He talked more with his peers, socializing here and there to seem more normal. He was still being bothered here and there by others for how quiet and how antisocial he was, but he’s learned to brush it off with the help of Yoongi.

Speaking has gotten easier, his stutter not coming out as much, the urge to run away has dulled. But he still has his days. He still has those days where he felt as a kid where the words wouldn’t come out, where he would just retreat back into himself. It wasn’t until he found an outlet in art and photography that it started to become easier for him. Once his pencil hits a fresh page in his sketchpad or he gets behind the lens of the small camera his parents bought for him, the tight feeling in his chest eases up. The words that he can’t quite speak finally are said.

“I can’t believe you’re already entering high school already.”

“Hyung, you’re in college you have no room to talk.”

“Yes but,” Yoongi retorted around his mouthful of pizza, “I’ve already been there for like, a year now. You’re still just a kid.”

Jeongguk glared at his best friend from his spot on the floor. “And you’re still an asshole.”

The elder laughed loudly at the response. “Cursing now, are we?”

“I’ve been around you for far too long,” the younger shrugged. “I was corrupted a long time ago.” He reached into the pizza box on the small table that he was seated at. He took a bite before a thought registered. “You’ve heard me curse before,” he reminded the boy, now hanging off the bed.

“I know,” Yoongi waved at him to quiet him, eyes glued to the tv. “Now shut it, I’m trying to watch this.”

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There was too much going on around him that Jeongguk didn’t know what to register. His fingers were itching for a pencil or for one the camera that was hidden away in his bag. There was too much noise, too much commotion. His eyes went between everyone at the table at the restaurant, multiple conversations going on at once. He knew that they were there to celebrate, but he could feel himself retreating, wanting to just go home and have a meal there.

“I still can’t process the fact that my little Gukkie is a high school graduate now,” Yoongi pouted besides him, causing everyone who heard the statement to roll their eyes. Everyone knew by now how much of a soft spot the elder had for the younger. They had been close since the Min family first moved into the neighborhood, but the two boys definitely shared a connection that others couldn’t seem to comprehend. Yoongi had always viewed Jeongguk as a younger brother, always wanting to protect him. And that’s exactly what he did. Whether it was when he heard someone talking about the younger behind his back or when the boy needed someone to talk with or somewhere to go, he was there. He would always be there to support him in all his decisions, he would always be proud of him.

Jeongguk groaned at the sentiment. “You just graduated too, hyung,” he pushed the elder’s shoulder away in embarrassment.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Yoongi all but cried at the thought. “Now I have to go out into the real world.”

All the parents at the table laughed at the dramatic statement. “You’ll do fine, Yoongi,” Jeongguk’s father chuckled at the tired look already on the young boy’s face. “Don’t go looking like that already, you’ve barely even started.”

“Oh when we’re done here we need you stop by the house,” Jeongguk’s mother informed the elder of the two.

“As if he wasn’t going to go over already,” Yoongi’s mother cut in jokingly.

“Actually,” Jeongguk sighed defeatedly, “I was going to go over to theirs.” Yoongi slapped his back lightly as everyone laughed around the table at the exchange, used to it all by now.

The rest of the celebration was spent peacefully, Jeongguk no longer on edge as he grew more comfortable around the others surrounding him. He knew that they were only family, but they weren’t really people that he had spent a lot of time with in the past or even now. But as the night passed on he became more at ease with them. He thanked them for supporting him as they left, hugging them for good measure as well. Jeongguk was still that anxious kid on the inside, but he’s grown so much since then. He’s learned to cope, he’s found his passion and his family is allowing him to follow his dreams. He couldn’t ask for anything more.

“Let’s head out,” Jeongguk’s mother suggested as she put her coat on with an excited smile. She turned to Yoongi’s parents as she buttoned up. “We’ll meet you there?”

“How about,” Yoongi’s dad started to suggest, “the four of us take one car, and those two take the other? Yoongi can drive the two of them.”

Jeongguk’s father gave a broad smile at the suggestion. “Perfect,” he said before turning to the two boys. “We’ll meet you at the house then.”

The younger two exchanged a confused glance before shrugging. As used as everyone is to the odd exchanges between the two boys, these two are the most experienced when it comes to the strange times with their parents. By now, they’ve just comes to accept it and learned not to question their decisions.

Car rides with the younger two have always been an experience. A mixture of songs blasting through the speakers as one of their phones is always plugged into the aux cord (they always take turns since they already know each other’s taste by heart at this point). At one point on the ride home, Jeongguk decided to lower the music. “Is Namjoon coming over too?”

“Hmm?” Yoongi hummed, eyes focused on the road. “Yeah, I think he’s bringing a couple of friends, too.” He turned his head to Jeongguk for a brief moment before turning his attention back on the road. “You would be okay with that, right? I think it’s just like two people. He was telling me they’re practically a package deal with each other.”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk nodded. “A couple more people isn’t going to hurt me. If Namjoon is friends with them how bad can they be?”

“You haven’t met them yet, Guk-ah,” Yoongi chuckled, already knowing which friends his own friend was planning on dragging over to his home to celebrate.

“What do you mean by that, hyung?”

“Oh you’ll see,” the elder retorted, turning the music back up for the rest of the ride to the JEon household.

When they got there, the lights in the living room were turned on, indicating that their parents had indeed made it back before them. “I would say park in the garage, but I have no clue how long we’re staying,” Jeongguk pointed out as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “Let’s get this over with. Who knows what they have planned for us.”

When they walked in, what they weren’t expecting was their parents sitting around with what seemed to be cake and presents, one each. “So we’re going to make this quick because we know you both want to get out of here,” Jeongguk’s father laughed.

“The cake is to bring to our house for you guys to enjoy,” Yoongi’s mother informed the boys as they took a seat at the table.

“Now these are from all four of us,” Jeongguk’s mother pushed the presents forwards, they were both told to be gentle with them. Yoongi’s was long and on the heavier side, Jeongguk’s smaller but wider. “Go ahead, open them.”

They ripped open the wrapping paper, not bothering to be gentle with it. Yoongi’s jaw dropped first when he registered what his present was. He had graduated, wanted to become a public relations rep for music stars, but that didn’t mean his love of music ceased. He stilled created, even if others didn’t know it was him. But obviously his parents and the Jeons did.

Jeongguk struggled getting his box opened, his mind already knowing what was in there. His parents were the most supportive people in his decision of what he wanted to do with his life, and they knew he was eyeing a new camera but couldn’t afford it. But they didn’t just stop there. Once he opened the box, inside were other lenses, extra batteries, and extra sd cards. He couldn’t believe how much this must’ve cost both sets of parents.

“We’re so proud of both of you,” Yoongi’s father smiled at them both, adoration evident in his eyes. “You’ve both come so far to get to be where you are now and there’s only so much more room to grow.”

“Now go have some fun,” Jeongguk’s father urged them. “We’re going to stick around here and have fun ourselves.”

Jeongguk got up from his spot on the floor and pinned his parents into as tight as a hug as he possibly could. “Thank you,” he whispered to them.

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Guk (7:32am) My class got cancelled sos It’s too early for this i was already on my way I haven’t even had caffeine

Asshat (7:34am) Tf am i supposed to do about that guk?? Isn’t there a coffee place like every corner you turn? What about the place joon works at? Isnt that by the school?

Guk (7:35am) Oh tru thanks for the reminder

Asshat (7:36am) Fucking brat Stop bothering me, i need to get ready soon While youre at it actually get me some coffee

Jeongguk shook his head at the last text he received from his friend. He couldn’t even remember the name of the place that Namjoon helps out at with a clear head, let alone this early. He groaned to himself, deciding that worse comes to worse, he’ll just go to some Starbucks to caffeinate himself. It was then a sign had caught his eye. “Bakery and Café.” His stomach grumbled at the thought of pastries. Okay, so maybe he was hungrier than he had thought, his tiredness was overpowering.

Something about the name seemed familiar, but his mind couldn’t quite catch what what it was about it. It left him as soon as it came once he opened the door, the sweet smell of pastries mixed with the bitter scent of coffee surrounding him.

The dècor was warm, homey almost he thought as he stepped further in. The tables and chairs didn't match, neither did the few couches that Jeongguk spotted around, but it was something about it that worked. A small stage hidden in a corner with a stand piano up against the wall. Pictures of pastries and people hung around the place. Looking around, Jeongguk couldn't help but smile as he walked up to the counter.

“Welcome to Rainy Day Bakery and Café, what can I get for you?”

#jikook au #kookmin au #jikook fic #kookmin fic #jikook #kookmin #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts au #m: bakeryau

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tony-luvv · 7 years ago

Note

Can you do this old Prompt: Tony mpreg –> After Civil War (-movie) Tony has a one night stand and ends up pregnant, he’s far too much focused on his high risk pregnancy to care about the avengers legal troubles. Vision and Rhodey overing,and more tony mpreg.

ANON HOW DID YOU KNOW!!! Day and night I think about Post CACW Tony not giving a single fuck about Team Cap, his only concern going to his child(ren). I literally could not stop thinking about this and i had to write something. I hope you like it.

“Mr. Stark?” The Doctor was leaning over him, trying tocapture his wandering attention span.

Weakly, almost like his brain couldn’t put together thesounds to respond, “Yeah, I’m listening.” He wasn’t. The doctor went back toexplaining the ‘next steps’ as they were putting it. But Tony was stuck atstart.

Pregnant. Henever thought that word would be directed at him. He was careful, he took everystep into making sure this wouldn’t happen. Condoms, birth control but stillhere he was. Sitting, alone with the only doctor he could trust enough to examhim.

Dr. Michael Oddman (and boy did he live up to the last name)was someone that Tony had stumbled across years ago. It took a real long timefor Tony to be comfortable with the man, but Doc never changed just smiled thatsame goofy smile and told Tony if he was good he’d get a lollipop. Aside fromhis out-there personality Dr. Oddman was a great doctor and has been able to keepup with Tony and his own out-there personality for the past decade or so.

“You’re not listening to me Mr. Stark and I was going tothrow in a sticker with your lollipop today.” Dr. Oddman sighed and shook hishead at the omega. “Honestly I don’t know why I bother to explain anything, I’llmake sure to send all the correct information about the next steps of yourpregnancy to Ms. FRIDAY.”

Dr. Oddman was shuffling papers on his desk when Tony finallyseemed to come out of his shock a little bit. “Doc what do I do?”

“That’s for you and your alpha to figure out….” The betadoctor scribbled down a few more annotations and then turned around to face hismost loyal patient. Looking at the omega the doctor jumped and then quicklymoved to bring the younger man into his arms. Tears were streaming down thebillionaires face, eyes wide open and looking lost.

“I don’t,” He choked back a sob, “I don’t know.”

“Know what Mr. Stark?” The doctor was shocked, all the timesthe omega came to him, whether it was reluctantly or barely conscious andheavily injured, he never saw Mr.Stark shed a tear.

“The alpha, I was upset, drunk. Hooked up with a randomstranger, I don’t even know their name.”

Dr. Oddman just pulled the disheveled omega closer, rubbinghis trembling back while he shed silent tears into his doctor’s coat. “It’s goingto be okay Mr. Stark, we’ll figure this out. I promise.”

When Dr. Oddman made a promise, he kept that promise. True tohis word the doctor helped him figure everything out. When Dr. Oddman’s shift endedthat night he ventured to Mr. Stark’s San Francisco condo, where the omegawould stay when he was recuperating or needed to see his primary doctor. Acouple years ago Dr. Oddman had moved to San Francisco when he got offered a positionhe could turn down. When he told his patients about his move most were sad tosee him go but wished him the best of luck. When Mr. Stark found out, he boughta condo within walking distance of his job.

So that’s where the doctor went, together with the help ofFRIDAY they got to work. They set up a doctor’s schedule for Mr. Stark and showedthe man a few trusted doctors that he would have to see throughout hispregnancy. Laying out the basics of his new diet (which was very strict due tohis health issues, arc reactor damage was not good for baby conception), someexercises that he should start now to help with his ankles and back furtherdown the road.

It was a lot to take in but Tony was feeling a lot betterthan he had when the news was broken to him.

Later that night after Dr. Oddman had gone home in search ofsome much needed rest and he had his next four steps planned out and FRIDAYlooking into someone high rated parenting books, Tony laid in bed. Curled tightaround his stomach, one hand gently rubbing over his still flat stomach Tonywhispered into the dark of his bedroom, “We’re going to be okay.”

Months later hidden in the depths of Wakanda, a team of felonsraged on.

“I can’t believe! A year, a full fucking year we’ve been hereand Stark hasn’t done a damn thing to bring us home.”

“Clint please…”

“No Cap, this is bullshit. We’ve been here a year and are nocloser to going home than we were three months ago. I would have thought thatwe would have been home months ago, yet it’s a year and not a single thing hasbeen done to get us back to the US.” Clint was furious, he was missing precioustime with his kids and wife, he hasn’t even been able to communicate with themoutside of a few letters he was able to get to the with T’Challa’s help. Scottfelt the same, although he was feeling less anger than the archer.

“I hate to say it Cap but I miss being state side, Wakanda’snice and all but I feel like were just sitting pretty in a fancy cell.” Sam wasright, The UN was still out for them, arrest warrants out for all of them afterGermany and him breaking the team out of the raft. During their time away Stevehad tried to reach out to Tony but he never heard anything from the other man.

T’Challa was an amazing host, keeping them safe in hismansion while also trying his hardest to clear their names without rising anysuspicions. One night he had pulled Steve aside and admitted that short of somesort of disaster that without Tony’s help, he didn’t think he’d ever be able toget them home.

For months the UN argued and debated on what to do about theRogue Avengers. Some wanted their blood, others were trying to be practical.

“Without Iron Man we need other supers to help protect us.”

“They are nothing but criminals, why let them off so easily?”

“We need a defense in the case of another event such as NewYork.”

“They deserve to rot in jail cells for the ignorance and destruction.”

“I’m not sure if I or my people would feel safer at the handsof the Rogue Avengers.”

“After all that I’ve seen I’d rather put my trust and safetyin the hands of Iron Man.”

“Iron Man isn’t here, who do we have?”

“We could work out a deal with the Rogue Avengers, or reachout to Mr. Stark.”

“Where isTony Stark?”

And there it is. The million dollar question everyone wantsanswered. Where is the superhero Iron Man?

A few miles of the shores of Lake Eire, a baby cried in thearms of his mother.

“Aw baby,” Tony Stark, the man everyone was looking forgently lifted his 3 month old baby boy into his arms. Bouncing and rocking therestless pup in the cradle of his arms. “Shh, hush now little one.” The omegarocked back and forth, his pup held tight against his chest, gently rocking himand cooing to calm his cries. When his baby started to calm he brought him awayfrom his face so he could see those pudgy cheeks. Hazel eyes that flashed goldwhen the sun caught them just right stared up into the geniuses eyes.

“There you are,” He gazed adoringly at his child. Littlehands waved about and the little tatter tot gurgled at his mother happily. “Comeon nugget, the stars shine bright tonight.”

Happy gurgles and breathy sounds seemed to agree with him sohe made his way to the second floor back deck that was just outside hisbedroom. Outside Tony stood under the dark night skin that shined bright withhundreds of stars. To most the sky would have been breath taking but to Tonynothing compared to the little bundle of life in his arms.

That night, the stars shined bright, glittering in greetingas if the universe was speaking to them, whispering with the cool breeze.

Because the universe knew, Julien Edwin Stark was going to be okay.

Comments and Likes mean the world to me. Thank You!

#luvvswrittng #tony stark #tony centric #a/b/o #mpreg #baby!fic #post cacw #fuck team cap

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champagneandparacosm-archive · 4 years ago

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She hated people. They were loud and rude and way too many treated her like a child. The only reason she put up with them was because she liked sex way too much to give it up, addicted as Jane would tell you. She didn’t like excessive touching and certainly didn’t make a habit of touching strangers faces. But this was no ordinary person, hunter a special case. Rowen had only ever met one other with voices such as his, her mind a scattering mess of broken glass and shards trying to cut her. Rowen had to be careful when playing with the mind. It was a dangerous thing.

Which is why rowen gently placed her thumbs against his temples, eyes shutting tightly as she was met with insanity. She never could grow used to it, the sudden loud screams and taunts, her heart panicking in a stammer. She hated loud noises. She couldn’t stand to be crowds. And this- his mind was a big black hole sucking her in and trapping her. She took a slow breath, calming her nerves as she sorted through it all. It was invasive and rather rude in her opinion, taking and seeing everything... all of his memories. All of his hopes, dreams, information. She had it all in the palm of her hands. Though he gave her permission, she still felt like she was intruding, trying not to dig into anything too personal.

It was like a hurricane, the woman trying to listen to the faint scream coming from his consciousness. She could see a range of colors, all blinding in hot, fiery spirals. None purple, all mixing into one black deafening roar. Her heart broke for him, pushing further, pushing herself farther. She felt a pain in her chest, like the air was being stolen from her. Stopping now though would be worthless. She didn’t know yet what she was looking for, unable to hear the utterance of purple. It took a minute, Rowen clenching her jaw as she tried to connect through his consciousness. Finally, she broke through the block, her voice silencing all other voices until there was silence. She let out a breath, relishing in the calm, never before having been so happy to not hear voices. Her eyes fluttered open, hands dropping as they tremored violently, a side effect of overexurtion.

“Purple” she whispered, swallowing the lump in her throat as she leaned back in her chair, the dog giving a low Yelp, sensing her fatigue. She waved weakly at the canine, “dog, water.” Her palm went her rub at her head, a dull throb beginning at the front of her head. The dog, on command, hurried to the fridge in the back of the shop, where he grabbed at the rope tied tot he handle, pulling the fridge open and taking a bottle of water on the bottom shelf, running back to drop the water in her hand. “Shut the door, door!” She pointed towards the back again, the dog disappearing to finish his task. She always hated how he never learned to shut the door when at the fridge, the animal somehow stuck on waiting for another command. In her opinion he should have been taught to finish it. She was fucking blind. How was she supposed to know if the door was then completely shut! If Jane had never told her, she wouldn’t have known.

“I just need a minute... usually i don’t have to silence a hoard of elephants.” She said with a dry sarcasm, not the most sensitive person in the word. She grew quiet, sipping her water as she stared off, making sure her eyes were turned away to not be ‘looking’ at him. “Scribbly, huh?” She turned her head back towards his direction. “Feel any better at least?” She snorted, smile slight and uncommittal, still reeling from the use of her ability.

champagneandpools:

Oh, he was one of those. The type that didn’t believe in her ability. To be honest she couldn’t blame him. She never believed in it either, simply thought she was a freak blind girl who talked to herself. Her eyes shifted slightly to where his voice came from, adjusting her gaze so it wasn’t completely off kilter. She knew that it didn’t matter, but she didn’t like to seem disabled. She could manage on her own. She didn’t need nor want anyone else’s help. Even this dog wasn’t her idea but her mother’s, insisting she needed one to guide her everywhere. She preferred cats. They were self sufficient for the most part. They cared about their space and liked down time. It was perfect to her who wasn’t much of a hugger.

Keep reading

#character: rowen

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kaoruyogi · 7 years ago

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How to Win Wars and Influence Nobles (Ch. 17)

Rating: E for Explicit/NSFW Content!

Check it out on AO3!

You’d think a video game lawyer could just drop into a pseudo-medieval universe filled with magic and demons and be totally okay with it, right?

Nah.

In the wake of her brother, Spencer’s, disappearance, Belle dropped into Thedas with luggage, but without a clue. After a brief but memorable panic attack, she resolved to be the best goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. Even if she was the only goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. And even if that obstinate asshole, Cullen, wouldn’t stop giving her the side-eye every time she walked into a room…Or every time he walked into a room with her in it…Or every time they walked into a room together…Or–Fuck it. You get it.

Chapter 17: War is Hell (And It’s Not Just a Fucking Cliché)

Forced marches could suck a fucking dick. Better yet, they could suck two dicks and a left nut.

Belle’s entire body ached from tip to tail. Her head ached more the further south they marched because, apparently, there were still allergens in Thedas to compress her sinuses. Her neck, back, ass, crotch, and thighs ached from riding in the carriage and riding on horseback. She walked when she could, but she almost snapped her ankle on the third day and had to stop trying.

It was a small mercy that Eudora had decided to come along with the other healers. She patched up Belle’s little cuts and bruises, though they were less numerous or frequent than Belle thought they might have been. The healer’s best balm for Belle was to be a much-needed lifter of spirits. The woman was, after all, a noisy and unashamed rabble-rouser. “Maker, this cart is rattling my bones from arse to tits,” or, “I never could master that twirly-whirly, spinning nonsense with my staff when I was in the Circle,” she would say. The latter made Sera laugh, too. Eudora was also Sera’s favorite healer, surprising no one. The two women had a lot in common, including boundless snark.

Dorian would ride alongside the women, putting in his two cents about Eudora and Sera’s colorful commentary on “the modern mage.” The phrase made Belle chuckle each time she heard it. The modern mage. She envisioned magazine covers with too-thin models draped in Chanel or Alexander McQueen robes, arms wrapped like boney serpents around Tiffany staves. Maybe it would be more like a family magazine, and the cover would bear images of happy little mage families or couples decked out it matching polo shirts and playing catch with fireballs. The articles inside would range from “How to Find the Best Necromancy Preschool for Your Tot,” to “Fifteen Ways to Thaw Your Ice Mage in the Sack.” Belle nearly toppled from her horse, she laughed so hard.

Max had gifted Bull a battlenug because the Qunari was just this side of snapping a horse’s back, even the drafts. The battlenug was somehow both hulking and snuggly with a face like a squishy rhinoceros and horns like an ancient mountain goat. Bull named him Mertam—an exercise in irony, according to Bull—and the two were perfect for each other. Bull spoiled the giant thing rotten the whole march, sneaking him vegetables and the odd fruit every time they stopped.

“You treat that drooling animal better than you treat me,” said Dorian one evening at their campfire.

“I treat you just as sweetly when I’ve turned you into a drooling animal, kadan,” said Bull. Dorian shut up after that.

Varric wrote everything down, even while he rode. When Belle asked him why, he said with all seriousness and conviction, “Counselor, someone’s got to tell this story to everyone who wasn’t here. Some of the things that happen along this march will be legendary one day. Incidentally, what do you think would be a good title for the book? I’m thinking, ‘All This Shit is Weird,’ by Varric Tethras. Or maybe, ‘No One Listens to the Dwarf’ with the subtitle, ‘The Story of How Thedas Almost Burned to a Crisp Six Thousand Times.’” Belle picked the second option.

Vivienne, Leliana, and Josephine spent most of their time in one of the carriages. When Empress Celene surprised an entire army by joining the march with her forces, the four women were all but inseparable. Belle spent what time she had to with the empress, kissing ass and licking boots, but preferred to be away from the onslaught of noble horseshit the woman spewed on a never ending basis. Belle was not Vivienne, who seemed unable or unwilling to stop appearing unreadable and superior. Belle liked to shut her superiority off after a few hours of use. It was too exhausting to spend the whole day looking down her nose, and her glasses weren’t suitable for accommodating the adjustment.

Morrigan likewise lingered near Celene, though she could also be found arguing with Solas about something related to magic or elves or just about anything. On rare occasions, she rode with Max, though he seemed to tire of her company after fifteen minutes. He didn’t care for her. Her presence was a means to an end, he’d told Belle. The witch, he’d said, knew something.

When Solas was not arguing with Morrigan, he could often be seen riding in silence, a pensive stare glued to his face. Belle liked the elf well enough, though he may not always have liked her. The way he’d spoken about her unceremonious arrival in Thedas sometimes sounded like chastisement. Other times it had sounded like he felt a personal attachment to the incident. He had become less apt to ask her about it in recent months, but everyone had become less apt to ask her about it in recent months.

Cole lingered near everyone at one time or another. He had become more…corporeal lately. Belle noticed him more, and he surprised her less. His personality had not changed—he still said odd and invasive things—but he seemed happier, in a way. It was in his tone and on his face in tiny increments. She might even have heard him laugh once, though the sound was so short and came as such a surprise no one could be certain.

Blackwall, as everyone agreed to continue calling him, marched with the soldiers. He was no more fit to ride than any one of them, he’d said before they set out. The soldiers began to accept him again as they marched. It was a slow process, but Spencer helped, choosing to sit next to Blackwall at meals and march with him for several days. Spencer chastised some of his fellow soldiers for their judgments and accusations, reminding them how many of their own lives Blackwall had saved. Belle could not have been prouder of her brother for championing the beleaguered man. Spencer was one of the good ones.

Cassandra alternated between riding and marching, always near the front of the forces. She was a galvanizing and powerful presence for the soldiers, never showing weakness and always understanding of their struggles. She made sure boots were kept dry and shields were kept high. She and Cullen often rode side by side, locked in intense conversation or in complete silence. Casualness between the two warriors was a rarity.

Cullen had withdrawn from Belle in degrees too small to cause her to worry until midway through the march. It started the day Max told everyone they would soon be marching to the Arbor Wilds. Cullen spent that night with Belle, but he had refused to leave his office for dinner. He started refusing to leave his tower for lunch. He started refusing to leave his tower for any meals. He stopped spending the night in her tower.

She tried to be understanding. He was under immense pressure to plan a successful march, a successful attack, and a thousand successful contingencies. The Inquisition’s cause and his cause had to be one and the same. She understood. She was a workaholic before being sucked into Thedas, even a bit of one thereafter. She tried not to mind the dark circles under his eyes or the way he would ignore food when it was brought to him. She tried not to pay attention to the way he snapped at people more than usual or pinched the bridge of his nose. She tried not to feel hurt at his continued absence from her bed or his constant answer of, “There is too much work to be done,” when she asked him to join her. She tried, but it wasn’t working.

As the troops marched on, Cullen grew ever more distant. Belle had hoped that they would share a tent, and they did. She would creep in after dinner to find him already hunched over some document or another, writing or reading by dim candlelight as he held his forehead in his left hand. The muscles of his neck and shoulders were stiff and knotted, as if a pack of overeager boy scouts had gone to work on him in pursuit of a merit badge. Belle would dig her hitchhiker’s thumbs into those knots, squeezing and massaging them until she thought her fingers would snap at the first knuckle. She was nearly brought to relieved tears when he finally dropped his head and groaned at her ministrations, but that only happened once.

She was brought to tears after the first week. She began massaging his shoulders, and he reached back to lift her hand away. “Don’t trouble yourself,” he said.

“I’m not troubling myself. I want to he—”

“I will join you in bed shortly.” He didn’t look at her when he said it.

“Fine.” It came out exactly as harsh as she meant. Still, he did not turn to look at her.

He was just under stress, she told herself. He had not intended his words to be cruel. He was Atlas with the world on his shoulders, and he was Achilles with an arrow in his heel. His withdrawal symptoms were flaring up under the pressure of thousands of lives resting on his judgment. Constant headaches, flop sweats, she may have heard him vomiting once.

Belle laid down, tearful, angry, and terrified. It took almost an hour for her to fall asleep to the sounds of Cullen’s scribbling. She drifted off with her back to him, her arms crossed over her chest, and her hands balled into fists.

She woke up alone.

She had her own tent set up the next night. It wasn’t because she was angry at him. It wasn’t because she needed distance from him. It wasn’t because she thought he needed to be alone. It was because she could not watch him do this to himself again. She could not watch him kill himself under the yoke of his workload a second time, and she could not intervene. It was not her place to tell him not to plan or not to work. The strain on him, his tension, was justifiable. The fate of an entire fucking continent depended on his strategy. The weight of that would have broken a lesser man. She only hoped it would not break him.

She had barely seen Cullen during the last leg of their journey. He walked alongside soldiers and he rode at the head of the army as he had done, and he slept or didn’t sleep alone in his tent. His skin went sallow and his eyes seemed to sink into his head to be surrounded by yellowish, blueish, purplish circles. He was worn down and ragged, yet he managed to appear composed in front of his men. He looked almost regal with his tired head held high and his tired gaze held firm. Even at his worst, he was a fucking sight to behold.

When they finally reached the Arbor Wilds, Corypheus’s forces had already entrenched themselves in the network of groves nestled in the vast woods. Hundreds, if not thousands, of Red Templars and Tevinter mages calling themselves “Venatori” sat between the Inquisition and some magic mirror in a temple. Belle would have been lying if she claimed to have full comprehension of the importance of this magic mirror, but it was important to Max and it was important to Cullen and it was important to Josephine, so it was important to Belle.

Cullen approached Belle after dinner that night. The attack was to happen at dawn, he had told everyone upon their arrival. They all had one more night to rest, he’d said. The irony was not lost on her.

She had been forced to join Celene’s party for some eve-of-battle pow-wow that didn’t include anyone actually involved in the battle or its planning. It was an excuse for the empress to gather those she considered kindred close to her while she was afraid. If the battle was lost, there was a very good chance that Celene would no longer be empress by the time she returned to Orlais, if she returned to Orlais at all.

A gloved hand came to rest on Belle’s shoulder. The touch was gentle, like a nervous little boy trying to get the attention of the teacher he thought was beautiful so he could hand her an apple. When Belle turned, Cullen’s weary face looked back at her with a kind of doleful affection. “May I speak to you for a moment?”

She nodded, turning back to her esteemed company to bow her head. “I beg your pardon, your majesty, but I must excuse myself for a few moments.” Celene cast an appraising glance at Cullen before issuing a silent decree with a flippant wave. Belle clenched her jaw to keep herself from sighing as she stood. She bowed her head again before following Cullen to a quiet spot among the trees.

“I apologize for interrupting your meal,” said Cullen. His voice was soft and sad. The same doleful affection still rested on his features.

“It’s okay. It was begging to be interrupted. I hate having to sit up straight and pretend to be interested for that long.” She really did. “I don’t mind you stealing me away from the pompous bullshit.” She really didn’t.

“I—Uh…” His hand found the back of his neck, his sore neck he wouldn’t let her massage. His enervated eyes wandered to where the stars would have been had the trees not been so lush and so numerous.

His other hand lifted from his side. In it was a simple black leather scabbard with an equally simple black leather belt beneath it. The hilt of the dagger in the scabbard was also simple in its way. There were no gems or shining adornments, only deep azure leather embossed with a Celtic or Norse-looking design. It was Fereldan, without a shadow of a doubt.

“I want you to have this. I want you to wear it tomorrow—until the battle is done.” Cullen held it out in the too-substantial space between them.

Belle seized the opportunity to close the distance. She stepped forward, taking the dagger in one hand and locking his fingers in the other. “Okay.”

His gaze was uneven. The little lines on his forehead contorted into an upside down horseshoe with his apparent worry, spilling his imaginary luck down the bridge of his nose. His nose that was bent ever so slightly in the middle. His nose that had probably been broken at least once. His nose that she would gamble would be passed on to his children. “I know you’ll stay in the camps, and I know you’ll be protected, but I need you to wear it. I need you to stay safe.”

“Okay.”

“I need to know you’ll stay safe, stay alive.”

“Okay.” Belle’s hand unclasped from Cullen’s, and she moved her palm to his jaw. Her thumb traced a tiny blue vein down from his cheekbone until it met with her other fingers. His eyes that had seemed nearly as pale as his skin were once again warm as honey whiskey. They roved over her face, scanning every mole and freckle as if to memorize them.

His lips crashed into hers without warning. It could not have been called anything but a crash. It was a reckless collision of flesh, a desperate meeting not to be averted by any force in any universe. His arms flew around her waist to press her to him, though his breastplate forbade the closeness they sought. His mouth opened once to close around her lower lip, and again to close around her upper lip. His tongue tasted her, teased at her skin, but did not beg entry at first. When it did, there was a kind of glory to it. It was brilliant and bright, his every movement a subtle devotion. He paid his penance, tucking it away in the corners of her mouth for safekeeping. Her hand squeezed at the back of his neck, and his hands squeezed at her waist. It was the kind of kiss meant to end all kisses. That, she would not allow.

Difficult as it was, it was Belle’s turn to withdraw. She watched his lips, pinker from the press of her own, then followed his scar up toward his eyes. “I need to know you’ll stay safe too, you know. You’re not allowed to just kiss me and run off in the morning to die. You have to take care of yourself.”

“I will do what I must to ensure the Inquisition is victorious,” said Cullen. His fingertips still burrowed into her in the spaces between her corset’s bones. Their lips were nearly touching.

“Man, fuck that,” said Belle. She dropped the dagger onto the weedy and leafy ground so that she could surround his face with her hands. “Fuck that noise, Cullen. You think the Inquisition’s going to be any good without you? You think someone else can just pick up your sword and go, ‘Oh, hey, yo, woah, I’m your Commander now,’ and that’ll just be all sunshine and rainbows? No. You live. You do what you must to ensure you live. I’m not hanging around in fucking Thedas if you’re not here. I’m not. So you better goddamn well live.”

There was a ferocity in his stare, a determination. “I do not plan to die.”

“Yeah, well, don’t just not plan to die. Plan to live, okay? And for the love of God, will you please stay hydrated?” Belle ran her thumbs along his cheekbones. “It’s really obvious you haven’t been drinking water. You’re not taking care of yourself.”

Cullen’s intensity turned to mild amusement. His mild amusement turned to adoration. “Alright. I will try to take care of myself, and I will do everything in my power to return to you.”

“That’s better.”

He kissed her again. There was less hopelessness in it, less fear. It wasn’t a kiss to end all kisses. It was a kiss to show his love. There didn’t need to be anything else to it. He would take care of himself. He would survive the fight. He would come back to her. That was all.

Belle told herself it would be alright, despite the pit in her stomach and the reminders screaming and clawing at the back of her mind that nothing was ever alright. But it had to be. It would be.

*****

Two days. For two days, the fighting dragged on. Belle did not see Cullen at all, though she heard from returning scouts and incoming wounded that he was fighting with everything he had. She heard that he saved one soldier’s life, then another, then another. She heard that he was pushing the Inquisition’s troops forward. She heard that he was pushing the Red Templars back. A tentative kind of pride swelled in her at the thought of his courage and compassion, and she would rest her hand on the dagger she wore beneath her light surcoat or the coin she kept in her deepest pocket.

Max had gone out with the first wave, but had been drawn back for his protection several times. Cassandra, Blackwall, and Iron Bull were helping Cullen with the push on the front lines. Cole and Sera ventured out past the front from time to time to set fires whose smoke could be seen from the rear camps, and Varric followed to lay traps for anyone who should not have been behind them. Dorian, Morrigan, and Vivienne fought among the warriors while Solas acted as a protector and healer, leading out whatever the mage versions of battle medics were to aid the injured.

Of course, Belle received all of this information second and third-hand. She was stuck at the rear camps with Celene and Josie. Leliana and a line of archers and mages stood at the edge of camp, decimating anyone foolish enough to approach.

Belle split her time between sipping tea with Empress Celene and helping Eudora with the arriving wounded. Belle had learned enough in all her time in doctor’s offices and emergency rooms to know how to triage. Crush wounds, stab wounds, blunt force trauma wounds, fatal wounds. Most were easy to discern. There was blood, or there wasn’t. There was bruising, or there wasn’t. The soldier was conscious, or they weren’t. The soldier was alive, or they weren’t.

While Belle sat with the Empress, she penned triage signs in secret. She wrote large numbers—one through four—on pieces of parchment as if writing short updates to the nobility. One was meant for those whose injuries were mild and non-life-threatening. Two was meant for those whose injuries were severe and bore non-imminent threats of death. Three was meant for those who needed immediate attention if they were to survive. Four was meant for those who could not be saved. Belle hated fucking four. She wanted to stop writing four for the rest of her life by the first evening. There had been too many fours. One would have been too many.

In the early afternoon on the second day of fighting, someone approached her. She was all but breaking her fingers, tightening a tourniquet around the arm of a hard-faced woman with a deep gash in one arm and a piece of parchment with a two in the other. Belle thought she heard her name, at first, but couldn’t be sure with the choir of the wounded crying out around her.

“Lady Dolan,” an Orlesian voice said again. She glanced up to see a man she may have recognized as one of Celene’s servants. The ubiquitous masks they wore made it difficult to be certain who was who in the zoo.

Belle grunted out a “Yes?” as she pulled the fabric a final time. The wounded woman beside her whimpered for the first time.

“Empress Celene has requested your presence, at once.”

Belle looked up at the man. His arms were crossed over his chest and his foot tapped the ground in a dramatic show of impatience. “I’m a little busy, in case you hadn’t noticed. And, you know, I just left her.”

She stood to move to the next cot. A man in his forties sat up, an eerie red shard sticking out of his lower abdomen. She looked over the wound, putting her hand near the shard as she did. The air around it felt hot. Something about it made nauseated her. She’d seen a great many shards like these since the battle began. Red lyrium. Varric told her not to touch it before he left, so she didn’t. She handed the man a three.

“That may be so, but she has requested your presence again. The Empress is not to be ignored in favor of these…common soldiers.” The Orlesian’s accent made his words sound even more laden with disgust than they might otherwise have been.

Belle wanted to tell the man to shove it up his ass, to shove himself up the empress’s ass so she wouldn’t feel ignored. “There aren’t enough healers here. I just relieved some of them. Somebody could die if I leave.”

As if on cue, one of the healers she relieved, a young Qunari man, trotted back into the tent. “I took the liberty of retrieving him,” said the Orlesian. The Qunari touched Belle on the shoulder and gave her a small smile. He nodded toward the exit of the tent.

Belle sighed through her nose, trying not to look too petulant as she stood. “Fine. Let’s go.”

As they walked through the camp, she swore she heard an explosion and felt the ground quake beneath her feet. No one else seemed to notice, as everyone kept about their business of mixing potions, making arrows, and cleaning and repairing blades. She thought about the one on her hip, concealed from the world like her worry for Cullen was concealed from the world. She hoped he was drinking water.

“We just passed Empress Celene’s tent,” said Belle as she watched it fall further and further behind her. Calling it a tent was doing it a disservice. It was more of a portable multi-room structure, like a rambler made of canvas. It sat among the other tents, cream colored where they were maroon, massive where they were tiny, and stately where they were shabby. It was a feckless display of wealth amidst those fighting for the welfare of the world.

“She wishes to speak to you where there are fewer eyes and ears.”

Belle was not about to sleep with Celene. Fuck diplomacy. Maybe that was what it was called when people did that. “Fuck Diplomacy” sounded like an archaic negotiation tactic. “Okay,” said Belle, knowing full well that she might lose her job if this little tete-a-tete took a swerve. She might lose her head while she was at it. No pressure.

The man held up the flap of a far flung tent and gestured for Belle to enter. The tent was tiny, likely erected to keep sensitive supplies dry. That would explain the smell of salted meat and the large crates. What it would not explain was the absence of anyone else in the tent. “Where’s Empress Celene?” asked Belle as she turned to look at the Orlesian.

No sooner than she had closed her mouth had he rushed her. She gasped and flinched, as was her way when she was startled. She felt cold metal against her throat and wood against her back. The foulness of the man’s breath had no room to dissipate before crawling up her nose. Every detail of his mask was visible to her, each dent and ding immediately suspicious. His ice-blue eyes bore a smugness that made her angrier than the thought of the blade meant to take her life. There was nowhere to escape, nowhere to run but through him. She leaned her head back as far as she could without causing him to take notice.

“This is what happens to cunts who tear down noble families for sport.” The man spat as he spoke, peppering Belle’s lips and chin with his rank spittle.

Belle’s right hand crept up her thigh. Her dagger was tucked away. He didn’t know she had it. Even if he did, he didn’t know she’d learned to use it. “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling the smooth bottom of the scabbard. “I have no idea who the fuck you’re talking about.”

The man hissed a wet breath through gritted teeth, pushing into her and knocking her head against the crate behind her. “Perhaps you know my name then? Does Asselin sound familiar to you, you foreign bitch? Neville Asselin? Mallory’s brother? The man whose future you fucked when you ruined her marriage?” He spat again.

Belle’s fingers found the hilt of the dagger. Her fingertips grazed the design stamped into the leather before closing around it to withdraw the blade from its sheath. She took it out slowly as she said, “I didn’t fuck your future. You should blame your sister for that. If she could’ve just moved on and not stabbed me in the middle of a crowded room—the same crowded room as the empress was in—maybe your family wouldn’t have lost everything.” The tip of the blade swayed in the air when it came loose. She turned it upright as he spoke again.

“My sister is not at fault in any of this! You ruined her life! You ruined all of our—” Neville stopped short when Belle jammed the blade into his chest. Between the third and fourth rib and up to pierce the heart. That was the way she’d practiced with Cullen. They had practiced it for days. Her wooden practice blade had never entered his body, never pierced his flesh or his organs, never killed him. Every blood vessel in her body felt as though it was flowing with ice. Every muscle was tense. Every breath was shaky as it came in or out. Her thighs ached. This was fight or flight. She had the urge to do both.

Neville’s eyes went wide. He let out a thick cough as his blade dropped away from Belle’s throat. She jerked the hilt of the dagger to make sure she hit something vital, and he coughed again. When he finally went limp and heavy against her, she let him fall to the dirt in a heap.

Her hands trembled even after she balled them into fists. Her breaths were noisy, in and out of her nose. Cold in, cold out. He was dead. She had to be sure he was dead. She reached down, seeing her bloodied hand for the first time and not minding, and ripped the blade from the body. She stabbed him in the heart again, down instead of up. Neville didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. She checked for a pulse to find none, not even the faintest thump against her index and middle fingers.

Belle was overwhelmed by the compulsion to get away from the corpse she’d made. She’d always thought that if she had to kill someone to stay alive, she would say something afterward. “Fuck you,” or something. Maybe something quippier, she was never really sure. Instead, she took her dagger from the body and left the tent in silence. She thought about sheathing the blade, but decided she didn’t want to get any more blood on her clothes or ruin the scabbard. Banal practicality in the face of crisis was ingrained in her bones. She almost laughed at the way her mind worked, but she’d just killed a man and she thought better of it.

She wandered over to Celene’s obscene tent, aware that her surcoat and pants were splashed with blood. Celene’s servants balked when Belle entered. “Josephine? Are you in here?”

“Belle?” said Josephine’s voice from behind a wall of cream colored fabric. “I thought you were aiding the healers fo—” She rounded the wall and stopped in a stiff motion. “What in the Maker’s name?” She walked a couple of hasty steps to meet Belle in the center of what passed for a foyer. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I mean, I guess? Neville Asselin just tried to cut my throat.” Belle gestured with her bloody knife in the direction of the tent containing the salted meat and the corpse. “I killed him first.” Her matter-of-factness made her a little dizzy. It seemed dumb.

Celene’s voice rang out in shrill tones from where Josephine had been. “Is everything alright, Lady Montilyet?”

“All is well, Your Majesty. I shall return in a moment.” Josephine lifted Belle’s chin to examine her neck. “We must get you to the healers to have your wound tended.”

Belle shook her head. “He didn’t get me, though.”

Josephine’s dark brows knotted together, her blue-hazel eyes quizzical. “Belle, you have a two-inch cut along your throat.”

“I do?” Belle started to reach up to feel her neck, stopping once she remembered the upward-facing dagger in her hand. “He cut me?”

“Yes, and you are still bleeding. Come with me.” Josephine ushered Belle out of Celene’s quarters and toward the healers’ tents.

“Goddamn. Adrenaline is a hell of a thing.” Belle started to feel the sting of the wound when they reached the halfway point. “Ow. Now I know it’s there. Shit.” She reached up with her left hand to touch the tender skin around the cut. She was, in fact, still bleeding.

“Are you alright?” Josephine asked again as they entered the dingy red tent.

Exhaustion began to wash over Belle the moment she sat on an empty cot. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. “I dunno. My neck hurts now. But someone should really go get that dead guy. Like, secure the scene for investigation or something. I dunno how you guys do shit here. I dunno.”

The same young Qunari man she had relieved and had relieved her in return approached. “What happened?” There was a distinct measure of consternation in his voice.

“I know, right? I just left here all not bloody and here I come a few minutes later all…bloody. That guy tried to slit my throat. I guess he did a little. Did he say anything to you?” Belle pointed at the young man with the hand she’d forgotten was still clutching a dagger.

He was gentle with her when he moved her bedaggered hand away. “About killing you? No. You can put down the knife, though. You’re safe now.”

Belle’s fingers would not loosen. Her nails dug into the bloodstained blue leather. “Um.” She willed herself to let go of the knife, but her fingers were not to be moved. “I can’t.” She tried again. “Nope. I can’t.”

Josephine’s hand came to rest over Belle’s, and the muscles began to relax. When Belle’s fingers loosened enough, Josephine slipped the dagger away. She laid it down on a small table next to the cot. Belle’s jaw was set tight while she watched. Her nails had left little crescent indentations in the blue leather, and she could see the spot where her hand had been—the only part of the grip that wasn’t coated in rapidly coagulating blood.

“I do not wish to leave you just yet, but Celene—”

“No, yeah, dude. Go ahead. Handle it. We got this.” Belle gave Josephine a weak smile as she pointed back and forth between herself and the young man. Josephine gave her one last baleful look before leaving the healers’ tent. Belle sighed an unsteady sigh. “Yeah. We got this.”

Some kind of horn sounded outside while the man, whose name Belle learned was Ash, twinkled his magical fingers around her bleeding knife wound. The feeling of tissue knitting itself back together was eerie, and a bit squishy. “Battle’s over,” said Ash absently, looking down at Belle’s still-healing neck with an appraising eye.

“Is that what that horn thing meant?”

“Yes. Have you never been to battle before this?”

“No. This is my fir—” She gasped as the last jagged bits of her cut reconnected. “First battle.”

“Well, well,” said Ash. “First battle and you didn’t even have to leave camp to kill a man. Well done.”

“Doesn’t feel well done. Feels shitty.”

“I know, but it happened. Stay here for a moment, I’m going to get you some water. You look a little pale.”

Belle couldn’t stop the little puff of laughter that left her nose. “I always look pale. But I guess this is the ‘no blood in my body’ kind of pale, huh?”

“The very same.”

Ash came back with a small cup of cool water a moment later. Belle drained it, and he went to fetch more. They went through this two more times before her thirst was slaked. “You should have brought me a bigger cup.” They both laughed a bit. She felt nauseous.

He told her to lie still for a while before she tried to get up. She knew that her body need time to make more blood, and she complied. She couldn’t keep from looking at the ruined dagger. Could daggers get ruined? They were intended to spill blood. That was their raison d’etre. How was she meant to clean the dried blood from the leather so she could use the thing again? Was she supposed to use it again? Would she have to use it again?

Hullabaloo and ruckus outside pulled Belle from the whirl of her thoughts, and she blinked her dry eyes. She was still conscious. She reckoned she would still be conscious if she stood to see the cause of the fuss. Testing her theory, she rose inch by inch from her cot, inhaling the whole time. Dizziness when standing was, after all, most frequently caused by lack of oxygen flowing to the brain.

Belle stepped out of the tent and glanced around. Entering from the edge of the camp where Leliana had been holding the line, Belle made out Spencer and his friend, Aldridge, dragging something on a makeshift half-stretcher. On closer inspection, the thing they were dragging appeared to be an unconscious man. Dark, greasy hair lay in a messy mop around his head and face, and some of his veins seemed to glow red. Bits and pieces of silvery armor clung to the fabric of his gambeson, but they looked as if they had been shattered.

Following close behind the stretcher, to Belle’s shuddering relief, was Cullen. She stepped toward him, though she was a good distance from the entrance to the camp. He was all in one piece. He looked tired and irritated, and someone had opened up his eyebrow with a well-placed punch, but he seemed alright. His posture was straight as ever, his head held as high as ever. She could have cried at the sight of him. She did cry at the sight of him.

Then he saw her. The fatigue and irritation on his face melted away into joy before dissolving into apprehension. His pace quickened until he was jogging toward her. She imagined she looked rather stupid the way she was holding her arms out long before he reached her, though it was worth every ounce of embarrassment the moment that he did. She wept into his neck when he embraced her, not caring for what seemed like the hundredth time that his armor pinched and pushed at her. Every bit of everything she was feeling rushed out of her eyes in globulous tears and out of her mouth in muffled sobs. He lifted her feet from the ground and carried her somewhere. She didn’t care to look where.

Cullen laid her down in the cot from which she’d risen. She supposed she had not gotten very far from the tent. When Belle allowed him to pull away enough to see her, he asked, “Whose blood is that?”

“Some of it’s mine. This guy—the chick who tried to kill me at the Winter Palace, y’know—her brother. He tried to kill me.” Before she could finish, Cullen lurched away.

“Where is he?” His voice was dark and robust when he spoke, filled with rage and something like desire.

“The rest of it’s his blood. He’s dead. In a supply tent somewhere that way.” She pointed, making aimless shapes in the air with her uncertain hand. “Or maybe not in the tent anymore. I told Josie. Maybe they took him out already. I don’t know. Did we win?”

Cullen’s face had become a battlefield. Worry and happiness and fury and weariness warred within his features. “In a way, yes.”

“Was that Samson that Spencer was dragging in?”

“It was. Though, Corypheus has not been defeated. Not yet.”

“That sucks, I guess. But yay, you got Samson. That’s good right?”

Cullen removed his glove to run his knuckles across her cheek. She reveled in the sensation of him. “It is. Are you alright?”

“I don’t know. I’m alive and Ash was kind enough to put my skin back together, so…I guess in that sense, I’m fine. But…I don’t know.” There were too many thoughts vying for top billing in her mind for anything to coalesce into something clear. “I should thank you for the dagger. And for all the training. I would be much less okay without those.”

“Maker’s breath, Belle.” Cullen enveloped her in his arms again. It was the first time she’d felt safe since the battle began. “Thank the Maker you’re alive, my darling. I could not bear it if you—If—”

“Shh, no. No, no, no. None of that bullshit. We’re both alive, and we’re both together. That’s enough right this second. Okay?” She felt him nod into her neck and shoulder. “Is Max okay?”

“He is alive, but he went through the eluvian with Morrigan and a few others. He is likely back at Skyhold. A few of us must leave as soon as we can to get home ahead of the march.”

Belle let out a heavy breath into his skin. She swam in the scent of him for a moment, spiced herbs and soft powder and the little something that was just him. She could take the time to cope with everything later. In that moment, she wanted to remain where and as they were. “Can we sleep first? We’ve both had a rough couple of days, one of us more than the other. I’ll let you pick which one.”

Cullen chuckled, letting his warm breath splash across her neck and through her hair. “Yes. We can leave in the morning. I would like to stay in your tent tonight, if that would be agreeable?”

“Pfft. Agreeable. Of course I want you to stay with me. I’ve missed you so fucking much I can’t stand it.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“Well, thank God for that.”

#cullen #cullen rutherford #commander cullen #cullen x belle #belle dolan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #fanfic #mgit #modern girl in thedas #self indulgence au #htwwain

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faithlethalhane · 8 years ago

Text

Fic: nowhere’s high enough

Root x Shaw high school fic, probably going to be four or five parts, nothing super long or involved, but I really enjoyed writing it.

...

Shaw shoved a handful of cereal into her mouth, tossing the box haphazardly onto the counter as she headed for the door.

“Sameen?” her mother called. “Where’s your backpack?”

She rolled her eyes spinning to face her mom while continuing to backpedal toward the door. “Don't need one. Not yet. Maybe tomorrow.”

“What about papers?” She insisted. “You can't lose everything on your first day!”

Scanning the area around her, Shaw quickly snatched an empty folder by the front hallway. “There. Useless syllabi holder, check.”

“What about lunch?” Her mother was now hurrying down the hall to keep up “What about gym clothes?”

“I have money,” Shaw assured, “and I've got clothes too.”

She yanked up her shirt to reveal a second one. “Gym’s first period this year. I’m fine, mum.”

“Will you stop running away from me for two seconds?” Her mother fussed, waving her hands toward herself until Shaw stepped into the hug. “Don't get in any fights. Don't skip class.”

Shaw’s groan was muffled by how far she was pressed against her mother's chest.

“I love you, Sameen.”

“I know mum.”

She accepted the kiss on her head before running out the door. “I'll be back at 2.”

She threw a wink over her shoulder before crossing the street. Her mother huffed. School didn't get out until three.

…

Shaw got to homeroom a minute before the bell rang. Root was in her usual spot in the back corner, furthest from the windows and the door, buried deep in her codebook, as Shaw liked to call it. It was her book of computer code written out in illegible patterns, packed full into the margins with edits and re-edits. If the school allowed them personal laptops, her life would probably be so much simpler.

Shaw slid into the seat in front of her, putting her elbows on Root’s desk and tapping her arm once to get her attention.

“Did you miss me, nerd?”

Root looked up, slightly surprised, before a wide grin pulled the corners of her mouth up.

“Shaw!” she exclaimed.

Beneath her, Bear perked his head up at the familiar name. It was always so tempting to pet him, but Shaw knew better. “How’s my tough guy?” She asked him in her Bear-only cutesy voice.

Root beamed. “He’s great. Missed you this summer. You do a lot of traveling?”

Shaw nodded. “More than I expected. Mom surprised me with a trip to Iran.”

“That sounds beautiful.”

“You could say that. It was nice speaking Farsi to someone other than my mom.”

Root giggled. “You’re too rough on her,” she berated. “Can you imagine trying to raise you?”

Humming, Shaw nodded over-emphatically. “Yes, of course, when you put it like that.”

Root tried not to smirk.

“Enough about me,” Shaw waved her hand dismissively. “How was your summer? Do anything crazy? Go anywhere?”

Root looked down at her desk, scratching a formless shape with her pencil. “No. You know me. Boring shut-in. I stayed on my computer all summer.”

She looked disheartened. Shaw didn't like that.

“I mean, if it's what makes you happy, then that's good right?”

Root didn't look convinced. “Yeah.”

The bell rang, and Shaw turned in her chair to face forward.

Roll was called relatively easily. Shaw managed half a hand raise when her name came up, even with her head down on the desk.

“Samantha Thompson?”

A longer than necessary silence passed.

“Miss Thompson?”

Frowning, Shaw lifted her head, glancing behind her at Root, who was leaned so far into her notebook, her nose might’ve actually been touching the page.

Shaw cleared her throat and nudged Root’s desk a little with her toe.

Root furrowed her brow and glanced up, confused. Shaw jerked her head toward the front of the class where the teacher was still standing, also confused.

“Miss Thompson?”

Root’s eyebrows narrowed further.

“Samantha?”

Her eyes flashed recognition, and a small “oh” escaped her breath as she shot her hand up.

“Present. Sorry…”

The teacher just smiled reassuringly before continuing on with the list.

The second bell rang and Root was up and to the door before Shaw could even say goodbye.

...

The first few classes went by as slowly as expected. Root was quiet in PE. Not a grumpy quiet, but definitely quiet. She was slumped down in the bleachers on the far edge of the class when Shaw walked in. She walked over and sat down, only to have Root flop her head down onto her shoulder.

She grumbled, but did not shrug Root off. She just sat still while the teacher went over the different units they would be covering over the year.

They separated for the rest of their morning classes after a few laps around the track.

Both Root and Shaw had the early lunch this semester, at the lovely hour of 11:30 in the morning. Shaw rubbed her eye with a sleeve covered hand as she shoved her tray forward with the other. The girl behind her was staring past her at Bear, and when Root turned to look at her, she definitely saw. Shaw stood up straighter and spread her arms out to block the view. “They should still be serving breakfast,” she muttered as she feigned a stretch.

Root smiled softly, but her embarrassment was still evident. The first week of class was always the worst for her.

“I’m serious,” Shaw continued. “I will riot.”

It earned her another small smile, brighter this time. Amused. “Tater tots are close to breakfast, right? Like...bite-sized hash browns?” Root offered.

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Yeah, if you’re not a potato snob.” She shoved her tray forward as she walked. “Which I am.”

At least it got Root to laugh.

Root paid for her food and picked up her tray, starting over toward their usual table. Shaw rummaged around in her pockets for the money she swore she had grabbed this morning.

Glancing back over her shoulder, Root frowned to see that Shaw wasn’t there.

“Shit,” Shaw mumbled, patting both her pants and sweatshirt pockets for the cash.

“I got it,” a gentle voice assured.

Shaw looked up to see Root typing her number into the keypad, followed by a paid verification flashing on the cash register.

She wanted to protest, but Root was already leaving again, and grumbling, she swiped her tray up and stormed after her.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.”

Root just grinned as she climbed onto the table bench.

“I did it for half a year last year. What’s one more time?”

Shaw sighed, staring down at the meal in question. “I promised you before we left for break that I was gonna pay for my own lunches.”

Root took a bite from her chicken sandwich and shrugged. “It’s no big, Sameen. Really.”

Shaw frowned. “It is. Your foster family can’t possibly be giving you enough money for two meals a day.”

Again, Root just shrugged as she set the food down and began rummaging through her bag.

“If you think about it, money is...completely made up.”

Shaw didn’t let her glare waver. “Don’t get philosophical on me.”

Root snickered and put her book on the table.

“Let me rephrase, then. Digital money is completely made up.”

Shaw’s eyes widened.

“No...You...you didn’t!”

Root bit her lip, trying to hide her smirk, but said nothing, opening her codebook.

“You hack your student account?”

Root looked up at Shaw for a pointed moment before looking back at her book.

“You are...something else.”

Root laughed. “Can we talk about something else, please? Something less accusatory?”

Shaw grinned. She looked around. This was nice. Familiar. What she had missed over the summer. She watched Root for a few moments. Her hair was its usual messy curls tumbling over her shoulders as she hunched and scribbled, pen in her right hand, sandwich in her left.

“Is it weird to sit here?”

Root’s brows furrowed as she continued to write. “Everyone else is in the same spots.”

Shaw shrugged. “But I mean, it’s lunch. It’s the one time we’re allowed to sit wherever we want. Shouldn’t we take advantage of that?”

Root looked up, surveying her surroundings. “I like this spot,” she admitted. “No one else sits here. We don’t get blinded by the sun.” She paused, using her sandwich as a stand in for a pointed finger as she gestured it toward Shaw. “It’s where I met you.”

Shaw nodded. She supposed she was right.

That was good.

…

“So can I, uhh, sit here?” she asked as quickly and nonchalantly as she could.

The girl, however, just kept chewing thoughtfully on her sandwich, pouring over the book as though she had not spoken.

“Listen, it’s the only table left, I’ll like, sit on the far side if you want.”

A frantic clicking startled her, and when she took a step back, she noticed the dog that had been curled up under the girl’s seat, now struggling on the linoleum tile to his feet hurriedly. He nudged the girl’s knee with his snout, and she frowned down at him, confused, before turning to look at Shaw.

“Oh!” Her mouth opened slightly before she managed a flustered smile. “I’m sorry. You’re on my bad side.”

“I’m...sorry?” Shaw repeated uncertainly.

“Bad side,” the girl said again, pointing to her right ear. “Deaf in this ear.”

Shaw blinked. “Oh, God, I’m…an idiot.” Immediately she walked over to the other side of the girl, straddling the lunch table bench. “I asked if I could sit here.”

The girl smiled brighter. “Of course! Is this your table? I wasn’t sure if there were predetermined territories.”

She laughed, ��No, you sat just fine in No Man’s Land. It’s pretty quick to get used to high school, though, I promise.”

Root looked back to her lunch, much more at ease. “I’m not a freshman. I’m a transfer student. But I do appreciate the advice.”

Shaw frowned. “What year are you then?”

“Sophomore.”

“Me too!”

Surprised, Root looked back over at her, a small smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “Really? I don’t think we’ve had any classes together yet. I’d remember a face like yours.”

Root tried to hide her cringe. What in the hell was that?! ‘Remember a face like yours’, God, it’s like free crush advertising spewing out of your mouth.

“Uhhhh,” Shaw held up an index finger to signal a pause as she started rummaging through her bag.

Retrieving a schedule, she placed it in front of Root and smoothed out a few of the wrinkles.

Root scanned the list, taking a bite out of her sandwich as she thought.

“Well…” she said slowly, “we have lunch together.”

Shaw smirked. “Shocking.”

Her finger traced to the bottom of the list, hesitating.

“And...Biology!” she jabbed the word on the crumpled paper with her finger.

Shaw grinned and swiped the schedule back. “I thought I was the only sophomore in that class.”

Humming, Root tilted her head, hiding a smug smile behind her sandwich. “I’m full of surprises.”

“And a knowledge of Biology is one of them?”

She tipped her head the other way, pretending to think. “Oh, you know. Biology, Math, Computers. You name it. Some people say genius. I prefer prodigy.”

The way Shaw’s jaw dropped made Root snicker just a little. Shaw clicked her tongue in faux displeasure. “I didn’t know you were one of those people,” she teased, pretending to stand up and leave. “I think it’s time I-”

Her sentence cut short when Root’s hand jolted out to catch her arm. For a split second, her eyes flitted to where her hand was on her elbow. For a protesting gesture, it was surprisingly soft.

“I was kidding,” Shaw reassured, slowly starting to lower herself back to the seat.

A mischievous smile flashed in Root’s eyes. “Oh, I wasn’t stopping you,” she teased. “I just wanted you to know, before you go, that you can call me Root.”

Shaw’s mouth dropped open. Wow, you didn’t even ask her name. Moron.

She laughed it off, however, rubbing at the back of her neck. “Shit. I mean, Shaw. I’m...Shaw.”

Root nodded

“I’ll see you around, Shaw.”

The glint in her eye told Shaw she wasn’t going to break that promise.

…

Shaw had quickly found out that her first impression of Root had been a skewed one. The girl wasn’t nearly as outgoing as she had been in that moment. She always kept to herself, never really went out of her way to talk to other people, and when she did it was always a forced politeness.

Not that anyone besides Shaw ever noticed the façade. She was a good actress, for what it was worth. It was just...different than when they were together.

They finished lunch and kept up casual conversation about their first few classes until the bell rang.

As they began walking to their next class, a small freshman came over, walking along on Root’s right side as she tried to stutter out her question.

“Uhh, S-samantha, right? Mrs. Bixler told me to ask you for help with algebra and…” She trailed off when Root didn't even look back at her. The girl was so quiet, she got drowned out in the sea of voices to the point where Bear couldn't even distinguish that Root was being addressed.

The freshman looked like she was going to cry.

Sighing, Shaw waved the girl closer to her. Hesitantly, the girl walked behind Root and toward her.

“Always stay on her left,” Shaw whispered as she moved to give the girl room to stand between them. “Her name is Root. Go ahead and start over.”

She slowed her pace to allow the girl even more space, but not before gently tapping Root’s shoulder for her attention.

Root glanced to her left, slightly taken aback by the change of person beside her, but she smiled none the less.

“R-oot?” The girl asked in confirmation.

She nodded. “What can I do for you?”

Shaw slowed her pace to give the two some privacy. For a loner, Root had such a way with people. It was like she could morph to whatever the situation called for.

Sometimes it made Shaw wonder if she morphed into something else when they interacted. It would be naive to think otherwise, wouldn't it?

“Hey, little astronaut, you back to Earth with me?”

Shaw blinked. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“I’ll see you after school?”

Shaw nodded, shoving her hands in her pockets.

Root wrapped her arm around her shoulders, pulling her in for a half hug before guiding Bear down a different hallway.

…

Root climbed up the stairs to the rifle range, releasing Bear’s handle and letting him curl up by her spot on the couch. She hopped up onto the railing between the lounge and the range, balancing on it as she waited for the other kids to arrive.

“Did I hear trouble one and trouble two?” Shaw’s muffled voice drifted in from the armory. She stuck her head out, shoving a few more chips into her mouth.

Root shook her head. “You know you shouldn’t be eating!”

Shaw shrugged and leaned against the door frame, popping another chip in. “What’s one bad target the first day of school?”

Root tutted disapprovingly. “We’re supposed to be good examples for the team now, Sameen. Co-captains, remember?”

Shaw grinned and took a couple steps forward.

“Come on. Rebel with me.”

She extended the bag tauntingly, shaking it gently as she took a few more steps forward. Bear’s ears twitched at the sound.

Root jutted her chin out smugly. “You can’t seduce me with your junk food.”

Shaw’s face fell into a scowl. “Fine.”

“There are other ways, though.”

She blinked. What?

The confusion on her face must have been evident, for Root raised her eyebrows.

“To seduce me.”

Her clarification sunk in, and Shaw’s face hardened back into a glare. She pulled the chips back to herself, grumbling and walking over to the couch. “Ha, ha, very funny,” she muttered as she threw herself down, using the armrest as a pillow.

She barely got settled before the coach walked in, tossing her shooting glove at her. It hit her square in the face, and she groaned.

“C’mon, kid, get up here with your co-captain. Look semi-official for first practice.”

Root failed to hide her giggle.

“Yessir,” Shaw muttered, making a face at his back as she stood.

It made Root laugh just a little bit more, but she gently patted the railing beside her in encouragement. Shaw rolled her eyes and made her way over, choosing to stand behind the railing instead of sitting on it. Root’s still patting hand brushed against her knuckles, and reflexively she pulled just out of reach.

She couldn’t explain why, and a small (miniscule) part of her kind of wanted to move her hand back where it was.

Beside her, Root stopped patting, folding her hands into her lap and kicking her feet listlessly as other kids began climbing the stairs to the range.

...

“Hey, you.”

Root looked up from her book to see Shaw approaching from the east wing. She smiled and scooted over enough for the other girl to sit.

“Hey, you,” she repeated back, mimicking the less than enthusiastic attempt Shaw had made.

“What’s a girl like you doing by yourself on Activities Day?”

Root raised her eyebrows. “Nothing really interests me.”

Shaw nodded thoughtfully as she opened a protein bar from her backpack.

“Absolutely nothing, huh?”

Root shook her head, jotting a few more notes down in the book.

“No sports?”

Root shook her head again distractedly.

“No clubs at all?”

“Clubs usually involve groups of people.”

Shaw stifled a laugh. “That is what a club is, yeah.”

She took a bite of the bar as she thought.

“Computer coding seems to be up your alley.”

“There’s not a club for that.”

“You don’t know until you look,” Shaw nodded toward the gym full of recruiting tables.

Root looked at her out of the corner of her eye, trying not to smirk. This girl seemed much more...emphatic than usual.

“You don’t want to go in there alone, huh?” she asked knowingly.

Shaw scoffed. “I know no shame. I just figured we could both use some company.”

Root pressed her lips together as she thought, her eyebrows furrowing slightly.

It was cute.

Shaw shook the thought away. Lots of people were cute.

“Fine. I will look with you. Just let me finish this,” Root allowed as she bent back over her the notebook.

Shaw grinned triumphantly, ripping a piece of the bar from the wrapper with her teeth.

They sat in silence for a moment as Root wrote. Shaw tapped her foot impatiently, looking around the empty hall.

“So, what exactly is the dog for?” Shaw asked, trying and failing to cover her mouth as she chewed.

Root smiled, tucking Bear a little further under her seat. “Hearing dog. I may be able to hear with one ear but sometimes sounds are one-sided. He’s here to alert me of any traffic I may miss. Or if I can't tell someone called my name. He knows how to tell me. It's mostly a safety precaution. Only thing they gave me.”

“Huh?”

“The gas tank in my old house leaked and no one noticed until it was too late. Explosion killed my parents, took the whole house. Took my hearing. Most of it anyway. I walked away with nothing.”

Shaw could see the bitterness in her eyes. Like she was sad but too angry to cry.

“You walked away with your life.”

The humor deflection worked enough for Root to laugh a single time, half-heartedly at least. She hung her head and smile sadly down at her lap, or at Bear.

“I’m sorry,” Shaw tried again.

The apology sounded as flat as the emotion behind it. She really needed to learn how to at least pretend to empathize.

“It’s okay,” Root cooed in a baby voice as she leaned down toward the dog. “I got you out of it, didn’t I buddy?”

He made a quiet whining sound in response, and she laughed, ruffling his fur behind both ears hard enough to jingle his collar.

She smirked as she went back to writing. “Now I get a question.”

Shaw tipped her head to the side in a slight nod.

“Fair.”

“What are you going in there to sign up for?”

Shaw grinned, the last piece of protein bar between her teeth. Tipping her head back, she let the bar drop into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“Rifle team.”

“Rifle team?”

She nodded firmly. “Rifle team.”

Root made a small “huh” sound as she closed her notebook and grabbed Bear’s lead. “You ready?”

Shaw crumpled the wrapper. “Are you?”

Reaching over with her free hand, Root patted Shaw’s hand a few times before standing.

“I’m intrigued,” she admitted. “I’ve gotta see where this leads.”

#root x shaw #person of interest #poi #shoot #sameen shaw #root #writing

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