#and little fifth grade me went down with everyone else for breakfast changed and ready for the day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sirenswhispers · 4 years

Text

The Night of Two Years Ago

N/A: Hey there, welcome back yo another of my disastrous imagines. I should warn you, this one is preeeetty long (2.7K) but I hope it's worth enough to read. It took me 3 hours to write!!

I'm still new at this, but if you have a request or something, feel gree to tell me. If you want. Anyway, hope you enjou, bye.

Fred Weasley x Reader

Your best friend had always called you a liar, and she wasn’t totally wrong. You could admit you lied in the simple things: You lied to your parents when you had a bad mark, you lied to your professors just so the twins could get away with a prank, and you have lied to yourself when you said you wouldn’t kiss Fred Weasley again.

But denying the fact that you fancied Fred Weasley wasn’t a lie. Yeah, from time to time you two would fool around. You’d be snogging somewhere in the castle or sneaking out from the burrow. That didn’t necessarily mean something.

That was just the type of friendship you two had.

But your best friend was sure there was more of it.

So there you were again, the cold morning breeze of the beginning of winter filling the great hall. Your best friend talking non-stop by you side, pointing once again that you and Fred would just be a perfect couple.

“We’re good at being what we are now” Once again you said, but it went unnoticed by her. “He’s always looking at you with those shining eyes, and so do you. I don’t get it, you should be together by now. You’ve been with them more time that you’ve been with me!”

Which was true. Your family didn’t precisely live far away from the Weasleys, to be fair you lived only a couple of kilometers from them, and if it wouldn’t be for those couple of kilometers that make nothing to limit the amount of noise coming from your neighbors, you would have never met the Weasleys.

It was one particular afternoon when you were trying to entertain yourself around the grassland in which your houses were seated. Being an only child meant not having anyone to play around, and that meant you were bored all the time living only with your parents.

It was then, while spinning over and over again for the sake of boredom, that you noticed a glimpse of something that looked like fire flying above you. When you stopped and looked at the sky, still dizzy from spinning so many times, you noticed a redhead boy with a ball in hand flying around.

Those kids from the other side of the Greenland were playing quidditch.

Or at least, attempting to.

Back then, you’ve never seen a quidditch match before. Forgetting how bored you were, you ran behind the speeding broom, following the path that led you to meet the kind face of Molly Weasley.

At first, you were shy. She was a beautiful woman with the kindest smile you’ve seen, and you had grown up without knowing about that tenderness she looked at you with. It wasn’t that your parents didn’t love you, they were just too busy to show it.

So, when Molly took your hand in hers and talked to you with such a sweet voice, you flinched. But it didn’t take long to get uses to the motherly love Molly Weasley gave you since that day.

She was the one to introduce you to all of her kids, and she had a lot. From who was your first crush, Bill Weasley, to the little girl clinging from her waist that was Ginny Weasley. Charlie Weasley, who was covered in mood and grass with a big smile, and Ron Weasley, only a year younger than you but taller even by then. Percy who just waved at you from one of the windows of the third floor, and the twins.

Those two pranksters who, at first, you couldn´t call by their proper name. So, they were Gred and Forge for you.

Even though you got along with all of them, the closer to you were always the twins. They enjoyed making you infuriate with their pranks, and you loved chasing them around the grassland.

When you arrived for your first year in Hogwarts and they were in their second year, they were the tour guides that showed you all of the secret passages, even showing you their most precious treasure: The Marauder’s Map.

They were the one who never failed at making you smile, even if you were having the worst day of your life. So it wasn’t a big surprise that you were where they were.

What it was a surprise indeed was when, in your fourth year, Fred Weasley, who was claimed as one of the most handsome fifth years alongside his twin George, trapped you between the wall and his figure and kissed you for the first time.

What it was even more surprising, was when you found yourself enjoying the action so much that you locked your arms behind his neck and pulled him closer to you. Letting his tongue play with yours in a deeper taste of the kiss.

The morning after that, when you were having breakfast at the great hall and he acted like nothing had happened, you made the promise to never kiss him again.

That promise broke two weeks later when, after dinner, he grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you down to the kitchens, where he kissed you hard against the portrait of fruits. You kissed him with just as much passion as he did.

When you were back at your dorm that same night, with swollen lips and messy hair, you decided to follow along. Your friendship didn’t seem to be ruined after two kisses, what could a couple more do? Nothing bad, you thought.

Those two kisses later became a mantra. If one of you were having a bad day or were stressed or just in the mood of kissing, you would look for a dark corner to snog in, which happened twice a week.

Not many people knew about this, only you, Fred and your best friend who happened to one day walked in one of your hottest make-out session. Her scream rumbled all over the castle.

George Weasley, who was the closest person to you two, was just as clueless as everyone else. You and Fred were set on never telling him about the nights his best friend and twin fooled around, because if it didn’t mean anything to you two, then where was the need of telling him about it?

But that day, that particular freezing day of winter, everything changed.

After breakfast, you and your best friend walked in the direction of the quidditch pitch, where the match Gryffindor against Slytherin was just starting.

Just as you were taking your seats in the front line, Madam Hooch freed the balls. The snitch flying so fast that in a blink you lost track of where it went, the bludgers aggressively hitting the air, whistling around the pitch and the quaffle being passed from player to player.

The match was fierce just as always happened to be when Slytheryn and Gryffindor were involved. Harry seemed to be competing against the speed of sound with his broom, seeking for the snitch. The Weasley twins were as impressive as always, and when in one certain moment Fred passed right in front of your nose, he barely stopped to sent a wink and a playful smile in your direction. Your best friend once again sighed in frustration.

- Just get together already – She said with gritted teeth.

You just laughed it off.

The stands roared in cheers when Harry Potter raised with the snitch in his hand. Gryffindor had won.

You left before your best friend even noticed your absence, making your way through the people in the grades. Your shoes hit the grass just in time to watch George and Harry jump over Draco Malfoy.

Before Fred even thought about joining them, you grasped his hand in yours, keeping a firm grip that didn’t let allow him to move. He remained by your side, looking at you with such rage in his eyes that you knew would later become in a hot make-out session.

But that couldn’t compare at the amount of angst the twins and Harry felt when Umbitch banned them from playing Quidditch ever again. This time you didn’t need to hold Fred, but the other way around.

You raised your fist, aiming to her toad-like face, ready to arrange the ugliness and that stupid smile in her face with just one hit. But before you could swing your attack, a hand covered your fist in the softest way, almost like a caress. Your body relaxed under his touch, and you leaned your back into his chest, which was raising in a quick pass.

Fred took you away from her before you’d something you’d regret.

It was so unfair. Draco and his zombies didn’t seem to get a proper punishment and some of the most wonderful people in the world had to paid because of their ignorance and teasing.

You were so mad that you didn’t notice when you started stroking the back of Fred’s hand. But he did notice, and it seemed like his flustered heart did as well.

That night of two years ago, the first time you kissed, that was supposed to be everything. That was supposed to be the night he’d tell you how he truly felt, but somehow, he just managed to involve you both in a never-ending game of kissing and sneaking. Not that he was complaining, but he definitely wanted more than just dark rooms.

He yearned to hold your hand in public, kiss you fervently in front of everyone after a quidditch match and take you to the Three Broomsticks and taste the butterbear from your lips.

Then he remembered he’d never be able to play quidditch again. You felt a suden squeeze in you hand.

Taking a glance at Fred you saw how red his face was. Maybe some privacy would help both of you.

You started to walk to the Gryffindor tower, Fred said nothing while following your footsteps. Once in front of the Fat Lady, you waited for Fred to say the key word. When you stepped into the reddish common room, a perfect place to snog in, you were swiped from your feet. Fred hold you in his arms until he reached the door to his dorm, and only put you back on your feet after closing it behind him.

As soon as your feet were on the floor, your lips were held captive by his. His mouth attacked yours in a fierce manner, biting hard and moving fast. It took you a couple of seconds to follow his demand.

Suddenly, your body started to grow warmer and warmer, your ming getting lost in the way Fred’s hands were touching your skin. His finguers traced a line from your neck to your shoulder, taking his time to caress every inch at an agonizing slow rate. Then, his hand went from your shoulder to the hem of your shirt, sneaking under the fabric.

His touch had never felt so intimate before, and it was driving you mad.

Yes, you’ve snogged and there were those moments were your hands started to take in the action, but this time something was different. His touch not only caressed your skin, it was making your soul tremble under his presence.

Tired of the clothing being in the way, you broke the kiss to take the dress alongside the jumper out of you. Fred’s body was hot enough to warm you better.

Fred didn’t have the time to gasp in admiration when you jumped over him and your lips were back on him, but this time leaving a trace of wet kisses on his neck. Sucking and licking. Sucking, and licking, and biting.

His eyes started to fluster; he was under the spell of your touch. Whatever you wanted, whatever you desired, he wanted to give it to you at that moment. Soft moaning started sounded like sweet nothings to your ears. The echoes of your bodies colliding, one against the other, resonated whitin the room.

The boys were probably eating something or pranking someone. Honestly, who cared where they were? As long as they stayed away from the dorm, everything would be alright.

Leaving one last mark in the silky skin of his neck; you separate yourself enough to admire the flustered boy your legs were clinging from. It had never occurred to you how good Fred Weasley looked. How good he looked with his fiery hair made a mess, or how precious he looked with rosy cheeks and lips parted. An invitaion you always loved to take.

The burning desire of his body almost left you startled. The person you were kissing was supposed to be one of your best friends, not someone you could just shag. But his taste was so intoxicating that flew those thoughts away.

You didn’t complain when Fred started to walk with you towards what you assumed was his bed. Your back hit the mattress with a muffled sound, and the sight of a flustered Fred was even better from this point of view.

You were barely dressed, only in undergarments. It was only fair if Fred took his clothes off, staying only in boxers.

Seeing him only in one piece of cloth made the burning desire grown, and you could tell by the lustered look on his eyes, he was having the same problem with you.

- What a waste of time – You said when he was taking too much time admiring you.

Taking him by his shoulder, your bodies collided again. Kisses and caresses were shared in a way they’ve never been before. The heat your bodies created together making the room a warm place you semmed to never want to leave again.

The tension from before released when your two bodies met in the most intimate way two people can share. You were speechless.

But more than for what you just shared with Fred, what have truly left you speechless was the way he was looking at you. Laying on his bed, your legs tangled with each other’s, rossy cheaks and grasping for air; he was looking at you in a way you weren't used to, and it made you think a lot.

In any of those thought Fred was only your friend.

Behind those lose strands of fiery hair and the sweat that covered his face, his eyes were shining. Literally shining with something terrifying.

You wanted to ask him why he was looking at you that way, why he was making you feel like such a clueless girl. But you couldn’t.

The words couldn’t seem to make it past your throat.

Suddenly, you heard the voice of you best friend “He’s always looking at you like you were the most rare yet beautiful gem” “He won’t stop looking this way, and we both know why” “Didn’t you notice he was seeking a reason to touch you? There was nothing on your cheek”

Even that night of two years ago.

You had convinced yourself it was only your imagination, that Fred Weasley didn’t love you that way.

But he obviously did.

And what was that feeling in the pit of your stomach you always have when he was talking to other girls? And why was he the only person you’d look for when you needed someone? Even if you just wanted to talk about Hippogriffs and Nifflers.

Why was it that when it was time for him to leave, you didn’t want him to? Why did you feel like every moment with him was not long enough? Why were you disappointed when every morning you two locked eyes, he wouldn’t stand up and kiss you in greeting?

“Why can’t you just accept to love him?” The voice of your best friend sounded again.

Then you realized something. You have been a liar. A big liar.

That that kiss didn’t affect your friendship? Rubbish!

That Fred was only your friend? Rubbish!

That you didn’t love Frederick Weasley? TOTAL RUBISH!

That kiss had meant everything to you, even if you didn’t know it back then.

- Fred – You called him, and he opened his eyes only to greet you with the same spark of before.

You felt your throat dry, but it was now or never. You placed you hand on his chest, feeling the calm beat of his heart.

- Why didn’t you told me you loved me that night? – Your words were a whisper but so were his.

- Because it wouldn’t change. You weren’t ready back then, as much as I wanted you to be. And my feeling were never going to change; I had still loved you every day after that night. I still do. And I believe I’ll always do.

He closed his eyes and sighed in relief. Even if he was okay with not saying anything, once the words were out of him it just felt right. His arms tighten the grip in your waist.

If it were up to him, you’d never leave that bed.

- You know, I’m not going anywhere – You said playfully, gaining a smirk from him.

You moved your hand higher to touch his hair. The hair of the little boy on the broom of your first memory with the Weasleys. You stroke it with a tenderness that made he couldn’t believe was real.

- I’m good where I am - You snuggled closer to him – Right in the arms of the person I love.

His eyes opened in surprise when you said those words. His mouth slighty open and you had to hold back the laugh burning in you.

- I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it – He shrugged.

- Don’t worry love, I’ve always known you were a little slow at understanding things.

That just gained him a smack on the shoulder. He laughed, and the vibration of his chest hitting yours was perfect.

- I’m only joking. No need to be violent, woman.

The words bubbled inside you. You said it once, but you wanted to said again. And again. And again.

- I love you Fred Weasley, even if you turned out to be a real pain in the arse.

His eyes softened at your words. Happiness was rushing through his veins with you in his arms. With you in his life.

When it looked like he was about to kiss you again, the door opened with a bang. An oblivious redhead walked into the room babbling things neither of you semmed to understand.

It was only when he sat on his bed and raised his face from his hands that he noticed what he had just walked in.

- What the hell?!

#Weasley #weasley twins #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley one shot #hogwarts #Harry Potter #george weasley #quidditch #fandom #imagine #one shot #Fred Weasley x Reader

140 notes · View notes

black-morticia · 7 years

Text

I got inspired by that “China Dad Hires Hitman on Unemployed Son” post because of a mutual said it was the Shimadas and I decided to write a fic about it. I’m going to double post on here and on AO3. I’m not sure if I’ll just make this into a one-shot and that’s it or make it into a series called Shimada Shenanigans and be one-shots about them growing up. Kinda depends on the feedback I get on this fic or if I just wanna write about them since Blizzard isn’t giving us anything. Who knows~

AO3: Father Knows Best

Summary: Genji slacking off wasn’t anything new to anyone, especially not to his father. Whether it was his friends, his date for the week, or just plain laziness it was expected out of the young Shimada. So when he starts obessessing over an online game, everyone was ready to just deal with it. But Sojiro realizes he needs a new method to solve an old problem. Unconventional yes but when have parents ever made sense?

Growing up, Hanzo and Genji would joke that every time they would annoy their father, a single white hair would grow on his head, within that very moment. And now years later in their late teens, their father’s white streak of hair was like a testimony of the stress Sojiro has endured in his 39 years. Right now, wasn’t any different.

“But dad~” Came yet another whine from Genji in the past two minutes of their already half hour long argument.

A half hour ago, Genji “casually” brought up the fact that a few kids from his school are travelling to New York City for the summer. Hanzo already heard this speech due to Genji using him as practice before asking their father about Genji going. So when Genji waltz into the dining room, giving Sojiro a peck on his temple as he read the news, Hanzo immediately knew what was about to happen.

“Looking sharp, father. New suit?” Genji asked, actually caring a tad bit because it was in fact a nice suit Sojiro was wearing.

“I have a meeting with the Eto clan. You know how annoying he is…” Sojiro grumbled, already dreading his day but gave no sign he was suspicious of his youngest child.

Genji just hummed just before he gave Hanzo a wink. “So uh dad… A couple of buddies of mine are going to New York City for vacation this year.” He started out, trying to eat his breakfast as well as check for his father’s reaction.

“Oh? That sounds nice.” Sojiro answered, not taking his eyes off his papers. “Tell them to bring you back something.”

“Well actually dad. I was thinking about going.” Genji said giving his best smile despite his father not looking at him.

“Going where?” Sojiro replied.

“To New York City.”

“With whom?”

“My friends; Kazuki, Toshi, Yasou, and Goro.”

“What about them?”

“They’re going to New York.”

“And?”

“I want to go with them!” Genji yelled the last part out of frustration. Damnit, was it irritating when Sojiro would do that.

“Ohhh, I see.” Sojiro said finally putting his papers down. “No.”

Genji blinked, while Hanzo attempted to hide his snort behind his cup. Sojiro looked at the both of them, before downing his tea, which may or may not have had a little shot of vodka in it, and standing up to head to his office.

“Give me one good reason why I can’t go!” The teen demanded, following behind their father, breakfast long forgotten.

“I will give you five. Three for the three C’s you got and two for the two F’s you got in school. And I will add a bonus. You have been slacking off during your training.” Sojiro continued walking to his office. “And until you get your grades up and actually show up for training, the furthest place you’ll be going for vacation is the front gate.”

“Oh come on!”

“Do not ‘Oh come on’ me. I am not one of your little friends, Genji.” Sojiro turned back him, to make it clear how serious he was about this. “If only you knew your homework as much as you know those damn video games, we would not be having this discussion. Which is over as of right.”

Fast forward 30 minutes and Genji is still debating the trip with their father as Hanzo read a book as he sat on the couch. Whether or not this was even considered a debate is a debate within itself. Most debates have equal footing but Genji was nowhere near on his father’s level. But that didn’t stop Genji from continuing to push. Stubbornness was a family trait.

“God you’re being so unfair, you know that!” Genji stomped his foot like a 5 year old and not the 16 year old that he was. That alone earned him yet another sigh of annoyance from their old man. “Like grades matter when I’m going to be working in the clan anyways. I bet half the staff here didn’t even finish school.”

“Here’s the thing I want you to understand, my Sparrow. I don’t give a damn about the staff or anyone else for that matter besides my children. And to my very firm knowledge, none of them are my children. My children are you two.” Sojiro replied, finally looking up from his file that he was reading. “But that does not mean you can use your bloodline as an excuse to slack off.”

Lord Shimada’s honeyed eyes were tired, as always, but still calm despite how long and repetitive this discussion has gotten. And beyond his previous show of annoyance, Sojiro maintained his cool composer. How their father was able to maintain his sometimes icy and distant composer was something the boys had yet to understand. They used to laugh at seeing rival clan leaders turn red with a vein bursting in their neck, as Sojiro remained unaffected by whatever insult they would throw at him. But being on the other side of it was a different story.

Hanzo could just see how increasingly frustrated Genji was with their father. Genji was 100% in the wrong completely. But that does not mean he cannot relate to his little brother’s clear annoyance with how cold, Sojiro could be. That part he could not fault his little brother. But that is as far as his sympathy went for Genji.

“But Kazuki’s dad is letting him leave for the summer!” The green haired teen folded his arms. “And he way worse than me!”

Hanzo scoffed. “Yeah, and Kazuki’s dad is also a 62 year old man who just married his fifth, 24 year old wife…” Genji shot a glare at his brother. “Isn’t he getting ready to go on trial for embezzlement?” As if they all didn’t know the answer to that question.

“Shut up. That’s not the point.” Genji huffed. “My point is that Kazuki’s dad-”

“Oh is that so?” Sojiro looked at his youngest son. Neither brother liked the haughty tone their father was using. “Well if Kazuki’s father is so great, why don’t you move in with them, huh?” Genji didn’t respond, unsure where Sojiro was going with this. “I am sure, him being so grand and amazing that he will have no problem moving you in, hm?” Sojiro’s smile would honestly be mistaken as genuine. “And since he is so amazing, I am positive he will buy you a new phone and car, as well as anything else, right?” In that instant, his smile dropped as he stuck his hand out. “So be sure to leave your keys and phone here.”

The green haired teen groaned loudly, stomping his foot before storming out. Hanzo could no longer contain his laughter after the office door was slammed shut as his father pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear we need a schedule. I cannot keep dropping everything to deal with him when he’s behaving like an infant.”

“Maybe you should let him move in with Kazuki…” Hanzo said after collecting himself. “He will understand how it is to live with someone just like him.”

If the short glare he got was anything to go by, his father did not like that plan at all. “I just don’t understand the sudden change in him…”

“You think he got back with his ex?” Hanzo suggested.

“Which one?” The elder man scoffed.

“The one you hated.”

“Which one?”

The elder son couldn’t help but chuckle. “Fair point. But honestly? It’s that online game he’s been playing.” Hanzo wasn’t sure how many times at night he’s caught his little brother staring unblinking at his screen, playing some MMO game.

“Game? What game? Those damn arcade games?” Sojiro asked.

“No. It’s an online game. Blade and Soul or whatever… Something ridiculous.” Hanzo pretended to not know, to hide the fact that he himself has taken up with the game as well. But unlike Genji, Hanzo had some semblance of self-control.

Sojiro merely hummed as he leaned back in his chair. He knew his youngest son. Once Genji takes interest in something, it is hell to get him to not obsess over it. Whether if it’s a foolish idea, a movie, or even a girl/boy/omnic, Genji throws himself into it full force. What whatever his new special interest was, he hyper focuses on it for Gods’ know how long. And if it’s a game, then it’ll be even more problematic to get him to stop. Genji would strive to be the best. Competiveness was also a family trait.

“I need a drink…” The man grumbled. Hanzo snorted, before standing up, mumbling a low ‘I’ll get it’. Once he finally alone the first time that morning, Sojiro let out a heavy sigh. He found himself debating on actually taking back on what he said and just let Genji on the trip, maybe take Hanzo with him. Maybe then he’ll get some semblance of peace for a few weeks. But he realized once again he was going easy on them. They were spoiled enough as it is. And the Elders where wearing on his already low patience for them. He didn’t need them telling him how to raise his own kids any more than they try to.

His eldest son came back with a glass of red wine, to which Sojiro gladly took. “Before you go, my Eldest… What was the name of the game, your brother is playing again?” Hanzo pretended to think before answering.

“Blade and Soul… I think?”

Sojiro nodded before waving Hanzo away. Alone again, Sojiro took a gulp of his wine before going to his computer. A little research on what the hell his second son was playing wouldn’t hurt.

“Fuck this fucking game!” A shout from the youngest master’s room was heard through the halls. A crash was heard before Genji came storming out of his room furious. He swore up and down as he stomped to his elder brother’s room before slamming the door behind him. The green hair teen plomped on Hanzo’s bed, not acknowledging his sibling who was laying on his bed.

“Uh… Hello?” Hanzo was both annoyed and confused by his brother’s outburst.

“Did I ever tell you how much video games suck?!” Genji somewhat asked. Hanzo has heard this speech before (19 times to be exact) and did not want to hear it again.

Hanzo rolled his eyes, realizing his moments of peace are over. It’s moments like this where he relates deeply with his father. Maybe they should make a schedule to deal with Genji… “Save me the theatrics Shakespeare… What happened this time? Game glitched right when you were about to beat a level?”

Genji shot up to look at his brother with so much fire in his eyes. “I wish! Some asshole kept killing me!” Hanzo remained silent, looking at his sibling with a bored look. He opened his mouth to reply with a smart ass comment. “And before you give me a smartass comment. Yes, I know that’s the part of the game. But this was different.” A silent ‘Sure it is’ was in the air. “The dickhead was a level 80 and I swear on mom’s grave he was stalking me! I could barely teleport before, he pop up and kill me in one attack. I even went to a different server and boom! He was there and killed me again! It was so annoying!” Genji slammed head first onto the bed, letting out a groan.

“How tragic…” Hanzo sighed. “Now can you get out of my-”

“You want to train?” The bratty teen asked, showing his face. “I want to hit something.”

The elder brother looked baffled for a second. Since when as Genji ever suggested they train? Hanzo lost count at the many times Genji had to be dragged to the training room by his ear. But if his green haired brother was offering, he would not object. “Uh, sure? Let’s go then.”

Dinner time in the Shimada household did not need to be as grand as it was but it wouldn’t be a Shimada dinner. Most of the guards are were out on a job so the dining hall was rather empty. Sojiro and Hanzo talked between each other, Hanzo mainly asking about his father’s meeting with the Eto clan and when the next meeting with their allies would be; A normal conversation between the father and son.

Of course, in the Shimada household moments of peace were rare as Genji slammed opened the doors. He slugged his way to his seat, giving a few grunts to the guards who gave him their usual ‘Young Master’ greeting.

“Do you not intend to speak today? Or is this a vow of silence?” Sojiro asked, now turning his attention to his second son.

“I just read through eight chapters of that stupid book our teacher assigned for the summer.” Genji mumbled. “It’s so boring dad. You might like it.”

With a twitch to his eyebrow, Sojiro choose to ignore that little comment. “What made you decide to read it then?” He went back to his plate of food, glancing at Genji from time to time.

“I can’t play my game anymore. That asshole-“

“No swearing at the table.” Sojiro was quick to correct. Genji rolled his eyes. “And if you’re going to roll your eyes, you can roll them right back to your room, Genji.”

Genji sighed dramatically but didn’t push. “Whatever. Some high level player keeps hounding me. I did everything. I changed servers. I changed my password, thinking I got hacked. I made a new character and somehow he still found me. Hell I even used Hanzo’s laptop and the prick still killed me.”

“You took my laptop?” Hanzo asked, already sounding annoyed.

“Anyways, I hate that game now. And since I can’t go to New York with my friends… I’ll be like Hanzo and- OW!” Genji felt a strong kick his shin. The younger sibling looked his brother with annoyance and to his father for assistance but Sojiro was too busy sipping from his glass of wine to care.

“Hm… How odd…” Sojiro said lowly into his cup.

It was only for a split second, but Hanzo was sure of what he saw; a smirk. A rather cocky triumphant smirk from his father. He didn’t think anything of it until he started to remember the past few days. How so sudden Genji’s problem with his game started, how very strategic it was, how much of a coincidence the whole thing sounded.

Very odd indeed.

Normally, Hanzo would knock on his father’s office door and wait until he was granted permission but he couldn’t wait. In his defense he did knock, but gave his father no time to even speak before he said anything. Looking over his glasses as he stopped writing, Sojiro was confused by this sudden intrusion from his first born.

“Something you ne-”

“It was you.” Hanzo declared with his arms folded and the most smug grin on his face.

“Me?” Sojiro asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes. You. And you know what I’m talking about, so you should just admit it.”

“I honestly don’t.” Sojiro put his pen down, and looked his son even more uncertainty.

Hanzo scoffed. “You and I both know you are too smart and too prideful to play dumb. It’s not a good look for you. So quit pretending.” Hanzo was so sure of himself about this.

Sojiro let out a heavy sigh, taking off his glasses, leaning back in his chair. “Okay fine. I was the one who cheated during last week’s card game. Happy?”

“Yes- Wait what?” Now it was Hanzo’s turn to be confused.

“Honestly, I know I am the first to talk about honor in victory but when a lot of money is on the line, honor can come second.”

A paused ensued, before Hanzo spoke. “First off. I want a rematch. Secondly, I am talking about Genji’s stupid game. I know you have something to do with it somehow. I saw that smirk you had last night when Genji told you about it.”

Sojiro folded his arms, looking at his first son intently before chuckling. “So what if I did? You know your brother. He was not going to listen to reason. So yes, I had to take matters into my own hands. As I always do around here.”

“I knew you were ruthless but wow…” Hanzo shook his head with a smirk. “So how did you do it? Call the game company to target Genji’s character?”

“We are a clan of assassins, my Eldest. I merely hired an outside party. It was not hard to find the top players of the game and ask one of them to handle Genji’s character every time he logged in.”

“I can see the headline now… Japan Dad Hires Virtual ‘Hitman’ To Take Out Lazy, Video-Gaming Son. Catchy huh?” That smug grin on Hanzo’s face was starting to bug Sojiro. He could feel it in his wallet.

“Not as catchy as Japan Dad Hires Real Hitman on His Rat of a Son for Snitching on Him.” Sojiro hissed out.

Hanzo shrugged. “Hm… Mines better. However I’m not going to tell Genji…” Sojiro patiently waited for the ‘but’ in that statement. “But I will expect a raise in my allowance by this week.”

Sojiro scoffed, waving his son off. He knew his wallet was going to be affected by this. “Yes, yes, yes. Fine. Now shoo. I have a lot of work to do.” Hanzo gave his father another smile before heading out. He’s positive that a white hair just sprouted in his father’s hair just now. Lord Shimada huffed, shaking his head as he turned in his chair to look out his giant window. He couldn’t help but scoff.

“Gamers…”

#overwatch #hanzo shimada #genji shimada #sojiro shimada #candy's writings

49 notes · View notes

distant-rose-archive-blog · 7 years

Text

Skyscraper Jones

Notes: I thank her on every single one of these and I always will because this verse wouldn’t exist without her - @welllpthisishappening. (She’s perfect so if you don’t follow her, you’re really missing out!) Anyway, I know that everyone loves Wes/is waiting for something Wes centric, but Harrison is my puppy dog and he’s slightly based upon my ridiculous younger brother who is giant. (I call him Moose.) Anyway, this one-shot is based upon the actual events involving my younger brother who everyone seemed to think was in the fifth grade instead of second grade on our first day at a new elementary school. (Little Pirates ‘verse: By the Hook, Breakfast for Boys, Pirate Halloween and Children and Understandings.) You can also read this on AO3 here: [LINK] Summary: Harrison Jones is a big kid. Five inches and fifteen pounds heavier than the other kids in Ms. Zellar’s second grade class. He’s a bit hard to miss, which is why Emma Swan can’t understand why she’s getting a phone call in the middle of day from Storybrooke Elementary informing her that her son is missing. Rating: T Word Count: 4,1000+

Harrison Liam Jones is a big kid.

But this is nothing new as he was a big baby too and that’s something Emma Swan won’t ever forget because pushing out eleven pounds and two ounces of a human being is something that deserves a mention in the Guinness Book of World Records. (Henry likes to inform her that bigger babies have been born around fifteen and sixteen pounds and she cannot help but wince. She cannot imagine pushing out something bigger than Harrison, who nearly ripped her apart and broke his collarbone on the way out.) She remembers turning to her husband not long after Harrison was taken away by the attendants and telling him if he wanted another kid, he was going to have to carry it himself because there’s no way she’s going through childbirth again. (Six months later, of course, she makes a liar out of herself when whispers in his ear to tell him she wants another. Wes is born not long after that and Beth less than two years after him. Thankfully neither kid is as big as their brother when they’re born. Wes is a respectful seven pounds and nine ounces. Beth is their tiny girl; born four pounds and eleven ounces.)

They aren’t quite sure where Harrison’s stature comes from. It’s not that Killian is particularly short, but he’s not the six feet and four inches that their pediatrician estimates their boy will be. David is tall and broad, but he’s not gigantic enough to explain why their son will be towering over them before long. All and all, they chalk it as a medical and genetic mystery, and just accept that Harrison is going to be a very big boy.

David loves it and often heckles Emma to sign him up for pee-wee football despite the fact that he’s only seven, a year or two too young to even be on the team. He’s a proud grandfather and sees so much athletic potential in Harrison who is taller than Neal now, despite the fact Neal is a good year and some months older than him.

“He’s bigger than half the fourth graders and he would be on the same team as Neal!” Her father argues, looking at her like she’s insane for saying ‘no.’

“He’s not old enough!” Emma huffs, glaring at him with her hands on her hips. This is an argument they’re had too many times. “Besides, I don’t want him getting hurt.”

“Hurt? Your son is a bear cub compared to those kids. If anyone is going to get hurt, it’s the poor quarterback who stands no chance against a kid his size. Come on, Emma, you have a baby Brian Urlacher on your hands. If Hook knew anything about football he would agree with me!”

Emma cannot help but snort. Everyone is so caught up on the size of the boy that it seems that they cannot look past it and realize that her kid isn’t just big in size, he has a big soft heart as well. Harrison is a sweet boy who wouldn’t want to hurt a fly let alone tackle another kid. He’s incredibly gentle with his younger siblings, often guiding them around and picking them up when they fall over. He’s more likely to help a kid up after being tackled than doing the tackling himself. (Her other little kiddos are different story entirely. At five, she can already tell Wes has a bit of a mean streak as well as a wily cunning that goes beyond his years while three-year-old Beth doesn’t care about anything except getting her way.) No, Harrison Jones is very much a lover, not a fighter; no matter how much of a big kid he was.

“Dad, Harrison isn’t old enough. I don’t care how big he is. We’re not signing him up for football. At least not until next year.”

“Fine! But no one would ever know! It’s not like he looks seven!”

He’s right. At seven-years-old, Harrison is four-foot, five inches and sixty-five pounds, which is five inches taller and fifteen pounds heavier than the average demographic for his age. Emma figured that this wouldn’t be a problem as long as he was a healthy and able-bodied boy until it was…

Because David is right; Harrison does not look like a seven-year-old.

Killian and Emma are finishing a follow up on a break-in at the pharmacy when Emma’s phone rings and the caller ID reveals that it’s the elementary school calling her…again. They share an exasperated look as she reaches to answer it.

“Wes?” Killian predicts with a sigh. Their youngest son has been causing some trouble in his kindergarten class. His sticky fingers are a little too sticky with his classmates’ belongings. It’s become an issue that they’re sorely hoping to nip in the butt. Everyone seems to believe Wes is emulating Killian with his thieving skills, but Emma privately sees herself in the boy; her own pickpocketing days seem to be forgotten by all but her.

“Probably,” Emma sighs before pulling up her phone. “Hello. This is Sheriff Swan.”

“Hello…Sheriff Swan…its Principal Pratt from Storybrooke Elementary…” The principal’s voice sounds more hesitant than annoyed, and something about that makes the hair on Emma’s arm raise.

“I know, Marie, you’ve called at least once a week. What did Wes do this time?” Emma asks with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She doesn’t even bother calling the woman by her title anymore. They talk enough to be on a first name basis, regardless of any sense of propriety that the principal has.

“It’s not Wes I’m calling about, Sheriff. It’s Harrison. He’s missing.”

Emma Swan and fear are good old friends. After living in Storybrooke for some long, it’s almost an expected part of her day to feel adrenaline kicks, shivers down her spine and to choke down all feelings of panic in order to launch herself into action, to save everyone else. What she’s feeling isn’t normal fear; it’s hysteria. She’s not facing down some nameless monster. This is her kid in trouble, her kid in danger, her kid that is missing. Every part of her is screaming and it feels like a blaring red alarm is going off in her head. She’s lived through the Final Battle and honestly, she can say, this feels worse than that. The very concept of her child being in danger is worse than any possibility of death. It is the one thing that they don’t tell you when you become a parent.

She doesn’t stand around waiting for the school to update her. She can’t. She’s the Savior and she’s a woman of action. She and her husband march into the school, war faces at the ready. They stride into Principal Pratt’s office, ignoring the squawking secretaries and administrative staff that tries to stop them. They don’t do more than yell at them to stop however. She’s the Savior and Killian is in full Hook mode, looking positively murderous. They couldn’t have stopped them if they tried.

Principal Pratt and the young woman, who Emma recognizes as Harrison’s teacher Ms. Zellar, jump as they jar open the door to Pratt’s office. Emma also wishes she had a sword so she could jab it into the desk and let Principal Pratt know exactly how angry she is.

“Where is my son?” Emma hisses as she strides over and slams her hands against the desk.

Killian settles himself against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest with the hook on display. He’s letting her handle this…for now. He’s just as upset as she is at the moment, but he’s stewing. This joke of a school administration needs to figure its shit before Killian goes off, full on Captain Hook on them. Emma would let him. Gladly.

Ms. Zellar, whose eyes were red and cheeks blotchy, starts to cry. Her entire body shakes and Principal Pratt looks helplessly between the teacher and Emma.

“I don’t know!” Ms. Zellar wails. “He went out to recess with the rest of the kids and he didn’t come back in with them! We haven’t been able to find him since!”

“My son is the biggest kid in your class! He’s like the Empire State Building compared to the rest of them! You don’t just lose the Empire State Building!” Emma replies, her voice is so loud that it could be considered yelling. It’s not yelling though. Not yet. She’s just warming up.

“With all due respect, Sheriff Swan, all the grades recess together. So Harrison isn’t as noticeable as the Empire State Building. We do have grades kindergarten through fifth grade playing outside together after all,” Principal Pratt replies, placing a hand on Ms. Zellar’s shoulder. “It’s entirely possible that Harrison could have run off without any of the staff noticing.”

“Harrison run off…” Emma repeats. The words are distasteful on her tongue. “Bullshit, Marie. Harrison has never caused any issues in his time at this school. Wes run off? I would believe that in a heartbeat because none of you seem to be able to manage my five year old. Harrison? Never.”

Emma wants to say more, but she hears Killian shift behind her and she can see the facial expressions of the two women change as he approaches. She tilts her head to the side to look at him. Killian is stalking towards the desk and though there’s a small smile on his face, there’s no joy in it. It’s a dangerous smile and it reminds her of a time long ago when he was the Dark One.

“So, correct me if I’m wrong, ladies, but from what I’m hearing, the policy of this school to bring every single child outside during a period of the day when you do not have enough adults supervising them to ensure their safety and make sure they aren’t capable of running off? In Storybrooke nonetheless where we are favored with a monster of the week?” Killian asks in a soft voice that makes a chill even run up Emma’s spine. She’s not sure these women realize exactly how angry her husband is at the moment and that they should be considering their words carefully.

“It’s been our policy as long as I can remember, Cap-Mr. Jones. The children prefer it because some of them have kids in other grades. Your own children included.”

“You know that my sons have friends in other grades, but not where my eldest is? You need to work on priorities in regards to your observation skills,” Killian responds, standing next to Emma. She grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze in solidarity.

Principal Pratt’s face colors at the comment and she opens her mouth to respond, but the door opens again and this time, it’s Mary Margaret who strides in. She looks almost as murderous as Emma and Killian, her face flushed with anger. She couldn’t have looked more threatening even if she had her bow.

“Where is my grandson?” She asks, wedging herself between Emma and Killian and placing her hands on both of their shoulders. Principal Pratt looks at a lost with how to deal with an angry Snow White, Captain Hook and Savior. Ms. Zellar looks like she wants to faint.

“Shouldn’t you be teaching fourth grade, Mrs. Nolan?” Principal Pratt responds.

“Jim is looking in on them,” Mary Margaret replies. “I know how to responsibly take care of my students unlike some teachers. Now answer the question. Where is my grandson?”

“We’re looking for him, Mary Margaret, I promise,” Principal Pratt responds, looking very haggard at having to deal with all three of them. “We’ve got Mike, Isodora, James and Ava all looking for him.”

“And yet, you’re both in here,” Mary Margaret responds. “A child is missing and you’re in your office, doing nothing. This time could be better spent looking for Harrison.”

Emma’s heart warms a bit at the conviction and accusation in her mother’s voice. Her mother is risking her career at the moment by talking this way to her boss, but Emma loves her more for it. Their family is more important to her mother than her job. If she wasn’t so keyed up about Harrison being missing, she would have hugged her.

Principal Pratt looks dumbfounded that Mary Margaret is speaking to her in such a way. Her mouth opens and closes a few times without actually uttering anything. Ms. Zellar’s face, which was red before, is now closer to a shade of purple and she keeps her eyes trained on the floor as if she wanted it to swallow her up.

“I…I…” Principal Pratt is lost for words. “You’re right. We should help look for the boy.”

“Not the boy,” Killian hisses. “Harrison. He’s not the boy. He’s not any boy. He’s my son and you will remember that.”

Principal Pratt’s face goes white at Killian’s tone and Emma squeezes his hand, debating to herself whether she could tell him to dial it down a notch or kiss him for being so fiercely protective of their son. Mary Margaret gives him a look of approval and nods in agreement. All five of them are about to walk out the door when there is a commotion outside the office. All the secretaries are buzzing about something. Emma and Mary Margaret exchange a look while Killian pushes open a door.

A young man no older than twenty-seven is in engaged with an angry verbal spar with one of the secretaries. Not only is he angrily spitting at the harassed looking women, but he is also holding up Emma and Killian’s son Harrison by his ear and it’s obvious by the redness of the appendage and the tears in Harrison’s eyes that the man had dragged him into the office by it.

“I need to talk to Principal Pratt about this punk right now! This kid thinks he’s funny! Trying to play off like he’s a second grader! The dumbest ploy I’ve heard to get out of a test! He needs to learn a lesson! You can’t pull this kind of stunt on a substitute teacher!” The man shouts at the secretary.

Mary Margaret lets out a horrified sound. The secretaries, the man and Harrison, turn to see the five out of them standing outside of Pratt’s office.

“Mom!” Harrison shouts and yanks himself free of the man’s grasp, flinching as he did so. He runs towards Emma at full speed and Emma gathers her big little boy in her arms, tugging him as close as she can. He’s honestly too big at held at this point but Emma doesn’t care. Relief is a palpable thing and Emma feels like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. Harrison is safe.

Killian darts past her at a speed that Emma hadn’t realized that he was capable of until that moment. The young man’s eyes bulge in alarm as Killian approaches, taking a step back in hopes of getting away from him. Killian isn’t deterred, he lifts the man up by his hook and slams the man against the wall. The administration gasps. Principal Pratt moves forward to intervene, but Mary Margaret places an arm in front of her to stop her from interfering.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Killian snarls, barring his teeth like some feral creature. The muscles in his jaw and neck twitch under the strain of his rage. “And what makes you think it’s okay to manhandle MY SON!?”

“You okay, Kid?” Emma asks Harrison in a murmur, gently running her hand over his back in a smoothing motion. Her arms ache from holding him up, but he deserves to be held and after the sheer terror she felt while he was missing, she’s reluctant to let him go. She frowns at the redness of his ear. It looks like it hurts like hell. They might have to stop at the nurse’s office for an ice pack.

“He didn’t believe me, Mom,” Harrison whispers. “He didn’t believe I was in Ms. Zellar’s class.”

“The kid was trying to get out of a test and thought he could pull a fast one on me,” the man wheezes out.

Emma’s certain if she wasn’t so focused on her son at the moment, she would have hit the guy over the head because he just doesn’t know her kid. Harrison, without question, is the easiest of her children to handle aside from Henry who is now grown and in college. Wes is the one who would pull a fast one on a teacher. Beth, once she finally is old enough, will probably try to pull fast ones too. She does a marvelous job hoodwinking Killian as is. Harrison is the one most likely to rat someone out because, despite his age, he has an extreme sense of justice to him that makes his grandfather proud.

“And that gives you an excuse to manhandle a child?” Mary Margaret demands. Despite the fact she’s wearing frilly pastels, she looks positively terrifying like she’s ready to pull out her bow and use the man for target practice.

“Mr. Jones could you kindly put Mr. Abad down so we can get to the bottom of this business?” Principal Pratt asks in a tired tone. She sounds like she’s in desperate need of a drink. Emma doesn’t blame her. She wants one too.

Killian acquiesces to her demands, reluctantly pulling away from Mr. Abad, but not without ripping the collar of his shirt. Young Mr. Abad looks torn between indignation and terror as he regards Killian with a wary eye. Killian continues to glower at him, looking like he would delight in nothing more than ripping the man to shreds for touching their son. If Harrison wasn’t clinging so hard to Emma, she’s sure she might have slung at the man.

“You have the floor for the moment, Mr. Abad,” Principal Pratt says with another sigh. “I suggest you explain yourself and your actions before Mr. Jones, Mrs. Nolan and Sheriff Swan get impatient with you.”

“Well,” Mr. Abad starts, licking his lip as his eyes dart back and forth between Emma, Killian, Mary Margaret and Principal Pratt. His pupils remind Emma of a pinball machine with how fast they move. “I caught this kid-“

“Harrison,” Mary Margaret interrupts, crossing her arms in front of her chest and glowering at him. “Not this kid. Harrison. We know our students’ names at this school. Did you even ask?”

“No, but-”Mary Margaret doesn’t let him finish again.

“You didn’t ask? You brought him to the principal’s office but you didn’t bother to learn his name? Do you even know any of your students? Did you even do roll call? Attendance? Because if you did, you might have learned Harrison doesn’t belong in fifth grade and you would have saved everyone here an hour of panic!”

“Well, I didn’t know if he was lying to me or if any of the other punks were! I mean the kid said he was in the second grade for Pete’s sake! He tried as far as to go in through the second grade doors when he came back from recess. That’s ridiculous!”

“Mr. Abad,” Ms. Zellar speaks for the first time. Her face is still red, but Emma is now certain it’s from anger now instead of embarrassment. “Harrison is one of my students. He is the second grade and I’ve been frantic for the last hour because you took one of my students without even consulting anyone!”

“I didn’t think I needed to consult anyone on taking a fifth grade student! The kid doesn’t look like a second grader! If that kid is a second grader, then he’s the mammoth of all second graders! The beanstalk of the second grade!”

“We prefer to call him the Empire State Building of the second grade. Skyscraper Jones when we’re being clever, thank you very much,” Emma replies, glaring at him and giving her son, the aforementioned Empire State Building of the second grade, a kiss on the forehead. Harrison cuddles his face into her neck like he does at home when they’re watching a movie and he’s getting second-hand embarrassment from a particularly dumb scene. Typical of her sweet boy. Wes, Beth and even Henry would be straight up angry and kicking up a storm of indignation to be in this situation, but Harrison? He’s just embarrassed.

“How are you even a teacher?” Mary Margaret says, still going for the kill. “You don’t take attendance. You don’t know who are your students and who aren’t. Oh! You call the students “little punks” and you manhandled my grandson in front of the entire administration staff. Seriously, how did you get a teaching license?”

“Yeah, this is a public school. If you want to pull that kind of stuff, go to a private Catholic school. You’ll fit right in,” Emma replies because she can’t help herself. Mr. Abad is a young teacher (soon to ex-teacher) but he reminds her of all the nuns she dealt with when she was put in Catholic school by the Smiths in Montana.

Mr. Abad seems to sense that he’s in a world of trouble at the moment and makes the intelligent decision not to reply to Mary Margaret or Emma. He does however keep his eyes trained on Killian’s hook as if he is just waiting for it to gut him. Killian, of course, who notices the look, offers him a smirk and continues to look at him with murder in his eyes.

“Mr. Abad, I think it’s time for us to discuss your future as a substitute for Mrs. Decker’s class and that you give Ms. Zellar an apology for this…situation,” Principal Pratt says finally, gesturing for Mr. Abad to join her in her office. Mr. Abad’s face blanches, but he enters the office quickly as if trying to get away from Emma, Mary Margaret and Killian as fast as possible. Smart man.

“You will receive a formal apology from the school in the mail and acknowledgement of Mr. Abad’s termination in regard to this incident,” Principal Pratt says in a weary tone as she regards Emma with a tired look. “I’m sorry for this situation.”

“If it’s all the same to you, we’re going to take Harrison home for the rest of the day,” Emma replies, silently challenging the woman to protest the course of action.

“Of course,” she replies, obviously not willing to argue with Emma. “He’s had a trying day.”

“What do you say, bud? You, me and Dad get ice cream at Granny’s?” Emma says to her son, meeting Killian’s eyes over Harrison’s dark hair as she always says when she calls him ‘Dad.’ They have a seven-year-old, a five-year-old, a three-year-old and he arguably helped raise her college sophomore, but it still brings out an unnamable emotion when she calls him that.

“Yeah…I would like that,” Harrison replies, voice still muffled by Emma’s neck.

Killian, who still looks pissed off about the whole fiasco, softens a bit. It’s as if the reminder that he’s father pacifies the rage beast that was dying to be set loose today. He steps forward and takes Harrison from Emma’s arms, hefting their son over his head so Harrison is sitting on his shoulders. It’s a picture that it is both absurd and impossibly adorable since Harrison strongly resembles his father despite his stature; their facial structure near identical, the only key differences being Harrison’s green eyes, chubby child cheeks and more pointed chin. Emma smiles and shakes her head, mainly because Harrison is far too big now to be receiving rides on his father’s shoulders. Killian is relatively strong, especially for a man with one hand, but she knows he’s going to be sore as well later.

“I will see you later at Granny’s?” Mary Margaret asks with a smile. All evidence of her previous ire is erased by a picture of pleasantness. Emma doesn’t know how her mother pulls it off.

“Sure,” Emma replies, chuckling as she watches Killian squat down so he can both himself and Harrison through the doorway. If he drops their son, he’s sleeping on the couch for a week. “We’ll see you there. Hopefully without another mashed potato incident.”

Mary Margaret laughs.

“Yes, extra eyes on the boys is always necessary,” she says with a smile. “But let’s worry about that later. Go enjoy your ice cream. Give Harrison some extra sprinkles courtesy of Grandma.”

“Done,” Emma replies, following her husband and her son out the door.

Harrison ends up getting only extra sprinkles, but hot fudge, whipped cream and a cherry on top of the mountain size portion of vanilla ice cream. Granny defends the decision by stating that big boys need big portions.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs crew #cs #swan jones family #dad!killian #daddy!killian #momma!emma #cs babies #cs fanfiction #ouat ff #harrison jones #little pirates #my fic #my shit #little pirates fic #skyscaper jones

58 notes · View notes

backseat-imagines · 7 years

Note

can I ask for a scenario with Prompto where he asked out his s/o in highschool but was turned down, and learns now that they had only said no because they were afraid of hurting him?

Why yes you can!

Along the journey you managed to come across one of your old friends. They were someone you knew since elementary and the last time you had ever saw them in person was the last day of your tenth year; when they had to move away. It was thanks to the fact that they left Insomnia that you were never able to come and visit them, or vice-versa; it was out of means for you both. Or it had been so up until now, where you could freely travel with the prince and the others. All that thanks to Prompto, who was adamant for Noctis to let you, his partner, come. It was because of that why you were able to come across your old friend by chance, and why you were able to spend the night (while the boys stayed in a near-by hotel) and catch up with them. But lord knows that there was no sleep to be had that night. With all the talking and the laughs, and all the reminiscing… You both rolled along like it all was just yesterday instead of years; after all this time not much had even changed. Come morning, when you had to leave, you felt exhausted. Though it wasn’t going to be something you regretted, but you certainly needed a pick-me-up after that. You picked up your phone, and called Prompto. “Oh hey honeybunch!” Prompto greeted. “How was your night?” “It was great! Prompto, I got some things to show you from all this!” “Oh? What kind of things?” Prompto asks. “You’ll see. But quick question; who all else is up?” “So far just me!” Now that had to be a first. Gladio was always up at the crack of dawn and Ignis always followed shortly after. The trip must have exhausted them, “Wow, not even Gladio? That’s a surprise.” “I know! Was there something you needed? Do you need me to get everyone up?” “Nah. I was thinking about breakfast but why don’t we make it just the two of us?” You suggested. “Crow’s nest sound good?” “Sure thing!” “Good, I’m almost back to the hotel. I’ll wait for you out front.” Before you even finished your sentence you heard the clicking of the call being ended from on the other end. Still continuing to make your way back. You stepped around the corner and into the sight of the hotel, and you saw Prompto already outside and waiting. Boy he wasted no time. The two of you made your way for the nearest diner and ate; Prompto eagerly listening to everything you had to say about your friend, and everything that lead into the inevitable talk about your childhood, which sometimes had him talking about small fragments of his. However, the longer this went on, there was something that was starting to dig at you. Prompto kept talking as if the both of you never knew each other in your very young years, which wasn’t the case. Hell, you had even met him on your first day of school! Granted, it took until the final year for the two of you to even start talking and hanging out regularly. But the point still stands, you both still has some kind of interaction, even early on in highschool - maybe he just didn’t remember? Peculiar, but that was something to look into later. But for now… “Oh! I nearly forgot something- Here,” He gives you a quizzical look as you reached into your pocket. Swiftly, you pulled out some old photographs and set it onto the table in front of him. “Whoa, are these- they are!” Yep, they were of your young years. Totally embarrassing. “Man, you looked dorky back then! But you know… in an adorable way!” As much as you wanted to disagree with him- you sense of style was the worst and it felt weird to look back at your baby-ish face- you couldn’t. In a way he was right. It was strangely endearing, actually. But that was the same story for nearly everyone back then, “Same goes for how you were.” His face dropped, although it was only for a split second before he tried to whip a smile back on. But it was too late, you already saw. “Nah, I was far from all that.” “What are you talking about? You were always an absolute cutie?” “Naaah,” He drawled out, chuckling. “You don’t really mean that.” “Um, yeah I do. To be honest I kind of always thought you were.” “Wow, I- and here I thought that back then it was probably how I looked that got you to reject me. For both fifth grade and first year of highschool.” So he does remember. Back all those years ago, when he was still on the heavy side and in the middle of losing weight, he had once approached you. He was so shy and he stuttered so bad that instead of using his voice to spit out his confession and to ask you out that he resorted to giving you a written note he had prepared ahead of time. The second time he came around was on White Day, when he had offered you to go out on a lunch date. And both times you had rejected him. Though you turned him down, it wasn’t for how he looked. Those years were a bad time for you, and you could imagine pulling someone else into all of that. But in the end that didn’t matter you guessed. It left a mighty blow on whatever courage and slight self-esteem he might have even had either time. And now that you think about it… both rejects were also around the time you two had stopped really interacting for long periods at a time… Now you knew. No wonder why he thought you asking him out shortly before graduation was some kind of joke. “Oh no. No, no, no, not at all!” You chimed up. “No- it… It was a far different time, Prompto. Back then I wasn’t in a good place. Lord knows I wasn’t ready for that, I would have probably caved in on myself. Truth be told, I didn’t think I was the one who was good enough.” The smiling mask that the blond put on dropped; his eyebrows pulling up and knitting in and his lips drooped down into a frown. You could tell by his face that he was already caught so off guard with all this. “From what little we had been around each other you seemed like such a sweet person. Shy, but fun. And I was afraid that if I had accepted and ket around you that I was going to end up dragging you down. I was especially afraid of doing something that would end up hurting you and- I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I did. And you’d have deserved so much better.” There was a long pause of silence; you had nothing more to really say, nothing more you wanted to admit to, and he didn’t know what to say. The both of you were left to fidget in your seats. And Prompto so badly wanted to say something but everything kept getting caught in his throat, until- “I… know what it’s like to not feel good enough and- please don’t ever feel like you could drag me down, or like you don’t deserve things. I know that all is in the past- but it’d kill me if you still had those lingering thoughts. So whenever those dark moments come back around, just remember that. And remember that I’ll go through the storm with you and can handle whatever life makes you dish out at me.” Prompto… But he shouldn’t have to, and internally you were already promising yourself that you’d never let something like that come to pass. If it weren’t for the table between the two of you, you would have hugged him. For now, you made due with reaching across the table to hold his hand. Softly, you spoke out, “Prompto… “ “Yeah?” “I swear, tonight, if we end up staying in another hotel… I’m going to get a room just for only the two of us and shower you in all the attention in the world.”

#FFXV #Scenario #Prompto #not fully satisfied with this and I might rework later #but I was also on a bad writer block that I was working though too #still am actually #so I am still proud of the fact I made something despite that

26 notes · View notes

myaekingheart · 7 years

Text

So today (June 23rd) is my mom's longtime best friend's 50th birthday and so she ripped through the garage trying to find some old photos of the two of them to post on facebook but in the process, she found a ton of old photos of the three of us and I can honestly say that looking through all of them has been...an experience.

It's funny how when you're grown up, you seem to remember your childhood in hazy scenes, like a montage of perfectly stringed together but out of order moments and what you don't remember yourself is filled in with photographs. Looking through all of these old pictures dug up a lot of memories and, in the process, a lot of emotions. On one hand, there's obviously the nostalgia factor. I miss being a kid when everything seemed so simple and I didn't have a care in the world. But then I look at these pictures and I'm reminded that not everything was simple and that I wasn't careless. Sure, there's the good memories like Halloweens spent at Mickey's Not So Scary running around in princess dresses and the May Day parade from first grade where I got to wear a flower crown and dance with my friends. Those are the good memories I want to remember. There were definitely some not so good memories, though, as well, the majority of which relating to my experience with eating disorders. Looking back at myself from ten years down the line, I cannot stop cringing at how horrible I looked. I mean, for the most part anywhere from ages 6 to 15, about, were cringey as fuck just because I was an awkward, ugly, gangly kid but from about 7 to 11 were perhaps the worst possible years, overall, in regards to my appearance. Granted, things fluctuated and there were some morsels of time where I looked decent (like my ninth birthday after I cut my hair like Lucy Pevensie, which looked really cute on me and I think helped make my buck teeth, bulgy eyes, and skeleton figure far less unappealing) but for the most part, a lot of the pictures of myself from that time period are drowning in current seas of regret. To be blunt, I was always "the runt" of the litter even when I was a healthy weight. I was always small, the shortest in the class, the baby. When I got to be around age seven, however, things got a little extreme. Maybe I always had a weird relationship with food and I just can't remember the earlier days. My dad told me that when I was a kid, I never wanted to eat and that they would never force me because if they tried, I'd yell at them and throw a fit so they just let me eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. I don't quite remember all that, but I do remember restricting myself at a very young age. I feel like I was relatively fine up until the time I turned seven, which I distinctly remember being a massive turning point in my life. I know I was bullied frequently as a kid, or at least frequently enough (my most vivid memories being that of this huge girl in third grade who'd shove me on the playground, threaten to beat me up, all around a very harassing and domineering kid). I made friends easily for a short while, though, like preschool through first grade I believe. When I got to second grade, though, something switched. There was a change, like the train slowed down and someone switched the tracks over. I'd come home from school moody every day, lashing out at my parents. I dropped all my "baby fat" and kind of went into this downward spiral to skeleton-hood. I had friends and I had enemies much like any other kid my age, one of which perhaps being my teacher who I remember being very strict and particular (she was the kind of person who made us use those rubber grips on our pencils that forced us to hold them a certain way and she'd get pissed at us if we took them off and held them how we wanted, which I understand was probably to help the kids who just held the entire thing in their fist but I never had that problem and her desperation to condition me to hold my pencil differently honestly put a lot of strain on my academics because it made writing far more difficult and made me insanely paranoid about her ridiculing me). From that point onward, it was just a downward spiral. Maybe she is the definitive source of all my self doubt and ridicule, like the starting point for everything else, the first peg knocked down, the first brick kicked from the wall which all the other bricks eventually were to fall from. I mean, obviously that wasn't the only thing. There was my parent's financial difficulties, living in a different house every year, that one time we got evicted and lived in a hotel for, like, a week, and being bullied among probably some other things but the more I think about it, the more I realize that perhaps she was the very first stone laid down on the foundation. Either way, all I know is that it wasn't until I was in her class that I started downfalling and my weight was no exception. I have very vivid memories regarding my weight and my eating habits from my childhood. I'm emetophobic. I always have been and I probably always will. That has played a huge role in my eating disorder even to this day. Yeah, I've got some body dysmorphia but I never thought I was fat and needed to lose weight. It was more like I never saw how badly I needed to gain it. I thought I was fine. I only ever remember having a few fleeting thoughts here and there but for the most part, I was fine. I thought I looked perfectly okay and acceptable. It wasn't me who had the problem. It was the people making clothes sizes too big, forcing me to pin my pants one or two inches at the side to keep them from falling down. I remember hiding behind a tree at recess the very first day of third grade because the pin on my jeans came undone and I couldn't refasten it and without it, my pants were falling all the way down to my ankles. I remember wearing size 2T skorts in 3rd and 4th grade because they fit me. I remember stepping on the scale one day at, like, nine years old and seeing 38 pounds staring back at me. I remember going to the doctor's office, being told not to eat snacks before dinner and to make sure I get three meals a day in, getting an x-ray done on my arm because they wanted to make sure I didn't have some sort of bone issue because that's literally all I was: bone. I remember laying in bed having panic attacks every single night of fifth grade with no fucking clue how to stop them. I remember throwing up. I never meant to, I never wanted to, but there were times when I did and they have all stuck with me to this day. At 20 years old, I remember them far more vividly than I should.

Age three, I'm in the backseat of my grandparent's car swerving down curvy highways late at night and feeling nauseous but having to hold it back because god forbid I vomit on the pristinely kept interior. We went to a hotel (I remember it being fancy) and I puked right outside the front doors. I remember the taste in my mouth sitting in the hotel's laundry room as my mom threw my pink Dora the Explorer t-shirt into the wash to get the vomit stains out. I still feel nauseated and panicked stepping foot in their car, which even after my grandfather's death still smells just as all of his cars always have: that distinct new car smell.

Age three again and this time I'm in my dad's big green van, the one he used to transport all his merchandise to and from craft shows. We were at a rest stop and I had eaten Trix yogurt that didn't sit well and I vomited into a plastic bag-- maybe it was a Disney bag? I don't even know. From that point onward, I've hardly ever eaten yogurt again and throughout the rest of my childhood, refused to unless it was frozen to the point of having to jab it with a spoon.

I'm eleven now and it's a few days after my birthday. I opted for an assortment of cheesecake instead of regular cake because I wanted to mix things up. It's 9:34pm and I Love Lucy is on, I don't remember which episode, and I'm sitting in the living room at a TV tray scarfing down a leftover piece of cheesecake that tastes strangely like coffee. It isn't until I go to bed that I start to feel it, that churning in my stomach so distinct to when I know I'm going to be sick. I screamed for my parents, on the verge of tears, terrified. I couldn't throw up. I couldn't throw up. I beg my dad to tell me a story, hoping that if I get lost in his words, I'll drift off to sleep and forget I even feel sick. But it doesn't work and I do get sick and I'm panicked and in tears and sweating and I can't breathe. I go to school the next day nervous, clinging to myself. There was some kind of outdoor event, maybe Jump Rope for Heart, and I remember passing up doing the hundred yard dash and telling my fifth grade teacher (who was an angel) that it was because I had gotten sick the night before. She praised me for coming out at all, as if getting out of bed and showing up at school itself was some miraculous feat.

Twelve years old and the most traumatic of them all. It's the day of a big standardized math test and I wake up feeling...off. Not the usual nervousness, but something different. I lay in bed procrastinating for as long as possible before my mom forces me out of bed to get ready. I keep telling her I don't feel well but her and I both know I need to go, I have no choice. I watch Full House while I try to eat a breakfast of blueberry mini muffins with strawberry cream cheese-- it was my go-to breakfast for a while. When I get to school, I'm sitting outside in the hallways with everyone else like we always did at the beginning of the day before classes started. I still felt sick but I tried to make the best of it. My friend was chatting aimlessly next to me and mentioned something about her Fig Newton breath and that was the end of it. I had the white sleeves of my Hannah Montana hoodie over my hands, and I coughed into my right one thinking nothing of it. When I looked back at the palm of my hand, something was amiss. Vomit. Before I knew it, I was spewing it everywhere. My other friend quickly grabbed my rolling backpack in one hand and my shoulder in the other and guided me down the hallway which I proceeded to trail vomit down all in front of probably 60 of my peers, the shit bursting from behind my hand which I had clasped over my mouth in an effort to try and contain it as much as possible. I remember the one teacher, who taught history and incorporated thespianism into it, opening the door to let everyone in for the start of the day as I barrelled past puking, and the look on his face-- an expression of shock and confusion and maybe fear or disgust, I don't quite remember which. By the time I made it to the clinic, it was finished and what was left was the aftermath. I remembered the nurse handing me this black sweater and pair of jeans to change into, probably from the lost and found, and I remember feeling unnerved at the thought of putting on someone else's clothes. I went into the bathroom and carefully wriggled out of my t-shirt, pink with turtles on it but now completely ruined, and staring quizzically at the full shower that was in there. The ride home I kept feeling like I was going to be sick again but fought back every urge. The minute I stepped inside the house, my mom guided me straight up the stairs to my bathroom and loaded me right into the tub, shampooing my hair and scrubbing my body down. I passed out on the couch for the entire duration of the morning along to the likes of Disney XD, and I remember waking up to an episode of American Dragon Jake Long and trying to force down some disgusting Subway sandwich for lunch (I never wanted anything on mine, though, so it was literally just a rubbery white roll loaded with mayo, some clammy turkey, and probably some slices of provolone). The only problem was that I couldn't eat. It was like my entire body was rejecting food and my throat would constrict whenever I tried to eat. The next day, I returned to school and my teacher brought donuts for everyone as celebration for finishing the standardized testing season. I remember staring at that glazed fucking donut, all that fried dough and sugar, and feeling so fucking sick. I couldn't eat but I needed to. The thing seemed like it was like 50 feet in diameter. Everyone was watching me. This one kid in my class was even egging me on like it was some kind of fucking keg party and I was the one forced to chug all the beer. All that pressure, that anxiety, to just fucking eat was overwhelming. In the end, I couldn't do it. I only got a couple bites in before I was finished. I was fucking humiliated. Even to this day, I'm sure that's how everyone remembers me: that girl who puked down the hallway. It's not exactly the kind of legacy I wanted to leave behind. No legacy whatsoever even would've been better than that.

I can't even begin to fathom what kind of rumors surfaced after that, but I can make some pretty valid estimates. They probably all figured I had an eating disorder. It was the only plausible explanation. I was so skinny and I never ate. I'm sure deep down they all fucking knew and even if they didn't, they probably had a feeling it was something along those lines.

There was one particular picture I came across that, out of all the other pictures we dug up tonight, took the cake for worst picture ever. It's a photograph of me from August 2007 at Universal, specifically the Marmaduke photo spot in Toon Lagoon. You know, the one where everything's sideways and you're supposed to grab onto the leash hanging down from the vertically inclined Marmaduke figurine and when you take the picture and turn it on it's side, it looks like he's dragging you through the air or whatever? It's a cute photo spot, I can't deny that, but nothing about my presence in the image is at all "cute." I'm in plaid board shorts, my clunky white sneakers, and a red and white Hawaiian print bikini top in all my nerdy anorexic glory. Seriously, I look absolutely disgusting. There is barely a square inch of fat on my entire body, all my bones are sticking out, my arms and legs are the size of toothpicks, you can see the imprint of my ribs, my feet look massive compared to my legs, my eyes are bulgy behind my oval wire frames, I've got massive buck teeth that don't fit my mouth. It's a miracle my pants are even staying up. I look like an absolute disaster and I can't even believe I had no fucking clue. I was completely oblivious to the fact that I was a walking bag of bones. I mean, I knew I was far too skinny as a child but looking at the pictures and seeing all that photographical evidence is even more haunting.

My childhood best friend came from a very Italian family and her mother would always whip up something in the kitchen for us to eat. Looking back, I swear she must've hated me because I'd take three bites and proclaim I was full. I remember the look on her face when I'd say I was finished, the expression of disappointment and insult that I wasn't eating her food. Granted, it probably wasn't just the Italian part. Surely anyone would shoot a glare like that at a girl who was stick thin and refused to eat. Either way, I should've just eaten the goddamn food in the first place. I remember after that time I got sick in fifth grade, I felt like eating after dark was a bad omen, as if the sunlight was going to protect me from a stomachache. If we hadn't had dinner yet and it was getting too late, I'd panic and refuse to eat if night had already fallen. Even after that was past, then my excuse was "I'm not supposed to be awake so I can't go downstairs and get a snack because then I'll get in trouble." As if getting a midnight snack was some sort of death sentence. My parents were never that strict and I'm sure they wouldn't be as mad at me if I was getting food in the middle of the night than they would be if they found me doing something else in the middle of the night, like sneaking out or smoking pot.

The worst part about all of this, I think, is how oblivious I was to the severity of my situation. Never did anyone look at me and tell me "I think you may have an eating disorder" or "I'm worried about you, I wish you'd eat" or something to that effect. I had no fucking clue how severely emaciated I was. I seriously thought I was fine and that's the killer. You think you're fine but you're not. You think you look normal when in reality you're sitting there with barely any meat on your bones shivering and feeling sick all the time. There's this one particular picture that my parents keep in a dog-bone-shaped frame on their nighstand of me as a kid holding one my aunt's poodles. It was probably at Eastertime because I'm in this cute little fuschia polka dot dress with frilly socks and Mary Janes. That picture has, for the longest time, been the definitive image of my "too skinny" childhood. My legs are literally nothing but bone and so are my arms. It's disgusting. But I had no fucking clue. I had no motherfucking clue. I look back at it all now and wonder how I ever even fucking survived. How I even had the energy to run around and play with my friends and go to theme parks and all that good shit. I can't even imagine now how I ever had the confidence and naivete to be the only one at a pool party comfortable enough with myself to stand in the middle of the room and just strip down meanwhile all the other girls were hiding in closets and behind dressers and laying on the floor behind the bed just so they could conceal their bodies from each other, as if seeing each other naked was illegal or something. I was probably the one who should've been hiding behind the dresser what with how sickly I looked but nope, I was totally down to just bare it all in front of everyone.

Looking back, I can't even fathom how anyone could've ever possibly thought I was cute or attractive like that. I've broken a few hearts back in my younger days (one of which probably not counting because he was before any of this started-- he was this preschooler at the academy I went to kindergarten at and every single time he'd see me, he'd run from wherever he was, even if he was in line, and kiss me) but now I can't even imagine how anyone would've thought I was even remotely attractive. The first example was this boy in my third grade class. He was a typical boy of the times, the kind who had one of those short sleeved button downs that was black with the flames on it. I remember at the very beginning of the year, he was head over heels in love with me. I remember one day near the end of class, I believe, when there weren't too many other people around, he took my hand in his and asked me on a date. We were fucking nine. I didn't like him back like that (or at least I don't think I did. How the fuck should I know? I was fucking nine) so we resorted to being just friends but honestly, even then, I can't even imagine how he or anyone else could've had a crush on me like that? Back then? When I was like that? Even in fourth grade, I had occasionally questioned whether my definitive elementary school crush liked me back. I was secretly super head over heels for him but had to hide it because he was the arch nemesis of my friend group but there were times when I swear he was flirting with me. He asked me in the library once what I was reading and I titled my head back to look at him and just busted out in uncontrollable laughter for a solid minute before awkwardly shrinking back down into my seat, and then there was the infamous "schwa" incident when we learning about that schwa thing in grammar and he and his best friend (the one who was telling me to chug on the donut day) kept whipping around and shouting "schwa" purposely making me laugh hysterically. There were signs, as far as I'm concerned, that it was possible but yet again, I look at myself back then and wonder holy shit how? How could he possibly have liked me back then even in the slightest looking the way I did? (Side note: I may have never gotten confirmation of whether he really did like me or not but I reunited with him a few years back in a college comm class and every class he'd sit at the same table as me and one time we had to pair up to share our essay plans or whatever and we were definitely flirting, no doubt about it, so at least there's that. Not that it matters now, though. If he wanted me, he should've snagged me while he had the chance 'cause I'm off the market now).

This ended up getting way longer and more ramble-y than I intended and by now it's nearly 5am and I've kind of lost track of the point. I guess the general summary here, though, is that digging up those old photos brought up a lot of old, some not-so-good memories of things and made me realize some things, as well. Feels weird making such a breakthrough in the middle of the night but oh well, whatever.

#long post is long #ramblings #delete later

0 notes

ilvsyzj · 3 years

Text

Chapter Twenty-Three: New Schedule.

The next morning while we were eating breakfast there was a knock on the door. Jeff went to go open it and it was Vix.

Vix: Morning. -smiling-

Everyone: Morning.

Vix: How did everyone sleep?

Everyone: Not too bad.

Vix: Good. Today, I’m going to give you all your schedules. Your schedules has been changed from the last 2 weeks. For the next 4 weeks you’re all going to be working together. R.M.C. and Healers. Every day you’re to go get up at 6 am, breakfast at 7 am, classes at 8 am, lunch at 12 pm, Work Study at 1 pm, dinner at 5 pm, lights out at midnight. No one is allow off the premises because of the alarms will go off. Every Fridays at midnight I will be collecting your iPads and journals. The weekends are your day off. There are going to be 20 levels of your Basic Training. Complete all 20 levels before 1/2/2021, then you all graduate and move up to the next training phase. Those of you don’t complete all 20 levels before 1/2/2021 then you all fail. And I have the right to kick you all out of the program. Understood?

Everyone. Understood.

Vix: Good. Now, any questions?

Everyone: No.

Vix: Good. Tomorrow, you can find out what those 20 levels are that you have to complete. Or you can find out today. If you guys want. Doesn’t really matter to me. Siri is very helpful use your phone throughout the next 4 weeks. Your iPads are useful as well, you can do a lot of things on your iPads that you can’t do on your phone. As for you journals, you’re to write your assignments and reports. But remember Siri isn’t your guide. She’s not going to answer all questions that you’re going to be asking. That’s were your iPads comes in. Siri, can only help you get so far, so don’t get too attached to her. Understood?

Everyone: Yes.

Vix: Good. Now, as for Toothless and Snow. They are to stay in your room. The only time they are allow out of this house is when they have an appointment with the vet, or they get sick. Understood?

Sky and Jazzy: Understood.

Vix: Good. Now, today is your rest day. Do whatever you want but do not leave the premises. Unless, you want be caught by Royal Guards. They will be standing guard and they will be watching over this house. So, please don’t mess with them. Understood?

Everyone: Understood.

Vix: Toothless and Snow can watch the animal channel when you guys are in class. When you need more supplies for yourself or Special Pets, please let me know and I’ll take you all to get your supplies. Don’t order anything off the internet, because I will know about it. Understood?

Everyone: Understood.

Vix: Good. Any questions?

Everyone: No.

Vix: Okay. I’ll see you all later.

Everyone: Bye.

Vix left and everyone else was looking at me.

Jazzy: What?

Brandy: Aren’t you going to find out what those 20 levels are? I want to know because I’m really bad at physical training.

Jazzy: Bran, you have your own phone. You ask Siri.

Brandy: -pouty- She doesn’t answer me.

Jeff: That’s because you don’t push the right button, and every time you shout at your phone. That’s why she doesn’t answer you.

Brandy: -pouty- Aren’t captains and co-captains suppose to do it?

Jeff: Sorry, Bran can be a Princess sometimes. Anything that has to do with physical training or computers she doesn’t want to do it.

Jazzy: It’s fine. It’s just that my phone is in my room, and I’m just thinking why the sudden change to our schedules.

Sky: You okay?

Jazzy: Yea. I don’t always carry my phone.

Sky: You’re worried about your parents.

Jazzy: Mhm. Also, I hear the war. It started 45 minutes ago.

Everyone was silent. The loud booming can be heard. I was very worry about my parents. I didn’t want them die. But I’m stuck in training so I can’t help them. But I pray to the Goddess that my parents and everyone else parents comes home safely. I went to my room. When I worry, I would rather be by myself. Because when push come shove, I can easily lose my temper. Everyone else can sense it. So, they just left me alone. When I returned to my room Toothless sense that I should be left alone, and that’s what he did. But not before he head butted my leg. Letting me know that he was there for me if I wanted to chat. Snow, rubbed her head against my leg also letting me know that she’s there for me as well. I smiled at them and pat them on their heads. I went to take a shower. Then I went to bed. I grabbed a book and began to read. Reading helps me relax. Snow and Toothless were in bed with me when Sky came in.

Sky: Feeling better?

Jazzy: Some what. What’s up?

Sky: Dinner’s ready. Mike said that if you’re not up to come down. Then I can bring your dinner to you.

Jazzy: -putting down her book and getting out bed- Let me feed Toothless and Snow. I’ll be right down.

Sky: Okay. -leaving the room-

I fed Toothless and Snow. Then I went to the Common Room for dinner. The war was still going on, and the news was on. The news reporter was saying that the Royal Army lost 20 men already, while the Dark Army is still going to strong. The reporter didn’t released any names, but the reporter did say the King You and his Counsel are okay. For now. Usually, the King and his Counsel doesn’t leave their hiding spot, until the very last minute. Because they are the most vulnerable. Also, they are the last line of defense. They are to protect the castle at all times. So, they are not even on the Northern part of Zodiac Island. Which is a relief for me. The most important Healers are also at castle and not at the front line. The most important Healers are the last lie of defense. Basically, the king will send out the weakest out as first line defense which includes, humans, trainees, and slaves to meet the enemy first. Then they would send the second line of defense is the first degree of guards, the third line of defense is the second degree of guards, the fourth line of defense is the third degree of guards, and the fifth line of defense is the Royal Guards. If all these defenses fall, then the king and Counsel would go to war.

Brandy turned off the television and turned to us.

Brandy: -smiling- Let’s play a drinking game.

Jazzy: No thanks. -getting up from the table-

Brandy: -pouty- Why?

Jazzy: Because, tomorrow we all have class. If you want to graduate from Basic Training. Then you shouldn’t be playing these games that can get you drunk.

Brandy: -whisper- Party pooper.

Jazzy: I heard that.

Sky: Let’s clean up and get some rest. We have an early start tomorrow.

That’s what we all did. Then we went to bed. Before bed I went to my iPad and did some research on Brandy. It turns out that Brandy isn’t a Princess but she acts like one. She comes from a wealthy family and her parents aren’t on the front lines, but they supplies the King’s Army with weapons, clothing, food, and shoes. They are staying on Mythical Kingdom in the save houses. Brandy, is a wealthy and she acts like a princess, but her grades are terrible. In every Healer’s course she was failing for the last 2 weeks. What I didn’t understand is why Brandy is a healer. If she continue like this she is going to be kicked out of the Basic Training program.

Jazzy: -angry- Unbelievable.

Sky: What’s wrong?

Jazzy: -angry- I just checked Brandy’s grades and she is failing in all her Healer’s course. I don’t understand how she can be a healer.

Sky: Brandy, is a stupid blond. In the beginning Brandy thought being a healer is going to be easy. Like packing a first aid kit. But when she start taking her classes, she found out that its much harder then that. Being a healer is like being a doctor. You have to learn about the human body. Only the werewolf in you can heal you so much, but if you have internal bleeding the healers has to fix that before your werewolf can heal you. Brandy didn’t know that she has to become a doctor.

Jazzy: She’s not going to last the next 4 weeks. If she keeps this up.

Sky: I know. What do you want to do?

Jazzy: I don’t know. All I know we all going to suffer if she keeps this up.

Sky: Well, tomorrow is a brand new day. And maybe the healers won’t need to use what they studied in the last 2 weeks.

Jazzy: I hope not.

Sky: Come to bed. We have an early start tomorrow.

Jazzy: Just one question. What does Jeff see in Brandy?

Sky: -laughing- Jeff sees Brandy as a good partner. Brandy may look like a stupid blond, but she is very good at keeping the children safe. By telling them good stories and making them laugh.

Jazzy: A nanny isn’t a job.

Sky: It’s called Healer Nanny.

Jazzy: Healer Nanny?

Sky: A Healer Nanny is not only taking care of the little ones. A Healer Nanny’s job is also taking care of the animals. There are a lot of types of healers. A Healer Nanny is just one of the jobs.

Jazzy: I see.

Sky: Brandy does take care of Jeff very well. So don’t worry Jeff and Brandy are true soul mate. -smiling-

Jazzy: -getting into bed- I hope so.

Sky: -rolling over- You’re worry because of what happen to Sophia and Rich.

Jazzy: Yea.

Sky: Don’t worry. All of us found our true soul mates. -smiling-

Jazzy: I hope so.

Sky turned off the lights and we went to bed. But I couldn’t fall asleep. Because the war was still going through the night. I was worry for my parents and my sister was staying with my grandparents. I was wondering if they were safe. I want to give my sister a call but calling her would send a signal to the enemy and notify them where her location is. I don’t want any more of my close friends and family members to die. So, I just have focus on my team. We will be fine.

-End of Chapter Twenty-Three-

0 notes

emvjohn-blog · 7 years

Text

Nonfiction Essay

The Mom that Knew Nothing

“Emily, I signed you up for gymnastics, along with swimming, oh and a sculpture class on Wednesday nights!” Growing up, my mom always had me doing some extracurricular activity. From the peewee soccer league to a sculpture class at the local arts center to girl scouts. I mean, I’ve done it all. I’ve played all the sports, done all the local arts. I was never forced but my mom always wanted me to do it all. I loved it, I loved having something to do all the time. I thoroughly enjoyed each thing I did, even if I didn’t excel at it. I imagined that everyone else’s childhood was fast paced and filled with opportunities but as I grew up, I realized how fortunate I was.

My mom wasn’t athletic, wasn’t involved, didn’t know a thing about sports. She didn’t want that same life for me. She wanted more, she wanted me to have all the opportunities in the world. She didn’t want me to turn out like her. That’s what her fear was, that I would end up just like her. She wasn’t scared that I would grow up and not be athletic, she was scared that at the age of 54 I would be unhappy, as she is. So she did everything in her power to create a different path for me, that hopefully in the end would lead to happiness.

She created that path. Not only did she push me to be involved but she supported me, in everything I did. I always took her support as a joke. She’d be on the sidelines cheering me on. After the games, she would try to have conversations with me about how I played or how the game went. I would just laugh and say “Mom, you have no idea what you are talking about.” Looking back at it, she tried so hard to understand. She wanted to know it all so that she could push me to be my best. She wanted so much for me and that was her quiet way of showing it.

My mom isn’t one for words. Sure she says, “I love you” all the time but she shows her love through actions. If I were to ask her how she feels about me, she wouldn’t know how to respond. She just says “You should know how I feel about you after all these years.” That pisses me off, I want words. I’m the type of person who could explain everything in words, especially my feelings and I just don’t get why she can’t. But I’ve come to realize, it’s not that she can’t put it into words, it is that words mean nothing to her. So through support, her love was shown.

In fifth grade, I touched my first volleyball. After that first practice, I came home with bruised arms because I was not used to having volleyballs hit straight at me. My mom was horrified, “my baby is hurt.” I remember saying, “Mom, I’m fine. I’m tough,” she just laughed. She had no idea what volleyball even was, but she never missed a game. She always paid attention to the games, and tried her best to understand.

After fifth grade, I knew that volleyball was going to be my sport. Even though I didn’t enjoy it as much as other sports, it was the game that came easiest to me. I continued to play, starting in seventh grade I quit all my other sports and started playing club volleyball. Club volleyball is where everything got serious. Practices twice a week, positional training on Friday nights, and tournaments every other weekend. My mom drove me to it all, whether it was ten minutes away or three hours away. It was normal for me to have my mom drive me everywhere. She would never say no, she dropped everything for me. As her daughter, I assumed it normal for a daughter to be her mother’s entire world. I thought that’s how it went.

The car rides weren’t just rides to me. They were alone time I got with my mom. I have a twin brother, who was the drama filled one in our family. The spotlight was always on him, not because he did everything right but the opposite, he was always causing trouble. During the car rides, I would get that quality time with my mom. Sometimes we wouldn’t talk at all but others, all we would do is talk. We’d talk about everything from school to boys to how I felt. There was really no telling how any car ride would go. That was a huge part of volleyball to me, the fact that I had an excuse for my mom to always be with me.

When it came to high school volleyball, she would get there right before the game started. Varsity games started around seven, she would walk in around 6:30. I would always stop warming up, run up to her, hug and kiss her, and then run back to the court. This was like a ritual for me, to always make a point to hug her before my games. I didn’t have a reason to do it, just wanted to say hi. Some girls would look at me like I’m stupid and others would always say “I love how close you and your mom are.” I would just look at them, smile and say “I do too.” My mom is my world and the fact that the world knew it was important to me. Looking back, before every game, I was hugging the person and the reason that I was playing in that game.

As a volleyball player, I put my heart and soul into every game. I was the one diving into the chairs to pick up a ball or the one running across court and diving just so the ball wouldn’t touch the ground. I mean I was dedicated. When we would win, my heart was happy. When we would lose, I would feel broken. After the tough games, I would cry if we lost. Not because I was a sore loser or a baby, but because it’s hard putting your all into everything and it not being enough. Every time I cried, my mom just hugged me. Hell, she’d even cry. We’re emotional people to begin with, but put us together and we are just a mess.

The morning of my senior night game, I woke up so early. I mean, I woke up in enough time to shower, eat breakfast, and to sit around for a while before I had to leave for school. This was insane for me, I was that kid that would wake up at 7:30 when I had to leave for school at 7:15. I walked into the doors of school, walked straight to my locker. It was decorated with blue sour punch straws, pink star bursts, blue and gold streamers, and a white poster that had a big picture of me on it. The poster read “We Will Miss You Em.” I was so happy, mostly because I had candy to eat in my classes but also because it was a day about me and all the other volleyball seniors. Classes went by slower than molasses. I mean, the day dragged on. Finally, the last bell rang and I popped out of my seat and went straight to the locker room. I changed and I was ready for the games. The seniors aren’t allowed in the gym before the game because it was supposed to be a surprise. But of course, I snuck in. I was just too excited. They kicked me out and I went to the cafeteria, where my mom was walking in with big balloons and our senior night presents. I was so happy to see her; I mean I ran straight to that lady. I helped her set up the food for after the game and I then started doing some homework. She walked out of the cafeteria to go look at the gym decorations and I continued to do my homework, anything to pass the time until the big game.

She came back into the cafeteria with watery eyes, I kept saying “Mom, what’s wrong?” She wouldn’t tell me. She just avoided the question and walked past me. I stopped her, “Mom, what is it? Tell me!” She then started crying and said “I have to leave, your aunt (her sister) had a stroke and is being rushed to the hospital.” I broke down, not because she was leaving but because her sister was being rushed to the hospital. About six years prior to that night, the same thing happened to my other aunt and she passed away. So in our family, as it would be in anyone else’s, this was a sensitive subject. I said “Go, go to the hospital and be with her.” She replied crying even harder, “I want to walk you out, but I have to go, I can’t lose another sister. Emily, I’m so sorry.” She then left and all I remember saying is “Be careful.” I then went into the locker room and lost it, everything happened so quickly. Everyone was asking questions; everyone was asking “Who’s going to walk you out onto the court now?” I didn’t even have words to reply. That was the last thing on my mind. Hell, I debated leaving and going to the hospital. Volleyball wasn’t important in that moment, family was, she was.

As the seniors were lining up, my dad walked into the gym. Walked up to me ready and drunk to escort me out. He said in slurred words “Guess you’re lucky, you got me to walk you out tonight.” I was ecstatic, my dad who is never there for anything is going to be the one to walk me out and better yet, he’s drunk! I was embarrassed and I was crushed. Alcohol always came before me, it was his number one priority. Before his family, before work, before everything. I never understood it. It always bothered me but frankly I became numb, I was never going to change him and honestly I didn’t care too. I never had a dad, I had a mom who did it all.

I walked out as my name was called and I tried smiling, I really tried, but I couldn’t. I wrote a little note that I wanted the announcer to read off after announcing me and that note consisted of many thank yous, to my coaches, teammates, and my mom. As he read “Mom, I just want to thank you for being my number one supporter, my best friend, and the best shofar ever.” I just lost it, I don’t think I have ever cried so hard. My hands were shaking, tears were falling from my face, the beautiful colorful flowers in my hand dropped to the ground. I was heartbroken.

I calmed down, played the game as my usual self because my motto was always, the minute you hit the court nothing else matters. We won. After that last point was scored, I ran to my locker, called my mom to see how things were. She answered the phone with “I’m sorry Emily, did you win?” Of course I didn’t even answer that question, I just wanted to know how everyone was. My aunt was fine, she was going to be okay and after I heard that a calm came over me.

I got home after the game and my mom showed up not too long after. She hugged me and I cried again. I was so mad. She kept apologizing and I said “Stop, stop saying sorry. I’m not mad at you.” She was confused. “Then why do you keep crying?” I couldn’t even answer the question because I didn’t know, or I wasn’t ready to say it. As the days went on, I slowly forgot about that game that I dreamed of. It wasn’t special to me anymore, because it didn’t go how it was supposed to.

Instead of that game being the game of my dreams, it was a game of realization. I was so heartbroken because the person that deserved to be recognized with me, wasn’t. My mother was the reason I became a volleyball player, she was the reason I succeeded, and she was and still is the only one that has been there through it all. But yet, she wasn’t the one to walk me out. That’s what hurt the most, that she didn’t get the appreciation. It wasn’t about me and my big game anymore but it was about the reason I got here. The reason for everything good in my life. My mother.

Playing sports aren’t the answer to happiness. Being involved in everything possible won’t lead to happiness. It may keep me busy, but one day it’ll all be gone. Sports were and still are a huge part of my life. Volleyball really the only thing still a part of my life, but it’s something that I am honestly afraid to say goodbye too. It’s my outlet. Practice is a place I go and forget about everything and just play. My mind is at ease. It’s where I go when I’m angry or upset. It’s a part of me.

The goal of it all was to make me happy. That’s all my mom wanted and still wants for me. Growing up, she had control over what I did and she made me do it all. I don’t despise her for it, but it does hurt my heart. She is full of regret and heartbreak. She wants my life to be opposite of hers. It doesn’t hurt me that she wants me to have it all, it hurts me that she doesn’t have it all. She has sacrificed her entire life for me, just so I could reach my full potential. Of course, I appreciate that more than anything but I wish it wasn’t that way. I wish she was happy. I wish that I could push her down a different path. She deserves it all and after all she has done for me, I hope that one day I can return the favor.

0 notes