#they were drawn while hiding it under a paper in math | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lizbotw · 3 years

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it’s only sharing a disgustingly sweet milkshake at the local college town diner after both of your evening classes that suna graciously provides the answers to the math homework.

the spongy pencil eraser is easy for you to sink your teeth into as you puzzle over his handwriting. “you know,” you mumble around the nib, trying to figure out if that’s a 5 or a 6, “i never know why you do this to me every week.” this time the drink with two plastic straws floating in an unhealthy heaping of whip cream is a syrupy strawberry flavor.

rintarou tips forward to sip at one of them and in your peripheral, chunky pink-coated fruit pieces travel up the clear tube and disappear between his lips. he releases the straw with an annoying ah that makes you frown, even if you weren’t concentrating in the first place. “aw, don’t tell me you don’t like hanging out with me.” he feigns hurt.

a well placed sip of your own allows you to avoid having to answer that—you have a personal rule of never being sappy in the presence of calculus. if you didn’t like him, suna knows you wouldn’t be hanging out with him—there are just some things you can’t do, even if it’s for the sake of your grade. none of this has to be said out loud of course, but he decides to be annoying and ask anyway.

actually—well... maybe hanging out is... not exactly how this appears to bystanders.

sharing a drink like this, you two probably look more like a couple on a (terribly cheap) afternoon date, rather than two broke college students that split meals to save money and believe that sharing answers for homework isn’t cheating, it’s collaboration.

ha, as if it would ever be different—things like the former never come true. maybe in movies, but that’s about where the line is drawn.

as if he knows what you’re thinking, suna raises an eyebrow at you over the glass, a smile playing on his lips—the same stupid look he always gives you. it feels particularly worse this evening.

it’s hard to avoid eye contact with him mere inches away, but you manage when a car painted a very interesting shade of red rumbles past the fingerprint covered window. you’re grateful for the distraction.

the subject changes when you realize suna has terrible taste when it comes to ordering milkshakes. “what flavor is this?” you spit out the word as though the very concept of calling this a real flavor is more disgusting than the drink itself, smacking your lips and screwing up your face at the excessively saccharine, artificial strawberry aftertaste.

this is no ordinary strawberry milkshake. no, this is a so-bad-only-suna-rintarou-would-order-something-this-horrible-(and-not-necessarily-on-purpose-either) strawberry milkshake.

“valentine’s valor,” he states matter-of-factly like those words mean anything to you. you stare at him until he elaborates. “their valentine’s special,” he clarifies and is gifted with a sarcastic thumbs-up from you in thanks—it is pointedly ignored and suna slings an arm over back of his seat. “dunno the exact flavor though. forgot.”

it tastes like the embodiment of pink, you decide. valentine’s valor. what a stupid name. there are a million and one better words that start with v... you can name at least five with a little thinking. you should ask them to hire you as part of their marketing team, you decide.

maybe it’s fitting title though. you certainly need valor to even think about taking another sip of that... concoction—which you do because you are obsessed with getting your money’s worth.

“valentine’s day was half a week ago?” your mental calendar helpfully supplies.

the clatter of pans in the back kitchen somehow mingles charmingly with the way rintarou throws his head back to laugh—a scene straight out of a movie really. you decide you hate him in the moment. “right you are. want a prize?” ugh. you stick your tongue out at his tone.

great. as if to add insult to injury, of course you’re sharing an out-of-date love holiday special with suna of all people. valentine’s was four days ago and this is where you are on a thursday night. the sticky upholstery of the booth seat, ripped and fraying at the corners, squeaks and groans and attaches itself to the fabric of your jeans as you shift around, suddenly hot. what a strange situation to be in, you think. this has to be a metaphor for life—then again, you’d been thinking this whole... thing has been a metaphor anyway.

yup, ever since suna sat next to you in a calculus II lecture all those fated months ago and took pity on how much you fucking sucked at math, up until the present where he takes slightly less pity on you but does enjoy emptying your dorm mini-fridge and making you pay for his milkshakes—all of it. this entire thing with him. one big stupid metaphor.

the specifics of how you came to have a routine like this are certainly murky, but two things are for certain—one, your calculus grade is certainly a lot better than it would have been otherwise, and two, you have one friend more than you did at the start of the school year. (that last one is kind of a big deal, you think. the college social scene is brutal. the word friend has started to become more disappointing than exhilarating lately though.)

rin reaches to your left to pick at the fries you’d ordered as a side—you’ve learned not to try and stop him. “also,” he adds, mouth full, “you’re totally getting me a new pencil after this.” yes, true, the pencil you’re currently leaving frustrated teeth marks all over isn’t yours. very easy to forget in the moment. you’ve probably destroyed 15 of his pencils by now for the 15 weeks of the last semester—only 7 so far for the current one. you do the mental math.

instead of drawing in the sharp lines of the differential equation that should be going in the question box, you lightly trace in the curves of a 2 and then another one next to it in the corner of the worksheet, graphite underlining them both in one swoop. the horribly thin paper of the school library’s printer is scratchy as you write but soon you flip the pencil over and under your fingers to tap the eraser (that has seen better days) just below what you wrote. “this is pencil number 22.”

suna leans over to look at the number as if you hadn’t just told him what it said. what an idiot. “glad you’re keeping count.” he settles back into his seat. “when can i expect my reimbursement?”

“you’re funny,” you say, without a hint of humor in your voice. the pretty 22 you had written now has flower petals growing off of the sides as you get distracted doodling along the edges of your work. it’s quiet for a moment as he watches you, or maybe as he takes the chance while you’re distracted to shove more french fries down his throat—either option is plausible and you don’t lift your eyes to check.

something occurs to you.

“rin.” you take an extended pause in between the words as you continue drawing, just to annoy him. you don’t continue speaking until he grumbles in acknowledgment (you try to hide your smile). “do you ever doodle in your notebooks?” now that you thought about it, suna was surprisingly pretty straight-laced when it came to class—you couldn’t ever recall him ever slacking off to the degree that meant his pages were filled with hearts and stars and flowers and suns and atomically inaccurate animals and tiny people in different colored ink. your work was always certainly the more vibrant out of the two (perhaps that could explain your grades and how you understand like... nothing in your lectures, but you decide correlation does not equal causation).

“waste of time,” he says around another mouthful of fries, another one already halfway there to his mouth.

suna is also surprisingly negative at times—but the blue book flipped open to his homework says maybe he’s just a liar though. you squint at it.

“it’s still pretty early but we probably should get out of here soon,” suna says, pulling his phone out from his pocket to check the time and leaning his elbows on the table. “i’ll walk you back. your roomie doesn’t leave the gym until 9—before you ask, yes i’ve been keeping track. it’s not stalking if it’s for my own sake.”—rin is, of course, referring to the long standing rivalry between him and your (very nice, might you add) roommate you don’t really understand but which has cumulated in him deciding he would avoid them as much as humanly possible purely out of spite. (“the only person i like in dorm 302 is you,” he’d told you one time and the throwaway sentence maybe made your heart flutter more than it probably should’ve.)

the bell above the front door jingles behind you as another patron enters. rin glances up at the sound and then returns to his phone with a bored bat of his eyes, probably scrolling through twitter or replying to texts, and picking at his teeth with a toothpick (where did he even get that?).

you try to get back to work (copying) but something in your gut tells you there’s more to his notebook than the messy handwriting and crossed out words that meet the eye.

with suna distracted, you take the chance to carefully slide the book towards you and then, in a single quick swipe, pull it into your lap under the table, already leafing to the back pages—everyone knows that’s where the real secrets are—not sure what to expect. a flash of color makes you pause and you flip back to a page that has the corner folded into a tiny, crisp triangle.

whatever you were thinking suna had stashed in the back of his calculus notebook certainly does not match up with what’s staring you in the face currently. sparkly, gel-inked hearts in neon colors glitter under the fluorescent overheads. in each of them, written in capital letters neater than you thought possible for suna, is your initials, a small plus sign in the middle, and then S.R. (for none other than suna rinatoru) next to it. it instantly makes sense to you. “rin, what the fuck.” one side of the book dangles from your hand, pages fluttering, and you hold it up for him to see, other hand flying to cover your mouth because you don’t know whether to laugh or pretend to be mortified or what.

it’s very amusing to watch how suna goes from a disinterested stare, to widened eyes, to reaching over the heaps of school supplies to attempt to grab the book from you, frantic. you hold it just out of reach. “what are you—” an old lady at a table shushes him when he half-screams. “—give that back,” suna whisper-yells instead in the greatest verbal equivalent of tiny caps you’ve ever heard.

“not a chance.”

he looks like he wants to lunge across the table and pry his prized possession from your meddling hands, but also has half the mind not to make a scene. getting kicked out and then subsequently banned from his favorite diner all on a noise complaint and disorderly conduct accusation was not ideal.

you hum, flip back to your place, and observe the drawings covering the lined pages. you shoot him a venomous smirk over the edge of the cover, one that’s more theatrics than anything, and say with all the satisfaction of someone who knows they have all the power, “oh, this is gold.” he deflates and you feel grateful he doesn’t see right through your facade because oh man are you sweating inside right now. what the fuck? no way suna rintarou is drawing little hearts with both of your initials in it like a lovesick middle schooler. no fucking way. you almost want to tell him that you did the same thing once when the thoughts about him had gotten especially bad (you felt guilty afterwards though, thinking you never had a chance with him, but... now... if he’s doing the same—well, that kind of changes everything).

suna is utterly defeated you think—doesn’t even try to defend himself, just slumps in his seat with a groan. you at least expected a “i can explain!” from him, a last attempt at dignity, not the resigned “i’m never going to live this down, am i?” he mumbles after a few seconds. well, either works for you.

“nope,” you quip, maybe a little too cheerfully because the response you receive is a distressed wail and him banging his head against the table. the old lady shushes him again. you chuckle at that (it feels a little wobbly though because once again, freaking out here) and flip the page. you stop.

this one has similar perfect little hearts drawn all over it, but there are other things. cute, standard shaky drawings of misshapen dogs and volleyballs and other things you never thought suna would take it upon himself to create but all of which make sense are there. but there’s something else. little scribbles in the corners with your last name swapped with his and even him trying out his name with your last one—all of them are scratched out but not so much you can’t read them. a list on the right in a very tiny font that makes you think he was embarrassed even penning the words is titled “date ideas?” (the question mark is in red and the dot is a heart) and has several popular spots around town written down in the local lingo of unofficial names for them.

“listen... please let’s forget about this.” rin’s voice is muffled and he’s still faceplanted. “it’s fine if you don’t... you know... yeah.” if you don’t feel that way, he means. true, the doodles were a pretty good indication of his feelings.

what to do...

well... you take pity on him, let your lips upturn and your eyes soften to reflect the sentiment, and shut the book with a quiet thud. you slide it back across the table from where it came and back to him silently. you give it a resounding pat when suna peeks up at you, expression saying it all—he was so going to get you back for this. you stick your tongue out—acceptance of the challenge. and just like that, you’re friends again—maybe that’s what’s so great about suna.

as you get ready to leave and slowly begin the trek back to the dorm buildings with him, street lamps glimmering a pasty yellow, there’s no awkward tension, no need to ask questions, no verbal wonderings about what ifs between you two. it’s just joking and shoving each other around and challenges to see who can run to the next tree the fastest in the middle of the chilly february night. you know, maybe for now you’ll keep your own thoughts a secret.

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ateezmakemeweep · 4 years

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if you’re not busy, can i pls request a ateez reaction with y/n sketching them out during either sport practice, at the library, park, etc. and they end up seeing it and you get all flustered and shy uwu

❥ kim hongjoong

during free period, there was always one place you could find hongjoong.

you peek your head in the empty music room, the boy’s small frame hunched over the piano as he plays on the keys before scribbling messily on a sheet of paper. you let out a quiet sigh, knowing that this is the only time he has to eat or drink but refuses to spend his free time doing anything else but music.

you walk over silently, greeting him with a small smile as you sit down and push a tray of food in front of him. “please eat it as some point,” you whine as you open your sketchbook, his lowly mumbled “i will,” not at all making you feel confident.

and with good reason because the entire time you draw, he doesn’t stray his attention from the keys or his notebook. and you know this for a fact because you’ve been watching him for the past 30 minutes, sketching the slope of his nose and handsome features of his face before you even realized it.

and much to your luck, when you’re finished up, that’s when hongjoong decides to put down his pencil and stretch his arms in front of him. “what have you been up to?” you hear him ask you, your face snapping up and flushing when he’s looking at you knowingly.

“no-nothing!” you stutter. but before you can slap the book shut, he peeks over and sees the profile of his face, his head lowered and a focused expression sketched in grey, lightly smudged graphite.

“cute,” he mumbles, smiling when your face turns pink and you throw your pencil at his arm.

❥ park seonghwa

you don’t know when you and seonghwa decided to start eating in the library.

it could’ve had something to do with that fact that his and your chaotic friends were too much for both of you, the odds of a food fight or loud bickering back and forth far too common. you both enjoyed the time out of class to be calm and quiet, seonghwa usually reading or playing on his phone while you practiced your sketches or art projects.

today, you were having trouble. you couldn’t quite set the tone of the piece, letting out a quiet groan as you erased marking after marking. you decided to ditch the landscape all together after that, looking around the room to see if anything else sparked some inspiration.

and there it sits in front of you, seonghwa sitting there flipping through the pages of a book. his shoulders were relaxed and his face was pulled into a soft smile, chewing at his food and your pencil started moving before your brain could even keep up.

seonghwa looked up and smiled when he saw you at work, his eyes narrowing as he noticed you had the sketchpad lifted away from him. he waits until the scratches are less frantic, your face less focused as you shade in parts of whatever you drew.

“what’d it end up being?” his deep voice asked you, your head snapping up to look at him. and it’s like the second he sees your face, he knows. because the smirk that crosses his is far too teasing and amused, extending his arm out and looking at you pleadingly. “let me see.”

“no,” you snap, shaking your head as you hold it to your chest - how embarrassing.

“c’mon, baby,” he whines, the term of endearment he throws around like it doesn’t hold so much power making you even more flustered. “let’s see what a good job you did.”

❥ jeong yunho

the substitute in your math class was about as useless as the subject matter.

he assigned you three questions that would take even the most horrific students less than fifteen minutes, insisting that was the work assigned for today and to remain quiet for the rest of class. you roll your eyes as he looks over all of you, making sure no one has there phones out or is trying to pass notes.

you and yunho meet gazes and he looks just as annoyed as you, placing his head down on his arms and shutting his eyes. in the time you’ve put your work away and pulled out your sketchbook, you’re pretty he’s actually fallen asleep. his eyelashes rest on his cheeks and his brow is furrowed every so slightly, your crossed legs turning in your seat as you start to draw the sleeping boy.

class ends just as you start to shade, missing the loud ring of the bell as you focus in on making his face as peaceful and handsome as he looked. a looming figure above you causes you to jump, the model himself now awake and looking down at you with a smirk.

your cheeks flush immediately and he bites his lip to hide his smile from widening, not wanting to embarrass you but also finding it incredibly cute and endearing. you press your lips into a firm line as you close the book immediately, about to blurt out an apology or explanation before he asks if he can walk you to your next class.

❥ kang yeosang

with half of the boys either out to lunch or getting extra help in the library, your lunch table was relatively quiet with only yeosang and jongho present.

you zoned in and out of the boys conversation, speaking up when addressed directly or giggling when jongho insulted yeosang to the point of being smacked. you couldn’t help but admire the older boy’s sweet smile despite his violent acts, his eyes lighting up each and every time a laugh bubbles out of him.

no one catches on to your looks up and down and the scribbling of your pencil until mingi and yunho come through the door, mingi’s hand ruffling your hair before he notices your sketchbook. “whoa!” his voice exclaims, your body stiffening as you try to cover the half-drawn portrait. “that’s so good, y/n! is that yeo-“

“stop!” you squeak, your face pink and heart pounding as you slam the sketchpad shut. everyone but yeosang gives you a strange look, his small smile reassuring you for the rest of the lunch that it was okay.

“can i see it?” he mumbled in your ear when lunch was over, your cheeks still burning as you look up at him with a pout and shake your head in embarrassment. “pleaseee,” he whines, his deep chuckle bringing goosebumps to your skin when you smack him lightly with the book.

❥ choi san

san had planned a picnic for the both of you, sandwiches and fruit and little bars of chocolate filling the wicker basket at your feet.

laid out on the yellow blanket he’d brought, you rested on your stomach sketching him as he throws the tennis ball to your dog a few feet away in the grass. his dimples poked out as the sun shined down on him, your heart fluttering each and every time as you sketched out his handsome face. you giggled watching your dog jump up on san, the boy nearly toppling back as dirt got all over his black shirt.

“i’m sorry,” you said softly when they came back, fishing through the basket for some spare napkins. but with your back turned, you left your book exposed and san’s eyes traveled over the drawing of him. he smiled looking over it, his eyes moving to you just as you turn around. “here you go, that should-“ your words get cut off when you see your sketch is visible, your cheeks flushing when you see him staring down at you.

“i-i’m sorry,” you say again, feeling creepy and weird that you were caught. he rolls his eyes and sits down in front of you, his hand going through a strand of your hair.

“why are you sorry?” he asks with a small smile. he looks back down at the sketch and can’t help but shake his head, insisting he’s not that handsome and then apologizing that he doesn’t really look like that. you let out a scoff, throwing a piece of bread at him that your dog is quick to snatch up.

❥ song mingi

you and mingi had been in the same spot at the empty cafe for hours, studying and finals completely consuming you guys.

you stretch your arms out with a groan, moving your study guide aside to give your pounding head a break. mingi barely looks up from his laptop, working to finish the ten-page essay due tomorrow. it’s with that look of concentration, the light from his laptop softening his face that causes you to draw him.

focusing on the way his hair hangs in his face, the plumpness of his chapped bottom lip and the way his eyes filter back and forth over the screen. you hear his chair scrape against the floor and look up to see him go over the counter, humming to yourself as you start to draw from memory.

a tray smacking against the table causes you to jump, almost scribbling a stray line before you look down and see he got you a chocolate chip cookie. warmth spreads through your chest as look up to thank him, his eyes on the page and a smirk on his face.

“who’s that?” he asks teasingly, watching your face drop and cheeks flush as you bury your face in your hands. he can’t help but chuckle when he hears you groan, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before silently making his way back to the computer.

❥ jung wooyoung

given that wooyoung was usually your ride home, being neighbors and all, you frequently found yourself sitting in the gym watching his basketball practice.

he was like a completely different person when he played, his happy smile and playful demeanor gone as a completive edge and focus overtook him. he stood tall and confident, his exposed arms looking muscular and fit. you can see the blank ink under his rib, biting your lip as you take out your sketchbook and draw out his body and face.

it proves difficult as he keeps bouncing from one side of the court to another but when he’s standing still for about two minutes, his head thrown back as he gulps down water and his adams apple bobs, you know you’re about to get a fairly good sketch.

you clean it up and shade to the best of your ability, only feeling a little bit bothered by the way he starts to sweat and pant heavily. you miss the way he’s been watching you, a smirk on his face as you look down concentrated with your teeth digging into your lip.

“what’re you drawing today?” you hear him ask breathlessly, the white towel slung over his shoulder making you gulp. you shake your head and mumble “nothing,” knowing if he sees it, he’s gonna scream and pinch your cheeks and embarrass you.

he sees the way you get nervous, a smirk crossing his lips as he tries to peak down. “c’mon, y/n, share with the class.” he tries to take the sketchbook out of your hand but you cave in on yourself, closing it as you cover it with your chest and making it even more obvious you were drawing something.

“you’re no fun,” he whines, your eyes narrowing at him because why does have to be so annoyingly hot and when did he even get that tattoo?

❥ choi jongho

with an injury to your ankle but demands from your cheer coach to sit in on practice, you currently sat on the bleachers facing the football field.

you watched your squad practice the moves you’ve been doing since the beginning of the year, letting out an annoyed huff before your eyes move to the football field. particularly on player number eight, the jersey that reads choi every friday night when, more often than not, he scores at least one touchdown.

but now he’s standing on the field with his team members and coach, his arms crossed over his chest as you find yourself itching to reach for your sketchbook. you and the boy are fairly close due to how often you see each other, one of the only nice and respectable jocks in this school.

but even so, you’d be mortified if he saw your book right now. the way you draw his broad shoulders and chest, his arms stretched over them as you bite your lip in concentration and focus in on all the little details you’ve come to notice at parties and after practice.

you’re so focused on sketching and shading and tweaking the boy’s stance and face that you’re completely ignorant of the whistles blowing around you, signaling the boy’s are free to go and walking past the cheerleaders to go down to the locker room.

you jump when you hear your name being called, jongho just a few feet away from you as he walks toward the bleachers. your frantic reaction causes the book to fall from your lap, wincing and blushing when, before you can reach down and grab it, he picks it up for you.

his eyes linger over the drawing for a few seconds, breaths caught in your throat as you feel about ready to explode or burst into tears. but then he only smiles sweetly down at you, turning the page over just as another team member comes up and smacks him on the back.

“what’s that?” you hear the random boy ask, your eyes immediately moving to him.

“nothing,” jongho responds casually, handing the book back to you with a knowing glint in his eyes. “just something that belongs to her.” you stare wide eyed at the boy’s back as he retreats toward the building, finally getting air in your lungs before he ruins it again by turning around and winking at you.

#💌#request #ateez #ateez reactions #this was a cute one🥺

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3pirouette · 3 years

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Fic: Nobody's Baby: Menace (1/1)

Title: Menace

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Menace at AO3

Nobody's Baby Series at AO3

Story Summary: Steve wasn’t sure he was going to make it.

Six weeks.

There were six weeks left, give or take, and then…

Well, he supposed that things would change, but the truth was, he wasn’t sure and neither was Howard.

A/N: Set in April of 1954, right before the Epilogue of Nobody’s Baby. For Steggy Week Day 6: Our Favorite Family. I’m also using this to cross “Domestic Fluff” off my Steggy Bingo Board because I don’t think it gets much more domestic OR fluffy.

I… have no idea what kids learned in school in 1954. Just… made my best guess.

~*~

Steve wasn’t sure he was going to make it.

Six weeks.

There were six weeks left, give or take, and then…

Well, he supposed that things would change, but the truth was, he wasn’t sure and neither was Howard.

Mandy was enough of a tornado; at eight she had the energy of three grown men and the ability to sit still for about five minutes if something didn’t capture her attention. But adding Peggy into the mix…

He scratched his head, looking at the dent in the refrigerator. He was strong enough to reshape the metal, but he wasn’t exactly sure how to get to it without disassembling the whole thing. He bit his thumb and turned back to his wife who was watching him from the door, hands on her stomach.

“How, exactly,” he started, curious but still gentle, “did you manage this one?”

Peggy looked contrite, her lip between her teeth and eyes sad as she stroked her pregnant belly. “I leaned on it too fast.”

Her earnestness hit him in the gut and he could do nothing but laugh.

She gently pressed off the wall, frustrated. “It’s not funny, Steve!”

“Awww,” he tried to suppress his laughter, but it still trickled out as a chuckle as he pulled her tight into his embrace. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just…” When she sniffled he knew he’d gone too far. Steve leaned back, taking her chin gently in his hand. “I’m just getting really good at home repairs, is all.”

Peggy shook her head fiercely, eyes welling. She was still subject to horrible mood swings, even this late into the pregnancy. “I’m a menace.”

“You’re my menace,” Steve replied quickly, kissing her forehead and cradling her tight in his arms. “Besides, the refrigerator needed a little… style.”

He wasn’t sure if the sound Peggy made was a laugh or a sob, but her held her just a little tighter, anyway. They hadn’t been sure, after so long of trying and nothing happening, that they’d be able to have children of their own. Being pregnant was a big enough surprise after years of thinking it wouldn’t happen, but the enhancements she was displaying since, well, those were a little harder to deal with.

Howard had tried to figure out exactly what was happening, but could only give them his best guesses since he and Erskine hadn’t ever gotten this far in their planning or research. He assumed it was something about Peggy and the baby sharing blood supply and genetic material, but as to how long it would last once the baby was born or if it was a permanent change to Peggy’s system, he didn’t know. Anytime they asked him a question he didn’t know the answer to, Howard would wave his hands in the air and say it was the “miracle of pregnancy.”

Neither Steve nor Peggy were very partial to that answer.

The hearing and sense of smell were both helpful and annoying to her, the quick healing was quite useful, but the strength had knocked her for a loop and almost seven months later she was still having little… mishaps.

“I know I say this all the time,” Peggy mumbled into his neck, “but how did you manage?”

“It was a war,” Steve whispered, not caring how many times he’d have to talk about it. “People didn’t care if there was some collateral damage until I figured it all out.” He swayed them side to side gently, rubbing his hand over her back. “Though, they were a little sore on the USO tour if I managed to break something.”

Peggy shook her head against him. “The kitchen table, two chairs, three… three doors off the hinges, the shower head, two holes in walls, the typewriter, the bathroom sink, and the refrigerator. Any other casualties I’m missing?”

Steve winced, but said it anyway. “The dollhouse.”

She deflated in his arms. “Yes, and the dollhouse.” She turned sideways, letting her belly rest against his so she could lean into him. “What if this never goes away?”

Steve let his hand flatten over the curve of her stomach, stroking gently through the fabric of her dress. “Then we will have the most well protected kids in the world.”

“Right,” she muttered, “As I stumble around and put holes in the walls.”

Steve continued gentle strokes up and down over the curve of her stomach. “No, by then you’ll have regained your balance and with the little guy—”

“Or girl,” Peggy mumbled.

“Or girl,” Steve amended quickly, “on the outside we can get you training- get you used to it.” He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “No matter what happens, in a few weeks we’re going to have a new focus, but I’m not going to let you struggle, ok?” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I’m right here with you.”

Peggy hummed, unconvinced as she did a little two step to turn them to face the refrigerator. “Perhaps.” She sighed, her tears abated for the moment and her mind set on more practical things, “But what are we going to do about right now?”

“Well—”

Steve’s long, drawn out syllable was interrupted by the slamming of the back door and Mandy tearing into the kitchen, her bag falling off her shoulder and braids in shambles. “Hi Mom, Dad!” She hugged them tight, her bag falling to the floor.

Steve’s arm wrapped around the girl as Peggy held tight to him, Mandy’s energy nearly knocking her over. She let her hand settle on the back of the girl’s head after she finally regained her footing with more than a little help from Steve’s sure grip. “Well, aren’t you full of energy today!” Peggy laughed out, her fingers running over the hairs sticking out of the braids.

“School was so boring today,” Mandy mumbled, looking up at them. She turned her head and pressed a kiss to Peggy’s stomach, whispering something unintelligible to the baby before pulling away from her parents.

Steve could see Peggy tearing up again as she rubbed the spot Mandy had kissed. He gave her a little squeeze and turned back to Mandy, who was gleefully chattering on, unaware she’d done something precious. “Math was a review and I got all the answers right from last night’s homework, so I just had to listen. Then we had time to read our chapter books, and we had to write a summary, which is boring because I already read it, so why do I have to talk about what I just read?”

Steve smiled as Mandy sat herself on the floor, digging through her bag. “So that you can show you understand it. That’s an important skill.”

Mandy looked up at him and after a moment of contemplation, shrugged. “Ok,” she muttered, turned back to her bag. “We had art today, too, and that was pretty fun. We used different kinds of macaroni to make a map yesterday, and then after lunch today we painted it.” Mandy was almost halfway in her backpack now, looking for the errant art project. She pulled it out with a flourish and smiled. “Miss Williams said mine was the most colorful, and Jeremy got in trouble.”

“Jeremy got in trouble?” Peggy asked, smiling as Mandy stood and tried to show them both the sheet of paper filled with an explosion of various shaped pastas in bright colors.

“He said they should have kept the pasta for lunch because lunch was bad, so he got sent to the principal’s office for talking back.” Mandy shrugged and handed the picture to Steve. “He’s not wrong. The turkey sandwiches were dry.” She scrunched up her face and shook her head like she was trying erase the memory of the food.

“Be that as it may, this is quite lovely dear!” Peggy smiled and looked at the paper. “What is it the map of?”

“Well, we were supposed to make a map about a place we know, but I thought that would be boring.” Mandy sat back down on the floor and started to put all the papers and pencils from her bag back in. “So, I made a treasure map instead.” She stood back up and hefted the bag over her shoulder. “I only have a little homework tonight so I’ll be done pretty fast. Just some science homework. What’s for dinner?”

Peggy stepped away from Steve, setting a hand on Mandy’s shoulder. “Well, that’s good that you don’t have much, because Aunt Ana has invited us over for dinner tonight.” She smiled and moved to head her towards her room. “We need to get you a little more presentable, and you can work on your science while we’re talking about boring adult things after dinner.”

Mandy squealed in delight, bouncing. “Do you think Aunt Ana’s cooking or is it Uncle Jarvis? Maybe she’ll have the little rolls I like. Oh! Will Bernard be there?”

Steve shook his head, chucking under his breath as he moved towards the refrigerator, a glint in his eyes.

Peggy laughed and flicked a half-unraveled braid over Mandy’s shoulder. “Absolutely not. Bernard lives in California, darling.” She turned her daughter towards the door. “I’ll let you pick your dress but you must sit still for me to fix your hair, understood?”

Mandy could barely hide her excitement for the night out. “Yes, Mom.”

“Hey, what do you think? Temporary fix?” Steve caught both of their attention, pointing to the refrigerator where he’d hung Mandy’s art up with a magnet over the dent with a proud smile on his face.

Peggy rolled her eyes good-naturedly at him, rubbing a hand over her belly “I suppose it shall do for now.” She sighed happily, felling just a little overly domestic at the sight of Steve standing by their daughter’s artwork, proud of both her and himself. “Alright, you two, we need to get a move on. Edwin’s expecting us.”

“Yes,” Steve agreed, starting to move then stopping, turning his head to the side as he contemplated the macaroni art. “Mandy?”

She and Peggy stopped half out of the kitchen. “Yeah, Dad?”

“Is this…” he paused, a concern growing in his head, “is this our yard?”

She nodded proudly. “Uh huh.”

“Oh!” Peggy smiled, smoothing down her daughter’s hair, oblivious to Steve’s discovery. “I can see the shed and the little garden patch in the back. Very good job.”

“And…” he paused again, this time his hesitancy caught Peggy’s attention and her smile dropped just a bit. “And where’s the treasure?” Steve asked, cautiously. “I don’t see an ‘x’ to mark the spot.”

Mandy chuckled, her face alive with what they’d come to know as her mischievous smile. “You’re going to have to find it.” She turned, moving out of the kitchen and bounding up the stairs. “Especially if you want it back!”

Steve and Peggy stared at one another for a long moment, the sound of Mandy bouncing around in her room a far second to the panic they both felt.

“What did she bury?” Peggy asked, her voice quiet and as deathly serious as if she were in the field.

“What are we missing?” Steve asked, just as serious, eyes flying all over the room. He and Peggy passed one another as Steve kept looking for little holes where trinkets or heirlooms might have caught Mandy’s eye while Peggy scoured the colorful macaroni for anything that might be a clue. Steve stopped and turned slowly, another thought dawning on him. “Honey?”

“Hum?” She asked, eyes still scouring the page.

He tried to keep his voice as calm as he could, but he knew that if he was right, this was unlikely to go well. “Where’s your ring?”

“I couldn’t find it this morning; I must have missed my jewelry dish last night and I couldn’t quite get on the floor to check under…” She stopped, her mind finally clicking over. She stood slowly, looking at him. “No.”

He grimaced. “I mean…”

Peggy’s jaw tightened and her eyes grew serious. “You need to take this one back,” she gestured at her belly. “I can’t handle two.”

Steve smirked and took her hand, gently pulling her towards the stairs. “A little late for that, I think.”

Peggy reluctantly let him pull her along. “No. Absolutely not. I can’t handle another little carbon copy of us scooting about, being sneaky and subverting our every effort to parent them.”

He stopped them at the bottom of the stairs, smiling softly. “It’ll be fine.” He kissed her softly then started up the stairs. “Let’s just take it one refrigerator and wedding ring at a time, huh?”

Peggy grumbled and started up behind him, significantly slower. “That little devil is lucky I love her, Shield has some beautiful new detention cells I’ve been dying to try out.”

Steve paused at the top. “She’s scrappy, like her mom.” He kissed Peggy’s forehead and helped her up the last few stairs.

“And as stubborn and sneaky as her father when she gets an idea in her head.” Peggy took a slow breath and stood near the doorway. “It’s your turn.”

Steve rubbed his face, suddenly not liking where this was going. “Then why’d you come up?”

“Because while you’re digging out in the yard for my ring, I’m going to have to get that whirlwind of a child ready and as you just saw, I do need a hand nowadays if I’m to get up here in one go.” Peggy shook her head and gave him a push towards the door. She smiled, a glint and a challenge in her eye. “You’re up, Daddy.”

He took a deep breath, and with a voice and facial expression Peggy knew well from the days of the red, white, and blue suit, entered enemy territory. “Amanda Grace? Where did you bury your mother’s ring?”

Her voice was so proud when she replied, Peggy nearly doubled over with laughter. “I told you, you’re going to have to find it. That’s what the map is for!”

Peggy wasn’t sure she was going to make it.

Six weeks.

There were six weeks left, give or take, and then…

Well, she supposed that things would change, but the truth was, super strength and buried rings and all, she wouldn’t give it up for the world.

#steggyweek21 #steggy bingo bash #3P's Fic #Nobody's Baby

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naitiaclo960writings · 4 years

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Day 5 - Daydream

Castiel sighed for what seemed to be the hundredth time since he got back from his break. Don’t get him wrong, he loved that part-time librarian job he got on the campus of his university. Mainly because it helped him earn a little extra money, but also because this work pushed him to meet a whole bunch of different people in an environment that he liked.

If one had to stick to the classical patterns of students, Castiel certainly belonged to the nerds club. He was rather reserved and always immersed in a book, in his revisions or, why not, absorbed by a game on his phone. Fortunately, Castiel did not wear glasses and did not know how to recite all the decimals of Pi to perfectly fit the cliché, otherwise, he was convinced that he would have far fewer friends than now. That was the sad reality around here…

However, he continued to be greedy for new encounters, convinced that each person possessed a unique beauty that he longed to discover. All this, however, contrasted with his unrecoverable shyness, prompting him to babble in situations where he was under social pressure. Thus, this work was perfect for him: he did not have to go to others, it was the whole university that came to him. Some came to renew their student cards, others came to borrow books or ask for advice on their homework and the rest just liked to go to the library to have a quiet place to indulge in their extracurricular activities.

To top it all off, his work did not require too much effort. Castiel was mainly in charge of restocking, setting up new books and welcoming students. As a result, he had enough free time to get bored and start imagining the life of every person passing the threshold of the library. Austin Southwest Institute of Technology was not particularly large, but it had enough students for Castiel to have not yet managed to learn all the faces yet.

There was one person, however, whom he found himself waiting for impatiently every day. It was obviously irrational, this boy did not pay him any particular attention, only making small talks a few minutes before leaving to sit in a corner of the library with a headset shouting classic rock in the ears for hours. But whatever the nature of their exchange, Castiel was dying to see even the hint of a smile addressed to him on the wonderful face of Dean Winchester.

Castiel sighed with spite. Damn it, he was ridiculous. He was no better than those starry-eyed girls drooling in front of the school jocks.

…Was Dean a sportsperson by the way? It was clear that he looked pretty muscular under his over-sized shirts. One day when it was particularly hot outside, Castiel even had the privilege of seeing him in a t-shirt, his muscular arms exposed to the sun filtering through the windows and… Okay, Dean was definitely athletic. In fact, Dean seemed perfect in every way, which was embarrassing because he knew very little about the dude…

The first time he had met him—if you could call it a meeting—was three months earlier, at the start of the school year, when Dean came to ask for his library card. That smile in his voice had been immediately communicative and Castiel had stuttered like an idiot after each of his jokes. He was still blushing when he thought about it…

Talking about a crush might not be too much in this case, but Castiel felt so helpless in the face of this situation. If he’d been a little braver, he’d have asked Dean on a date a long time ago. Instead, he spent his days hoping to see him at the corner of a shelf and daydreaming about a potential early relationship with him, even if it was a friendly one.

Still, Castiel was sure that being friends with Dean wasn’t complicated. He always seemed cheerful and friendly, never out of conversation and above all, very devoted to others. Sometimes he would lean on Castiel’s desk to talk for at least fifteen minutes, talking about everything really until another student complained that he was making too much noise. These were undoubtedly the days Castiel preferred. Although Dean was very inconspicuous and attracted a lot of glares when he laughed at Castiel’s jokes — although he did not see why his words were funny —, Castiel could not bring himself to gently call him to order. His laughter was too captivating for that.

"Cassie?" A voice suddenly echoed behind Castiel.

This one was taken away from his delusions and turned around. Balthazar, another two-year-older student also working at the library, appeared and saw the absent look on his colleague’s face.

"Okay…" Balthazar sighed. "I’m not going to ask you what you were thinking about because the conversation is going to revolve around that Winchester boy and annoy me again. So…” He turned around to point to a wagon, ignoring Castiel’s jaded pout. "We received this week’s order. It’s your turn to put them in the shelves.

"It’s always my turn to put them in the shelves." Castiel deplored, moving towards the wagon, while rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. Don’t forget those on the reserve either." Balthazar gave him a mocking smile before coming to take his place at the reception, taking out his phone without any more consideration.

Castiel shrugged and set to work. Among the shelves, it was more difficult to have a view of the entrance to the library and therefore of Dean’s arrival. But after a quick look at the clock, he realized it was already past 4:00 p.m. Castiel pinched his lips, unable not to feel this hint of disappointment at the idea that Dean would probably not come today. Suddenly, his already boring day was turning into a really bad day.

He was still dreaming of everything he could have talked about with Dean today when his foot tripped over a piece of warped linoleum and made him fall to the ground in a big crash. The books he carried in his arms were scattered on the ground while Castiel grumbled, attracting the curious glances of several students. Great… When was the day supposed to end already? Shameful, Castiel began to rise slowly, his eyes fixed on the ground, before hearing a slight embarrassed laugh.

However, he knew this sound far more than any other in this library. Biting his tongue of apprehension, Castiel raised his eyes to the source of laughter. Dean had just knelt beside him, his own affairs in his arms and looking at him with uncertainty.

"You’re okay?" He simply asked, and Castiel could not help shaking his head foolishly.

"Yes, no, it’s okay." He blushed slightly, growling inwardly. "I was distracted…"

Dean hummed softly and put down his notebooks before he began to help him pick up the books. Castiel remained stupidly motionless for a moment before imitating him, swallowing loudly. What could he have done to deserve such a humiliation today? However, Dean did not make any more fun of him and Castiel allowed himself to relax gently, glancing at Dean from time to time.

"I hate this alley too." Dean went on with a compassionate smile. "I must have stumbled at least a hundred times on the damn floor. It’s a shame, the books are rather interesting around here, but it’s at our peril." He let out a little amused sigh.

Castiel smiled back, grateful to the reassuring tone of the other student. However, he did not have time to reply that Dean resumed.

"Oh man!" He exclaimed, bringing a book to himself before smiling at the cover. "They seriously wrote a whole book about the Pi value? Damn it, my little brother taught me at least the first ten decimals of this thing."

Castiel suspended his movement before raising wide eyes to Dean.

"Really?" He asked, in disbelief, while tilting his head slightly.

This time, it was Dean’s turn to appear embarrassed and, if Castiel thought that his smile was the most beautiful expression of his face, it was only because he had never seen his cheeks turning red before. Dean raised his eyebrows toward him and scratched the back of his neck distractedly before resuming his task.

"Yeah, he loves math…" He mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

Castiel felt a laughter rising in his belly without ever passing the barrier of his lips. Dean Winchester knew Pi’s decimals. He could not prevent a dumbstruck smile to come up his face.

"I think it's... cool." Castiel said after a while.

These few words had the effect of relaxing Dean somewhat, who smiled back at him after a shy look.

"Me too." Dean admitted, nodding. "He’s four years younger than me, but he’s got the brains."

Castiel lapped up everything Dean said like a thirsty man. Every detail about Dean mattered to him, and just the proud tone he used in speaking of his younger brother was enough to reinforce the emerging affection Castiel had for him. With a light heart, he lowered his eyes again to pick up the last books when his attention was drawn to a piece of paper flying close to him. Frowning, he intercepted it and nearly lost his breath when he discovered what was on it.

Some would have lingered on the beauty of the drawings before their eyes, the confident features and the shades of gray reflecting volumes to perfection. Some were wonderfully detailed and others more quickly executed, giving them a certain charm. Honestly, Castiel would surely have looked into all this himself if he had not immediately recognized his face on each of these drafts. He remained frozen in front of these miniature representations, his eyes jumping from one drawing to another. He recognized himself on each illustration: him storing books on a particularly high shelf, him bored at the desk or helping Jack with his human sciences’ homework as every Tuesday. The majority of the drawings appeared to be made from the same angle, but each breathed a surprising delicacy.

"Whoops!" Dean suddenly exclaimed. "I think that’s mine."

When he tried to take the piece of paper back, Castiel withdrew out of reach and continued to examine the sketches. Dean blushed more and more, biting his lip with mortification. Finally, in the face of Castiel’s silence, he let out an embarrassed little laugh that could not hide his anguish.

"I… Yeah, uh… My brother is more of a scientist, but… I prefer to draw." He muttered before swallowing with difficulty." "But I can assure you that I am not freak with a weirdo obsession!" Dean added in haste. "It’s just that… the light is super good here and… Uh…"

Castiel nodded slowly before turning his gaze of admiration to Dean. This one swallowed again, playing nervously with the zipper of his leather jacket. Castiel felt exhilarated, the fragile hope at the bottom of his chest never ceasing to send bursts of happiness into the rest of his body. When he offered Dean a big, hesitant smile, he saw Dean’s shoulders relaxing slightly.

"I find it very successful. No one had ever drawn me before." Castiel confessed, sincere.

Dean let out a deep sigh that amused Castiel a bit more.

"Okay, great, because I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest." Dean joked, not without a look still somewhat shameful, like a child caught in the act.

The two of them gathered the rest of the books and Castiel returned his drawings to Dean. At this precise moment, their looks crossed and none broke eye contact, their fingers brushing around the piece of paper. Finally, Castiel carefully followed the ridge of Dean’s nose until he reached his full lips soon joined by a piece of pink tongue that slowly moistened them. Castiel took a deep inspiration to try to stay composed, having the unpleasant impression that it did not work at all in front of these green and piercing eyes.

"Do you know which other place has great light?" Dean suddenly asked, Castiel’s attention jumping instantly from his lips to his eyes.

"Tell me?" He replied, bending his head to the side again.

"Bobby’s café three blocks from here, on the main avenue." Dean smiled with a pout that twisted Castiel’s stomach in all the right ways. "Tomorrow, 5:00 p.m.? I think I really need to practice my shadows…"

And although Castiel wanted to contradict him on the quality of his drawings, he felt his throat tightening to Dean’s words. Was it a date? Because it sounded dangerously as such and Castiel could not wrap his mind around it right now. He was probably in the middle of another one of his daydreams, wasn’t he?

"Of course, if I can help…" The words left his throat by themselves and Castiel was almost sure to gain a few more colors.

"Great!" Dean exclaimed, his lips stretching out in another dazzling smile. "Wait, take this in case you can’t find the address."

Immediately, Dean took a pen out of his bag to come and scribble on the paper with his drawings. When he handed it to Castiel, he noticed a telephone number with Dean’s first name beside it accompanied by a smiling smiley face. Castiel remained foolishly in front of the paper, his body having apparently stopped consulting his brain to make him ridiculous.

"T-Thank-"

"Gee, I have to go!" Dean cut him off, checking his cell phone. He put a warm hand on Castiel’s shoulder before he started to walk away. "I’ll pick you up tomorrow after work, okay? We’ll walk together to the café. See you later!"

And just like that, he was gone. Castiel was still trying to figure out what had happened. Dean asked him out on a date, handing him his telephone number to give him the address before telling him that he would pick him up directly from the library. Dean who secretly drew him from God knows how long or even used a nickname at the end of their conversation. Oh and, also: Dean Winchester asked him out on a freaking date.

When the reason of his daydreams was definitely out of sight, Castiel looked again at the piece of paper before feeling a broad smile covering his face. He sighed before folding the paper and slipping it into his pocket. It was good to have dreams.

* * * @winchester-reload Some more tooth-rotting Destiel fluff for you, hope you enjoyed it!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

@misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @styggtroll @thanks-tacos @petrichoravellichor @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect @ladywaywarddsc @hellfire37 @destiel-221b-sabriel @aloha-cowgirl @destielhoneybee @dysfunctional-destiel @ozonecologne @doofcas @castielrisingabove @zoerayne2426 @tibbinswrites @vicmc624 @thegirlofstarlight @berrieseveryday @staycejo1 @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel @bab-spnfamily @lo-mindpalace

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lunetheaveragefan · 4 years

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one day...

Hi! Sorry this is a day late, but I tried my best. Chapter 4 might take a little longer to post since I haven’t started it yet, but I’m feeling super inspired so I’ll probably write some (if not most) of it this weekend. :)

A Sander Sides high school AU

Pairing: Prinxiety and some background Logicality

Summary: Virgil is used to being alone. He only has one friend, Logan. But when Logan makes a new friend, things begin to change as two more join their group. Roman, a boisterous theater kid, seems determined to destroy Virgil’s lonely, average life. How much will Virgil’s life change?

Warnings: Some cursing and quick mentions of bullying/making fun of. If you notice anything else, let me know!

Word Count: 1,639

okay, here’s chapter 3!

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CHAPTER THREE

The rest of the day, Virgil did his best to avoid Roman. He didn’t know if he could face him after the spectacle that morning, not to mention how much he had been thinking about his soft hair and tan skin and beautiful eyes.

Since when have Roman’s eyes been beautiful? Dammit, Virgil, get yourself together. He made fun of you all throughout middle school, nevermind what happened freshman year. People don’t change, you idiot.

That afternoon, he walks, head down, to a nearby coffee shop to meet Logan to study, although Logan usually reads. He already knows everything; it’s Virgil who needs to study, but Logan has told Virgil dozens of times already that it doesn’t bother him.

That day, Virgil opens the door and scans the room for Logan. To his surprise, Logan is sitting at a booth nestled in the corner. Once he gets there, he slides into the seat, back into the curve of the corner.

“Why’d you get this table?” Virgil asks, pulling his folders, notebooks, and pencil out of his bag. “Do we really need all this space?” Logan looks up from his book.

“Uh…well, you see,” Logan stutters. Virgil is more sure than ever that something strange is going on with his friend. Logan takes a deep breath and starts over, “Well, I figured we’d need more space since I also have to do some work.”

“Oh, okay.” Virgil tries to keep his voice light, but he’s still skeptical. Logan likes having a schedule, and part of his weekly routine was every Thursday after school, without many exceptions, he got a small table by the window to study. Currently, there’s no one sitting at it, so there’s no reason for Logan to have picked this booth instead.

Virgil forcefully drops the subject from his mind, knowing he needs to get to work. He has an English paper he needs to finish for tomorrow, and he’s barely a paragraph into it. Devoting most of his time to his art projects has made him behind for his other subjects.

Flipping to the page in his notebook with his evidence and reasons, he opens a Google Doc on his computer and gets to work. The quiet is nice; there’s just the sounds of Virgil typing and Logan flipping pages, along with the background noise of the cafe. After working for about 20 minutes, Logan starts acting weird again.

Every few minutes, he’ll pick up his phone, checking the screen. For what, Virgil can’t tell, but he suspects Logan is checking to see if he’s gotten any texts. What Virgil is really wondering is who could possibly be so important or urgent that Logan would stop reading to check his phone, especially so often. It isn’t until a little later that it occurs to Virgil that Logan said he had work to do, but all he’d done up to that point was read. What is going on?

A few minutes later, Virgil gets his answer when the bell above the door chimes. He glances up instinctively. He looks back towards his essay before he can comprehend who just walked in, but when his brain catches up to his eyes, his head shoots up to find that the high schoolers who just walked in are now standing next to Logan and his booth.

“Heya, Logan and Virgil!” Patton says in his usual cheery voice. Virgil gives him a half smile back, although he’s still puzzled as to why he’s here. It could’ve been a coincidence, of course, but with Logan’s strangeness, he doesn’t think it is. It only makes Virgil more sure when he looks over to see Logan smiling from ear to ear.

If Logan really did invite Patton, why is he here too? Virgil wonders.

“Hey, Patton,” Virgil says. “What’re you doing here?”

“Logan invited me!” comes the reply, and Patton smiles back at Logan, filled with his usual unabashed joy. Logan blushes, and Virgil puts a finger to his mouth and pretends to gag. Unfortunately, Logan sees and rolls his eyes, mouthing, “Don’t be a child.”

“You decided to bring a friend, I see,” Virgil states, looking at the boy standing next to Patton.

“Yeah, when I heard it was to study, I figured I’d come along. I haven’t had much of a chance to, with the play and all,” says Roman almost bashfully. His hand rubs the back of his next as he looks at the floor. Virgil nods and turns back to his essay.

“Sit down,” says Logan, gesturing to the booth. “Roman, you can sit next to Virgil, since Patton and I have to work on our chemistry lab.” Virgil snaps his gaze to Logan and glares at him. When the other boy doesn’t react — or even notice — Virgil takes a deep breath and continues working, considerably more stressed than before.

Roman plops down next to him and smartly decides to stay quiet. They all get to work, Patton and Logan chattering about some reaction of some sort from across the table while Roman and Virgil sit in silence, each working on their own homework or projects. Virgil doesn’t mind it; he’s got his headphones in and is therefore pretty much dead to the world, but not quite dead enough for him to miss the fact that anxiety has begun rolling off of Roman.

Attempting to ignore it, Virgil turns up his music, but nothing can block out the awkward tension between the two boys.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” Roman blurts out. Logan and Patton remain oblivious on the other side of the table. Hesitantly, Virgil pulls down his headphones. He wishes he didn’t have to, but he figures whatever Roman needs to say is important. “I should’ve looked before I threw my arm out like that. Could you ever forgive me?” He seems so sincere, yet Virgil can’t find it in him to trust him. But those eyes.

“I forgive you,” mumbles Virgil, cursing Roman’s chocolate eyes. He’s like a goddamn wounded puppy. Before Virgil can pull up his headphones again, Roman speaks.

“So, what are you working on?” His smile is bright and friendly. Why does he want to be my friend all of a sudden? He’s never been nice to me before. For a while, he was downright rude, and then he just started pretending I didn’t exist. Not that I minded.

“Just an essay for English,” Virgil replies, forcing himself to stay neutral. Socializing has never been his strong suit, but after a while, he’d learned how to fake it. “Uh...what are you doing?”

Roman frowns before responding, “This stupid algebra homework. I just don’t understand math.” He appears angry for a second before smiling again, almost as if he felt he had to pretend everything was okay. Virgil knew quite a bit about pretending. He did it for years before realizing people did, indeed, give a shit about him. Like Logan, for example.

Virgil glanced over at him, but he was still in deep, animated conversation with Patton. From what Virgil could hear, they had gone quite off task from chemistry. Something’s definitely off. Logan was the most responsible person he knew, and always made an effort to study and work when needed. Virgil had never seen Logan get off task when there was something that had to be done.

But that’s a matter for a different time. Right now, there is a boy sitting next to him that he had to talk to.

“Do you, uh, need any help? I took that class last year, so I should be able to help you.”

“Really?” Roman asks, his face lighting up. Virgil nods, hands dropping from his headphones. “Thanks, Virgil!”

Now, Virgil had never thought of his name much before. He’d always liked it, but he didn’t think much of it. But when Roman said it, so full of happiness and spirit, Virgil realized how cool it was. The sharpness of the ‘v,’ the slow, drawn out sound of the ‘l’ at the end. Quickly, Virgil bent over Roman’s paper to see what exactly he was working on, letting his hair fall in front of his face to hide the blush seeping across his cheeks.

What the hell is going on with me? This is Roman Princeford. He’s arrogant and rude and selfish. He doesn’t think about anyone but himself.

Yet, after Virgil helped him with his algebra, Roman offered to help out with his paper. When he found out it was about Shakespeare, he insisted upon reading it. Surprisingly, the comments he made after reviewing it were pretty helpful. Virgil discovered after a while of small talk about school and typical human topics that he didn’t completely despise Roman’s presence. Sure, his over dramatizing of things was a little annoying, but everyone has their flaws, right?

Virgil didn’t know if he could ever forgive Roman for what happened in middle school or freshman year, but maybe they were on their way to some sort of understanding.

And, although Virgil will never admit it out loud, he can acknowledge that Roman Princeford is a very handsome guy.

Once he gets home, feeling confident that his English paper is the best it’s going to get, and finishes everything else he needs to do, he lies down on his bed. He tries to listen to music, but all he can think about was how much Roman had thrown him off today. He’d seemed to want to help Virgil. There wasn’t a single rude comment or excessive bragging session.

When Virgil realizes he’s smiling while thinking about earlier, he quickly banishes all those thoughts from his mind and rolls over onto his side. Pulling a blanket up to his chin, he burrows under the covers. You are not going to start enjoying hanging out with Roman Princeford. No way. And you most definitely don’t have a crush on him. He starts to think about winter break coming up in a month and a half and wonders what he’ll get his cousins for Christmas. Quicker than usual, he falls to sleep.

The dream Virgil has that night about kissing Roman doesn’t mean anything. Does it?

#virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #thomas sanders #prinxiety #logicality #sanders sides #high school au #fanfiction #fanfic #one day...

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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 4 years

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Happy Birthday, popsicle181!

Apologies once again for the delay on your birthday gift, @popsicle181! We hope you had a wonderful birthday back on the 5th, and that you got all you wished for! To bring your party back around, the lovely @mega-aulover has written a story just for you!

For: popsicle181

Prompt: I would love anything with a college theme (maybe a first meeting) if possible.

Authors Note: I would like to apologize for the late submission of your birthday drabble. But I wanted to make sure that you received the best story possible and I hope you don’t mind the little journey we’re taking. There are many bonds, the bonds of friendship, the bond of family, and the bond of love. Some bonds can never be broken. Special thanks to Norbertsmom for her encouragement and beta skills

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Kindergarten:

Katniss held her father’s hand tightly. “Papa, do I have to go?”

“Yes half-pint, you have to go.”

Tears filled her eyes. “But I don’t want to leave you and mama.”

Her father kneeled down in front of her. “Tell you what. It’s not going to be easy for your maw and me to let you go to school for so long, but I can’t be selfish. I can’t keep you home and not let you learn anything. Especially since you want to be a big sister. And one day when you do become a big sister you’re going to want to read to them, and help them with their homework.”

Katniss looked down. She did want to be a big sister. Livi Bard had a baby brother she got to help take care of. Katniss wanted someone to sing to, to play with, and wanted to teach all the things her mama and papa taught her. “I do want to read the baby stories.”

“Plus, if you learn how to write, we can write a song together.”

Her little head popped up, “Really!”

“Yeah.”

Katniss looked at the massive building. “Okay papa, I’ll go to school. I need to learn to write a song.”

With that resolved Katniss marched purposefully into the building and went about her day. She learned how to hold a pencil and was tracing her name when she heard a soft cry in the room. Turning her head she saw a small boy hiding amongst a fortification of blocks. A group of boys were snickering at him. They ran away after the teacher appeared.

Katniss stood up in her chair to peer at him. His round little face was angelic and his blond curls were a riot. His eyes were wide and filled with tears. His pale cheeks were splotchy and he bit his lips to keep from crying in earnest. Katniss felt a deep stirring in her heart for the little boy. Getting down, she walked over to him and sat down. She didn’t like hearing other kids cry. She began to build up the fort around both of them all the while humming. She noted the sweet smell of cinnamon. He reminded her of the snickerdoodle cookies her mama liked to bake.

“Twinkle, twinkle…” Katniss sang, “little star-”. Her father sang to her whenever she was having a bad day. She hoped it would help the little boy. Katniss leaned over him and took a brick as she sang softly. He stopped making noises as she finished her song.

“You have a pretty voice,” the shy boy said. His tear filled eyes glanced at her with awe.

“No I don’t,” Katniss wrinkled her nose, “My papa has a better voice. Why were you crying?”

“The other kids were making fun of me, because of my name,” he whispered.

“What’s your name?”

“Promise not to laugh?”

Katniss nodded.

“My name is Peeta.”

"I like your name."

His blue eyes widened, awe in his voice, "You do?"

Katniss smiled.

"What's your name?"

Katniss shrugged. “My name is Katniss. It’s a plant that grows in the mud. Do you want to be my friend?”

“Sure.”

From that moment on Katniss was attached to Peeta. They were best friends all throughout Kindergarten. They were a team, coloring, defending the smaller kids in class from the bullies.

Peeta learned Katniss became cranky when hungry, he always brought an extra cheese bun to share for snack. Katniss learned Peeta's favorite color was orange. She gave him all of the shades of orange from her crayon box.

They shared their lunches together, and when Katniss got sick in class Peeta sat with her inside of the nurses office. He held her hand until her father came, and one day in class when Peeta tripped Katniss caught him before he fell into a chair.

“Peeta and Katniss sitting under a tree K - I - S - S- I - N - G…” one of the kids snickered one day.

Katniss narrowed her eyes, becoming mad by the taunting.

“Maybe one day we will be in love and get married and have the baby in the baby carriage. We’ll always be together,” Peeta replied.

Katniss snapped out of her anger. She turned to him and the thought of having Peeta, just like her mama had her papa made her happy. “Always?”

His gaze was unflinching, yet filled with tenderness. "Always."

The words formed a bond deep within her little heart. They were a team before but after this, they became inseparable. Nonetheless as all stories have a beginning, they also have an ending. Theirs had to come to a stop as Kindergarten came to an end.

During play time on the last day of Kindergarten, they sat with their little arms wrapped around each other, as if trying to absorb as much as they could of the other. When dismissal time came, they were not excitedly speaking about summer plans. Katniss sadly sat with Peeta in the class holding his hand.

“Peeta,” the Kindergarten teacher called. “Your father is here to pick you up.”

Katniss squeezed his hand tighter.

“I’m sorry Mr. Mellark, Peeta’s normally picked up by his brothers. Your son and Katniss have quite the bond. They are a pair of star crossed lovers,” the teacher explained. “They are so sweet.”

Peeta and Katniss stood, tears gathered in her eyes.

“Promise you’ll remember me.” Peeta hugged her.

Katniss who at first didn’t want to go to school had discovered a reason to go to class everyday.

“Always.”

“Here.” Peeta gave her a heart with a picture of them together, he’d spent hours in class drawing.

Katniss gave him an orange ribbon he liked.

They tearfully separated on the last day. Each one staring at the other over the shoulder of their respective fathers.

Sixth Grade:

“Dear Katniss,

I couldn’t believe it when I read you are in Mr. Raj’s class. I am also going to be in Mr. Raj’s class. It’s going to be so much fun this year we are going to be in the same school and I heard Mr. Raj is a great math teacher.”

Katniss couldn’t believe her eyes. She put down the letter. After they separated in Kindergarten, Peeta found out her address and he sent her a picture. It was a surprise to see the carefully drawn picture from her friend. It lifted Katniss' sadness. Her father encouraged her to draw him a picture in return. In six years the bond that began in Kindergarten grew. She learned Peeta lived in a very affluent part of town. Her home was humble in comparison, a two bedroom home that her father was restoring. She and her baby sister Prim shared a bedroom.

She was sitting at the study desk in the living room reading her letter. Prim was already asleep in their room upstairs. Her mother walked by humming as she carried a laundry basket upstairs. Katniss was trying to figure out what to write to Peeta.

“So what did young Master Peeta write?” Her father joked sitting next to Katniss.

“Daddy.” Katniss could feel the sting of the blush hitting her cheeks. Her father learning her pen pal was well off he joked that Peeta was richer than Mayor Undersee. Katniss didn’t like it but her mother often told her that her father was only having fun.

“We’re going to the same school in the fall and we’ll have the same math class.”

Her father whistled. “That’s pretty important stuff.”

“Yeah,” Katniss breathed.

“What are you going to tell him?”

“I was going to say how happy I am and about how this summer you taught me to use the bow and arrow.”

“Well don’t stay up too late.” Her father stood, and ruffled her hair. “I’ve got to change that cable, it’s frayed,” he said pointing to the floor lamp by the garbage bin.

Katniss nodded. She began to write, but what she wrote didn’t sound good. She tore the paper from her note book and threw it in the trash. Time began to tick away, as the trash bin filled up. Katniss sleepily glanced at her letter, she yawned and she placed her head on the table.

Coughing, she woke up to see her room was filled with smoke. Getting up she saw the trash bin was on fire. The curtain caught fire and Katniss screamed. Moments later her father ran down the stairs. Katniss ran from the desk into his arms.

Her father tore open the front door, and put her on the sidewalk, “Go to the neighbors house and call the fire department.”

Katniss nodded, and took off as her father ran back into the house.

“Mr. Wyler, Mr. Wyler,” Katniss pounded on the door. Tears streamed down her face.

“Katniss.” Mr. Wyler opened the door.

“My house is on fire please call the fire department!”

“Alex what is it?” Mr. Wyler’s wife asked.

“Call 911,” Mr. Wyler said, stepping outside to look at her home.

Katniss ran back home. but her house was burning. Her father ran outside with Primrose. “Stay with your sister, I’m going to get mommy, okay.”

“Daddy,” Katniss yelled. Mr. Wyler pulled her back. Katniss turned to her sister and put her arms around her. That was the last time she’d seen her father alive. The fire was started by the floor lamp. The frayed wires lit the papers from the waste bin on fire. It was her fault for not being able to write, to communicate well. She blamed herself for her parents deaths and she closed herself off.

Katniss vowed she would never allow others into her heart, for fear of losing them. Katniss and Primrose moved to another town with their uncle Haymitch Abernathy. She pushed the memory of Peeta away. She eventually met another boy named Gale, but she never let him get close and pushed him away at every opportunity.

College:

Katniss hated college. She wanted nothing more than to quit and go home. But to be honest she didn’t really have a home anymore. After her parents died and Katniss and her baby sister moved in with Haymitch nothing was the same. Haymitch wasn’t really her uncle, but he was the person her parents entrusted the care of their girls to in their will. Haymitch and his wife were not a typical married couple, they always bickered. Aunt Effie detested uncle Haymitch's geese. UncIe Haymitch reminded Effie on a daily basis that they lived on a farm.

Kathiss was going to stay on at the farm helping Haymitch run the place, but Haymitch changed all of those ideas when he showed her her parents’ last will. Going to college was the one thing her parents wanted for Katniss and Prim. Unbeknownst to Katniss, their parents had a college fund for each of the girls.

The fund and her scholarship she won for archery had secured her place in Panem University. Katniss was a shy person by nature and the bustling nature of the university overwhelmed her. While other freshmen met and became friends with the kids around campus, Katniss avoided people, people like her roommate.

The first few days, her roommate Clove was your average girl next door. Then precisely at midnight on the Saturday of that first weekend she shaved her head. The next day Clove painted her half of the room black, and she bought a set of paring knives that she used for target practice. Katniss was eternally grateful when on the following Monday Clove found a guy and moved in with him. Clove took all of her clothes and most importantly, her knives.

For the past 2 weeks the room was quiet and peaceful. Katniss didn’t have to put up with Clove’s screeching music. And although she enjoyed having a room to herself, Katniss admitted to herself she was lonely. She missed her sister. She missed the familiar sounds of Haymitch's geese. The click- clack noise of Effies heels, as she walked on the hardwood floors. She even missed Haymitch and his cantankerous ways.

Katniss' internal strife must have shown on her face because her sister was trying to make her feel better.

“Cheer up Katniss,” her baby sister said through the computer screen.

Katniss grimaced. Only a handful of people could tell what she was really thinking. She effectively hid her real feelings often. Life had taught her that putting her real self out there only caused hurt and pain. Her sister, her uncle Haymitch, and Peeta knew the real Katniss. Thinking about the boy with the warm blue eyes always caused flutters in her stomach.

Katniss shrugged.

“Look, I know you didn’t want to go to college, but trust me. Little things always lead to something bigger.”

Her sister was always spouting encouraging statements, like the one found on those posters. Katniss rolled her eyes.

“You are in a real mood tonight.” Prim grimaced, then said, “I hate to do this to you but do you remember when I did you that favor…”

Katniss at first frowned. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“You know when you and Gale wanted to go hunting for deer in the middle of the night? Remember I told you you’d owed me.”

Katniss blinked, she remembered that night. She stupidly wanted to go, thinking it was purely to hunt. It turned out all Gale wanted was to drink beer and try to make out with her. She’d given Gale a shiner when he tried to make a move on her. Gale was embarrassed to admit she’d given him a black eye; he said he ran into a branch. That was the beginning of the end of her so-called friendship with Gale Hawthorne. Prim had covered for her that night.

“What do you want you little shyster?”

Prim gave Katniss that grin that caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand up. Her sister was typically the nicest person unless she was on one of her missions then Primrose was ruthless.

“You must promise me the next time you go out you will speak to the first person you see.”

Katniss opened her mouth to protest.

“Katniss!”

Prim’s stern voice caused Katniss to shut her mouth. She mumbled, “Fine.”

“Good.” Her sister looked so proud of herself.

“Prim!” Katniss could hear their aunt call, “Time for dinner!”

Prim rolled her eyes. “I’ve got to go.”

The screen went dark and Katniss flopped herself on the bed. Her eyes narrowed. There was no way she was going to complete the task Prim set up for her. Katniss became grinchlike in her thoughts. There were ways of avoiding people. She’d done it in high school. Gale was an anomaly. He wouldn’t leave her alone after he found out how good she was at hunting. He was annoying as the gum that got stuck to your sneakers.

Sitting up, Katniss grabbed her pen and paper and jotted down a few notes:

eat breakfast at five in the morning

get to class just as it began

sit in the back of the class

buy lunch & dinner when the crowds are gone

Study in the library at odd hours

Wear a hoodie so that no one can talk to you.

Wear your headphones so it looks like you’re listening to music

With her plan set, she began to systematically avoid people. Katniss even purchased things like crackers, jelly, and peanut butter, chips and salsa to munch on so that she didn't have to leave her dorm room. During the week, she used shadows and stillness to get across campus to avoid the crowds. Everything was going to plan, except for the week of Thanksgiving break. Katniss didn’t have enough money to go home, plus there was a massive snow storm forecasted. Katniss decided to stockpile some snacks from the student commissary that Wednesday evening.

The campus was empty as nearly everyone left by the morning as to not get caught up in the blizzard. Katniss had one last class that ended at four-forty-five. Professor Coin didn’t let anyone out until the end of the class; the woman was merciless.

Going to the commissary was a risk. However Katniss was low on supplies, and she needed something to drink and eat. If the snow storm was as bad as predicted, the school cafeteria would not be opening. She also hated the cold and she wasn’t going to leave her dorm room until Monday morning.

Katniss hoped there wouldn't be a lot of people cramming the small building. Those left on campus were probably like her, doing last minute shopping. Katniss rushed out of class. The snow fell quickly and was accumulating.

She got to the commissary and thankfully it was still opened. She rushed in and rebounded back against a solid form.

“Woah,” a deep voice said.

Katniss blinked as the world swayed as she fell backwards. Suddenly she came to a violent stop, and her vision came into focus; she noted blond curls, warm blue eyes, and a gentle smile. She picked up on the strong scent of cookies. She looked at him then saw they were near a display of cookies and baked goods. A wave of nostalgia wafted over her as cookies and baked goods always reminded Katniss of her childhood friend Peeta.

“I got you.”

Katniss didn’t like to be touched. She’d clocked Gale for stepping into her personal space when they went on that phony hunting trip. However, being held right now caused her entire body to tingle. She felt the way her cheeks burned. Katniss was sure they glowed redder than an apple.

“Are you okay?”

She wasn’t much of a talker and all she could manage was a little nod.

A wave of familiarity hit Katniss. She shook her head, trying to understand what odd dimension she’d stepped into. Much the way certain scents brought forth certain memories, there was something about the guy holding her that didn’t cause her to feel that instant rejection. She didn’t mind his touch.

Unlike Gale who had a current of negativity about him, this boy had a current of good. Katniss thought maybe she’d fallen and hit her head. She must have been in a dream like state, as everything around her blurred and the music that was always blaring in the student run commissary was silenced. Only they existed in this small bubble. He was handsome and debonair. And Katniss couldn’t help but give a virtual stranger a slightly goofy smile.

“Here, let me help you.”

Katniss questioned why his voice caused her heart to palpitate like the beating drums from Jumanji. “Ahhh…’ the guttural sound that came out of her was sure to make an impression on the guy holding her. The more she stared at him the more attractive he seemed.

“It’s okay,” he said holding her shoulders, as she slipped on the wet floor.

He helped her become upright and Katniss noticed how broad his shoulders were, how masculine his hands were. She also noticed his eyes were that elusive blue that changed color with his mood. Right now his eyes were a cheerful robin's egg blue, as he grinned at her.

“Sorry.” Katniss blurted out embarrassed by her lack of coordination.

"It's okay the floor is wet from the snow."

"My friends call me Peet, not, P- E- T- E but P- E- E- T."

The spelling was unusual but at least his nickname wasn't painful. Gale called her catnip out of spite, because she decked him. "Katniss."

Peet's blue eyes widened at her name.

"I know it's not a usual name, it's a plant."

"It's a tuber that grows in the marshes with a creamy colored flower." He blushed and he rubbed the back of his neck as if embarrassed by what he was going to say next. "I know alot about flowers. I decorate cakes for a living."

"I hunt with bow and arrow," Katniss blurted. She opened her mouth and closed it, she felt giddy suddenly like when she was a child and the world included her parents.

"I sound like a geek." His cheeks became ruddy. Peet looked over her shoulder, “Man it’s coming down out there.”

Katniss blinked and forced herself from awkwardly gawking at Peet to the door she just came through. “Crap,” Katniss bemoaned. A few inches had fallen.

“We should hurry up. I’m in Crumpet Hall just across the way. Where do you live?”

“Greenly,” Katniss muttered.

Peet gave her a low whistle. “That’s way across campus. If you don’t hurry you won’t get to your dorm room on time.”

Peet was right, if she didn’t leave soon she wouldn’t make it to her building across campus. Her mind turned to the shelves, she needed to do a power shop, and get out. Thankfully there weren't a lot of people in the commissary. “Thank you,” Katniss said.

She hurried down the aisles quickly picking up what she needed. When she got to the cash register Peet was paying for his food. She kept on staring outside at the snow. The visibility was getting worse. Once done, Katniss bundled up to go outside.

“Will you be okay walking all the way to Greenley?”

Katniss turned to him. “I hope so.”

Both set out in the snow. The path that led from the commissary to the dorms was blanketed with half-a-foot of snow. The cold wind bit at her cheeks and it was getting harder to see.

"KATNISS!" Peet yelled out to her when they got to the fork in the path.

Kathiss stopped walking, he was only an arms length away. He got closer to her, as the snowfall dampened the sound of his voice.

"You should come with me,” Peet shouted. “I have a suite, my roommates are gone for the break. I promise I’ll be a gentleman.”

She trusted Gale because he was her hunting partner, but didn’t trust him outside of the woods. Her instincts about Gale were spot on. After they fell out he started going out with Madge, the mayor's daughter. Then he began the name calling. Looking into Peet’s eyes she wasn’t sure she should trust him. Just then she heard thunder and she jumped out of fright.

“It’s getting worse out here, we need to get to safety,” Peet said. “I lost my brother in a snowstorm!” He held out his hand to her.

Katniss heard the desperation in his voice. Learning he’d lost someone caused her to acquiesce. She took his hand.

Together they walked toward his dorm room. A walk that normally took five minutes took nearly fifteen. Peet waved his ID card in front of the scanner to get into the building. Once inside, the warmth stung their cheeks, but it felt good.

“Come on, my room this way. I can throw your coat and stuff in the dryers downstairs.

Katniss followed him through the winding corridors to his room. Using his ID card he opened the door to his suite. There were two doors and off to the side a small living area and a kitchen with another door.

As he walked toward the kitchen Katniss saw Peet had a limp.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He put the bags down. He sat down. “I have a fake leg,” He knocked on his leg.

Katniss would have never guessed that he had a prosthetic. The more she got to know about him, the more intrigued she became. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.” Peet shrugged.

The walls in the kitchen were painted a soft orange. The color struck something within her and once more she was hit with a sense of familiarity. She continued looking around at the kitchen. He had things that no average college guy would have.

There was a set of professional knives inside of a case. Stainless steel pots and a cast-iron pan hung neatly from a wall. There was a marble block and a wooden rolling pin neatly tucked away in a corner. And his spices were lined up on the counter. Saffron, thyme, Rosemary, allspice, clove, ginger, caraway, cardamom, nutmeg, dill, cinnamon we're just a few names she read. As a hunter knowing your prey’s environment helped you figure them out. Seeing Peet's environment led her to believe that what he said about being a baker was true. He was honest.

"I'm going to go get some towels and if you give me your coat, like I said, I can toss it in the dryer."

He walked out of the room as she removed her coat.

She was only removing her jacket, but for some reason it felt so intimate, as if she was peeling back a layer, exposing her soul.

She should have been terrified; she was in the dorm room of a stranger. Yet there was something compelling about Peet, an underlying sweetness and goodness that she found in only one other person, her sister. Like an old pair of shoes, comfortable and familiar.

“Here,” Peet said, handing her a fluffy robe. “It’s a bit chilly in here, my roommate always complains that if I could I’d have the thermostat set to zero.”

Katniss wasn’t expecting robe, but she took it, handing him her coat. When he walked out she sniffed his robe, it smelled of cinnamon and it made her smile. Her father always smelled of fresh pine. Katniss slipped on the robe and instantly felt a warmth that spread from her inside out. The door opened and Peet walked back in, he smiled at her, and his eyes turned a dark blue.

“Good, are you hungry, I’m going to make us some bread, maybe some cupcakes.”

“You don’t have to,” Katniss protested.

“It’s nothing. I made dough earlier. I've been letting it rest. I just have to sprinkle some herbs on top.”

It sounded wonderful, but Katniss didn’t want to give him any more trouble. “It sounds like a lot-” Katniss was going to say more but her stomach growled.

“Yup that settles it, grilled cheese sandwiches, tomato soup, and cupcakes.”

Katniss nodded.

“Have a seat, the remote is somewhere by the T.V.,” Peet said, washing his hands.

Taking her book bag, Katniss sat down in the living room. There was nothing on the television; all of the local channels were covering the snow storm. Her phone pinged with a message.

It was a message from Prim asking her if she was fine.

Katniss looked up at Peet. She asked herself if she was fine, and for the first time since coming to college Katniss could honestly say she was fine. She replied to her sister. With a soft smile on her face, she began watching him cook.

Peet’s movements in the kitchen were efficient, like the chefs she’d seen on TV. He took out several cookie sheets and put them down on the counters. From the fridge he took out tomatoes, peppers, and a bowl covered with a dishcloth. He set the oven to preheat.

Katniss moved from her position to the kitchen table so she could watch him. His hands were steady and quick as he put tomatoes and peppers on a cookie sheet. He sprinkled the tomatoes and peppers with olive oil, seasonings, salt and pepper, before putting them in the oven. He next set to work on the bread.

Fascinated, Katniss watched on as Peet took off his sweater and the white t-shirt he was wearing showed off just how fit he was. His back muscles moved under the t-shirt as he worked on the cupcakes. Peet was making them from scratch and not from a box. Her mouth watered. If it wasn’t for the pinging sound of her phone, Katniss would have continued to gawk at Peet.

It was Haymitch telling her to be safe. Katniss and her uncle had a strange relationship. They understood each other, but they never talked. Haymitch instincts were as good as her own. He never liked Gale. She sent back a thumbs up emoji. Glancing up, she knew instantly Haymitch would like Peet. He had that inherent goodness Prim had, and Haymitch had taken to her baby sister immediately.

“You don’t remember, do you?” He asked as he put water in the kettle to boil.

Katniss found this question odd. “Remember you? We’ve just met.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure we met before.”

He chuckled, then turned to face her. “You gave me this,” Peet took out something from his pocket and looked at it fondly. “You disappeared on me. I could have used a friend.”

He put the scrap of faded ribbon on the table and Katniss' eyes widened. “Peeta.”

“When I saw your eyes I thought it was you, but then you said your name and I just knew. There aren’t many Katniss’ in the world.”

Katniss eyes filled with tears. The boy she’d been writing a letter to, that caused the fire was standing before her. Though he wasn’t unscathed, he lost a brother and leg. “My parents died. We had to move.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“You wouldn’t have known; you were a kid. We were both children.” Katniss couldn’t move, however the ribbon mocked her. He carried it all of his life. The drawing he gave her had burned in the house. She didn’t know how to feel.

“That winter break I lost my leg and my brother.” He looked down, his eyes turning dark, a midnight color as he recalled the painful memory. “We snuck out of the house to play in the snow in the middle of the night thinking the storm was over. The snow was so heavy we got lost getting back to our house. My brother covered me with his body, it’s why I lived, but I lost my leg.”

Katniss looked at his legs before her eyes moved up to his face. He looked just like she felt, in need of a new beginning.

The whistle of the kettle forced him to turn around.

“Why are you stuck here for the weekend?” Peeta turned to hand her a cup of tea.

Katniss took the cup, and debated telling him the truth. He’d been honest with her. There was no reason to lie, besides she wasn’t a great liar. “I didn’t have enough money to go home,” Katniss automatically followed her answer with a question. “ What about you, why are you stuck here?”

“Nobody wants me home,” Peeta said.

Katniss frowned. It wasn’t the statement itself, but the way he said it, as if he was unloved. “Why?”

He turned around and shrugged, “I’m not needed.”

The smell of the apartment filled with the lovely scent of oregano and broiling tomatoes. Peeta shaped up the bread in his hands as if he had been doing it all of his life. “Anyone who can cook like you is worth their weight in gold. Right now my aunt is preheating the oven to cook the frozen dinners she purchased.” Katniss looked down at her idle hands. “I haven’t had a cooked meal in years.”

“My mom, she blames me for the death of my brother. She was relieved when I decided to come to Panem. She wasn’t at the train station when I left.”

Hearing how cold his mother was caused Katniss to pursed her lips. She stood and on impulse she hugged him from behind. All of those childhood sentiments filled up in her heart and all that he’d told her made her understand something. Prim was right, she needed someone in her life. And the universe had brought her friend back to her, despite all of her careful planning.

Peeta turned around and hugged her back. She stood on tiptoe and sniffed the collar of his shirt and the familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla caused her to feel at home. She closed her eyes.

“I’ve missed you,” Peeta murmured into the crook of her neck. His hot breath fanning the sensitive skin, making her feel alive.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Katniss replied.

“I’ve never forgotten you, Katniss.”

Katniss could feel the rush of heat to her cheeks as she blushed and butterflies filled her stomach.

Peeta pulled away and then he grinned. “I better get you fed. If I recall you got really testy when hungry.”

Katniss laughed, then sat down. She picked up the ribbon. Primrose was right; from something small something great had happened. One day, she decided, she would tell their children of how a little ribbon led to a love of a lifetime.

FIN

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by mega-aulover

96 notes · View notes

peachyteabuck · 4 years

Text

enemy of my enemy is my lover

summary: you planned on just going to a meeting with an adversary, hoping to gain more territory in the process. you left with something much, much better.

pairing: mobster!bucky barnes x mobster!reader

words: 3,226

trigger warnings: smut (oral - f recieving and vaginal sex), mob dynamics

notes/other: this was inspired by ask received by @bucky-plums-barnes a long, long time ago about a mobster!bucky headcanon that describes the plot to this fic. while i could not find the exact ask (trust me, i tried), i credit the anonymous genius & gen heavily for inspiring this. thank you both!

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Each step you make is loud, sharp; the sound of heels clicking against the cold, cracked cement of New York City. It’s something, one of the things, that makes you powerful – sends this thick feeling of invulnerability through your veins, as if you’re some deity returning to her alter.

That feeling – one of untouchable power – has always been…sort of…hard for you to conjure. It’s not like you’re not not powerful in this world absent your fantasies. You run the second most powerful mob in the country! You’ve got a large pull in international trade! You’ve got major influence in congress and almost every state senate! You’ve got money, a smoking hot and super amazing boyfriend, and loyal coworkers. What else do you need?

Regardless of all that, roaming the streets at night never fails to send a special kind of shiver crawling across your skin. It’s a particular type of fear, one that makes you pull your steel grey coat closer to you as you roam the street, makes your hand cling tighter to the .45 in your deep, righthand pocket.

As you reach the alley where the deal you’re brokering is supposed to take place, your phone buzzes a few times in a row. You have an urge to check it, to make sure the man you love is okay, but letting your guard down now wouldn’t be wise. You’ve got to keep a keen mental sharpness about you to make sure no one kidnaps you (or worse) or fucks you over at your own deal, but still, the only person who would be texting you at this godforsaken hour is the man you left at home, and in this business you can never be too careful about the ones you care deeply about…

Your thoughts are interrupted (quite rudely, you might add), by the sound of a thick winter coat shuffling – as if someone were to be rolling their sleeves up. The noise of the fabric gets louder as the person – a man, you soon realize – steps closer. A man with sharp cheekbones and a dark beard and beautiful, pillowy lips.

His gaze, even under the dark baseball cap that lacks insignia, seems hauntingly familiar. You can’t place it, and it seems rude to ask if you’ve met before, given the circumstances. Still…something seems…recognizable about this mystery man.

You don’t realize it, though, until the man opens his mouth and asks about the new baby seal in the San Francisco zoo. It’s the right code, that’s not what throws you. Rather, it’s the gravely voice of the man you’ve been dating for years that stops you in your tracks.

“Bucky!?” you call out, completely confused and abandoning the correct coded response. “Why are you out here?”

Bucky, now meeting your eyes, seems just as bewildered as you are. “I, uh…I’m….what, what are you doing here?”

You have no idea how to respond, mind too baffled to form words. “Wh…what…”

You step closer, carefully – as if he was some rabid cat you found behind your apartment building. His beautiful baby blues are wide, eyes narrowed – you gasp when you get close enough to smell the cologne, his cologne, the exact scent you bought him for Christmas the year previous. “Are…are you…you’re…are you the White Wolf?”

Bucky visibly steps back at the mention of the street name – the street name of the guy who runs the mob that (similar to yours) is based in New York and works in black market goods. He tries to hide his shock, just in case what he thinks is happening definitely isn’t happening. In all honesty, Bucky can’t tell which one would be worse. “And, you’re uh. You’re…um…are you….are you She-Devil?”

If you were disoriented before, you have no word to describe how much your brain is short-circuiting at the thought that this man – the man you love, has secretly been running not only a mob, but a rival mob, this entire time.

“Do…wait,” you shake your head to try and collect your exceptionally scattered thoughts. “Are you the guy who wanted to negotiate territory with me?”

Bucky hesitates for a second, body tense and reluctant to say anything. You’re both still, not daring move a muscle and the both of you stare each other down. It feels like an eternity before he does anything, your surprise only growing as a massive, shit-eating grin spreads across his gorgeous, scruffy face.

It’s a look you know well, one you’ve come to both love and despise. It’s the same look he gave you when he told you he wanted to build (not pay someone else to build, build himself) a deck in a house you moved out of two months later, when he almost got a face tattoo, when he sold your house (you know, the one he wanted to build a deck for) to buy one three streets away. That’s the look he get when some grand idea that will probably turn out to be a disaster – the look that says “this may be a disaster, but the only way to see if it is will be to try it.”

In an instant, Bucky closes the gap between you and presses his lips to yours. As he arms wrap around you, you can feel him rub at the small of your back, just as he always does when he’s trying to keep you calm. “Yeah, babygirl. That’s me. I’m the White Wolf.”

You press your face in the warm embrace of his coat, muffling your speech. “But why didn’t you tell me?”

Bucky shrugs as he answers. “Didn’t want you to feel unsafe, I guess. Didn’t want you to worry about me.” He presses a kid to the top of your head. “Better question, why didn’t you tell me?”

You sigh, your small voice becoming even tinier. “I dunno…same reasons as you, I guess. Felt like I’d be dragging you into something you wouldn’t want to deal with.”

Bucky barks a laugh into the night, the sound reverberating off the tall buildings. “Seems reasonable.”

You pull away but refuse to make eye contact as tears well in your eyes and cloud your vision. For a mob leader, you’re very emotional. “Baby, are you sure? Like, are you sure this is okay? I mean, we kept this major part of our lives from each for literal years…like, does that say something about us as a couple? And we’re, like, rivals, we’re supposed to be competing against each other for money and goods and ports and clients and-“

Bucky cuts into your anxious ramblings by pulling you back into a tight bug. “Hey, hey! Baby, listen. This is a good thing! A great one, if you want it to be!”

You wipe at your nose with your hand. “Are you…what do you, are you sure? What do you mean?”

Bucky nods, eyes ablaze with excitement for the future. “Of course, baby, listen. Separate, our mobs are both powerful, right? We can agree on that. But together? With the territory, the influence, us...together, we could rule the fucking world.”

Technically, he isn’t wrong; with your strategy and Bucky’s brutal execution, your combined business could easily become the apex predator of the mob scene within the Western hemisphere. What Bucky had, you lacked, and vice versa. You’d studied his…business…for years (before you knew it was Bucky who ran the Pack, of course) as you climbed the ranks of your own mob. You know they have hands in several international black markets, have relationships with lots of lots of rich people who do lots and lots of bad things and pay lots and lots of money for those bad things.

Oh God, you’d never think being power-hungry and love drunk could feel so good. Your mind fogs over with all the things you could do if you had Bucky and his gang by your side, you could do anything. Simply by territory you’d be outgunning Hydra, let alone the combined wealth and human capital. You’ve never felt this exhilarated before in your life, the freezing night air electrifying your rib cage and-

Bucky and you grin madly. Wordlessly, you clasp hands and walk back to your shared apartment halfway across town. Both of you are silent until you’re safely inside your secured home. As you pull your hair up into a messy ponytail, Bucky began grabbing bowls for dinner.

“You know-” he said as he ladled soup out of the deep red Crock Pot. “Now that we aren’t desperately trying to hide our occupations from each other, we can move into a bigger house?’ Bucky says it like a question, but you know better.

Normally you’d tell him “no, of course we can’t do that, we can’t afford it.” But now that you both know that you’re each hiding hundreds of millions of dollars in offshore accounts, slush funds, and dummy corporations throughout the world…

“Sure,” you shrug. “Why not.”

Bucky grins like a child on Christmas. “If we’re gonna rule, we need the proper palace.”

You forego giving into Bucky’s terrible, awful joke to hang up your studded coat, to take off your business casual navy-blue pants and black button-up in, and change into a pair of workout shorts and some tie-dye hoodie you thrifted about ten years ago. Bucky calls them your “thinking clothes,” attire you wear specifically to center yourself, to clear your mind of everything except the task at hand.

During dinner, you and Bucky begin to plan how you can consolidate assets, personnel, jobs, and everything that comes with heading mobs. It’s a long talk, one that lasts long into the night and ends with hastily-drawn diagrams and maps strewn around your living room.

It takes hours and way too many pots of coffee, but eventually the plan for the merger is laid out in front of you – all the graphs and math and official language handwritten in your neat cursive (along with a few notes scrawled by Bucky) on over twenty sheets of pristine printer paper.

Bucky sighs happily when he sees it all finished. He’s standing, desperate for a bird’s eye view of the entire thing.

You, on the other hand, are much too tired to stand. You settle for, “How does it look, babe?” as you draw two lines for each of your signatures below both of your full names.

When you look up, you see Bucky – eyes twinkling with joy. “It looks…,” he sighs, happily. “Amazing. I love you so much.”

You giggle, drawing lines for a few witnesses (you’ll make a few of your associates sign tomorrow). “I love you, too, babe. Now, you still got that champagne from our visit to France?”

Somewhere between the front room and the wine fridge, Bucky had you pinned against the wall and was cupping your clothed pussy.

“While I think you look great,” Bucky murmurs against the hot skin of your neck. “You’re wearing just a little too much for me.”

In an instant he tears the skimpy shorts from your body, the sound of ripping fabric making you moan;

“Fuck,” you gasp as one digit, then another enters you. “Holy shit that feels good.”

Bucky pulls away enough to look you in the eyes, smiling as he watches your jaw slacken from the pleasure. “Yeah? You like that?”

If you could speak you would, but each word just comes out as a breathy moans. Your first orgasm hits you like a wave, Bucky pulling it from you with crooked fingers and his lips on yours.

When you come down Bucky carries you to the bed, undressing himself as you do the same.

He pulls you to the end of the bed by your ankles, pushing your legs up to your chest. He enters you easily – bottoming out within a few thrusts.

You and Bucky moan into each other’s mouths as he fucks into you.

“Oh God,” he groans, moving to kiss at your neck. “Holy shit!”

He rubs at your clit with the thumb of one hand as he bites bruises in your collarbones, desperate to hear the symphony of sweet sighs and deep moans as you near another peak.

“Come on baby,” Bucky murmurs into your lips. “Come on, cum around my cock for me.”

It doesn’t take much after that – a few more circles around your clit in time with his thrusts and soon you’re scream and nearly tears the sheets from how tight you’re gripping them and your whole body convulses from pleasure.

Bucky finishes himself onto your stomach, head thrown back in pleasure as he does so.

He takes a minute to collect himself, still panting as he grabs a tissue to clean you off.

After water and a snack (two granola bars you had stuffed into your bedside drawer an unknowable amount of months ago), you curl into Bucky’s chest, tracing the litany of tattoos there. “Weren’t we supposed to drink to celebrate?”

Bucky lets out a full belly laugh. “Probably. But the alcohol is all the way downstairs. Plus, I know something else I can drink to celebrate?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Only you? Why don’t I get to get drunk?”

Bucky just smirks, moving you off of him. You’re about to protest but begin to understand once he pushes the covers off the both you to make room for himself between your legs.

“Trust me,” he tells you, leaving kisses on your skin between every few words. “You’ll love this a lot more than any old champagne.”

And, of course, he was right.

The next day, you meet with your closest adversaries. While you two wait in the conference room in the building Bucky took over after it was condemned a couple years back, you can feel your heart ram into your ribcage. It’s less from anxiety and more from anticipation, knowing you might face major backlash from the people you trust the most.

The first to arrive is the woman you trust the most in this world: Natasha. She doesn’t move towards the table, simply stands just inside the doorway while staring you down. She doesn’t recognize Bucky, but doesn’t enjoy being below the eyeline of a man she’s never seen before.

“Natasha,” you say, desperate to remain calm. “This is Bucky. We’ve been together for five years. And he’s the leader of the Pack.”

In a fashion much atypical for Natasha Romanoff, her eyes widen slightly. “Oh…” she says after a long while. “Okay then.”

She promptly sits down with no further questions.

As with many business, heads and second-in-commands of mobs rarely come face to face. They have goons, messengers that do their footwork. Descriptions of the faces belonging those in charge pass around akin to rumors, only whispered quieter.

Which is why, when Steve comes in, he has no idea what to think until Bucky introduces you and Natasha.

By the time Bucky’s finished talking, Steve’s beat red. “Buck, what the fuck is this.”

“Just,” Bucky sighs, worried about his phrasing and angering his best friend on the face of the planet (whether that be Steve, for reasons that feel obvious, or you, for reasons that feel even more obvious). “Sit down. We’ll explain-“

“’We’ll!’” Steve nearly screams.

Bucky is the only one who flinches at the sudden loud noise. You finish his sentence for him. “Yes. Bucky and I will explain.”

Steve doesn’t like it, doesn’t like taking orders from a rival. Still, he sits at the large, oval conference table opposite Natasha.

The last two people to come in are the head of you and Bucky’s legal departments. Wanda gives you a single nod before sitting next to Natasha, a man Bucky addresses as “Tony” sits next to Steve.

You exhale deeply once the metaphorical dust settles, encouraging Bucky to begin the spiel he had prepared last night been orgasms four and five.

“Alright. We have,” he sighs. “We have decided to combine our two…” Bucky struggles to find the right word. He worries for bugs and secret agents and misunderstandings, brain always struggling to remember that this is sacred, secret business. Any crack in any of the numerous protective facades could mean its downfall, along with the loss of billions of dollars and his life.

“Entrepreneurial endeavors,” you finish for him.

You hear Natasha snort, amused by the avoidance of saying gang and mob and illegal distributor of goods. The rest of your cohort are silent, unsure of what to say next.

Each beat of verbal inaction leaves you more fearful than the last, your heart getting louder and louder in your ears.

For what feels like forever, no one says anything.

Though, with the pounding of blood in your ears, they could be screaming obscenities at you and you wouldn’t be able to hear them.

The only thing that seems able to quiet the noise is Bucky’s fingers intertwining with yours.

Only then do you hear Wanda speak, her accent tinging each word. It’s comforting, to hear something so familiar.

“I assume you both have drawn up something that,” she eyes the man across from her with a look dusted with disdain. “Tony and I can look at.”

Bucky slides the thick document, held together in a beat-up binder you found under a bookshelf, across the table. Wanda is the one who stops it and looks into it first.

She says nothing, holding her tongue as she allows Tony to eye the document. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and pushes them to the corner of his nose as thumbs through it, looking bored and tired.

“Yeah, this shit looks good,” Tony says quickly, shoving the dark glasses back over his eyes. “Can we leave now?”

The resounding silence continues until you break it yourself, attempting to detail for Steve and Natasha what it all means. They listen diligently and sign where needed, Natasha being decided on as the most likely to type it up into an official document and send it to the necessary parties.

Once it’s all over, you and Bucky ride down in the big, glass elevator together – excitement electric in the air.

“How’re you feeling?” Bucky asks. It doesn’t seem to be out of concern, even if tears of happiness are pricking at your eyes.

“God,” you tell him, voice breathy and ecstatic. “I don’t even know how to describe it. I just, I don’t know. I’ve been so terrified I’d have to hide this forever – or that you’d find out, or that someone would figure out who you were. And now…I just,” you wipe at your eyes, and Bucky pulls you into his chest. “I don’t have to worry about that anymore. I know you’re protected. And I don’t have to hide this from you. And I’m so fucking happy about it.”

Bucky kisses the top of your head, tucking you under his chin. “Oh, baby. Darling I’m so sorry you had to go through all that.”

The two of you stand in silence, holding each other until you have to exit. Neither of you say anything until you’re both in the car, safely on your way back to your shared home.

“We’re in this together right?” you ask, looking at Bucky as he keeps his dark eyes on the road.

Regardless he smiles, moving his right hand from the wheel to rest on your knee. “Always, baby. Always.”

#mobster!bucky barnes #mobster bucky barnes au #winter solider #bucky barnes x reader #mobster bucky barnes x reader #lukis writes things #fun fact this drafts is almost 2 years old #and i kinda hate it but listen its done and its on the internet now

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emy-loves-you · 4 years

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Sanders Sides AU-gust Day 13: Rock Band

Patton is the most popular boy in school, yet he can’t get the attention of his three crushes. When he learns that they’re all starting a band together, he becomes determined to make their dreams come true. Patton POV, endgame LAMP

TW: Use of homophobic slur

Day 12 | Masterlist | Day 14

Patton Picani liked to think that he had superpowers. He could sway almost any person to be kind with just a smile. He could ask one question and topple an entire social norm. He could transform a nobody into a somebody with just a few words. It was his superpower, the ability to effortlessly sway the masses.

The truth was… complicated. Or rather, it was a series of scenarios and lessons that gave Patton this ‘superpower.’ The people who gave them to him? His parents, Emile and Remy Picani.

Emile and Remy loved their son very much and taught them everything they knew. This wasn’t a bad thing; Patton soaked up the lessons like a sponge. But the parents each had different things to teach him. Emile taught Patton everything he knew as a therapist so he could avoid conflicts. How to tell what someone’s feeling, what to say when someone’s upset, etc. Remy taught Patton how to grow up in a world turned against him. How to tell the difference between real and fake friends, how to lie with a straight face, how to spot a bully, etc. Emile helped Patton be confident in expressing himself with pastel colors and skirts. Remy helped Patton never lose a game of poker. So before Patton even started elementary school, he knew how to use his ‘superpowers.’

Patton also learned things on his own throughout the years. He learned that bullies were feared but not trusted. He learned that teacher’s pets would tell on you at a moment’s notice. He learned how to control the rumor mill, and which friends would stab him in the back. So in their tiny town with only three elementary schools, two middle schools, and one high school, Patton rose to power quickly. But Patton wouldn’t abuse his power. No, Patton tried to make a difference. He offered teacher’s pets protection and popularity in exchange for getting bullies suspended. He kept the rumor mill focused on the popular kids and away from the nobodies that couldn’t protect themselves. He ruined the lives of violent jocks and snotty rich kids with a few words and a disapproving frown. Bullying reached an all-time low, and by the time Patton was in high school he was the ‘friend’ of almost everyone in the city under the age of 21 (and all their parents. Patton was a model citizen, no one could dislike him).

But there was a cost for Patton’s power. Even though he was technically ‘friends’ with everyone, he didn’t have any actual friends. Everyone thought they were his friend, but after a while, everyone’s faces started to look the same. And even when they did catch Patton’s attention, they were usually too far down the social ladder for Patton to be more than casual acquaintances with.

There were exactly three people that caught Patton’s attention, and they just so happened to be his three crushes.

The first crush came in the form of Roman Prince. Like the name implied, Roman was a Disney Prince in terms of charisma and charm. He was in every school theatre production, and almost always the lead role. He would have been a popular kid, if not for his rivalry against Janice Mayberry. Janice had been at the top of the social ladder just as long as Patton had. She was extremely pretty, and a cheerleader to boot, so not even Patton’s influence could top the sheer power she held. So outside of the theatre group, Roman was a nobody. But Roman was also daring, and just, and drop-dead gorgeous. Patton attended every single play and musical, just to see Roman on stage. But beyond giving Roman a brief ‘congratulations’ at the end of each production, Patton couldn’t talk to him.

Patton could interact with his other crush a little more. Logan Berry was the definition of a nerd. He was in all advanced classes, he wore ties, he never got below 95% on any test. But he wasn’t a teacher’s pet. Actually, most teachers here hated Logan, for the simple fact that Logan would not let mistakes slide by. If a teacher said something wrong during a lesson, Logan spoke up. If a teacher graded something unfairly, Logan spoke up about it. The teachers always tried to report Logan for his ‘attitude,’ but the truth was he didn’t have an attitude. Logan only stated facts, and he kept his hand up politely while never having any sort of inflection in his tone. There were only a hand full of people that could make him show emotion, hence the nickname ‘robot.’ Patton wanted to speak up about the nickname, but he knew it would only draw more attention to Logan. But Logan wasn’t emotionless. He was kind, and patient, and helpful. Patton had needed help in his math classes, and his parents paid Logan to be his tutor. Patton ignored the fact the Logan was being paid to interact with him. Logan was extremely good with explanations, even when Patton couldn’t wrap his head around a concept. After a few weeks of math tutoring, Patton asked for help with English. One thing led to another, and they were basically study-buddies (with, you know, one of them being paid). But outside of study sessions, Patton couldn’t talk to him.

Then there was Virgil Storm. Virgil had transferred to their high school halfway through Freshman year. He was a loner, never seen hanging out with anyone. But something about him immediately drew in Patton’s attention. Maybe it was the (confirmed) rumors of Virgil getting kicked out of other schools due to fights. Maybe it was the way that his lips quirked every time he got a question right in class. Or maybe it was the way he looked in gym class, hoodie off and muscles exposed. Whatever the reason, Patton had been drawn to Virgil. Even if they had never spoken to each other. Well, until now.

It was September of Sophomore year, and Patton had been strolling down the hallway, minding his own business. He normally didn’t eat lunch at school, so he used this time to interact with teens outside of classes.

Crash!

Patton’s head whipped around, seeing a student shoved into the lockers. Now, that wouldn’t do at all. Patton quickly made his way to the fight, quickly recognizing the two teens. Virgil was on the ground with a bloody lip, while Jacob Smith stood over him. Jacob was captain of the football team, if Patton remembered correctly. Patton frowned as he noticed several of his ‘friends’ stand in the background but not help Virgil.

“Jacob!” Patton stepped between Virgil and Jacob, effectively pulling everyone’s attention towards him. Patton put on his best ‘disappointed’ expression. “Why are you hurting him?”

Jacob frowned. “He deserved it, Patton!”

Patton tilted his head slightly, making sure he kept the wide-eyed, innocent look. “What did he do?”

Jacob growled. “He’s a faggot that deserves to rot in Hell!”

Patton used all of his self-control to not show any of his shock. He didn’t know Jacob was such a homophobe. To use slurs and hurt a kid for being gay? That won’t do at all. Patton kept his curious look. “What does ‘faggot’ mean? Does it mean he’s a meanie?” Poor, innocent Patton wouldn’t know what that word meant. And Jacob Smith just sullied poor Patton’s mouth with those words. At least, that’s what everyone else thought.

Everyone stood in silence before someone spoke up. “It means he’s gay!” Patton couldn’t figure out who said that, but he mentally thanked them for giving him the perfect opening.

“So he got hit because he’s gay?” Patton hunched over slightly, pulling out all the stops for his ‘innocent, defenseless little lamb’ look.

Jacob smirked, glad to see that Patton was catching on. “Yeah, he deserves to be beat until he learns his lesson!”

Patton let his lip quiver as he summoned his crocodile tears. “B-but I’m gay!” While this wasn’t extremely common knowledge, it was extremely implied through Patton’s mannerisms and style of dress. Patton let the tears pour out. Several students started to approach as they caught on to what Patton was implying. “A-are you gonna b-beat me too?”

Jacob seemed to realize his mistake. “Pat-” He moved in to wrap his arms around Patton.

Patton flinched in (fake) fear, throwing his hands over his head. Still, what he yelled was loud and clear. “NO, PLEASE DON’T HURT ME!” Several students grabbed Jacob by the arms and dragged him away.

Janice approached Patton now, making sure to put some distance between them. “Are you okay, Pat?”

Patton let out a shaky sigh before lowering his arms. He gave Janice a wobbly smile. “Y-yeah. I’m gonna go wash my face in the bathroom. Can you go make sure Jacob doesn’t try this again?” Janice nodded, slinking off to wherever Jacob was dragged to. Now that all of the crowd was focused on Jacob, Patton turned his attention to Virgil. He was staring up at Patton with a mixture of awe and… fear? “C’mon, let’s go get cleaned up.” Virgil nodded mutely, getting up on his own. He grabbed his bag and a case of some sort (he probably dropped them when Jacob attacked him) before following Patton to the nearest bathroom. Patton grabbed some paper towels and got them wet before handing them to Virgil, who sat on the counter of the sinks. “Here, for your lip.” Virgil accepted it silently, dotting his lip to stem the bleeding. “I could take you to the nurse if you want.” Virgil shook his head no and Patton shrugged, moving to fix his makeup.

“Is it true?” Patton’s head shot up and Virgil looked away with a blush, hiding his face in his hoodie. “That you’re… um…”

Patton finished the question. “That I’m gay?” Virgil nodded, still blushing. “Yeah, I am. Are you also gay, or was Jacob accusing you of being gay for no reason?” Because if Virgil wasn’t gay, then that was an entirely different can of worms to deal with (one of which being Patton’s crush on him).

Virgil nodded. “Yeah, Jacob had seen my phone screen with me and my boyfriends.”

Patton tilted his head. He didn’t know that Virgil had boyfriends. “Can I see?” Virgil nodded, slowly taking out his phone to show Patton the lock screen. Logan, Roman and Virgil all stared at him, huddled under a mass of blankets. Patton felt his heart constrict at the fact that all of his crushes were dating each other so Patton didn’t have a chance, and smiled. “Awe, you look so cute together!” He moved to resume working on his makeup and accidentally bumped Virgil’s case with his foot. “What do you have in there?” He asked, genuinely curious.

Virgil blushed. “It’s a guitar. Me and my boyfriends were gonna practice after school.”

Patton let his eyebrows raise in shock. “You guys play guitar?”

Virgil turned even redder. “I do. Roman does bass and Logan does drums. We have a small band called The Sides. It’s nothing really.”

Patton’s eyes lit up. “You have a band? That’s so cool! Do you play at parties?” Patton hadn’t been to many parties lately.

Virgil sighed. “No, not yet. I don’t think we’ll ever be good enough for that.”

Patton shook his head. “I bet you are! Do you know how awesome it would be to have a live band at your party instead of some lame DJ? I promise, once you start promoting yourself, people will be begging to hire you!” Suddenly, the bell went off, signaling the end of lunch. “Oh, I’ve gotta go. See you later!”

Patton made a note to bring up playing instruments with Logan during their next study session. Even if Patton could never be romantically involved with his crushed, he could still make them happy. And if that meant pulling a few strings to make them the most popular music group in school?

Well, Patton was willing to pull a few strings for them.

#sanders sides #AU_gust_2020 #rock band au #LAMP #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #Janus Sanders #fem janus

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angelatmidnight1 · 4 years

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You Got Out-Witted

I got the inspiration for this fic from this video plus my love for bad jokes and puns :D.

Summary: Mirage wants the last donut and sends his decoys on a secret mission to get it. He didn’t realize that Wattson already beat him to it and they spend the rest of the morning telling each other corny jokes. Mirage is a trickster for a reason, and believes that his jokes are funnier than Wattson’s, only to come to realize that there’s one joke that she knows about that makes everybody laugh.

“Bamboozles for the foozles, haha...oh boy.” Mirage chuckled nervously to himself as his decoy ran in front of him and, instead of running in a straight line, face-planted into the wall beside the kitchen. Ever since his gear got a huge update, Elliott was spending the better part of the morning learning how to better control his decoys. He was normally perfect at it because, well, he is perfect after all, but for whatever reason, he was having trouble getting the decoy to walk through a doorway. This would have been fine if there wasn’t something on the other side of said doorway: a warm, freshly baked vanilla frosted donut sitting all alone in a nearly empty box up on the countertop. Lifeline had gone out even earlier in the morning to surprise her fellow Legends with donuts from a nearby bakery and bought enough for everyone to have as many as they wanted. Gibraltar ate most of them, Caustic only had one, Bangalore opted out, and Revenant and Pathfinder, for obvious reasons, left theirs untouched. Loba didn’t have one since she hadn’t woken up yet and, since Octane managed to snag extra ones before making a mad dash out of the room, only one donut remained. “Anyone touches this donut whose name isn’t Loba,” He remembered Lifeline saying with her shock sticks drawn, “will be my new drum set!”

Mirage shuddered at the thought but shook it out of his system, his plan was foolproof. Not only was he getting in some practice with his decoys, which he totally didn’t need, his plan was to have the decoy go into the kitchen in his place to make sure the coast was clear. If it was, he’d go in afterwards and grab the goods before anyone could catch him. Then, if and when Lifeline found out that the donut was missing, he’d be in the clear, and he’d have one extra donut to celebrate his victory. And who said he couldn’t work on his killer quips while he was on this secret mission? Just as he sent out another decoy, which was good looking, if he did say so himself, he heard someone giggle behind him. Elliott practically jumped out of his skin and spun around with his hands up, the decoy following his lead. He expected to see Lifeline standing there ready to use his beautiful, beautiful face as a cymbal, but saw Wattson instead.

“Foozles...pfft, I like that one.” Natalie giggled as she took a bite of the donut between her fingers. Elliott looked at her, then the donut, and then back at her, the disappointment falling on top of him like a ton of bricks.

“Where’d ya get the donut, Nat?” Mirage tried to ask as casually as he could, feeling his lower lip quiver as the engineer pointed over his shoulder.

“Mademoiselle Ajay brought donuts for everybody this morning. They’re délicieux~ (delicious).”

She responded happily , munching away at the treat until it was nothing but crumbs. Noticing the way he was looking at her, her face fell and suddenly took on a guilty look that tugged at the trickster’s heartstrings. “Didn’t you get one?”

“Oh, nah, I didn’t...but, don’t worry! Don’t worry. I’m not supposed to eat sweets anyway ‘cause, ya know, carbs and all that. Gotta stay fit for the ring.” Mirage reassured her, perking back up to toss his hair and put his hands on his hips, which made her smirk. “So, ya like foozles huh? Came up with that myself.”

This made Wattson giggle again as she brushed the sprinkles off of her hands, nodding. “Oui, it is very clever. Oh! Let me tell you a joke I heard. Maybe you can add it to your repertoire.” She offered with an excited clap of her hands which made Elliott grin.

“I don’t know, my jokes are pretty septact--setpact, setapcul---er, amazing. Show me what you got.” Elliott answered, following the engineer to the common room’s sofa and having a seat.

“Okay! Do you wanna hear a joke about paper?” Wattson grinned, chuckling at the confused expression on his face. “Never mind, it’s tear-able!”

Mirage blinked, then snickered, then finally laughed when he caught up to the punchline. “Oh I get it, tearable paper but it sounds like, hahaha, that’s funny.” He chortled as Natalie joined in on the laughter. Unlike his smooth laughter, Wattson’s was light and kind of squeaky. Once the two calmed down, Wattson gently pushed his shoulder and smiled at him eagerly.

“It’s your turn! Tell me one of your amazing jokes.” She demanded, swiveling her legs in an attempt to contain her excitement. Elliott smiled, Wattson was adorable, and he brought both of his arms up and hooked his hands behind his head so that he could properly lounge.

“Alright, hey did you know spring was here? I got so excited I….wet my plants.” He quipped with some added finger guns for good measure. Wattson burst out laughing and crossed her arms against her torso, her nose wrinkling from how hard she was laughing. Elliot chuckled, finding her laughter contagious, and watched as Natalie wiped her eyes and beamed at him.

“You mean they were soiled?” Natalie wiggled her eyebrows and it was Mirage’s turn to split his sides.

The pair’s dorky laughter filled up the common area of the dropship and found its way into various nearby rooms. After dishing out some more jokes back and forth, Natalie accidentally snorted and covered her face with her hands, hiding her bright pink face.

“Say it again, say it again!” Wattson laughed, her voice muffled by her palms and Mirage, his ego soaring, sported a wide grin.

“Okay, okay. What did the pirate say on his 80th birthday?” Mirage smirked, watching Wattson’s shoulders shake with contained laughter. “Argh, Aye Matey.”

Natalie shrieked with laughter and sunk into the side of the couch, letting another snort slip as she hid into the cushions. “You’re so funny, Monsieur Witt!”

Elliott chuckled and shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, I’m good, I'm good. But there’s two of me, so I’m good twice! Boom, check out that math.” He grinned as he summoned a decoy, fist bumping it before it immediately disappeared. Natalie’s laughter came to a halt and she turned to face him, blinking away her tears of mirth and raising a brow.

“Are you saying your jokes are better than mine?” Wattson pouted as she crossed her arms against her chest.

“No! Well...actually, yeah. But I mean, look at you! I’ve never seen someone turn so pink.” Mirage teased as he poked at her cheeks and laughed when she pushed his hand away.

“Arrête ça! (Stop it!) My jokes were just as funny as yours,” She whined. Mirage put his hands up as if surrendering but didn’t stop smiling.

“Alright, how about this: I’ll say your jokes were half-good. They did make me laugh...a little bit. Okay?” Mirage replied and Wattson, still pouting, suddenly offered him a smile of her own.

“Okay, Monsieur Witt. Maybe my initial jokes were ‘half-good’ as you say, but I have another that’ll make you laugh way more than a little bit. Wanna hear it?” She asked in a sort of a sing-song voice, scooting closer to the trickster with the bright look of mischief in her eyes. Mirage eyed her curiously yet didn’t back away even when she closed the distance between them.

“Sure, oh and you can call me Elliott. Keeps away the gray hairs.” He chuckled, flinching when Wattson suddenly pulled him into a tight hug. Mirage blushed and was thankful that she couldn’t see it but was now more confused than curious. Wasn’t she supposed to be telling a joke? “How do you make an octopus laugh, Elliott?” Wattson whispered. Mirage furrowed his brows and fidgeted in her grasp but she didn’t budge.

“Uh, I don’t know. Sounds like that’s the sity-four, uh sixty fort….ugh, the million dollar question.” He stammered only to let out a surprised shout when she suddenly pushed him backwards. Since Wattson had already trapped Mirage’s arms to his sides when she hugged him, she had no trouble pinning them beneath her knees and keeping them there. The engineer dramatically lifted her hands in the air and wiggled her fingers with a huge smile on her face.

“You give it ten-tickles~!” She cheered before reaching under his arms and wiggling her fingertips against his armpits. Mirage dropped a high pitched squeak before dissolving into frantic laughter.

“WHAHAHAT THAHAHAT’S NAHAHT A JOHOHOHKE!” Elliott screamed as he writhed against the cushions in a tickle-induced panic. Natalie beamed, happy that she caught the trickster off guard, and swiped her nails up his arms before tickling under his chin and the sides of his neck.

“Yes it is! And it’s pretty funny, don’t you think?” She asked innocently, to which Elliott responded by whipping his head around and ruining his immaculate curly hair.

“NOoohohohoh it’s NOHOHOHohohoht! THIHIHIHihihihs ihihihihs cheheheheatiihihihihng!” The trickster yelped, his laughter taking on different pitches as he tried to trap her hand between his neck and shoulder. Natalie wasn’t having it and moved her wiggling fingers to his sides, where he started bucking like a bronco and dipped into heavier laughter. Damn whoever made him so ticklish.

“I’m not cheating, tickling is a part of the joke! And if the joke isn’t funny, why are you laughing?” Natalie smirked and, since he was wearing more casual attire (excluding his holo tech), she was able to reach underneath his shirt and squeeze his bare sides. Mirage flung his head back and convulsed with desperate laughter, kicking every pillow within reach off of the couch. “STAHAHAHAHAHAHP NAHAHAHATHAHAHAH STOHOHOHOHP!”

Natalie paused and, after pretending to think about it, she shook her head and went back to squeezing the trickster’s sides. “I have a better idea,” She replied, having to raise her voice over the sounds of his wild laughter. “Either you stop laughing at my terrible, unfunny joke, or admit that my jokes are just as good as yours!”

“BAHAHAHAT I’D BEHEHEHEH LYHIHIHIHNHGAHAHAHAH!” Mirage wailed before falling back into a fit of laughter, barely hearing Natalie gasp and put on a mock offended look.

“How dare---you know what, fine! Then laugh it up, mon amie!” Natalie commanded, suddenly twisting a finger into his navel and delivering playful pokes to his abdomen. When she switched spots, Elliott’s laughter calmed down to giggles and he sputtered when she decided to alternate between poking his stomach and scratching at his bottom rib.

“NAHAhahahahahteheheheh cohohohohohme ohohohohon! Truhuhuce! Leheheheht’s cahahahahall it a draaahahahahahw! Ah! I wahahahahnna truuhuhuhuhuhce!” Mirage snickered uncontrollably and flinched as she kept on poking, snapping his head upwards and searching her eyes for even the smallest ounce of mercy. Natalie shook her head, she was resolute, and she paused again to hover her hands above his sides.

“Non, no truce. Either stop laughing at my bad jokes, or tell me that they’re funny!” She demanded, smirking as he arched his back whenever her hands got too close. “Do it, or I’ll tickle you until you’re as pink as I was!”

Mirage didn’t answer her, too preoccupied with gulping down as much air as he could. Natalie waited for him to catch his breath and give her some kind of answer but, when he didn’t say anything, she narrowed her eyes and resumed tickling his sides. Mirage jolted and, since he nearly tossed Natalie up in the air, she reached behind her and squeezed the trickster’s thigh to balance herself, unknowingly causing him to finally dip down into hysterics.

“NOOOHOHOHOHOHOH! NAHAHAHAHAHAHT DOHOHOHOHOHON’T! DOOHOHN’THAHAHAH!” Mirage screamed and kicked his legs against the cushions, his eyes shining with tears of mirth. Wattson looked at him, then his legs, before grinning and turning around so that she could face them.

“Don’t what? Don’t do….this?” Natalie tilted her head and squeezed the trickster’s thighs eagerly and giggled as raw, unfiltered laughter spilled from his lips. “Or maybe this? Is this what you don’t want me to do?” She continued as she spidered her nails underneath his knees before returning to attack his thighs.

Mirage tossed his head side to side like a crazy person as he laughed and laughed, his kicking fruitless as Natalie’s fingers kept on squeezing and wiggling against his hypersensitive legs. Natalie pinched the spot where his thigh and hip met and he bucked with a snort, causing her to join in on the laughter.

“That’s a funny sound! Let’s see if we can make it again.” She smiled, continuing to lightly pinch the spot and laughing harder when he did snort again.

“AAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH NAHAHAHAHAHTTHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA SAHAHAHAHAHAH!” Elliott shook with hysterical laughter with tears streaming down his cheeks. Natalie looked over her shoulder and stopped tickling, poking his thighs and knees at random intervals to keep him giggling.

“So? What do you think of my jokes, Elliott?” Wattson questioned, her nails finding the underside of his knees again and gently scratching. Mirage coughed out a giggle and breathed heavily, blowing loose curls out of his face.

“Hehehehe...y-you’re jokes are gohohohood. So gohohohood, mahahybe eehehehven behehetter than mihihihne.” He gasped, letting out a sigh of relief when she climbed off of him and pulled him up to give him another hug.

“Merci, Elliott. I’m ex-static that we could agree, hehe~!”

#apexlegends #mirage #elliot witt #elliot witt apex legends #mirage apex legends #wattson #wattson apex legends #natalie paquette #natalie paquette apex legends #ticklish!elliot #ticklish!mirage #ticklish!elliotwitt #ticklish!witt

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whatapunk · 3 years

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Endings: Chapter 4

I’m sure everyone has forgotten about this by now but... I finally finished the fourth chapter I’ve been working on for over a month. I think I stressed over this chapter because I brought in some old Legends canon and that just made me overthink all. the. things. Anywho, maybe someone out there will enjoy it because even though I may take forever to update I’m really enjoying writing it! Especially now that I’ve started to explain my OC and get all the things in my head down on paper...

Title: Endings

Fandom: Star Wars Rebels

Relationship: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla; Kanan Jarrus/female OC

Rating: m for the profanity, possibly for non-explicit intimacy later

Word Count: 3410

Previous Chapters: Ch. 1 / Ch. 2/ Ch. 3

16 years prior

Aboard CT-900 freighter, Exuberance

Kanan Jarrus hadn’t felt this way since he was on Kaller. He’d been chased by his old clone squadron for years since Order 66, but he’d never been discovered by an outsider before. Now, as he stood in the hallway of a ship in the middle of hyperspace, he pressed his forehead to the cold metal wall beside him. Sweat prickled on his neck and his head felt a little light. Knowing someone else knew he was a jedi hadn’t just scared him- it terrified him.

Kanan took a deep breath and calmed himself, calling upon his meditation experience from when he was a jedi, funnily enough. He breathed again.

“Alright, lad?” a voice startled him out of his trance.

Kanan straightened himself and tried hard to pretend he hadn’t just been leaning on the wall. The pilot, Mack, eyed him quizzically.

“Kid?”

At that, Kanan frowned, though he could feel his mind drained of all fight at the moment.

“Don’t call me that,” he said quietly and walked past the ship pilot and into the galley.

Mack, who had better things to do than talk to one of his non-crew passengers (let alone a teenage one), pulled greasy work gloves from his hands and yelled down a shaft in the floor that led to the cargo bay.

“Hey Rhia, don’t take too long moving those stacks- we’re starving up here!” Mack was smiling and laughing at his own joke, though Kanan could tell by the tone that Mack generally being obnoxious was his idea of joking. Kanan saw a skinny metal tool of some kind hurl itself up out of the hole in the floor, narrowly missing Mack’s face as he bent over the opening. Kanan smirked.

Mack strolled off down to his quarters and left Kanan alone in the galley. A few seconds later, Kanan heard a very loud crash in the cargo bay below, followed by a woman swearing even louder.

“Dank farrik!” Rhia yelled, exasperated.

Kanan really wasn’t in the mood to be helpful, especially not toward Rhia. She’d been perfectly nice the entire time Kanan had been aboard Exuberance, but now she knew him. He replayed his last conversation, moments ago, with her over in his mind and felt ice in his gut. No, she’d manage on her own down there.

Just as Kanan stood up to go to his own quarters, a couple more smaller crashes happened below. He rolled his eyes at himself, knowing he was a sucker for lending a quick hand, even if it was someone he’d hoped to never speak to again.

Determined (disdainfully) to lend a hand, Kanan climbed down the ladder to the bay. Turning to face the expected mess, he was all but dumbstruck at what he didn’t expect to see. Rhia, nearly turned completely away from Kanan, was in the middle of tying her hair more securely back in place. Kanan was mesmerized.

He’d noticed Rhia had vibrant, deep red hair the moment he’d seen her- anyone would. But she kept it up, tightly wound in a way that had hidden just how long it was. Not only that, but it didn’t look so, well, alien as it did all hanging loosely, catching the lights. It was long, hiding her entire back, and wavy, especially near the ends. Kanan’s mouth hung open and he couldn’t decide if he was seeing it sparkle or not. He’d been assuming she was just a fellow human, but looking at her now, he wasn’t so sure. She finished wrapping it up and caught a glimpse of him in the corner of her eye. She clearly thought about speaking but then hesitated, wondering how long he’d been standing there.

“Wow,” Kanan heard himself, unfortunately, utter. Rhia rolled her eyes, but revealed a small smile.

“That’s charming,” she said wryly.

“Your hair, I’ve- I’ve neve seen anything like it,” he said, finally able to string some words together. Rhia’s smile faltered.

“Yeah, it’s genetic,” was all she offered before she went back to organizing the mess around her. When Kanan didn’t move, she started to get a little irritated.

“What do you want, Kanan?” she asked, a little nastier than she meant to be. It seemed to bring him back to reality.

“I was just uh… I heard the crashes and thought you might need help,” he said feebly. Rhia softened at this. She also noted he refused to meet her eyes, a difference, she noted, that was new. New for the new dynamic that now surrounded and suffocated both of them: Kanan, a jedi outcast, and Rhia, the woman who’d found him out.

“Oh,” she started, “well then thank you. Can you pick up the stacks over there while I get these?” she pointed and Kanan nodded, turning away silently, and began picking up the scattered cargo.

Rhia went back to her own mess, but paused to watch him. He’d come all the way down here to help, but clearly not because of her. They’d been getting along so well it was hard for Rhia to remember that she had found him absolutely intolerable when she’d first met him. She’d only outed him for the good of her crew and to make sure that his identity didn’t bring them all down. She had absolutely no intentions of revealing the jedi to anyone and had promised that she would make up something else to tell the crew once they dropped them off at a far more remote location than Kanan and Janus had originally paid them for. But still, here it was, a chasm between the two of them, only instead of them both being on either side, Rhia stood at the top holding a rope from which Kanan dangled in the abyss below. Or at least that’s how it felt to him.

She knew what she had to do, the only thing that would ease the boy’s mind.

“I’m a Morellian,” she said simply, eyes on her work. Kanan stopped and looked at her.

“What?”

“My species. We all have the hair.”

Kanan’s brain finally caught up to what she was saying. Before seeing her hair, he’d never questioned her species and had been assuming, wrongly, that she was a human. Every other facet of her appearance led him to believe she was human, though now as his eyes were drawn again to her hair, he realized it made sense why he’d never encountered such a thing before.

“Morellian? I’ve... never heard of them.”

“Well, they’re mostly a legend now, not something most people even hear about. I’ve not seen another like me since I was young,” she said, a more solemn edge to her tone.

“Where are you from?” Kanan asked, interested in both the subject and changing it slightly.

“Morellia,” she started, letting out a little laugh at what sounded so obvious. “It’s a small planet out beyond the outer rim,” she explained. “I haven’t been there since I was young either.”

“What happened to them?” Kanan asked before he had really thought about it.

“The last full clan of them was killed about 70 years ago,” she said, not looking at him. “There haven’t been Morellians on Morellia since.”

Kanan dropped the subject he now felt bad for asking about. He’d planned not to say another word and just finish helping her in silence when suddenly a thought occurred to him.

“Wait,” he began, “you said you’d been there- that you’d seen other Morellians when you were young. But that’d make you…” he trailed off, realizing the math and scrutinizing her carefully. She smirked.

“We also live for a long time,” she explained.

“So when you told me earlier that you were too old for me…” he said, questioning.

“I’m 136.”

“Oh,” Kanan was suddenly lost for words. She certainly did look older than him, but not that old. He said the only thing he could think of. “Well, you look great.”

Rhia laughed, genuinely. She was still very unsure of this kid, especially given his past, but he had a natural charm that she could tell he was in the midst of fine tuning. She was a person who generally liked the quiet and she liked being quiet; naturally, she also liked quiet people, or, even better- few to no people. But she already seemed to like being around this kid, even if she hadn’t at first. It was why she had started this conversation in the first place.

“Even before my species became so rare, we were sort of hunted," she began, a little out of nowhere. "I mean, in the right market, to the right buyer, especially now, a Morellian slave, or even just enough of our hair, could set up a person with wealth for life,” she said as casually as if she was telling him what was for dinner. She slid a hoverpad under a stack of crates and activated it, pushing it neatly into a corner.

Kanan had stopped working and stared at her, brow furrowed and mouth slightly open. He was just about to ask her why she was telling him this when she continued.

“Maybe even more than something as rare as a jedi.”

Kanan felt his shoulders relax, having been more tensed up than he’d even realized. For the first time since Rhia had told him she knew of his identity, his mind stopped racing and he stepped out of fight-or-flight mode. She still didn’t look back at him, and no more words were said while they cleaned up the rest of the crates in the bay. The silence wasn’t awkward or tense though, and Kanan enjoyed it and felt real gratitude, a feeling that was few and far between for him these days. She’d put him back on the same level as herself, or really, put herself on his level. She didn’t have to at all, but she’d given up what he figured was probably her biggest secret to him; she reset the dynamic between them, just to put him at ease. Upon this realization, Kanan felt something else that had eluded him greatly in the last few years: trust.

***

Present Day

Kanan guided the twi’lek down the hall, battling to keep himself in a straight line so that he could guide her to do the same. Hera was all giggles.

“Kanan, I like her,” she said for the third time since they’d left Rhia in the galley. Kanan chuckled.

“Yes, she’s a very nice person,” he replied again, reaching a hand out to steady himself against the wall as Hera’s balance faltered.

“I can definitely see why you guys dated,” she said, her voice slightly too loud.

“We didn’t exactly date,” Kanan interjected. He worried he came off as too defensive.

“Sorry,” Hera started, rolling her eyes playfully. “I can tell why you guys slept together frequently,” she said casually. Kanan chuckled but felt himself blush ever so slightly.

Hera had never met a girl from Kanan’s past before, mostly because none of them lasted long enough for him to really even remember properly. He’d had a steady string of nothing steady for a long time in his late teens and early twenties, and Hera knew that much. She didn’t care, and Kanan could tell she meant that. So now, it felt weird to him for her to know not only who Rhia was, but to actually meet her as well. Kanan had never mentioned her to Hera.

“And her hair is so red!” Hera announced, shaking Kanan out of his thoughts. “I’ve never seen hair like that, have you?”

“I’ve not-”

“I mean she’s gorgeous anyway,” Hera cut him off, “but she has such a striking… head!” Kanan laughed and Hera frowned at him.

“Don’t you laugh at me, Kanan Jarrus. You know I don’t drink much,” she said, putting a finger in his face. He pulled it gently down and held her hand.

“I know, I haven’t had this much to drink in years I think.”

“You don’t sound drunk,” she said. They walked through their hangar doors and the Ghost appeared, parked before them. “How do I sound so much drunker than you? I didn’t even drink that much!” Hera’s volume increased again and Kanan softly shushed her, laughing.

“I don’t know, but I promise you I’m only holding it together to impress you,” Kanan said, only half joking. He did seem to be slightly more sober than Hera, but truthfully he couldn’t feel his face.

Kanan led Hera up Ghost’s ramp, both of them trying to keep their giggles as quiet as they could, for fear of bothering Zeb, Sabine, or Ezra. Finally, they made it to Hera’s quarters and he guided her to her bunk, laying her down and pulling off her boots. By the time he was finished, Hera’s eyes were drooping so low that for a moment he couldn’t tell if she was still awake. She smiled and curled her legs up closer to her chest, rolling to her side.

“Kanan… I like her,” she said again, a whisper that faded into the final sigh she released before sleep took hold. Kanan smiled and kissed her forehead before he left, as silently as his stumbling could be.

For a moment he’d considered going to his own quarters and letting the drunken fog behind his eyes lull him to sleep. But something else pressed on his mind, willing itself and his feet forward. He felt both an intense longing and a swollen mass of guilt inside his chest. The longing brought him back into the bay, back down the hallway, and back to a galley that still had a light on. The guilt had begun wrapping tendrils around his heart, his lungs- whatever was pounding in his chest. But the pounding slowed those tendrils down, shook some of them off, and Kanan’s foggy mind was in no position to follow anything except straight, concentrated feeling.

Nearly running into him, Rhia gasped at Kanan’s sudden appearance in the doorway.

“Fuck, Kanan, you know it’s late and quiet and no one’s around, right?” Rhia asked, catching her breath. Kanan laughed at her, more than he usually would have. Rhia laughed it off, but readjusted her grip on the shoulder strap of her bag and flipped the light off, clear signs that she was on her way out.

“I needed to use your fresher,” Kanan said, making an obvious effort to enunciate over his slurs. Rhia raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t have a fresher on your ship?” she asked, skeptical.

“Zeb’s… showering,” he said, not so smoothly. “You know… fur,” he added, as if it was clarifying. Rhia nodded, but slowly.

“Ah, well, sure. I’m down here,” she said, pointing and exiting the galley to her right. Her pulse, which had been so pleasantly dropped for the evening, suddenly quickened, and that plus the alcohol started to make her queasy. She walked quickly so it would feel like there was a breeze. Even so, it was a short walk before they’d arrived.

Rhia punched in her code and the door slid past them almost silently. Inside, there was a dull wall light that glowed a sunset-colored orange that bathed things in just the right amount of light to see where everything was. To save energy and to encourage regular sleeping patterns, the light remained this color until 0500, when it would begin to brighten to a bold white. This was the first time Rhia found herself wishing she could override such things.

Rhia knew why he’d asked to come in. Even if he really did have to use the fresher, the point was still just to be inside, away from anything and anyone. She could now feel her heart rate increasing more every second it seemed, and all it did was make her angry with herself, which made it worse.

“It’s there,” she said softly and pointed to the door on the left, the other one being a small closet.

Once he’d closed the door behind him Rhia felt her shoulders fall as she breathed out loudly, unaware that she’d been holding back. She sat down on her bed to untie her boots, thinking desperately about what she was going to say- what she was going to have to say. When she heard the flush she stood up quickly, worried about how it would look to him if he came out and she was sitting on the bed. She turned to her dresser, where she began rifling through her sock drawer when Kanan came out of the fresher. She took a quiet but deep breath.

“I know why you’re here, Kanan,” she said evenly.

“Why I am here- like on this ship? Or like here, here?” he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice. He was at the part of the night where everything that comes out of his mouth is somehow a joke. Every statement had a natural lift in tone at the end, as if it were a punchline. She wanted to roll her eyes because it both drove her insane and, for some reason, greatly affected the strength of her knees. She had to stay serious though; she did not want to be that kind of person.

“Kanan,” and she turned to face him. “I know why you’re here. I shouldn’t- we shouldn’t have had so much to drink. I know why you wanted to come in here, but I just can’t,” she said, the last words coming out with more exasperation than she’d meant to show. He was barely listening.

“You don’t know why I’m here, Rhia,” he said calmly, that tranquil smile glued to his face.

“Kanan I know what you want- it just-”

“You really don’t.” “Kanan-” she started, her voice beginning to raise. His voice, unchanging this whole time, cut her off.

“Can I see your hair?” he asked, the drunkenness of the words and the way he said them enveloping her in something that felt so wholesome. Her hands, which she’d begun to raise in an exhausted gesture, fell to her sides, her arms suddenly feeling so heavy.

Kanan looked at her and even in the fogginess of his inebriated brain he knew he’d remember what she looked like when everything about her suddenly softened. Rhia paused. Her mouth fell open just slightly, but instead of speaking she simply offered him a shaky but honest head nod. She gave him the smallest smile before she turned back around to face her dresser and her hands went up into the knot of hair she kept piled on top of her head.

Kanan watched her remove a few pins first, silently placing them on top of her dresser, and slowly strands and chunks of hair began to fall away. Once she was done with those, she worked her fingers beneath the bun, finding the ends of her hair and unwinding what seemed to be an endless ponytail. This wasn’t the first time Kanan had watched her do this, and it was every bit as mesmerizing as he remembered. Even in the dull orange light, it glimmered, reminding him of the way a grassy hill seems to shimmer in the wind.

Rhia undid the final tie and it all came cascading down her shoulders, throwing a fiery halo around her in every direction as she turned back around to face him. She ran her fingers through it a bit, feeling the relief of the tension off of her scalp.

Kanan watched as the sunset-colored ceiling lamp made her shine like something that had been detonated. The slightest motion of her head threw ripples of metallic colors from root to tip, and Kanan tried to look at every inch of it at once, not wanting to miss such an amazing opportunity. Rhia was pleasantly attractive to most people and would be with or without hair. But with this hair, long and untamed as it was now, even in this artificial light, she looked positively divine. If she’d claimed now, in this moment, that she was some mythical goddess, there wasn’t a soul in the galaxy who wouldn’t believe her, let alone Kanan. He knew she wasn’t though, and that knowledge just made him like her more. She was just Rhia- beautiful Rhia.

She met his eyes as they took a break from roaming around her head. He swallowed.

“Oh, kriff.”

#lowkey have no idea how I'm starting the next chapter #so seemed appropriate to end it there #kanera thooooo #star wars #rebels #kanan jarrus #endings #ps i promise no more chapters will be dedicated to Rhia's hair #fanfiction

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kikiyakno · 3 years

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Where: Kian’s Grandparent’s Home. Santa Monica, California ( MAGIC AU ) When: Monday, December 21, 2020

KIAN CHOSE...

It was starting to become all too common for Kian to hear his grandparents' voices creep in from underneath the crack of his door. Their conversations were hushed, the warm voices he knew straining under topics of low profits, slow business, and lessening finances. Kian wasn’t supposed to know any of this, of course. Not that he could miss how their glances frequented that of worry and how they danced around conversations about their work days at their restaurant. Kian was more than aware of the situation. He had snuck in his grandpa’s office to borrow some paperwork.

$32,676.13 Their building was three months behind on rent. Three months and a final notice had just landed in the mail. Kian had added up the math in his head, once, twice, maybe ten thousand times in his head. How much business they would need to meet at least half of it. How much would have to be cut to try to accommodate the workers without watering down service. His grandparents were trying not to cause their grandson any turmoil and Kian knew they meant well. But sadly, while the money was what made up most of the conversations held between them, how to meet that price in a short amount of time reeled through Kian’s head.

However, what wasn’t that common for Kian was waking up to those hushed voices slinking in so early from under the crack of his door. By now his grandparents would have both long been off to the restaurant. Head lifting sleepily while his eyes protested against opening, Kian’s face soon scrunched in confusion as he listened in, a frequent word they were using falling on his ears that just didn’t make sense.

“Nunbola?”

Kian repeated it out loud, still groggy and settled into his confusion as it kept being used frequently in the kitchen. The kitchen of his house — his house located in Santa Monica, California. Snowstorm? Blizzard? Clearly, he had to be hearing the word wrong....although...his room did have a chill to the air that definitely wasn’t the usual one caused by the fan he kept on in his room at night. And now that he was slowly becoming more awake he did vaguely recall opening his window before bed and forgetting to close it. But it had been just a crack... even that wouldn’t cause such a chill. What was going on??

Eyes still protesting, Kian wrapped himself in his blanket to make a move to get out of bed. Suddenly on autopilot, his feet slid into his house slippers and frankensteined him to his window. Outside his room, he could still hear the word blizzard come from his grandmother again, but this time mixed in with a troubling sentence. (Something about how they were already barely able to stay open much longer if things didn’t change soon and now a BLIZZARD was preventing them from a day of work?) He must just be hearing the word wrong, it wasn’t difficult to mishear things said quietly. Or this was just a very surreal nightmare that he hasn’t woken up from yet. Betting on the latter, one blanketed arm rubbed across his face as the other reached out to close the window. The shock of an icy touch finally sprung Kian’s eyes wide open, retracting hand back as he dumbfoundedly blinked at his window. There, dangling in a few spots between the crack he had indeed left open were small icicles. A bewildered sound sprouted from his chest as he bent in to make a closer inspection. His gaze didn’t linger on the sparkling icicles long, drawn to this new bright, white world outside his window. Much like him, it was blanketed. In snow. It wasn’t his first encounter with snow (and not even his first with snow in California after a few snowboarding trips with the boys) but it was certainly his first encounter with it here at home in Santa Monica.

“Wow.” The word broke free in his wonder. His amazing was completely childlike as he leaned more into his window to peered out. He was going to have so much fun with Sunwoo and Jae in the snow later after work! They could have snowball fights with the nephews! Sledding?? Snow angels! Maybe they could pin Jae down long enough to bury him! With a “hehehehe” bouncing from his lips, Kian excitedly turned away from the Winter Wonderland awaiting him. His mental list of activities to do after work was already endless.

Oh. Work.

His excited, bouncing shoulders stalled out as his grandparents' situation slammed back into mind. The scrunched up cheeks from his beaming smile withered into sad, frown lines. They must not have been able to get out and get the restaurant open today because of the snow....that was an entire day of profit lost! Maybe he could see if they could set up shop here and cook things here at home! He’d make deliveries! It wasn’t the season, but a snowboard was always calling his name. Maybe Sunwoo and Jae could even be corralled in to help! They all could be authentic korean cuisine elves, dropping the packages all over town to people who could place orders! Knowing their state of finances wasn’t exactly best currently, Kian was trying to do what he felt was the best and only thing for him to try and do in distressing situations — find a positive mindset and set out to fix the problem.

Pep back in his step, still unaware that all of this snow had them trapped in Kian opened his door and shuffled out into the hallway and toward the kitchen. As he made his way to the room, he noticed his grandparents abandon whatever they had been talking about as soon as they heard his shuffling steps. As he expected, Kian was greeted brightly by them both and in usual routine, he as enthusiastically mirrored the forced hopefulness in their morning pleasantries. It wasn’t long before he was launching into a spiel that outlined his amazement at all the snow and his genius idea on how they could work from home that day. The excited and determined posture Kian held as he explained, once again slumped when his grandparents rejected his plan, fearful of the strange, new conditions. There was nothing he could do today to help. The joy of the snow was for now lost on him as he sat with a miserable slouch at the table.

As promptly as he had slumped down, his grandmother instructed him to cheer up. With the most relaxed smile she goes on about how they all deserve a nice day to rest at home and soon there’s a fond nod from her husband agreeing. Kian tried his best to give them a smile but it didn’t climb too high, still able to see the worry in their eyes despite trying to reassure him. He agreed and went on to another plan about how maybe he could climb free out his window and meet up with the boys for some fun. They better agreed to that plan, Kian hoping the false cheerfulness in his voice would make his grandmother feel some bit of relief.

Upon mentioning the boys, a lightbulb seemed to go off in her mind and Kian’s grandmother shuffled away. Returning, she excitedly places two gift boxes in front of him, smiles true and genuine as she steps away from them. She explains that her and his grandfather also received ones as well but that they were thinking of saving them a few extra days to put underneath the tree. Upon the sight of the presents she reasoned that they all had most likely come from either Sunwoo or Jae or most likely, both of them. All three boys took care of each other like family and that always extended to their respective families as well. Plus, surprise gifts weren’t all that uncommon. Especially since all three of their birthdays were also around the corner. A true smile was back on Kian’s lips, but this time as he looked between the red and the green boxes, wondering which to open first and which had come from who, it fully reached it’s climb.

Things might be getting scarier by the day, a fact he was still hiding from his hyungs, but at least he still had love in his life.

Red? Green? Both at once? Wait?

Spotting a tag on each, he shook his head with a fond smile when he realized the words were typed. Sneaky hyungs, masking who had given what!

Green. Open to discover who you truly are.

That was a bit strange...it was probably some strange self-love book from WuWu. Kian could already imagine how pompous and utterly cringey ( but hilarious ) the title would be.

Red. Open to reveal what you truly want most.

Hm…. curiouser, indeed.

Right now….all he wanted most in life was to save the restaurant from the track it was on currently. Rent was overdue to an extent that there didn’t seem to be a future where they would be open much longer. Kian couldn’t let his grandparents lose their entire lives like that. Not because of the suits and the Pinterest Mom’s who had closed in on Pico like it was some DIY project. But...Jae and Sunwoo had no idea how serious the situation had gotten so there was no way this box really contained what he wanted most.

....Right?

Fingers tracing over a design in the paper, he felt his curiosity pull him more towards the red box to be opened first.

With no hesitation he ripped off the paper excited to see what could possibly be inside. He lifted a corner of the box for a peek in but slammed it down quickly. Kian’s eyes suddenly felt dry, probably because they shot wider than they’d been at even the marvel of the snow outside. Excusing himself from the room, Kian scurried back into his room and shut the door. Easing the box onto his lap, he took a glance around then covertly opened the box.

There, stacked accordingly, looked like more money than he had ever seen in the same moment of time in his entire life. His eyes sparkled in green, but his fingers trembled in disbelief. He started pulling stacks after stack out, counting as he went. The markings on the binding that held each stack aiding his count. Chest tight, he felt a sting in his eyes as he took his time counting, numbers uttering over his lips as his count creeped in close to that magical number that had been keeping him and his grandparents up at night.

“No....” Kian stopped, eyes bleary as he took the last stack from the box. Thirty-two thousand six hundred and seventy six dollars. He gathered the pile in his hands, tipping over the empty box that fell to the floor. A rattle of change rolled from the box. Kian leaned over slowly to find a dime and three pennies .

— thirteen cents.

Thoughts of the other green box vanished from mind — Kian quickly counting again. And again. And again.

Soon he was certain of it. This was the EXACT amount needed to pay off the back rent and then a little more to safely cushion off another month’s worth. EXACT amount. Tears brimming, Kian had no idea how this gift was about to become a curse in more ways than one.

That was until his next thought crashed out loud.

“But...I don’t wanna to give this up. I could....finally get a Nintendo Switch.”

#sm:holiday #[ i'm so late and this is long but game on !!!! ]

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border-spam · 4 years

Text

Leech Lord: Allies

Troy

Gar is about as native as a Pandoran can get, and has for years had a very soft spot for the bratty King.

He's old colonist, thinks his parents might have been with Atlas on one of the many failed corporate town setups that plagued Pandora 30-ish years ago. He was too young to remember who's banner they flew under when his family stepped out of the shuttle and onto the dust planes they’d been instructed to settle, just that things went wrong fast and anyone still alive 18 months later had needed to adapt quickly to what constitutes living on this planet.

He was drawn to the Holy City for the same reasons as most survivalists, it was an opportunity for safety and a roof over your head. Not needing to fight to eat or scrabble to stay alive is a blessing for most Pandorans, and he's one of the thousands who live within the walls who don't quite worship the twins as Gods, but praise them as holy... because the twins gave them a chance to have a home. Wether they are deities or not isn't a factor in the loyalty they've’ earned.

He's skilled with food. Knows how to spice spoiled flesh to hide the rot, pickle cactus root and delicate rock blossoms for long storage, or how long rakk wing needs to be slow roasted to turn from gamey string to meat that melts in the mouth.

Like most in the HC, he ended up where his skills have value and has ran the kitchens in the Grand Cathedral since its founding bricks were set.

It didn't take very long for him to find Troy in it one night - picking through ingredients and half finished dishes in the early AM.

While he'd expected to need to drop to his knees and grovel, the God King had seemed more embarrassed than anything, awkwardly explaining he hadn't eaten that day and asking if there was anything left from the after sermon banquet.

His eager politeness had hit Gar hard, but his reaction to finding out the leftovers had been destroyed was what left a lasting impression.

Gar had thought the twins affluent spoiled little shits who'd hit things lucky on Pandora and been clever enough to know how to use their wealth to culture worship, so when Troy was genuinely upset to the point of disgust that food had been wasted like that? It changed his perception immediately.

This wasn't the reaction of some egotistical little shitbag from a wealthy background, this was the visceral panic and anger of someone who'd starved before, who understood the insult of food being destroyed when there were so many hungry... when he'd known hunger.

It took less than 24 hours for the kitchen policies to be changed and Gar's team to find out nothing was to be wasted. Uneaten and unused stock was to be transported at end of day to the Slums from now on, where it would "Bolster the flesh of the faithful."

Every time he finds Troy hunting through his kitchen at 4 am over the years, their chats grow a little longer.

By late COV, Gar's meals delivered to his sanctum are some of the only things God King Calypso still trusts enough to eat.

Tyreen

Xanshi Ur-Vendit is obsessed with the God Queen.

As her Saint of Marketing, he's got both her ear and a position of high authority within the organisation that he covets viciously, and takes great personal offense towards newer Saints he doesn't deem worthy of the title.

His pedigree speaks for itself, the man had quite a reputation on Promethea among the media departments of the high corporations. An expertly trained and cut-throat money maker that was the exact kind of egotistical, nasty piece of work that would be drawn to the God Queen's side.

Has direct tie in's with the esteemed Katagawa family, something he's used to his benefit throughout his career.

He fawns over her, she can do no wrong around him, and he spends as many hours of the day as he can trailing behind her heels like a lapdog, reaffirming her beauty and intelligence and infallibility with every breath he can manage between the underhanded threats he aims towards anyone possibly about to draw her attention away from him.

Hates Troy. Fucking hates him.

Too much of a hole-sucking little coward in his $60k three piece suit to actually do anything about it of course, but he takes plenty of his vitriol out on Troy's departments instead.

Marketing has such massive reach within the internal structure of the COV that he's able to throw his weight around far more than some of her other Saints, and regardless of if they actually like him, they tend to back Xan and his opinions automatically.

A huge amount of the conflict between departments and heads is driven by this imagined competitiveness, that Troy's people, Troy's chosen, must in some way be inferior to Tyreen's.

Xan is her right hand in his own mind, he's her holy knight. If she holds too much misplaced love for her brother to see how pathetic he is in comparison to her radiance, then it's up to Xan to keep Troy's people in place...

In reality? Tyreen isn't even invested in him enough to remember Xanshi's full name.

Seifa

Sei makes friends in low places far easier than higher ones, always has. People at the bottom of the ladder, folks who have struggled? They recognise each other. Doesn't matter where on the scales they currently stand, there's an unspoken nod, a side glance. You see your own - even if who you are has been lucky enough to change over time.

While she's never been in one place long enough to set up a friend network before that was tangible and not based on e-comms and data feeds, she's woven one since settling in the HC without really even noticing it was happening.

One-hand Jim in the King's Call, that high end rave bar near the cathedral grounds. Not so gruff now he's not drowning in debt, few more smiles while he's mixing cocktails.

Cleo in munitions stocks, breathing a bit easier since her son landed that underling role in the Mechanica, more food on the table with less worry.

Feliz and Irgo running deals in the western slum backstreets. Not competing against the HammerClaws for territory anymore since JK "got wind" of the shit they were cutting their gear with and had Vanguard waiting at their quarters for a polite discussion about unspoken laws. What Fe and Iggy are selling isn't exactly high quality but at least it won't rot your brain inside the skull.

Sei will tell you she's a lone wolf. She'll insist she’s a one woman show, runs shit on her own and doesn’t need others.

But watch closely when out with her in the city, check how often she buys a drink, how often it's not on an invisible tab the barstaff nod knowingly about as they hand her glass over with a smirk.

She's never asked to pay.

That should tell you plenty.

Seifa and Tyreen

- Early COV

"Ty, you ever wish you were born a guy?"

Of all the things Tyreen had expected to hear from Sei tonight, that... wasn’t it. She stopped reading the same piece of nonsensical math in the sheet she was holding to gawk at Seifa instead, staring at the other woman’s back as she continued to work on the data records they'd been passing between them all evening.

"No.. god. What, and look like Troy?" she snorted with a wince. "Nooooo thanks" Ty sighed as she leaned back and heard her stiff spine pop, waiting for a response that didn't come. She felt a pang of concern as Sei's shoulders sank a little lower in front of her, deflating.

This wasn’t normal, where was the bitchy retort, or joining in on insulting her brother? She shuffled together the files and stood, walking to her friend's side and sitting slowly next to her in the quiet of the twin's shared office. Sei still hadn’t responded, pretending to be completely absorbed by the notes she stared at. Ty cleared her throat with a cough.

"Uhhh.. why?"

Seifa silently reached to her side to take the offered files from Ty as she sat, pointedly not making eye contact, though the younger woman picked up on the redness in them easily enough.

"Sei, I need to have someone's hands cut off?"

Ty pouted, hitting her mark as Seifa failed to completely hide a smirk in response.

"I need to have someone thrown into a pit? Huh? C'mon Sei, talk to me. You always tell me I need to talk more about things that me down, right?" she weedled, hands clasped over her heart as she faux whined, earning a quiet laugh from her companion.

"Oh god Tyreen SURE, if you'll shutup." Sei groaned, leaning back in her chair and running hands over her eyes. She was tired. Beyond tired, really. Always said she knew how to not outstay her welcome but had been wondering recently if that had ever been true. Day to day in the cult, managing people she’d never meet and holding the weight of more responsibility than she’d ever wanted was eating at her. Had been for some time. Nights like this helped, shooting shit with Tyreen, bitching, sometimes gently bullying Troy together if he’d decided to grace them with his janky presence, but still.. it was heavy, and Seifa was tired.

"Ahh.. just the usual shit" she whispered, thumbing through the papers as Tyreen leaned a little closer, as much of a comforting presence as she could muster all things considered. An arm around the shoulder or gentle stroke of hair wasn’t an option. All Ty had was words and honestly, they weren’t exactly her forte.

“It's just like. Sometimes when I'm talking, and it's about something they think I shouldn't know shit about, like how Burgess is spending too much of your budget on expensive, low grade gear-assemblies when if we went off brand I can prove it would be better, they just zone out."

"It's like.. if they thought I had a cock, if I was 6'4, they'd be listening. " she added, eyes burning again.

She groaned, leaning over the table and resting her cheek across her folded arms.

"I got so angry. I'm used to dealing with it, it's always happened, but I just boiled over. This week has been.. long, I guess." she whispered, pinching the bridge of her nose as Tyreen watched quietly. "I ate into him in front of like, 6 other people Ty, couple of heads were there. That doesn't help my reputation does it.. that's just making shit worse. I'm sabotaging myself. They think I'm a bitch already without me starting a fight and stirring the pot."

Tyreen shifted in her seat, eyes thoughtful as she rested her chin in her hands, elbow propped on the table edge.

"Nah. "

"Just sounds like they're dumb. I keep telling Troy we need people with actual brains leading this shit Sei, if you're getting ignored cause you have tits? Haha. Wait till they meet me in person. " she grinned, a genuine act peeking through her usual haughty persona as Seifa chuckled.

"I mean my rack is way bigger than yours, you're flat as a fuckin' plank in comparison."

Asks are Open!

#borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #tyreen calypso #troy calypso #calypso twins #seifa #leech lord #my hcs #my writing #lldrabbles

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fluorescentpipedream · 4 years

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“About 11 years ago,” Mike starts as he scans the room “I attended my last Mensa party, I was pushing 18 and had enough of these kinds of things. It was the night some of you will get to experience tomorrow, the sort of ball where all us nerds get to dress up in nice clothes and pretend for a moment that we’re normal…”

He pauses, taking a drink of water and fixes the rather uncomfortable tie around his neck. He hated attending these gatherings, to him they were just a waste of time. But for some of these kids, they were the only chance to get out and realize they weren’t the only ones who were brilliant beyond measure.

As he looks around the room there’s an interesting cross section of people gathered in the auditorium. There are the ones he refers to as the Sheldon Coopers, the kids who are entirely too intelligent for their own good but not only are they that smart, they’re also holier than thou little pricks who believe that because they’re smarter, somehow they’re better than everyone. The parents of the Sheldons don’t help matters much and are often making it worse than their devil spawn has. Next were the kids who have the overly helicopter parents, the ones who judge everything their child does, and try to force them into molds of what the “gold standard” of geniuses are. These kids end up…well probably like the man he was about to start talking about. They were also the ones he noticed were early onset vegans and have very little amusement in their lives. The others were either the brilliant kids who had the terrible parents, which was his case, or they were…wait.

Are those kids playing Pokemon? He leaned forward slightly over the podium, looking at one of the pools of light on the auditorium floor where there was a small group, maybe eight or nine kids gathered together in a small circle with what looked like bags of chips or fruit slices, sharing like good kids and….yep. They were trading Pokemon cards in serious but hushed voices. Mike chuckled and looked back up at the room again, clearing his throat.

“I’m sure everyone in this room has heard of the tragedy of Dayton Foster.”

The gasp and whispers made him nod, somberly.

“I met him…Eleven years ago at the banquet, and I was with him when he suffered his seizure.”

Dayton wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes, with piercing brown eyes, his hair tousled and had an odd, rugged appeal to him. Mike had been enthralled during his speech, it was eloquent, despite the fact that man delivering it looked as though he’d just rolled out of bed, ran water through his hair and somehow managed to pull off a suit without looking like a complete disaster. Mike had approached him with a question, originally it was supposed to be about his theories on the Utopian like drift the United States was heading towards as he’d discussed but when Dayton had turned his attention to him, Mike forgot all that and had instead leaned into him and said he wondered what his kids tasted like. Dayton had stared at him for a moment with a quixotic expression on his face, almost like he hadn’t heard Mike.

There was only a moment of awkward silence before his response came, telling Mike to come to his hotel room at the Hyatt and he could find out. Considering the man had opened the door fresh out of the shower with a towel around his waist, Mike had assumed he hadn’t expected the boy to come, but he’d taken hold of the front of Mike’s shirt and pulled him into the room without a word, only a smirk. When Dayton had kissed him, he tasted of cloves and whiskey, and Mike had been putty in his strong hands. For a moment, his minds’ eye lingered on the taste on his lips, the stubble and the hair in the man’s eyes and he started to realize why he was drawn to Travis in the first place. Damn he wanted to call him…

“Foster, at the time, had an IQ of over 230, which is impressive, especially for the fact that he was also a known alcoholic.” And a lech. But he left that part out. “He and I met in this very room and we spoke at great length, he was a brilliant mind, getting ready to start work in Washington for the FBI as a criminal investigator and serial profiler, which at the time was a pretty big deal, especially since he had…” Mike looks down at his papers, skimming through them to find his place again. “Four degrees and spoke seven languages by the time he was 12. Despite several people warning a very young and naive me not to take too much of what he said to heart, I found myself drawn to him almost like a moth to the flame. It probably had something to do with his outward appearance, I mean…he was hot.”

He chuckled and heard a few others in the back do the same. Ah…so they did know who he was talking about. Good. Mike leaned back from the podium, taking a few steps to the side and turned on the headset, making sure it worked before he moved. His eyes fall again onto the kids who were sorting energy cards off to the side and he smiled. He always wanted to be one of those kids. While still looking at them, he started again. “During our conversation at the ball the next day, he issued an unusual warning that, at the time, I assumed was just him being a little loose lipped but following his seizure, I realized was actually very true. He told me to be careful the kind of things that I used to distract myself. Distractions can be key, he said. But it’s the vices you choose to use that will either be your saving graces or your worst nightmare.”

That conversation had taken place after they’d had sex, he’d been laying beside Dayton as he smoked. It had been Mike’s first time with anyone and at the time he wasn’t listening that closely for what he was being told. In fact, he’d been more interested in moving back under the blankets.

“For me, I wandered down the same road as Mr. Foster for several years, falling into the pitfalls of being exactly what he said I would. I am, like many in this room, smarter than your average bear and when you’re surrounded by everyone else, you sometimes feel like you would give -anything- to just be normal.”

Mike sighed softly and looked down at where his friend Ali was sitting in front row looking up at him with pride in her eyes. After they left this hell, they were going to England to meet her boyfriend’s parents for the first time and find out exactly what being with the Lord would entail. A little over a week ago he had been dancing in a cage in a gay bar in St. Louis, blown out of his mind on ecstasy and cocaine, anything to not deal with his breakup, revenge fucking his way through St. Louis and attempting to not exist for a while. He let out a sigh, realizing the Pokemon Trainers had tuned into the lecture as well.

“I’m going to come right out and say it. Normal is boring. And trying to be like everyone else isn’t worth anything in the world. You are all here because you aren’t normal, you’re geniuses in some way. You stand above the class because it’s how you are, and you know what? That’s okay. It’s taken me another 11 years to realize that what my mentor was trying to warn me about is inevitably something we all end up going through in some degree. Some of you will be up here in ten years thinking back on something that happened to you that changed your life, and some of you might not be with us again ever again. Either you will have realized that, as reassuring as it is for there to be a whole club of other people just like you, they can’t help you in the real world. Or…you may end up like Mr. Foster.” He took a moment to look at the wide-eyed kids in front of him. “And if that is the case, I want to extend my greatest sympathies to you now.”

Mike sighed. “My message actually isn’t for the young ears out there, but rather the people fueling your genius right now. Aside from being awarded with the MacArthur grant, and solving not one but two of the unsolvable math problems in my 28 years,” He had to pause for a moment as the room erupted in applause. Raising his voice an octave, he started again “I also work as a video director for Revolver Records.” And a gay porn director with his drag queen friends, but he left that out too. “I’m outspoken about my identity as a homosexual man and I don’t feel the need to hide behind anything in order to make everyone else more comfortable with my existence but that is because I’ve lived through my mistakes and my slips have luckily been caught by friends who are willing to keep my head above water. I wasn’t always that brave or that strong. I came from a family that wanted me to be smarter than everyone else but never really step out and stand up for myself. Something changed in me when I met Foster, because I began to see for myself that I have control over my own life. In that vein, my message, is to the parents and guardians.”

Mike’s parents weren’t there for him. They tried, endlessly to use him for their own means because he was smarter than everyone else in the room. The same had been true of Dayton Foster, he was in his 30’s when he suffered a seizure and fell to the ground, striking his head on the ground and the resulting brain damage caused him to lose a lot of what had made him the man everyone had respected. Mike had knelt beside him, helping him to roll on his side so he didn’t asphyxiate and had rhythmically run his hand along the man’s back, attempting to soothe him. He was scared that night and realized that while Dayton was wearing a wedding ring, he never actually spoke of his husband and aside from the boy he’d bedded the night before, he had no one with him. Mike shivered and brought himself back to his speech.

“Your children are different than the rest of the world. Some of them may be in college before they can even drive a car and while that’s okay, you need to remember they are still children and they still need you. I see the look of the parents out there who have already forgotten that they still have a child because of how ‘adult’ they seem. My parents weren’t there for me and for the longest time no one else was either. I found friends later in life that kept me from completely imploding but with everything I’ve told you about Mr. Foster, you can probably guess he didn’t have the same luck. He worked for everything he had but it all fell through his fingers as he drank himself to sleep most nights and spent his days trying to make himself not feel anything. Foster lost everything that made him the man he was known for and I don’t want to see that happen to any of you.”

Mike had been punctuating the words ‘any, of and you’ by pointing at the kids in the audience. “It is so easy to fall into the pitfalls of ‘I’m smarter than all of you and I know it so that makes me better than you’ but what you’re going to find when you get out in the real world is people…all those average people who have bullied you for being too smart, they’re going to look down on you -because- of your intelligence and you acting like you’re better than them now is only going to make it worse going forward. Mensa can help you, it looks great on your college admissions, especially when you’re 12 and going to college. But in the end, you must know how to function with the rest of society, and you need someone in your corner. You parents out there, you must be there for your kids. If you aren’t…” He let the words hang in the air in for a moment and could already see the phones coming on in the back and middle rows, the Karens ultimately mad that he called them out for their shitty parenting practices or the ones who were tweeting about how they do everything to make sure their child succeeds but when they leave here, they won’t go where the child wants, they’re going to make them go back to doing ‘smart people things’. He sighed, picking up a bottle of water from a stool near the back of the stage and took a drink. Turning back around again he made a motion for the house lights to come back on.

“I look around this room…And I see so many different types of people and I’m sure you’re all doing exactly what -you- think you should be doing for your kids. When was the last time one of your kids went for the bike ride with their friends? When was the last time they went to an amusement park or even Chuck E Cheese?” He looked down when he heard an ‘ooh!’ off to the side and smiled, seeing a little girl run over to her mom and excitedly motioned with her hands, probably asking about the same thing. And honestly the mom looked like she was thinking about it.

“Kids need to be kids. You can be brilliant and still be a kid. You can go play with your friends, have sugar or play sports for the fun of it. If you’re not able to find something to enjoy in your life, you may find yourself sitting in a window watching the world go by and wondering why you’re still a part of it.”

This wasn’t the lecture he had written and that had been approved when he’d been invited to speak, but for some reason he had been thinking about Foster for the last few days, unable to really get him out of his head, probably because he’d hit the ground a little too hard and realized he was headed in the same direction. That and he’d been thinking about Travis and the two were…a lot alike. When he and Ali had arrived at the banquet the day before he had seen a lot of kids being kept away from the sweets and the snacks, some of them looking the way he used to, bullied and uncomfortable and then there was the Trainers he’d noticed tonight. These were animated, chatting with adults and other kids, wanting to hang out and talking about going to the museums or go to one of the parks in Washington and spend the day playing. All these different personalities had caused him to change his tone a bit.

As he moved back over to the podium again, Mike picked up his papers and shuffled them a bit. He had notes about Dayton because he was just going to mention him as a cautionary tale and for a moment wondered if the man ever gets on Youtube, because this was inevitably going to be on there.

“You know, I realize, your programming card said I was going to talk about how I solved the world’s most complicated math problems and how focus and determination can win you the biggest prize but honestly…I figured out the first one because a mathematics professor in college was annoyed by an impetuous thirteen year old finishing his whole semester in a week and the other one because I was bored and wanted something to challenge myself with.” He chuckled softly before he started speaking again.

“I have another quote from Mr. Foster for you, and it’s one of my favorites from one of his books. “Boredom is a prerequisite for genius, and sometimes for so many other things. Try new things, you’re always going to be learning but sometimes it’s nice to detach your brain and just…Do something considered trivial. Fun should never be criminalized, especially for us smart people. We sometimes forget what it’s like to do something with no other intention but to do it.”

Mike bowed his head, thanking everyone for having him and stepped off the stage, bending down when he stepped on an abandoned Pokemon card. He put his foot over it for a moment as he was bombarded by several people coming up to talk to him. When they left him, he knelt and picked up the card, turning it over in his hands. It looked like a normal card on the back but turning it over it was holographic. Raising his voice, he noticed the Trainers were all gathering again around a taller boy named Isaac and the littler one he’d seen wanting to go to Chuck E Cheese.

“Who lost a Legendary Mew card?”

The little girl was the one who came up and asked for it and he smiled, handing it down to her. He had met her the day before while she was playing with a Nintendo DS and her mother seemed to be fielding off the glares of the other mothers here who thought those things were less than appropriate for smart children. Her brother, Dakota had been playing what seemed to be a never-ending game of tic-tac-toe with their father. He had inadvertently broken her heart when he’d expressed his surprise that she had good parents.

Beatrice, which was a big name for a such a small girl, swished her little dress as she stood there, patiently waiting her turn to talk to him and rolled on the heels of her sneakers. While she waited for him to be done with the adults she turned to talk to Isaac, Mike only caught a couple of words, something about Pokemon Go, something about the Smithsonian and then something about a...soda stream? Whatever...She said said goodbye to her friend, hugging the older boy around the waist before turning back to him again. Once everyone was gone he knelt in front of her so he could watch her eyes.

“So...how bad was I?”

She giggled and started to speak when a woman very rudely interrupted her. Mike held his hand up to silence the woman, telling her he had no intention of talking to her now that she had interrupted their conversation and widened his eyes, looking at Ali over Bea’s shoulder.

“You did great! But...um...What happened to him?”

“Who?”

“Mr. Foster…what happened to him?”

“Oh…” Right. “When I looked him up last night Google said he’s living in a place called Monroe Manor in New Orleans.” It was a type of adult care facility. Mike had been on the website for a while looking at it, the idea was interesting. There was the main hospital building and then on the property there were duplexes where the patients that wanted to try living on their own could try. He paused for a moment before speaking again. Beatrice was probably five, he wasn’t sure about her internet time but decided to mention Dayton’s blog. It was depressing if you read into it too much but there was still something left of the man in there, you could tell by his very long posts. “He’s staying where people can help him, he’s been there for a couple of years, I think.” He watched her eyes widen and she seemed to be thinking about something very serious. Looking up at her mother, Mike smiled. “Um...Dayton has a blog on Tumblr, I don’t know if she could actually get on it, but it’s kind of interesting.”

A quick Google search would also tell you that Dayton Foster had been in and out of jail several times over the last eleven years, from drunk and disorderly to public intoxication and spitting at a cop during an arrest for public urination and ‘lewd’ behavior, whatever that meant. When Mike had looked him up there was also a report about his attempted suicide a few years ago. Someone had found him sitting in Audubon Park with a gun in his mouth, apparently playing a very dangerous game of roulette.

“He’s doing better now.” The look in her big green eyes told him she didn’t believe him. Mike sighed as she looked at him square in the face and said exactly that.

“We’r/e at a Mensa meeting, I’m very smart...just like you. So...how is he doing?”

Mike wondered for a moment how Dayton would react getting a picture from a little girl that said, ‘Get Well Soon’ but all he could really do was shrug.

“He’s not exactly giving TedTalks, but I guess he’s doing okay...I haven’t actually spoken to him.” And now he felt bad about it. He sighed and looked at Bea, earnestly wondering how he was supposed to explain how he used this man to tell a cautionary tale but knew nothing about his health.

“I don’t think he’d remember me, honestly. Uh...you’ve got my e-mail right? If you want to talk, I’m always around.” Plus they live relatively close...for now. Is it weird for him to be friends with a 5 year old? Probably...at least he’s gay.

Another handful of people came up and started asking him questions about what he was doing now, how he’d solved the problems or what he had done with the money from both the problems and the grant and about 100 other things. Mike sighed and slumped against Ali once they’d all left him alone. None of them had actually paid a lot of attention to his speech, instead they focused on something minute or accused him of not knowing what he was talking about because he wasn’t a parent. His dry comeback with ‘no but I am a genius’ hadn’t gone over well. Looking at his friend he sighed.

“The only one that cared was 5....” He cursed.

“Get me out of here…I think I’ve had enough of these kinds of people for a lifetime.” He’d depressed himself and aside from being hungry and ready to be anywhere other than here, he also now wanted to call Travis and tell him he missed him.

Dammit.

#Ben schnetzer #character

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secondhand-trash · 5 years

Text

Freddy Freeman(Shazam!)- Art Exchange

A/N: Nobody asked for this but here is another fic I wrote out of impulse. This is inspired by something similar that happened to my friend and the biggest struggle I had when I wrote this was probably the fact that I have no idea how American schools work lol

Description: Drawing exaggerated pictures of your teachers is a part of high school culture and you had fully embraced it as a part of your school life. You just didn’t expect someone to actually see it, let alone replying to it with an even more comedic doodle.

Wordcount: 2166

Playlist:

Young Volcanos//Fall Out Boy

Check Yes Juliet//We The Kings

Something You Want//Against the Current

You couldn’t help it. Mathematics was boring and the teacher’s monotone lecture did not help keeping you awake at all. Scribbling on your desk was your last attempt at trying to stop your eyelids from closing and to your surprise, it worked. From that moment onwards, you always mindlessly dribble on the corner of your desk in class, occasionally looking up to pretend that you are actually listening. By the time you leave class, half of the wood surface would be covered in graphite strokes, most of which consisted of portraits of your maths teacher.

Sorry Mr Martin, but your round head and goatee was too cartoonish and easy to visualize.

Normally, you would make sure to erase all the doodles on your desk before leaving the room. But your friend had been rambling about this new movie and as you two continued with the conversation after the bell rang, you completely forgot about the markings on the school property.

Your mistake ended up being a delightful surprise for another poor kid who was stuck in the exact same situation as you did.

Freddy tried, he really did but he hated this subject with his whole heart. Why did the school think it was a good idea to ask you to calculate the volume of a pool when no person in their right mind would purchase a goddamn pool without knowing its measurements?

He was quick to notice that something was off about his usual seat the moment he walked pass the door. Taking a more careful look at the patterns on the desk as he sat down, he instinctively pressed his hand to his lips to cover up the snicker that would have drawn too much unwanted attention as more pupils started entering the room. On the corner of his desk was a figure that somehow resembles an egg but with a goatee. He didn’t have to take another glance to know that said egg was their beloved teacher, completely unaware that he had been immortalized in his student’s masterpiece as he handed out the new assignment.

Whoever did this was a genius, Freddy thought to himself as he scanned through the other amusing doodles on the desk. He reached into his bag and scrambled for a pencil, scribbling away while trying to surpress the large grin on his face.

“Mr Freeman? Mr Freeman, are you listening?”

Shit. “Yes Mr Martin?”

“Tell me, what is the answer to this question?”

“Oh crap.”

“What if he saw it?” You nervously said to your friend as you two made a turn down the hallway.

“It’s gonna be fine,” your friend said, clearing annoyed after hearing you went on about how much trouble you would be in if Mr Martin found out about the little artwork you made of him in class. Drawing in class, on school property AND making fun of your teacher? God knows how many days of detention this could cost you.

You sighed in relieve as Mr Martin did not even turn to look at you when you walked in. You walked straight to your seat to see that all the doodles were still there. Picking up an eraser to remove all hints of your crime, you noticed something that wasn’t there before. Right next to the egg(aka cartoon Mr Martin) you drew was the figure of a man being tied up. The corner of your lips tucked up into a smirk as you saw that the man was tied up by his very, very long facial hair. Whoever left this here clearly paid more attention to the teacher’s goatee more than they did to class like you did.

“Nice drawings, bought me more fun than maths ever did. Hope you don’t mind my little addition:)”

Looking at the scrawled handwriting below the figure, you grinned. You erased the existing drawings on the table and started making another one, all while thinking of a message that you could leave for the person who would be sitting there later on.

Needless to say, you were thrilled when you got back to the seat the following day to see that you actually got a reply.

You never thought that you would ever say this in your entire lifetime but you started really looking forward to maths class. Every time you walked into the classroom, you checked the table for new drawings and messages immediately and you were never disappointed. Your anonymous friend always pulled through and the stuff that appeared on the wooden surface only got weirder and weirder, so weird that you found yourself smiling uncontrollably when you look at them in class. (”What exactly are you smiling at?” “Oh, nothing. Just my love for algebra, Mr Martin.”)

Your friends teased you about it, saying that you looked like a fool in love when you grin at your desk. To that, you shrugged. You never showed them the doodles and you weren’t planning to, much to their curiosity and annoyance. Somehow, you wanted the whole exchange to be a secret between you and the other person involved. The idea that you had an unspoken bond with someone you had not met gave you an odd sense of excitement.

That was until one day you entered the classroom with your usual anticipation and found nothing but your own handwriting, not even a single word next to the lines you made.

You tried to continue leaving little drawings and notes here and there on your desk everyday but you were met with the same disappointment when you check in on the markings the next day.

“I don’t get it! What happened? They didn’t say anything, they just vanished like they fell of the surface of the earth! Are they ok? Are they angry at me for anything I might have done? Are they still alive? What if-”

“Can you please calm down?” You friend yelled, throwing the fork down onto the tray and earning the both of you a few glances from the people sitting near your table, “That person does not even know who you are!”

“Well, I know!” You snapped back, “But there must be a reason as to why they suddenly stop replying! It makes no sense!”

You friend rolled their eyes and continued munching on their food, deciding that letting you express your frustration might be a wiser idea than putting any form of rationality in your head.

Little did you know, the same conversation was unfolding in the far corner of the cafeteria.

“I should have left my number!” Freddy sighed, “And now there’s no way I would ever find out who my art buddy is!”

“I mean, I get your frustration but maybe don’t take it out on your food? The mashed potato is innocent, ya’know?” Billy said in amusement as his brother let out another muffled groan, “Mr Martin wouldn’t have forced you to sit in the front row if you at least tried to pretend that you were paying attention, just saying.”

“You are no help.”

“Have you ever thought of waiting before class starts to see who’s the one in that seat?”

“First of all, that sounds creepy.” The shorter boy folded his arms in front of his chest, “Second, what am I supposed to do after that? Walk up to that person and be like ‘Hey, I’m the weirdo who you had been bonding with through our mutual mocking towards our teacher, wanna be friends?’”

“I thought you want to know who the person is?”

“Well yeah,” Freddy said, "but the thought of actually being around them in real life kinda scares me. Can’t we just go back to how things used to be? When I can pretend to be cool by hiding under the facade of my excellent art?”

“How so very confident of you, if only you have as much confidence when you are facing real people.”

“What class are we having?” You friend asked, desperately trying to change the subject. Your rambling carried on after you two finished lunch and they were slowly losing patience.

“History.”

“Damn it! Really? I forgot about the essay we are supposed to hand in! I’m so fucked...”

You mockingly laughed, “Same, but the difference between me and you is that I was smart enough to check my schedule when I got to school this morning so I managed to finish it in maths class.”

Reaching into you bag, you search for your paper and your smirk slowly fade as you realized that it was no where to be found. “Shit, I must have left it in the drawer.”

“Ha ha, jokes on you. Now we can both get into trouble together.”

You glared at your friend, “I’m gonna go get it back.”

“Are you sure? I think class is about to start.”

“I’ll just say that my stomach hurts and I was at the bathroom. With the quality of the food they are serving here, I’m sure that no one will suspect a thing.”

Freddy mindlessly flicked his pen as he sulked in his new seat. Class was no fun and he could not get away with drawing in class anymore with the teacher right in front of him, watching his every move. He was bored out of his mind when the door opened, he looked up to see an unfamiliar figure standing under the frame. Was this person in his class?

“Sorry Mr Martin, I left something here and I need it for class.” The person quickly entered the room and walked pass Freddy after gaining a nod of approval from the teacher. His gaze followed them and his eyes widened in shock as the person stopped in front of his previous seat, pulling a few sheets of paper out of the drawer. He took a quick glance at the paper when they passed his seat again and felt a comforting sense of familiarity when he saw their handwriting. Freddy smiled, earning him a look of confusion from the maths teacher. “Honestly,” the man thought to himself, slightly regretting putting this kid in the front, “why did I decide to be a teacher in the first place?”

“Hey! Wait up!”

You turned around, the voice stopping you in your track as you were walking out of the school building. Not far from you was a boy walking towards you with a crutch in his hand, clearly trying his best to walk at full speed.

“Do you know him?” Your friend whispered in your ear and you slightly shake your head. As he walked closer, you recognized him as the person who was sitting near the door when you went to get your homework in Mr Martin’s room.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I know you?”

The boy scratched the back of his head, realizing that he might have confused you. “Oh, of course. I almost forgot that you don’t know yet,” he said, not looking you in the eye as he speak, “I used to sit at your seat in maths before I got put in the front.”

You beamed as you finally gathered what the boy was trying to say, “That’s you? So that’s why you suddenly stopped replying! Thank god, I thought you were dead or something.”

“No, not dead, just observed by ‘Mr goatee’ 24/7.” he said and you laughed. He reached out his free hand to you, “I’m Freddy.”

“(y/n).” You said and shaked his hand, “I can’t believe I’m actually talking to you in person. I’ve missed you... I mean, talking to you... Like, drawing ‘talking’...” You felt your face burn as everything you said sounded so creepy and you gave your friend a sharp glare as you heard the snickering.

“I missed that too.” Freddy looked right at you and you took the first proper look at him. With the sun and the grin on his face, it looked his eyes were twinkling. You cringed as the thought went pass your head and you felt like such a cliché. But this kid actually got unfairly pretty eyes.

“Now that we did the whole ‘awkward first encounter thing’,” He said and darted his gaze away from you again, “maybe we can hang out sometimes? I know this really nice comic book shop in town, if you’re interested that is.”

You smiled, “I love comics.”

His face lit up and you cursed yourself for being so quick to notice that. “So is tomorrow good?”

“Tomorrow’s good.”

“Cool, I’ll see you then.” He gave you another bright smile before leaving and joining another group of people that you assumed to be his family. Still grinning from ear to ear at what happened, you didn’t notice the sly smile on your friend’s face.

“Ooooooooo someone’s got a date.”

“Shut up.”

#freddy freeman #freddy freeman imagine #freddy freeman x reader #shazam imagine #shazam fanfic #shazam #dc #dc imagine #shazam!#shazam fanfiction

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threadofdestiny · 4 years

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Anonymous

- I've decided to work on side story. This time it's a story about Okiawa from Haikyuu: D Let's see how well I'm getting on :D

Oikawa x Oc

Part 1

The bookmark

Third person / Himawari, Namine's POV.

As a child, Himawari, Namine had learned, that fairy tales always started with an 'Once upon a time'. Often such stories were about helpless princesses, who had to be rescued by their princes in shining armor, until they would finally live happily ever after. Those charming boys would sweep their fair lady's of their feet, with their dashing looks and strong physique.

Quite superficial if someone would have asked the young girl nowadays. She had never understood how one could act like a damsel in distress. After all, Namine had always been a very independent person since she could remember. She was not a petty, helpless girl who needed a handsome boy, who thought that she was in need of a hero, who had to save her from any dreary fate. On the contrary, she actually, was good in solving her own problems and by all means had a very normal and completely relaxed life so far. So she couldn't complain at all.

She was born in Miyagi, in Japan and lived there with her loving, hard-working father for as long as she could remember. They had a good relationship, even if he spent a lot of time at work. But, hey, that only helped to form her into the very independent young girl she was today.

Of course, like any adolescent teenager, she had had to deal with the day-to-day difficulties that growing up had brought with it. Puberty was a bitch after all. She had to learn how to make friends, to deal with disappointments, to cope with the physical and psychological changes of her mind and body and how to somehow find oneself in all of this disturbing chaos. She had to learn what she felt to be right and wrong, to whom she wanted to confide and what she hoped for from her future self.

Well, at the current age of 17, she felt that she was actually well on the way to solidifying herself. Sure, maybe she was sometimes too quick to judge other people and had the tendency to pigeonhole them. Often during her worst times, she didn't like to show her true feelings, even in front of her closest friends and family. She didn't like being ripped out of her comfort zone and was a bit overly cautious at times. Better to be safe than sorry was her motto after all.

Namine was not very popular in highschool and stuck her nose most of her time a little too deep into science fiction novels, to really care for all the superficial drama around her. Maybe she was a bit stuck up in her own nerdy way, for thinking that she was better than most of her peers. After all she couldn't look into someones head, to really know what was going on inside of others, but who was actually perfect? The important thing was that she was satisfied with her life, wasn't it?

She knew how to distance herself from drama as much as possible and mostly swam under the radar of the cooler part of her fellow students, even if she occasionally experienced a few awkward dropouts. Nowadays she was easily overlooked, inconspicuous, no risks involved. She lived a predictable life. Just the way she liked it.

In junior high she had actually been one of the cooler kids herself, hiding herself and her nerdy interests behind a pretty facade. But that had only made sure that she had to experience how shallow and selfish the people around her could be. Especially athletes and the peers who were drawn to such people...

Sure, it was probably not fair to lump every single one of them together, but those were the experiences she had made and no one had yet been able to teach her better.

With the start of her time at her high school she had decided that she didn't want to be a part of it anymore, had clearly distanced herself from such people and had a much more relaxed life since then. Those years were much quieter and far less dramatic. All she had to do was staying away from people who loved to be popular and everything else would be staying the same. She was pretty sure of that. She didn't need those people anyway. She may not have many friends, but she had some really close ones. Even if they didn't necessarily share all of her interests, or were not as preoccupied with the same life questions as she was sometimes. She really do care and would always be there for them, because despite all of her not so charming quirks, she was a really kind and gentle soul who cared more about the well-being of her friends than about her own.

But sometimes she wished, that she had someone in her life with whom she could discuss even the most uncomfortable and weird topics. A person who shared her interest in science fiction and dealt with her and her sometimes really stupid train of thoughts. A person to whom she could show all her weaknesses and strengths without being judged. Someone she could dare to completely open up to. Not in a friendly way, however, no! She wanted something more. Something deeper. Not someone who things she had to be saved, but someone who was at eye level with her.

But even if she had not yet found such a person among her current circle off riends, it was clear to her that she would also not find this person among the famous people of her school, so she really didn't have to look there, right?

But who knows? Sometimes things turn out differently than expected.

"God, I am through! The classes today were particularly exhausting!", Namine's best friend, Mikawa Ayame, grumbled, while she stretched her back extensively. The dark-haired girl next to her hummed in confirmation as they strolled down the hall together, in order to get to the stairs that led to the first floor. A faint smile crept onto the quiet girl's lips, as she listened how her blonde friend continued to complain about their classes. Math in particular. "I really don't get it. How can someone be good in math? Mr. Fukushima is going to kill me! I swear!", she rambled seamlessly.

Shrugging, Namine's gaze lowered to the well used book, which her arms pressed gently against her chest, while she zoned out of their small conversation for a brief moment. Her light blue eyes traced the lines of the small piece of her colorful bookmark that peeked out of the sand-colored pages, but it was impossible to see what kind of motif was drawn on the laminated paper, from her point of view. "I don't know, Aya-chan.", Namine responded half heartly, knowing full well, that the both of them knew, that she was quite good in the subject. Ayame snorted softly and gave her a somber look.

The corridor was full of students who were either enjoying their break or taking their time after their classes had ended, to get their individual tasks done, before their extracurricular activities are going to get started. Looking up again Namine and her friend avoided two soccer players who rushed past them and giggled when they were chided by a passing teacher for running though the halls. "Hah, serves them right!", the blonde girl joked, before she fell into a comfortable silence. After a brief moment, Namine's gaze wandered from the well-filled corridor to Ayame in order to look at her questioningly. "You are going to be busy with the newspaper club, right?", she asked, changing their topic smoothly. Her friend nodded and grinned, while she replied with a new found motivation: "Yes, come along, too. You haven't signed up for any of the extracurricular activities yet. I think you might really like it.", she suggested after confirming her friend's question. Namine shrugged her shoulders thoughtfully, before she carefully answered: "Maybe another time. I wanted to go straight to the library. I still need a copy of the book that we have to read in english and I wanted to see if they had it there."

A pout formed on Ayame's lower lip, ready to debate against her best friend, when the squeaking of some random girls on the lower floor caught their attention. Curiously, the two friends strolled down the stairs, to find a cluster of female peers, who had gathered around a young man who went to one of their parallel classes. He was wearing a volleyball tracksuit with the school insignia imprinted on it. Like a Superstar, he stood casually in front of his audience, while he was grinning mischievously at his female companions, listening quite satisfied to their praises.

It was Oikawa Tooru, Captain of the Aoba Johsai Volleyball club. One of the greatest heartthrob's of their school. Namine really had no idea why everyone was making such a fuss about him. Well, yeah he was quite handsome with his chocolate brown eyes and windswept hair, but she found his fake manner incredibly unsympathetic. However, the girls around him doesn't seem to share her opinion at all.

"Oikawa-kun, you are so cool!"

"Oikawa-senpai, I baked cookies for you!"

"O-Oikawa-senpai, I'll keep my fingers crossed for your next game!"

The high voices echoed through the corridor of the first floor and reached Ayame and Namine, who just committed to descend the last few steps of the staircase. The dark-haired young woman rolled her eyes at the scene that transpired in front of her. Really now, how could someone hang on a guy's sleeve like that? It was incredibly silly and somehow quite self-degrading how each of these girls were trying to get his attention, by batting their long eyelashes at him. Didn't they have any dignity? Urgh, she really didn't like athletes and their little lap dogs... they were just so annoyingly ridiculous.

Quite humored the two friends watched the scene in front of them, as the young man thanked his admirers with a charming smile on his full lips. Namine clicked her tongue, when she saw how the girls giggled coquettishly at the Volleyball captain, looking at him like starry eyed puppies. A little further away some other guys in the same tracksuits leaned against the walls in a cool manner. They seemed to be waiting for their occupied friend. Two of the three boys grinned playfully and made some frivolous gestures to each other, but the third seemed rather annoyed and impatient, while he kept throwing his volleyball into the air, before catching it again shortly afterwards.

Loosing her interest, Namine turned to her friend and gave her a brief smile before raising her hand in goodbye. "Well... See you tomorrow, Aya-chan!", she mumbled with a soft smile on her lips. The two hugged each other before they broke away. Giggling, Ayame squeezed Namine's fore arm, before they parted from each other. "Please humor me and think about it, okay Nami-chan? The doors of the newspaper club are always open for you. You could be our little star photographer!", the blonde girl took up their previous topic one last time, rising her hands in front of her eyes to mimic taking pictures, before she started to leave in the opposite direction as her friend. "Okay, okay. I'll think about it!", Namine answered loudly, as she took a few steps backwards and waved her hand one last time.

Turning on her heel, she sighed quietly, before she quickly headed for the library. When she turned around, she had fixed her gaze on the floor, circling the small crowd of girls in order to avoid them. Unfortunately she hadn't seen how one of the Volleyball players had started to break away from the wall on the other side, while she rushed past the group of female students. Before either of them could react properly, they accidentally crashed into each other. With a thud, her book landed on the pale linoleum floor, while the young man had also lost his grip on his volleyball, which rolled a few feet away from them. The dark-haired girl looked up in surprise and raised her light blue eyes towards his dark ones, which were also looking down at her in astonishment. She immediately recognized him as another boy from one of her parallel classes. It was Iwaizumi Hajime. Perplexed, she watched his eyebrows contract slowly, while his lips curled in annoyance, waking her up from her state of shock.

"Ah, sorry! I wasn't paying attention to where I was going", Namine mumbled quite embarrassed, while she bowed apologetically in front of the guy, before she averted her eyes to look for the ball, which had been lost because of their collision. When she discovered it, however, it was already picked up by that teammate with the pinkish brown hair. "No problem!", the other person answered grumpily, while he leaned down to pick up the book that Namine had accidentally dropped. Her gaze snapped back to him, as she took a step away. The serious expression on the dark-haired boy's face took on a slightly softer look for a brief moment, but he couldn't quite drive the annoyed sting out of his eyes, while he held her object up to her, as he kept looking past her to his buddy, who still seemed to be busy. She gratefully accepted her book, before she decided to walk past him with another apologetic smile on her lips. She had seen, that he wanted to say something more, but she was a bit quicker: "Sorry again. I... better watch out where I'm walking from now on."

With an awkward wave, she hurried off, before the dark-haired guy with the gloomy expression could utter another word to her. She ignored the curious look Hajime threw after her as she hurried around the corner, but she could still hear his deep voice echoing through the hall, while he seemed to yell at one of his friends, after she had already been out of sight: "Shut up and come on, Shittykawa! We don't have all day!"

Third person / Oikawa, Tooru's POV.

He was the great king of the court. Captain of the volleyball team of the private high school, Aoba Johsei. Oikawa Tooru. Tall, successful, determined, popular, charming, intelligent, handsome. In many eyes of his peers he was like the perfect specimen. He had it all. Other guys wanted to be like him, while the girls fell in front of his feet, wishing to be his girlfriend. For some of those girls he was like the epitome of their knight in shining armor, ready to strife their demons in their most secret dreams. They imagined him to be the perfect man for them. Some would argue that there was nothing that he, Oikawa Tooru, couldn't achieve. Guys like him knew no boundaries and got everything they wanted. Problems? What's this? People like him had no problems, everything flew right into his hands and no obstacles were ever put in his way.

That was utter bullshit, of course, but who cares? If they wanted to think that way, they could all do assume that he and his whole life was a picture perfect story. People tended to think what they wanted anyway. Of course, it was also clear to him that his behavior only strengthened such thoughts. But he didn't saw the need in proving to others that he wasn't the perfect young man he was claiming to be. Actually he really do liked his life and his image so far and he knew that they were right in one point: He really had quite a bit of a better chance in life than others. Good looks and intelligence weren't everything, but it helped non the less.

But no matter what they all thought about him, the truth was that everything Tooru had gained so far, had been the fruits of his hard work. In everything he had done he had put all his focus on improving himself. Even if people thought he was a natural, he knew that everything he had achieved so far was a testament to his steeled determination. Furthermore he actually didn't like to be titled as a natural, because he wasn't one... He would never be one. He was just incredibly hard working, when it comes to archiving his goals!

And Volleyball was the one thing he loved the most. He lived for this sport. He would go through the fucking hell for his passion and prove to everyone that he was exactly what they all thought he was. The goddamn great king of the freaking court! He had worked hard for his position and wore this mask of skillful perfection like one of these so much hated naturals. Well, he could be pretty manipulative, he knew that. His best friend loved to remind him that he had a narcissistic, inflated streak, but hey, who was actually perfect? The important thing was that he was satisfied with his life so far,wasn't it?

If someone had asked him if it was more important to him, to be loved or to be feared, he would have replied that he wanted people to be afraid of how much they loved him. Because he had learned that outside his passion, it was all about the image, to be outstanding.

Of course it would be nice to have a someone outside of his team. Not in a friendly way, however, no! He wanted something more. Something deeper. Not someone who worshiped him, but someone who was at eye level with him. To have someone with whom he could held deeper conversations that broke though the surface of superficially. To have someone who appreciate him for himself, even if they knew what an ass he actually could be. Someone who could live with the fact that Volleyball occupied a huge place in his life. He wanted to be able to speak as freely as he sometimes did with Iwa-chan, but even with him he couldn't talk about everything that would occupy his mind. But that was probably the price for being popular. He had to keep the well-polished facade, because that was what they all wanted to see anyway, right?

But who knows? Sometimes wishes can come true in the weirdest ways.

Grinning, Tooru accepted a self-made cookie that one of the many faceless girls had baked for him and tasted it to her satisfaction in front of the entire gathering. "Hmm delicious! Thank you, honey!", the brown-haired captain purred, while he took the effort to close his eyes with feigned pleasure. The girls sighed dreamily as they watched him do it. When he opened his eyes again, he saw out of the corner of his eyes how his best friend had stepped into his field of vision. But Hajime had turned his back away from him and was watching a dark-haired girl who was disappearing around the corner, before Tooru was able to take a proper glimpse at her. Curiously he saw how his other two friends laughed mischievously and approached their grim-looking buddy. Issei smacked Hajime on the shoulder as he pointed in the direction the girl had disappeared, but they were too far away for their captain to hear, what they said to each other.

Quickly, the handsome young man turned back to the girls who were still flocking around him in admiration and smiled apologetically down to them. "Ahh, I'm sorry, ladies, but I shouldn't keep my friends waiting. However, I hope you guys watch us training later!", he said quickly, while he gifted them with a winning smile, before he fought his way to his teammates. Although he heard the disappointed sigh's of the girls, he didn't bother to care as he slowly walked up to his best friend to put a hand on his shoulder blades.

"Well, am I dreaming or has my dear Iwa-chan just flirted with a cute girl?", the handsome young man asked teasingly, while he watched as the addressed young man turned around to send him a deadly glare. Coupled with a targeted slap on the back of Tooru's head, his best friend replied angrily: "Shut up and come on, Shittykawa! We don't have all day!"

Rubbing the emerging bump, Tooru bowed his head, eyes narrowed in pain, while he heard the rest of his snickering teammates slowly pull away, to follow their ace, who had stomped away, after hitting his Captain. He was just about to hurry up to his friends when something colorful caught his re-opening gaze. Curiously, the handsome young man leaned forward and picked up the item before realizing that it was a bookmark that had been lying next to him on the floor.

It was designed quite nicely. For people who would be interested in something like that, it would probably be quite pretty. It seemed to be homemade. The colors merged neatly, as if the artist had spend a few more hours on it than necessary. Not that he was one of those people who would actually be interested in that. Nevertheless, he had noticed it any way. Actually, it wouldn't have been something he'd payed special attention to, but the motive had piqued his interest, because little drawn aliens and UFOs filled the entire front in a cute way. A small smile spread across his lips as he examined the neat, but often used, laminated paper. There was no owner's name on it, but when he looked at its back he found the words 'Is anybody out there?#43705LadyStardust' drawn within a starry nightsky in italic handwriting, while a female silhouette was sitting on top of a small drawn hill, seemingly looking up to the stars. Tooru turned on his own axis, searching, to see if anyone was looking for their lost bookmark, but no one seemed to care.

"Hurry up, Dumbass!", Hajime called out to him, when the ace had noticed that his captain was dawdling again. Promptly, Tooru shoved the bookmark into the left pocket of his training jacket while he set out to hurry after his teammates. "I'm coming. Stop rushing me, Iwa-chan!", the Volleyball captain whined, catching up to his friends. The elongated piece of paper was immediately forgotten in his pocket, while he began to talk to his friends about some moves that they wanted to refine in the upcoming training session.

#Oikawa #Oikawa Tooru #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#oikawaxoc #iwaizumi hajime #Hakyuuxoc

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