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fisheoctrashdump · 4 years

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Ezra 1-20 ewewewewe

Holiday

Kinda like with Caleb, I imagine Ezra really disliking Christmas. Every year around his birthday and Christmas he gets pretty depressed and avoids Christmas themed stuff, but it's so hard to do when it's just…. Everywhere. He can't really get excited for his birthday, either.

He has to celebrate with his mother every year, and this includes going back to their church. Despite this, he tries to give his friends, partners, and Devon gifts and pretend like he's not writhing in agony on the inside.

His favorite holiday… I'm not sure. I feel like other people's birthdays would be the most important to him.

Cooking

Ezra is actually a decent cook, but he doesn't have much time to do it. He does enjoy cooking, though.

Sleeping

He refuses sleep constantly. When he actually goes to bed (whether willingly or forced), Ezra is a very peaceful sleeper. He doesn't move much, and he doesn't snore or anything. The only abnormal thing about his sleeping is that he occasionally sleepwalks to other rooms.

Driving

He can drive, but he just…. Really prefers not to. He does everything he can to avoid it lol pretty much all of his partners have gotten used to driving Ezra around everywhere.

Bathing/showering

So, Ezra has super oily hair. He has to wash his hair literally everyday, or his hair will look and feel greasy. On the days he doesn't have time and skips showering, he wears a hat to cover his hair.

He takes boiling hot showers and he doesn't waste any time. Ezra finishes a shower in like five minutes, but he wasn't always like that. In high school he used to spend a lot of time in the shower lol

Hugging

When Ezra is feeling an overflow of emotions about someone or something, he hugs. It's usually one where he holds tight to the other person as if they are the only thing holding him together. (And in a way, they are.)

He hugs certain people more than others, of course. Ezra doesn't feel quite as comfortable hugging Amber in the same way he does Damon or Venus.

Kissing

Ezra loves getting kisses from his partners, but he is an anxious kisser. I imagine him being the kind of person to ask for permission before kissing someone, and he probably still does that with his newer partners.

Sex

You wouldn't expect Ezra to be as kinky as he is. It's genuinely surprising to his partners when he discusses sex with them the first time (except for Amber, who was never really told what Ezra was into, she just kinda tried stuff out and figured out what stuck.)

Despite this, Ezra actually doesn't like having sex often. He has a lot of other ways he'd rather be spending his free time until he actually gets in the mood.

General physical contact

Ezra has been very affectionate with the people he loves pretty much his whole life. He very often sits close to people or leans against them. It's comforting. He often holds people longer than they're comfortable or is convenient. (For example, Casey wants to grab a water, but Ezra refuses to let go of his hand so he follows Casey to the kitchen)

Very clingy boi.

Physical appearance

I have already done a picture for him before, and also have described in his character sheet, but here's a recap/extra info

He's 5'3, making him shorter than all of his friends and partners

As a kid he pretty much always had his hair shaved in a buzz cut, but he always wanted to grow his hair out as long as Venus and Casey's. Currently his hair is chin length, but it will end up being about waist length before he's satisfied.

Wardrobe

So for this one I'm just gonna cheat and steal what I already wrote on his character sheet lol

He's currently trying to figure out his style, because between Hannah and Amber's influence on him, he doesn't really know what he wants anymore. He's been experimenting with different clothing, leading to some pretty awful outfits at times, but he's recently found himself more comfortable in v necks and sweater jackets / denim jackets. He wears a red beanie that Amber made for him often, but not all the time.

Sometimes he will take off with one of Casey's denim jackets, and wear it constantly until Casey asks for it back

It's also not uncommon to see Ezra leave the house in his pajamas, especially when going to class. He looks for low effort outfits so he has more time for other stuff (like laying in bed before school and regretting only having three hours of sleep in two days)

Jewelry

His ears are stretched to a 2mm size. I doubt he will get any other kind of piercings, and will probably take his gauges out at some point, but still use earrings (probably just plain colored studs)

I can see him wearing other kinds of jewelry, but I guess it really just depends. I'm not sure how he would decide to wear jewelry though, or what it would be

Nickname

A lot of people call him Ez, and he's heard Ezzy a couple times through his life, but Grant uses Ezzy as a nickname for him the most.

I've been imagining Venus and Ezra having special nicknames they use for each other that no one else uses but them, but I still haven't been able to figure out what they would be.

Damon and Grant call him sea star, and Ezra melts everytime they do ;w;

Dancing

He was forced to learn a bunch of different dances while in gym class in high school, but he was pretty garbage at it lol he doesn't dance much unless asked to

Singing

Ezra doesn't sing much. He used to sing for his church's choir after his mother asked him to (but he didn't really feel like he had a choice.)

He understands basic music theory and can sing a song he's never heard before just by looking at the sheet music.

Currently, Damon and Grant will beg Ezra to sing with them when a good song starts playing or something, but Ezra purposely sings either too quietly to be heard, or really badly.

Anger

Honestly, Ezra has a lot of buried anger he has yet to work through. He has anger towards pretty much everyone in his life, some more deserving than others. Most of his anger is for his mother, but he even has some directed towards people like Casey and Venus.

Ezra doesn't want to hurt anyone, so he feels his anger is a big inconvenience and something that will only cause harm to him and his relationships. He refuses to open up about the things angering him as well, so he's just… stuck feeling the way he does, with no clear way to resolve anything without upsetting others.

Soft spot

All his partners, but… especially Venus, Casey, and Amber.

Sea slugs. He has a lot of different types he loves, and he finds them super adorable.

Sharks. He has a lot of shark related things, including a big shark plush that sits in the corner of the gramoambra room. He named it Goomba.

Fish in general. He loves pet fish the most, because he thinks they're pretty and enjoys watching them swim around in the aquarium.

Devon and Arianna

Music, especially if it's played for him. (Like when Damon starts playing a song, but someone turning on a song from youtube or whatever specifically for Ezra has the same effect.)

Watching movies inside of blanket forts uwu

When Ezra finally sees his dad again, his dad and younger brothers are

Video games, especially ones from his childhood

Favorite possession

I've been imagining Ezra and Venus having a specific favorite movie that they've seen over and over, something they could quote the entire script to. The DVD for the movie is something they have passed back and forth over the years they've known each other, but it landed in Ezra's possession last before they stopped talking. That DVD is his favorite. He watched it a few times when he started thinking about Venus and wanted to feel closer to her.

Some other things are

Goomba! ;w;

The red beanie Amber made for him

Devon's drawing she made for him while she was in elementary school.

The seashell collection he inherited from Rose (including the one unbroken seashell Ezra found with his dad on the beach before they weren't allowed to see each other anymore)

Favorite photograph

A picture of him and Osmin on the beach together from years ago when he was still a kid.

Relationship with ___

Devon

When Devon was born, Ezra wasn't very pleased by her existence at all. When he was younger, Ezra often blamed Devon for some of his issues with his mother. Ezra was often treated more unfairly by his mom and stepdad, while Devon was treated better. He held a lot of resentment towards her as a result, and their relationship suffered because of this.

Things didn't improve between them until Ezra told his family he wanted to move out while he was in college so that he was closer to his new school. Devon was really upset by this, and she told Ezra she didn't want him to leave. He still did, but he promised her he would see her often.

As their relationship improved, and as Devon got older, Ezra began to realize that he had been blaming Devon for something she had no control of. And even with their parent's favoritism towards Devon, she was still miserable living with them.

Currently, Ezra has been trying to provide some kind of relief to Devon in whatever way he can. He feels bad, because he wishes he could do more or get her out of that situation. Considering Ezra still hasn't gained the confidence to walk away from his mother himself, he doesn't see a way out for either of them.

#so many vezra feelings..........#ezra #hnmp gen2 #headcanon ask game

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feynavaley · 7 years

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Hetalia Fanfiction – Arthur Kirkland’s Guide to Being a Big Brother Ch 2

Summary: (Human AU) After ten years of living as the youngest of four children, Arthur Kirkland is firmly convinced that older brothers are useless at best, a nuisance at worst. The introduction of six-year-old Alfred into his life is the first of many changes that force Arthur to reconsider his position.

The full chapter is under the cut, use your phone browser if you can’t see it from the app. I hope you’ll enjoy it!

AO3 | FFN | Previous | Next | List

———

Alfred, Part Two

Saying that Arthur’s transition to America went completely smoothly would have been wrong. Very wrong. Everything was too big and too loud, disconcerting, sometimes he couldn't understand the words behind that heavy accent, people were brash to the point of rudeness, the other children too rowdy for Arthur’s liking… many times, the boy found himself with anger scratching at his insides, the wish to spew poisonous words out of his mouth. Maybe he even let his tongue run loose, a couple of times, but he was perfectly justified: he didn’t want to stay there. He wanted to go back to England – to go back home, where everything still made sense. He wanted his old bedroom, the rainy days, and old cobblestone streets. Arthur would have wanted to say that he saw no point in moving to America, that nothing was better and they should go home – but that wouldn’t have been true.

For his mother was smiling again.

It had been a subtle change at first – the creases that had constantly adorned her face smoothening down, a small smile curling at the corners of her lips more and more often, but, not even a month in, the change was undeniable: his mother’s eyes were sparkling, her laughter easier than Arthur had ever heard it, even her steps seemed somehow lighter, as if somebody had taken a weight off her shoulders.

And if his mother was better… well, Arthur could deal with it, too. It didn’t come without any drawback or tantrum, but slowly, Arthur started adjusting to his new living situation.

One day, trucks arrived at the empty house next to their one, unloading furniture and boxes under the direction of a middle-aged, energic man with tanned skin, curly brown hair, and an odd musical accent. Arthur, who had been reading in the garden, kept looking at the scene until his eyes were caught by a pair of hazel ones, belonging to a skinny boy with tanned skin and sleek dark brown hair that had been staring at Arthur, half-hidden by the hedge. Caught red-handed, the boy started swearing in the most scurrile mixture of English and another language that Arthur had ever heard. Unintimidated, Arthur answered with the finest insults he had learned from Alistair, and that was how Arthur Kirkland and Lovino Vargas ended up cleaning the attic together as a punishment, while Aila and Massimo Vargas, the man from earlier who had turned out to be Lovino’s impossibly young grandfather, chatted amiably in front of a cup of ‘real Italian coffee’ along with Felicia, Lovino’s younger sister.

During the following days, Lovino and Arthur bonder over a shared passion for fantasy and adventure books, a general dislike towards Americans (Lovino was almost as much of an outsider as Arthur, having moved from Italy only the previous year) and a deep envy for Felicia’s artistic skills. (Now, Arthur had never been a good artist, and he was aware of that. But that was… simply ridiculous. That child was seven, for God’s sake… and in spite of that, she could draw better than most adults Arthur had ever seen.) Their friendship was cemented by the fact Arthur loved spending time at the Vargas’s place, it was filled to the brink with books and paintings – Massimo Vargas, as Arthur found out later, was a Latin university professor as well as a talented painter.

Spending so much time with Lovino, Arthur also came to the realization that, for how much his new friend complained about his ‘dumb sister’, he seemed to be actually quite fond of her and often looked after her, even if complaining the entire time. It was completely different from the way Arthur was treated by his brothers, but that was probably normal: Felicia was a girl, after all.

Sometimes, looking at them, Arthur found himself wondering about Alfred, that bright-eyed child who had been so ready to defend him from an unknown man and seemed to believe firmly in brotherly bonds, but it wasn’t more than a fleeting thought. Until the day his mother announced that he was going to stay at the Vargas’s for dinner because she was going out.

That was a first.

Arthur raised his head from the book he was reading, looking more closely at Aila. There was something... Odd about her, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Arthur realized what was amiss only when his mother knelt down to give him a hug, and his nostrils were hit by a nauseatingly sweet scent.

"Ew... Mum, did you put on perfume?"

It wasn’t only that. Arthur realized a moment later that his mother's lips were darker than usual, shiny jewels dangled from her ears and adorned her neck and wrists, and she was wearing a nice blue dress that hugged her slim frame.

Aila chuckled.

"I'm going out for dinner, love. I should be nice for once, shouldn't I?"

Well, that did make sense... somehow. Arthur still had the impression that his mother was a bit... Overdoing it, he was quite sure he had never seen her dressed that way before, but after all, he knew nearly nothing of elegant dresses and make-up and all that girlish stuff.

"Oh, okay. Who are you going with?"

His mother hesitated a fraction of a second, but when she answered her voice was so smooth that Arthur thought he had just imagined it.

"George Jones. You remember him, don't you?"

Arthur nodded, satisfied with the answer. He didn't think anything of it, he was just glad that his mother had found a friend, and his opinion didn't change at Mr Vargas exaggerated sigh of "Alas, your mother has rejected my proposal and found a more promising party, Arthur. What am I going to do with this?", he merely giggled along with Felicia as Lovino scoffed, because Mr Vargas always pretended to flirt with Aila but he didn't mean anything by it.

His mother, however, kept meeting with George Jones.

No more than a week after the dinner, she told Arthur that they had both been invited to George's house. Arthur found himself quite excited at the news – the house of an archaeologist must be impressive, he couldn’t even imagine how many strange artefacts, maps and book he would see around, just like in the office.

From the outside, the house turned out to be nothing special, just a normal suburban house surrounded by a big garden. Yet, there was something a bit peculiar about that place; the garden looked more unkempt than its neighbouring ones, and Arthur was sure that he could see a wooden tree-house peeking out from a tree around the corner.

Mr Jones opened the door and greeted Arthur and Aila with a warm smile, but the boy barely registered his words, his eyes widening as they took in the treasure cave that stood behind Mr Jones’s shoulders. The hall was big and airy, and every corner was decorated with foreign objects – there were maps and pictures on the walls, wooden statues and decorated vases on shelves and pedestals… Arthur’s head was almost spinning, he didn’t quite know where to turn, there were too many things taking his attention.

He didn’t have the time to focus on anything. Before he could even think about greeting Mr Jones, a shrill exclamation of joy echoed through the hall, immediately followed by a small form that skidded to halt just in front of Arthur. Alfred was grinning from ear to ear, the excitement in his blue eyes so genuine that Arthur didn’t know how to react – but the feeling in his chest certainly wasn’t something unpleasant.

“Hello, Arthur! I’m glad you came!”

Alfred didn’t leave him any time to reply, or even greet Mr Jones properly.

“Come on, let’s go play!” he cried out, snatching Arthur’s hand to drag him inside the house.

Before Arthur had even fully understood what was happening, Alfred had already dragged him into a game where the two of them were cowboys looking for the remains of an ancient civilization. Which, according to Alfred, consisted in running through the corridors and waving a wooden gun to fight off imaginary enemies and zombies. It was exhausting, Arthur didn’t know how such a young child could have so much stamina, he soon found himself gasping for air as he tried to keep up with Alfred, jumping up and down the stairs.

He was almost ready to give up and beg for mercy when he found out that there was actually a very simple solution: he could easily take the lead of the plot as long as he let Alfred be ‘the Hero’, as the child loudly proclaimed himself. And so he did. Letting go of any inhibition, Arthur started threading a more and more complicated plot, he fixed the holes in Alfred’s childish game as the child blindly followed him in the story, the spark in eyes never fading as he faced off imaginary curses and tasks, saving Arthur from fictional enemies who had imprisoned him (at the top of the stairs, where he could calmly sit and catch his breath while Alfred jumped up and down, his gun discarded for a sword).

Completely engrossed in the game, Arthur forgot about everything else around him until George Jones calling the children startled both of them back to reality. Arthur hadn’t realized how much time had passed.

The dinner turned out to be pleasant as well, the atmosphere was relaxed and Mr Jones was a good entertainer, having travelled so much he was full of interesting stories to tell. When he and his mother finally took their leave, Arthur could barely believe that half a day had passed, it hadn’t felt more than a few hours.

“You were really good with Alfred,” Aila murmured as they got into the car, a small smile curling the corners of her lips.

Arthur shrugged.

“It’s okay. I didn’t mind, it was fun, actually.”

As the words seeped through his lips, Arthur realized with a pang of surprise that they were completely true. Alfred was younger than him, so it wasn’t the same as playing with somebody his age, yet the child’s enthusiasm was contagious. It had been a while since Arthur had been so engrossed in the game that he had forgotten about everything else, and the way Alfred had followed his story was almost flattering.

“I like Alfred. And Mr Jones, too.”

His mother gave a small, odd exhale at that, as if she had been holding her breath.

“Well, this is good.”

After that afternoon, Arthur found himself spending more and more time in Alfred’s company. Mr Jones often invited him and Aila at his place, sometimes they even went out together – to get an ice-cream, have a walk in the woods, Mr Jones even accompanied them for a trip of an entire day to an amusement park, once. Arthur found out that, while playing with Alfred wasn’t the same as playing with Lovino, it could still be fun, and the way the child seemed to follow his words was flattering to say at least. Things went on that way for a while, until a warm day at the beginning of August, when Aila called Arthur in the kitchen.

“Sit down. I have to tell you something important, Arthur,” she stated.

In spite of the apparent calm in her voice, her hands were slightly trembling. She had to take a deep breath before going on.

“You… you certainly have realized that I have been spending a lot of time with George, lately. What do you think of him?”

“I like him,” Arthur answered easily, hoping to reassure his mother. “I really do. He’s interesting and fun and he knows so many stuff... and I like Alfred, too.”

His mother nodded, offering him a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Well… so do I. Arthur, do you… do you remember anything about your father?”

He shook his head, taken aback by the unexpected question.

Aila took another deep breath.

“Well, I loved him. I loved him with all my heart, and spending my entire life at his side would have been my greatest joy. But I wasn’t given the chance to. And… I will always love him. I can guarantee you this. But… he’s not here anymore, and I’ve had to move on.”

At that moment, all the pieces clicked into place. His eyes widening, Arthur was abruptly reminded of the words Alfred had uttered the first time they had met. It sounded crazy, and yet…

“Mum, are you going to marry Mr Jones?!” Arthur asked in a single breath, the words pouring out of his mouth before he could even realize what he was saying.

Aila paled, then she ran a hand through her hair.

“Well… yes, Arthur. I’m going to marry George. I know that this is a big change and it’s going to take some time to get used to it, but—”

Arthur interrupted her.

“Are you going to be happy, Mum?”

They both knew the answer. They had both seen the changes that had occurred after meeting George Jones. This time, Aila’s smile lit her entire face, her eyes were so bright that for a moment she reminded Arthur of the girl in the old pictures.

“Yes, Arthur. Yes, I am.”

And that was enough for Arthur.

But of course, things could never go smoothly for them. A couple of days later, his older brothers showed up together, their faces dark. They were careful not to discuss things in front of Arthur, but he still caught snippets of the whispered conversations.

“This is too early, you’ve barely known him for a couple of months,” Alistair would hiss. “I know that you’re worried for Arthur, but marrying another man won’t fix anything.”

“And what about Dad? Have you forgotten about him?”

“This is just… it doesn’t make sense, Mum. You’re rushing too much.”

Anger surged in Arthur’s chest each time he saw his mother’s smile grow more forced, the creases on her face deeper.

“Why are you so selfish?!” he yelled the first time he managed to corner his brothers while Aila wasn’t at home, “Why don’t you want her to be happy? She’s happier now!”

His brothers exchanged a tired glance, sighing in unison. Alistair shook his head, but Dylan was the one who talked in the end, crouching down to be at Arthur’s level.

“I understand why you think like this, Arthur,” he stated in a condescending voice, “But you’re still very young, and you don’t even remember Dad, so you cannot understand… but you see, this isn’t right. Mum is probably having a hard time, but… she was married to Dad. It’s not right of her to go and marry another man. It isn’t only because she’s known him for such a little time – which doesn’t help, either – it’s that by doing so, she’s breaking the promise she made to Dad, the votes they took together. Can’t you see how wrong this is?”

Anger clawed at Arthur’s insides. His brothers weren’t listening to him, dismissing him only because he was a child, even if he could clearly see what their blind eyes couldn’t grasp.

“But Dad isn’t here anymore! Mum doesn’t have to be miserable for her entire life. And if Dad really loved her, he would have wanted her to move on and be happy too!”

His brother merely looked at each other, shaking their heads. Arthur truly hated them, at that moment.

Luckily, there were people who understood. Mr Vargas had immediately offered Aila his congratulations and started suggesting places for the reception, while Felicia was already making flower crowns for the wedding.

Then, there was Alfred. The first time he had seen Arthur after the announcement he had jumped at his neck, his eyes sparkling with genuine joy.

“You’re going to be my big brother!” he had yelled.

And Arthur, his chest invaded by a sudden warmth, had realized that Alfred truly meant what he was saying. Alfred still didn’t know what having older brothers truly meant, but he looked so genuinely happy… it fell on Arthur not to shatter the illusion, now. One day Alfred was probably going to learn the truth, but it wasn’t going to be because of Arthur, he swore to himself. He was going to do his best to be a better older brother than his ones.

In spite of his older brothers' discontent, the day of the marriage finally came at the end of September, not long after the beginning of the school. The sunrays still carried some residual warmth from the Summer, basking the orchard and the small crowd gathered there in their golden glow.

It wasn’t a big reception, just some close friends had been invited. There were the Vargas, some friends of George from the university, Aunt Eileen and Uncle Samuel had come from Ireland with Patrick, and Arthur’s brothers were standing together in a line, tall and handsome in their suits. For how much they had complained previously, today they were smiling, not even they could completely ruin Aila’s day.

George Jones looked ten years younger than usual, dressed in an elegant dark blue suit that made his eyes shine and wearing a smile that never slipped from his face. He looked incredibly handsome, the poster-picture of the American man.

Arthur, however, had eyes only for his mother. His heart missed a beat when he saw her walking towards the pastor, so radiant that her joy seemed to inundate the entire audience.

Arthur couldn’t help but compare her to the old picture of the first wedding. Aila had been so young then, with her face clean and her straight red hair going down to her waist. She had been wearing an elaborated dress as white as the snow, with a light veil on her head.

Arthur’s mother was completely different now. Her hair had been cut to her chin, with only a blue hat on the top, and the dress was soberer, a simple elegant white dress that had some blue accents the same colour as her hat. There was no denying that she was older and much mature than the girl Arthur remembered from the pictures, yet her lime green eyes seemed to glow just as much as they had that day, so much time ago. Arthur felt blessed for having the opportunity of witnessing such an expression on his mother’s face, he had never thought he would actually be able to see it. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

He was finally pulled out of his reverie by the warm touch of a small hand over his.

“Alfred?”

There was something wrong with his new brother, he realized with a sudden twist of his stomach. Alfred’s features were unnaturally sober, his eyes shadowed by emotions that Arthur couldn’t read.

“What’s wrong? Why are you sad?”

Alfred shook his head.

“I’m not… sad,” he muttered, frowning in a way that was far too adult. “I’m glad that Dad is getting married to your Mom. But… I wish Mattie was here. Mama didn’t let him come.”

Arthur had to bite his tongue at that. ‘Of course she didn’t, that would have been inappropriate,’ he wanted to say. Nobody ever talked about ‘Mattie’ except for Alfred, all Arthur knew was that Alfred’s mother lived in Canada with him. Her new boyfriend, or possibly husband. A homewrecker. Arthur knew about them, this was how his mother had called Aunt Lillian when it had turned out she was blackmailing three rich married men, making each of them believe that he was Oliver’s father. From the way his mother had almost spit the word out of her tightly pressed lips, Arthur had understood that messing with married people was a Very Bad Thing. The reason Mattie (Matthew?) hadn’t been invited to the wedding was obvious, but Alfred seemed strangely fond of the man and genuinely crushed by his absence. Moreover, he was only six years old, too young to fully face the cruel reality.

Arthur had only a split of a second to make his decision.

“But you aren’t alone,” he declared boldly, taking Alfred's hands and squeezing it firmly. “I’m here with you.”

The way Alfred smiled after those words made something stir inside Arthur’s chest in a way he had never thought to be possible. He had never thought he could matter so much for somebody.

******

The days following the wedding were odd. Aila and Arthur moved to George’s house. It made sense, considering that they hadn’t even finished unpacking from their old house, but it meant that Arthur didn’t live next to Lovino anymore – which he found himself regretting quite a lot. Sure, they could have play-dates and Alfred would tag along while they were playing, but it wasn’t the same.

Having George around all the time was quite weird as well, but not in an unpleasant way. He wasn’t Mum – Arthur would probably never trust him as much as he trusted his mother – but he was another adult. Arthur had never truly realized how much easier everything was with two adults in the house instead of only one. Now it wasn’t only Aila who had to worry about the house, the bills, cleaning and cooking and all that grown-up stuff, George was there as well. Arthur could clearly see how much less exhausted his mother was, how she would have time to read him and Alfred stories before bed-time.

The change that unsettled Arthur more than anything else, actually, was Alfred himself. The first few days – the first week, even – had been fine. Alfred was overenthusiastic, constantly blabbering and jumping around and demanding Arthur’s attention, but he had chalked it to the excitement for the change and he had figured that it would simmer down with the time.

Except it didn’t.

Apparently, hyperactivity wasn’t Alfred’s reaction to something exciting, it was his default mode. And it was driving Arthur crazy. It wasn’t as if he had been used to a quiet house before moving to America, three older male brothers who constantly rowed tended to make their presence heard. Yet, being so much older, they wouldn’t constantly involve Arthur in their ruckus. If he wanted to, he would always find a quieter corner to relax and read a book. Suddenly, it wasn’t like that anymore. Alfred would start talking while they were having breakfast and Arthur was still half-asleep, go on during the way to school, continue as soon as he saw Arthur on the way back, he would run around, demanding to do the same, interrupt Arthur when he was reading to ask something about the book and then go on asking endless questions.

A couple of times, Arthur got dangerously close to snapping at him. He opened his mouth, ready to put his sharp tongue to use – and each time, his brain was invaded by the recollection of the day he had met Alfred. Of how he had tried to defend him without even knowing the situation, of the child’s bright, trusting eyes.

Arthur remembered also something else: he remembered all the times his brothers had rudely shoved him away when had he tried to play with them, how they would complain that he was disturbing. Each time, a weight dropped down his stomach as he realized that he would be no better than any of them if he didn’t show Alfred any kindness. So he bit back his snarky remarks and instead offered Alfred to read the book for him.

“I’m sorry, but you have to be patient with him. He’s so excited at the thought of having an older brother…” George would say, his lips barely curved in an apologetic half-smile, and Arthur would promise himself even more to take care of Alfred.

At one point, George probably told Alfred to let Arthur have some time for himself because Arthur found himself having some free hours every day, while the younger child played on his own or tried to draw.

Eventually, he started getting used to Alfred’s presence, and that was enough to start noticing the positive aspects again: how Alfred seemed to religiously listen to him when he told him stories, the genuine trust Arthur could see reflected in those incredible cornflower blue eyes. He could appreciate Alfred’s laughter, the way his positive attitude, adorable stubbornness, and outgoing demeanour seemed to light every room he was in.

When Alfred started learning how to read, Arthur was the one he went to ask for help, leaving him pleasantly surprised. Even greater was the surprise when Arthur realized that he didn’t actually mind helping Alfred: the way the younger boy listened to him, his forehead creased in concentration, was met by a strange sense of satisfaction. The day Alfred finally got it and started proudly reading every word he could see was the proudest day of Arthur’s life. He could feel warmth blossom inside his chest, couldn’t restrain the smile on his lips every time Alfred turned to him for confirmation of his progress.

Maybe that was what being a brother was like: not exactly a friend, something more like a mentor. Somebody who would be an example for the younger child, who could help him with those small tasks. Arthur decided that he liked that.

He didn’t fully realise how much Alfred had come to mean for him, however, until a day of November. Arthur’s class had been let out for recess, and he was calmly chatting with Lovino when his ears caught a couple of children of another class discussing among themselves.

“…Do you think we should call a teacher?” a dark-haired girl was saying, her eyes darting to a spot behind the corner.

One of the two boys who were with her shrugged.

“Nah. James’s a bully, it wouldn’t change anything… if anything, that kid would even get into more trouble for being a snitch. Seriously, leave it alone, he’ll learn not to mess with James.”

Arthur and Lovino exchanged a glance, identical frowns creasing their foreheads. Arthur saw a glimpse of fear in his friend’s eyes, and found it completely justified: James was a child in their grade and the classic example of a bully. Being born in October, he was already eleven and bigger than most of the other children, which he used to his advantage to terrorize them. Nobody dared to mess with him, and not calling the teachers was probably for the best – Arthur hadn’t been there when it had happened, but he knew that somebody had done so the previous year. After James’s suspension, the child had ‘tripped’ down the stairs and broken his arm.

The girl who had been talking earlier, however, seemed conflicted.

“I know,” Arthur heard her mutter as she chewed on her lower lip. “But… That kid’s so little… I think he’s a first-grader, and he looked so antagonistic that James isn’t going to let it go. I… I think he might really hurt him…”

Arthur’s blood ran cold in his veins, the breath was blocked in his lungs.

A first-grader… ever first-graders knew that they shouldn’t mess with James. But Arthur knew who would still do it if he thought James was doing something wrong…

Arthur hadn’t even realized that his feet had started moving. A moment later, he found himself in front of the girl and grabbed her shoulder.

“Where are they?!” he hissed, glowering.

“Hey, Arthur, calm down…” he heard Lovino say, but didn’t pay any heed to it.

“At… at the see-saw,” the girl answered shakily, her eyes wide. “What…”

But Arthur wasn’t listening to her anymore, he was already into motion, his stomach churning at the thought of what could be happening with every instant he was away.

“Call a bloody teacher!” he yelled at Lovino, not even bothering to look back as his feet carried him through the lawn.

The see-saw was just around the corner, no more than a minute away, but to Arthur, it felt like centuries as his heart thundered in his chest and his legs moved faster than they ever had, his mind couldn’t process any thought except for an all-consuming, blinding fear.

Every second he was away was another second something could happen. Another second James’s hands could leave bloody, dark marks on the unblemished skin, and Arthur couldn’t deal with it. He just couldn’t, his heart was threatening to explode in his chest.

Finally, Arthur arrived at his destination, a name on his lips even before he could assess the situation.

“Alfred!”

Everything seemed to freeze as Arthur skidded to a halt.

James – big, tall James, with his longish hair tied back in a tail that made him look like a thug, his beefy firsts ready to hit – slowly turned towards the noise, his eyes narrowing without managing to hide a glimpse of surprise.

But Arthur didn’t care about him.

At that moment, all he could think about was the small frame that was on the ground. Alfred – of course, of course it was Alfred, no other child would be so reckless to defy James, but Alfred had even tried to fight against an adult man, of course he would do that – looked paler than usual, his eyes wide.

“Arthur?” he asked in a shaky voice.

Arthur’s blood boiled with rage at the sound. Alfred’s voice shouldn’t be that small, he shouldn’t be afraid of anything – and he wasn’t, actually. Or at least, he was trying not to show it – that brave, foolish child – Arthur could see tears glistening at the corners of his eyes, but he was clearly trying to restrain them.

Arthur’s eyes immediately scanned over him. He didn’t seem badly hurt, but he was sitting down, holding his left knee. When Alfred’s hands shifted, Arthur caught a glimpse of red that they were covering. Blood. Alfred’s knee was skinned.

Later, Arthur wouldn’t be able to recall what exactly happened at that moment. It was like a switch had been flipped – all he knew was that nobody was allowed to Alfred. Nobody. The white-hot rage invaded Arthur’s mind, the blood pounded in his ears.

He didn’t think – there was no space left for thinking. Only the knowledge that James had hurt Alfred, a child five years younger than him. Arthur’s little brother.

With a roar, Arthur lunged at James, knocking him flat on the ground in spite of his considerably smaller form. Without leaving him a moment to recover, he started hitting any surface he could find – his chest, his face, his shoulders – anything. There was some yelling, but Arthur’s ears were ringing too much to make out any word.

James tried to defend himself, a first to his face send Arthur reeling, but he had suffered worse from his brothers. He ignored the flash of pain and only heightened his efforts.

Arthur didn’t move from his position until a pair of adult hands grabbed him, tearing him away from the bigger boy. Arthur struggled for a moment, yelling, before his ears registered the sound of Lovino’s voice.

“Arthur! Arthur, stop!”

Arthur went limp. For a moment he just stayed still, panting, the hands never relinquishing their hold on him as the world gradually came back to focus.

James was still on the ground, with a teacher Arthur knew only in passing holding him down by his shoulder as he murmured something. His face was a bloody mess, his already swelling eyes were fixed on Arthur. There was a glint of shocked fear in them.

“Arthur Kirkland. To the headmaster’s office, now.”

The voice belonged to Mr Graham, Arthur’s PE teacher – who was also the man holding him, Arthur realized suddenly. He couldn’t answer, his mouth felt dry, and he was gradually becoming aware that his hands were hurting, coated in a warm liquid. James’s blood. A distant corner of Arthur’s mind was aware that it was supposed to be a bad thing, and in spite of that, he didn’t feel like he had done anything wrong. He didn’t feel anything.

Arthur let himself be led away by the strong hands, too dazed to react.

“Alfred?” he asked uncertainly, looking quizzically at his teacher.

“He’s all right. You stopped James before he could hurt him,” answered Lovino, prompting Arthur to snap his head towards him.

Lovino was looking at him strangely, with his eyes wide, a mixture of fear and respect on his face. But, more importantly, behind him, Arthur could see Alfred. A young woman that Arthur recognized as his little brother’s English teacher was talking to him, pointing at his knee, and two other children had joined him, but Alfred was only looking at Arthur, his eyes wide.

“Alfred, are you all right?” Arthur called, twisting against his teacher’s grasp.

Only after Alfred’s small nod he relaxed, sagging. He still couldn’t process what had happened – but Alfred wasn’t hurt. That was the most important thing.

As it turned out later, Alfred had become James’s target when he had tried to stop him from mocking a Polish child who still couldn’t speak English properly and had made the mistake to make a flower crown, something apparently ‘too girlish’ according to James. Amused by Alfred’s attempt to resist him, James had let the verbal spat go on for a while, and by the time Arthur had arrived he had only pushed Alfred to the ground, without having enough time to do more damage.

Which made Arthur’s reaction inexcusable, apparently.

Now, he was enduring a stern lecture by the headmaster, while his mother nodded solemnly next to him. Her face was thunderous, Arthur’s stomach twisted at the thought of what he would have to pay once he got home – yet, it would be worth it. He was going to face it without complaining.

Or so he thought until the headmaster got to the last part of the punishment.

“And you will write an apology letter to James, explaining—”

“No.”

Arthur’s heart was racing, but his voice somehow sounded steely.

Both the headmaster and his mother gaped at him, their eyes wide with shock.

“I will not apologize,” Arthur spat out, straightening up to try and appear bigger. “I don’t regret it. He was going to hurt Alfred! I will never, ever forgive him for it!”

The two adults needed a couple of moments to let the words sink in, then hell broke loose. They scolded and threatened, but Arthur wasn’t going to budge.

In the end, he got sent to the corridor while his mother apologized and explained how it was a difficult period for Arthur, having just moved from another country and with her remarrying. That wasn’t the problem, but Arthur didn’t care – because finally, finally, he could see Alfred after the ordeal.

The child was standing at the end of the corridor, fidgeting on his feet as his teacher tried and failed to get his attention. He still looked pale, but a white bandage showed under the hole in his jeans. He had been taken care of.

Alfred’s eyes widened when he caught sight of Arthur.

“Artie!” he called as he ran towards him.

A moment later, Arthur was hit by a trembling mass. When the small arms snaked around him, he reciprocated the hug firmly.

“It’s all right,” he muttered into Alfred’s hair, “That bastard isn’t going to hurt you anymore, I promise. I’ll get him in a body cast if he even tries thinking about it.”

Arthur wasn’t actually sure that he could have accomplished such task – James was much bigger than him, he still didn’t know how he had managed to overpower him, but Alfred seemed to believe him because he nodded solemnly.

“That was scary,” he declared, “I had to defend Feliks because James was making fun of him, but I wasn’t strong enough… I wanted to be the Hero. But you were the Hero this time, Artie.”

Arthur found himself chuckling in front of Alfred’s innocence, the tension slowly wearing down.

“Well, let’s say I borrowed the title for a bit. Just to fight such a big villain… until you’re big enough to do it on your own, all right? For now, you can be a hero with smaller sized villains. I’ll deal with bigger ones.”

Alfred didn’t seem too convinced but he slowly nodded, his brow slightly furrowed, before smiling again, looking at Alfred with his bright, trusting eyes.

Arthur ended up being suspended for two weeks and grounded for an entire month, but it was completely worth it. He could understand now, that was another piece of being a big brother: protect his little brother until he could stand on his own. Once again, it was a task that he didn’t mind, because there was nothing more unpleasant than thinking about Alfred getting hurt. It wasn’t going to happen again on Arthur’s watch.

Aside from Arthur’s realization, nothing seemed to truly change between him and Alfred after the accident. They would play, Arthur would help Alfred with his homework, sometimes they would bicker, but Arthur was careful to be never as mean as his brothers had been, and he never scolded Alfred: his father did that, after all.

Everything continued being the same until a stormy night at the end of November.

Arthur liked that weather, he enjoyed being warm and cosy under the blankets as the fury of the elements raged outside, accompanied by occasional flashes followed by the loud grumbling of thunders. He was letting himself being lulled to sleep by the raindrops hitting his window when a faint screech announced his door opening.

“Artie?” asked a small voice.

“What’s up?” Arthur replied as he turned to look at his younger brother, yawning.

Under the moonlight, Alfred’s eyes looked wide and his pale skin had a silvery glint. He fidgeted at the door, seemingly unsure of how to answer, then a thunder made him yelp, his eyes widening even more as he looked around.

“Oh… are you afraid of the storm?” Arthur asked, sitting up on the bed.

Alfred nodded fervently.

“It sounds like monsters,” he muttered, taking a few steps into Arthur’s bedroom.

“Oh…”

Arthur frowned, trying to think of a way to placate the child’s fears, but Alfred acted before he could speak.

“Can I… Can I sleep with you?”

Caught by surprise by the question, Arthur needed a moment to answer.

“Uh… sure, why not?” he muttered just as another lighting illuminated the room.

With a small shriek, Arthur threw himself at Arthur’s bed and slid under the blankets. Arthur realized that the child was trembling.

“It’s all right,” he murmured, hugging him as he lay back down, nestled under the covers. “The storm is outside, it’s not going to hurt you here.”

He hadn’t expected his words to have any effect, but Alfred’s trembling slowly subsided as he clung to him. Bewildered, Arthur watched him slide into sleep in a matter of minutes, perfectly content.

“What the…” he muttered, looking quizzically at the small frame nestled in his arms.

He was sure that nothing he had said was so impactful… but then, it hit him. It wasn’t his words, but his mere presence. He was Alfred’s older brother, his protector, and that was enough to make him feel safe. A sudden warmth spread in Arthur’s chest, stealing his breath away.

Being so important for somebody… it was something that he had never experienced before. To have so much trust placed on him… it was almost inebriating.

That was what being an older brother meant, Arthur understood suddenly. It wasn’t only giving – protection, advice – but mostly receiving. Receiving so much trust and love that Arthur was almost drowning in that.

A wry smile crossed his lips as he shifted on the bed to settle in a more comfortable position, relishing on the feeling of the warm body tucked against him.

For the entire time, Arthur had thought Alfred to be a fool, but he was the only fool around. Alfred was right, of course. Big brothers – real big brothers – were supposed to be awesome, because that was the only way they could repay that immense trust that had been placed upon them. And Arthur realized that he didn’t mind the concept one bit.

(word count: 6,714)

———

Notes:

Felicia Vargas is Fem!Italy, Massimo is Rome. (I was very undecided between Massimo, from the Latin ‘Maximus’, which means ‘the greatest’, and Augusto, but I like Massimo more)

Patrick is Ireland, and he’s Arthur cousin, the same age as Connor (North Ireland)

The part about Lovino liking fantasy and adventure book is a reference to some recent strips, where he became very involved with chivalric literature.

The part about Arthur being shit at drawing is from the manga as well, I remember one strip during the industrial revolution where he couldn’t draw decorations to save his life.

English isn’t my first language, I apologize for the mistakes. Feel free to correct me if you spotted anything!

I want to thank everybody who liked the previous chapter, and special thanks to @headphonemaiden, @hetaliacreators, @not-a-spy, @ono-its-ryane and @tru-dat for reblogging it!

#hetalia #aph america #aph england #feyna's writing #hetalia fanfiction #akgtbabb #completed work #ace brothers human au #human au #family #fluff #no seriously this is so much fluff #almost nauseating #wc: 6k+

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obscuraxrp · 7 years

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The smoke settles to reveal LEE JIEUN, also known as ODESSA or SAGE, a 23 year old witch of Sunseong. She is a part-time florist and part-time psychic who appears to be adept in divination and herbology --- but like most things in Sunseong, there must be more to her than meets the eye.

FACECLAIM: Lee Jieun (IU), soloist

BIOGRAPHY:

Jieun, known as Sage to her Blossoms customers and Odessa to those looking for a psychic, was born in mid-May. Her mother was a single parent, struggling just to support herself. To her, Jieun was another burden she was not ready to take on. Hazy memories of a beautiful but worn woman fill Jieun’s mind when she thinks back on her mother. Jieun was three when she was taken.

Her mother had been a witch. Jieun’s father had left her with child when he discovered this. Disgusted, he disappeared without a trace before Jieun was born. After Jieun was born, her mother struggled to make ends meet and provide for the two of them. She turned more ardently towards the pursuit of magical knowledge, looking for a way to save herself and her child. Slowly she began to isolate herself from her coven. Then from their neighbors. Then, she stopped going to work. Finally, her mother cut herself off from Jieun, who was forced to feed herself and her mother on the donations of neighbors who saw her and recognized her plight. Perhaps it was fortunate, then, that an older woman down the street noticed Jieun. Fortunate, that she realized what was going on behind their apartment doors, even though Jieun did not. But, perhaps, also, it was unfortunate. For Jieun screamed and cried as, at three years old, two young men dragged her away from her home on the instructions of the old lady down the street. Unfortunate, as Jieun watched men and women beat her mother into submission because she was no longer a witch, watched as her mother was labeled ‘warlock’ and was separated from her forever.

Jieun, who no longer had a place to call home, would call it unfortunate for many years. Others would whisper how lucky she was when they thought she couldn’t hear or wouldn’t understand. She was ushered from home to home when someone could take her in, but the bond between witches in generally weak and she spent more nights in shelters than she did in homes. She found herself spending days in gardens, looking at flowers and bugs instead of reading the books that should have taught her instead. Jieun found that tea filled her belly better than water and that at least after she was done drinking tea, she could pretend she could predict her future in the dredges to help her ignore the pangs of hunger.

What was fortunate was the day that same old woman found her again, booked her on a train to Europe, and saw her fed and taught. After all, the child of a witch is said to be more precocious and more inherently magical. In an apartment on the outskirts of Paris, Jieun found herself alone, but for the first time in ten year, happy. It seemed that her years of make-believe had helped her develop a keen eye for divination and herbology. When applied and focused, she was quite good at both (and crafting potions). She had modest abilities in other areas; nothing to brag about, but she found success when she took her time, drained though she would be. But, times came when she was lonelier than she knew how to put into words. Happier, but lonelier. That was when she met Peppo.

Or rather, she summoned him. She was nearly twenty when she was preparing to leave Yonerra, the school she had learned to call home. For years, she had tried to summon a familiar of her own. Most of her classmates had accomplished it and had the most spectacular animals to call theirs. She, on the other hand, was preparing to leave the few friends she had ever had to return to an unimaginable life. Old enough now to be on her own, but still very much a stranger to her homeland. She had not been there in seven years. It was then, as she shut the door on her apartment for the last time that she heard the soft padding of footsteps behind her. He was not but a kitten, small, and light gray with black stripes. He asked if she was Jieun and after stowing him in her purse, they made their way through the countryside of Europe and Asia where Jieun caught a plane from Shanghai to South Korea.

CHARACTERIZATION:

-optimistic- a strange trait for a girl who grew up so negative. In her younger years, Jieun could never have been characterized as ‘optimistic’ but now it would be hard to call her anything else. Whether genuine or faked, is never entirely clear. But, she has a relentless optimism that is both infectious and utterly infuriating. -introverted- her preference, molded from years of solitude, is be alone. Other than Peppo, Jieun couldn’t care less to have company or to spend her days around people. Not that she particularly dislikes being around people, she just does not actively seek it out. Especially since her distasteful abilities mean she is safer alone and aloof. -awkward- Jieun is not particularly adept in social situations. Rather, she tends to stutter and fall over her words quite easily. This is exasperated when she is flustered, often because she is caught doing she shouldn’t do (like bringing Peppo basically anywhere) or something embarrassing. She is particularly embarrassed when customers from one of her jobs meets her at her other. -domestic- the type to sit home and cook herbal meals for her friends that will magically improve their health, or sew minor wards into the linings of gifts. She has a rather extensive herbal garden on her balcony and a plethora of spell books with different specialties to help her perform spells outside of her natural talents. Her favorite spell book lays open on her desk most of the time. -messy- domestic though she may be, she is not organized. Rather, her apartment is more often an array of clothes, herbs, books, and papers strewn about her tables and floors. Many of her wooden furniture are covered in carvings of different sigils to help Jieun remember the most important ones, though she does mix them up more often than not. -library-addict- the atmosphere reminds her so strongly of Yonerra, that she finds herself often gravitationally pulled towards them. If she is not at work or her apartment, it would not be odd to find her at the library closest to her house, or the one closest to Blossoms (thought she prefers the one near Blossoms because it has a nice section that is hidden from view where no one will see Peppo, or her practicing magic). -hopeless romantic- Since she was little, Jieun has dreamed of meeting ‘the one’ who would accept her despite her flaws and magical abilities. As a result, she has watched a few too many k-dramas and romance animes and has set herself up for unachievable standards. Worse still, is the fact that Jieun has never dated so her expectations have never been set straight. -dramatic- particularly when it comes to love, Jieun has a tendency to be overly dramatic because she believes this will give her the life she wants and make people like her, even though it tends to do the opposite.

SPECIALTIES:

-divination (rank II): Jieun is particularly talented when it comes to divination, but her specialization within this field is reading tea leaves. However, she has found success with crystal balls as well and has managed to open her mind to such a level that on occasion she will receive random, unprompted visions. These she may or may not be conscious of. When she is unconscious during her visions, they are often conveyed through a long monologue, though these spiels are uncommon for her. In fact, it is generally rare for her to receive random visions at all and they are normally triggered by something and cause her to feel exhausted afterwards. She is fairly good at interpreting stars and constellations as well as dreams, but when she wants more concrete rather than abstract fortune-telling through these means, it involves a much longer and more complicated process that is highly draining. As a result, she sticks almost solely to tea leaves and crystal balls, dabbling in smoke reading when requested by a customer. -herbology & potion crafting (rank II): Jieun is particularly gifted at identifying and growing medicinal and magical herbs. As a result of this natural gift, she spent much of her time at school practicing her potion making so that these skills would be more ‘marketable’ and helpful. She is particularly skilled at making healing and medicinal potions, as this is an area she concentrated on quite fervently. She is dreadful at making love potions, but can adequately make any other potion someone may request of her. -animal familiar (rank I): Jieun is not super great at conjuration and she can only ‘conjure’ Peppo. However, she has a close bond with Peppo, her familiar, which allows her to decipher his meows as if he were speaking Korean. He understands her when she speaks Korean to him as well.

#obs: follow #*lee jieun #*iu #parental neglect tw #abandonment tw #violence cw

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