#The Traumatic Adventures of The Small Mute Girl | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

austerulous-a · 3 years

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𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 .

1. What does your muse smell like?

Ha, I always seem to ask writing partners this question! Annie herself has a rather keen sense of smell, and likes to be clean. Her body’s natural scent is vaguely sweet but given she perspires considerably during martial training, and hit puberty earlier than most, she became fastidious about personal care at a young age. In the interests of getting as much sleep as possible, Annie tends to wash out of a sink or basin in the morning, and shower in the evening (it’s no accident that this arrangement also means she’s also less likely to have to use communal showers at the same time as anyone else). In Marley, she often retained the scent of the plain soap her father purchased, while in Paradis scented soaps became her secret indulgence. Light, floral fragrances are her favourite, and she likes lilac in particular.

2. What do your muse’s hands feel like?

Having suffered with sensitive, itchy skin as a child, Annie is in the habit of frequently using balm or cream on her hands, which makes them soft and smooth to the touch. That being said, as a result of domestic chores, her silver ring being a permanent fixture on her right forefinger, as well as her military training, Annie’s palms and fingers have some calluses. For as long as she can remember, she has had cool hands (and feet) but inheriting the Female Titan seems to have exacerbated this to the point where they are frigid much of the time. Annie’s hands are dainty, in keeping with a girl of her size and stature, while her fingers are dexterous, slender and deceptively delicate; she is strong, and can deliver a crushing handshake if so inclined (never forget this scene from the Lost Girls OVA).

3. What does your muse usually eat in a day?

Annie has an unhealthy relationship with food, and her eating patterns are disordered; she is the sort to forget to eat or to deliberately skip meals, or to binge when the opportunity presents itself. Given that Annie’s value lies in her physical capabilities, her father was very controlling over her intake, and critical of both her body and her sweet tooth. You better believe Gabe Leonhardt is the kind of man who would slap a biscuit out of his daughter’s mouth. The regular, plain meals served by the military work in her favour then, as they provide some sort of structure and nutritional balance. Of course, her impoverished background (picking mould off fruit and bread was a common occurrence during her childhood, as food close to spoiling was sold at discounted prices) and her appetite mean Annie isn’t a fussy eater. She will try almost anything once, even dishes others might balk at, or consider an acquired taste. Adventurous as she is, Annie carries a great deal of trauma around what she was forced to consume by the Marleyan military, as part of their experimentation on her and the Female Titan. This included cannibalising parts of her fellow Warriors. Living amongst refugees after the fall of Wall Maria, Annie stole food, and would split these spoils – as well as her rations – with Reiner and Bertholdt. Sharing food is one of the easiest and most common ways for her to express affection. Annie does not drink alcohol, her favourite beverage is limeade and she is particularly fond of lavender, lemon and mint flavours.

4. Does your muse have a good singing voice?

Yes, but Annie has little cause to sing, and it would mortify her to be overheard, so she rarely indulges (never underestimate her fear of being laughed at). Sometimes, she will sing in the shower, or while doing chores alone, but she is far more likely to hum quietly under her breath. For the record, I think Misaki Fukunaga’s vocals on Annie’s song (Kanojo wa Tsumetai Hitsugi no Nakade / ‘She Lies Within the Cold Coffin’) is a pretty solid representation of her singing voice.

5. Does your muse have any bad habits or nervous tics?

While she has been raised to be adept at disguising her emotions, Annie does have a number of behaviours that are born out of habit, and can be indicative of her mood – namely cracking her knuckles, or twisting her silver ring. For a time, she had a ‘tell’ during combat where she would blink twice in rapid succession before making a particularly decisive or devastating blow; her father successfully hammered this out of her. While not a habit per se, during her early childhood she suffered from excoriation disorder, and as such would scratch / pick at her skin, as well as pull out her hair and eyelashes. As a young adult, swearing forms one of her more obvious bad habits, along with staring, keeping a wholly irregular sleep schedule and forgetting to eat (or conversely eating too much).

6. What does your muse usually look like / wear?

Whenever possible, Annie will remain in her military uniform both for the impersonality and simplicity of it. Outside of that, she chooses roomy, comfortable and practical clothes in pale and muted colours. Hoodies form her preference (she will pull the hood up when she wants to shut the world out, or to feel alone) but tunics, sweaters and jumpers also appear in her wardrobe – basically anything that’s relaxed in fit, and doesn’t cling to her upper body. She is less concerned with trousers being closefitting, and is content to wear cropped varieties or even shorts in hot weather. Skirts, dresses and more traditional feminine garb usually only feature in her disguises. Annie is tactile and has a strong preference for soft fabrics, partly because for the comfort they offer her touch-starved self, and partly because she suffered with sensitive skin (an issue that inheriting the Female Titan resolved for her). For the sake of practicality, Annie will almost always pull her hair back into her trademark messy bun, and likes a heavy, long fringe to hide behind. Post-crystal, she moves towards wearing her hair down, finding that it helps soften her hard features. Ultimately, Annie isn’t big on experimentation when it comes to fashion or styling, doesn’t wear make-up, and is concerned only with being clean, comfortable and presentable enough to pass inspections.

7. Is your muse affectionate? How much? How so?

There are times when Annie wishes she could be affectionate, but she genuinely doesn’t know how. Her father deliberately kept her isolated, and dominated her formative years as a remote, unfeeling and largely inexpressive disciplinarian. The height of care he showed Annie was silently helping her to wrap her swollen hands and feet at the end of particularly gruelling days, or tending to her when she was sick with fever. His bedside manner was clinical, perfunctory. Where other parents might hold their child’s hand, he would choose instead to grasp her by the wrist, often gripping her tightly enough to bruise. Distance has always existed between them and, prior to the Paradis Island Operation, he placed his hand fondly on Annie’s head only once, and embraced her only once, the traumatic context of both instances sullying the contact. As a result, she watches expressions of affection – mothers dabbing at their children’s sticky faces, friends embracing or tousling each other’s hair, lovers holding hands – with quiet longing and fascination, more often a witness than a participant. Normally only close to others in combative situations, Annie is hardwired to associate proximity and touch with danger and / or pain. It isn’t all doom and gloom, however. With trusted companions or partners, Annie can and will open up, overcoming her concern with boundaries and rejection. Mostly she expresses affection through small, fleeting touches; the brush of fingers, sitting side by side or leaning against those she is comfortable with. Along with quality time, physical touch is one of Annie’s primary love languages.

8. What position does your muse sleep in?

Given the abuse that marked her childhood, it’s no accident that Annie assumes an almost defensive position. Typically she sleeps on her side with her knees drawn up and her hands raised, vaguely mirroring her combative stance. On occasion she will sleep her head under her pillow, or hide her face in the crook of an elbow. While she very often dreams of training with her father, she is usually a deep sleeper and doesn’t move around too much – though the odd slumberous punch or kick isn’t unheard of. Eerily, Annie will sometimes sleep with her eyes open, and she is a frequent sleep-talker.

9. Could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room?

Most likely not. Courtesy of her martial training, which demands she be light on her feet, and her father’s fervent subscription to the belief that children should be seen and not heard (along with his punishment / correction of any behaviours that he deemed irritating or undesirable) Annie learned to move quietly, to make herself as small and silent a presence as possible. Being diminutive both as a child and as an adult, she never experienced the clumsiness that often comes with growth spurts and the shifting dimensions of a maturing body. There is a natural grace and confidence to her movements, but also something soulless and mechanical that has been instilled in her. Play and the raucousness of childhood was not something Annie was permitted to indulge in at home and it shows; even during her youngest years, she carried herself as an adult might, stiffly and precisely. This inherent stealthiness is part of what makes her so well-suited to covert operations, along with the fact that she is plain and slight enough to go overlooked. That being said, when she is especially exhausted or weary, Annie may stumble or move lethargically, and is more likely to be overheard.

tagged by: @oncejaw like a million years ago – I loved doing this, thank you lovely! ♡ tagging: a ton of people were tagged already, so whoever wants to do it.

#✧ headcanon — ❛ go waist-deep in mist / to break the light ice ❜#cw: disordered eating #cw: skin picking #cw: cannibalism

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imjeralee · 4 years

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Comfort in Despair: Chapter 9 - Leon in Love?

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

Rating: General/Teen

Extra Note: How tf am I at chapter 9 lol...reader and Leon still ain’t together yet either

Leon in Love?

…

[Headline from The Kalos Telegraph:

"Mystery of the Laverre Town Disappearances." Police are appealing after two individuals were reported missing from an address in Laverre Town. A well-known Pokemon Researcher and his five year old daughter has vanished under mysterious circumstances, leaving behind his wife and eldest daughter. Inspector Chris Graves has said: “If anybody sees these two individuals or knows where they are I would ask that they call police immediately."]

…

With the Mimikyu safely captured, you explain to Leon and Hop that you had a client from this morning who complained of a haunted doll and left it with you; the doll itself must have switched with the Wooloo plush which you believe should be still at home. You apologise profusely but they tell you everything is all under the bridge and as long as Hop isn't hurt, everything is fine and dandy.

You're left to keep Mimikyu for yourself because Leon doesn’t seem to want the killer doll anywhere near his little brother so you will deal with it later and you will need to give Hop the actual Wooloo plush...

The evening progresses and you go downstairs with Hop, Leon, Charizard and Gengar, making your way into the yard where a strong and smoky smell wafts in the atmosphere and the grill is sizzling loudly, huge puffs of smoke billowing in the air.

Leon’s mum stands with a pair of tongs in hands and an apron that says ‘License to Grill’, flipping chicken wings and ribs over the griddle whilst the grandparents are setting up the table. Hop immediately heads over to assist whilst Charizard and Gengar make their way to the garden where Wooloo is, lounging near the garage. It looks like Charizard is showing Gengar around.

You and Leon head to the table; there are plenty of dishes ranging from potato salad, pasta salad, assorted fruit, guacamole and tortilla chips. Hop helps himself to some chips along the way and immediately his grandpa barks at him but Hop chuckles and grabs another before he scampers away to the kitchen with Wooloo at his heels.

He returns with two large pitchers of orange juice and water. Leon goes to help and whilst you attempt to trail after them, everyone tells you that you are their guest so Leon pulls out an empty chair for you and you thank him, his face growing red as you neatly sit down on the chair.

You watch as he goes to help Hop, his mum and his grandparents, observing their dynamic and think about your own family.

The thought makes you sigh gently and your smile vanishes and you slide your forlorn gaze to the ground which Leon notices as he emerges from the kitchen.

Whilst Hop sits between the grandparents, Leon goes to help his mother again though he does occasionally throw you concerned glances every now and then but now you are engrossed with watching the pokemon; Gengar and Charizard are basking under the sun on the mini battle court whilst Purrloin and Wooloo chase each other playfully. You watch as Purrloin crouches on her front paws with her hindquarters in the air, shaking her tail before she pounces on the little sheep playfully.

And when Leon sees you smiling at the pokemon, he smiles too.

Eventually, Leon’s mum waltzes towards the table with a large platter full of barbecued ribs, sweetcorn, a few sirloins teaks and the wings and moves to sit at the very head of the table whilst Leon seats himself beside you. It’s a small, cosy table and your arms brush against each other. The close proximity has your heart thumping hard again.

“Help yourselves!” Leon’s mum exclaims and you glance at all the food available, unsure where to begin.

“Don’t mind if I do!” Hop belts out joyfully as he grabs a knife and fork, “Thanks, mum!”

“Yes, you’ve truly outdone yourself this time,” says grandmother, and Leon’s mum snorts under her breath and rolls her eyes.

“Thanks, mum, this looks great,” Leon says.

Now it's your turn to show your gratitude. “Thank you, Mrs-“

“Please, you can call me ‘mum’,” says Leon’s mother with a smile aimed at you, and you blush and nod.

Everyone begins to pile up food on their plates; Leon’s mum helps Hop and the grandparents tuck into their bland oatmeal but scoop the occasional guac whilst you glance around the table inquisitively, wondering what to try first. Everything looks delicious.

“I’ll help you,” Leon says, as he grabs a spare tong, “What would you like?”

“I’d like some chicken wings and some of the steak. Maybe some of the guac, too.”

“Excellent choice, my dear,” says grandmother, winking at you.

Leon begins grabbing the food off the platter and sliding them onto your plate as cleanly as possible. He unexpectedly gets some sauce on his fingers which he licks off. You cannot help your staring, but he does not notice. Holy crap, does Leon have a secret kinky side to him after all?

“Thank you, Leon,” you say with a weak smile, trying not to be too affected by how his lips enclose over his fingertips.

“No problem. Try some of the Vespiqueen Honey on the wings,” Leon passes you a bottle of squeezy honey and pulls the lid off, handing it to you which you hold upside down; you drizzle some of the orangey-gold gooey goodness over your pile of wings.

“That looks good.”

“Try it with ribs next.”

“Okay.”

As though oblivious to the rest of the people sitting at the table, Leon’s mother and the grandparents watch your interaction with amused expressions before they exchange wide grins at each other.

“You’re the first girl our Leo has brought home. You must have made quite the impression on him,” grandma says all of a sudden, chuckling under her breath.

“Grandma….” Leon mumbles, and he chooses to take a big sip of his sparkling water whilst Hop merely beams at grandma and they both exchange a high five.

The conversation continues, with Leon’s mother mentioning how you saved Leon and how indebted she is to you but you tell her she doesn’t need to repay you in any way. Then they ask you how you and Leon met. Leon’s face goes pink and you suppose he’s thinking about how he bumped into you half-naked in the middle of the forest somewhere in the Rolling Fields at night but then you recall you had actually met him earlier.

“We sat beside each other on the train to the Meetup Spot,” you say.

“We did?” Leon looks confused.

“Yeah, I think you were sleeping though so you didn’t notice but I saw you at the station. You ran past me.”

“Oh.”

"Then we met again in the Rolling Fields."

"My dear, do you know what this means?" gran says, leaning forwards in her seat, "It's fate."

Whilst Hop chews noisily on his food, glancing between you and his brother, Leon’s mum and the gran exchange more all-knowing looks coupled with some eyebrow raising and it’s rather obvious that they are quite possibly up to something and they ask how you found him in the Pokemon Den but Leon steps in, telling them that you rode on Charizard who went to look for you when he went missing.

“Lee, didn’t you say that if Charizard lets a girl-" Hop begins, but Leon shakes his head immediately and Hop pauses in his sentence, eyes wide, “Oh, uh…Never mind!”

“What?” you ask, only for the brothers to grin widely at you. They resemble each other when they smile, it’s rather adorable…

Grandma says, “And what do you work as, dear?”

“I’m a Pokemon researcher, specialising in ghost-types.”

”That sounds grand. You must get to see so many interesting Pokemon.”

”I certainly do. I also deal with a lot of hauntings. Did you know there are several types of hauntings? There’s residual, intelligent and poltergeist,” you say. Now that ghosts have been brought up you can’t seem to stop. “Residual hauntings are described as a video playing over and over again at random times. It’s believed to be trapped energy or an imprint because something traumatic happened at that location and thus it is bound. It’s not considered an intelligent haunting which I’m going to go onto next, but it’s widely believed that something can trigger it to occur such as day or time.”

”Now, an intelligent haunting,” you continue, oblivious to your audience and if they are actually listening, “is associated with a consciousness. For example, the consciousness of a dead person and therefore it’s more the most common type of haunting which investigators like myself would look into and it’s a lot more common than one would think.”

”And a poltergeist haunting,” you’re still outlining as you busily cut into your steak, “people are under the impression that they are malevolent ghosts, usually demons, and they’re very violent, throwing things around and attacking people and-“

You finally stop when you realise Leon’s family are staring at you with incredulous expressions and even Leon himself, is watching you mutely.

There is a brief silence as your cheeks go red with embarrassment.

”Ah........ sorry, I got carried away. Ahem.”

Leon’s mum breaks the silence, laughing awkwardly but you feel the atmosphere of the table has become severely gloomy all of a sudden...and it's all because of you and your talk of ghosts. “That’s all very interesting, my dear. Do take care of yourself. And what do your parents do?” she asks.

“They’re ghost-type Pokemon researchers too."

“And where are they right now?”

You hesitate to answer and all eyes land on you. “…They’re...they’re uh…” you struggle to reply, clinching your fork tightly. Leon notices as your expression gradually grows more and more uncomfortable. “It’s hard to explain.”

Leon’s mum asks, “How so?”

“Mum,” Leon says, and she gasps.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you say quickly, “They went missing."

"Missing??"

You nod and suddenly, the table goes quiet. You’ve never told Leon this either so he glances at you in surprise as you stare at your plate of uneaten food. Suddenly, you have lost your appetite even though you were hungry earlier.

It continues to be quiet and awkward around the table as Leon’s family throws each other discomfiting glances, knowing that they've put you in an awkward position.

However, you clear your throat and flash a reassuring smile at everyone, cutting into your steak as delicately as possible. “It was a while ago. I haven't stopped looking for them since," you reply.

“My dear, I am so sorry,” Leon’s grandmother reaches over and squeezes on your hand, “Is there anything we can do?”

You shake your head.

The conversation gravitates away from you and you inwardly breathe a sigh of relief. You haven’t been on the spotlight for such a long time that it was fairly intolerable. Leon begins to peek at you at random intervals; he's hoping to be subtle but you can tell when someone is staring at you, and as the dinner continues, you don’t look at him nor does he say anything to you and vice versa.

The barbecue is over and all the leftover food, dirty plates and cutlery are carried into the kitchen to be washed.

You volunteer to clean up but Leon’s family assure you once again that you are a guest and they want you to spend more time with the champion. You are left on your own devices but when you are about to pass the kitchen, you accidentally overhear Leon's mum inside.

"Is she okay?" Leon's mum asks, "She has sad eyes."

Sad eyes? You have....sad eyes?? You weren't aware, and you tiptoe away from the kitchen and back into the yard to ponder how on earth to get happier-looking eyes. Maybe you should smile more? Arceus, you have no idea...

You return to the outdoor table and Leon emerges from the house and to the yard, snapping you out of your miserable thoughts when he tells you he has something to show you so you head back into the house and retreat upstairs.

He takes you to the top level and into the hallway where he jumps an inch or so off the ground and grabs a little string that is dangling off the ceiling and tugs on it; it is looped to a square hatch on the ceiling and he pulls it down, revealing a rope ladder that will take you to the rooftop.

Leon climbs up first which you are grateful for considering you are wearing a dress, and when you are at the top rung, he gives you his hand and you slink your little palm into his and he hoists you up onto the roof. There are several pairs of flip-flops the family uses whilst walking around the roof, and Leon hands you a pair which you slip over your feet whilst he slips on a pair of his own.

"How's your hand?" he asks.

"It's healing, so all good," you mutter, and you can’t help but notice that your hands fit well together, though his palm is considerably larger, your fingers curl together neatly, his thumb sweeping over your knuckles.

When you unintentionally give him a squeeze, you’re surprised to feel that he squeezes your hand back. His palm is a little sweaty however, and you wonder if he’s held hands with a girl before.

Leon carefully makes his way around the roof, holding your hand along the way. You’re suddenly aware of how high you are as you tread over the bumpy, uneven surface; you briefly peer over the ledge, you see Charizard below with Gengar, who are vigilant in case either of you should lose balance and fall.

Although it’s dark outside now, you can see that Leon’s cheeks are fairly pink as he leads you over to a clean spot.

He finally releases your hand to sit down and you join him, settling yourself carefully and tucking your dress underneath as neatly as possible. The rooftops grants a beautiful view of Postwick and Wedgehurst as you sit side-by-side; you can see various Wooloo and Dubwools in the fields being herded into barns by farmers for the night. Their white wool makes them stick out like sore thumbs in the darkness.

The air has grown extremely chilly now and your dress isn’t helping you here so Leon quickly pulls off his sweater to loop the thick fabric around your shoulders and over your back. As you thank him, this thoroughly reminds you of the time when you watched the sunrise together.

You and Leon stare over the horizon; a blanket of darkness sweeps the sky, illuminated by the stars and the lush full moon. Down below and you see rows and rows of little lights emitting from the windows of the cottages that are spread out. You can also see Wedgehurst train station whose clock face is lit up with a tawny glow. It’s incredibly serene and tranquil here and you sigh under your breath.

”Leon?”

”Yeah?”

”Am I a kook?”

He immediately emits a loud laugh at your question. “No!”

”But... when we were having dinner...”

”You’re passionate about your work which we can see, and I admire that. Don’t forget that I’ve seen you work, remember? There are things out there that can’t be explained and you’re the only one who’s dedicating their time and energy and effort to look into it. No one is as brave as you are.”

Your lip wobbles furiously at his words. “Thank you, Leon. For a second there, I...I doubted myself, believing I am not normal. I’m far from it."

Leon offers you a reassuring smile. “If the Champion of Galar thinks you’re wonderful and perfectly normal and fine the way you are, then you are.”

Your face grows red in response as he shifts his gaze to the night sky.

Leon thinks you are wonderful and perfectly normal...

...and fine just the way you are.

Your heart begins to thump hard as you thank him whilst emitting a meek sniff.

“I'm sorry about earlier,” Leon suddenly mutters, “I hope you didn’t feel pressurised.”

“It’s fine, it’s normal that people get curious whenever it’s to do with my family, and I haven’t spoken about them for a while.” you reply, sighing, “And it didn't happen at the same time by the way."

As you focus your gaze to the starry sky above you and pull your knees to your chest, Leon watches you worriedly; he copies your movement, lifting his knees to his chest too.

"It was my father and Rosie first, then my mum disappeared a few months later."

Leon senses your discomfort and says, “What can I do to help? I can speak to the Chairman, we can do a television broadcast, radio or-"

You respond with a weak smile, shaking your head. "None of those are going to work, Leon."

He looks confused. "Why not?"

"A lot of people think they're dead so they refuse to help me but I don't believe them and so I've been working hard to get them back since I moved to Galar, and I'm doing everything I can. I'll get them back myself. Only I can do it."

Noticing your saddened expression, Leon isn’t sure what else he can say to ease the situation nor does he know if it’s wise to press you further on this matter. Therefore he slowly moves to slide his hand over yours, grasping your fingers tightly.

You glance at his hand over yours in surprise and he takes a deep breath before he says, "I have an idea. I know what will cheer you up.”

“What?”

“A ride over the Slumbering Weald,” Leon says, before he lets go of you to stand and takes a small step towards the edge of the roof.

“Leon, be careful.”

He turns to you with a grin, “I’ll be fine -- hey Charizard, you there, buddy?”

A few seconds later, Charizard appears before him in the air. He greets you two with a snort, air puffing from his nostrils before he lands in front on an empty spot over the roof, his claws crunching under the hard tiles and he folds his wings, throwing his gaze to the two of you.

With a grin, Leon climbs on Charizard’s awaiting back and holds his hand out to you. “C’mon.”

You tug your spare bobble off your wrist to tie your hair into a tight ponytail before standing up and carefully making your way until Charizard reaches for you and bites on the hem of your dress, pulling you forwards.

“Alright, alright…” you utter, wondering what he is so impatient about but it seems he wants you to be as close to Leon as possible.

The champion grins haplessly at his friend and you slip your hand into his; you assumed you’d sit behind him but Leon suggests you sit in front of him and you do so anxiously, swinging one leg over Charizard’s back and with Leon’s help, you’re quickly seated comfortably over the flame pokemon.

“Comfy?” Leon asks, and you nod. “Okay, let’s go.”

He proceeds to inch even closer to you than possible as he lean forwards and levies his weight gently over your back and shoulder, you have no choice but to lower yourself to a somewhat forty five degree angle so he can reach and grab onto Charizard firmly, caging you within his arms securely at the same time.

“Oh my…” you croak out, as Leon settles himself behind you, his chin almost touching your shoulder.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as his sturdy chest presses smoothly against your back and you feel the light, feathery brush of his lips by your ear; your heart begins to thump frantically and you gulp the growing lump in your throat.

“What’s the matter?” he asks; you hope he doesn't notice.

“Nothing. So uh, how many miles per hour can Charizard reach?”

“Over a hundred or so, I think, but we’re gonna go nice and slow today, won’t we, buddy?”

Charizard snorts and rolls his eyes again as Leon pats his neck and the flame pokemon takes off from the rooftop with a kick of his hind legs and soars into the air.

“To the Slumbering Weald, Charizard!” Leon exclaims, pointing to a massive cluster of misty, foggy trees in the distance.

Charizard has allowed you to ride on his back before but it’s worse with Leon seated closely behind you and speaking so smoothly in your ear. It’s a nerve-wracking and tense ride and as the pokemon picks up speed and zooms towards the direction of the woods, Charizard deliberately flies into a thick batch of clouds and you squeeze your eyes shut as the wisps smack you in the face. When Charizard emerges, you cough and splutter from the moisture of the cloud.

Charizard is purposefully making the flight bumpy and so you cling on for dear life; as you're jostled for the third or fourth time, which forces an anxious squeak from your lungs and Leon's chest to press further over your back as he ensures you're fine; then he carefully slips one arm around the front of your waist to prevent you from slipping or losing grip, sending uncontrollable tingles to shoot down your spine. This is either the ride of heaven, or hell.

Soon, the pokemon settles for a smooth and slower pace so your gut can unclench. Leon notices your calmer disposition and grins. “Not used to flying, are you?”

“N-not really,” you choke out, when you realise he is unfazed.

You have to admit you prefer the Corviknight taxi over this. There is less turbulence, that's for certain.

And as you gradually relax, your fingers don't cling onto the Pokemon's leathery skin so tightly and Leon's arm loosens in grip, though you were getting a little used to having his arm around you. His warmth was so welcoming and made you snug, and now you're slowly becoming cold.

Whilst you wonder how long the ride will take, the Slumbering Weald looms into view; a misty and muggy fog hangs over the bizarre forest and down below, you can see Galarian Weezing and Munna lurking in the dark grass.

Charizard glances around for a suitable spot to land and when a large but broken stone arch and an altar surrounded by water appears in the horizon, he begins to descend and lands within the spring, nestling himself carefully over the ground; Leon slides off Charizard’s back and scoops you off, sliding his arms around your waist.

“Thanks,” you murmur as he helps you onto the ground.

“No problem. How was the flight?”

“All good," you say meekly with a thumbs up, though you're really wanting to suppress the urge to hurl.

Leon grins and pats Charizard warmly, “Thanks bud.”

Charizard growls loudly with affection as the two of you glance around your new surroundings.

Strangely enough, the temperature here is warmer than Postwick and although you most certainly are alone here, the woods feel alive.

The stone arch stands proudly before you with a glistening stream of water to your left, the altar itself is illuminated by a beam of moonlight that shines between the leaves of the thick trees that surround it. Despite the beautiful scenery, the quietness of the woods perturbs you.

“Look,” Leon says, and you follow to where he is pointing to.

Glittering pearls of multi-coloured light float gently in the atmosphere within the middle of the altar and you head over to inspect; you use your fingertip to prod at some of the lights and there is a faint chiming sound as it disappears once your fingertips make contact, vanishing into mist.

“I know what this is…It’s a fairy light…” you mutter, peering at the little lights curiously before you cup some in your palm and return to his side.

“Fairy light?” Leon utters, as you open your palm and blow gently, the light sprinkling over his face and hair. He looks up and around as it gets caught in his bangs and you giggle lightly.

“Yeah…they're very similar to a will o’wisp and they're identical to the lights emitted by Morelull. You can see a lot more in Ballonlea and in higher concentrations…” you say as you raise your arm, hold your hand out and more lights settle into your palm, “If you follow a trail, it’s supposed to lead to the fairy folk of Galar.”

Leon looks intrigued as you continue your ramblings, oblivious.

“The fairy folk steal children away, never to be seen again. Sometimes it’s out of malice, to punish neglectful parents… but in the end, what they do with the children, nobody knows. It’s a shame I don’t come here often because there’s so much interesting myth, though unfortunately not ghost-related.”

Holding your hand out again, the little lights settle in the base of your palm once more and you gently blow them away, sending an array of glittering lights into the air. You smile widely as the shimmering lights dance around you, the twinkling lights casting a warm glow on your face.

“It’s so beautiful here,” you murmur as the lights gently float in the air, dancing around you.

“Yeah…” he breathes out.

When you turn round, you see his eyes are glued to your form and you tense on the spot; anxiety sweeps over you upon realisation that you’re completely bathed in the light and thus you hurriedly step away.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble about fairies stealing children away. Just make sure Hop doesn’t come here on his own, or he might come back but it’s not really him, it’s actually a changeling and-” you promptly stop yourself in time, mentally kicking yourself. “Sorry.”

Leon chuckles loudly in response and your face grows warm as you nervously place your hands behind your back whilst Leon crosses his arms. “I can take you here again tomorrow when it’s daylight if you’d like,” he replies.

You purse your lips. “I’ll be asleep, most likely.”

“Oh.” he sounds disappointed.

“Thanks for bringing me here though. I feel better now.”

The look of disappointment vanishes from his handsome face, replaced with a grin. “Of course! Anytime.”

When your smile broadens, his grin widens too and you are both gazing at each other wordlessly; his eyes search your face for a few seconds or so until you realise that you’re staring and you hastily break off the eye contact, swerving your gaze to the side where you see more of the little pearly light surrounding you.

“Oh, uh, I have something to show you,” Leon adds, before he fumbles through his pockets and brings out two capsules, “Come on out, guys!”

Tossing them into the air, you stare as an Aegislash and a Dragapult emerge and Leon beams at his pokemon as they immediately head over to him, greeting him affectionately. Leon gives Dragapult a hefty pat on his head and smiles warmly at Aegislash.

“I have some ghost-type pokemon on my team,” Leon says, “I thought you’d like to meet them.”

You blink blankly before a massive grin appears on your face. You’ve never seen such wondrous critters in person, and so close, too! “I didn’t know you had an Aegislash and a Dragapult, Leon.”

Leon chuckles bashfully at your enthusiasm, then introduces you to the pokemon and they float over to your side curiously; Dragapult sniffs you and the two Dreepy’s it carries in it’s horns float out and peer at you enquiringly before they decide to slink around your arms and shoulders, making you giggle as they weave in and out of your hair and over your neck and cheeks.

Aegislash offers you his lilac ribbon which you are about to touch until Leon quickly grabs your hand albeit gently.

“Be careful….he might drain some of your life force,” he warns.

“Oh, that’s okay, I don't mind, it would be good for an experiment,” you reply, as he slowly releases you, “Leon, this is amazing. Aegislash are known to stay loyal to people who have qualities of a true leader. They’re also featured in historical paintings depicting kings.”

Leon’s face grows red as he contemplates your words, “…I’ve had him since he was a Honedge…”

He’s being modest again, which makes you smile and Leon responds with a wide grin of his own.

Aegislash proceeds to circle you inquisitively whilst Dragapult slinks around and tickles the tip of your nose with his transparent tail.

“Thanks for showing me your pokemon, Leon. I can tell they’re very well-cared for.”

Leon flashes you a gentle smile. “Thank you.”

As you return his smile, Leon holds your gaze once more and you’re both staring at each other until Charizard snaps the both of you out by emitting a loud huff, indicating that it’s time to leave which relieves you of this strict tension you have constantly experienced between yourself and the Champion.

“It’s getting late. We should head back,” Leon says, and you nod.

After he recalls his pokemon, the two of you hop onto his back once more and you leave the vicinity of the woods.

Charizard carries the two of you safely back to the front door of his house. Checking your wristwatch, you decide to head home. The pokemon allows you to hop off his back and Leon helps you, holding your hand tightly in his once again. You briefly enter the house to say goodbye to his family and to pick up your belongings before Leon escorts you outside.

“I had a great time,” you say as Gengar greets you before jumping into your shadow, hitching a ride. “I wish we could do this more often. It’s a shame you’re booked out for the rest of the year.”

Leon hesitates before he replies with a rather despondent, “Me too.”

“Well, uh…I better go now. Thanks again for having me over. Goodnight.”

“Wait. I’ll walk you,” he says quickly before you can leave the doorstep and you glance at him questioningly as he quickly grabs a hooded jacket off the coat rack and throws it on, then he steps out of his house and shuts the door quietly behind him. Leon recalls Charizard and rushes up to you with his hands in his pockets, grinning.

You give him an awkward smile and you begin the walk; he stays close to you, much like how he did in the hospital despite the ample space of the empty path, your shoulders bumping together.

Once you reach your house, the lights are on and you stop at the front door and slowly turn to him only for you to almost bump into his chest. He’s standing so close to you...

“Thanks for walking me back,” you squeak out, and he takes a step backwards as though aware of your close proximity.

“No problem.”

”Will you make your way back okay?”

”Yeah, Charizard will help.”

“Oh, cool. So I’ll see you again…someday?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, before he reaches for your bandaged hand and you stiffen when he clutches your palm tightly with his, curling his fingers tightly around yours before he brings your entwined hands to his chest.

“…Leon?” you breathe out, eyes wide.

“Charizard told me what happened. I won’t forget what you did for me,” he says softly, and you hold your breath. “I wanted to ask if…you would like to see the sunrise with me again?”

Your breath becomes stuck in your throat but you manage to croak out, “Tonight?”

He’s still holding your hand, which he grips with far more pressure than before, “Ah, um…not tonight, but some other day.”

“Oh…sure, I’d love to.”

He seems delighted with your response. “Thanks. I better go back now. Goodnight.”

“G-goodnight.”

With a huge grin, Leon releases your hand and proceeds to rush off, dashing down the path until he is out of sight. You open the door clumsily and stumble into the house, your heart racing as you remove your coat and hang it on the hook.

“Hey, you’re back! How was it?”

Looking up, you see Sonia at the stairs, holding Yamper under one arm.

“It was good,” you reply, and you outline the details briefly albeit skipping the part about Leon falling on top of you and your short trip with him to the Slumbering Weald. Overall, you had fun and you can’t stop smiling, which she notices of course.

She giggles and retreats upstairs whilst you head up to shower and get changed into your nightwear; you also decide to slap on a cucumber mask too because your skin's looking rather pasty and dull. Returning to the living room, you see Gengar lounging around with Poltea and Cutie and you remember you had captured Mimikyu.

With Mimikyu’s capsule in hand, you let it out and Mimikyu emerges; it’s two little glowing eyes blink up at you and your pokemon (Gengar in particular), before it dashes behind the coffee table to hide.

You watch as Poltea and Cutie head over and they briefly communicate with it, coaxing it out of its hiding place. It’s still using that hideous doll disguise and you carefully step forwards; once you spy it hiding behind one of the table legs, it starts hissing threateningly at you.

“Hey Mimikyu," you murmur in a gentle voice as you crouch before the small pokemon yet it continues hissing, the twinkling dots underneath the ruined fabric glowing brightly with apprehension. “I’m sorry we ruined your hair and costume. How about I make you a new one?”

It ceases to hiss at you and blinks. “…Mi mi?”

You nod with a smile, “Of course.”

Lowering your arm, it takes a small step forwards and then hops onto your elbow where it’s as light as a feather and you look at it and it looks at you before you smile; though it lets out an indignant huff under it’s breath, you carry it out of the lounge and into the bedroom, opening the door where you see Sonia at her vanity table, brushing her hair until she spots the ragdoll and shrieks.

“W-what is that?!”

“It’s a Mimikyu,” you say with a wide grin, “I’m going to make it a new costume. Can I borrow your sewing kit?”

“Sure…” Sonia watches with widened eyes as you head over to your cupboard and pull out a drawer where you keep some old clothes you can depart with.

“What do you think?” you ask.

“Hmm…Mi mi mi,” it says with content, nodding.

“Go crazy,” you reply, and Mimikyu glances at each of the shirts curiously.

“Mi mi,” it replies, before its stitch mouth splits apart to unleash a long and black, shadowy tendril and making it point to a grey shirt. Sonia stares at this appendage as she inches her sewing kit towards your direction.

“This one?” you say.

“Mi,” it replies, nodding.

“Don’t you want to look like Pikachu?”

It shakes its head. “Mi. Mi mi mimikyuuu.”

“You prefer your ragdoll disguise?”

“Mi,” it confirms with a stern nod.

“Got it,” you take out the grey shirt and thank Sonia for letting you borrow her sewing kit, then Mimikyu spots your scissors, along with a ball of black yarn near your stationary tub and grabs those using two shadowy tendrils and you both make your way downstairs.

Seating yourself on the lounge, you let Mimikyu hop off and sit beside you on the couch before you switch on the TV with your feet up. Mimikyu takes the fabric off you with several shadowy tendrils along with the scissors and begins snipping away, singing to itself in various octaves.

As Mimikyu hands you the trimmed fabric, you look at the expert handiwork. Mimikyu must be used to fixing it's costume, and you open the sewing kit and take out some grey thread and a needle and begin sewing the fabric together. Occasionally, it will help you by using a shadow tendril to hold the fabric in place whilst you sew together a finicky part.

You occasionally throw glances to see how Mimikyu is doing before you recall that no-one has ever seen what Mimikyu looks like underneath its disguise. One scientist even died from shock, apparently.

Therefore you slowly reach a hand and pinch one small corner of the ragdoll body with your fingers and attempt to look inside only for Mimikyu to slap your hand away in the span of a split second with a shadowy tendril.

“Ow!” you retreat your hand and cradle it to your chest as Mimikyu wags one clawed finger at you in a chiding manner. “Sorry…I won’t do that again."

"Mi!"

"Yes, I know I could've died."

Suddenly, the phone rings and Rotom flies over to you. “Leon izzz calling!” he exclaims gleefully and you sit up properly in your seat.

“Leon???” you utter in surprise and Rotom nods as he switches to video mode and you see Leon on screen, grinning at you.

He’s in his nightwear consisting of a white t-shirt and black joggers and when he gets a look at you in your nightclothes and cucumber mask, the grin widens.

“H-hi Leon.”

“Hey!” he greets you cheerfully, “Sorry to call you so late, but Citizen Kangaskhan is on TV. Would you like to watch it together?”

“Really?” you exclaim, whilst Mimikyu continues singing to itself.

“Yeah, it’s – oh, is that…?”

“Yeah, it’s Mimikyu. I’m helping her make a new costume,” you say with a smile as you glance at the pokemon and Rotom hovers to Mimikyu who looks up.

“Hi Mimikyu!”

“Mi…me hello.”

You feel numerous chills run down your spine, “Bloody hell, Mimikyu, I forgot you could speak some of the human language. I'll need to study you later if you don't mind."

“Mi…heehee," Mimikyu replies happily and Leon chuckles.

“What channel is it on?”

“Sixty two.”

“Alright, let’s watch together,” you grab the remote control and change it to the channel and indeed, Citizen Kangaskhan is playing. You get comfortable as your Rotom settles beside you on the empty seat of the couch.

Together, you watch the movie, with you and Mimikyu sewing the new costume whilst sitting together in the safety of your house, and Leon in his own.

...

#leon #dande #Leon x you #Leon x reader #reader insert #fanfic #fic #archive of our own #jeralee #comfort in despair #reader #pkmn #pokemon #pokemonshield #pokemonsword #pokemon shield and sword

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 5 years

Text

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Forty Two

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

July 21st, 2012

Roman hugged his mom tight as she laughed. “Roman, it’s not a big deal,” she said. “It’s a book of fairy tales. It’s a small birthday gift.”

That may have been true, but that didn’t mean that Roman didn’t love it any less. It was, by far, the highlight of his birthday. “Thank you!” he exclaimed. “Thank you so much!”

His mother laughed and pet his hair as she responded, “You’re welcome, my little knight. I’m glad you like it.”

Roman loved it. Especially with the dedication on the first page. To Roman - With your determination, my little knight, you can do anything.

January 10th, 2020

Roman sat in the den after dinner, which was from that new barbeque place on the edge of town that he had tried once and immediately loved. Everyone was just hanging out, the TV on in the background, playing Finding Nemo. Everyone came back to the moment, though, when Dad muted the TV. “Roman, Ami and I have a little something to give to you.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to!” Roman exclaimed.

“Yeah, but Ami saw this and he couldn’t resist,” Dad said, passing over a present wrapped in bright red holographic wrapping paper. “As you know, he occasionally goes to thrift shops looking for little treasures to bring home. Usually it’s a shirt or occasionally a decoration, but this time he found something among the books. He was in Scottsdale this time.”

“Okay...?” Roman said. He knew he had grown up around the Scottsdale area, which was maybe an hour away from home by car, but he hardly saw what that had to do with this.

“You’ll understand why that’s important when you open it,” Dad said. Ami grinned wide as Dad gestured for Roman to open it. “Go ahead.”

Roman gave them a confused look, before sliding his finger under the seam of the paper. He unwrapped it quickly and his eyes widened. “My mom got me this book when I was six,” he breathed. “It’s the same edition.”

“It’s more than the same edition,” Ami said, leaning back with his hands laced behind his head. “Open the first page.”

There was no way. Roman had lost the book as he was bounced from foster home to foster home until he found himself in the permanent one he had run away from. But there was just no way...he opened the cover, and he gasped at the familiar handwriting. “It’s...” his voice gave out, his mouth opened but no words could form. He hugged the book to his chest, starting to cry. “It’s my book! My mom...my mom wrote that dedication...! How did you find it?!”

“I noticed the fairy tale book and thought you might be interested in it, and I flipped it open, saw your name, and connected the dots. How many Romans could have grown up in Scottsdale with an affinity for fairy tales, and were called ‘my little knight’ affectionately?” Ami grinned. “I couldn’t believe it either when I first found it. I couldn’t buy it fast enough.”

Roman sobbed. He didn’t have anything to remind him of his mom when he was at the old foster home. He had lost the book and he grew out of the clothes she picked out with him quickly. But now...now he had something from her with him again. Through sheer dumb luck and Ami liking to go to out-of-the-way thrift stores. He had a piece of his mom with him again. “How long...how long have you had this lying in wait?” he asked with a laugh.

“Since December thirty-first. Emile let me go to that thrift shop as a birthday present to me, I saw it, and just knew.”

Roman wiped at his eyes and stared at the book adoringly. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Ami said. “Be careful with that book, okay? Because if you lose it again I can’t guarantee that I’ll find it afterwards.”

Roman nodded seriously. “I’ll keep a close eye on it,” he promised. “I definitely don’t want to lose it again.”

“Yeah, I imagine you wouldn’t,” Ami said with a kind smile. “Don’t worry, we won't touch it without your permission, either. Not even if we’re cleaning your room. Okay?”

“Okay,” Roman said, staring at the book in wonder. He still couldn’t believe it. He had his book back. He thought it was lost forever—he had cried for days when he thought he had lost it for good. He hugged it close and took a deep breath. “I feel like I’m gonna cry more. I don’t want to, though. I just got back from dinner, I don’t want to be a weepy mess.”

“If you need to cry, Roman, you can cry,” Dad pointed out. “Crying is healthy, especially if it’s happy tears.”

Roman shrugged. “I guess,” he said. “Honestly, I’m just in shock. I never thought that...that...I would ever get anything back that reminded me of Mom. It was just the two of us, and I wasn’t allowed a lot of time in our house to grab my things after CPS stepped in. This was the one thing that I took that would always remind me of her, and I lost it in one of my foster homes, before I wound up in the one I told you guys about. And now that I have it back...I genuinely don’t know how to feel. It hurts, but it also makes me unbelievably happy.”

“Conflicting emotions are natural when reminiscing about a loved one who has since passed,” Logan pointed out. “It can make you sad, but the memories will always have that touch of nostalgia and happiness.”

Dee looked at the cover of the book curiously. “Is that a knight?” he asked, before pointing to the man on the front of the book.

“Yeah,” Roman said. “My mom always called me ‘her little knight.’ I would always argue back that I was a prince, because I wanted to be noble and in charge but still go on adventures. Mom said that the knights were the ones who fought for honor and often went on the best adventures, though.” He smiled softly, staring at the cover. “She saw the book of fairy tales with the knight on the cover and she instantly thought of me. It was a little pricey, she told me. It was the only birthday present I got that year. But it was completely worth it. And it’s pretty sturdy. The cover still seems to be in good shape, and I know I read it front to back about a thousand times. The spine might be a little broken in, but...” he opened it and smelled the pages, smiling. “It still smells the same, even after being in that thrift shop for who-knows-how-long.”

Dee looked at it with interest. “Do you think you could read it sometime to me?” he signed. “Just because I don’t trust myself but I want to know the stories.”

“Oh! Sure,” Roman agreed. “But I’ll warn you these aren’t like Disney fairy tales. There’s not always a happily ever after. Plus, some of these stories are fairly obscure. I don’t know if that makes a difference to you or not.”

Dee shook his head. “No, I still want to know why you love them.”

“Okay,” Roman said, with a soft smile. “I’d love to read these to you sometime.”

“Me too, maybe?” Patton asked. “I mean, I’m more into folk tales and fables and stuff with a moral bottom line, but fairy tales are still pretty cool.”

“Sure,” Roman agreed. “Virgil? Logan? Want to join in on the fun?”

Logan scoffed. “I don’t need to be read to,” he said. “However, if you tell me the title of the story I’m sure I could find it online and read it without risking harm to the book.”

Virgil shrugged. “Honestly I’m just scared of damaging it.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Guys, this isn’t like a museum piece, all right? It’s part of my past, and an important part of my past, but you better believe I’ll be using it. You can’t convince me otherwise. I’ll let you borrow it if you want. It’s not strictly a collectable. It’s biggest price point was how many stories it had rather than how fancy its design was.”

“You will, of course, have to ask for permission before taking it out of Roman’s room, though,” Dad said to everyone. “If for no one else’s peace of mind than mine. I don’t want to worry about Roman losing this again.”

Ami nodded. “That goes for any of your possessions that you boys have that you might not want touched. We try to ask your permission before cleaning your rooms, anyway, and we only do that if guests are coming over and we want the bedrooms to be presentable. And you boys do good jobs of regularly cleaning your rooms anyway. We don’t usually do much more than vacuum and maybe clean the windows.”

“I hate the smell of window cleaner,” Dee signed, wrinkling his nose.

“I know,” Ami sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s a necessary evil once every two months or so. Otherwise, the creepy-crawlies and germs get too cozy on it and might make you sick. We don’t want you getting sick from something in the house that could have been prevented.”

Dee pouted but nodded. “I know,” he signed. “Doesn’t mean I like it. At all.”

Ami rolled his eyes. “You’re so dramatic. You don’t complain this much when we actually clean it, and we crack the window open to get rid of the smell.”

“But being dramatic is fun!” Dee signed, hands slightly exaggerating the signs before he struck a pose. “I like being dramatic.”

“You’re definitely going to be a drama gay,” Roman said with a laugh. “Provided, you know, you’re gay. I forget sometimes that straight people exist.”

“I think I’m gay?” Dee signed. “I don’t know. I never had a crush on a girl. But I don’t think I’ve had a crush, period.”

“You’re six, Dee, give it time,” Roman laughed. “Crushes don’t always happen to people, either. Sometimes you just think, ‘Oh, I’d date them,’ without months of endless pining.”

“Yeah, crushes are nasty beasts, anyway,” Virgil said, wrinkling his nose. “Why would you want to pine after people for months? It’s not fun.”

Dee shrugged. “It might make me feel normal?” he signed, eyebrows raising at the end like a question.

“Normal is overrated,” Logan said, before promptly flipping how he was sitting on the couch so his head was closest to the floor. “Take it from your local transgender man. Normal isn’t always what you should want to be. And if you’re not normal, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Yeah!” Patton exclaimed. “Like, I like skirts and I don’t feel like a boy, but that doesn’t get me down! I’m not ‘normal’ but I don’t want to be!”

“Is there even such a thing as ‘normal’?” Virgil contemplated.

“Okay, if we’re getting philosophical we’re stopping this conversation,” Dad said, raising his hands in surrender. “We don’t need any existential crises keeping you boys up half the night. You need a full night’s sleep, no matter what plans you have the next day.”

“I read that having a regular sleep schedule is key to feeling well rested,” Logan said, raising his arm and pointing to the ceiling. “That doesn’t mean sleeping at night and staying awake all day, it means more...going to bed at the same time every day and sleeping for the same amount of hours. And it takes a while to set up that schedule, but only a couple days to fff...fudge it up.”

Roman laughed. “Oh, you nearly got yourself in huge trouble, Logan.”

“Why?” Dee signed. “What was he gonna say?”

“He was going to say an adult word, I think,” Patton said.

Virgil had a mischievous glint in his eyes as he said, “I know which one!”

“What’s an adult word?” Dee asked.

“Oh...uh...words that adults use a lot?” Logan said. “Taxes, politics, financials. That sort of thing?”

“That’s not true,” Virgil sang. “Well, adults may use it a lot, but you would not get in trouble for saying ‘financials.’”

Roman was making a cut motion across his neck, but Virgil ignored him.

“What was he going to say, then?” Dee asked.

“Virgil, if you tell Dee what Logan was about to say, you will be having a very long talk with myself and Dad,” Ami warned.

Virgil considered that information, and Roman was surprised that Virgil would visibly show he might ignore that warning and say the word anyway. “Maybe I’ll tell you later, Dee,” Virgil said. “It’s something that shouldn’t be repeated. At least, not around adults.”

“Not at all,” Ami warned again. “You don’t want to wind up with a talk, do you?”

Virgil shrugged. “I don’t really give a—”

“Woah, goodnight everybody!” Emile exclaimed. “Virgil, you’re having that talk now anyway. Everybody else, get ready for bed, please.”

Roman was chuckling a little as he went upstairs. “Kid’s got guts,” he whispered to Logan.

“More than I do,” Logan said. “Would you have done that?”

“Not with my mom, for sure,” Roman said. “Here? I wouldn’t be punished, but I don’t like discipline either, so I’m not going to.”

Logan agreed. “Times may change, but some things never do. And that includes the rule about not swearing around kids or parents.”

“Yeah,” Roman said. He looked at the book in his hands. “I’m probably gonna read until light’s out, so night, Logan.”

“Night, Roman,” Logan said. “Congrats on one year of being in the family.”

Roman smiled. “Thanks.”

#we'll carry on #sanders sides fanfiction #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #our creations #danger gays

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writtenwordsoffic · 7 years

Text

The Treacherous Feline - A Riverdale Story

Masterlist

@idle-lanes@sgarrett49 @murderyoursoul@moonlight53@redhairedoddity

Anonymous said:I know you’re busy, feel free to wait until you’re done with your other requests to do this. Basically a stray cat terrorizes riverdale. It claws at feet, steals food, leaves dead rodents lying around, breaks in and out of houses ninja style, it becomes the stuff of legend. By the time it traumatizes a very allergic Cheryl there’s pretty much a bounty on it’s head. Bonus points if there’s that one person the cat actually likes. Double bonus points if it’s Fred Andrews. It can be whoever tho :) Thanks for the request!

This was fun to write. I appreciate it.

“That’s it!”, Jughead screamed.

It was rare for Jughead Jones to raise his voice, but after a rather red and blistered Cheryl had appeared to the rest of his group of friends that night - there was a bounty out.

It had all started a few days before, at Pop’s. Jughead was once again writing while a half eaten burger sat on a plate to his left side. He looked out the window to see a cat. A rather disgruntled alley cat. It had stripes of a dark gray all over and with its paw, was moving around a dead rat. It seemed to enjoy its venture in killing the rat. Jughead returned back to the words on his screen as he heard another “ding” from someone coming in. The guest however, didn’t notice that they didn’t come in alone.

The cat, as rather inventive as they were, had managed to enter the diner - the rat in tow in her mouth.

Several moments later - Jughead heard a scream from Pop himself and then shouting. “My God! Get out of here! You tyrant!”. Jughead quickly got up and raced to the kitchen in the back. He opened the swinging door just in time for the alley cat to run out. Jughead looked down slightly watching the cat move in a blur.

Jughead approached Pop, attempting to calm the old man down. However, that seemed to be a mute action as Pop was wrestling with parts of the deep fryer.

“That little devil!”.

Jughead watched as Pop turned off the fryer and began to get a trash can behind him.

“He dropped a dead rat in here! I swear that little THING has been the bane of my existence all week!”.

Jughead resisted a slight laugh or the joke he had in his mind about the situation. “I’m sure it isn’t that bad Pop…”

Pop stopped in his tracks, staring down Jughead. “That alley cat hasn’t left me alone since Monday!”. Pop took a breath, calming his voice down. “I just felt bad for it, ya know? Tried giving her some food a few nights ago…but of course, instead of the cat taking the milk and such, it came up to me and attacked my arm! See?!?”. Pop turned the inside of his right arm around, and in front of Jughead, was multiple teeth and nail marks from the rather rambunctious animal.

“Since then, it waits for me to leave at night. Tries to either chase me to my car or starts screeching until I leave the parking lot. Hopefully I scared her away enough this time…”. Pop put his focus back on the fryer as well as he removal of the bloody dead rat. “I swear…if I see that cat again…”, Pop now began mumbling. Something he would only rarely do if he didn’t like a customer.

“Its alright Pop. I’m sure you scared him off…”.

“Oh I’m quite sure it’s a female. The damned thing acts like a woman scorned or something…..”. Pop’s breath was still a bit huffed.

“Do you need any help?”. Jughead tried to appeal to Pop as the friend he usually saw him as.

Lol once again took a large breath while sighing towards the deep fryer. “No Jug, just go sit down”.

Jughead had taken to walking that day in Riverdale. It had been nice out that he wanted to enjoy the somber air without his motorcycle. That was, until he heard his girlfriend slightly screaming.

He raced to where he thought he heard her until he found her sitting on the ground. She was slightly covering her face. Feeling around all over.

“Betty! What happened? Did you fall?”. Jughead stretched his hand forward to her, picking her up from the ground as he could hear a slight sniffle from a cry from earlier.

Betty wiped a tear while patting off some blood. “No…it was this wretched cat. I thought it was lost…”, she cleaned up some blood again with her sleeve until Jughead stopped her. Jughead pulled his plaid sleeve forward, as he gently pressured off the blood off of her forehead and part of her cheek.

“That cat’s a menace”. Jughead gave Betty a sweet smile and a kiss to her cheek in hopes to cheer her up. Betty gently rolled her eyes in jest.

“I’m not 5 Juggie….I don’t need a kiss to feel better”. Betty’s tears were gone but her anger towards a wicked cat was still thriving. “I swear that cat is more treacherous than Mr. Blossom was…”.

“It was at Pops earlier. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the man angry before. Which way did it go?”. Jughead peered up around the neighborhood to see if it could be spotted.

“I slightly kicked it….”, Betty seemed a little embarrassed as hurting an animal in anyway was quite out of her character. “Just to get it off of me though. I think it went towards my street…”.

“Come on…”. The detecting duo looked around for a good hour around the neighborhood. Talking about what happened at Pop’s to missing each other at school. They had finally given up when they went to Archie’s. Although it had been weeks, Archie was still quite in a funk of his dad healing, but Mr. Andrews was finally up and about.

The feline licked it’s paws once again that day. Never had the cat had such decadent cream and milk before. If she had known better, she would go to the bigger houses on the other side of town more often. Most of her adventures that day included people that seemed happy and content with their lives. Not so much the anger and screams she heard inside the large house belonging to the Blossoms. She had crept around the house quite carefully. Looking for whatever she could get her paws on (quite literally).

Something about the small striped cat seemed to fit in the Blossom house. Maybe it was the presence of other women who had a temper similar to her. She found comfort in the kitchen while leftover food had seemed to be sitting there still prepared, including a cream based soup that was quite delicious. It wasn’t until she heard a sneeze did she get uncomfortable again. It was hard for her to find comfort in humans.

“How did you get in here?”, Cheryl asked while again ending with a sneeze. “Ugh, I have cats. Come on shew”. Cheryl swayed her hands I front of the cats view on the counter, however the cat remained her stance. Her tail wrapped around the front of her paws, part of her was curious by the quick hatred by the girl in front of her. Her eyes were inquisitve and while Cheryl got closer, the cat remained her stance.

Cheryl got close and began to reach for the cat to get her off the counter - fighting to hold another sneeze in. As she got closer, the cat readied her back feet, that was when she made a leap.

“That’s it!”, Jughead screamed. “We’re going to find this terror…”.

“Come on Jug…it’s just a cat”. Archie sat there on his couch wondering what was so evil about a cat. Although he had never had such troubles with an animal.

“That’s harassing this town!”.

Betty sat there helping Cheryl with a glass of water to take some allergy medication after finding some ointment for her scratches. “I’ve never seen a cat have such a devilsh trait before. I mean this cat hates everyone…”

It was then that the group of teenagers heard the door unlock. Mr. Andrews home from his new daily walk. However he had something in his hands. “Hey guys. I just met the sweetest thing, I think she’s a stray”. Mr. Andrews closed the door and turned revealing the striped cat in his hands. Mr. Andrews stroked the back of the cat while it purred naturally into his hands. The teenagers in front of him were shocked to see such a sight from the terror that had caused chaos across the town. The cat hopped down from Fred’s arms and began to investigate its new home.

Jughead sat there, holding his tongue. It was the first time in weeks that Mr. Andrews had been excited about something. He kept back his anger while reluctantly looking to Betty. Betty had a sight of somberness on her face.

Mr. Andrews headed to the kitchen, unware of Cheryl’s red blistered face or of Betty’s injuries.

Cheryl, Betty and Jughead seemed to have all the same idea at once and got up - heading for the door. Archie got up trying to follow behind until Jughead grabbed the door to close behind him. “Good luck”, and a slight smirk came out of Jughead’s mouth until he closed the door quickly.

Archie gave a sigh. Surely a cat couldn’t be that terrible. He made his way to his room and pushed the door open wide. There sat the striped feline cleaning her paws on Archie’s bed. Archie tried to approach his bed but the second he moved a step, the cat screeched at him. Archie stood back and the cat gave him a deep stare. Claiming her space there on the mattress.

“Well shit”.

#jughead imagine #jughead jones imagine #jughead x reader #archie imagines #riverdale fanfic #riverdale imagines

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tinymute · 7 years

Text

ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴄᴏᴍᴇs

@trashpanda-rp

The day they met, Juliette never would have foreseen where they would be now. Nothing about the drunken man in a costume who had accidentally locked her into his apartment screamed partner material to her.

No, it had not been any sort of love at first sight. It was something that slowly developed, faring through illness and health alike. Their love had not been recognized as love through the tears shed by either of them for a long, long time.

If anyone had asked a younger Juliette what she expected out of a lover, she never would have described a shaggy, redheaded alcoholic absent father with a traumatic past.

Then, nobody describes a tiny, traumatized mute girl who dresses like lace is going out of style to be their partner, either, so she supposed they were equal on that front. Nonetheless, none of these things mattered in the long run.

For better or for worse...

These were vows that they would not exchange for years from this moment, and currently, neither had thought about it, yet there was something in her that went by this mantra anyway.

Joel was suffering tonight. No amount of prodding from Juliette could rouse him away from the bed he lay in, clutching a bottle that did not have the liquor she was sure he wanted to reach for to comfort himself. Julie did what she could. She was quiet as always, kept water and food at his bedside, and did not push too hard.

Of course, a small child like Hope could not begin to understand why her father did not want to play today. The sweet child was restless today, and soon Julie would discover that Hope was running a fever.

She called back to when Joel had contacted her, desperate, afraid, cradling a whining Hope just months ago. She smiled a little as she paced the apartment, cradling the toddler to her chest and idly checking her temperature.

For a girl who had been failed as a child, she sure had picked up maternal instincts rather quickly. Maybe it was Hope. Such a fitting name for the fair-haired child.

This little girl had brought so much light to Juliette's life, and she did not even know. Would she ever really understand? Maybe. Juliette hummed softly to Hope.

A glance out the window told her it was just barely morning. She had not slept yet, still pacing with the child she had given birth to but loved just the same in her arms.

The night sky and the rising sun were one in the same in that moment, not quite daylight and not quite night. Twilight?

Juliette mused over it, only to notice how peacefully Hope suddenly seemed. A quick check told Juliette that the nasty fever had broken. Cue a soft, relieved laugh. She quietly walked back to the bedroom.

Joel did not seem as peaceful. The curtains had been drawn, the entire room as dark as the thoughts she was sure were running through his head. All she wanted to do was pull them away to reveal the sunshine.

Not yet. The time had not quite come yet.

Carefully, Juliette climbed into bed, still holding Hope, and cuddled up to Joel. She was careful, her arms around the child to shield her if Joel happened to roll over. Somehow, this had become a natural way for Juliette to sleep. Her eyes shut, and she felt her forehead resting against Joel's back.

Morning came possibly a little too quickly for Juliette's taste. Hope, presumably exhausted, still slept. Julie carefully stood, then moved Hope to another room, setting the toddler to rest there. Morning had come. They had made it through the night.

Back to Joel.

His curtains still drawn, his body far too tense for a man who slept...

Juliette shook her head.

Her trek to the kitchen was short. Her adventure in fixing breakfast, one fit for a holiday instead of a normal Tuesday, was longer. With mismatched cups, chipped plates, and a pan that probably should have been tossed but was still safe, she had prepared for an army, or possibly enough for Joel's family to come over if he could handle it.

These were discussions that could wait. For now, she was returning to the bedroom. With purpose, she opened the curtains, letting the bright morning light fill the room, chasing away the demons of the night. Julie smiled wryly through her exhaustion.

Her weight was slight as she sat on the side of the bed. Juliette's hand touched Joel's face, her thumb idly wiping at dried tears. She leaned and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Wake up, mo grá, morning has come."

When she saw him look at her, her smile grew warmer. When she kissed his lips, there was a taste of syrup on her lips. Possibly too much sampling of her cooking. Juliette laughed, reaching to brush Joel's ginger hair away from his face.

For better or for worse.

#alcholism tw #ᴸᵃᵈʸ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵀʳᵃᵐᵖ (Joeliette)#drabble #fluff #trashpandarp #long post cw #*drops this and runs*

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yeolsmuffin · 7 years

Text

Mute - three

Paring: hoseokXreader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: You’re mute and it’s been that way since you were ten years old and a series of traumatic events happened. Your only real friend is Yoongi, the one person who understands you without you speaking - that is until Hoseok comes along and opens up your sheltered world.

Notes: Future mature themes, talk of abuse, and more.

One | Two | Three

Even though he was being nice to you, you were worried about your crush going further. Surely, nothing good could come of it. After all, you were just the weird mute girl to most of the world and while Hoseok didn’t seem to think of you that way so far, there was no telling what was going on inside his head.

There was a reason you didn’t open up to others. Yoongi was the only one you could trust as nobody else could stop seeing you as the mute girl. Maybe Hoseok didn’t see you that way now, but he would eventually just the way all the other friends you had tried to make in the past did.

You couldn’t have a crush. You couldn’t. You would only get hurt in the end. In life, heartbreak was normal but you had enough of it to last a lifetime when you had lost your mother all those years ago. The time when you had lost it all - everything except Yoongi.

You somehow managed to finish your project with no more than five words but you made emphasis on them and made your drawing the best you could. While you didn't get to add adventurous to it, you weren't too affected by it. You were too enthralled by Hoseok to have any cares in the world at the moment.

While art class was your favorite class before Hoseok came along, now it was the highlight of your day. A highlight that you weren’t telling Yoongi about for some reason and you weren’t sure why.

It was now Monday afternoon and you were waiting for Yoongi by his locker so he could drive the two of you home. Around you, students were bustling about and talking loudly about their after school plans. You sighed, it seemed like everyone was talking over each other and it made you wonder if your peers stopped and jut listened for once. Listening was basically all you did – and all you could do, but you found it was nice to just hear others out. You learned more about those around you and you were able to pick up on what was just subtle mood changes in those you were close to – whereas a normal person may not see them.

Some people saw your inability to speak a disadvantage, but you didn’t see it that way and nor had you ever. Doing everyday things may have been more difficult, but like anyone with a disability can tell someone: you make it work. People who are too short use ladders, people who can’t hear us their hands, and people who can’t see use a service dog or a walking stick. There were adjustments that could be made to the world as long as someone was open to it.

You weren’t perfect, but you liked yourself. You liked your flaws and prided yourself on the things that made you different. It also helped to have a best friend who knew everything about you and never tried to change you. It made you wonder if Yoongi had ever struggled when you became mute. Had things been difficult for him to adjust to or did it just happen naturally?

“Ugh, look at her waiting for Yoongi like she’s something special,” you heard a girl hiss.

Your head snapped in the direction of the voice and your eyes met a blonde girl who was chatting with her friend and mentally sending you daggers. They were leaning against the lockers across from Yoongi’s without a care in the world. They didn’t even care that you were now staring at them.

With a sigh, you were going to turn around until you heard the girl say, “Do you think she’s sleeping with him? Why else would he help her?” Her eyes bored into yours as she said the words and it sent angry chills throughout your body. Normally, you were able to ignore comments and while they upset you, you didn’t let it get to you. You would never let the comments get to your heart but this time you were feeling thoroughly annoyed. Why wouldn’t Yoongi just naturally help you? Why did there have to be something in it for him like that? You gritted your teeth as your nails dug into the jeans that covered your thighs.

Why did people think this way?

“Oh, hey Yoongi!” The girl said brightly as Yoongi ignored her and walked over to where you were standing.

“What’s wrong?” he questioned as he grabbed one of the hands that were curled around your jeans. “Mousey, what’s wrong?” he said louder.

You shook your head, looking away from the girl across from you. She must have had a crush on Yoongi and thought somehow you were competition. If she liked Yoongi then she should know better – Yoongi would never put up with a girl like her. He didn’t like bullies or fake people and she looked to be both from the way she changed her tone when she saw Yoongi.

Yoongi knew you too well though, “What is it?” he asked as his eyes drifted to where yours were. He groaned, “Did she say something to you?”

You refused to meet Yoongi’s eyes as you looked down the hall, shifting your weight from one foot to another.

“Tiffani, I’ve told you to keep your mouth shut,” Yoongi said loudly.

“W-what?” She stuttered out.

“You fucking heard me. You think you can just talk about Y/N the way you do? Your little crush on me needs to end because I don’t like bitches.”

She gasped and her friend wrapped her arm around Tiffani, “You’re a dick, Yoongi.”

He scoffed, “At least I can look in the mirror at the end of the day and say I’m not a total piece of shit human.”

Yoongi threw his stuff in his locker quickly before grabbing your wrist and pulling you out of the school. You stumbled slightly behind him but Yoongi was too much in a rage to notice. He was protective over you so much that so if someone even looked at you wrong he was on them in an instant.

“What did she say now?” he asked once you reached his car, letting go of your wrist.

You shook your head but Yoongi just thrust his phone into your hands.

“Tell me.”

He didn’t force you to say things if you didn’t want to but when it came to someone talking about you, he couldn’t stop himself.

Your fingers pressed against the screen a few times as you opened a text message to yourself and typed a few words.

Once you handed the phone back to Yoongi, you saw the whites of his knuckle show as you clutched his phone, “She said that we were probably sleeping together because there would be no other way I’d help you?” Yoongi slammed a fist into his blue car and you jumped from the sound. He sighed and reached out to put and arm around your shoulders, “I’m sorry, Mousy. I’m just so sick of the shit everyone says.”

You gave him a look.

“It’s not your fault that the world is so judgmental. It just makes me mad because they have no idea what you went through… they didn’t see you when it was all o-over,” Yoongi’s voice lowered and it was shaky as you looked over at him. His face was dropped and you knew he was getting choked up. He didn’t show his emotions much but when he did, you knew it was a big deal. “I will never forget the look on your face when you came to my house.”

When a stray tear left one of Yoongi’s eyes, you pulled him into a hug as you let out a deep breath. While it would be the best to comfort him with words, you couldn’t. You did the only way you knew how but hugging him tightly and running your hands down his back. While the memories still hurt you, you didn’t get choked up when someone else talked about it much. You were certain if you actually had your voice that it would be hard to hold your emotions in – but since you didn’t, you were able to have a handle on them.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said behind you and you quickly released Yoongi only to be met by Hoseok. He was smiling brightly until he saw Yoongi’s face in which his face darkened. “Are you okay?”

Yoongi cleared his throat a few times, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

You looked at Yoongi in question as your eyes darting between the two boys.

Yoongi clapped his hands together and ruffling your hair as if he wasn’t just in tears a few moments ago, “This is Hoseok, mousey. He’s coming over to play some video games with me for a bit,” he said with a smile before looking back at you, “if that’s okay with you that is?”

You gave him a nod before smiling nervously at Hoseok. Oh God. He was coming over to your house. Repeat. Hoseok was coming over to your house. How would you contain yourself?

“We know each other,” Hoseok said with a nod your way, “We sit next to each other in art class. When she mentioned a best friend, I didn’t know it was you,” Hoseok said with a laugh. “What a small school,” he joked.

Yoongi looked at you with an unreadable expression on his face, “I didn’t know that the two of you talked before.”

You shrugged, before crawling into the passenger seat of Yoongi’s car and glaring out the front windshield. It was going to be a long night.

One of the best and worst things about your best friend Yoongi was that he always involved you in everything he did – regardless if you had an interest in it or not. For some reason, he always wanted you by his side.

Which led you to a week of continuous Yoongi and Hoseok playing video games and you sitting nearby watching while trying not to rip your own eyeballs out.

You were happy that Yoongi and Hoseok were getting along because you had made friends with Hoseok and while you loved Yoongi, it was nice to have a new friend for once. Most people didn’t want to make the effort into forming a relationship with you, but Hoseok, well he was different. Not only did he make you have the heartbeat of that similar to a small rodent making it beat rapidly against your chest, but he instigated all of the conversations. It let you know that he was interested in talking to you as much as you were him.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get to speak to Hoseok much at your house. He and Yoongi spent most of their time stuck to the TV and by the time they were done, you were always asleep on the chair in the living room beside them. You weren’t sure what they did after playing video games since you had passed out every time but today on the sixth consecutive day they were hanging out, you were determined to stay up. Things were different this time because it was a Saturday and Hoseok was over early in the morning, just after Yoongi’s mother left and you had barely woken up.

You padded down the stairs, yawning as you heard the two boys chatting while playing their game on the TV.

Yoongi’s head whipped back towards you when he saw you walk into the living room. He gave you a bright smile before gesturing over to the couch. “Good morning, sleepy head.”

You reached him, giving him a ‘good morning’ hair ruffle before giving a shy smile to Hoseok who was looking at you intently.

You sat down next to Yoongi, raising your brows at him.

“What?” he asked.

You just stared at him.

“Oh, don’t start.”

You pursed your lips knowing that Yoongi knew exactly why you were staring at him. He had been hanging out with Hoseok every day and once Hoseok left, he would hide out in his cave of a room and make music. You both knew that he was yet to start his history assignment that was due on Wednesday.

“Y/N,” he whined.

You just leaned your head against your hand and tapped at an invisible watch on your wrist.

He scoffed, “I have plenty of time.”

Hoseok always stared at the two of you in awe when you interacted because there wasn’t a need for you to always use your phone or paper when talking to Yoongi whereas with Hoseok you needed to write or type out your words. You imagined Hoseok was stunned that the two of you could interact so well together. Although, you had known each other since childhood so that was a huge factor in how well you guys communicated.

You shook your head and let out a small sigh.

“I will too graduate!” Yoongi protested, pausing the game that he and Hoseok were playing.

A silent scoff passed your lips and Yoongi groaned.

“You’re just like my mother,” he said spitefully but you knew that he truly didn’t hate your nagging. Yoongi looked out for you physically and mentally and you looked out for him when it came to academics.

Hoseok let out a laugh, “You guys are eerily close.” And while his words seemed simple you noticed it seemed like he was saying it with something like envy but you couldn’t be sure.

“She’s been like my sister my whole life,” Yoongi said giving you a pat on the head. “I wouldn’t change our relationship for the world.”

Hoseok bit his lip before looking between the two of you and hesitatingly asking, “How long has it been like this?”

Yoongi’s eyes got dark as he looked over at Hoseok, “Like what?” he snapped.

You could tell Hoseok was uncomfortable and didn’t want to pry so you tried to give him a smile of encouragement, “That… well… since she stopped talking?”

Yoongi shook his head, ready to deflect Hoseok’s curiosity as nobody truly knew the horrors you had went through. Some people had known the basics as it was broadcasted over the news, but there were things left out to keep you safe. Yoongi refused to talk to anyone about it but you were slightly more open. Of course, you weren’t going to spill all your secrets at once but people wondered what made you go silent and how you felt. On that occasion, you would answer questions simply to help ease the person’s confusion – but nobody knew the whole story but you, Yoongi and his family.

You touched Yoongi’s shoulder gently before nodding and holding up your fingers to Hoseok.

“Eight?” Hoseok asked.

You nodded.

“Eight years,” Yoongi said bitterly.

“Oh,’ Hoseok said looking away from you. You knew he wondered more and wanted to ask but he wasn’t the type of person to push it. He wouldn’t let his curiosity get the best of him.

Yoongi’s phone started to fill the air with ringing and you looked over at it. “It’s mom,” he said before answering, “Yes?”

He nodded his head, his eyes scrunched as he listened to his mother speak.

As Yoongi talked on the phone, your eyes drifted over to Hoseok and you nearly gasped when you found that his eyes were already on you. It felt as if he was boring into your soul as he stared at you and it was making you tremble. He wasn’t quiet smiling nor was he frowning – he was just watching you.

The crush you had on Hoseok was only increasing from being around him so much, even if you guys didn’t have many opportunities to talk. The way he looked at you and talked about you with Yoongi was enough. When Yoongi was around, the conversation about you would always be directed at Yoongi and Hoseok was sure not to ask much involving you not speaking or what happened to you. He stuck to the safe subjects like asking how it was growing up together, embarrassing childhood stories, and the likes.

Yoongi was more than glad to talk about your childhood and your friendship almost as if he was a proud parent and it warmed your heart. You couldn’t imagine anyone loving you more than Yoongi – even if you did find someone who wanted to be with you. No husband would ever give you the unconditional love and understanding that Yoongi gave you… that was if Yoongi ever approved of a man enough to let you marry.

Marriage was the last thing on the list of things you wanted to do though. You spent enough time around yourself to know that you didn’t need a significant other to bring you happiness. Music, art, and Yoongi seemed to be all you needed. And well, now Hoseok was bringing you happiness, even if only in small ways.

Like the way, he was looking at you now. Just having Hoseok’s dark eyes on you made you feel like you were releasing all kinds of endorphins. Your heart was beating so loudly that you could feel it in your skull but yet you couldn’t look away from Hoseok’s gaze until Yoongi placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Earth to Mousey,” he sang, “what are you staring at?” he said trying to follow your eyes but you quickly looked away and met his eyes, ready to listen. “Hey, mom isn’t feeling well so we need to go run some medicine to her.”

You furrowed your brows.

“I think it’s a flu,” he sighed. “We’re all bound to get it now.”

You looked down at your pajamas and then back to Yoongi putting on a pouty face. The last thing you wanted to do was get dressed and leave the house on Saturday morning. You saw the world enough on school days.

“I’m not leaving you here alone and you know that,” he said through gritted teeth, “Go get dressed.”

“I’ll stay with her,” Hoseok interjected causing a glare to snap his way from Yoongi.

Yoongi let out a laugh, “I’m not so sure about that.”

You wanted to groan. What difference would it make if Hoseok stayed with you for a short time? You weren’t a baby. You were eighteen years old and in fact, you didn’t need anyone to stay with you at all. But you wouldn’t protest to time with Hoseok.

Grabbing Yoongi’s phone from his hand, you furiously typed at his phone before handing it back to him.

He sighed after reading it, “Mousey.”

Instead of answering, you crossed your arms over your chest and glared at him.

“Ugh,” he tightened his fist and looked back at Hoseok, “Okay, I’m going to our mom’s work and I shouldn’t be more than an hour. She is not to leave the house and I swear if I come back and one hair on her head is out of place, I will ruin you Hoseok.”

Hoseok put his hands up, “I’ll look after her well.”

Yoongi reluctantly left after fifteen minutes of going over his rules with Hoseok several times and just to embarrass you more, he was sure to list ‘no intimacy’ as one of the rules. Sure, you joked around with him about stuff like that all the time but this time it was different – this time he was being serious and with a boy you had a crush on.

There was no doubt your face was a bright red when Yoongi finally left the house, locking the door behind him and giving Hoseok one last glare.

Hoseok walked over to where you were curled up in a ball on the couch and he laughed, “He has more rules than a father. Has he always been like this?”

You shook your head. Yoongi hadn’t always been this way and while your memories weren’t as strong as they used to be, you remember young ten-year-old Yoongi to be carefree and daring. The Yoongi he had become wasn’t the same one he would have been if your life hadn’t taken such a turn. While you were sure he would still be protective, you knew it wouldn’t have been like this.

Hoseok really had no idea and you weren’t sure you should ever tell him everything. You didn’t want to be looked at differently and you didn’t want anyone else feeling like they needed to protect you the way Yoongi did.

“I can tell he really loves you,” Hoseok said in almost a sad voice as he sat down next to you. “Do you love him?”

Yes, you loved Yoongi but you knew that Hoseok wasn’t asking in that way. Hoseok was asking if you were in love with Yoongi, just as everyone in the world always wondered. Why did there have to be intimacy attached to how Yoongi cared for you? Couldn’t two people love each other as family without having to be sexual? You and Yoongi were never like that – and you never would be. Both of you knew the relationship you had without having to speak it out loud.

You sighed. It was hard to communicate with anyone other than Yoongi because it wasn’t always easy for you to form thoughts on paper or in text. It was easier when you had someone that could already read your mind. But this was Hoseok, and something about him made you feel things you had never felt. He made your heart race and his gaze was intoxicating so you thought that the extra work of communicating with him would be worth it.

Just him speaking to you made your adrenaline rush. It seemed like Hoseok himself was an adventure and that made you smile.

You pulled your phone out and typed into it, ‘I love Yoongi as a best friend and a brother – there is truly nothing more to it. Despite what the girls at school say.’

Hoseok nodded, “Why doesn’t he see you as more?” he wondered more to himself than to you but you deleted your earlier words and typed something else.

‘He knows that I don’t need more from him. That’s never been the relationship I needed so he took on the role of what I did need. We grew up together and there has never been anything other than platonic flowing through us.’

“Is it still not a relationship that you need?”

You shrugged, ‘I don’t think I ever will,’ you honestly typed out. ‘I’m okay with accepting that someone may never love me for who I am and may never be able to accept my… disability.’

Hoseok opened his mouth to speak for a moment but he quickly closed it again, “You’re very intriguing, Y/N,” was what he said instead.

You felt a darker blush creeping over your cheeks as you looked down at your lap. You knew you were interesting to some people but intriguing? Nobody had ever called you that – nor had anyone looked at you the way Hoseok did.

“So, what should we do while dad’s gone?” Hoseok teased.

You shrugged, wondering what Hoseok could have in mind.

“Something adventurous?” You looked up at him to be met with a mischievous grin on his face and both of his eyebrows raised in question.

For a moment, you debated whether or not you should go along with whatever Hoseok planned since you were worried about what Yoongi would think but you reminded yourself that he was gone. How often were you out of Yoongi’s care? Hardly ever. You had to take advantage of one of the only chances you may have to do something that you normally didn’t get to do. You nodded your head to Hoseok, typing, ‘I’m in’ on your phone and giving him a smile.

His cheeks bones poked out as he gave you a big smile, grabbing your hand and pulling you up from the couch, “Let’s hurry then, we don’t have much time!”

--->four<---

masterlist

a/n: phew, this was a long chapter! Sorry for the cliff hanger guys! I had to end it here or else it would have been like 6k+! As always, thanks for the love and support you all give me.

Also, I’m so sorry it’s late! I’ve been busy lately with some life changes! I will work hard to make sure it is up sooner next time 💖

사랑해💖

#you guys make me so happy you don't even know #hey baektobyun are you reading this #eyebrow raise #i still dont know your actual name darling #anyways hi 💖#bts #bangtan #bts series #bangtan series #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts fluff #j hope fanfic #j hope fluff #j hope angst #suga fluff #suga angst #jhope fanfic #hoseok fanfic

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survivingafterus · 4 years

Text

String of Consciousness

CW: Rape mention, child abuse, poor living conditions, mention of pedophilia, mental illness, self harm

Trying to conjure memories from the dust of traumas and misfortunes is aimless. Sometimes with a smell I feel sharp intakes of time flooding back to me, holding nothing but a vague idea of the memory tied to it. My earliest memory is from behind the bars of a play pen. I am being given gold fish crackers. I can’t be older than four.

The deep, dark smell of Pepsi in the largest Texico mug you’ve ever seen winding into one with the comfortable chemical smell of Zippo lighter fluid. My father.

It is immeasurably hard to recall the details of a moment in which your consciousness is disconnected to your body. I laughed. It was funny. Watching a grown woman jump up and down, screaming. Her face was red and she spit as she screamed, red hot frustration. Her teeth were yellow and streaky, like an unwashed egg. Her hair was wild and greasy, the result of inadequate parenting before her and sulfur-heavy well water. She is terrifying. When asked how I was abused I used to tell people it was never physical. I had been taught that hitting your child in the face and head was acceptable.

I grew up without clean drinking water. I stole and hoarded food.

Salt and spices scoured our tongues before we hid the evidence and threw the bouillon cubes behind the propane tank we sat on. It was hot and we were young, poor, and desperately starved for entertainment. We wanted fun. The feeling of ice cold AC air on my bare legs as I lay on the love seat in the farthest corner of the house. Laying here is always a gamble, because spiders love to gather around the AC, and in Missouri the spiders kill you.

The acrid smell of stale piss and rotting food hit me in the face each time I come through the door. There are ants in the bottom of the gallon of chocolate milk after it was left open. It’s hard to distinguish where the piss smell originates from, is it her 5 year old still in diapers or is it the smell of too many animals in one house? Maybe it’s the smell of negligent obesity and the limitations it set on self care, or maybe the desire for it? My best friend lived in this house. I spent most of my time in this house as a child. Marissa was the cheapest babysitter in town and my mom was busy. The sound of Rob Zombie music is played over the muted television, showing a healthy balance of SciFy and professional wrestling. Seeing her skin pulled over her fat body was shocking. Seeing his huge ass was traumatizing. When semi-professional wrestlers want to act hurt they cut their faces with razor blades. It was hot in the van and the smell of rotting food and trash only made the van ride more uncomfortable. JD was supposed to see his dad today and we had all driven together to drop him off. His dad never came to get him. Stains decorated the light blue walls, from food, from art supplies, from human feces. Staring out the window I focused on making it through the night. I was a paranoid kid. I was terrified. Stirring on the cot that had been set up in one of the children’s rooms I focused on making it through the night.

When I was around the age of five I thought that one could stretch their limbs out and suspend themselves under the bed, so if someone looked under the bed the person would be over their line of sight. I was always practicing hiding. Digging my way underneath my parent’s bed I’d watch my mother’s feet pass by, unconcerned with where I was. The thick weight of fur coats against my face as I hide inside my closet, thinking that as long as I had a barrier of outerwear I was invisible. I was safe. I knew that spiders lived in that part of my closet and still I practiced hiding there. The satisfying click of the pull string bulb in my mother’s closet rewards me with darkness as I push my way further into the mass of my mother’s wardrobe, wedging myself between elaborate lingerie outfits, dress-suits, and glitzy dresses. My mother always wanted to be seen. I just wanted to disappear. I was terrified of my room and my big bed. A wooden headboard beautifully carved cradled my twin size mattress, which in turn kept me frozen in fear at the shadows cast by trees in my windows. I saw myself sleeping, there in my bed, but I don’t remember the rest, or if there is “the rest”. My dad had a file of naked photos he had taken of our fifteen year old babysitter.

Memories of Versaille float through the air, like scents that can’t be identified, fleeting and undefined. A waterfall. Other kids. All the world was green. I remember being scared. I remember sleeping in the rain in a tent with my best friend and her family. I get the memory of us looking over the crowds of tents and the scene in Harry Potter where they’re looking at a scene of tents mixed up. An albino peacock is something to awe at.

It is hot and the door is open, leaving a thin gnarled screen as a filter to deter bugs. The Summer nights still hang within the nineties and the house is humid and wet. The sound of cicadas is a nice background to the hushed sounds of my mother speaking to her friend outside. She left that night and I was left to sleep on the couch. It looks like she’s peeing, the woman on the centerfold of Playboy. She sits on a fountain and sports very little, but just enough, body hair. The boy showing it to me is two years older than me, and his brother who is a year younger than I am stands with us. This Playboy is one of many in the trailer outside the house I slept in last night, where their grandfather spent the majority of his time (and may have lived there.) When I came home from my visit I told my mother I had showed people my boobies, because I felt like I had to. I was four. She then explained to me sexual assault and rape. Afterwards I told her I had been raped, she laughs it off as my having mixed up the definitions. I don’t know what happened, but I do know I was always a very smart kid.

Life was a movie, and I was it’s disocciative director. Walking through life, narrating my adventures, even looking at the camera and speaking outloud. “Ah, my favorite show is on.” I would say and rub my hands together and make my way downstairs. The ornate stained glass lamp that sits on my grandfather’s antique rolltop desk illuminates my shadow and I imagine what I must look like descending the stairs. I am five or six. I sit at the bottom of the stairs and listen to my parents’ war. It’s shouting, he’s drunk, and she’s mean and desperate. Glass crashes as my father swings our dining room chair through the air, onto our kitchen table, breaking our chandelier and leaving a large crack running through the left side. Our side cupboard door never shut the same after he ripped it off it’s hinges.

The smell of chickens gags me, as I cower in the hutch. I sit atop cracked and eaten eggs, one of our dogs had made short work of the nest. I am thirteen, maybe, and I am terrified. I sob into my knees and curl into myself and try to escape hell, but I never make it out of the hutch. It is hot and the bugs fly around me and get in my face. My face stings from sobbing and i feel red hot. My mother finds me in the kitchen and starts to scream at me. I am lazy. I am stupid. I am useless. I am being pulled through the kitchen by my hair, which falls down my back, sharing the shade and texture of my mother’s. When she does this I shut down. I don’t have an option. I can take anything as long as I can’t feel.

There is a framed dollar bill in the girl’s locker room office in the basement of my elementary school. I imagine this field when I think of the Lovely Bones.

I never tried to hide it, I wanted to be seen. An arm, pale, dusted with freckles opens the door to the hall, the arm opposite stings with each small movement, breaking the thin scabs and sending fresh blood to mingle with the crusted blood from the hour before. It’s hard to count how many vertical lines have been opened on my skin, even if my arm weren’t covered in blood. I am reported to my high school nurse. She does nothing.

I walk down the five miles of gravel that connect us to Town. In my pocket is a cute kitty pouch with x’s for eyes. Inside is a varied collection of razor blades gathered from cutting apart my mother’s disposable razors. I cut as I walk, my whole arm is covered in blood. The dust sticks to my skin and sets on my wounds as cars pass me walking in the road. There are no sidewalks here. I make it just past the horse farm before my mother and little brother find me in their car. She doesn’t notice at first. She is mad at me for leaving to walk the five miles to look for my cellphone, which my mother threw out the window trying to throw it at my head. The lights on my Sony Ericson change color and help guide me to find it back. I don’t remember if I ever found it. My mother demanded I get in the car and my brother tells her I’m bleeding pretty badly. She starts to scream at me and tries to hit me in the head, demanding my razor pouch, this she also throws out the window. My skin turns orange as my mother roughly scrubs turpentine onto my split skin, telling me it should be burning. She was confused, turpentine does not burn when applied to skin. She wanted it to burn. There was a terrifying black and white portrait of a young girl around ten in a dress. It had to be taken in the late 1800s or early 1900s and it curled and started to sink in it’s frame. The ceiling my mother meticulously applied ornate paper to cracks and yellows and starts to sag. Dust covers everything so quickly, and what was a beautiful well kept home slipped to a kept enough, slipped to a dusty, dirty, clutter filled space, to a completely coated with dust and bird feed crumbs and powder.

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This essay was written for a college course. It’s intent is to use descriptive language to lay out scenes. It is also a huge mess of an essay, but I feel the descriptions are good.

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