#i just got home and my brain is fried so sorry if this starter is a bit lackluster adkjgrfdl.... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

asteriismos · 4 years

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stay home - jacob barber

warning(s) : smut, eighteen! jacob and reader, soft fluffy smut

words : 3k

authors note : sorry i’ve been away for a while. there will be more requests getting written soon. idk if i like this one or not lol it may get a rewrite

BUT ALSO A SOFT SMUT WITH JACOB B LIKE-

Oh my God yes, can you rewrite that closet scene so it's Jacob and reader

you had been there when andy gave the news to joanna, jacob, and laurie that he found out ben rifkin’s phone was now in evidence. you listened to the older adults as they explained that this meant that andy and joanna could go through the phone and find anything to defend jacobs case. this was good news, very, very good news.

this news, though good, was obviously something that the barbers didn’t want you knowing. you knew this by the fact that when andy had come home only ten minutes earlier, he asked for jacob to come down and only jacob. andy knew that you were there, as did laurie, but this was a family affair. something that they didn’t want you to go telling other people or the media about this news. which you understood, jacob’s safety in this trial was what really mattered.

but you were a snoopy person, wanting to know what they were talking about so badly that you stood in the doorframe leading to jacob’s room, being quiet as you listened to the conversation. it felt a little wrong to be snooping, but the kitchen was right there next to the stairs and it was hard for you to not hear the conversation.

hearing the conversation cease and footsteps making their way towards the stairs, you turned and walked into jacob’s room, mindlessly looking over the stuff that was on his desk. his computer, which was bright and shown on the screen was a google doc for a paper he was putting off, was the only thing that really brought light into the room other than the small lamp adjacent to the left on the desk.

the footsteps neared closer and from the hallway outside of his room, jacob said, “my mom and dad are going out to get takeout, what do you want from the chinese place?” chinese food. it was jacob’s favorite takeout food, even if it tended to make him a little sick after he ate it. you always laughed at how he always wanted to go there when both of you were hungry and didn’t want to go to either of your houses to make food yourselves.

you turned to face him and shrugged your shoulders, part of your cardigan sliding down your arm. “i’ll just get the chicken fried rice, i’m not too hungry,” you said. jacob smiled and walked back downstairs, seemingly to tell his parents what you wanted. you waited patiently for him to come back, and when he did, he closed the door and stood idly next to it, his eyes scanning his room before making their way to your own.

there was a certain unvoiced aura that has been between both of you for a really long time, ever since the day he got arrested and charged with the murder of ben rifkin. you two had yet to even really talk about it, because you weren’t really sure how to even start talking about it. it wasn’t a casual conversation starter, quite the obvious. talking about the murder of ben was beginning to be taboo in your suburban town.

jacob barber was in the same class as you for as long as you could remember. you two even went to the same preschool when you two were both three years old. he was born in august and you were born in september so you were always a little bit younger than you, but each of you were some of the oldest in your soon to be graduating class. already 18 in the beginning of senior year. because you were a girl and jacob was a boy, it was quickly established that you couldn’t be friends just because that’s how it was in elementary school. the boys hung out with the boys and the girls hung out with the girls. you can even remember having a boys vs girls ‘war’ on the playground about who had the most cooties. so you didn’t know him well until sophomore year english class.

the teacher in that class, mrs heng, was a spiteful woman who obviously hated children. you always wondered why someone would become a high school teacher if they openly talked about how messed up the ‘younger generation’ was. mrs heng had a strict seating chart that didn’t change for the rest of the year, and she placed you and jacob to sit next to each other at the double desk. back then you had only really heard people talk about jacob and the same went for you, so it was pretty awkward at first. after a while you two started to warm up to each other and the rest was history.

you two were now nearing your two year anniversary and everything seemed much different than how it was two years ago. how could either of you think that any of this would happen?

jacob, still standing awkwardly with his eyes at yours, cleared his throat. “did you hear any of that?” he was good at reading you. he knew your facial expressions like the back of your hand. and he always knew when those gears in your brain were turning.

you breathed out, realizing that you were holding your breath. you didn’t know why you were being so passive with jacob, you two never kept secrets from each other. but you, like everyone else, was trying to tell if jacob actually did it or not. of course you weren’t like the people who jumped to the conclusion and painted him to be some type of monster. you knew he wasn’t a monster. he was jacob. your jacob.

“yes.”

your tone was softer than you wanted to be. and jacob couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt in his heart for having to put you through this. he knew that people were mean to you at school, on social media, and even in newspaper articles about him. they all mentioned how jacob had a girlfriend, and how she might just be as messed up as he apparently is. it broke his heart in two.

he walked over to you, the apparent height difference showing the closer he got to you. there was a point where you were taller than jacob, back in eighth grade when all the girls were going through puberty and the boys were still left in the dust. then in sophomore year a month into dating him, he started to get taller and taller. you swore that you would see him one day and then the next he would be two inches taller.

his hand reached out to grab your own, making you sigh at the contact. you missed him. now that he was out of school and was finishing up his last year of high school with a private tutor, you never got to see him at school and sometimes not even afterwards because you had your own responsibilities with trying to graduate with good grades. tonight was the first night this week you came over to hang out with him in almost two weeks.

“i'm sorry, about everything. about roping you into all of this, you don’t deserve it,” jacob said, his hand squeezing yours.

you looked into his eyes with concern. “and you do? jacob, i’m so sorry this is all happening to you.” you could deal with a little bit of bullying, but jacob? he was looking at the rest of his life in jail if he was found guilty of this. and the evidence was piling up against him. you almost didn’t know how he was keeping it together. the world was crashing down on jacob barber and he was still making sure that you were okay.

you did really love him. you have since sophomore year when he used to write on the corners of your worksheets and ask you how your day was. then when you would turn them in, you’d have to scribble out the conversation so that the teacher didn’t see. in the beginning stages of your relationship he would put little notes in your locker that you still kept in your room to this day. a part of you believed that you would always love jacob barber, no matter what happened in these next coming weeks.

his eyes looked down at the ground, sighing. “i know, it’s just. i worry about you all the time,” he said. he really cared about you, loved you more than anything he’s ever known. it didn’t even matter what happened to him, as long as you were safe from possible violent people and the media. they were all painting you to be someone you’re not. jacob wished that they knew the real you. about how supportive, kind, and considerate you have been with him this entire time. the entire world was against jacob barber and here you were, still defending him and standing by his side.

feeling a sudden chill, you shivered under his touch, making him smile a little bit and look back into your eyes. all thoughts of the trial melted away as you two came back into reality. without saying anything, you let go of his hand and turned to walk into his closet. it always confused you as to why he had such a big closet. but laurie said something about how jacob’s room ( despite it being smaller ) used to be the master bedroom before they added on an addition to the house. which explains why jacob had a walk in closet despite him not really even needing it. only about 2/3 of it was even filled, the other was just empty with a few boxes used for storage.

you heard jacob follow you, he leaned against the doorframe and watched you search through his expanse of sweatshirts. you were trying to find the perfect one to wear so you wouldn’t be so cold. hands grabbing and pushing away hangers, you came across a white one that he never really wore. amused, you turned to look at him and held it up by the hanger for him to see, “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you wear this one.”

a light blush spread across his cheeks, “yeah. i bought that one to wear and give to you a month ago. never got the chance.” he motioned to the hoodie with a sheepish smile on his face.

you smiled as well, biting your lip and setting it down on the shelf next to you. you came over to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. jacob pressed a kiss to your cheek and raised an eyebrow. “what’s on your mind?” he asked.

you shrugged. “just you.”

“i’m flattered,” jacob said, pecking you on the lips this time.

you looked into his eyes. he was the same person that you fell in love with. and you missed him this close to you. you missed him inside of you. you two haven’t had sex in so long, and his parents were gone you were the only people in the house.

you were so desperate for him. “make love to me.”

he hummed. “what was that?” he cocked his head to the side and put his hands on your waist. his thumbs pressed into your hip bones.

“make love to me,” you said again, catching his eyes.

he pulled away just a tiny bit, a curious look on your face. “what sprung this on?”

you just shrugged your shoulders, biting your lip again but in a more seductive way. “i love you. and i want you. we’re all alone in this house and it’ll be fun.”

he didn’t respond, instead kissing you with a desirable force. your back hit the wall with a calm force that you didn’t even mind the folded clothes that fell down from the top shelves. you laughed into the kiss, hands coming up and tangling themselves into jacob’s hair. the strands fell in between your fingers like silk. you tugged at them, eliciting a soft groan from him into your mouth.

jacob pulled away from you and pulled up your shirt, hands coming to your sides and capturing your lips with his again. his right hand trailed upward, cupping your breast. his thumb rubbed along the skin above your bra, squeezing a tiny bit. jacob was being gentle, loving, appreciating everything about your body.

usually when you guys had sex, it would go fast. mostly because you guys had so much pent up tension that you two have to go at it hard and fast to get relief. this time it was slow, genuinely appreciating everything about each other. it was rare that you got times like this, but now that it was here, neither of you were going to take it for granted.

you could tell that he had pent up tension, just the way that he was kissing you told you that. hot kisses pressed to your lips or on your jaw. it caused a pressure to build in your stomach. jacob went down to kiss up and down your neck, making sure not to make any marks where they could be seen. he did however, leave a large one just below your collarbone, which made you throw your head back with a tiny moan. the way that his teeth grazed across your skin felt so good.

“jacob, we don’t have that much time,” you spoke, hands pulling his face up to look at you. he gave you a lazy grin, kissing the valley in between your breasts. he then came up face to face with you and leaned in, his hot breath fanned against your face.

“you’re right, you’re just so beautiful i want to kiss every single inch of you,” jacob replied. you shivered at his words, cheeks reddening. “what? it’s true. i love you.”

you pecked him on the lips. “i love you too, may i?” your hands went down to the end of his shirt and lightly tugged on it. he laughed and nodded, his arms raising up as you guided the fabric off of his skin. once the shirt was off and discarded, your hands came to his sides and pulled him into another long kiss.

his lips still on yours, jacob went and started to mess with the button of your jeans. after a few attempts, he finally got them unzipped and pulled them off of you. you finished by kicking them off your ankles. your hands came to do the same for him, undoing his belt and letting him do the rest. your hands were too shakey to finish up the job anyways.

one finger hooked into the waistband of your panties and pulled them off of you as well. the only thing seperating each of you were his boxers, which were discarded soon after.

jacob hiked you up against the wall, grabbing the bottoms of your thighs and pulling you upwards. your legs wrapped around his waist, hands holding tightly onto his shoulders. you were off the ground in his arms against the wall of his closet, which you hoped didn’t drop more clothes on you. the last thing you wanted was for you guys to finish and then later have laurie barber ask what the hell happened in the closet to make the folded shirts on the top shelf all fall off.

there was a moment of silence between you two while he lined himself up with your entrance, the tip of his dick sliding through your folds. you moaned out, giving him a look that said please. jacob chuckled and pushed himself in.

the feeling of him stretching you out while he slowly pushed in made you groan out. you fogot how good this felt, how he filled you up just perfectly. right now you thanked god for birth control. jacob took a moment to let you adjust to the feeling after he bottomed out, since he didn’t warm you up with his fingers earlier. if there had been more time, he would’ve. but there will definitely be more times to be together.

“you - you can move,” you whispered out, your hands going to his face. “please jacob move.” you begged, making him laugh again.

“needy are we?”

you didn't have time to answer because he pulled out of you and pushed back in, continuing at a moderate pace. your back pressed against the wall every time his hips rut into yours, sending you closer and closer to that peak.

both of you were pretty riled up. because of the stress of the arrest and the upcoming trial, no one leaves you two that alone together to have sex. this was one of these rare moments you got to spend with each other and it was so worth it.

it was so worth it to hear those desperate moans come out of his lips every time his hips met yours, the lust in his eyes when his head bowed down and then up again to meet your eyes. jacob pressed kisses to your neck, licking a stripe up your jawline. a half moan half sob left your lips, feeling him reach that spot in you that only he could get. he hit it over and over again,

you moaned out, hands pressing harshly against his back. nail’s digging into the skin on his back. usually he wouldn’t like the pain, but it felt so good mixed with the pleasure of you so tight around him. both of you were really close, his thrusts were getting faster and harsher with every single time he pulled out and in. “god jacob, im going to come.”

jacob nodded his head that was in your shoulder and watched your face as you hit your orgasm, admiring the sweat on your brow and the way that your head threw back.

your moans in ecstasy seemed to cause him to hit his orgasm as well, his hands squeezing the back of your thighs. he attempted to pull out, warm hot liquid spilled inside of you and in the inside of your legs. he took a moment to make sure you were steady on your legs as he set you down. you leaned against the wall to catch your breath.

#defending jacob #jacob barber #jacob barber x reader #jacob barber imagine #jaeden martell

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hopefulstarfire · 3 years

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Watta Plays: Dragon Quest Starter Sentences

So. One of my best friends has his own YouTube channel. And to show my support and to get his channel out there because if anyone deserves a spotlight, it's him, I figured why not bring in some highlights as sentence starters for people? Useable for writing prompts and rp purposes! Please feel free to reblog, change pronouns as needed and please go check out my buddy Watta Plays!

This may/will contain spoilers from Dragon Quest XI S. This post also covers quotes from episodes 1-12 of the playthrough.

"Oh, that's not odd."

"Oh, okay! Okay! Just a couple of Headless Horsemen! Nothing to be afraid of, nothing to worry about, just....oh boy."

"Hey, isn't that the guy from Smash Bros?"

"You're not nearly as important as that doggo, I am so sorry."

"That doggo requires my attention."

"I'm gonna love it here. I'm home."

"You made me talk to you for irrelevant information. You're first on The List."

"Aw, come on! They're not monsters! They're just...little blobs of joy and happiness!"

"Ah, medicinal -- medicinal herbs -- right, yeah. Yes, yes, medicinal. Strictly medicinal purposes, those herbs. Yes. Understood. Understandable. Have a nice day."

"You're uh...you're not the strongest fighter...are you."

"Is this town just a cult?"

"This music tells me Boss Fight."

"Oh this is some Sly Cooper shit right here."

"This music is giving me some anxiety."

"No, no, no we're going to worry about that now! What the hell was that? No, no, we're not going to wait until later. You tell me what that is, you tell me what that is right now!"

"(Name)? (Name)! You can't leave me like that!"

"There was no Christopher Columbus. He was a lie. A big fat phony."

"Excuse the what now?"

"I know I've been making a lot of Zelda references, but..."

"This isn't gonna be like Kingdom Hearts, where I take a ride to the island and I never see or hear from you again, right?"

"This is triggering a lot of my danger alarms."

"You know my memory is as foggy as those wind spirits up there."

"Let me get this straight. You tell me not to spend it all in one place, and direct me to the exact place in which I can spend it all in one place?"

"So I have to confess my sins to save the game."

"Can we go back to the part where you found me in a river??"

"Aw, sweetie. I've already forgotten you."

"I certainly hope I don't end up regretting that."

"What's so great about the pendant?"

"They've got four chandeliers and a balcony. If that's not fancy, I don't know what is."

"Oh, I already don't like you, friend."

"Why do I have a feeling he's going to slaughter everyone there?"

"Making a racket WILL help me!"

"You're gonna free me, right? You're not gonna kill me, yeah??"

"How long were you in there to dig that big of a hole?"

"Guess I should have accepted those quests before I became public enemy number one."

"Where the hell is that organ music coming from?"

"The rule of three doesn't matter here, don't give me a rule of three!"

"I don't wanna be Kentucky Fried Hero!"

"I would rather not be impaled today, thank you."

"I can't go back to the slammer! I did my time! ...Except that I didn't do my time."

"I think your brain map is kind of out of date."

"Can you just carry me? I need you to carry me."

"Damn, those archers scare the shit out of me."

"Famous last words; I'm gonna be fine."

"I thought it was gonna be a little secret chest alcove, I didn't think he was gonna be there!"

"You said you got jailed a year ago, do you think it's still there?"

"I bet you there's some regret in there."

"So guard boy likes money...oh, and hot singles in your area."

"I still don't trust him. Never trust a merchant. Then again, never trust big money."

"Why are appearing everywhere I go?? And in the most random places?"

"His eyes follow me. Oh, I don't like that. I don't like that at all. I'm getting out of here, I'm not dealing with that."

"Welp, I guess we're heading out at night. That's a spooky thought."

"Now I'm really gonna wish I had that sword."

"It's fine! Kid's not dead! All is good!"

"It's the hot single in our area!"

"Alright, you and me, (name), against the world! Or, rather...against...the government?"

"Oh God, what the hell are you!?"

"I hope that's not gonna come back to bite me in the ass."

"Screw it! Screw it! We'll just fight everything not super dangerous along the way!"

"I don't wanna risk him living to see another day."

"Discount goods??? Discount goods!!!"

"Oh, get a little pep in your step, buddy!"

"The pep is real!!"

"Don't antagonize them! You, like -- you almost died!!"

"What are these little goblinoid things??"

"It's hideous! But...yet...I'm intrigued."

"That's definitely not a good thing, but goddamn if it isn't funny."

"Everything went perfectly, according to plan! Everything!"

"Poor lumberjack doggo."

"Oh, WE'RE the cheeky devils??"

"OKAY, so he's got multi target attacks and he uses fire! Good to know, good to know."

"He'll die by my hand!! MY HAND!!"

"Is that a cow?? What's a cow doing here???"

"TALKING COW! TALKING COW! WHAT THE HELL!? TALKING COW!?"

"Also money. Don't forget money. I would like some money."

"Yeah, I know, my hair is marvelous and magnificent."

"I mean, I'm fine with it if you wanna stay here and praise me for the ends of all eternity. I'm perfectly fine with that."

"O, great angel of the church, I murdered a man today."

"I murdered a demon in cold blood. That's probably a good thing. That's probably what God would want me to do but, you know."

"I'm about to make pulled pork outta these guys."

"Everything's fine. Nobody's dead today."

"Holy shit, did I travel back in time!?"

"I was joking when I said I'd forget about you guys!"

"I don't think I need to confess my sins this time."

"Yeah, I joked about it a lot, so maybe that why it hurts, but..."

"Third rule of RPGs: always check behind the waterfalls."

"You'd think that living this close to a river, or to a lake or something, they would have taught you how to swim."

"Sorry (name), we're gonna leave you in my dust."

"I don't wanna have to look up a guide for something this stupid."

"Holy shit, I'M the heir to the throne!?"

"But, (name), grudges are the best things to bear! It's so fun to bear a grudge!"

"I need revenge, man."

"When you say rightfully yours...you mean that you rightfully stole it."

"Let's teach those assholes a lesson!"

"What a perfect time to raid a government facility for an item that was once stolen, that we're now stealing again."

"You're gonna carry me through this dungeon, right?"

"Oh, it's just a corpse."

"Oh, you're not tricky devils. You're just little devils."

"I don't know what that is, but I gotta fight it."

"How deep does this thing go?? It's like a fucking pyramid in here."

"Hell yeah! We're not dying today, boyos!!"

"He's actually rabid, oh no."

"Kinda unfortunate, but, I mean, I'll take it."

"That wad quite a teleport, young man."

"I have stolen his secret stash!!"

"I don't know if my heart can handle another chase scene!"

"Why are they hiding a dragon under the capital? Like, seriously?"

"Hello, snail!"

"This party is an equal opportunity provider."

"Come down here so I can smack ya ass."

"You're not Minotaur Man! You're an imposter!"

"This is a bar. I don't think this is where I'm supposed to be."

"That's why they sound so weird! They're speaking in haiku!"

"This dude has seen some shit."

"I'm ready for my indoctrination, Mr. Cult Leader."

#sentence starters #writing prompts #rp ask meme #rp prompts #rp sentence starters #watta plays #starfire prompts #dragon quest #dragon quest spoilers

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mae-gi-writes · 4 years

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Halloween Escapade | Jacob (The Boyz)

You and Jacob both dislike parties, so why not ditch it to get Mcdonald’s?

Genre: fluff

A/N: I KNOW I’M ONE MONTH LATE FOR HALLOWEEN But I saved this in my drafts and forgot to post it. Nothing too intense, just a little cute Jacob. Enjoy <3

-----

“You mind doing my makeup?" Looking up from your makeup palette, your heart does a little stutter at the sight of a dishevelled-looking Jacob decked in what seems to be a skeleton-themed shirt and pants. On the occasion of Halloween, the office had decided to close its doors early to celebrate. It was also a good excuse to order some good assortments of finger-picking foods and expensive cake. Being the artist that you were, you had brought along your entire makeup collection, ready to help out anyone in need of paint or decoration on their face.

But you had not expected Jacob, of all people, to be standing before you while shuffling his feet like a shy little schoolboy. He is obviously of a higher status than you are in the office, one of the Directors that has a certain percentage of shares, no doubt. You as a mere office worker that looked up to him in admiration, and had to admit that you had developed a little crush throughout the months of noticing his gentle and kind demeanour. "Uh--sure," you quickly stutter out before gesturing towards the seat, "you can sit here." He does so without complaint as you ask, "what kind of makeup do you want?" "Could you do a skull?" "Uhm--" that takes a long time, your brain screams out at you, "s--sure. No promises, though." "That's alright. The uglier the better anyway," he pauses, "not that your drawings are ugly, I--that's not what I meant." You chuckle softly signalling to him that it's all good. Opening up your palette and dabbing your sponge with white powder, you hesitate slightly before you start covering his face; his eyebrows, over his eyes, down the slope of his nose. He's gorgeous, you think to yourself while trying not to giggle at the thought of you two being so close in physical proximity. You hope that he can't hear the way your heart practically beats out of your chest, an excited hummingbird bursting out through your ribcage. "So...did you learn that yourself?" Jacob asks after a bout of silence. "Mostly. But I was always comfortable with painting and all that stuff," you start contouring his face with gray and silently appreciate the flawless texture of his skin, "I used to do makeup for halloween every year when I was still in school." "That's so cool. I wish I could paint like that," his eyes flutter open to momentarily gaze into your eyes, "the only thing I'm good at are numbers." "Well you know, I grew up wishing I was good at numbers." 'We always want something we can't have." "True," you start blending the black with the white, the makeup taking on a grey tone to create a shadow, "but if it makes you feel better, most people admire the ones who know their numbers well." "You sound like you know something about that." You just smile faintly, "I hope I don't sound too whiny. That wasn't my intention." "No, your honesty is...refreshing," he mumbles through closed lips as you brush over his face with the blender, "I mean, I don't really know how it feels because I'ver never faced this kind of problem. But I can understand how frustrating that might be, for people to judge someone based on their jobs." His compliment throws you off, so much so that you can't help the heat from spreading over your cheeks, "oh--uh, I hope that wasn't too rude. I wasn't trying to offend you or anything--" "No no, not offended," Jacob raises his hands in mock surrender, "I'd be frustrated too, in your place." His blunt sweetness makes your heart flutter and it makes you glad that his eyes are closed at this very moment, for it would've probably made you even more embarrassed to be looking at him face to face. Clearing your throat, you move to his eyes, applying soft dark smudges over his lids as he asks,"so, how do you find life here?" That's how it goes, with him sitting patiently and as still as a statue, and you painting the contours of his face while trying your best not to admire the beauty of the man sitting before you, a work of art you simply can't take your eyes off of. But the more you converse, the more you realize how much you have in common. And the result is astounding, to say the least. For starters, you would never have known that your superior hates socials the most, or that despite people at the office drinking their coffee black, Jacob prefers his coffee with lots of milk and sugar that is enough to cause him diabetes. Not that he's proud of it, mind you. It's not until someone coughs loudly behind Jacob that you realize he's been sitting there a lot longer than he's supposed to, jumping before quickly noticing the growing line of impatient people waiting for their makeup. "Oh sorry sorry!" He jumps up, as though startled he's stayed that long, "I'll leave you to it then, Y/N. Thank you so much for the makeup." "Oh no worries," your heart drops slightly at the thought that you'll never get the chance to talk to him like this again. But before you have time to dwell on that fact, another colleague is asking for a vampire kind of look. You lose sight of Jacob for most of the night, though small glimpses of his handsome figure is enough to entertain your little fantasy. You try not to feel so disheartened, knowing full well that there's not even a single strand of hope that he'll even look at you that way. Hell, he doesn' t even look at you. Stop being stupid, you tell yourself sharply. Nothing's never going to happen. He's probably already taken, idiot. "I'm going home," you mutter to your colleague as another song blasts through the stereo hall. The group protests but you shake your head and quietly slip out to leave all the noise behind, the night air welcoming you with its fresh chilly air. A soft sigh falls from your lips when you close your eyes for a brief moment. A car honks in the distance, you pay no mind. Let's go home, you think to yourself, body turning towards the subway station. You walk a few steps, only to hear another honk, closer this time. You stop and turn, a frown stitching your eyebrows together upon noticing a car pull up next to you. You're surprised to see Jacob's face greet you when the window rolls down. You blink at him. "Need a ride?" --------- That is how you find yourself sitting in Mcdonald's parking lot a few minutes later with warm food takeaways in your lap and the smell of fries wafting through the air, chatting with a man whom you'd deemed unapproachable for the past few months and realizing that there is so much more to what you see to him on a daily basis. You'd be lying to say that you don't feel your heart staggering every time he looks at you with those beautiful mahogany orbs that seem to hold galaxies. "I never used to celebrate Halloween," Jacob is saying as he pops a chip into his mouth, "my mother hates it, says it's useless to be celebrating an event that rouses the dead." "Technically, she's right." "Yeah, my five year old self didn't think so though." "You managed to celebrate in college?" He nods before pulling a face, "first and last time I drank till I puked." "That sounds fun," sarcasm drips from your voice before you laugh softly at the tongue he pulls out sat you. It's so easy to talk to him, too easy. It scares you, this foreign uninvited sensation of something fluttering through your ribcage as if you're constantly sitting on a swing that is going too fast for you. You talk about school, about where you come from, about how you sometimes miss your parents dearly and how hard it was at first, to be away from home for so long. And then he tells you about growing up, about his childhood dream of becoming a basketball player, one that broke the moment he realized it'd be much harder to actually get into the professional league. And then it quickly drifts to the troubles of life itself, to the nostalgia of losing friends when you grow up, to discussing multiple theories about what the future holds. "Woah, it's late," Your eyes widen in realization when you spot the time upon his dashboard. 3:30.a.m. "Oh," his own eyes go round, "shit I'm sorry. I didn't want to keep yo--" "No no, it's okay. I had fun," you smile softly at him while recalling yiur conversation, "I'm glad we got to talk." Relief breaks out as a sigh through of his lips, "that's good to know," his eyes find yours then, bathed in the reflection of the cheap streetlight hanging over your car, but you realise that it doesn't matter, for Jacob is ephemerally beautiful and carries that around with him wherever he goes. Your heart tugs when you realise that the night will have to end at some point, watching him pull out of the parking lot while asking you for directions to your house. The night started out with no expectations, with the sense that you can't breathe around the people you're surrounded with. Yet, this moment feels like a gust of oxygen bursting through your lungs. "Can I say something?" Jacob's voice pulls you out of your reverie as he turns onto your street, glancing over at you out of the corner of his eye. You hum for him to continue. He does after a few beats of hesitation. "You know you can talk to me, even if we're at the office," his murmur is so soft you barely catch it. You look at him in surprise, not expecting such words to fall from his lips. But the look he gives you is one that makes heat spread throughout your chest in parallel to the heat covering your cheeks. He continues, "I know that a lot of people are scared of me, because of what they think I might do considering my privileges. But take that title away and I'm just like everyone else." At this point, his vehicle wheels to a stop right before your front door and he turns his head so that your gazes clash, dark obsidian filled with a gentleness that you can't quite explain, though it causes your heartbeat to stutter. You gaze back though, trying to decipher the way his face softens and the tender way his lips are curved into a half-smile, as if you're sharing a private joke. "Well," you clear your throat, head whipping towards your door and hand finding the car handle, "I guess that's my stop." Biting your lip and debating whether to follow through with the aftermath of his words haunting your ears, you quickly turn back to him, "I don't think you're that kind of person. I don't think you could ever go behind someone's back just for the sheer fun of it," you see his gaze widen with surprise, "So don't worry about that." Jacob just stares at you in the pause that follows. You stare back, mentally debating whether you should just throw yourself out of the window for being so stupid or whether to ask the said man himself to run you over, so mortified at the prospect of having said such a thing that your orbs immediately drop to your lap. "I ...thank you," comes Jacob's whisper, "that...nobody has ever said that before." "A--Anyway, I should probably go--" you quickly scramble to open the car door only to be stopped by his hand swinging out to grab yours. "Wait," he says breathlessly, "I--Do you want to--you know maybe do this again? Sometime? I--" a shy smile dances across his lips, "I had fun, Y/N." Your heart swells. Your neck flushes with heat as your eyes drop to the ground, "I had fun too," you mumble, allowing his hand to slide down your arm until it reaches yours. His fingers, as soft as a dove's touch, gently twine around yours like vines and a breath catches in your throat. Jesus, he's perfect. "Yeah," your murmur, "I'd like to do this again." You don't want to look at him. You can't look at him, for you know that once you do there'll be no mistaking the blatant effect he has on you, and that is something you wish to keep to yourself a little longer. But that thought flies out of the window the moment you feel the softest of caresses upon your knuckles. Head shooting up to catch Jacob's lips skimming over the back of your head, a shiver runs through your spine the moment your eyes lock with all the feelings you've been attempting to cast aside for most of the night. "Great," he grins against your hand, "I'll pick you up at seven tomorrow?"

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fromageinterrupted · 6 years

Note

21 - Kiss on a dare combined with 64 - Being Unable To Open Their Eyes For A Few Moments Afterward for plance

Hooo boy! This prompt possessed my soul and made me churn out 3,000 words just so the babies could kiss. @hailqiqi I hope this does justice to the prompts. I love you and your amazing writing ability!

You can find me on AO3 fromageinterrupted.

Fair warning, it does get somewhat T rated.

STB

This was was stupid. The whole thing was completely ridiculous and Pidge wanted none of it. The dumb town had lost their mind.

“Do I have to, Hunk?” She whined. She wasn’t much of a whiner, but the whole thing was getting out of hand and Hunk had her backed into a corner.

“Nu-uh. No way. You are not getting out of this. You AGREED to my terms and now you must pay the price.” He held their agreement over her head like some malevolent angel sent to deceive the desperate.

“Maybe we could alter the terms of our agreement? I’m sure I can come up with something else besides this.” She shoved her phone into his face, but he pushed it out of the way.

He grabbed her shoulders. “I got you the goods, now pay up.”

“God, they were just brownies, Hunk. Regular brownies at that. Not even frosted.”

She wanted to pretend that they were ordinary, but she knew better, everyone knew better. Hunk’s brownies were the literal best dessert in town. Everyone wanted them, but he insisted he had to be in the right mindset to make them and he had to love the person he was making them for, thus making them a sought-after and rare commodity. Pidge had to agree with this faulty logic because,one time she had one of his brownies he was coerced into making for their home-ec class-- a class Hunk could have taught with both hands behind his back-- and they were terrible. Though, she suspects he did that on purpose so the teacher would leave him alone the rest of the semester.

Pidge had needed his brownies. Hundreds of them. She was going to go to the summer program at Caltech if it killed her and she had to raise the money for the final payment somehow. All her spec work had dried up, so her mom suggested a bake sale. Pidge couldn’t bake to save her life, but Hunk was an angel (albeit an evil one-she knows this now) sent from heaven who agreed to offer his services for free...except one thing. She had to do whatever he wanted her to do for whole day. Which, at the time, seemed a pretty fair price.

The day had gone swimmingly; they hung out at his place, planted the starters for his summer vegetable and berry gardens, did some homework, then ended up at Shakes, a candy colored building with a giant spinning shake on the roof, a beacon of socialization for much of the town’s teen populous. Inside offered raised booths surrounding groups of tables that could be arranged in any configuration, some more quiet nooks off to the side, and a long counter with stools where the patron not traveling in a pack could order a darn good burger and shake, any flavor imaginable. Pidge and Hunk had taken up residence in one of the raised booths, offering them a full view of the daily drama that a collection of teens can bring, as well as shielding them from being front and center to the drama.

She had been lulled into a false sense of security that a good burger and a great shake could bring; her trust in her friend was too great apparently.

“You’re going to do it, and you’re going to enjoy yourself. Sometimes Pidge-” Hunk sighed as if the burden of his friend’s singleness was too great,”- I think you’re made of stone.” He pinched her cheek and winked at her. His hand shot out to point suddenly “Look! There he is now!”

Pidge swung her head over her shoulder to see where Hunk was pointing, her stomach dropping when she saw him. Lance McClain, resident co-captain of the swim team and the lead in all the school drama productions. He was as cliche as they come; tall, dark, and handsome. Or hawt-- “H. A. W. T. Won’t McClain Please Look at Me!?”--as the fanclub liked to say.

There were at least 12 seniors in his group. They had pulled together several tables and were lounging around them in one position or another, pretty girls in cheerleading outfits sitting on some the guys’ laps, other ones leaning over their burger baskets, their elbows on the table, fully invested in their dinner, one guy was doing the thing with the knife. He looked a little less than thrilled to be there and Pidge suspected his presence had everything to do with the girl he was sitting next to. Lance was sitting on the end, his chair turned sideways along the table, his long legs sticking out into the space left when they grouped the tables together. He was popular and well-liked and Pidge was....well...not. Popular that is. Sure she had a name for herself among the academic crowd, but she was persona non grata around the rest, no reason to get to know one of the teacher’s nerdy children.

Lance suddenly looked right at them, a smile blooming on his face when he spotted Hunk, then started waving. That’s right, Pidge remembered, Hunk was pretty popular and well-liked too.

“Hey Hunk! Hey Pidge!”-Huh?-Maybe not as unnoticed as she assumed. To be fair, he was good friends with Hunk, and Pidge had been around them several times during study sessions. Hunk waved backed, a crooked grin on his face. Pidge nodded at him over her shoulder and turned back to face Hunk.

He flipped her phone over, face up. “Turn it on Pidge. It’s time”.

She stared at it like it was a pen at a scantron test. “No Hunk. Please….” She couldn’t do it. She was not brave enough.

As if he could read her mind Hunk responded, “You’re one of the bravest people I know. Besides, your brother made the app. Think of it as supporting your family.”

“My brother can go die for inventing that app. It’s ridiculous. Look around:” Everyone in the place had their phones face up, a colorful digital spinner visible on many of them. When they went dark, someone would get up and find someone else and they would kiss. Most of it was pretty vanilla, but they were teens and pretty hormonal. Pidge rolled her eyes.

“Spin the Bottle? Come on Hunk. Why is this popular? Why doesn’t everyone just use tinder?”

Hunk laughed, “Really, Pidge? Tinder? That’s for hooking up you know. STB is for fun. Just a little non-committal lippage among friends. Mostly harmless and a whole lot of fun.”

“Says the guy who has girls pretending the ‘bottle’ landed on you.” her food had come mid conversation so she took the opportunity to stuff a bunch of fries in her mouth in disgust.

Hunk chuckled, “And who am I to turn them away? I’m not in the habit of breaking girls’ hearts. Anyway, turn the app on Pidge.” He tapped her phone again.

Pidge wiped a hand across her mouth. “Alright, fine. Gimme.” She grabbed her phone and turned it on. The app already open on her phone, Hunk having started it up when they got to Shakes. Lance’s name and current location displayed. Pidged shivered.

Matt had made a pretty good app actually. He developed software that could vet those who wanted to use the app, making sure high schoolers only met up with other high schoolers and so on. He’d made it for his senior project and school prank all in one. Spin The Bottle. Simple, easy to use, and it spread like wildfire. Everyone she knew had the app, and most everyone would open it during lunches at school and when they were hanging out at Shakes.

It worked like this: you would spin the colorful wheel on the screen, it would cycle through anyone signed up on the app and signed in at the time in the radius you choose at that time. Then, when it lands on a person, you find them and kiss them. You can always deny the kiss, but there was a leader board for both amount of kisses and time spent kissing. And, being the hormonal teens they all tended to be, the competition was strong.

Even though it was her brother’s creation, Pidge did not play STB. She was not “dtk” or whatever everyone said. Now Hunk’s evil design had placed her squarely in the game and she was...well..nervous. She had never kissed anyone before and this was a most public way of checking that off her list. Not to mention, she was already a wreck around Lance usually anyway. Where other’s flirted with people they liked, Pidge ignored them or made kind of mean comments. Both things she’s directed toward Lance numerous times.

She folded her hands in plea. “Please Hunk. Pretty Please. I can’t do this.”

Hunk stared her down. “You can and you will. Not only do you owe me for the brownies, but--and I’m sorry to bring this up-- you still owe me a dare.” A smug look of triumph crossed his face. Pidge could not believe this.

“I owe you a dare? How does that?...That doesn't even make sense Hunk!” It was ridiculous. “You can’t owe someone a dare.”

“Uhuh. Back in fifth grade, at Stinky’s birthday party, when we were playing ‘Truth or Dare’. Your mom came and got you before I could give you a dare. It’s time to--”

“-Don’t finish that.” She glared at him.

“Pidge, I dare you to kiss Lance McClain. Now get up. Get on with it.” He had stood up, pulled Pidge to standing as well, placed her phone in her hand, and pushed her forward. She almost fell off the raised platform. “Wait!” her heels dug into the floor. “I. I have french fry breath. I can’t kiss-” Hunk cut her off.

“Open up.”

Her body must have decided to do it’s own thing regardless of her brain cause she opened her mouth wide. Hunk took the opportunity to dump quite a number of Tic Tac into it.

“There. Now chew those on the way over and you’re golden.” he gently shoved her off the platform.

Pidge stumbled forward before straightening herself up. There was no use in fighting it. If she was going to follow through on a dare from fifth grade and her promise to Hunk, she was going to do it right.

The Tic Tacs melted quickly leaving her mouth feeling cool and hopefully smelling nice as well.

Pidge held her phone in her hand, Lance’s name flashing as she came closer to him. His own phone was in his hands, his attention fully on the screen as STB alerted him to Pidge’s proximity. Everyone at the table fell silent as she stopped next to his outstretched legs. He looked up at her, a question in his pretty blue eyes.

“Katie?” Crap! She forgot Hunk signed her up using her real name. A million thoughts were running through her head as she contemplated her next move.

“Pidge? Your real name is Katie?” he kind of laughed “it’s cute, it suits you.”

Some of the initial nervousness left her stomach, replaced by the feeling of butterflies. Her cheeks warmed. “I..yes. I’m Katie.” real smooth Pidge.

Lance titled his head toward her phone, “Looks like we’re paired up on STB. You ready to do this?” Pidge though she saw something like hope in his eyes. Could he want to kiss her? Seems unlikely but here they were regardless. She looked over at Hunk in the distance, he gave her a thumbs up.

“As ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s do this McClain.” He straightened up and Pidge moved herself between his open legs. He was so tall (and she was, admittedly, very short) that Pidge wouldn’t have to bend down too much to align her lips with his. She leaned forward.

“Hold on Pidge.:” Lance pressed a button on his app accepting the STB pairing and reached out and did the same on hers. “We still have to find out how long this is going be.”

That’s right, Pidge forgot the length of the kiss was randomly generated by the app. Most everyone got 10 to 30 seconds, some 1 minute, and very few higher than that. The most time a couple could get was 5 minutes, but, she’s heard, that was very rare. Their apps flashed 3:00 in big red numbers. Dang! Three minutes? That seemed like a lot to Pidge. As someone who’s never kissed anyone before, this was daunting. Lance however seemed elated.

“WooHoo! No one ever gets over one minute. This is awesome.” He made some sort of look at Pidge, she assumed it was meant to be flirty and seduce her all at once. All it actually did was make her laugh a little. She responded with a bravado she did not possess. ‘“I don’t know McClain, think you can handle kissing me for three whole minutes?” She stared him down, judging his reaction.

He put his hands on her hips, pulling her toward him. “We’re about to find out, aren’t we?” The timer on the phones beeped signalling the start. Lance moved one hand to the back of her neck and pulled her head down toward his.

Pidge didn’t know what she had been expecting. Two people’s skin touching each other shouldn’t feel like this. Objectively, she had known she wanted to put her face on Lance’s face for some time even though she had no frame of reference for having this want.

She didn’t move for a moment. Lance’s lips were soft and warm as he moved them . He kept placing tiny kisses on her lips, barely any suction at all, and it felt incredibly good to Pidge. His next kiss pulled her bottom lip out just a little, and, as it snapped back into place, something other than Pidge’s brain took over.

Her lips did their own thing and she went with it. She started to repeat whatever Lance did. Soon the kiss became more intense. Lance had shifted both his hands back to her waist, his fingers sliding just under the hem of her shirt, barely grazing the skin there. She moved closer to him, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck, sliding her hand through the hair at the nape. She pressed harder, tilting her head. Lance seemed to enjoy that because he pressed back, the time between their lips losing contact becoming nonexistent.

A beep from their phones indicated a minute had passed. If felt like the fastest minute of Pidge’s life. She didn’t want three minutes to end. No amount of imagining kissing Lance had prepared her for how good it felt, how the butterflies in her stomach bloomed into something else entirely, some energy that flowed through her veins and warmed every inch of her. She wanted more from him, more from this kiss. Lance apparently did too because the next thing she knew his tongue had begun to trace the seam of her lips.

Pidge was no dummy. She had read a lot of source material, she knew french kissing was merely a part of kissing as a whole, but again, she was not prepared. She followed suit however, opening her mouth a little, giving unspoken permission to Lance to do his thing.

Which he wholeheartedly did. His tongue swept into her mouth, moving along her lips and running along her tongue, Pidge felt the overwhelming drive to reciprocate moving her tongue along his, astounded at the intimacy of this kiss.

The two minute beep sounded and Lance’s kisses became intense. He had pulled her so close to him their whole bodies were touching. His arms were holding her tight which Pidge was very thankful for, because what he was doing with his tongue and lips was leaving her weak in the knees. Somewhere in her mind she was chiding herself for being so cliche, but the rest of her was screaming for more. The game required the kiss be lip to lip, but she couldn’t help wanting him to kiss her neck, her ears, down her jaw, the possibilities were endless.

He made a noise, low and rich, that sent shivers through Pidge and made her toes curl. Their tongues were moving in unison now, their breathing getting faster. She was getting light-headed and overwhelmed. She was sure whatever was going on between them was something more than two acquaintances exchanging spit. Hunk may have been the better person at chemistry, but her and Lance were creating an explosive formula that seemed to be working very well.

BEEEEEEEP! The three minutes were up. Pidge tried to slow down, her task completed, but Lance didn’t stop, he kept slanting his lips over hers again and again. Then the whole restaurant started cheering and whooping. Reminded of their audience, Pidge pulled back abruptly, embarrassed by the show they just put on.

Lance however still had his eyes closed. His lips were puffy and red, his cheeks were flushed against his tan skin, his chest was rising and falling with rapid breaths. His tongue flicked out and licked the corner of his mouth. Pidge couldn’t help but want to kiss the spot his tongue had just been in. She shuddered.

Finally Lance opened his eyes. His lids still half lowered like he was coming out of some dream. Pidge could only assume the look on his face was one of desire because all she knew at that moment was how much she desired him too. He reached over and touched the “completed” button on the app.

“That was….” He stared at Pidge, his hands back on her hips. “....amazing. You...you want to hang out?” there was a note of unsurredness in his voice, Pidge didn’t understand why he would be remotely worried she wouldn’t say yes after that whole kiss, She pulled the words out of her fog of emotions. “Sure….maybe we could go sit with Hunk?” She glanced at Hunk in the corner booth, beaming at her. “Ooor…” She hesitated when Lance didn’t respond right away.

“No..that’s...fine. I mean..good. Maybe after we eat we can go somewhere?” His eyebrow raised in question.

Pidge flushed. “Sure. Let’s..hang out more.” She hoped she was conveying that she wanted to make-out with him more, but also get to know him better at the same time. That darn kissed had unlocked something in her and all she could think about was kissing him again. It wasn’t the point of the game, but somewhere along the way the game had been forgotten.

Lance stood up. Pidge had forgotten how tall he was, she had to crane her neck to see his face. She started doing calculation on how to remain in places where she could easily kiss him without serious calf exercises and high heeled shoes. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and they went to meet up with Hunk.

“See you later guys..” He finger-gunned at the group, the knife guy rolling his eyes at him.

Hunk was stifling his glee when they got to the booth. Lance and he high-fived. “Nice work there buddy, though I would have saved that for a more private location. “

Pidge grimaced, Lance responded “Thanks, Pidge deserves my best work. Next time I’ll keep it less public.”

“Next time?” Pidge asked him in a slightly threatening way. Sure she absolutely wanted a next time, but she wanted him to ask, not assume. He rubbed his hand on the back of his head. “I mean..that is..if you agree to a next time.” It made Pidge’s stomach do flip-flops to see him squirm and ask her. “Yeah. Next time let’s not be so public.”

“Yeah!” Lance gave a triumphant fist pump to the air and sat back in the booth, patting the spot beside him. “Have a seat Pidgey. Your food is cold, it’s my fault so I’ll get you more. “

“First I need to go use the bathroom. I’ll be right back guys,” Pidge turned to leave, Hunk was still going on about Lance’s “moves”. They probably thought she couldn’t hear them. The last thing she heard Lance say before she was too far to make out their words was “Thanks man, that was totally worth helping you make hundreds of brownies.”

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bibliosauruswrecks · 5 years

Text

I’m still spending an unhealthy amount of time staring at this Rumbelle aesthetic @timelordthirteen made despite the fact that Christmas is over. Consider this a continuation of what I’m now calling Part 1, because I don’t know when to quit. I guess this means I need to give this thing a name.

Is it obvious that I don’t know what I’m doing?

It took the better part of a week for Belle to finish the deep cleaning Mr. Gold had tasked her with downstairs. The first three days, she focused on the front sitting room and the foyer, systematically moving and returning furniture and decorations so that every cleanable surface was wiped down and polished. Some of the larger pieces she was unable to move, so she improvised with an extendable mop. If Gold wanted thorough, he would get thorough.

Cleaning the house gave Belle some insight into her enigmatic employer, and confirmed many of the observations she’d already made. That Gold was wealthy came as no surprise; the house was full of valuable antiques, tasteful without flaunting it, but there was nothing that felt personal. The rooms almost seemed like set pieces for a film, designed to give the appearance of habitation to the outside viewer without actually being lived in. The formal dining room was much the same. Belle had no doubt Gold didn’t use any of these rooms.

The back sitting room told a different story. Situated just before the kitchen, it was smaller and more intimate. The lighter color scheme, a soft sage green, made it considerably less claustrophobic than the rest of the house. Compared to the front room, there wasn’t as much furniture, but the living chairs and sofa looked used. There were other little indications, as well. A half-finished cup of coffee left on the end table, for starters, which Belle rinsed out and placed in the dish washer. There was also a book, and she was unable to resist taking a peek at the cover. It was an omnibus containing The Iliad and The Odyssey, with a bookmark of emerald silk poking out about three-quarters of the way through.

But it was the spinning wheel in the corner that caught Belle by surprise. Smaller and more compact than the more traditional wheels she’d seen, it fit perfectly in the small space. A basket of wool waiting to be spun indicated that it saw regular use. It was the only truly personal item she’d seen in the entire house, so far. As she finished her work in the remaining rooms downstairs, she wondered about it.

With her father still in the hospital, Belle found the prospect of eating dinner alone on Sunday evening unbearable, regardless of the fact that it wasn’t any different from any other night that week. She grabbed her hat and coat, wrapped a thick scarf around her neck, and stepped out into the chilly night without a second thought.

It still hadn’t snowed, despite the forecast promising everything from a quarter inch to two feet for the last four days. The air was crisp, the sky was clear, and Storybrooke’s maintenance department had gotten most of the town’s decorations in place. Fake lanterns designed to mimic old-fashioned gas lamps had been attached to most of the street lights and utility poles, and garlands with large plastic bells had been strung across Main Street. The business owners that hadn’t already started decorating back at Thanksgiving seemed to have taken this as a signal, and there wasn’t a single storefront that didn’t have something in the windows. With one minor exception, of course.

Gold’s pawnshop was completely dark.

He could at least put some of those fake electric candles in the window or something, Belle said to herself. A wreath on the door. Anything.

She supposed it wasn’t really any of her business. If Gold didn’t want to decorate for Christmas, that was his own depressing choice. Still, as she passed the shop on the opposite side of the street, she couldn’t help but wonder. The place was clearly locked up for the night, so it was unlikely Gold was there. Was he at home right now? Belle let her mind conjure up an image of him in the back sitting room, jacket off, perhaps with his shirtsleeves rolled up, settled into one of the chairs in front of the fireplace while he finished The Odyssey. Or maybe seated at the spinning wheel, working with the wool she’d seen, his nimble fingers teasing it into something usable.

You’re being absolutely ridiculous. Belle banished the thought, and focused on getting to Granny’s before she froze.

The diner was nearly empty, but that was hardly surprising for a Sunday night. Marco and his son occupied a table in front of the window so they could people-watch, and Leroy was parked on his usual stool at the bar. Other than that, there were no other patrons.

Catching sight of Ruby, Belle waved a greeting as she settled down into one of the booths. It was just moments later that her friend came coasting over with a burger and a glass of iced tea.

“How did you…?”

“I’m psychic.” Ruby plopped herself down opposite and slid to the middle of the booth. “So, you survived your first week with the Beast. How was it?”

“Not that bad, actually,” Belle admitted. She poured a generous helping of ketchup on her fries. “I mean, he’s usually already left by the time I get there, and I’m always gone before he comes home. And the few times I’ve seen him, he’s been civil to me. Awkward, but civil.”

“Awkward how? Creepy awkward? I-hope-you-don’t-find-my-secret-stash-of-kinky-sex-toys awkward?”

Belle took a bite of the burger, mulling over Ruby’s question while she chewed. “No, nothing like that. I think he’s just unused to having someone in his house. He seems like an intensely private person, and having me there’s probably thrown his whole routine out of whack.”

“Yeah, he strikes me as the anal-retentive type.” Ruby pilfered a couple of fries from her friend’s plate. “So, you found the bodies of his ex-wives in the basement yet?”

Belle choked on her iced tea. “What? No!”

“I’m joking. Pretty sure it was just the one. And the divorce was messy, but I don’t think there were any bodies involved. Might’ve been some blood.”

“I’m trying to eat, Ruby.”

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all as she pinched another fry. “So, you got any big plans for Christmas?”

“Not really. It’ll just be me and Dad, assuming they release him next week. I doubt he’ll be up for a big celebration.”

“Think you’d feel up for some decorating?”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “I’m sensing an ulterior motive here.”

“Granny’s leaving the decorating to me this year. She’s giving me free reign, and I intend to make the most of it. Holly, mistletoe, tinsel. The works.”

“Only you could make that sound ominous.”

Ruby shrugged. “I aim to please. Anyway, the point is I may’ve gotten a bit too carried away. I’ve been dragging out boxes and boxes of decorations, and I’m starting to realize I’ve bit off more than I can chew. There’s no way I’ll get everything up in time by myself. But two people…”

“You want me to help you decorate.”

“It’ll be fun! You can stay after closing, we’ll put on some carols, throw tinsel all over the place, and get plastered with eggnog. It’ll be good for you.”

As Belle mulled over her burger, she conceded that it sounded like fun.

“Good!” Ruby chirped. “I’ll drag everything out from the hall while you finish eating. Marco and August’ll be on their way soon, and I’ll kick Leroy out at closing. This is gonna be great!”

She purloined a couple more fries before scrambling up to get Marco’s check, leaving Belle to finish her burger in peace.

Half an hour after Ruby had locked up and closed down, Belle found herself standing in the middle of a tinsel explosion while “Run, Run, Rudolph” played in the background. What she’d thought was a set of multiple garlands in a box had turned out to be a single and apparently endless strand of shiny red tinsel. The box, she decided, was also bottomless because she was sure there was no way the entire thing could fit in there. The strand snaked out of the box, up around her neck, wound its way down her torso, and ended in a massive pile at her feet. And there was still more coming.

“This is impossible,” Belle declared, wrapping part of the strand around her arm just to get it out of the way. “Granny’s using stolen Time Lord tech, isn’t she?”

“How else do you think she fits all that lasagna in the freezer?” Ruby offered her a glass of eggnog. “You want some help with that?”

“Please.” Belle sipped the eggnog while her friend unwound the tinsel. “Just how long is that thing, anyway?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, I’ve never actually measured it. I just know it’s long enough to get completely around the diner if you hang it in the doorway and don’t run it down the hall. If you do that, it’ll reach all the way to the bathrooms, but it won’t make it back, so then you’ve got this big gap you’ve gotta fill and – ooh!”

A pair of glittery red antlers attached to an equally-glittery headband tumbled out of the tinsel. Ruby pounced on them. Belle eyed the antlers with more than a little skepticism.

“Are you really gonna wear those?”

“Absolutely! Magpie brain likes the shiny!”

“How much eggnog have you had?”

“Not enough,” Ruby pronounced, taking a sip of her own. “I’m wearing these for the rest of the year.”

“The antlers.”

“Yes! Antlers are an important part of Christmas festivities! A necessity!”

“You’re going to wear reindeer antlers. For the rest of the year.”

“Well, I’ll take them off to shower, obviously. And I’ll probably have to take them off to sleep. Don’t want to get them all tangled up in my hair. I wouldn’t look like a Christmas reindeer, then; I’d look like a reindeer that just got hit by a car.”

Belle snickered into her eggnog. “Yeah, I don’t think Granny would appreciate you scaring customers away with your Christmas cheer.”

“Better to scare people off with cheer than being the town Scrooge. I don’t know how Gold does any business this time of year.”

“Being the only place in town that sells jewelry might have something to do with it.”

“True. But, hey!” She grabbed the garland and bounded away in a shower of red glitter. “Let’s not talk about that old miser, and get to decking some halls!”

With Ruby’s unbridled enthusiasm and Belle’s meticulous eye, the pair set about decorating the diner. It took almost three hours, and Belle didn’t tumble into bed until sometime after midnight, but having seen the end results, she agreed with Ruby that it was worth it.

The snow the forecasters had been threatening the Maine coast with was definitely coming. Gold was sure of it. He leaned against the counter to take the weight off his bad foot, and took a deep breath in through his nose, trying to focus on anything except the throbbing pain. The temperature had dropped ten degrees since that morning with no signs of stopping soon. He glanced at the clock. It was still too early to take another pain killer, not that it seemed to matter. If this was how bad it was with medication, he’d hate to see it was without it.

He supposed he could always close up early. One of the benefits of being self-employed was the ability to make one’s own hours, and any business someone had with him could just as easily be done tomorrow. Another white-hot lance of pain shooting through his ankle made the decision for him. Gold closed down and locked up, scowling at the Christmas decorations as he stalked to his car.

It really was quite ridiculous the amount of time and effort Mayor Mills put into decorating for the holidays. It wasn’t as if Storybrooke had a reputation as a tourist destination, particularly during the winter. Day-trippers weren’t uncommon during the spring and summer, autumn brought the leaf-chasers, and Granny’s bed-and-breakfast saw the occasional overnight visitor, but like the rest of coastal Maine, winter was the off season. Gold saw little point in trying to impress a disinterested public.

His disapproval must’ve shown on his face, because Dr. Hopper, approaching from the opposite direction with his dog, quickly side-stepped to get out of the way. He passed by without offering a “Merry Christmas,” or even any of his usual chirpy greetings. Gold supposed it was inevitable. Most of the town had given up on wishing him the compliments of the season, with the exception of a few relentless enthusiasts like David and Mary Margaret Nolan, but they were the sort of people who started celebrating Christmas in October, so their behavior was forgivable if a bit nauseating.

The first flakes had started falling by the time Gold pulled up in the driveway. He sat for a moment rather than getting out right away, massaging his knee in some vain hope that it might help. It didn’t, but after all, he reminded himself with a touch of bitterness, it was the thought that counted. The idea of limping back around to the front of the house didn’t appeal to him, so Gold made his way to the patio door to let himself in through the kitchen, instead.

The soft strains of classical violin caught him off guard, and he froze for a moment while his brain tried to process why there was music in his normally-silent house. Then he spotted the purse on the kitchen counter.

Right. It was the middle of the day. Belle French would still be cleaning. That belated realization was closely followed by the woman herself. Belle glided into the kitchen, wielding what appeared to be a curtain rod, and stopped short when she spotted her employer by the back door.

“Mr. Gold. Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine, Miss French. I simply closed up early today.” Why the hell hadn’t he considered that Belle would still be here? How was he meant to relax with her in the house? He supposed he could send her home early. Yes, that would work. Send her home early, and he could pretend to ignore his agony in peace. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay out of your way.”

Gold was fairly certain by now there was a loose connection somewhere between his mouth and his brain, because that hadn’t been what he’d meant to say at all.

“Good.” Those bright blue eyes darted up and down, and seemed to land on his cane briefly, before shooting back to his face. “I mean, that’s fine, I’ll just be finishing here. I mean, I’m almost done with the sitting room, and I’ll be out of your hair, soon.”

His presence was making her nervous, if the way she fluttered back to the other room was any indication. He shrugged out of his coat, and draped it over the back of a chair rather than walk all the way to the front of the house to hang it on the coat rack. The very thought made his entire leg twinge. Timing be damned; he was taking another aspirin.

Leaning heavily on his cane, Gold hobbled his way over to the kitchen sink, grabbing a glass as he went. He filled it from the tap, retrieved the aspirin bottle from the overhead cabinet, and tipped two tablets into his hand. He tossed the pills into his mouth, and quickly followed them with the water. The last thing he wanted was for Belle to find him choking on an aspirin. He rested his palms on the counter, allowing his hands to take his weight and give his foot a slight reprieve while he gazed out the window.

The snow was coming down in big, fat flakes now. It didn’t appear to be a heavy snow, not at the moment, at least. The snowflakes meandered, spiraling downward in a slow dance before eventually coming to rest on the lawn. There was something quite mesmerizing about it.

A loud thud and a whispered “Oh, bloody hell!” broke Gold out of his reverie. Standing by the sink, the sitting room was just out of his sight, but he could hear Belle moving around, grumbling to herself. Curiosity finally got the better of him, and Gold limped past the stove and around the counter to see what was causing his maid to curse like a sailor under her breath.

Belle was perched on the back of the sofa, fighting with the curtain rod. She’d discarded her shoes once again, and Gold found her red-and-white-striped stockings drew his eye right up to her—

Stop it! He was veering dangerously into lecherous old man territory. He set his attention instead on the curtain rod Belle was still combating. It was no longer bare; she’d obviously replaced the curtains while he’d been watching the snowfall, and now she appeared to be trying to return the rod to its rightful place above the window. With little success, it seemed.

“Miss French? What are you doing?”

“I took the curtains down to give them a proper cleaning earlier today, and now I can’t get them back up.” She fumbled with the rod some more, huffing in frustration. “Odysseus dispatched the suitors with less difficulty.”

“Yes, but if I recall, he had the benefit of a goddess’s patronage.”

She craned her neck to look over her shoulder at him, her eyes alight with that spark seen in any bookworm who’d just found a kindred spirit in the wilderness.

“True.” She smiled, and her whole face changed. Gold had known, intellectually, that she was a beautiful woman. He’d likened her once to a cameo broach he had on display in the shop: elegant and tranquil, with a gracefulness despite the lack of animation, but her smile… With her smile, Belle was positively radiant.

Then she looked away, and the spell broke.

Gold told himself he’d started gripping his cane so tightly because his bad leg needed the support, and not because he wanted to hide the fact that his hands had started shaking. The strange flip-flopping in his stomach was almost certainly from the glass of cold water he’d downed with the aspirin. He had a little more trouble explaining away why his heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest, but surely he could come up with a reasonable justification, given enough time.

Belle readjusted her footing as she attempted to find a better angle for the curtain rod. Gold almost offered to help, but before he had a chance to open his mouth, the loose connection resumed operation again long enough to remind his brain why it would be a bad idea for him to stand on a step-ladder. He limped over to the end table, intending to grab his book and relocate to another part of the house. Before he could do so, Belle slipped.

Gold reacted on instinct, stepping forward on his good leg while his cane clattered to the floor. The curtain rod joined it a second later when Belle’s arms pinwheeled in a vain effort to steady herself as she tumbled backward into his arms. He caught her about the waist, and her hands came to rest around his neck, fingers clutching at his shirt collar. One foot was still on the back of the couch; the other was wedged down between the cushions. The near-horizontal angle had to be uncomfortable for her, but Gold found himself incapable of doing anything about it. Just breathing proved to be an issue.

It was the first time he’d ever been this close to Belle, or indeed any other person, in what felt like a lifetime, and he was unprepared for the torrent of emotions that barreled through his mind as his brain tried to process this information. Incoherent feelings and fleeting impressions bounced around in his mind attempting to coagulate into some form of rational thought. He was touching Belle. Belle was touching him. He liked it. He shouldn’t. He needed to let go. He didn’t want to, but he wasn’t sure why. She was so soft, so warm, and he marveled at how she could appear so delicate, but so strong at the same time.

His heart was pounding again. He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry. A tiny, malicious part of his brain whispered that he still had his arms around Belle’s waist, but then she smiled again, and he decided he didn’t care.

“Thanks.” Her voice was low, almost breathless.

“It was nothing.”

“You can, um— you can put me down now.”

Gold blinked. “Oh! Right.”

He shifted a little, allowing Belle to brace her hands against his shoulders and get her feet back on the floor without tumbling over himself. Before he had a chance, she bent down to retrieve his cane. He leaned onto it, relieved to take some of his weight off his good leg.

“Thank you, Miss French.”

“You’re welcome.” Belle fidgeted, running her palms over her skirt to smooth out non-existent wrinkles. “I should get back to work.”

“Indeed.” Gold grabbed his book, and started back to the kitchen. He made it as far as the counter before he turned around and called out, almost as an afterthought, “Miss French?”

Belle, bent halfway over in the middle of grabbing the curtain rod, looked up at him. “Yes?”

“Do try to be more careful. My reputation in this town would never recover if my housekeeper broke her neck in my living room.”

He expected a nod, or perhaps a polite smile. Belle took him by surprise with her decidedly-unladylike snicker at his quip. She was laughing at him. No, with him. His self-deprecating jibe had made her laugh. Gold pivoted on the balls of his feet, disregarding the twinge of protest his ankle made, and returned to the kitchen.

With his back to her, Belle couldn’t see the faintest hint of a lopsided grin that had formed on his face.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle christmas au #the bibliosaur writes #aesthetic inspired #late night writing post

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riverdale-is-just-okay · 6 years

Text

Saving Grayse, chapter two

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven

Riverdale x OC (Sweet Pea x OC)

Word Count: 1780

Summary: There's a new member in the Serpents, a troubled girl, with a dark history and an unknown past with FP. Settling in to her new life might prove a little difficult than anticipated.

Warnings: none, as far as I know

"You made any friends yet?" FP asks walking into his office.

She shrugs, straightening her posture in the chair by his desk.

"You need friends.” He takes a seat opposite.

"I have you," she tries to reason.

"We're not friends."

"Rude."

"I'm you're God-father."

"Unofficially."

"Good enough.”

"It is," she smiles.

“I’m a parental-figure, you need friends your own age."

She sighs, dramatically.

"So we need to get you situated," he diverts the conversation, sitting back in his chair.

She remains in the seat opposite picking at the fries and burger in front of her. "This is really good," she mumbles stuffing a fry into her mouth. "Where's it from again?"

"Pop's."

"And that's a...?"

"Diner."

"Okay, right, I'll be visiting there soon." She slurps on her pink drink.

"They never let you out?" he mumbles staring at the girl. Astounded she's lived her whole life in this town, but she knows nothing of its contents.

She shakes her head. "And you know that."

"I find it incredible."

"I wasn't allowed over here. And you know that. Pop's," she says. "You work there, right, when you're not here? Being a badass king of the Serpents," she laughs, she knows she has to face the her past at some point.

"Yeah, I guess, that's a way of putting it."

"You need an update?" She looks up, taking a break from eating. "I was free as a bird, or snake, until I was five, you know about that?"

"Of course."

"And they we disappeared…"

"That's where it gets foggy."

"But you still had contact with mom and dad, right?"

"A bit."

"Then everything happened… and they just... kept me..." she shrugs. "They wouldn't dare let me out, just in case. I don't remember much about before we left this particular portion of the Southside."

"I'm sorry... I didn't help you until now."

"It's fine," she dismisses and continues to eat what’s left of her food.

FP watches her for moment, then smiles. “You’re so like Jug.”

“Of course I am,” she beams, then continues to eat.

He nods, then goes back to what he was initially saying. "So we'll get you situated. I'll tell Jug, I might have to explain your situation-"

She snaps her eyes up. “No.”

"Only if necessary," he assures her. "And I'll make him keep quiet, promise, then once he's in the know, you can stop spending the night in on that couch," he nods to the beaten, leather couch stuffed into the corner of his office. A small pillow and blanket neatly folded lie on one corner.

"It's not so bad."

He frowns. He can't even fathom what the girl has been through. He doesn't want to. If half the stuff that happened to Amber had happened to Jellybean he'd probably murder those responsible. Even with Amber he wants to murder those who hurt her, but he knows better. He can't protect her from behind bars. He has to be smart.

"Once that's sorted, we'll get you enrolled at Riverdale High."

"Wasn't there a school over here? Or is that my memories playing tricks on me, they have a tendency to do that."

"Got shut down a month or so ago."

"Oh," she chuckles. He's not sure why, neither is she to be completely honest. Maybe it’s because it looked like it would collapse over ten years ago when she last saw it, it’s a surprise it lasted that long.

"So I have to go to school?" she tilts her head.

"Of course, you're only seventeen and you've got a lot of catching up to do."

"Doubt it, I'm probably smarter than half those idiots in that place, for starters I have a brain."

"You need to stop that."

"What?"

"Kick those Northside assumptions they fed you out of your mind. That's no way to get on over here."

"But don't you hate them too? Or is that another false memory?"

"It's complicated. Repairs are being made."

"If you say so."

"Right, anyway, so you'll live with me and Jug, you'll start at Riverdale High," he recites through his plans aloud. "Oh, and it's still too fresh so I don't want you wondering about alone, too dangerous with them lurking about-"

"I could take 'em."

He rolls his eyes.

"I could.” She slurps the last of the pink foam from her cup. "They never gave me a chance, but now, I have control, of my mind, body... I could and I'd enjoy every minute, compensation I deserve," she smirks, but there's hint of sadness in her voice.

"This is half the reason I don't want you alone. I don't trust them, but I don't trust you either. Be smart, Amber."

"Whatever."

"So they'll always be a member allocated to you at all times."

"No way," she protests. "I ain't being babysat."

"For now you are."

"Someone will take you to and from school, be with you during school hours, and someone with out of hours whether you're at the bar or home. Someone will be with you at all times. No exceptions. No excuses."

"That's ridiculous. Don't you think that's a little over kill?"

"Given the circumstances not at all."

She rolls her eyes. "Fine, might be nice having company in the bathroom, can get quite lonely."

He frowns.

"What? You said no excuses. You never know, they might pop up through the toilet or maybe the plug hole, can't be too careful, right?"

"Eat your burger." He rolls his eyes.

"You know." She looks up. "I didn't resist losing the memories from my time here, over time they just faded, got mixed up," she shrugs. "But with every inch of my being I wouldn't let go of the ones that stared you and your son – my Raven-haired Knight," she smiles.

"You wanna be there when I explain?" FP asks as they ascends the trailer steps.

She shakes her head. "Not really."

"I get it." He pushes the door open and gestures her in. “Give me and Jug a minute, then.”

She stops abruptly. Her eyes widen, her eyebrows collapse.

"What-" His eyes widen also. "Jughead? Didn’t know you have company?"

A tall red-haired boy and a small girl, despite her heels, with hair similar in colour to Amber's, stand from the couch. They stare back, just as confused as the two that just walked in.

"Mr Jones," she girl nods.

"FP."

"Dad?" Jughead tilts his head as he glares to the girl hiding in the doorway. "What's she doing here?"

"My intention was to explain, but this place is a little crowded," he glares at the two teenagers.

"Oh, yeah," the girl exclaims. "Course, we best get going anyway.” She nudges the boy, a little too firmly, in the ribs.

"Right," he just nods.

"Erm, well it's nice seeing you Mr Jones," she says. "And it's been a pleasure..."

"Amber," she mumbles.

"What a beautiful name," she beams. "I'm Veronica, this is Archie.” She gestures to the boy who is still glaring.

Amber shifts her body, trying to widen the distance between them.

"Do you not speak?" Veronica chuckles.

"I'm selective with speech."

She nods stepping towards the door. "Actually." She waves her arms. "We were gonna head over to Pop's for dinner, and seeing as these to clearly need to talk about something, how about you come too, my treat?"

Amber looks to FP. He pauses, then nods. "It's all right, you can trust 'em."

She looks Veronica and nods. "Okay."

FP watches as the two girls follow out, then pushes his hand to Archie's chest. "You better look after her, Red," he warns. "If so much as a hair is disturbed, you will regret you even stepped foot over here."

"Dad!"

He nods backing away. "Course, FP.” He obeys hastily closing the door behind him.

"What the hell was that?" Jughead demands. "You can't go round threatening my friends," he rants. "Who the hell even is she? What was she doing here? And what is she doing with you? Well?"

"I don't owe you any answers, boy!" He tosses his jacket to the chair, frustrated.

"You kind of do, actually."

He sighs dragging his fingers through his hair. "If you just stop for a minute I might be able to tell you she's gonna be saying with us."

"No, way, there's no room, and the whole not knowing who the hell she is. She could be-"

"I know. This is my place. I make the decisions. I don't care how old you are, you are still my kid, Jug, you listen to me."

"So what are you doing here?"

No response. Veronica shifts in her seat, then looks to Archie, slouched into the cool leather of the booth beside her.

"Oh, still being selective," she nods remember the silent girl's previous words. "How about, how do you know FP?"

The girl just stares from the opposite side of the table.

"Can I ask where you are from?"

"Here," Amber states.

"Oh, well, I'm still relatively new, not quite met everyone yet."

"I've never seen you,” Archie sits up.

She shrugs.

"And I've been here all my life, know Jug since we were five."

"Well, when your life with him started, mine had come to an end."

"Fine, but I deserve an explanation.” Jughead sinks to the couch. FP slumps into the chair.

"You really don't remember her?"

"No. Why would I?"

"Because you were in separable when you were kids."

"I've never seen that girl in my life."

"You were torn up when she left. Cried every day.” He nods remembering the pain the girl, his son can't recall, left all those years ago. "You couldn't understand why she just left. And I couldn't explain it to you. I didn't have an explanation myself. You couldn't understand why the girl with the raven curls just disappeared. Even back then, you spoke like a writer. She called you her Raven-haired Knight. Quite the pair," he chuckles. "Even when you were five."

"I really don't remember," Jug frowns. He touches his head, his guilt overwhelming, as if pressing her fingers to his forehead will draw these lost memories out.

"Bad experience. Probably pushed it out for your mind."

"And you know now. You've got your explanation for why she left?"

He nods.

"You gonna tell me?"

"Not now. She still thinks highly of you, even if you don’t remember her. She isn't ready, I'm gonna respect that.” He grabs his keys. "And you are too." He points a warning finger at his son. "Go pick her up.” He throws them to his son. "She's been exposed to Red and a Lodge long enough for one night."

A/T: Hope you like it so far, the story is just warming up, but in the chapter Amber is introduced to a few more members (hint - a certain tall boy with the infamous stamp on his neck makes an appearance).

A/A/T: Thank you for reading, there may not be many of you, but it means the world that you take time to read my story.

Thanks again, all my love,

Oli x

*main blog: a-girl-stuck-in-a-fantasy-world

#riverdale #riverdale imagines #riverdale au #riverdale x oc #fp jones #amber pendleton grayse #jughead jones #veronica lodge #archie andrews #southside #southside serpents #southside imagine #southsiders #saving grayse #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea fanfiction #sweet pea x oc #sweet pea au

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clementineverett · 7 years

Text

Chasing Waves - Chapter 1: Global Warming

I FINALLY FINISHED THE FIRST DAMN CHAPTER HOLY MOLY

I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY!! :D

[Ao3 link]

Summary: Clementine chuckles before asking, “So, what’s the verdict?”

Gabe meets her gaze and nods. “I’m in.”

OR: Wanting to escape his dad’s expectation of joining the army after graduation, Gabriel Garcia stumbles across his opportunity in the form of the annual National History Bowl Championship.

Chapter 1: Global Warming

Of course.

Of fucking course Kate would tell him Mari’s ballet lessons ends at 5:00, not 5:30.

Gabe turns away from the reception desk with an exasperated sigh. As annoyed as he is, Gabe admits to himself that maybe he does run on Hispanic time. Consistently showing up to school fifteen minutes late for the past three years is an achievement his dad and Kate like to remind him on the daily. Given his track record of punctuality, he admits Kate made a smart move.

However, Kate had underestimated how eager Gabe still is to take the beat-up car he affectionately calls “Sexerella” (or “The Gabemobile” around his family) out for a spin. He had worked at Howe’s since the beginning of the year to save up for it -- a beige sedan older than he is that sports a few shallow dents. His old neighbour Pete offered her for $800 cash. Dad even inspected the car and commended on her well-maintained condition, given her old-ish age. Only the brake pads needed replacing.

Gabe considers grabbing an ice cream cone and waiting out the next thirty minutes at a nearby McDonalds, but gas is expensive and Gabe isn’t exactly balling, okay? So he plops down on the bench in front of the dance studio and prays there’s wifi. But before Gabe pulls his phone out, he peers into the windows of the studio and his breath catches in his throat.

Of all the people he expected to see today, Gabe definitely does not expect to see Clementine. Clementine, with the wide amber eyes, the curly hair often tucked under a baseball cap. Clementine, as in the girl he hasn’t maybe completely been lowkey crushing on for the past three years. Clementine, as in his best friend’s adopted sister who is not only totally out of his league, but also probably off-limits.

(Not that Duck had ever explicitly stated it -- Duck doesn’t even know, for starters. It’d be a cold fucking day in hell before Gabe would ever admit to Duck that he maybe has a thing for Clementine.)

And today, Clementine is helping an older woman (the instructor probably) correct the postures and stances of younger students. He knew she did ballet, from Duck’s offhand comments about dance rehearsals over the years. Gabe internally regrets not tagging along with Duck to her recitals.

Which isn’t weird, right? The Gordon household was essentially his second home, after all. But come to think of it, he had never exchanged more than a handful of sentences at a time with Clementine.

On an average day, Gabe would come upstairs from the basement to grab a glass of water in the kitchen after a grueling match of Melee with Duck (No Items, Fox Only, Final Destination). He’d stammer out a hello to Clementine, who’d normally be studying in the dining room or curled up on the couch with a mug of tea, and then run back downstairs before he could run his mouth and say something stupid like he usually does around cute girls.

He’s only here to fetch Mariana and get back home, easy peasy. Don’t look like a moron. Maybe even say hi to Clementine. But most importantly, don’t look like a moron. Or a creep. With that thought, Gabe rips his eyes from Clementine and glues them to his phone.

Browsing on his phone makes the half-hour wait go by smoothly. Students pour out of the door, signalling the end of the lesson. Mari isn’t among them, unsurprisingly. Gabe remembers how excited she was when Kate and Dad finally saved enough to pay for ballet classes.

Sucking in a deep breath, he pushes the studio doors open and suddenly pauses in his tracks. The sound of violins flood the room.

Clementine moves effortlessly across the floor, arms flowing above her and then behind her like a silk banner caught in a gentle breeze. She eases onto one foot and spins on her toes -- once, twice, three times -- then glides into a stance, with her arms reaching in front of her, her leg stretched behind, and her foot high above her head. Gabe is mesmerized.

And the door promptly collides with his face.

He stumbles backward and lands hard on his bum. Gabe instinctively presses his hand to his cheekbone where the door had hit it. It’s tender and smarting like a motherfucker. In that moment, he prays for two things: 1. that the bruise won’t be too obvious, and that 2. no one saw that.

Unfortunately for Gabe, God does not answer prayer number 2.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Gabe looks up to see Clementine standing over him, her eyes wide in surprise and concern. Great, he cringes internally.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Gabe replies as he struggles to his feet. “Hi, Clementine,” he greets her, his face burning in utter embarrassment. Real fucking smooth, Garcia.

“Hi, Gabe,” Clementine says, brows furrowing in worry. “Are you sure you’re okay? That looked like it really hurt.”

“I’m fine, really,” Gabe refuses to meet her gaze. “Have you seen my sister, Mari, by the way?”

“Gabe!” he hears Mari call out as she rushes to him. “What happened?”

“Accident,” Gabe quickly responds. “Anyways, Kate sent me to pick you up, so,” he adds, “are you ready to go?” Gabe’s just a little desperate to leave. He’ll nurse over his bruised face and bruised ego the moment he gets home.

“Yeah,” Mari replies, nodding.

“Okay,” Gabe says. He stammers, “I, uh, I’ll see you at school next week, Clementine.”

“See you around,” Clementine replies. “You should probably get some ice for that.” She gestures to the bruise starting to form on his cheek.

“I will, thanks,” Gabe answers, absentmindedly scratching the back of his head.

“Okay then,” Clementine says. “I’ll see you next class, Mari.” Gabe huffs out a sigh when they reach the parking lot. Plan: Don’t Look Like A Moron has crashed and burned miserably. No survivors here.

Mariana snorts.

“What?” Gabe asks.

“That was kind of sad to watch back there,” Mari says lightly.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“The door slamming on your head?” Mari responds. “I saw the whole thing.”

“It was an accident,” Gabe insists.

“You mean how your brain fries itself whenever you’re around a girl?”

“You’re crazy,” Gabe interjects. “It was just an accident. And my brain doesn’t fry itself, okay? I know how to act around girls,” he asserts with a thump to his chest. “I’ve had girlfriends before.”

“A girlfriend,” Mari corrects with a grin, “and that was in middle school? How long did that last again?”

Gabe swats Mari on the arm playfully. “You know, maybe leaving you on the side of the road is a good idea.”

“You wouldn’t,” Mari scoffs.

Gabe rolls his eyes before admitting with a fond sigh, “No, I wouldn’t.” He ruffles her hair wildly. “You’re my little sister, after all. It’s your job to annoy me.”

“Gabe! What the heck!” Mari yelps, ducking away. She combs her hands through her hair with an annoyed huff.

“Don’t fucking swear, Mari,” Gabe lectures, deadpan.

Mari rolls her eyes. “You’re such a dweeb.”

“Love you too,” Gabe teases as he unlocks his car.

“I’m guessing you’re picking me up from ballet from now on?” Mari asks with a smirk as she climbs into the passenger seat.

“Yes,” Gabe adds as he locks in his seatbelt, “but it’s only because Kate asked me to, since I have a car and I’m pretty much an adult now.”

“Riiiiiiight,” Mari singsongs, wiggling her eyebrows.

“You know,” Gabe suggests, “I was thinking of stopping by good ol’ Ronald for some ice cream, but since you’re being mean to me right now…”

“Oh come on,” Mari pleads. “Please? Can we?”

“I don’t know,” Gabe sighs, shrugging. “You really hurt me, Mari.” He dramatically places a hand over his heart and sticks his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout.

“Alright, alright,” Mari concedes with an eyeroll. “I’m sorry, Gabe. Okay?”

“That’s better,” Gabe grins as he backs out of the parking spot. From the corner of his eye, he spots Mari fishing something out of her pocket. “What’s that?”

“It’s Pipo’s,” Mari replies quietly, showing him a portable cassette player.

Gabe nods solemnly. “Pop the cassette tape in.”

Gabe catches a glimpse of the tape’s label: Mi vida, mi corazón. He smiles as familiar salsa tunes drift through the car. The wind roars through the rolled down windows and threads through Gabe’s hair. Today, he’d forgone his beanie.

“This is the tape he always plays when he dances with Yaya,” Gabe recalls.

Mari chuckles. “Yeah. It’s his favourite.”

Gabe smiles wider at the fond memory. He used to find it embarrassing when he was younger. In hindsight, it was actually really adorable. Now Gabe would give anything to watch his grandparents dance again. To see Yaya laugh and smile like she did before. Just once more.

“I miss Pipo,” Mari murmurs.

“Me too,” Gabe sighs. “You know,” he changes the subject, “he kept a journal when him and Yaya left Cuba in 1980.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I found it on a shelf at him and Yaya’s house,” Gabe says. “Dad must have been a baby when they left.”

“I wonder what made them leave Cuba,” Mari wonders.

“Cause of some guy named Fidel Castro,” Gabe responds. “He imprisoned and executed a lot of people who were against him. Even people who were thought to be against him.” Gabe grimaces. “I don’t blame them for leaving, it must have been really scary back then.”

“You got that from all documentaries you’ve been watching, haven’t you?” Mari asks.

“I wanted to know all the shit that was going on at the time,” Gabe says with a shrug.

“Books exist, you know,” Mari points out, “and they’re a lot less noisy, too.”

“But do books have moving pictures and explosions?” Gabe replies with a dismissive wave of a hand. “And besides, does it really matter how I learn?” He taps the side of his forehead. “Knowledge is power.

“Inglourious Basterds doesn’t count,” Mari drawls. “And besides, why would anyone want to know about what a bunch of old guys did years ago? Boooring.”

Gabe gasps sharply. “First of all, Quentin Tarantino’s movies are fantastic,” Gabe objects, “and secondly, that was the only history-related thing you actually managed to stay awake for. If you had just stopped falling asleep in the middle of the other actual historical films, I’m sure you would’ve found it interesting.”

“I fell asleep because they were uninteresting,” Mari responds sarcastically.

“Come on,” Gabe says, “how do you not find it interesting at all? How things came to be? Why our family came to the States in the first place? The wars and global events that literally affected everyone? How is that not interesting?!”

“I mean that’s cool, I guess,” Mari remarks, “but it’s just not my cup of tea.”

“Fair enough.”

“Hey,” Mari chuckles, “at least learning some history is more productive than bashing your head on the sidewalk all summer, like you did last year.”

“For the record,” Gabe starts, “I did finally master that kickflip, so it was totally worth.”

---

They hear the yelling before they even make it out of the driveway.

Gabe glances at Mari, who winces.

“Just go to your room, okay?” Gabe assures her. Mari nods meekly.

Inhaling deeply, he turns the key and swings the door open.

“Unless you want to dig up my CO’s fucking corpse-”

“David, it was an accident,” Gabe hears Kate plead. She’s clutching her left hand with a towel that’s stained bright red. Pieces of shattered glass lie scattered around the kitchen floor where they’re standing. “Maybe if we can actually afford a dishwasher, this wouldn’t have-”

“Do not start with this again,” his dad roars back, “that is the absolute last thing I need when I come home from work to support this family and pay off Pa’s treatments-”

Gabe retreats to his room, locking the door behind him before flopping onto his bed. He pops his headphones in, selecting a random song on his phone and maxing out the volume until the thundering drums and screeching guitars drown out the world.

He hates it when they get like this. Which is rare to begin with, though, since Kate usually goes along with whatever Dad says. Not that he can blame her, honestly. It’s the easier thing to do.

His phone beeps, shaking Gabe out of his thoughts. A text message from Duck.

Duck Gordon (6:17 PM): THE END IS NIGH

Gabe snorts and types out a reply.

Gabe Garcia (6:18 PM): Wat

Duck Gordon (6:18 PM): Senior year starts next week bitchez

Right. Gabe swallows nervously.

On one hand: fucking finally. It wasn’t that high school had been bad. It had just been so… average. He got decent grades, skateboarded with Duck, and generally stayed out of trouble. His high school life, so far at least, is nothing like those melodramatic teen soap operas Mari likes so much. Not that he wants his high school experience to be filled with messy love triangles and skeletons in the closet. But all those movies and TV shows Gabe had seen over the years made high school seem so magical, you know?

On the other hand: he graduates from high school… and then what?

“Not today,” Gabe groans to himself as he sits up on his bed. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets there.

Gabe pulls up his laptop, an outdated thing his uncle Javi passed down to him. He can’t run League of Legends on it anymore (he needed to quit anyway, since it really brought out his temper) and it’s a little laggy, but it still does the job when it came to watching YouTube and scrolling through social media. Gabe decides to finish up on the last hour of this documentary he’s been watching about the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He pops the disc in the laptop and makes a mental note to drop off the DVD at the library tomorrow, since it’s due that day anyway.

He’s about half an hour in (and close to tears) when a loud knock rattles his door. The doorknob jiggles. “Gabe?” It’s Dad. Gabe instantly flies to the door and opens it.

“Why did you lock your door?” Dad snaps.

“Force of habit,” Gabe replies quietly. “Sorry, I won’t do it again,” he quickly adds.

“Good,” his dad comments curtly as he tiredly runs a hand over his head. Gabe can’t help but notice how even more salt and pepper-y his dad’s hair has become. “I need you to take Kate to the clinic tomorrow morning. Can you do that?”

“Yes, dad,” Gabe answers. He watches his father intently, noting the clenched jaw and the tension in his shoulders. Don’t set him off again. Just be the obedient son he needs you to be right now, Gabe thinks to himself.

“Gracias, mijo,” Dad says. “I know I can count on you.” Dad gives him a squeeze on the shoulder before smiling at him fondly. “Look at you, starting your last year of high school next week,” he breathes a deep sigh. “It only seems like yesterday you were running around in your diapers.”

“Now I’ll be graduating,” Gabe replies, smiling back.

“And then you’ll be enlisting, just like your old man.” His dad beams at him proudly.

Just like your old man. The words echo in his head. Gabe’s mouth goes dry. “Of course.” He swallows hard.

He doesn’t remember exactly when Dad started expecting him to join the army. (Since forever maybe?) But Gabe had always went along with it. Although it always fills his heart to see his dad puff his chest out in pride because of him, the thought of inevitably enlisting also fills his stomach with dread.

“By the way,” Dad starts, interrupting Gabe’s train of thought. “What happened to your face?”

Gabe instinctively touches his bruised cheek. “I ran into a door, that’s all.”

“You should get some ice for that, mijo,” his dad clasps him on the shoulder one last time before turning away. “There’s some soup in the kitchen, too. Don’t stay up too late.”

The kitchen is cold when Gabe steps in. The window is thrown open. The floor is free of glass. A pot sits on the stove. Kate leans on the counter by the window, smoking a cigarette. Her hand is wrapped in gauze, the blood dried to a dark, brownish red.

“There’s some food on the stove,” Kate says before taking another drag of her cigarette.

“Thanks,” Gabe replies as he helps himself to a bowl. “How’s your hand?”

“It’s been better,” Kate mumbles. “Nothing too serious, though. The cut’s not deep and I’ve cleaned it as best as I can.”

“Well,” Gabe begins, “Dad wants me to take you to the clinic tomorrow, so…”

Kate sighs, shrugging. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have someone look at it.”

“We can go before your shift starts,” Gabe suggests. “I’ll drop you off at your work, too.”

A small smile forms on her face. “Thank you, Gabe,” Kate says.

“What happened, earlier?” Gabe asks quietly. “If you don’t mind me asking…”

Kate looks so drained, with her slumped shoulders and shining eyes. “It’s nothing, really. I dropped your dad’s army glass, that’s all.”

Gabe frowns. He knows how important that glass is to Dad. Gabe would be upset too if something sentimental to him broke. But Kate also got hurt, you know? Yelling at her, especially when it was an accident, just… left a bad taste in his mouth.

Kate must have seen the look on his face, because she quickly adds, “Don’t worry about it. Your dad and I talked it out. We apologized. We’re good now.”

Gabe nods, a little wary. “If you say so.”

---

Gabe normally likes to sit window-side and towards the back row. Not the very last row, though, where the teacher's voice drowns out into a low, coma-inducing drone and the heat of the afternoon sun entices sleep. And not the very front row either, where the teacher can watch your every move.

Except today, Gabe slides into a desk at the front row and lets out a nervous breath. Sitting at the front of the classroom naturally makes you more attentive (at least, according to a few internet articles). After all, AP World History may be his last class of the day, but it’s his first Advanced Placement class, ever. Sure, Gabe isn’t a terrible student. But he’s not exactly top-of-the-class material -- just enough to make Dad and Kate happy. And besides, he’d also been in an Honors class before (in freshman year). It can’t be all that different, right?

Gabe watches as students enter the classroom and immediately recognizes most of them as the top-of-the-honor-roll types: those who’ve been taking AP classes since sophomore year (and even freshmen, for some of them), whose sights set high for Ivy League. His stomach sinks a little.

His mouth goes dry and his stomach knots when Clementine enters the classroom. No duh she’d be in this class. Gabe always saw her name on the honor roll, and knows how often she studies, as it was the one activity she was always doing every time he would be at Duck’s house. Plan: Don’t Look (Even More) Like A Moron is officially back in motion. This is going to be a long-ass year, Gabe internally grumbles to himself.

“Hello, class,” Mr. Everett greets as he begins to pass around the course outlines. “Welcome to AP World History. As you know, this class is equivalent to an introductory college course.”

Gabe swallows nervously. Mr. Everett does the roll call before briefly explaining the basics of AP tests and scoring. Gabe follows along, jotting down important information.

“A common theme you’ll notice throughout the course is that no matter the era or the civilization,” Mr. Everett scrawls the next words he says on the chalkboard, “there is always war and conflict.” He underlines the words, further emphasizing them.

“Instead of just talking about the syllabus today,” Mr. Everett turns to the class, dusting his hands of chalk, “I’d like to start off this year with a discussion.”

Mr. Everett returns to the chalkboard and writes in all capitals: IS WAR JUSTIFIABLE?

Every hand in the room shoots up.

Gabe notices that most of the answers his classmates give are a variation of Sometimes. Not that it was wrong or anything -- everyone has a right to their opinion, after all. But Gabe’s sweating as he mentally prepares himself, running through the points he wants to make and recalling the facts he’s learned from the documentaries he watched.

“Gabriel?” Mr. Everett’s voice pierces through the fog of his nervousness.

“Yes,” Gabe stands in his desk and clears his throat. “Right, um. I don’t think war is justified. Ever.”

The classroom immediately breaks into a buzz.

Mr. Everett shushes the class before he turns back to Gabe. “And why do you think that?”

“Because,” Gabe begins, suddenly feeling every eye on him. He inhales a deep breath before saying, “it’s just not right that the people at the top can declare war while everyone else pays the price. While innocent people pay the price.”

“Pretty sure the people who enlisted knew what they were signing up for,” pipes up a classmate. A few stifled giggles erupt behind him.

“That’s not what I meant,” Gabe bites back. He clenches his hands into fists to still them from shaking before he continues, “I meant like, men, women, and children who never asked for war, whose homes were invaded. People who were killed because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time, like Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”

“Well, it was because Japan refused to surrender,” another classmate challenges. “More people would’ve suffered and died if America had invaded Japan instead. Would you rather lose millions of lives or just several thousand?”

“Two hundred thousand,” Gabe corrects, blood pounding in his ears. “War is more than just a numbers game. Sacrifice two hundred thousand people to save more? Okay sure, but two hundred thousand people still died, you know? And most of them were just regular old folks minding their own business when the bombs hit. They didn’t deserve to die. Life is precious but life is irreplaceable too. The lives that were saved because of the bombings aren’t replacements for the lives that were lost.”

“So what,” someone responds, “countries should just do nothing then, like how Britain dealt with Hitler in the late 1930s? Should people just stand by and do nothing while something like the Holocaust happens?”

Gabe goes silent, brows furrowing in thought. When he meets the gaze of his challenger, he’s greeted by their smug, triumphant expression. “No,” Gabe finally admits, grudgingly.

“So then doesn’t that make war justifiable?”

“I’m not saying that countries should do nothing,” Gabe declares, his blood boiling. “But war often comes with war crimes, too. Both the Allies and the Axis raped thousands of women. Both sides bombed each other’s cities -- cities filled with innocent civilians. Cities like Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I think countries should step in and stop things like the Holocaust from ever happening. But even if the cause you’re fighting for is good, raping and killing innocent people isn’t. And that is never justifiable.”

The bell rings, a sudden shrill noise that startles Gabe out of his thoughts.

“All right, I’ll see you all tomorrow then,” Mr. Everett says to the class. “You all have a good day. Gabriel, can I see you for a moment?”

When Gabe is done packing his things, he makes his way to Mr. Everett’s desk. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Everett?”

“Yes,” Mr. Everett says, nodding. “I just wanted to commend you on what you said in our class discussion.”

“Oh,” Gabe responds, scratching the back of his head. “Thanks.”

“Have you ever heard of the principle of ahimsa?” Mr. Everett asks.

Gabe shakes his head.

Mr. Everett raises his eyebrows. “I’m surprised, because a lot of what you said reminds me of that. We’ll actually be touching on it in the course. But anyways, ahimsa is an important principle in Hinduism, Jainism, and Buddhism. It means to not harm. Non-violence. Ahimsa has greatly influenced theories of war and military ethics, and was also central to the independence movement of India.”

“The one with Gandhi, right?” Gabe faintly recalls from previous social studies classes.

Mr. Everett nods. “All forms of resistance against the British Empire were non-violent and it actually worked, as India finally achieved their independence in 1947. In fact, it worked so well that it influenced the Civil Rights Movement right here at home.”

Gabe nods thoughtfully. “Huh, no way.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Everett says. “Well, I also wanted to talk to you about joining our History Bowl team. I really think you’d make a great addition, and I’m not saying that just because I’m the sponsor teacher.”

History Bowl. Gabe had heard of that before -- isn’t that some kind of Jeopardy for history or whatever? Where a bunch of Ivy League types from different schools gather round and flex their knowledge or some shit? Gabe is certainly not Ivy League level, and the idea of being stuck in a whole room of them… ok well, he is in AP World History. But still. Gabe’s about as average as you can get, honestly. And besides, who wants to study for fun? He’s got enough classes to worry about.

Mr. Everett must have read his mind or something, because he says, “I know it’s not as glamorous as the football team, but I really do think you’d be great at it. At least consider?”

“Thanks,” Gabe replies a little sheepishly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Great,” Mr. Everett says, “You have a good day then, Gabriel.”

“You too,” Gabe replies as he leaves the classroom.

---

Gabe spots his uncle sitting on the porch as he approaches his house. A worn box sits next to him. “Hey, Javi. What are you doing here?”

“Hey, buddy,” Javi says. “I was hoping Kate would be here. I’ve got a package to drop off.” He gestures to the box.

“How long have you been waiting?” Gabe asks. “And what’s that?”

“Just ten minutes, no biggie,” Javi replies, grinning, “and these are your abuelo’s cassette tapes.”

“You have his cassette tapes?” Gabe questions.

“Just some of it.” Javi says. “I hear music really helps with memory. Maybe your dad can take them with him when he visits your abuelo.”

Gabe peers into the box. Cassette tapes stack on top of each other, almost spilling over the brim. “Those are… a lot of tapes.” He turns to Javi and quietly asks, “Why don’t you go with my dad?”

Javi looks away, scratching the back of his head. “I love your dad,” he sighs. “He is my brother, after all. We just… don’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things.” His gaze rests on the box. “Let’s just say your dad doesn’t agree with how I’m… processing all of this.”

“Was that what it was about?” Gabe mumbles, studying his uncle’s face. “You know. Two weeks ago, at Yaya and Pipo’s house?” He recalls the yelling being so loud from he could hear it from the backyard. His abuela crying, pleading with them to stop. A door slam that seemed to shake the walls and the air around them. A loud tire screech. Javi nowhere to be found after. His dad dark-eyed and tense and silent for the rest of the night.

“Sort of, yeah,” Javi answers, quietly.

Gabe decides to change the subject. “So why does Pipo have a lot of cassettes?”

Javi smiles, eyes tinged with fondness and melancholy. “He made a mix for every event,” Javi sigh. “Like, every event. Not even just for milestones and holidays, but for days when it rained, when the sun shined. I think he has a whole tape dedicated to cafecito.” Javi shakes his head, chuckling. “Freaking obsessed.”

“More than dominoes?” Gabe asks, almost astounded.

“More than dominoes,” Javi affirms. “That man really loves music.”

Gabe chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, since Kate’s out, I can let you in and you can put it on the coffee table or something.”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

Gabe unlocks the front door and steps inside. He plops his backpack on the floor of his bedroom and double checks his pockets to ensure his wallet, phone, and keys are still with him before heading back towards the door.

“By the way, I need to pick up Mari from school and drop her off to ballet,” Gabe says to his uncle. “Do you need me to drive you back to your place?”

“No I’m good, my car’s just down the street,” Javi responds. "Actually, is it okay if I tag along? I feel like it’s been ages since I really spent some time with you guys.”

“I hope my dad won’t mind,” Gabe wonders hesitantly.

“I hope not,” Javi says, sighing. “Listen, no matter what’s going on between me and your dad, we’re still family.” Javi then playfully nudges him in the shoulder. “Now come on, I’ll treat you and Mari to McDonalds.”

Gabe grins. “You sure you want to wait out until Mari’s lessons are over, though?”

Javi cocks an eyebrow up. “You’re gonna wait out the whole hour?”

“Hour and a half,” Gabe corrects. “Plus, it’s kind of a waste of gas to keep driving back between home and the studio. Global warming, am I right?”

Javi snorts. “Since when did you care about global warming?”

“I always have,” Gabe shoots back, “but especially since I started noticing gas prices, you know?”

“Of course,” Javi says with a laugh.

When Gabe pulls up in front of Mari’s school, she climbs into the backseat and sets her duffel bag of ballet stuff next to her. “Hey uncle Javi,” Mari greets. Gabe feels her nudge at the back of his seat. “Are we heading to the studio right now?”

“Yup,” Gabe replies.

“But it’s only 3:15, and class starts at 4,” Mari points out, “can’t we wait at a McDonalds or something?”

“Well, Javi is planning to treat us after your lessons anyway,” Gabe responds, “and besides, it’ll be 3:30 by the time we arrive to the studio. You can wait another thirty minutes. Go practice or something.”

“Oh, I see what this is about,” Mari drawls, glaring at him through the rearview mirror before smirking. “You’re just eager to see Clementine, is that right?”

Gabe nearly swerves the car. “What?!” He sputters.

“Who’s Clementine?” Javi asks excitedly.

“No one,” Gabe interjects hastily.

Mari simultaneously answers, “His girlfriend.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend!” Gabe yells, knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel hard.

“She’s the teaching assistant for my class,” Mari says matter-of-factly, completely ignoring Gabe, “She’s really pretty, and she also goes to Gabe’s school. I think she’s also Duck’s sister?”

“Aww,” Javi sings, grinning.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Gabe yelps indignantly, cheeks flushing.

“Uh-huh,” Mari sarcastically mutters.

“Mari,” Gabe hisses, glaring fiercely when they make eye contact through the rearview mirror.

“All right, all right,” Mari grumbles. “I’m sorry, Gabe.”

“Thank you,” Gabe huffs, annoyed. He relaxes his grip on the wheel.

“Clementine is amazing at ballet, though,” Mari says with wonder, “I want to be just as a good of a dancer as she is one day.”

“I believe in you, Mari,” Javi replies, “You can achieve anything you set your mind to.”

“Thanks, Javi,” Mari says, smiling. “Maybe it’s not a bad idea to get some extra practice in,” she admits.

“Told you,” Gabe remarks, and spots Mari rolling her eyes at him through the mirror.

Predictably, Gabe doesn’t see Mari exit the studio when the lesson finishes. Gabe pushes the doors open (and steps through them quickly before they can crash into his head again).

“Clem, you should come with us,” he hears Mari practically beg, “My uncle, Gabe, and I are going to McDonalds. It’ll be really fun.”

Gabe freezes in his tracks. She’s doing this on purpose, isn’t she? She’s totally shitting him right now. Seriously, Mari? Wow.

“Gabe!” Mari calls out to him. She’s beaming brightly and sporting puppy dog eyes. He knows that look and sighs internally. Okay, so she’s definitely not trying to mess with him. Somehow, that makes it worse. “Can Clementine come with us? Pleeeease?”

“Um,” Gabe mumbles, scratching the back of his head. He desperately tries to force down the blush that begins to rise in his face.

Okay. So. It’s not like he wants to say no because honestly? That’s a little dickish. But Plan: Don’t Look Like A Moron failed spectacularly last time and Gabe definitely does not want to risk embarrassing himself in front of her again. He’s not sure if he can survive it.

Before Gabe can reply, Javi calls from behind him, “Of course, of course. The more the merrier.”

“I do have an hour to kill before my shift starts,” Clementine says, shrugging.

Mari beams. “Great! I’ll grab my stuff.”

“You, uh, work with the Gordons, right?” Gabe finally manages to unswallow his tongue and speak. “I can drop you off at the diner before your shift.”

“If it’s any trouble-” Clementine starts.

“It’s not,” Gabe replies sheepishly. “Really, it isn’t. It’s on the way home, anyway.”

Clementine nods gratefully and smiles. “Thanks, Gabe.” Gabe’s heart immediately accelerates. “I’m just gonna pack up and change.”

Gabe nods, his eyes unconsciously following her as she exits the studio. Did she really just smile at him? Was that real? He didn’t imagine it, right? Holy shit.

“What happened to ‘global warming?’” he hears Javi ask slyly. Gabe doesn’t turn, fearing his face is bright red.

“I’m just being nice,” Gabe asserts defensively.

“If you say so,” Javi casually replies.

---

“Please,” Javi begins, “I insist, Clementine. You’re our guest.” The four of them are standing in front of the counter. Gabe hears an exasperated sigh behind him -- another impatient customer, probably. They’ve been holding the line up for only a minute or so. Jeez.

Gabe watches as Clementine hesitantly puts her wallet back into her pocket. “You’re too kind, thank you.”

“No worries,” Javi says before addressing Gabe. “Gabe, why don’t you and Clementine find us a booth? Mari and I will wait for our order.” His uncle’s eyes glint playfully.

“Uh yeah, sure,” Gabe replies. He contemplates maybe killing his uncle as he and Clementine sit down at an empty booth.

“By the way,” Clementine begins, “Good job in the class discussion today.”

Gabe’s eyes widen in surprise. “Oh. Thanks.”

“What made you join AP World History, by the way?” Clementine asks, brows furrowing in curiosity. “Not that I’m saying you’re not smart or anything, but I didn’t think you… well, it’s just that I haven’t seen you in the other AP classes before-”

“I’m not exactly the AP student type, I know,” Gabe admits, nervously laughing.

Clementine chuckles with him. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to ask.”

“It’s okay,” Gabe replies. “I, um, kind of switched into that class last minute, I guess? It was sort of a spur of the moment.”

“Really?” Clementine cocks her head sideway in curiosity.

“Yeah,” Gabe responds. “Well, um, I’ve always liked social studies, and I also watched a lot of history documentaries over the summer. Made me realize how much I liked learning history. So I figured, why not?” He scratches the back of his head absentmindedly as he shrugs. “How about you?”

“I really like history, too,” Clementine replies. “I want to do a minor in History when I go to college, and you know, the AP class would be great for the transfer credits.”

“What are you planning to major in?” Gabe asks.

“Dance,” Clementine answers. “Hopefully at the University of Georgia. They have a pretty good ballet program.”

“That’s great,” Gabe says. “You’ve, uh, been doing ballet for a long time, right?”

“Yeah,” Clementine says, “Since I was 7 or 8. I really love it. But how about you? What are your plans after high school?”

Gabe’s eyebrows rise. He’s caught off guard. “I…” He trails off, lost in thought. What the hell is he supposed to say? “I’m still figuring it out, to be honest,” Gabe finally answers.

“No worries,” Clementine responds. “But if you plan on going to college, you should join the History Bowl team. It’s a great opportunity and looks really good on college applications.”

“Mr. Everett talked to me about that earlier today,” Gabe notes.

“He is the sponsor teacher,” Clementine says. “And this year, I’ve been made captain of the team. We need more members -- one more at least. It’s just me and Sarah now, since Arvo graduated last year.”

“Arvo?” Gabe recalls the familiar name. “You mean that really smart Russian kid? Didn’t he graduate early?”

“Yup,” Clementine sighs loudly. “He also got accepted into MIT’s engineering program.”

“Wow,” Gabe says in awe. “That’s… pretty impressive.”

“It becomes less amazing the more you hear about it,” Clementine drawls. “Arvo never failed to remind me every single week.” Gabe notes the way she rolls her eyes with deliberate annoyance.

“Duck told me he was kind of a dick,” Gabe replies.

“Oh, he definitely was,” Clementine says with a hint of a grin. “Big brain, bigger ego. But because of him, we did get pretty far last year. And this year, I really want to win the National Championships. So,” Clementine pauses, exhaling a deep breath, “I’m asking you to join the team.” “Me?” Gabe asks incredulously. “I’m no Arvo, though.” He looks down at the table.

“I’m not asking you to be Arvo,” Clementine replies. “Besides, it’s clear from the discussion today that you’re passionate about history, and you seem to know a lot about it. Give yourself some credit. We’d be lucky to have someone like you on the team.”

Gabe’s heart skips a beat. “I, um…” He trails off, attempting to fight the heat beginning to rise in his face. “Can I think about it, at least?”

“Of course,” Clementine says. “Well, tomorrow is Club Day, and I’ll have a table set up in the atrium during lunch. Come talk to me when you’ve made your decision.”

“Sounds good,” Gabe responds.

“If it helps,” Clementine starts, “the grand prize for the Nationals is a scholarship. Divided among the teammates, of course.”

“Really?” Gabe asks with a piqued interest.

“Yeah,” Clementine says, “it’s a pretty decent amount. But I think you have to use it within a year before it expires.”

Gabe hums and nods thoughtfully. “I’ll let you know tomorrow?” He asks.

“Sure thing,” Clementine replies.

---

Gabe is in the living room watching TV when he hears the keys turn and the front door unlock. His dad steps through. Gabe quickly checks the time on his phone. It’s nearly 10:00 PM.

“Hi dad,” Gabe greets him. “Long day at work?”

His dad nods. The exhaustion is apparent on his face. “Yes, mijo. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“Yeah,” Gabe answers. “Kate put the food in the fridge, by the way.”

Dad suddenly pauses. “What’s this?” he asks, pointing to the box on the coffee table.

“Javi came by earlier today,” Gabe tells him. “He dropped off a box of Pipo’s tapes.”

His dad frowns slightly, brows furrowing as he chews on his cheek. “Okay,” his dad comments quietly. “Anyways. Come sit with me,” he invites him. Gabe nods, and follows his dad into the kitchen.

“How was your first day of classes?” His dad asks as he opens the fridge.

“It was good,” Gabe replies as he reaches into the cupboard to grab a plate for his dad. “We just got our lockers and course outlines, that’s all. Real lessons start tomorrow.” He sets the plate on the dining table. “But we did have a class discussion in AP World History today.”

“An AP class?” His dad notes. “You know, it doesn’t really matter what kind of grades you get. As long as you have a high school diploma, the military will accept you just fine.” He shrugs dismissively.

“I just wanted to take it this year,” Gabe asserts quietly.

“Okay,” Dad responds. “What did you talk about in class?”

“Whether war is justifiable or not,” Gabe answers. “A lot of the class said it was justifiable sometimes.”

“But what did you say?” His dad asks.

Gabe immediately regrets bringing up AP World History. “I said it wasn’t justifiable,” Gabe murmurs. He studies his dad’s face, trying to decipher the unreadable expression he now wears. “Why?” Dad says with an eyebrow raised. “Sometimes we have to fight back when bad guys threaten the rights and lives of other people.”

“I guess,” Gabe says uncertainly. “I was talking more along the lines of, um, war crimes. Like murdering and raping innocent people. Stuff like that.”

“That doesn’t really happen anymore, mijo,” his dad says pointedly. “There are international laws that stop that from happening now, don’t you know that?” His dad lets out a harsh sigh before taking a bite of his food. Gabe winces slightly.

“I know. I just, I don’t know,” Gabe mumbles, shifting his gaze down. “I was just offering another view. That’s all.” He half-lies.

His dad only nods and continues to pick at his food. Gabe takes his leave and heads to his room.

He shuts the door behind him quietly and sits on his bed, lost in thought. Gabe had been on fire earlier today, adrenaline pumping and blood boiling and thinking on his feet. He had a lot to say in class, but all the points he wanted to repeat to his dad seemed to just… evaporated from his head or something.

I’m just tired, Gabe justifies to himself. And Dad’s tired too. A debate is the last thing he needs.

Though, Gabe really did enjoy the class discussion today. He normally hates debates -- Gabe usually never knows enough to effectively participate, and he hates how tongue-tied he can get. Except today, Gabe actually did know enough, for once. There was something incredibly satisfying about being able to prove your points with cold, hard facts. Like a perfect one-two punch. And damn, did it feel good.

Maybe joining the History Bowl team isn’t a terrible idea. Sure, it’s not quite the same as debating morals and whatever like they did in class today. But Gabe has always found his history and social studies classes so much more interesting than his science classes. He liked learning about importants events that happened, and how and why they still affect people today. It always intrigued him.

And besides, Clementine did mention the scholarship grand prize. If they win Nationals, then he’d have no choice but to attend college. Dad would understand. He would see. Surely.

But I’m nothing like Arvo, Gabe admits to himself internally. Winning Nationals sure as hell isn’t a guarantee. It’s a slim chance, especially with the likes of someone like himself. Someone like me, Gabe thinks. He is… painfully average.

But, he has to try, right? Taking a chance can’t hurt. It’s not like it’s totally hopeless -- Clementine mentioned Sarah was on the team too. And they’re both really smart. He’s not on their level, sure, but Gabe can compensate with a lot of work and effort. Winning Nationals is definitely possible, he decides.

Dad will understand. Dad will see.

---

Gabe pushes through the crowd of students, his mood slightly souring with every shove of a shoulder. Just when he’s had enough and considers charging through the swarm like a bull on the loose, Gabe stumbles into empty space.

He spots a simple poster (HISTORY BOWL CLUB, it reads) hanging down the front of the table. Clementine and Sarah sit behind, chatting.

“Hey,” Gabe calls out breathlessly, giving a small wave to Clementine. She waves back. He approaches their table.

“Woah there, you’re gonna have to wait in line,” Clementine says sarcastically, gesturing to the considerable lack of students around them.

A grin plays on his lips. “Hilarious,” Gabe replies with equal sarcasm.

Clementine chuckles before asking, “So, what’s the verdict?”

Gabe meets her gaze and nods. “I’m in.”

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