Team Profile: Team Soledad

"They had so much potential."

In Growing: A Headcanon Short

Araceli Residence

20xx

“You’ll get used to it,” James assured him. Arryn looked at his weapons, new and shiny and foreign in his hands; he gripped them with an urge to grow familiar with them, expecting their respect any second. But they simply stayed in his hands, cold and feeling like a stranger. James noticed the younger one’s disappointment and smiled a bit, lifting a hand to playfully ruffle the blond’s hair. “It takes time, Arryn. Getting used to your weapons will always take time, as will mastering them.”

“Why couldn’t it be like Am’s?” the boy asked, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. James blinked, “Am’s is cool. She’s got a scepter. You and mom have cool weapons, too, and I have – I have these.” He finished lamely, staring down at the sleek twin guns in his hands. “Basic guns.”

“You can’t exactly call the extension of your soul ‘basic’,” James answered, raising a brow at him. “Each person has their own special weapon. Amaris has her own. So do your mother and myself. It just so happens that this is yours.” He took the guns from Arryn and inspected them closely, “The more experience you have with your weapons and powers, the more they’ll develop. And it’s not just your powers that have to grow. It’s in yourself too, kid.” He returned them to Arryn, who let his arms hang limply. “It’s a two-way kind of thing.”

“Two-way?” James nodded and walked over to a nearby garden bench, patting the spot next to him. Arryn sat down, resting his guns on his lap.

Cold Comfort: A Headcanon Short

L’Avalon

August 20xx
11:43PM

“Drinking isn’t going to help you – or your heart – that much, James.” Drake Soledad eyed the other male uneasily as the blonde downed his nth bottle of beer (probably his third or fourth, judging by the other’s poor state of emotional stability when he had called for Drake to accompany him to the bar). “And to think you have a shitty tolerance for alcohol.”

As expected, the other blonde ignored him as he continued to drink his feelings away. Grimacing, Drake discretely took out a sleek, cellular device from his coat pocket and immediately went to his messages, texting up one of his trusted friends and teammates. SOS, he typed quickly, James is fucking up his liver again. I guess you might have heard the news from Carina.

He had barely put his phone back into his pocket when it gave a soft ping noise; Drake opened it up and saw the reply immediately: I heard. Where are you guys? I’ll get to you asap. Drake sent the address and sighed, this time leaving his phone on the bar counter next to his glass of water. Unlike the other guy, Drake much preferred staying sober at all times and not destroying his body piece by piece.

Then again, he also felt bad for James. Judging on the nearly undecipherable texts he had sent him, Drake assumed that what had happened was either really, really bad or really, really heartbreaking. Then again, the male thought with the grimace still on his face, this is both really bad and really heartbreaking at the same time. Considering that the guy’s been in love with Carina for the longest goddamn time.

“I asked Lyra to come over,” he told James. “You okay with that?”

The other barely responded, only covering his face with his hands at that point. His shoulders gave a small quake and Drake’s golden eyes widened before he snatched back his phone and proceeded to beg Lyra to come faster lest the other male start crying on him in a semi-drunken state. “Fucking shit,” he swore quietly, proceeding to throw worried glances at the entrance of the bar while awkwardly comforting his friend at the same time.