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fromthewifecage · 5 years

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Imagine Kombants sees Reader with bunches of cats

I LOVE kitties, all kitties, ALL of them. So do Erron Black, Johnny Cage, Nightwolf, Bi-Han and Kano. As usual Kano is last so if you don’t like him then you don’t have to read that one.(Yeah I kinda got over excited writing this and went a bit crazy. The Johnny Cage one is inspired by a scene in Red Dragon/Hannibal.)Hope this is ok, if not then feel free to throw a shoe at me.

Erron Black: (So this I actually took from a stupid Cowboy/Victorian Lady (called Clementine) thing I’ve been writing. It’ll never be finished because it needs to be probably 50k words or more, but this bit I liked writing. Erron’s trying to be a better man, got caught up trying to save a kids life, but the kid died, and Erron’s pretty cut up about it. Yes it’s not the reader with a bunch of cats, it’s about Erron with a cat, but the other Kombatant’s scenarios definitely the reader with kitties!! Please don’t hate me.)

Arms slid around his waist, her body pressed hard to his back and enveloped him in a much needed embrace. His head drooped forward, shoulders slumping, his head in his hands. He’d tried his best, hadn’t he? But it wasn’t good enough, never was. He was a God-damned failure.To his eternal shame his eyes prickled with the threat of tears. He hadn’t cried since Ma had screamed at him for crying over the body of a barn cat. The large ginger cat had been Erron’s only friend since he’d had first found the cat. He’d first seen it sat upon a dark brown saddle in the barn, the saddle’s leather gleaming from the earlier oiling. The cat paused between washing its ears to stare, and when Erron held out a hand it took a moment to sniff at his fingertips before going back to its wash.

Erron had named the cat Peter and they’d quickly become firm friends. Peter would chase after mice and spiders, batting at them with a large ginger paw until he got tired of the chase and quickly killed them. Erron would bring Peter scraps of meat and cheese filched from the larder as a reward. Erron would often find half a mouse in one of his boots, Peter obviously thinking Erron was too skinny and needed fattening up, and Peter was right, Ma was far too stingy with her portions. If Erron had been judged to ‘deserve sleeping outside’, usually after answering his Ma back or being caught filching from the larder, then Erron would climb the long rickety ladder to reach the hay loft, and spend the night with Peter on his chest, purring happily.

They’d been friends for 3 long summers until Erron had gone into the barn at the end of a particularly hot and long day helping in the fields. Ma found Erron sobbing over Peter’s stiff and lifeless body, and dragged him back into the house by his ear, beating him harshly for caring about “that ginger shit more than you care about the rest o’ us.” It was true, so Erron didn’t put up a fight as he took his hits. He merely filed away the hate with all the other times she’d beat him, hurt him, scorned him and neglected him, so when years later, he stood by Ma’s bed as she took her final breaths with cancer riddled lungs, he shed no tears.

Erron sat there, fighting with the sadness of not being able to save the child, until the small bedchamber was dark enough that he could barely see his own hands. Clementine still held him, had made no protest or whispered fake platitudes that he’d get over it or he’ll feel better soon. She’d let him take the time he needed.

More after the cut! (these ones really are about the reader with kitties, promise!)

Johnny Cage: Johnny is more excited than you are for your birthday. His grin has been extra sparkly for the entire past month, and each hint about what he’s got for you has been more ridiculous than the last. You keep trying to tell him you don’t want a fuss, and to not spend more than £20 on a present, but it’s like telling a child they have to eat their broccoli if they want ice cream for afters. He’s not going to eat the broccoli, he’s sneaking into the freezer as soon as your back is turned.

He wakes you up extra early, despite your protests that it’s your birthday and you want to sleep. In the end he picks you up and carried you into the shower, washes your hair and refuses to leave the bathroom until you brush your teeth. He doesn’t stop singing ‘Happy Birthday’ either. Even when you threaten to leave him he doesn’t stop being annoyingly amazingly cute.

He blindfolds you in the car (the driver starts to get worried that you’ll ruin the seat leather but Johnny calms them down with promises there’ll be no sex in the car) and does his best to confuse you with increasingly remote landmark spotting. Quite how you’ve gone from home to the Louvre, past the Pyramids via the Lin Kuei Temple, you have no idea. Eventually he leads you from the car, your hand tightly in his grasp and a hand on your shoulder so you don’t stumble.

As you walk to your secret destination you hear all sorts of animal and bird sounds, chirruping, squeaking (including a couple of gasps from some humans along with “OMG it’s Johnny Caaaaaaaaaaage” whispered under their breaths), some growling, even trumpeting.“Surprise!” Johnny stage whispers as he unties your blindfold, leaving you blinking in the dim light.

Before you is a scene from one of your very best daydreams. A room full of lion cubs, each one rolling, biting, investigating, chewing or playing with it’s brothers and sisters. A hand clasps over your mouth when your heart bursts with joy, Johnny chuckling and letting you know that the kitties are so little that they’ll be scared by squeals of happiness. The zookeepers are more than happy to let you play with the cubs, showing you how to feed the furballs, how to hold them and cuddle them.

You spend the rest of your birthday in lion cub heaven. Johnny takes so many photos of you surrounded by the kitties that his photo groans, and of course you take a bunch of him with the cubs too, he’s just as excited by the balls of fluff and teeth as you are and he almost cries when it’s time to go home.

Best. Birthday. Ever.

Nightwolf: The man is an expert on nature in all its forms. He can live self sufficiently from a small plot of land, he built his own home and keeps not only real animals happy, but spirit animals too. An ideal day for him would be to tend to his crops and land during the day and spend the evening surrounded by his animal and human companions.You’ve spent significant time with Nightwolf, and he’s grown not only to love you, but trust you to share his life and loves. Hana took a while to warm up to you, but will now sit on your shoulder almost as happily as she will with Nightwolf (it took many batches of mini pancakes for her to get to this stage, and now she demands you make her some food whenever you cook).

Nightwolf is in the kitchen when he realises you’ve run out of salad ingredients. The evening air is warm and sweet, the frogs by the small creek are noisily calling for mates, and the idea of a short walk to the vegetable plot to stretch your legs before dinner sounds appealing. Hana follows you out the door, first taking to the sky and circling the house, then drops down to land upon your shoulder, tugging at strands of your hair in her own way of looking after you. As you gather some lettuce Hana squawks and flaps her wings, then flies over to a patch at the very end of the plot, squawking some more. You call out to her, maybe one of the frogs has got lost?

But it’s not a frog you find, it’s even cuter than that. It’s a tired stripy cat with large ears, surrounded by the smallest of kittens, each one latched to a teat. You gasp excitedly and whisper to Hana to go fetch Nightwolf. Hana gives one final indignant squawk, then flies off, returning on the shoulder of the beautiful man you love.

“Welcome back Koko, it is an honour to meet your children.”

Nightwolf greets the cat as a friend, and your heart melts a little more for this wonderful man. He asks you to stay with the kitty family whilst he returns to the house to fetch some things. Koko watches you with sleepy eyes, trusting that since Nightwolf trusts you, you aren’t a threat. You don’t reach for the kittens, they are far too tiny to play with, but you make a wish upon the stars that you’ll get to play with them when they’re a little older.

Nightwolf returns carrying one of the chicken coops he’d been mending and with blankets in a backpack. He sets up a little home for the cats in the dark corner of the vegetable plot. You’ll be able to visit the kittens whenever you like (with Koko’s permission of course).

Yay for kittens!

Bi-Han: The man might be a deadly (the Lin Kuei are NOT ninjas) ninja assassin, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a heart. As a trained spy he has to take notice of everything, no matter how innocuous it seems, so he knows more about you than you know about yourself. So he knows that you’re getting a little lonely in his absences, and recently, he’s been absent a lot more due to an influx of contracts.

You’ve tried so hard not to show your loneliness, thinking it would upset Bi-Han and make him consider breaking off your relationship to try to save you from more pain, and that has crossed his mind. Then he looked upon his life and decided that he didn’t need anything but you, and that no matter how often you were apart, it was the together that mattered.

It was early morning, the blood of his latest target swirling down the sink as he scrubbed himself clean, when his phone blinked with a new message from you. His smile curling the corner of his mouth when he sees that you’ve sent yet another cat picture, this one of 2 kittens wearing ninja outfits with the caption “You and Kuai!” Bi-Han is about to flick back up through the conversation to where you’ve sent some pictures of yourself rather than kittens, when his smile widens as an idea pings into his head.

You’re woken by a cold gentle kiss to your forehead, a brush of icy fingers across your cheek when you stir then wake with a happy yawn.

“You’re home!”

You sprint to the bathroom to first wee then brush your teeth, sprinting back to jump into Bi-Han’s fierce embrace. When he doesn’t immediately tug off your pyjamas you’re puzzled, the man is normally insatiable. He laughs at your pout and tugs you into the living room where he nods towards a box resting on the table.

“Happy Tuesday!”

His grin is huge when you squeak upon looking inside the box to find two kittens curled around each other. It widens even further watching you cry with happiness when the kittens wake to first sniff you, then immediately demand attention. He pulls out his phone and takes some pictures, seeing you this excited has to be recorded.

Yay for kittens!

Kano: The big burly scary Australian beefcake actually has a soft spot. You.

You’ve heard the stories, the ones about him scaring someone so much they wet themselves and when Kano laughed at their fear they burst into tears. About the time he had someone skinned alive and thrown onto the street. Kano could be a Bond villain, he already has the one-eye thing down, he had the comfiest squidgiest chair for his desk (it swivelled so Kano could spin around when he got bored), all he needed was a cat for him to stroke when watching a Special Forces member wet themselves.

You’d gone to the animal shelter to pick up a cat for him (he’d laughed at your idea then shrugged.

“I already got my kitten, but if you want a kitty, I ain’t gonna stop ya.”

Then he’d pulled you into his arms and kissed you until you forgot how to breathe.)

At first you were going to adopt the fluffy white cat with the huge blue eyes, she was gorgeous, but it was when you were walking to the corner of the room to discreetly take a phone call when you saw the 2 kitties that had been forgotten by everybody. They sat by their small window, peering out into the world they’d never get to experience again. One of the kitties had lost a leg, the veterinary nurse later telling you she’d been attacked by an enormous dog and had carried on fighting even when she’d lost the leg. The other had only 1 eye, again, having lost it in a fight. Your heart went out to these sweet brave kitties, and you knew you could give them the best home.

“What you got there, love?”

Kano stood in the doorway, bare chested as usual, huge 'sexy-as-hell' grin as usual.

“I couldn’t leave them, no-one wanted them and they’re all little.”

Kano looked from you down to the kitties exploring every nook and cranny of the bedroom, tails twitching secret messages to each other as they couldn’t believe that they were finally out of the shelter. He chuckled then strolled over to you to wrap you up in a huge embrace.

“Think that one wants a cyber eye?”

#Erron Black #Johnny Cage #Nightwolf #Bi-Han #Kano #Mortal Kombat #Mortal Kombat Asks #Mortal Kombat Headcanons #Mortal Kombat Headkanons #Mortal Kombat X Reader #Erron Black X Reader #Johnny Cage X Reader #Nightwolf X Reader #Bi-Han X Reader #Kano X Reader

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crystalstar8 · 4 years

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“Pet Theft” pt. 2

Chapter 2, “Monkeying Around”

tags: violence, action, pet theft, blood, mentions of a hurricane

The mansion was enormous, Jungkook had always known that. But there was a difference between wandering the halls in search of a bathroom and wandering the premises in search of an unlocked window. There were cameras everywhere, because this guy was a freak, but Jungkook was an expert at spotting and avoiding cameras by now.

He felt bad thinking of his uncle as a freak, but only briefly. The man was a freak, because even though Jungkook was his family and also a member of the most famous boyband in the world, the man would still have him arrested for coming anywhere near his house. It was fine though. Jungkook knew what he was doing. This wasn’t his first rodeo.

Jungkook pushed through a rose of Sharon bush and looked up at the second floor window. It was cracked open, letting the summer breeze into whatever room that was. Jungkook had no idea. Despite growing up visiting this house frequently, Jungkook is sure there’s a ton of rooms he still hasn’t seen. Jungkook eyed his surroundings. A few feet from the window was a lattice against the brick wall. A trumpet vine climbed the lattice and continued up into the brickwork. There were no flowers right now though, which was good because Jungkook would have felt bad if he wrecked any. A quick glance around proved the area was free of cameras. Jungkook darted for the lattice and began climbing. He scaled the wall expertly then made a leap for the windowsill. He caught the stone sill and hauled himself up and into the room. His boots hit the carpet and he looked around.

The room was empty. It was a small office, bookshelves lining the walls and a big desk in the corner, piled with papers and envelopes. A hearth took up the right wall with a painting over it. Jungkook recognized the painting as the work of his cousin, Misun. The two of them shared this particular artistic ability. Jungkook remembered coming to his uncle’s house as a kid and painting with Misun, who is a few years older than him. She was already so good at that age. Jungkook feels like he’ll never catch up to her ability.

Tearing his eyes away from the painting, Jungkook crept across the carpet and out into the hall. Still no one in sight. He hoped to run into Misun on this mission. She could give him directions in this labyrinth of a house. She definitely wouldn’t call the police on him.

Eventually, the carpet gave way to hardwood floors. Jungkook took off his boots and crept along the wood in his socks. It was silent, no sign of anyone nearby. He found the stairs and took them down to the first floor, which he was relieved about. He was way more familiar with the first floor. The whole house was 1800’s Victorian style, which was really beautiful and magical, even after all these years and even though Jungkook was breaking and entering. It reminded him of Harry Potter. He remembered when he was about ten years old, his brother and Misun had already read the entire series. They liked to play Hogwarts in this house, making fun of Jungkook whenever he didn’t understand their references to the books. His brother claimed that Jungkook was too young to read them still, since the Harry Potter books were for adults. Jungkook had read them the next year, but by then, his brother and cousin were over playing Hogwarts.

Those were the last books Jungkook’s read if he’s being completely honest. It’s fine. He’s since spent his time developing other skills, like sneaking around a house undetected.

Jungkook heard a floorboard creak and leapt for the closest open door. It led into a dark room. He was wearing all black, so he easily melted into the shadows. He peeked around the corner to see his uncle’s second wife walking down the hall. He never called her his aunt. She never acted like an aunt. Misun liked to refer to her step mom as ‘Lucifer’s concubine’, never to her face but Jungkook always found it hilarious.

The woman walked past the room Jungkook was hiding in and disappeared around a corner. Jungkook let out the breath he was holding. He swung around the corner back into the hall and ran right into someone, fully startling them both and almost knocking each other over. It was Misun. Before she could scream, Jungkook slapped a hand over her mouth and pulled her into the room he was just in, closing the door behind them. He flicked on the light and looked at her with wide eyes. She looked back at him with equally wide eyes. As soon as she recognized him, she sagged in relief, which quickly turned into annoyance. Jungkook took his hand off her mouth and she slapped him in the arm.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she whispered. “I thought you were a rapist.”

“I’m stealing another one of your dad’s pets,” he said.

“Well you’re not being careful enough. You could have run into his wife instead of me. She’s around here somewhere,” Misun said.

“Yeah, I just saw her,” said Jungkook. “Noona, I need help finding his conservatory.”

“It’s connected to the dining room, you know that,” said Misun.

“Yeah, but which dining room? Last time I broke into it, I was in a hurry trying to get away from your dad. I didn’t really see where I was going.”

“Go down this hall, take a left. Go through the kitchen, into the courtyard. It’s easier to get into it through the courtyard. You’ll see it then,” said Misun. “Be careful. I’ll try to distract them both. Text me when you’re out of the house.”

“Thank you, you’re the best!” Jungkook said, hugging her. She didn’t hug back.

“Thank you who?”

“Thank you noona,” said Jungkook.

“If you get eaten by a tiger, I’m not coming to your funeral.”

“I won’t get eaten by a tiger,” said Jungkook.

“Imagine if you got eaten by a tiger. BTS would fall apart and then the whole Korean economy would fall and everyone would lose their jobs and go hungry. The country would fall into shambles and all your fans would be devastated. How would you feel then?” Misun asked.

“Well, I wouldn’t feel anything ‘cause I’d be dead,” said Jungkook. “But it’s fine. I’m not taking the tiger this time.”

Misun rolled her eyes and mumbled, “’Next time.’” She left the room and glared at him once more before closing the door behind her. Jungkook waited a few minutes after hearing Misun call for her parents. Then he opened the door and crept out, following the directions his cousin gave him. He finally made it to the courtyard without being spotted and saw the conservatory in all of its glory. It was beautiful, the domed glass arching over the all glass room. A set of huge double doors led into the conservatory, which Jungkook opened. The sounds of all kinds of animals rang out through the conservatory. Big cats growling, monkeys shrieking, birds squawking…it was a cacophony of unease in Jungkook’s head. He knew these animals weren’t treated right. Most of them were hungry or sick. He tried not to look at most of them as he made his way to one particular cage and tried not to feel guilty that he’d be leaving them behind today. He’d come back for them, he promised himself he would.

The cage he stopped at held a marmoset, the tiny thing curled up on it’s branch. Jungkook put his boots back on and pulled his backpack off. Out of his backpack, he produced a ziplock bag of carrots and grapes, which Jin had sent him with as a snack. Jungkook took a carrot out of the bag and held it between the bars. The marmoset peeked over at him, eyeing the carrot suspiciously. The little guy made no move to grab the carrot though. Jungkook tossed the carrot back into the bag and pulled out a grape. When he held that through the bars, the marmoset looked at it with a bit more interest. Finally, the monkey sprang into action, jumping off his branch and grabbing onto the cage bars. He grabbed the grape and bit into it, chewing happily.

Jungkook eyed the padlock on the door of the cage. Maybe he should have looked for keys somewhere, but the padlock didn’t look too strong. At the very least, the hinges of the door didn’t look too strong either. He gripped the bars and held the cage steady with his other hand. The marmoset went back to his branch and watched nervously as Jungkook pulled on the door with all his might. The hinges creaked and the bars buckled. He adjusted his grip and pulled again, this time the whole door breaking off with a loud clang. He winced at the sound as he set the cage door on the ground.

The monkey shrieked and curled up in the corner of his cage, staring at Jungkook with wide eyes. Jungkook pulled another grape out and set it in front of the monkey, then stepped away. Nervously, the marmoset reached out a tiny hand and grabbed the grape, munching on it slowly. Jungkook reached a hand in to let the marmoset investigate. The little monkey approached slowly, sniffing at his hand and then looking around his palm for another grape. Jungkook pulled out another grape and offered it to him. The monkey snatched the grape away and ate it. Jungkook thought now was the time. He reached out to scoop up the monkey, but the little guy did it himself by climbing up Jungkook’s arm and sitting on his shoulder. Jungkook smiled and put the bag of carrots and grapes back into his backpack. As he slung the bag back onto his back and made his way out of the conservatory, he heard a voice call out.

“Jungkook! I’ve already called the police you little punk. So you might as well turn yourself in!”

It was his uncle. The monkey on his shoulder shrieked and grabbed his hair as Jungkook started backing away. His uncle tried to lunge for him, but Jungkook was quicker. He darted away and made a run for the double doors. A hand grabbed his ankle and he crashed to the floor, the marmoset yelling and jumping off of him onto a nearby cage. The lemurs inside went crazy as the little monkey taunted them. Jungkook was dragged by his ankle and his uncle stood over him.

“How dare you show your face back here,” his uncle growled. “You might as well give up, you little shit.”

Sirens wailed in the distance, getting closer and closer. His uncle pinned him down. Jungkook was probably stronger than the man, but his uncle was bigger and heavier. Jungkook didn’t stand a chance when the man put his weight into pinning him down.

“Freeze! Don't move!" the police shouted as they burst into the conservatory. Panic coursed through Jungkook. He couldn't get arrested. He had a reputation to uphold. His hyungs would be so disappointed. Army would be even more disappointed. So he did the only thing he could think of. He kicked his uncle's feet out from under him, then leapt to his feet. He reached out an arm and the marmoset jumped to him. Jungkook tucked the monkey into his coat as he ran right for the closest window, jumping and smashing through it. He hit the ground with a roll before getting back up and running. There was a wall around the courtyard, providing privacy to the garden. Jungkook could hear the police behind him, shouting and threatening him. Two apple trees stood by the wall, which Jungkook used to jump between to the top of the wall. Then he jumped down, his boots hitting the pavement.

Back in the city. He took off running still. The little monkey peeked out of his coat. His tiny hands were clutching Jungkook’s T-shirt. This side of the city was not only decrepit and seedy, it was also unfamiliar to Jungkook. Especially since that hurricane hit and everything was either destroyed or underwater.

He had managed to lose the cops by jumping that wall but he wasn't in the clear. They'd be on the lookout for him. He was both famous and carrying a monkey not native to this area even a little bit, so he really had to be careful. He ducked into an alleyway, his boots splashing through the water. The water level was really getting high around here. He could still hear the sirens. The cops were close.

Jungkook's eyes darted around the alley. There was a crawlspace up ahead, a few feet above the water. He sloshed through, then jumped up to grab the ledge, pulling himself up into the crawlspace. The marmoset scampered over Jungkook and into the crawlspace to avoid being squished. The little monkey decided to lead the way from there, Jungkook following close behind. The crawlspace opened up into a bigger tunnel, something that Jungkook could actually stand up in, albeit hunched over. Water dripped from the pipes and grates above. The dripping water and footsteps echoed in the tunnel. Jungkook could barely see ahead of him, so he pulled out his phone flashlight. He didn’t want to step on the marm. The two of them stopped at some point, Jungkook pulling his backpack off and slumping against the wall. He pulled out the bag of snacks and handed a grape to the marmoset’s already outstretched hand. Jungkook began munching on the carrots.

He looked at his phone. A few from the group chat asking where he was. He hadn’t told anyone he was going to do this today. A few texts from Misun. He texted her back that he was out of the house and away from the police. Then he texted the group, letting them know he was safe and not arrested. Then he put his phone away.

The grates above them filtered in some sunlight and the ground here was mostly dry. The marmoset was rummaging through the ziploc bag hanging from Jungkook’s fingers, sorting the grapes from the carrots. Jungkook rubbed the marmoset’s head. His fur was brown and he had a halo of soft fur around his head. He was smaller than what Jungkook was expecting. A pygmy marmoset, if Jungkook’s quick google search back home was anything to go by.

“Jimin hyung would love you,” said Jungkook. “Actually, they'd all love you."

He sighed and stood up, reaching out his arm so the marm could climb up to his shoulders. He packed up his belongings and slung the backpack back on, ignoring the rapid fire texts buzzing in on his phone. As they trekked further into the tunnel, it eventually opened up into a proper maintenance tunnel, complete with dim red lights up on the wall and more water on the ground.

Jungkook imagined his hyungs taking this route and chuckled to himself. They'd be terrified.

The tunnel led them to a set of stairs going down. There was nothing but the sound of dripping water, so Jungkook deemed it safe to go down.

The stairs led to an underground electrical maintenance room, complete with open, sparking wires and two foot deep water. Jungkook sighed and looked around. At the other end of the room, there was an open door. He eyed the best way to get there, then tightened the straps of his backpack.

“Hang on tight, little guy," he said. He didn't know if the monkey actually understood him, but the little marm actually did tighten his grip on Jungkook's hair. He braced against the stairwell and jumped for the nearest generator machine, just barely grabbing the pipes and missing the water. He climbed to the top of the generator. There was a desk below, an old, gutted desktop computer sitting on the surface. Jungkook climbed down onto that, then continued on in this fashion - jumping and climbing his way to the door to avoid the water.

The door ended up conveniently leading to a few stairs above the water, which Jungkook made the leap to. The rubber of his soles barely grazed the water. From there, after a few twists and turns through the halls, Jungkook found himself in what used to be a casino. Some of the slot machines were still on, providing some kind of light. But most were either flickering or completely dead. Some were totally gutted, the cash inside stolen. The garbled sound of slot machine music mixed with dripping water to create an eerie atmosphere. The carpet was wet and wires and broken pipes hung from the ceiling. As he walked though, he had an urge to replay the Bioshock games. Maybe he would do that when he got home, if they didn’t have more shit in their schedules. Maybe he could get Jin to play. Jin was fun to play horror games with.

Jungkook strolled through the decrepit casino, taking in the vines and moss growing up through the cracks in the ground. He felt his phone ringing in his pocket, but didn’t answer it. The casino led into a hotel, in much the same state. Jungkook wondered if there was actually a way out of this place, or if he was doomed to roam around in here forever. He tried to follow the directional signs on the walls until he finally found the exit. Once he got outside, he pulled up the map Namjoon had sent him a few days ago to a wildlife sanctuary. Namjoon had really done his research on it too, which Jungkook was grateful for. It was a non profit, private sanctuary that restricted guests and did other non profit work for the environment. It sounded legit; Jungkook trusted Namjoon’s judgement on this one.

The sanctuary wasn’t far, thankfully, but he’d have to take the train. He didn’t have his wallet, so he’d have to sneak on. Not the first time, but he wasn’t rich back then. Now it was just stupid. As he made his way to the train station, he flipped through the messages on his phone from the group chat. Everyone was expressing varying degrees of surprise and panic. He’d explain later. He also had a message from Misun stating that “The police tried to track you. I’m breaking my phone for you, asshole. You better buy me a new one with your idol money,” then nothing from her afterwards. Jungkook chuckled at that. She was so funny.

Once Jungkook got to the train station, he politely coaxed the marmoset to hide in the backpack, which the monkey was grudgingly agreeable to. Then he put his hood up and pulled a face mask from his pocket. He didn’t need people recognizing him here, and he definitely didn’t need the police recognizing him. When he got to the gates, he waited for the guards to look away before hopping over the turnstiles, then blending into the crowds to board the train.

Jungkook found a seat near the window, gently pulling the backpack off and putting it on his lap. He could feel the marm moving around inside, so he unzipped the backpack a little bit to take a peak. The marm was rummaging through Jungkook’s belongings, pulling a water bottle aside to get at the gold chain in the bottom of the bag.

Jungkook pulled the bag closed as a set of security guards walked by. The train started moving. Both guards eyed him suspiciously as they walked by, swinging their batons. As soon as they moved past, Jungkook let out the breath he’d been holding. That was a close one.

“That was a close one, huh?” Jungkook asked the marm as he peaked back into the bag. The marm blinked up at him. Jungkook scratched his head.

Now all he had to do was wait for his stop. The marm wasn’t having it though. After rummaging through the snack bag three times and coming up with no more grapes, he began to get angry. Jungkook leapt out of his seat and ran to the bathroom. The marm was loudly complaining about this predicament, climbing out of the backpack and throwing carrots around. Jungkook closed them into the tiny bathroom and tried to reason with the marm.

“Hey, hey, hey! Come on man!” Jungkook tried to grab the monkey, but he was jumping all over the bathroom, shrieking and throwing carrots still. Jungkook finally got a hold of him and took the bag of carrots away.

“No! We don’t throw things!” Jungkook scolded, wagging his finger. The marm grabbed his finger and bit it. “Ow!”

Jungkook yanked his finger back. He didn’t know how to handle this situation, so he sat on the closed toilet lid and let the little monkey wear himself out. After about half an hour, the marm had tantrumed himself into a nap on Jungkook’s lap. Even though he was a brat, the little marm sure was cute.

Just as Jungkook was gathering the monkey into his arms to put back into the backpack, someone pounded on the door of the bathroom.

“Hey, what’s going on in there?” someone asked. Whoever it was was rattling the door latch.

“Uhh, yeah, just finishing up in here,” Jungkook said. He zipped the backpack up and slowly opened the door, glancing around at the mess of carrots all over the place. “You might not wanna go in there for a while.”

As Jungkook looked up at the person at the door, he froze. It was a security guard. The guard narrowed his eyes. He was tapping his foot and smacking his baton against his palm.

“Hmmm, you look a little...familiar,” he said. Jungkook lifted his mask up over his nose.

“Really?” Jungkook asked, his voice squeaking a bit. The guard rubbed his chin. Jungkook felt a drop of sweat run down his face.

“Oh! You’re from BTS!” the guard said. “My daughter is a huge fan! You’re her favorite. Can I get a picture or an autograph for her?”

Jungkook let out a sigh of relief. “I can give you an autograph. No picture, sorry,” he said.

The guard pulled out a scrap of paper and Jungkook signed it.

“Thank you so much, my daughter will be so jealous I got to meet you,” he said. Jungkook smiled and nodded. “But wait a second…”

Jungkook froze. The guard narrowed his eyes again.

“Aren’t you... part of that group that had that scandal?” he asked. Jungkook let out a breath.

“No, that wasn’t us,” he said. “We didn’t have any part of that.”

“Oh okay,” the guard nodded and turned to walk away. “Wait a second! You’re that kid the police are after! And you didn’t pay your train fee, did you?”

Jungkook turned and ran.

“Hey! Get back here!” the guard shouted. Jungkook bolted down the center aisle of the train car, the guard trying and failing to keep up. Jungkook ran through car after car until he reached the very back. The door was locked. He could see the tracks streaming behind them through the little window.

He had lost the guard, but he could hear the man yelling and catching up. The marmoset unzipped the backpack from the inside and climbed up onto Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, we’re gonna get out of here,” said Jungkook. This train car was full of luggage, which Jungkook was thankful for. He didn’t need any passengers around to see him. Jungkook pulled the monkey off of his shoulder and placed the marm onto a nearby suitcase. Then he braced himself and kicked the door with all his might. It didn’t budge. It was a slide door, not a swing door. Jungkook wasn’t sure what he was expecting.

The door at the other side of the car opened up and the guard came through. The man was huffing and puffing, trying to catch his breath.

“Just turn yourself in, kid,” the man said. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You can just let me go,” said Jungkook. “I’m doing the right thing here. You can just pretend you didn’t see me.”

“No can do, son,” said the guard. He lifted his baton and came at Jungkook swinging, but Jungkook was faster. He ducked fast and then came back up with an elbow. He hit the man square in the jaw, knocking him out cold. Jungkook grabbed the guy and lowered him to the ground.

“I’m sorry, sorry, sorry,” he mumbled. Then he went back to the door to try to figure out how to open it. The marm was chittering on the ground next to the guard. Jungkook looked over at him. The monkey was tugging at a ring of keys on the man’s belt.

“Genius! You’re a genius,” Jungkook said, unclipping the keys and flipping through them. He finally found the right one and opened the door. Jungkook held out an arm and the marmoset jumped over to him, taking his spot back on his shoulder.

“Hold on tight, marm,” said Jungkook. He swung out the door and started climbing the metal ladder to the roof of the train. The wind whipped past and the monkey almost lost his grip. Jungkook grabbed the marm and held him close as they trekked across the top of the train. Their stop was coming up. The train was slowing down as it neared the station. Jungkook knew that he had to get off before they got to the station, so the guards wouldn’t see him. He just didn’t know how. He’s never jumped off of a moving train before. God, if the guys knew what he was about to do, they’d have a fit.

He waited for the train to slow down enough, then relayed the plan to the marm.

“We’re gonna jump, okay?” he said. “You’re good at jumping.”

Their train car was approaching a tree. Jungkook prepared to throw the marm. He didn’t want to do this; if anything ever happened to this monkey, he would kill everyone and then himself. But he also knew that this was kind of what monkeys were made for. So he tossed the marm to the tree as it passed. It looked like he caught a branch, but Jungkook didn’t stick around to make sure. He jumped for the gravel, his feet hitting quick before he launched into several rolls. It was painful, the rocks digging into his back and shoulders as he rolled, but at least nothing was broken or sprained.

Then he leapt to his feet and ran for the tree. Jungkook only had to open his arms and the marm jumped to him.

“I’m sorry little guy!” he said. The marm was hugging him tightly and Jungkook had to pry him off to look him over. He didn’t seem to be harmed at all, which was good because if he was, Jungkook would have lost it.

“We’re not gonna do that again,” Jungkook said as they walked away from the train station. “That was way too risky.”

The marm chirped in response and took his place back on Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook pulled out his phone, whose screen was only a little cracked from the jump, and pulled up the map. The sanctuary was close. The thought of the place made his stomach turn a bit, but a mission was a mission. He walked through the forest, taking his time as the sun began to set. The closer he got, the sicker he felt.

The sanctuary was in the woods, consisting of one small building and then fenced in land behind it. When Jungkook arrived, he went in through the door and found himself in a reception area.

“Hi, how can I help you?” asked the receptionist. She looked like a nice girl, but Jungkook kind of felt like running out of here as fast as he could. And maybe throwing up a little bit.

“Are you okay sir?” she asked. Through his anxious thoughts, he found it weird that she was calling him ‘sir’. She was probably older than him. Maybe.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m here to…” abandon this monkey like an absolute monster. Was he really going to leave this monkey here, all alone, after everything they’ve been through? He could feel the marm’s little hands holding onto his hair. He began tearing up just thinking about it.

“Actually, I don’t think I can…” Jungkook began. The receptionist looked at him, concerned and a little alarmed. “I’ll be back another time. Do you have any pamphlets or something about proper marmoset care?”

She smiled and said, “I’ll print something off for you.”

Jungkook slumped into one of the chairs by the desk as the receptionist, Byeol, as her name tag read, typed away on her computer. Jungkook pet the marm as he let the anxiety roll through him.

“They’re not supposed to be kept as pets though…” Jungkook mumbled.

“No, but he’s already been domesticated, so it’s not like he can go back into the wild. He’ll probably be better off with you, since he seems to be pretty attached. A lot of times, when people leave their pets here, they get anxiety about being abandoned, even if they’re better off,” Byeol said. “Don’t feel too guilty about it. Where did you get him?”

“My uncle. He has a lot of exotic pets. I’m trying to get them all better homes because my uncle is an asshole,” said Jungkook. Byeol laughed.

“I’m sure he’ll be better off with you than anywhere else,” she said. “We’d take care of him here, too, of course.”

“But I’ll miss him,” said Jungkook, pouting and looking down at the marm in his lap. “I can’t leave him.”

The printer in the corner of the office whirred to life and printed off a few sheets of paper. Byeol got up and grabbed them, stapling them together and handing them to Jungkook.

“Email us if you have any other questions, but you should be okay,” she said. “I’d like to know how he’s doing though.”

Jungkook stood up and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be back with other animals. I’ll let you know. Thank you.”

He nodded to her and walked out. Standing outside in front of the building, he fiddled with his phone, wondering what his hyungs are going to think when he comes home with a monkey. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. In the meantime, he called a taxi to pick him up at the nearest road.

When he got home, Jungkook spent two hours setting up a space for the marm in his room. Even though he had his own fluffy bed, the little guy still slept on Jungkook’s pillow beside him that night.

#bts #bts fanfic #jeon jeongguk #jungkook #jimmy k #crystalstar #pet theft

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enter-remiges · 5 years

Text

Me: I shall write a small idfic!

Also me: *accidentally writes 1.8k*

Anyway, here’s Kris/Flower at a wedding (not their own) + dancing in the rain, enjoy!

Kris' rental breaks down on the side of the road four hours into his trip to the lake house. It's not a big deal—someone's going to tow it, and he's got a car coming to take him to whatever the nearest hotel is. He's not on a schedule, since it's the beginning of summer, but it's just… aggravating. He wishes he had someone around to commiserate with, but everyone he knows in this area is either traveling or training or… wait.

hey, whats your gate code, he texts Flower. He's pretty sure today is the wedding Flower had been telling him about, one of his cousins or something like that, but it shouldn't be too far to the house he has up here. Flower won't mind him crashing for a while, and Kris doesn't need to be at the lake today, anyway. He'd been planning on stopping to see Flower on his way back, but he's flexible.

He's just rounding up his stuff when his phone buzzes, and he pulls it out of his pocket to see Flower's calling him.

"Hey," he answers, surprised. "Sorry, I thought you were at that wedding today?"

"I am," Flower says, his voice slightly muffled. "What's up?"

"My rental broke down, I thought I'd hang at your place for a bit. But if you're busy—"

"No, where are you?" Flower interrupts. "The wedding's not that far from my house."

"Outside of Tamville?" Kris tries. He remembers the town sign, a hideous monstrosity of red and gold, but that's about it. "Tadville? Something like that. But you don't need to come get me, I've got a car coming."

"No, I'll get you," Flower says. It sounds like someone is yelling in the background. "Near Tamville, you said?"

"Yeah, just past town, but—" Kris says, only to be greeted by the dead air of a disconnected line. "But of course I expect you to drop everything, including your cousin's wedding when I call, that's obviously how I was going to finish that sentence," he mutters. "Obviously.

He cancels the car and goes to sit on the trunk and wait for Flower, because while it's not that sunny out it is still hot. He'll take the chance of a breeze over sitting in the heat of a car without air conditioning any day. Flower pulls up maybe twenty minutes later and doesn't even get out, just waves. Kris hops off the trunk and makes sure he has his keys and wallet. He throws his bags in the backseat, then gets in.

"I didn't mean you had to abandon your cousin's wedding and come get me," is the first thing out of his mouth.

"You're welcome," Flower says, rolling his eyes like Kris is the one behaving strangely. "Seatbelt. And the wedding didn't."

Kris squints at him, fastening his seatbelt. "Didn't what?"

"It didn't go," Flower clarifies, putting the car in drive. "At least, I'm pretty sure it didn't. I guess we'll see when we get back."

Kris watches the scenery speed past outside the window in a green-brown blur, and out of all the questions flooding through his mind, what comes out is, "We?"

Flower's cousin's wedding—and Kris really should have asked what her name is, because now it's just embarrassing—is an outdoors affair, featuring a picturesque red barn, rows of white folding chairs, and an aisle scattered with rose petals. There's a huge sycamore tree to the left that must be great for pictures, as well as catered food under tents and a dirt space that's obviously intended to be a dance floor, judging by the live band.

There's also a veil lying on the ground near the front. Some of the chairs are overturned. The cake has a chunk out of it, like someone grabbed a handful and threw it at someone else. The bride at the groom, Kris learns from a friend of a cousin of a cousin of the bride.

"It hit him square on," she enthuses, apparently unconcerned with this turn of events. "Like, pwoosh." Her hands form an explosion of icing and cake, and Kris nods along while trying to keep a straight face. Flower, the asshole, has no such compunctions. He's laughing silently behind her, and seems to share her blasé attitude toward the whole thing.

"Excuse me," Kris says, as politely as he can. "I just need to…"

"Oh, of course," the woman says, patting him on the arm. She's apparently as unconcerned with his shorts and t-shirt combo as she is with the lack of vows being exchanged. "The drinks are in that tent, if you want some," she continues, voice conspiratorially low. "I think the bride and groom took some bottles when they left, but there's still some good stuff." Then she winks.

This is officially the strangest wedding Kris has ever been to.

"Thanks," he tells her, then heads toward the tent she'd pointed out to see what's still on offer. Flower's disappeared somewhere among the milling guests who are taking advantage of the reception-but-not, but Kris finds him without much trouble. He's sitting at a round table in the tent that dinner would have been served in. The mangled cake lists at the front next to warming pans and baskets of rolls.

"So," Kris says mildly, hooking a food around a chair and spinning it around before sitting down. "Care to tell me just what the fuck is going on here?"

Flower rolls his eyes. "Ruth—" and that must be the cousin's name, thank god Kris hadn't led with Priscilla, that had been his first guess, "—and Harry are just like that. Tumultuous, I guess you could say."

Kris thinks of the chunk taken out of that cake, and barely refrains from snorting his purloined beer out his nose. "You don't say."

"This is the second wedding I've been invited to for them," Flower confesses. "Not counting the first time they got married, which I wasn't there for."

"They've been married before?" Kris asks. "To each other? And they want to get married again?"

Flower shrugs. "They're probably eloping right now, if I had to guess. I think they like the drama of it all, don't ask me."

"Wow," Kris says, leaning back. "I don't know if I've ever told you this before, but your extended family is wild."

Flower nods, looking unperturbed. "You get used to it."

They sit in companionable silence for a bit, Kris occasionally stealing macarons off Flower's plate and getting halfheartedly smacked for his troubles, until he hears a trumpet play a riff. A guitar joins in soon after, though it sounds like they have a bit of a disagreement over what song they should be playing before they get it straightened out.

"Dance?" Flower asks, raising an eyebrow.

Kris nods definitively. "Dance."

The band sounds like they'd taken the opportunity to start drinking, but the music is still passable. A couple of other people are on the square of dirt as well, the women kicking off their heels and the men loosening their ties. There's an elderly couple swing dancing, two women in matching green dresses and ivory hair. They look like they're having a great time, orbiting each other as various other guests clap.

"We're not doing that," Kris says, nodding his chin at where the women have finished their song and are bowing to the crowd they've attracted before they start swaying together, arms around each other, even though the next song isn't a slow one.

"Are you sure?" Flower asks, grinning at him. "I've got some moves."

Kris laughs in his face. "I've seen your moves, you've got no secrets left from me."

"Oh yeah?" Flower challenges. "Show me how it's done then," and Kris is helpless to turn down a dare like that. They dance their way across the square, trying to one-up each other while at the same time avoiding running into the other dancers. There's a group of teens who must be double-jointed to pull off some of their moves, and Kris only briefly thinks about trying to imitate them. Very briefly.

A couple of songs pass, and he and Flower settle into a rhythm. The sky is turning dark faster than the approaching dusk should warrant, and Kris looks up at the clouds rolling in. It doesn't take long before it starts to sprinkle, and the other guests start for the cover of the food tents.

"You said they'd been married before, when you weren't there?" Kris asks making no move to follow them, and Flower nods. "Are you sure it's not you? Because from what you've told me, the only common factor in them not being able to get married at their own wedding is you. You're bad luck."

"Shut the fuck up," Flower laughs as the rain turns from a sprinkle to actual drops. "And I left to get you, didn't I? If your hypothesis was right, they should have tied the knot while I was picking your sorry ass up."

"Ah, but you were still here," Kris points out. "The damage had already been done."

They bicker back and forth for a bit until the rain gets harder and the music cuts out, one instrument at a time.

"Never would have made it on the Titanic," Kris says, watching the band scurry for cover.

"Do you want to show them how it's done?" Flower asks, and when Kris turns he's right there, bright eyes and mischievous smile, bending the world to his will through the force of his personality. Kris is getting soaked, and the wind is picking up, his socks are going to start squelching pretty soon. He doesn't even think about saying no.

"Mr. Fleury," Kris says, mock-bowing.

"Mr. Letang." Flower holds out his arm, and Kris can't even muster up much of a glare at being left to follow instead of lead. Flower doesn't even count them down before his hand on Kris' waist is guiding him into a spin.

Flower's dress shoes slip in the mud, and Kris' shirt is sticking to his back, and together they fumble their way through a franken-waltz that would make a dancer cry. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and the white of Flower's teeth flash in the dim light as he grins. Kris runs his hand up to cup the back of his neck, Flower's skin damp against his palm.

"Come on, you have a house around here somewhere, don't you?" he asks, leaning in closer than he needs to be heard. He's rewarded by the swell of Flower's adam's apple dipping as he swallows.

"I think something can be arranged," Flower murmurs. Above them, the sky flickers with lightning, distant but moving closer.

"Well then," Kris says, leaning back and trailing a hand down the damp fabric of Flower's button-up. He thinks he can see a hint of nipple through the sheer material.. "Lead on. You're driving."

The cake is soaked, but they take a bottle of champagne for the road.

#no geography in this idfic #only chaos weddings and swing dancing lesbians #and best friends who laugh during sex #(though that part is heavily implied)#my fic

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bigsnzstanacct · 5 years

Text

Richie Robbins

Here’s my first, totally unfinished sneezefic. It’s all about loud sneezes, I haven’t edited it at all and tbh I found it on some random blog that had clearly grabbed stories from the forum bc I didn’t want to dig through all my old computer backups so ya know if it’s screwed up it’s not my fault.

As passionately as he desired to, he knew he wouldn't be able to evade it. It would come, as so many times before: unavoidable, uncontrollable, unstoppable. He closed his eyes, tilted back his head, let the itch like fire at the edges of his nostrils expand to set his whole nose ablaze with a tickle so strong, only a monstrous explosion could expel it. And monstrous explosions were his stock-in-trade.

"hehh...hehh...HEISSSHOOO!" he exploded. His stunned professor stopped her lecture, as the noise rang out through the huge lecture hall, waking up quite a few drowsy (hungover?) students. Flummoxed, she lost her place in her notes, as the boy sitting next to him, a jock, last name Stevens... first name he couldn't remember, muttered, "Nice one, Robbins. You planning to blow any houses down any time soon?"

Richard Robbins waited a moment before he replied, hoping to make sure the one great sneeze had been enough to expel the full magnitude of the tickly sensation in his nostrils. He sniffed before opening his mouth to reply, which was, as always, a huge mistake.

"Yeah, Ste-st... stevens... I... hah... I...iiegh...ieghhh..ihhh...ihhh..." He thought for a moment he'd gotten it under control, rushing a firm index finger to his quivering nostrils, but it was too little, too late: "Y-yeahhhh... ahhhKESHHHHHuuuhh. HEYY-SHEEUUUUEY!" Another of his roaring sneezes rang out through the room, again startling Doctor Renyolds, who had just managed to get herself composed enough to begin lecturing again. And the sneeze came with a brother, a great screaming affair which appeared to have erupted from the very depths of Richie's being, and, luckily enough, had carried with it sufficient force to finally blast out whatever was causing the terrible tickle in his nose.

"My!" Doctor Reynold's voice came, after only a few seconds, "Whoever has been exploding in my has thoroughly put me off my lecture. Were we speaking about Hamlet or 'The Waste Land'?"

Richie sank in his chair. He had hoped to avoid this, this time. All throughout high school he had been known as the school's sneeze factory, variously going by nicknames from Sneezy to Big Bad Wolf to Johnny Tsunami--that particular psudonym coming from a quite unfunny teacher--but in college, he had hoped to avoid being identified primarily by his nose.

Of course, when you had a nose as big as Richie's, it was rather difficult not to notice. It was nearly always the first thing people noticed about Richie, either because he was busy sneezing or because its moderately thin but hugely protruding shape, rather like a right triangle seen in profile, was the most commanding thing about his face. And his nostrils: they were great, wide, massive things, sucking up irritants with an unholy frequency, tickling with an unthinkable burning fury, exploding with almost unimaginable, messy force. There were times when he felt his older brothers' insistence upon calling his nose Mount Vesuvius was not wholly inaccurate.

Not that any of the men in Richie's family had room to complain about his sneezes. While Richie may have gotten a double portion, this was surely a family curse: when the six Ritchie men--three older siblings: Tristan, Adrian, and Sebastian, Richie himself, his little brother Max, and his father--were united in colds and allergies, it was a wonder Richie's mother hadn't gone deaf. All six of them complained of unusually strong itches that developed deep within their nostrils, which could only be expelled by their characteristically loud sneezes. Stifling or containing the sneezes would never do; it would only intensify the tickle--and the resulting sneezes--by several orders of magnitude.

No, there was little Richie could do in such a situation besides let himself sneeze and hope that no one would notice. Which, thus far, had never happened.

"Hey, Robbins," the jock queried, "should I send out the storm warning to little pigs?"

After class, Richie walked out onto the campus, on the way to his dorm room. He was hit full in the face by the bright September sun, and by his furious nasal tickling.

"Nodda... hiihhh... nodahhh... again... HEEEYY-SHEEUU! HISSHHH! ehh... ehhhSHIIEUUU!" He let the sneezes erupt into the open air, giving them free reign to bend him in half, three times, each sneeze bigger and louder than the previous, though, for Richie, they were comparatively light, more like minor aftershocks than the sneeze-quake itself. He wished these would've hit in the lecture hall, rather than the nuclear blasts he had actually let out.

"Well, you can't always get what you want..." Richie muttered to himself.

"But if you try sometimes, you just might find, you just might find...!" Sing-shouted Richie's best friend, Adam, who had, as ever, appeared behind him.

"How do you do that?" Richie asked, "Do you stalk men unawares in the night by custom? I'm beginning to think you're practicing to be Batman."

"Richie," Adam paused to say, mock-serious, "I am Batman. And even if I wasn't, I'd be able to locate those sneezes from halfway across the campus," laughed Adam. "But anyway, what's up?"

"Well, I exploded in the middle of my Poetry and Drama class, and I'm pretty sure Professor Reynolds hates me, but besides that, not much."

"Old Vesuvius come back to life? Well, no shock there. No offense dude, but your nose has been permanently set to stun since high school."

"Yeah, I've noticihhh... ihhhh... ihhyahhhhhhhAAESSHUUU!"

The pair began walking down the cobblestone path of the university, presumably towards the dorm rooms, then cut through the quad, where, of course, the flowers begot a huge tickle in Richie's nose. "Oh! W-waaahhh... ahhh..." He tried to get the tickle under control long enough to utter the phrase "watch out," but Adam had long since learned to gage when Richie was about to embark upon one of his voyages to a Byzantium of Richter-scale rocking sneezes, and had promptly set his fingers in his ears, got down on his knees, and, in a grand military manner, announced, "Cannons are aimed! Target has been acquired! Fire at will! Fire at will!!"

The fact that he had never, frankly, fired at will, passed quickly through Richie's mind before the sneeze washed over him, washing away all thoughts other than the sneezes, and all quiet in the quad: "yyeeaaaaaaHHHCHOOOOOOOSSSHHH"

Several stunned students turned around to locate the source of the booming noise, and Adam thought that he heard a "wow," somewhere in the distance. A few birds, it seemed, started from the trees. Adam wasn't even entirely sure that he had imagined the swaying he thought he saw in a few of the trees. There was no doubt about it: Richie could sneeze. Ever since they met in freshman year of high school, Adam had seen Richie's nose at the epicenter of a daily series of frightful detonations. This particular sneeze had been not only monstrously loud but torrentially wet, leading Adam to celebrate his decision to crouch at Richie's side; he did not want to get drenched, as he had been on more than one occasion. Ever since freshman year.

"Geez, Rich, you done?" Adam asked, after giving Richie a few seconds.

"SHEEEOOO!" Richie exploded, if possible, even louder.

"Guess not." he chuckled. After Richie (and Adam) felt sure that Richie's nose wasn't about to go nuclear again, Adam stood up, began walking, and quipped, "You know, I'm looking for a side-kick; before I swoop in and lock up the baddies, maybe I can get you to sneeze and blow 'em down!"

"Shut up, Adam." Richie joked, giving Adam a playful slap on the head, before the two rushed off trading barbs as they went.

—-

Richie reached the dormroom with comparatively few incidents, although he had to force himself more than once to obey his father’s favorite dictum: don’t stifle your sneezes. Don’t even try. Richie’d heard that particular sermon preached any number of times, along with his mother’s story: “When your father went on our first date, he tried to hold those things back, and when they finally came out”—“when she smothered her spaghetti in pepper,” his father would always interject—“I thought he was going to blow everything off the table! He sounded a little like you, actually, Richie.”

So, with his mother’s slightly nasally voice ever ringing in his ears, Richie forced himself to let out a series of noisy nasal explosions, in order to satiate his nose’s uncontrollable need for relief from its buzzing, burning, incredibly tickly itching sensations. Few people could imagine just how strong the tickles in Richie’s nose got; perhaps the only way to truly represent their magnitude was their own self-expression in his explosive sneezes. He felt fairly lucky that he'd only had to give in to three or four on his way back to the dorms, although the gaggle of women who had clearly bathed in perfume were less than joyous at the sudden, shocking explosion of elephantine nasal trumpeting which had suddenly erupted to their near right, and each had jumped at least a foot in the air, much to the amusement of Adam, who'd laughed almost as loudly as Richie had sneezed.

Adam and Richie had reached their dorm room, and were sitting about, not really doing anything, as college students are wont to do in lazy afternoons, after classes but before the dinner hours. Of course, they could have been studying, but who’d want to do that? Richie was busy plotting ways to avoid blasting the cafeteria during lunch (take an extra dose of Claritin, bring a handkerchief, and always avoid pepper like the plague), while Adam sat on the bed, debating with himself about whether or not to take a nap, when he felt a tickle invade his nose. Adam’s sneezes, while certainly not tiny, couldn’t compare in the slightest to Richie’s nasal artillery, and the “ihh… ihhhh…IT-CHEEOOooey” he released was nothing compared to a Richie sneeze.

But Adam’s nose wasn’t done yet; the tickle returned, the previous sneeze having done nothing to alleviate it, but rather seeming to have augmented it: “nyehhh… hih! hih! hehhh…” Adam’s nose vacillated on the edge of a relieving sneeze, its power building with every hitch of his breath, “nighiiee…hiegh… ighhhiee… iiiaaAAAAAHHH-CHOOO!” Adam sneezed, much harder than normal.

“Woah, buddy,” Richie murmured over his shoulder, “You really let that one go; you aiming to start a sneeze fight?”

“No, no, no, no,” Adam said, still feeling a bit lightheaded from the sneeze, which had taken more out of him than usual, “getting into a sneeze war with your nose is like bringing three sticks and a baseball bat to the Crimeahhhh… Crimeaaaaahhhh… Crimean... aayyYAH-SHEWWWESSH!” Yet another draining sneeze burst from Adam’s nose, this time with some considerable spray. “Yeesshhh,” Adam said, “that would would’ve drenched a tissue almost as bad as you would! I’m turning into a fire hose sneezer like y… you… you… Ah-CHOOeeeyyy!” Adam let out yet another sneeze, although this one was comparatively light, more in keeping with Adam’s usual sub-volcanic sneeze level.

Thus far, he’d been able to avoid it, having long since learned that if he was to ever do anything except sneeze, he’d have to suppress his sympathetic sneezing reaction. But ever since he’d been a teen, Richie’s nose had been envious of anyone who let out too many sneezes around him, and desired to experience such enormous relief as came with his hurricane-strength achooeys. Thus, he felt a slight tickle brewing when Adam had released his fourth sneeze, and when he heard Adam hitching up to a fifth—“ahhh… ahh… am… ah… am I ever gonaaaahhhh stahhh… stahhh… stop… ahhh…”—he feared his nose too, would begin to go into sneezy paroxysms.

“Adam, man, ah… ah… can you get a hold on those sneezes… my n-nose is starting to tickle too… hoohhhh… ohhhh…”

Richie struggled to get a grip on the still relatively slight tickle that had invaded his nose, as Adam did his best to hold back his sneezy nose from the delightfully relieving fifth sneeze that he knew was on its way. “ahhhh… ahhhh… I-I dunno… ohhhh ahhh… hah… It ruhhhh… ruhhhheaalllly tickles. Ahhhhh… AHHHH… AYYY-CHEOOOSHH!” He let out another sneeze, the strongest, wettest, and most forceful of the bunch, although not spectacularly loud.

But anyone waiting for a noisy nose would have little time to wait. Adam’s fifth and final sneeze had sent Richie’s sympathetic tickles into overdrive, and with almost no buildup, he reared his head back, nostrils flaring wildly like a bucking horse, and bellowed out an enormous, “CCHHHHEEEOOOOOOOO!” Followed by two more, slightly less loud but torrentially wet, “PLESSHEWEY! IT-CHEWWW!” Each sneeze was a spectacularly loud, messy affair, though they were commensurate to Richie’s normal sneeze volume, which, of course, approached the ear-splitting at close ranges. It was more than enough, Richie realized sheepishly, to sound throughout the entire dorm room floor, and maybe the floors above and below. He remembered to make a mental note to avoid staying up late nights—a late night tickle could easily turn peaceful dorm-mates into irate potential tormentors, irritated by being woken by Richie’s cannon-like sneeze. He realized, too, that he might’ve shaken people from any number of midday naps.

When Richie’s series of explosions were done, an affair which sent Richie’s body completely out of control, rearing back and exploding forward with abandon, his entire body at the mercy of his monstrously powerful lungs, mouth, and most of all, nose, Adam couldn’t resist making a quip. “See why I don’t want to get in a sneezing fight with you?”

“Yeah, I know. I hate those sympathetic tickles. Gotta keep that under control,” Richie said, as much to chide his nose as anything else.

“Under control? Your nose? That’s like keeping a bull in a china shop from disturbing a single piece of porcelain. Really wish I could find out why I was sneezin’ though. Those were pretty big for me, though for you it’d be like taking an earthshaking thunderstorm and replacing it with a light, pleasant summer rain…” Adam laughed, but paused when his joking was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” Richie shouted, fearing that it was an irate neightbor, awoken from a nap. This had been one of his many fears about college; each of his older brothers had brought home several stories of how they had woken up between one and several fellow dorm-mates, roommates and apartment neighbors (not that the Robbins boys needed to be in the same building with a person to make themselves known by their noses; the family’s suburban neighbors had revealed on several occasions that someone, usually Richie, had been audible through the windows). Tristan, the oldest, who had, after Richie, the second most Vesuvial nose in the family, once told the story of how he had woken up, very literally, his entire dorm with a series of cold-inspired sneezes, and how only the awesomely pathetic sight of his sickly state, ensconced as he was in blankets and almost covered in used tissues and hankies, had prevented him from receiving one of his dormmates infamously cruel practical jokes.

Richie hoped to avoid such a situation, and so it was with apprehension (and desperate attempts to remember his self-defense classes) that he opened the door.

“Hey, dude!” Said the surprisingly pleasant and excited looking young man at the door, “was that a sneeze, or did somebody set of a nuke in the room next to mine?”

Relieved as Richie was by the friendliness of the visitor, Adam slightly sluggishly slid out of bed, laughing as he did, “That’s my man here, Richie, the Nose extraordinaire, the loudest sneeze in the west, superman of sneezes, the titan of ticklish nostrils, Sir Vesuvius himself, the leaf-blower…”

“Richard, just Richard is my name.” Richie cut in, eager to cut Adam off before he got to the detested “Johnnie Tsunami” epithet.

“Well, Richard-just-Richard, I had to come over here to see if that nose actually just came out of a person!”

“Sorry, I can’t help it…” Richie said, suddenly blushing slightly, “I hope I didn’t wake you or anything…”

“Nah. I wasn’t doing anything. But really, you just sneezed that loud? You got some kinda supernose or somethin’?”

“Well, it’s not exactly thin, as you can see,” Adam began, with a professorial air, “and the protruding shape and large nostrils provide some explanation as to its loud-speaker like qualities…”

“It’s just been that way since I was a kid,” sighed Richie, mildly put off by the awkward conversation.

“Dude, I haven’t heard a sneeze that loud since, like, ever, probably. Although my dad sets off some real firecrackers back at home… I didn’t think I’d hear anything like that for another few months. Kinda reminds me of home, actually.”

“Well, anytime you get homesick, just give us a ring and bring the pepper, though you might wanna bring some earplugs actually…”

“Adam. Geez, do you ever run out,” Richie inquired, with an irritated air.

“Not really.” Adam replied straightforwardly, "I'm a joke machine. And a love machine. Just FYI, let the ladies know..."

“Well,” the visitor declared, “Adam, Richie, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Jerry.” He stuck his hand out, and Richie shook it forcefully, though he found his grasp met with a vice shaking like a centrifuge.

“Nice to meet you, too.” Richie said, wincing slightly from the handshake.

“Hey, dude, we’re headed to lunch soon, wanna come?”Adam asked cheerfully.

“Yeah, totally. I was actually kinda hoping to avoid eating lunch alone,” Jerry confessed, “though I don’t know how you get through lunch, dude. Better warn ‘em: hide the pepper!”

That’s a joke I haven’t heard before Richie thought to himself. But, though not original in his jokes, this new acquaintance wasn’t half-bad, and was certainly an improvement upont the angry neighbor Richie’d feared he’d encounter. And speaking of curing homesickness…

“Are you wearing co-cologne… cologne… ehhhhh… ehhhhhhh… EHHHHHSSSSHOOOO!” Richie erupted another characteristically noisy sneeze, which, at unusually close range, prompted both Jerry and Adam to dramatically cover their ears to avoid the full blast of Richie’s nasal explosion, which was easily a nine on the Richter scale, probably a ten.

“Geez, man, I thought they were loud through the wall!” Jerry said, awestruck.

“Richie’s nose? Man, you haven’t seen anything yet. He’ll blow the paint off the walls before we graduate,” Adam joked, yet again.

“I think I might go ahead and take a shower,” Jerry responded, “I’ll meet you guys in about thirty minutes, alright?”

“Sounds great!” Adam said.

Richie would’ve replied, but Jerry’s cologne hadn’t yet finished with Richie’s surpassingly tickly and tickle-able nose. “hahhhh… HAHHHHH…HEHSHOOOH!” Richie erupted again, thanking his lucky nasal stars that his nose had seen fit, for once, to not let out a great big wet one while he was right in someone’s face. He opened his mouth to say, “nice to meet you,” but what came out was another, “TITCHEWWWEY! SHEWWWWWSH!” It was hugely, horribly wet, and in his zeal to avoid blasting his new compatiot, he had turned and, inadvertently, sprayed a great, big wet one into the face of his good friend Adam.

“Well… um… are you trying to tell me you don’t like my jokes, buddy?”

Now, getting sprayed by a sneeze was usually a messy affair, but getting sprayed by a Richie sneeze was pitched somewhere between “elephant sneeze” and “sprayed by a fire hose”. Adam was drenched, and Richie found himself reflecting yet again as to why he never, never attempted to use a pathetic tissue to hold up against the surpassing force of his all-powerful nasal eruptions, the tickly twin cannons of wind, wet, and sound that had taken up residence on his face, began full-strength operations in high school, and seemed to grow in power alone as their experience increased.

“Well, I think I’ll be taking a shower too.” Adam said, before promptly turning around, grabbing a towel and some clothes, and rushing to the bathroom, letting out an irrepressable, high-pitched, and surpassingly effete “EWWWWWW!” which sent Richie and Jerry into shaking convulsions of laughter.

—

After cleaning himself off from Richie’s hurricane-force discharge, Adam proceeded to the downstairs dining hall to meet both Richie and their new friend Jerry. Of course, he heard Richie before he saw him. “heh… heh… HAT-CHOOO!” It was a comparatively small one for his good friend Rich, but the noise still carried well out of the dining room and into the hallway. Adam often kidded Richie about his sneezes, but half the time he genuinely felt bad for the guy. After all, those massive eruptions that had punctuated almost his entire high school experience weren’t just occasional explosions, they were daily at the very least. Any number of things lit Richie’s sneezing fuse, setting off a chain reaction inside Richie’s nose that led inexorably to a blast of such volume and violence that people often inquired of Richie how such a loud noise could come out of a 45-year old 6’ 10’ two-hundred-thirty-pound ex-logger construction worker with a bad head cold, much less little old Richie Robbins. Every time he sneezed with people around, Richie would blush, shrug, and, Adam knew, mentally wish himself out of the room. It wasn’t easy having a semi-superpower—not that it’d do any good in a fight, Adam mused—for a sneeze. But it was life for poor Richie, and that was simply that.

For Adam’s part, he’d never been particularly bothered by his best friend’s outrageous a-choos. Maybe he just had ears of steel, but the volume didn’t bother him, and it did provide a decent shake-up during lulls in conversation. Heck, he’d been a regular vistor to the Robbins household, and that was an experience unto itself. Multiplying Richie’s sneezes with a father, three older brothers, and one younger made a ruckus that just didn’t make sense. If anyone needed proof that sneezes were hereditary, well, Adam knew where to bring them. He’d heard the same story from all six Richie men: it’s the tickles. The tickles, itches, tingles, and twinges that invaded the Robbins family sinuses were purportedly unbearable, like a thousand invisible brushes sweeping all the way up the nasal cavity. And the only way to get those brushes (temporarily) out was to let out a blast that could be heard across three counties (or at least a small suburban house… and a few of the adjacent ones.) Their sneezes came from their toes and then some. But the big sneezes were just the only way that they could relieve the incredible pressure and the tickle that built up in their large, protruding nostrils, swishing around their noses with an unimaginable irritation. The ones with long build-ups were the worst. He’d seen Tristan and Adrian, Sebastian and Max, even Mr. Robbins, staring up at lights, forcefully fanning under their noses, doing anything to tip the tickle out of the gate and onto the flight ramp, at which point a sneeze would shoot out from their nostrils of which any elephant would have been proud.

It was thoughts like this that preoccupied Adam as he sat down with Richie and Jerry, who were discussing the finer points of eruption-inspiring allergens.

“For my dad, is the dogs that are the worst, man, get him within ten feet of a dog, especially one of those great big shaggy things, and oh man… it’s time to break out the protective earmuffs, I’m tellin’ you…”

“Yeah, dogs get me bad too, but the cats… oh… waay… wait a second… I’b gonnahhhh… ahhh… HASHOOOEY!” Richie gasped out a “’nother… nothaaahhh” before bursting into a second tectonic shift of a sneeze, “YASSSHOOOOOO! Oh, I’m so sorry, that was a big one.”

“They’re always big ones, Rich!” Adam said as he sat down.

“Can’t argue with you there.” Richie sighed. While he often wished he could just get rid of his charateristic sneez-plosions, Richter rockers, or Richie Roars, as his nasal expulsions were variously called, Richie was grateful for friends that weren’t repulsed, shocked, or amazed by his sneezes, and he felt much less self-conscious about lettin’ it rip when Adam, or, as of today, Jerry, was around. Not that he had much (or any) choice.

“So, you two comparing notes?” asked Adam.

“Yeah,” Jerry said, “so far, we’ve mentioned flowers, pepper, animals…”

“Actually, most spices get me, red pepper worst of all.” Richie began, “In fact, the reason I sat down at this table is because it doesn’t even have a red pepper shaker, thank goodness. But I’ve blown back the fur and feathers on just about any pet you can imagine…”

They continued on talking like this, unaware that at the table just behind them, the very jock that had filled the standard role of Richie’s sneeze tormentor was subtly listening in on their conversation. Ashton Stevens was his name, and he, like Jerry, had also had a big sneezer at home. But he didn’t have such generous memories of his parents’ noisy noses. In fact, he had been driven nearly insane by his mother and father’s constant loud sneezes, which, unlike Richie’s, seemed put-on, fake, as if they both just wanted to announce to the world how noisily they could sneeze. The crowning moment had been that day, the day of senior prom… but Ashton tried not to think about it. For his part, he had rather dainty sneezes, somewhat at odds with his large and muscular build. He, of course, had never been plagued with allergies on the level of Richie’s, but he had gone through an allergic phase as a teen. During that time he constantly focused on controlling his sneezes, squelching them down until they were little more than a semi-audible, “chuh”. Richie’s gargantuan gale winds had brought him right back to that moment at the senior prom, and he secretly seethed inside every time Richie’s nose went out of control and spasmed with a silence-smashing sneeze. But he was formulating a plan, in the back of his mind, that would shame Richie into shutting up, as his parents never would.

Meanwhile, as Ashton Stevens seethed, Richie (predictably) sneezed. “yeaaaahhhh, ahhhh… aaaaahpppppSHEWWW! Uh, another one. I don’t know what’s making my nose so itchy!” The sneeze, honestly, had been the lightest one he’d let out in a while, only audible above speaking voices at the end, indicating a comparatively low-level irritation. Probably a stray flake of black pepper. While he reacted to pepper as much as anybody else, Richie had never had nearly as much of a problem with pepper as he did with dander, other spices, and the dreaded perfume and cologne.

“So,” Adam inquired, “what are you boys up to this evening. It’s Friday night, and ah… ah… HAT! CHOO!” Adam let out a neatly segregated sneeze, a firmly punctuated breath drawn in followed by a neat and tidy choo, which, although somewhat wet, was not extremely loud, as per the normal pattern of Adam’s sneeze. “Woah, I don’t know why I keep sneezing.”

“Yeah, come to think of it, neither do I,” Richie added, “do you think you’re allergic to something up here?”

“Nah, I’m as hardy as a bull, allergens can’t get me down. Try as they might, they cannot invade the fortress of my mighty nasal guard. Granted, they don’t have as big of a target on mehh… on mehhhh… me… as…. BAA-shewww!” Adam sneezed again, with a sound that sounded utterly fed-up with sneezing.

“Any chance you might be getting a cold?” Jerry inquired. Adam and Richie exchanged anxious looks. Each knew what the other was thinking: if Richie caught a cold, his sneezes, seemingly impossibly, would grow significantly in strength, volume, and mess.

“No,” Adam said, attempting to laugh away the possibility, “No way! The last time I had a cold was…”

“The camping trip in eleventh grade. And I promptly caught it and nearly blew down our tent on several different occasions.” Richie finished for him, “And I hope it’s not happening now,” he moaned, “because if you get sick, then I’ll get sick, and if I get sick…”

“Don’t worry, Rich!” Adam insisted, “I’m not getting sick! But so you don’t worry, I guess I’ll take some vitamins, and call it an early night, I guess…”

“No way, man!” Jerry interrupted, “we’ve barely been in college for a week. We’re goin’ out tonight. We’re going somewhere, and if you don’t like it, mister, too bad!”

Adam laughed. “Well, can’t argue with a command like that, sir. Where do we go?”

“There’s a nice bar nearby,” Richie offered.

“No, no, no, I mean a real club: loud music, sloppy drunks, and scantily-clad women.” Of course, at the mention of women, all three hormone-addled brains perked up instantly, and any reluctance at club-going was instantly erased.

And, Adam saw another perk:

“Plus, the club’s so loud, Richie, that it’s probably one of the few places on earth where your sneezes can’t carry. You know, places like construction sites… death metal concerts… one of my sister’s shouting—I mean singing recitals…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. But that’s actually a good point, and the sneezes have actually been comparatively light...” but suddenly Richie’s eyes got a distant, faraway look. His nose scrunched up, and the itch exploded in his nostrils like a thousand buzzing tiny, invisible flies, sending his nostrils into a rampage of twitching, his upper lip, his entire face swishing and moving with the enormous need to sneeze that had burgeoned so suddenly in his nostrils. This was gearing up to be a real monster; his breath hitched, “hahhhh… hahhhh…,” his eyes bulged. He reached his hand up to try to scrub away the itch, although he knew it was useless. This was shaping up to be the biggest sneeze that had hit him all day… “hih! hih! ah! ah! ah! ooooh, it won’t come ou… outahhhh… ahhhhhh… ahahhhh… ahahhah…” the sneeze stuck for a moment, leaving Richie’s face in a mask of sneezy agony, the corners of his mouth turned firmly down, his eyes tearing and glancing upwards, searching for a light bright enough to send his brewing eruption into its final stages of detonation, his eyebrows severely arched. His watering eyes rapidly blinked for what seemed an eternity, before he gave his nose one more good sniff and gave in to the inevitable detonation: “hhhhaaAAA-AARRSCHOOOhhh! HAAA-HOOOOOSH-SHOOOOEY! Ahhh… igghiee… hah…" He hitched for just a few seconds before absolutely roaring out the thermonuclear explosion of his final sneeze: "RAAH-SCHOOOOOOOOHH!”

“Woah.” Said Adam and Jerry simultaneously.

The sneeze was so big, it left Richie panting a little after. It wasn’t just the biggest sneeze all day, it was the biggest set of sneezes he’d had in a month! Richie had rocked back and forth with each colossal sneeze, giving his tickly nose complete abandon. The sneezes took him over, and each was a nearly-shouted affair that was louder than most people can shout. Those sneezes seemed to come from his whole body, his nose being merely the epicenter of the eruption. He was completely out-of-control for each massive gusting sneeze, his whole frame shaking and swaying at the mercy of his king-sized schnoz and the unbearable itch that had taken three of Richie’s most powerful sneezes to expel. When he opened his eyes afterward, he was half-afraid that he’d blown the table away!

Adam and Jerry, prepared by experience, had covered their ears, but the rest of the dining hall… well, being unprepared, some had dropped forks, plates, and cups, most had stopped their conversations, and quite a few shocked “what was that?”s sounded around the room. Those had been big even for Richie, far too loud, in fact, for anyone to hear the near-simultaneous soft, tickly “chuhh! ch-hoooh! chuhh! ka-chuuhhh!” that had come from the next table over, soft barely-there puffs of air in comparison to Richie’s Kansas twister sized sneezes, which he swore would have been big enough to send Dorothy not only to Oz, but to the other said of Mars.

“Dude,” Adam said, as the dining room slowly went back to normal, after being rocked by Richie’s “You totally shouldn’t have jinxed it.”

“Ha-ha,” Richie said, not feeling exceptionally prepared for laughing after single handedly—or rather, single-nosedly”—overpowering an entire dining room full of noisy college students in volume. “Let’s just get out of here as quickly as possible. I don’t want another one of those to happen… and I think… there might still be the beginnings of a… ah…” Richie quickly clamped his hands over his nose, hoping that he might fight the tiny residual tickle back before it became another of room-rocker, or at least get outside into the open air to release the beast.

Adam, Richie, and Jerry hurried surreptitiously out of the dining room. At the table behind them, sat Ashton Stevens, face upturned, irritated tears forming in his eyes, but a smug smile on his face, nose twitching and jerking with otherwise imperceptible “chooh! chuh! ha-hushh!” sneezes, with a plate of spaghetti practically drenched in red pepper. His little “experiment” confirmed, he threw the plate away, which promptly cleared up his sneezes, and walked calmly out of the dining hall, but not before slyly sliding the red pepper shaker into his waiting pocket.

Richie had, of course, erupted again outside, although once out of the range of the red pepper flakes that were like gunpowder for Richie’s cannon-like nostrils, the sneezes hadn’t registered quite so high on the Richter Scale (“a minor aftershock!” Adam had quipped). But sneezes that huge left Richie concerned; could he be catching a cold? That would be disastrous. Besides feeling bad, he could hardly go to class, detonating another sneeze every few minutes, sneezes that would rock a three hundred person lecture hall and perhaps even send his papers flying down to the row below, sneezes that would throw even the most concentrated lecturer off of his or her game, sneezes that, in a smaller classroom, would probably disturb not only his own class, but all the classes on the floor! Of course, he’d had mega-sneezes like that before, and it didn’t always mean he was catching a cold, but if he was… well, he’d just take a lot of vitamin C that night. But going to bed early wasn’t an option. Richie, Jerry and Adam were going to a nearby club, Club Z, for a night on the town. After running back upstairs to change (again), the threesome left their dorm and headed towards Club Z, chatting all the while.

“So, Rich, how are classes going?�� Adam asked, to get the conversation started.

“Oh, pretty good, when I’m not busy sneezing through them. Sebastian warned me that his sneezes tend to disrupt standard professorial activities, so I knew mine would probably blow out a few eardrums. Not that I’m not used to that sort of thing.”

“How about you, Jerry?”

“Oh, things are going well for me too. Chemistry is kicking my butt, but besides that I’m doing pretty well. That class is so boring! I almost wish that someone would come in there with a great big Richie-cane kinda sneeze. At least that way things wouldn’t be quite as boring!”

“Oh, you would have loved our high school then,” Adam cut in, “Almost every time I fell asleep in class, Richie’s nose would get an itch and once the nasal volcano got going, sleeping was not an option.”

“Whatever, Adam,” Richie said, blushing slightly at the extended discussion of his nasal… ahem, prowess, even among friends, “I didn’t even have a half of my classes with you.”

“Exactly.” Adam replied, smiling. *** Soon, Richie and company arrived at the club. However, they were still several feet away when the perfume started getting to Richie’s nose: “ah…. ahhhh… agghhha… igghhiiie… AAAA-CHOOOOH! heh… heh… AHHH-CHOOOOOH!” he sneezed, blasting out the tickly perfume smell as hard as he could. When Richie sneezed, his whole body was involved; in fact, Adam was surprised that Richie didn’t have a six-pack from all the forceful contractions of his stomach and chest as he roared out all that sneezy air at obscene velocities, and decibel levels.

“Bless ya, buddy. Are there some flowers around,” inquired Jerry.

“Na… no, nahhh.. ahhhhh WAAAAAASSSHOOOO! ARRRR-CHOOAAAYYYY!” Richie screamed out each sneeze. While not as loud as the true Richie-canes of the dining hall, these sneezes produced more than enough volume to echo loudly off of the nearby buildings and turn quite a few heads. Richie was quite afraid that an irate head would poke out of one of the windows of the high-rise apartment buildings on the street to demand that he achieve the impossible feat of quieting down his great lion’s roar of a sneeze. He’d been asked by more than one teacher (and moviegoer, and theater patron, and restaurant waiter, and even, on one notorious occasion, a few patrons at just the sort of rock concerts that Adam had supposed would be loud enough to drown out Richie’s roars, but then again, not only were all the people there drenched in cologne and perfume, but Richie had left from a friend’s house who had a very furry german shepherd, and Richie had the beginnings of a cold) to control his thunderclap sneezes, but, like the thunder, Richie’s sneezes were a force of nature, and could not be quieted down or controlled any better than the wind.

Hoping he’d gotten his nose under control with that last massive sneeze, Richie ventured to speak, “No… it’s the perfume... oh, wait… ‘nothing one’s cahhhh…. coming…. RAAAAASSSSHOOOOOH! YASSSSSSHHHHHHHH-OOO!” Richie sniffed loudly, as two girls, one of who was probably wearing the sneeze-causing perfume, looked around. The girl wearing the perfume, alright slightly tipsy, half-spoke, half-shouted, “Ugh, I can’t stand it when people exaggerate their sneezes like that! Can’t he control it? That’s just too loud!”

Aside from the irony of the woman commenting on Richie’s loud sneezes with her loud voice (although Richie had to admit that even a trained opera singer would have difficulty keeping up with him in volume when he really got going), Adam was offended by her comments about his friend, and was about to walk up and give the perfume drenched woman a piece of his mind when her friend abruptly did it for him!

“Oh, Charlene, be quiet! They can hear you. Besides, how can you expect a poor kid to control his sneezes when you can’t even control your big mouth!” Adam had to admit that he was impressed, and as Charlene and her assertive friend got in line for the same club as Adam, Richie, and Jerry, Adam made a mental note to “bump into” her at some point that night. Maybe Richie’s wind-machine strength allergies would flare up again and give him an excuse to talk to her?

Meanwhile, Ashton wasn’t far behind the trio, cringing at each of Richie’s elephantine sneezes. He thought to himself, “This is ridiculous! He sneezes even louder than my father! How embarrassing! I don’t even know how those other goons can stand to be seen around him. I’ll teach him not to be so disgusting with his sneezes.” As the perfume got to his nose, Ashton harshly muffled three sneezes by pinching his nostils, “shhhmp! chikkk! ch!” They were barely audible. Ashton fingered the red pepper in his pocket as he watched Richie and company walk into the club. He bided his time for a few minutes, and then, after walking around the block a bit, went in as well.

—-

As soon as the threesome entered the club, Ritchie rushed off to the restroom, hoping to give his nose a good, strong blow to clear his nose of perfume and pollen, so as to head off the sneezes at the pass. But by the time he reached the restroom door, his twitching, tickling nose had had too much, and, bleary-eyed, Richie let it take over for six full-strength sneezes: “HAASSSSSHHHHHOOOooooo… hh… hhhiiiiiIIIIIIIIICHOOOOOOO! Ih-CHOOO! haaahHH-CHOOOOOO! ahhhhhHHH-CHOOOO! HAHH-CHOOOOOOOhhhhheyyy” That last one was a monster, making a gutteral, throat-scraping sound as the normal “choo” was twisted by Richie’s awe-inspiring lung power into a growling, snarling shout of a sneeze, leaving Richie somewhat lightheaded and dizzy. And of course, he immediately connected the number of sneezes (Richie rarely let out so many all in a row like that) to the head cold he was desperately afraid was brewing in his firecracker nostrils, those wide, vacuum-like tunnels where tickles went in, and sneezes came out that were second only to the Big Bad Wolf with a bad cold.

And speaking of colds, Richie was terrified of developing one. Every cold he’d ever had had settled directly in his nose, causing a near-constant tickle that he could only blow out with his biggest, most ear-drum busting, dorm-wall rattling, earthquake-causing sneezes. Even Richie’s biggest sneezes could only provide momentary relief from the tickle; minutes later, the tickle would come back with a vengence, and so would the sneezes, until Richie would deliberately blow them out as hard as he could, just to get the tickle to stop for a few minutes. Richie’s colds were events in the Robbins household (and every house on the surrounding block); he hoped and prayed they wouldn’t become events on-campus too.

Looking around the restroom and finding it (thank goodness) empty, Richie marched to a stall to give his nose a few of his patented, honking nose blows. While not quite commensurate to his sneezes in volume, those bass-note honks of his could certainly send a rumble through any room, and Richie was glad that the room remained empty as he did his best to keep his nose free and clear, so as to minimize sneezing episodes.

Meanwhile, Adam and Jerry were on the prowl, and getting shut down all the time. Jerry had offered to buy drinks for no less than three women, with no success, while Adam’s jokes were falling unusually flat, perhaps owing to the volume of the music and the near-impossibility of hearing anything (except perhaps for Richie) over the thumping bass and wailing noise of the speakers.

So it was that Adam and Jerry had given up and begun dancing their way into the morass of people at the center of the club, when Richie went searching for them. Of course, hidden as they were in the mass of people, Richie had no hope of finding either of his friends, and sat down at the bar, quickly flashing his (fake) ID, and ordered a beer. He figured he’d wait until he found Adam and Jerry to start dancing, and he was sure that his nose would give him ample opportunity before then to test Adam’s theory that the noise of the club would muffle the rumbling explosions of his nose.

In fact, as the bartender slid Richie his beer, Richie felt his nose flaring into life. His breath hitched, his face contorted, his nostrils assuming control of his face, twisting this way and that as though they had a life of their own, reacting to the bucking bronco of itch that had, as always, brushed ferociously against the twitching walls of his sensitive nostrils. And as Richie’s face contorted, his watering eyes slid closed in preparation of the great big sneeze to come…

…and Ashton Stevens saw his chance. He’d been sitting at the bar, plotting how he could cause misery for Richie at the club. Luckily, he’d been at the bar while Richie had erupted in the restroom (especially since the only thing Ashton found more disgusting than sneezes was nose blowing), but now he was sitting not too far from Richie, and had been spying on him out of the corner of his eye since Richie had sat down. Now was his chance. He slid the small shaker of red pepper out of his pocket and sent a cloud floating up into the air, knowing that the strong air conditioning in the room, as well as the breeze from the constantly opening front door, would waft the tickly spice straight into Richie’s all-too-combustible nose.

And he was right. Seconds later, Richie froze, as he felt the tickle in his nose multiply exponentially. The itch in his nose, already monstrous, became a thousand buzzing flies, scurrying through his nasal passages, wreaking havoc on his sensitive sinuses, creating such tremendous pressure in his nose that he knew that the only way to get any relief would be to blast out a sneeze at full-strength. He felt it gearing up to be as big as the one in the dining hall, if not bigger. Out of his watery eyes, he took a quick glance around him: there was no way he’d get to the restroom before his Vesuvial nose gave an eruption that would put Mt. St. Helens to shame, and the way his nose was feeling, it’d be wet enough to outshine Old Faithful. But there were so many people around. Richie had been warned about it time and time again, and he knew he shouldn’t… but he didn’t want to spray any strangers! So… he stifled.

“ahh…. Ahhhhhh… AHHHHHHHHH… AGGGHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAA…” He wound up, with huge, powerful breaths, and then… “chhhmmppppppppppp!” He sneezed, somewhat wetly, but contained, and with nowhere near enough volume to be heard over the noise of the club. Stifling successful.

But his nose was on fire. It was as if he had quadrupled the already unimaginable tickle. If he was going to fire off one eruption before, now he was preparing for a twenty-one-gun salute. Finger struck firmly beneath his nose, Richie rushed to the restroom as fast as he could, pushing past the clubgoers in the crowded club, afraid to give so much as an “excuse me” for fear that speaking would tip the sneeze into the uncontrollable zone. Richie forcefully pushed the door open as he marched into the restroom, which was, of course, filled with people. In the already small, echoing restroom, Richie’s sneezes would probably reach ear-splitting volumes and annoy, if not terrify, every patron in the restroom. But it wasn’t as if he had any choice; he had to let the monsters loose.

Richie quickly swung a stall door open and closed as his breaths became audible, and grew louder, and louder… “iiihhhhhh… HHHHHiiiiIIIHHHHHH… HAHHHHHH… HAHHHHHHH…. HHAAAAHHHHHHHHH…HAAAAAAAAAAAAA-SHOOOOOOOOOOOOO! BAAACCCHOOOOOEEYYYY! HASSSHHH! HAHHSSHHHHuuhh… OOOO-SHOOOOOOOH! USSSSHHHHHH-CHHAAAHHH! Ahhhhh… Ahhhh… ahhhhh…CHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

They came, sneeze after sneeze after sneeze, outrageous in volume, hurricane like in spray. Richie heedlessly swung backwards and forwards, gulping in air to fuel each massive explosion. He knew now why his parents had warned him to never, never hold in his sneezes, because this was the result: a constantly seizing nose in a fit that would last for minutes.

The reaction of the men in the restroom, as expected had been vocal and noisy. The already somewhat drunken patrons had no trouble voicing their disapproval: “What the hell?! Did somebody drop a bomb in here? Shuddup in there, I can’t hear myself think!”

But Richie, whatever he wished, he no ability to shut up. His nose was in control now, and it was going to blow, and blow, and blow until the pent-up tickle was blasted out, full-strength.

“Hehhhh… ehhhhhh… EEHHHHH-SHOOOOOH! EH-SHOOOH! Eghhhhaaaa… haaaa… haaa… YAAAAAAA-SHHHEEEEEWWWWWWWW! SHIISSSHHHHH! ISSHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHH-SHOOOH! AHHHHHHHH-SCHOOOO! AH-SHOOOOH!”

The sneezes just kept coming, unbelievably loud, unbelievably powerful. This was one of the longest fits Richie could remember (though probably not the worst he’d experienced). Gradually, the sneezes grew farther apart: “haahhhh.. hahhhh.. HA-SHOOO! Ahhhhh… HA-SHUU! iiSHHHIIII-OO!”

Each sneeze, though still loud enough to echo through the restroom, was at a more manageable volume. Still, Richie was exausted from firing off sneeze after sneeze, and as his nose finally let out its final “heh… heh-chhh-EW!” Richie just wanted a nice long nap. He sat in the stall for a moment to survey the damage. He had been right about the spray; he could see the glistening drops decorating the entire stall door as though it had been hit with a hose. He still heard the men grumbling and muttering about his sneezes, and he was sure that those who were in the restroom (and probably those near the door) would spread the word to their friends about Richie’s incredible eruption. Sometimes, Richie just wished that his nasal curse could just go away. Why was his family cursed with the world’s most massive sneezes? Why was his nose the epicenter of such eruptions? But, as he sniffed gently, preparing for a nose blow to clear the last bits of congestion in his nose, he was glad for one thing: the tickle was completely gone.

Meanwhile, Ashton had been standing near the door, and had heard Richie firing off sneeze after sneeze after sneeze. He was red with rage; that fit had been exactly like the one his dad had blasted out at Ashton’s senior prom, in the middle of Ashton’s prom king acceptance… all over the prom queen. She dumped Ashton within the week.

Turning violently on his heel, Ashton marched out of the club, certain that he had a new secret weapon to use against Richie: if he could get him to clam up those sneezes, just once, then he knew Richie would fire off a show of sneezes so loud that Ashton could use it to embarrass Richie in front of anyone within earshot; in other words, Ashton grimly laughed to himself, anyone within a five-mile radius.

—-

Ashton, however, had not been the only person close enough to the restroom to hear those gale-force blasts trumpeting out from Richie's nostrils of fury. In fact, just as Richie was beginning to launch into a fit for the ages, Jerry had decided he ought to slip off to the restroom; no need to "break the seal" yet, but Jerry had anticipated he was in for a fairly long night, partying with his newfound friends, and--hopefully--with a few more newfound "friends" from among the club's very attractive female population, and as such wanted to make sure that his tiny bladder would not interfere with his very large-sized dreams---oh, alright, fantasies---of what would go on that night.

But Jerry was pretty far from the door when he heard that tell-tale eruption coming from the men's room. He quickly stuck his head into the restroom and knew immediately the source of the disturbance. He would scarcely have believed that even Richie could sneeze so forcefully. He was putting up a good fight with the music in the club, and that was deafening as it was. Heck, at close range, Richie's nose could have outdone a shotgun, a leafblower, a small nuclear explosion... but in the midst of these musing, Jerry noticed Ashton. Unlike everyone else in the restroom (and nearby), who were scrambling to get away from the noise, Ashton seemed transfixed. He was just standing by the restroom door, not going in, didn't seem to be coming out, and he had the most peculiar, almost devious expression on his face. Of course, Jerry knew Ashton somewhat---Ashton was touted as one of the most talented football players of the freshman class, and at their D1 school, that meant a lot. But this threw Ashton in a completely different light. Why on earth was he just standing there? And what was that strange look that passed across his face each time Richie bellowed out another monsterous, "HHHHHEEEEEESSSSSSSSCHHHHHOOOOOOOOoooooh!" Jerry was not a suspicious person by nature--and as Richie's twenty-one gun salute went on, he knew he had to check and see if Richie was alright--but he filed that instance away in his mind as yet another strange happening of college life.

The more important thing was to check on Richie. When it finally seemed that Richie's nose had calmed down enough that he'd be able to speak, Jerry ventured forth a, "Hey, man, you alright in there?"

"Jerry?" Richie responded, fearing the worst, "oh, god, don't tell me you could hear me all the way out..."

"No, no, man, I was just heading to the restroom when I heard the big bang from outside the door, don't worry. But what happened there? I didn't think you were ever going to stop!"

"N-neither did... oh, god, h-here ihhhh... here it gooohhhh... ohhhhh... oohhhhhh... ahh... HA-CHOOOOH! Man, thought I was done there," Richie give a liquid sniff, "but the aftershocks just sneak up on me."

"And speakin' of sneakin', there you guys are!" Adam quipped.

"Are you just everywhere?" Richie asked, half-laughingly, half-exasperated. Adam had the strangest habit of popping up everywhere.

"A magician never reveals his secrets, young Richard." Adam gave a sudden gasp before, "Ha-chooOOSH! Huh... hashhhooo! Ugh, must be in the air," Adam said, as he grabbed a tissue from the sink counter to blow his nose. He was a bit of a nasal honker, and his blows were decidedly louder than his generally quiet, gentle sneezes (although, in comparison to a Richie-cane, your average elephant was pretty quiet and gentle), and were much louder when he had a cold---because he didn't have Richie's almighty, head-clearing sneezes, he relied much more on forceful nose-blowing to blast out the itch from his nose, and still had far less success--unsurprisingly--that a full-force sneeze from Richie, even without a cold or that dreaded red pepper.

Richie, however, wasn't so sure that something was "in the air"; the humongous fit he'd just succumbed to made him almost positive: he was catching a cold.

"No, Adam, it's not 'in the air'--we're sick, and I'm going home." Richie declared. Adam was somewhat taken aback at his friend's unusually forceful tone, but he knew that, as always, he could joke his friend out of his resolve.

"Oh, you're not sick---granted, a 300-pound body builder with a bad head cold and a wind machine up his nose probably can’t compare to the ‘ol schozz-cannon you’ve’ got… but those, my friend, were not cold sneezes.”

“How do you know?” Richie demanded.

“I still have hearing in my right ear, obviously.”

#snz story #snz fic #male allergies #male cold #wow I haven't read this in like a decade #I should reread it maybe #old fics

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kpbk · 5 years

Note

attempting to smoke for the first time

Contrary to popular belief, Eddie wasn’t with Richie the first time he tried to smoke. He wasn’t with Beverly, either.

Loser’s Night was their thing. They used to have set up dates for their meetings, at least once or twice a month. They would get together and watch movies and eat shit food. Now they just did it whenever they felt like it, which, Eddie assumes, came with age.

During this particular Friday night, when our story comes to be, he wasn’t feeling particularly happy, nor was he feeling sad. It was a bittersweet sensation, longing, and fear (was it really fear? could he ever feel fear again after that summer?) for what was to come. Eddie looked at his watch: four-thirty in the morning. Technically, it was already Saturday, but Eddie always felt like days only changed when he slept and, as he wasn’t sleeping, he’d thrive in the late hours of a passing Friday until his head finally found a comfortable pillow. Or, that was, until the sun came up.

They were all spread over Ben’s bedroom, all of them but Ben himself. Eddie briefly wondered where he could be, alone at such hours. He didn’t judge, as he was also awake after all, but he worried. Eddie could feel expression lines forming over his skin, the worry was natural now, more than it had ever been. It was always there, in the back of his mind, always trying to find it’s way to his main thoughts.

Eddie stood up, only then noticing he had been tracing patterns in between Richie’s strands of hair. That was natural as well now. Richie’s hair smelled good.

He quite liked Ben’s house and knew exactly where to go. Carefully, as to not disturb Stanley, who was asleep fairly close to the window, Eddie managed to get it open and make his escape to the roof. To his amazement, once outside, he locked eyes with Hanscom himself.

“Couldn’t sleep?”, Ben asked and Eddie nodded, closing the window behind him and awkwardly going over to where his friend was, sitting down next to him. “I’ve got too much on my mind, I don’t know.”, he answered before Eddie could ask him the same question. Eddie nodded again.

“I guess that makes it two of us.”

Ben gave him a heartfelt laugh, which made Eddie smile. He had always had a soft spot for Ben.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Eddie looked over at his friend. They had gone through shit, that much was true, but somehow he felt like Ben always had it worse. For the sole purpose of him not talking about it to anyone. Ben was a caregiver, a kindhearted spirit by nature. Eddie knew how horrifying the world could be for those like him, especially in a place like Derry. They had all had it tough, but Ben Hanscom should have had the possibility to stay innocent, unharmed, unscarred.

“Do you dream?”, Ben asked, taking him from his line of thought.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you dream.”

“I guess. Why?”

“I dream too much.”, Ben sighed, his eyes looked old and tired, wise beyond his years, “Sometimes I dream we are still in the sewers.”

There was a tingling forming in the pit of his stomach. Eddie said nothing.

“Bev dreams, too.”, his friend continued, “And Mike. I don’t know about the others, but I figure…”

“I do.”, Eddie answered and that was it for a few minutes.

“Is your mother giving you shit?”

It was like the kid could see right through them. Sure, Sonia was always giving Eddie shit, but asking that when the topic of conversation had been a killer clown from space a few moments before… That was something alright.

“No, not right now, but she will be giving me hell pretty soon.”, it was summer, it could be the anniversary, but Eddie wasn’t sure.

Ben frowned, “I know she’s your mom, but she sucks, man.”, to which Eddie laughed and Ben quickly joined him, “Why is she gonna give you hell?”

He considered for a few seconds but it felt so relaxing, so calming, just sitting there talking to Ben. It was as if time had stopped, it was just the two of them, talking in a missing moment of their lives.

“I’m gonna come out to her.”

Eddie didn’t look at Ben, but he didn’t change the way he spoke, either. His words were clear and most importantly, they were proud. Ben hadn’t known. Well, he could have guessed, but Eddie had never told him. The only one who knew was Bill.

It was surprising, therefore, when Ben’s only response was a hug. An awkward weirdly positioned hug, but a hug nonetheless. Eddie hugged him back and felt like crying, but didn’t. Had he cried, though, it would have been happy tears.

“Come on, grab a smoke.”, Ben said suddenly and Eddie wondered for a second if he was the one doing the crying.

“Wait, what?”

Ben let go of him and went for the pocket of his own shorts. Eddie looked mildly mortified as he took a… joint? in his hands and held it out to Eddie.

“What the fuck.”

“Come on, Beverly gave it to me. Let’s celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“Yeah, that’s what she said. To smoke it whenever I felt happy.”

“I thought people smoked when they were sad.”

“Not us, Eddie, not us.”, the seriousness in Ben’s features made Eddie laugh again and he found himself nodding. “I’ve never done this before, holy shit.”, Ben confessed.

“Why are we allowed to hang out with them?”, Eddie asked, laughing while trying to help Ben light the fucking thing.

“I guess they love us too much. Come on, here, here, give it a go.”

“Give it a go?”

“I don’t know how to do weed talk, Eddie and you shouldn’t be one to judge.”

Obviously, Eddie had no idea what he was doing, therefore he figured he could face the joint as he did his inhaler. Which only made him cough and choke like a broken trumpet. Ben was laughing so much there were tears in his eyes, but then it was his turn to try and do the exact same thing, to which Eddie laughed until almost pissing his own pants.

They were quiet for a few moments, smiles on their faces. The sun would still take time to rise, it always did in old Derry, Eddie laid his head on Ben’s shoulder; the latter responded by putting his arm around him.

Maybe it would all be okay, he figured.

“Thanks for telling me.”

“Huh?”

“Thanks for trusting me.”

“What are you talking about? Of course I trust you, Ben, we are best friends.”

“Thanks, either way.”

Eddie was finally feeling sleepy and his eyelids felt heavy when:

“So, does it mean you’re gonna confess to Richie and he’ll no longer test Stan’s sanity with his weird-ass awkward flirting?”

“Benjamin, I swear to fucking God.”

Ben only laughed again and held him tighter.

#**character asks

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cyb-by-lang · 6 years

Text

Shell Game (27/?)

Kei takes on her second opponent of the tournament.

GreenThumb: look at our purple kid go

GreenThumb: no form whatsofuckingever

GreenThumb: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

GreenThumb: we tried

TMNT-TNT: We trained for only two weeks. I don’t think even he expected to win.

Defib: Not bad for an amateur.

Defib: He didn’t hurt himself.

TMNT-TNT: No, instead he got hurt.

Defib: One of us concussed themselves while trying more than one move they weren’t ready for. It’s not entirely new.

There was a brief pause as her boys probably got into a fistfight in the apartment. Hopefully, Obito would make sure to avoid breaking anything and actually dispose of the knife he’d likely carried back with him. Or sent to Konoha. Maybe they’d stop using kunai when the next weapon development upgrade finally rolled out. Kei appreciated the spade-derived design of kunai, but there were only so many ways a diamond-shaped blade could really be used.

Kei wasn’t holding her breath, though.

She did hope Obito and Kakashi were taking it easy, though. They hadn’t quite managed to explain exactly how much chakra they’d burned in the fight with Stain, but Kakashi didn’t exactly have a ton to spare.

Defib: Speaking of fights, though, what are you going to do for the next round?

Defib: I realize the explosion kid is a personal affront. I just don’t see why you ought to progress any further in this tournament from a logical standpoint.

GreenThumb: coolness factor (≡^∇\\≡)

Defib: No.

GreenThumb: i know i know

GreenThumb: i promise we wont make fun of you for losing

GreenThumb: if you make it cool

Defib: If you can do that with less than half of your skills. But more seriously, you have to avoid advancing. You have too much to do to stay in the spotlight now.

There was a pause from Obito. Kakashi had said his piece.

Kei pressed her lips together as she thought about pocketing her phone. Shinsō was limping toward the tunnel, so she had to hurry if she wanted to meet him before he went to see Recovery Girl.

Homura was still kind of on fire. Kei could probably do something about that, but there was this thing about not using Quirks outside of the actual fights…

So, Kei kept messing with her phone as she slipped toward the door.

GreenThumb: so how is she gonna do that

GreenThumb: he uses EXPLOSIONS (´ω｀)ﾉ━━※

GreenThumb: the second she has him hes dead

TMNT-TNT: I could…just do my thing. And walk out of the arena.

TMNT-TNT: It doesn’t actually matter what happens in the ring as long as one of us ends up out of bounds.

Defib: If you think that would work.

Defib: Go ahead. Be a Nara.

TMNT-TNT: I’m not that clever.

GreenThumb: u sure

TMNT-TNT: Uh, yeah.

Defib: I meant more about being lazy.

GreenThumb: …

GreenThumb: i mean (;￣ー\\川

TMNT-TNT: I love you both, but that’s the worst pep talk ever.

Defib: We try.

GreenThumb: good luck! (*￣▽\\)d

Kei escaped the 1-C box as soon as Homura’s hair was back under control and she was busy issuing a dozen apologies to the part of the audience she’d scared. The class rep couldn’t tell her to stop running in the halls if she didn’t get caught. And she didn’t really plan on listening to anybody else. Not even pro heroes.

Her speed was set to Nyoom.

It didn’t take her long to find who she was looking for. “Shinsō-san!”

Shinsō had his left arm half zipped into his gym uniform, as though that would help much with a dislocation. Then again, Kei hardly knew how common first aid lessons were in Japan. At the very least, Shinsō could walk around without totally screwing up his injuries. And while a Yamaguchi-sensei-derived instinct prodded at the back of Kei’s mind, she figured the lady with the magic healing Quirk would help Shinsō faster than she could.

“Thanks,” Shinsō said in a strained voice. Kei’s focus was still on how his arm really didn’t look good.

Then his words registered and Kei stopped short of trying to manipulate his arm into a more comfortable position, keeping the impulse to a vague twitch in her fingers. With confusion probably plain on her face, she asked, “For what?”

“There’s no way I would’ve lasted that long without all the training I’ve been doing,” Shinsō told her, as the pair of them continued to walk toward the nurse’s office. “So, thanks for helping me.”

“Training doesn’t mean much without follow-through.” Kei held out her hand for a fist-bump. “You did great.”

“My arm’s disagreeing with you,” Shinsō muttered, but his ears were a little pink. Probably not from pain. The kid didn’t get enough praise. And he looked at the fist she’d raised as though he had no idea what to do with it. “Um.”

Kei bumped his right hand anyway, though her boys would’ve called it a sad excuse for a friendly gesture. “Then get to Recovery Girl before you get mobbed by fans. I think Shingetsu-san isn’t going to keep them off you forever.”

Shinsō reddened further. “I don’t have fans.”

“You do now,” Kei insisted. Then she snapped her fingers, as though a thought had just occurred to her. “Oh, by the way…”

Shinsō hesitated. Something in her tone was letting him know there was a catch to the positive attitude Kei was throwing his way, and there was. Amazing he could pay attention that well with a dislocated shoulder, really.

Kei took a deep breath. “Don’t pull a Midoriya ever again if you can avoid it. That was way too close.”

“Don’t have to tell me that twice.” Shinsō’s eyes darted toward the ceiling for a split second. “Is he still up there?”

“Last I checked, yes.”

Shinsō frowned faintly. With a glance at his arm and a near-silent groan, he finally said, “I’ll keep an eye out for him. You should concentrate on your match.”

Kei sketched a lazy salute before she passed Shinsō and headed down to the arena once again. “Get yourself taken care of, Shinsō-san. I’ll worry about Splodey.”

Kei strolled into the arena for the umpteenth time that day, stretching slowly as she went. Chakra pulsed through her system in time with her heartbeat. At a glance, her level expression probably communicated quiet determination in the face of one of the most difficult fights in the tournament. Bakugō’s tenacity was already the talk of the town. Any normal competitor would be quaking in their gym shoes. Or at least considering the fight more seriously.

Kei didn’t really care.

Her conversation with Obito and Kakashi had taken the somewhat self-imposed competitive weight off her shoulders and replaced it with a different one. Rather than debating herself in circles, she had to lose.

At least it makes things simpler.

There is that.

Kei was not a strategic genius. She’d given up on making the loss convincing, because her acting skills were hit or miss and Bakugō wasn’t as inexperienced as some of the other competitors were. No, instead she’d just show “what she was made of.”

Hooray.

Bakugō trooped to the middle of the concrete stage with about the same aggression toward life as he ever did. Kei didn’t know him well, but she wasn’t sure how much different her impression would be even if she did. Bakugō just seemed the kind of person to act like everybody and everything had resulted in him waking up on the wrong side of the bed today. Every day.

“And here we are again, folks,” Present Mic began, his voice booming across the arena. “It’s the final match to determine which of our awesome first-year students will be making it to the top four! There’s only one spot left, so 1-A’s Bakugō and 1-C’s Gekkō are gonna have to break out the big guns to secure a semifinal fight against 1-C’s Shinsō!”

Kei hadn’t missed the announcer addition to her life one bit. She and Isobu did well enough on their own merits without an fancy Quirk or PA system.

“Let’s have a good clean game, both of you.” Kayama-sensei’s warnings were falling on deaf ears practically before she finished a single word. She didn’t seem to really care. “Or not! Make it a good match. If you have to get down and dirty to pull victory from your opponent’s gnarled claws, do it!”

Thanks for that, Kei thought in a dry tone. I’m sure we’re just in this for a jolly good time, by Jove.

What was that accent?

I don’t even know.

“Give it all you’ve got,” Bakugō growled. His palms were already sparking orange and spitting smoke, and his red eyes were locked on hers. “I’m gonna crush you anyway.”

Kei sized him up. Shorter than her by a few centimeters, but athletic, aggressive, and more than capable of changing tactics on the fly, going by his match with Uraraka. His Quirk was powerful, versatile, and frankly something Kei should have thought of when designing her fake personal history.

Stomp him into the ground.

Thanks for the vote of confidence.

Bakugō’s eyes narrowed. “Got nothing to say?”

Not to you. Kei just shrugged, her hands stuck in her pockets and her attention already starting to wander a bit. More than usual, anyway. Might as well continue this joke now that it was established. Bakugō’s opinion didn’t matter to her either.

Kei was done with the entire damn tournament.

“Begin!” Kayama-sensei shouted.

Bakugō charged, as Kei knew he would. Right haymaker, fingers extended to use his Quirk—

The distinctive funnel-shaped burst of the Water Trumpet jutsu hit him full in the face and forced him to a stop. Bakugō hit the ground knees-first, sputtering, and had to block the bulk of the blast with his back and shoulders to stay on his feet and coherent.

The uniform pockets weren’t quite reality-breaking enough to form full sets of hand seals without revealing one’s movements, but one-handed seals were fine. And Kei didn’t need both hands to spit water like a decapitated fire hydrant at this level.

Kei dropped the ninjutsu a couple of seconds later, turning her head to the side to spit out the leftover water. She wiped her mouth on her forearm and didn’t take her eyes off Bakugō, now looking like a drenched cat with twice as much fight in him. But those red eyes were calculating, and fast.

He couldn’t use his Quirk without being able to sweat.

“And just like that, Bakugō and Gekkō are at a standstill!” Present Mic could stand to be less of a ham. “I don’t think Gekkō broke a sweat keeping Bakugō at arm’s length, but how long can she really keep that up?”

Bakugō’s palms gave off a couple of futile-sounding pops as though to answer the question. He bared his teeth. “You’ve been holding back for this entire competition.”

Kei shrugged again.

“Don’t play dumb with me, you fucking Gen Studies reject,” Bakugō snarled, his voice lower and even more threatening. His hair exploded back into place, providing a neat summation of why Kei’s “Quirk” wouldn’t keep him doused forever. “You didn’t fight Stupid Hair like you meant it. You didn’t give a shit during the qualifiers. And if you don’t think half the fucking audience didn’t recognize your martial arts training, you’re fooling yourself.”

Kei didn’t really care. Barely humoring him, she prompted, “And your point is…?”

“I don’t care what your fucking issues are,” Bakugō told her. “But don’t you fucking dare come at me with anything but your best, or I’ll hand you your ass on a silver platter.”

“Scary.” Kei’s dull tone made it clear exactly how much Bakugō’s pride mattered to her, but she took her other hand out of her pocket. She held both of them up in plain view, then pointedly raised two fingers in a “come at me” gesture Obito and Gai were both fond of. “Prove you’re not all talk.”

Bakugō was quick to meet her challenge, no matter how unenthusiastic she was. His palms shot sparks constantly, until the worst of the damp was evaporated. And then he was after her again, skin blackening with soot here and there as the smoke he produced clung to his skin.

Kei made another highly telegraphed hand seal. Water Release: Hidden Mist Jutsu.

“Not again!” Present Mic screeched as the entire battlefield disappeared at Kei’s command. “Gekkō, we need to have a talk about your clear problem with the media! We actually want the camera fiends to have fun here, same as everyone else!”

Bakugō was nearly as loud, and he didn’t have the excuse of a speaker system backing him up. The gist of his arguments regarding mist, visibility, and Kei’s fighting style could be summed up as: “Fuck you, you goddamn extra!”

Kei dodged better than Uraraka or Shinsō could on their best days. Wherever Bakugō was, she wasn’t. She danced circles around one of the most adept fighters in the tournament, slipping in and out of mingled smoke and gray fog she produced on a whim as though she was born to it. He could punch as many holes in the mist as he liked—it wasn’t going anywhere as long as Kei wanted it to stay.

She also blasted him with water again and again, which seemed to succeed mainly in making him angrier.

Water Trumpet, Kei thought, and Bakugō screamed in rage as his attack vanished under the fine spray of mist he’d made out of her attack.

“Use something other than your Quirk, you hack!”

Wild Water Wave, was the next round, and Bakugō was forced to run away from the bulk of the blast before it could swirl up and nab him.

The mist glowed with each blast, because even as she tried to make sure Bakugō’s nitroglycerin stayed in low concentrations, Kei was keeping close track of everything. The substance was ludicrously unstable in its pure form and quite powerful, but it was also oily. Yes, she could basically render him ineffective without hurting him as long as she kept blasting him, but it was a waste of chakra when he was going to accumulate nitroglycerin anyway. Just more slowly.

Still, he was going to run out of stamina before he defeated her mist if he kept up the pace for much longer.

Bakugō lost his temper and most of his restraint in one go. “HOWITZER IMPACT!”

Unless he did that, Kei supposed.

“And there goes Gekkō’s camera-defying mist! Now that we can finally get a look at our contenders, it seems like Bakugō’s become something the cat dragged in. Backwards, and through a puddle!” Present Mic didn’t quite laugh at his own joke. “Gekkō’s about the same as we left her, somehow. Guess this match is starting to heat up.”

Kei had left the majority of the fight to mid- and long-range techniques. But with the majority of her mist dissipated by raw force and her in plain view, it seemed like it was finally time to properly escalate.

“Wrong,” said Aizawa.

Bakugō’s hands were trembling. While he wouldn’t have admitted it under torture, the kid was getting tired. He was pushing himself harder than before, wasn’t he?

Kei’s eyes narrowed. Any fight, eventually, got to the point where it all broke down. Fatigue and injuries took over, and sooner or later everyone dropped. Her endurance was literally superhuman, but she hadn’t hinted that way. She’d been hoping to lay a trail of breadcrumbs to imply she was reaching her limits, too, but now…

Fuck it. Kei started making hand seals again. She didn’t strictly need them, but sometimes it was best to put on a show anyway.

“I’m not done yet!” Bakugō roared, and charged again. His movements were rougher and wilder as exhaustion started to set in.

Kei completed her seal sequence. Water Release: Great Waterfall Technique.

That was the thought in her mind and the power in her hands, at least. However, she didn’t channel the jutsu into its customary doom spiral of sheer overkill. Water leapt up from the ground as though to form the twister, but it just kept going. Drawn by her chakra and Isobu’s just behind it, hundreds of thousands of gallons of water crashed into the arena and doused the braziers, barely avoiding Cementoss and Kayama-sensei as Kei exerted her will on reality.

Bakugō was caught by the rush not two meters from Kei’s face, and he disappeared into it with a wordless yell.

So did Kei, even with her hands still locked in the last seal form. The waterspout snatched her up with all the mercy of a heron to a fish, swallowing her whole.

Inside the death spiral, at least she couldn’t hear Present Mic yelling anymore. Kicking off into the sunlight-streaked mass of whirling water and air pockets, Kei swam for the top. At the same time, a crack of her chakra caused almost every other drop of water in the immediate area to freeze in place almost as though Todoroki had willed it. Suddenly, the weight of the structure was entirely on Kei’s will.

Kei broke the surface and blinked, looking around across a changed arena. Where once there’d been a proper waterspout, the stadium was actually fairly dry. It was just that, within the painted boundary lines, it was like someone had emptied a perfectly shaped gelatin mold exactly on the stage’s dimensions. It wobbled when Kayama-sensei touched it or Cementoss tried moving the base, but it was all water.

“Our arena’s become an aquarium in no seconds flat!” Present Mic really needed to stop talking. Kei wasn’t interested. “How is Bakugō going to get out of this one? Can the tenacity of a high school student and young hero overcome the laws of physics?!”

Bakugō was stuck almost in the middle of it, so Kei loosened her control a bit. In an instant, he kicked his way up toward the surface too.

Kei was just a bit faster. And when she put her hands on the water, she pulled herself out with no handholds but surface tension—as interpreted by chakra exercises, at least. Water walking had never been designed to be exploited quite like this.

“She can walk on water?!"

Bakugō did his best to explode his way out of the giant water cube. Once he was able to breathe again, it should’ve been simple.

Except for the bit where Kei was crouching next to him, her shoes perched on the surface.

She didn’t say, “How’s this for holding back?”

She didn’t say, “Looks like you’re all washed up.”

Instead, she thought, Water Prison.

Water spiraled off from the cube, swirling up and around Bakugō to trap him in a soundproof, inescapable cage. While the Water Prison technique was one Kei had learned solely to break it properly from the inside, and to avoid allowing her experiences to become traumas, it had a bit of utility. And, when connected to a larger body of water, it kept Bakugō’s nitroglycerin from building up to weaponized levels.

Kei started cycling the water from the cube in and through the Water Prison. Doing so quickly drained the cube and lowered them toward the ground as her power shifted mass around, dispersing everything toward the sad and much-abused lawn around the ring.

Bakugō, from inside the bubble, looked like he wanted to murder her and wear her ribcage as a hat. As soon as he wasn’t under the threat of drowning.

Standard-pattern humans could only hold their breath for about five minutes in ideal conditions. Including training regimens.

If she wanted, Kei could bring the match to an end now. Or wait for Bakugō to pass out.

“Can he move?” Kayama-sensei asked, once Kei’s feet touched tile again. It wasn’t like Bakugō was in a position to hear her.

Kei didn’t immediately answer. Instead, she started backing toward the edge of the stage. In the bubble, Bakugō’s arms and legs strained as he tried struggling in his liquid hell. A stream of bubbles escaped his mouth.

If Kakashi couldn’t break out of this on his own, as an adult shinobi with almost twenty years of experience, then Bakugō didn’t have a chance.

Kei ripped her arm out of the Water Prison before Kayama-sensei could ask again, deliver a verdict, or even say a single word. The bubble collapsed with a sad little splat, dropping a drenched Bakugō to the floor.

His eyes were wild with fury.

Kei favored him with a mocking salute. “I think I’ve made my point.”

And Kei stepped backward off the edge of the cement platform, landing on top of water thirty centimeters deep just as the drainage system seemed to finally catch up. The more distance she put between herself and the arena, the closer to the grass she got.

The crowd and the announcers erupted in a mass of solid noise , helped along by Present Mic as always.

“I—I don’t believe it!” Present Mic was always the loudest. Went with the territory. “Gekkō’s forfeiting the match! She had Bakugō on the ropes and walked out of bounds!”

“Gekkō is out of bounds! Bakugō is the winner!” Kayama-sensei roared.

“F—” Bakugō had to stop and cough, but his heaving breaths let him get out, “FUCK YOU!” with impressive speed. “GET THE FUCK BACK IN HERE, YOU ASS-KISSING DOORMAT!”

Nope, Kei thought, and walked into the exit tunnel without a backward glance.

#Shell Game #Keisuke Gekko #bakugou katsuki #Kakashi Hatake #Obito Uchiha #shinsou hitoshi

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tinytotalitariantortises · 6 years

Text

Almost Blue

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

A/N: First fic on here baybayyy

Warnings: Some cursing? Angst. Pop culture references.

James Buchanan Barnes was lonely.

Actually, lonely was an understatement. Maybe the word ‘blue’ would suffice.

No not ‘blue’.

‘Blue’ was a term that was most likely outdated and only used by the elderly. While Bucky never denied his one hundred and one years, he never truly considered himself ‘old’. Certainty not too old to find himself in such an unhappy state. The loneliness, he figured, could only be credited to one thing: a missing companion.

So Steve, sensing this and being ever the mother hen, decided to set him up on a few dates — all of which Bucky jilted out of fear and utter embarrassment that he was the Winter Soldier. Sure he felt bad after the fact, but in another respect he felt as though he were sparing them.

Either way, the concept of a relationship seemed like a far off thing to him. After all, it had been ages since he even made a real connection with girl who wasn’t his psychiatrist (and even then it was only a strained pat on the shoulder and some shitty advice). Bucky wanted more. While half of him wanted a Casablanca romance, the other half simply craved a friend — a female presence, someone who was a fair balance of tranquil and accessible and preferably someone talkative so that he would never have to bring up the topic of himself, if ever there were to be conversation.

Before long, the secret was out and everyone was trying to find Bucky a girlfriend.

Steve recommended a thing called Tinder. Sam suggested Bucky go to a club and find a girl there. Tony made a provocative comment about girls who are found at clubs, and soon the whole conversation went up in smoke. While everyone argued, Wanda tapped on Bucky’s shoulder, sighed, and made the mistake of introducing him to Chet Baker, who was basically the 1950′s equivalent of Drake when it came to how sappy his music was.

As Bucky drowned in his feelings and the jazzy rhythm of Chet’s trumpet that night, he wondered if he’d ever find love. He also wondered when he’d stop being such a hopeless romantic. No sleep came that night, only thoughts. For some reason the left side of his bed seemed colder than usual.

The next morning Tony called everyone down to the commons. Reluctantly Bucky went, still worn out from the previous night.

“Here’s the new addition.” Next to Tony stood a girl. She was unfamiliar. “Originally she was hired to be a receptionist-”

“I’m not too great at typing.” She quipped.

“-but upon discovering some of her abilities-”

“I’m pretty sick at Muay Thai.” She quipped again.

Tony continued “I decided to make her one of us.” The girl shrugged modestly. “Everyone, meet (y/n). Agent (y/n), starting tomorrow.”

If it weren’t for how cute you were, Bucky would have found you really weird. Nevertheless, it didn’t matter because he distanced himself from anyway just like he did with everyone else. Whenever you’d walk down a hallway he’d turn in the opposite direction. On some nights, he wouldn’t even eat because you’d be in the kitchen. He was sure he’d rid himself of you until one day, you walked right up to him and introduced yourself.

“It’s nice to finally meet you. One on one, I mean.”

Finally. She said finally as if she’d been waiting to meet him. Interesting.

“Yeah, hi.” Nice fucking move dumbass, he thought.

“Hi” you smiled brightly, “I’m (y/n) but you probably knew that already. Unless you didn’t... Gosh, this first impression kind of sucks, dosen’t it?”

“I think you’re doing great.” Bucky’s lips turned up the slightest bit, not exactly forming a full smile but getting there. You weren’t too good with your words, but the intent behind them is what really mattered.

From there, a friendship was formed.

Being an ex-assassin sucked but there were always a few perks. For example, Bucky could smell your perfume from meters away. Even though he even found it weird, a small smile graced his lips whenever the familiar smell of sweet vanilla wafted his way. Little by little he got to know you and your mannerisms. By far, the thing he loved most about you (aside from how absolutely beautiful you were) was the way you’d touch him. Unlike almost everyone else, you were completely uninhibited when it came to Bucky. The smallest brush was sincere.

His fondest memory of you was when he came back to the tower after a mission, bruised and battered and still a bit shaken up. In that moment, all he wanted was you and sure enough you were there. Something in his chest fluttered at the sight of you. He couldn’t quite place it. You wrapped your small arms around his broad shoulders and squeezed as hard as possible.

So hard, in fact, that his vibranium arm fell right off.

The regular Bucky would have had an aneurysm.

The lovesick Bucky simply broke out laughing.

You joined in shortly after, clutching your stomach and wheezing between barely audible apologies. It turned out that the arm had been previously damaged in combat but it didn’t quite matter. In that moment, he realized just how infatuated he really was.

James Buchanan Barnes didn’t believe in much. He doubted the existence of fate, chance and even God, but something in the back of his mind made him believe that you were sent just for him. For just a moment, he doubted his doubts.

Until he met your boyfriend.

“It’s really great seeing you. (y/n) talks about you a lot.”

“Thanks.” Bucky nodded.

“By the way, I’m glad you’re recovering.” Your boyfriend said, pity dripping from every word. “You’re doing great.”

“Thanks.” Bucky nodded slower this time. “You guys look great together.”

“Thanks Buck.” Your boyfriend snaked a protective arm around your waist, pulling you into his side with a certain type of finesse Bucky was sure he could never muster. “We’re going out to dinner later. Do you want to-”

“No, I think I’m just gonna... stay here. You guys go ahead.”

“Oh.” He could feel your disappointment. “Well, I’ll see you later?”

“Uh huh. Later.”

Bucky didn’t see you off to your car that afternoon. That was someone else’s obligation now. His obligation.

The soldier sauntered back to his room, locked the door, and plopped down his bed. Bucky breathed in once through his mouth and in through his nose three times — an exercise he repeated when he got worked up. After a few minutes he calmed down and revisited his Chet Baker album.

Yeah. Perhaps blue was the perfect word to describe how he was feeling.

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soda-kpop · 7 years

Text

Trumpet Player!Mark - NCT Dream Band AU

NCT Dream Band AU: ML - HRJ - LJN - LDH - NJM - ZCL - PJS

Word Count: 5763

Warning: I’m a hopeless romantic at heart so forgive the cliches

Rest of Dreamies + Coordinating Sports AU Coming Soon!

Trumpet boy for life

Like he can even imitate it with his mouth it was meant to be

Would not stop playing the john cena theme when that meme was a thing

Like seriously mark

We are trying to play the fight song right now

It’s not time for john cena

It’s either that or justin bieber love yourself

Anyways

He’d be the first chair trumpet despite not looking like he gives a shit at all???

Like to be honest a lot of people think he’s just in band to goof off with his friends

But he actually is very talented and loves playing his trumpet

The duality of it all shocks everyone

When he’s not playing, he looks chill and just there to have a good time

When he brings that instrument to his mouth though

Wow

It’s like a whole different person

His posture straightens

His focus is only on the music and the ensemble

Nothing can disrupt him

Perfect tone like 100% of the time

He is so talented with music he can hear the pitches and if they are out of tune or not easier than the others

Everyone usually tunes to him tbh

Has a crazy ass range compared to the others

Model trumpet tbh

Except when he never sees the cut off

When he is playing his trumpet, he gets into his own little world away from everyone else and like the band is simultaneously annoyed and amazed like mark come on but also mark keep going lol

He may seem very intimidating to other trumpets

But as the section leader

He is very nonjudgmental

If they are having troubles he will ask “did you practice at home” but whether the answer is yes or no he will help

“Alright let me help you.” wow fuck me up fam

He’ll even try to learn the second and third trumpet parts to help them out

Be also tries to balance sports and band

He is on the basketball team!

As much as he loves playing the pep tunes

He loves playing basketball as well

So when basketball season comes around the band has to say goodbye to their first trumpet

But the band still supports him anyway

When he gets called for the starting lineup

The band just goes nuts

“I KNOW HIM!!!!” - jeno

Cue blushing mark cause wow cause you guys are embarrassing

Donghyuck laughing and calling him a loser when he misses a shot during warm ups

(during the game though he is as loving as every)

His teammates call him trumpet boy

They tease him but love him

That could basically describe Mark’s relationship with anyone tbh

He is always that one in class where it’s the day of the concert and he goes

“Wait there’s a concert today????????”

But no one blames him cause he busy af

Even the director (since the end of his freshman year) is like

“The concert is on March 23rd” *glares at mark*

“The concert’s in a week” *glares at mark*

“Mark when’s the concert?”

“Uhhhhhhh I don’t know, Tuesday?”

Cue haechan face palming

“God mark he literally said it’s in a week two seconds ago”

But poor mark was too busy trying to study for his calculus test that he didn’t hear him

He gets especially busy during pep/marching season cause he’s first chair trumpet and gets all the belty parts for the pep tunes

So football season can be a handful

But absolutely nothing compared to basketball season

His schedule multiples with gym practices for basketball, extra weight sessions, hours practicing his trumpet, and trying to keep up with his school work

If he can get to sleep before midnight any day of the week, he is so thankful as most days he needs to get up early for his 6 o’clock weights sessions

God bless his soul but he somehow gets by and survives each day

To add to his plate even more

Mark decides to do solo and ensemble!!!

After weeks of trying to find the perfect song, all that he could find was a duet

It was called “The Prayer” and Mark thought it was absolutely beautiful

So when it was sectionals time in class

He gathered all of the trumpets into the office and searched for the audio file to show everyone and see if anyone would want to maybe play it with him

Everyone was kind of bored with it tbh

The rest of the section enjoyed “fun” pieces full of energy

(Mark swears if they suggest they play Mouthpiece Mania one more time he is going to shoot himself.)

That and no one really wanted to play during solo & ensemble

They all had their own things they needed to tend to

So when everyone is walking out, Mark starts to feel a little discouraged

That is until he realizes that someone stayed back

You!

You actually thought the song was quite beautiful and would love to play it

Although you are nervous about having to play this yourself

You see Mark’s excitement and can’t help but feel that excitement to

“So you’ll do the duet with me?!?!?!”

And his eyes are so big and his smile is so wide that you cannot say no to this boy

And when you say yes, he begins jumping up and down and immediately asks for your snap so you guys can schedule practices.

“I’m a little busy with basketball coming up, so I can mostly practice on home game days and weekends! I have a week until that starts, so we can practice for a week until then if that’s okay.”

You just smile and say that those days work for you

Not only do you get to sharpen your trumpet skills and play a beautiful piece

You also get to become closer to Mark!

He has always caught your eye with how calm and sweet he was when working with your section even if you or other members hadn’t practice any of the tunes yet

You two just haven’t had much time to talk other than that

Any other classes you may have shared, you were both in different period/hours.

It was a shame but now you didn’t have to worry about that

After you guys exchange your snapcodes, he quickly runs out of the office in a mad search for your director to sign you guys up as a duet

Donghyuck just looks at him like he’s insane

You just laugh and mutter to yourself

“What did I just sign myself up for?”

So after school both you and Mark come to the practice rooms in order to start your first rehearsal

You go through some scales in order to warm your instruments up

And Mark stops you and “show me your embouchure”

You slowly pull your horn away from your mouth and show him

He giggles looking at your face because it actually looks ridiculous without a mouthpiece attached

You begin to return to normal as he continues to giggle

He quickly stiffens back up and protests “no I’m serious let me see it”

So you do and

“See, your embouchure is all wrong. Your lips are turned upward not down like it’s supposed to be” and he pokes the edges of your lips

“Having this smile still allows you to play, but it weakens your tone. You want to have them down kind of like a frown!”

He pulls the edge of your lips down and giggles

“Try that now”

And your tone steadies and your eyes widen

“Haha see! Let’s go again!”

After you finish Mark’s like

“You are gonna take over my section leader spot!”

And you are just kind of like

“Yeah right 1. The director loves you and 2. I’m gonna fuck it up”

He just signs and says “well they’re gonna need some more first trumpets for pep season… you better volunteer ;)”

“Sure.. let’s keep working”

And y’all mostly just sight read the piece for the rest of the practice time

And the rest of the practices before basketball starts are spent in a similar fashion

If Mark hears something wrong, he’ll point it out (whether it was him or you)

If it is him, he’ll apologize to no end

But if it’s you and you try to do the same, he will continually reassure you that it’s fine

As basketball starts, you don’t get to practice

Mark is just swarmed with practices before the first home game

You didn’t want to let him down with not practicing so you spent everyday practicing along to the recordings in the hope of impressing him when the next practice arrives

So it’s the day of the first home game and all of the basketball team is wearing their matching sweatpants and warm up jerseys

And you cannot lie that Mark looks really nice

You can’t ignore the tiny little crush that you may have developed working with Mark

He was just so responsible and hard working and talented

So it was hard not to start falling a little bit

When you saw him in band

He came up to you with a big smile on his face

“Are we still up for today after school?”

You nod your head and confirm “Yes, 3:30!”

And yall sit in your sections and wait for class to start

After school, you have to meet with a teacher to review a concept before meeting with Mark

By the time you got out, it was only 3:15

You decided that waiting the other 15 minutes in the practice room wouldn’t hurt maybe you’d even be able to practice some before you have to show Mark

When you got there however

There was someone asleep in the practice room

It was Mark

You opened the door softly just to confirm and the tuffs of brown hair paired with his white sweatpants were all you needed

He looked too calm and peaceful to disturb

But you were also concerned

Clearly Mark hadn’t been getting enough sleep

And as a starter

This boy is going to need his energy for the game tonight

You pull out your wallet and see some cash

You make a quick run to the store and pick up a few drinks

An energy drink, a sports drink, and a large water

Everything that he could need at the game

Plus a juice for yourself

You make it back with three minutes to spare

Holding the plastic bag, you knock firmly on the door before opening it

Mark begins to stir and once he realized that he fell asleep, he quickly jolted up

“Oh my god what time is it?!”

You laugh at his shocked face and muster out a “3:27”

“Oh thank god…” he falls back into his char and notices the bag, “What’s that?”

You sit on the floor and take each drink out of the back

“I thought I’d treat you for your first home game!”

And his cheeks began to heat up

No one had ever tried to gift him anything besides Donghyuck

And even then

All he gave him was complete junk food like a bag of Skittles or a soda

He was touched to say the least

But he didn’t really express it well

All he did was look at you and the drinks with such shock on his face for about a minute

To avoid any other awkward tension, you quickly suggest to start

He snaps out of it “Oh! Yes, let’s do it!” and you sit down in the chair next to him

After your warm ups, you begin to run through the piece

And something seems off?

And Mark can sense it too

You stop playing and Mark follows

“Mark, can you play again for me? I want to hear something”

And he hesitates cause he knows it is him

Him playing confirmed him

“Your notes…”

“They are football shaped, I know.” He hangs his head embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’ll work on it.”

“Hey, it’s okay! You usually don’t sound like this; is everything okay?”

And he takes a deep breath before completely spilling out

“I’m just about to collapse. I used to be able to balance everything so well, but this final year is just so much worse. I feel like I don’t have any energy left.”

You drop your trumpet and close the distance between the two of you, putting a hand on his back for comfort

He didn’t say anything too specific but you are still able to offer support “I feel like you may be too hard on yourself. You have so much on your plate, you shouldn’t expect to do everything perfectly. It’s okay to have bad days sometimes - it helps you grow and learn.”

“But everyone expects so much from me. Living up to that pressure is hard, and I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

His breathing quickens and it sounds as if he is about to cry

“The only person you need to impress is yourself. As long as you are happy with what you’re doing and where you are at, everything is going to be okay. I know you can do it!”

And his shoulders relax and his breath steadies and looks down shyly

You can’t help but swing your other hand around him and give him a hug

“Give yourself a break sometimes, it’ll be worth it.”

He puts his hand over yours and squeezes it

“Thank you.”

After you let go, he starts to try and play again but your hand pulls his bell down

“We don’t have to continue, Mark. It’s okay. You have a big game tonight.”

And he looks at you with concern

“I don’t have to be there until 5:30, it’s only 4… and we haven’t practiced in almost two weeks! I’m obviously behind…”

You laugh to the side and propose a deal “How about we go for another 20 minutes, then you can get a nap in here before call time? Does that sound good?”

And you best believe this boy looks at you like you are an angel sent from heaven.

“Deal.”

When those 20 minutes are up, you just sit inside the band office with your director while Mark is taking his nap

When people start filing in early, you situate yourself close to the practice room Mark is in so you can make sure his slumber is not disturbed

When 5:15 comes around and almost all of the band members are destroying the room, you decide to finally wake him up

When you walk in, you almost decide to not wake him up

He looked so peaceful and content

But he was either gonna be woken up by you or by the percussion section running through their cadences

So you figured this would probably hurt less

You hunch over his body and slightly shake his shoulders

“Mark… it’s time to wake up…”

He flips over and before you could try again, he attempts to rub the sleep out of his eyes

“It’s call time!”

You say trying to get him up

But he just smiles and quietly goes “I’m up, I’m up.”

So you stand up and offer him a hand that he quickly takes but before you can get away, Mark pulls you into a hug.

“Thank you, honestly. For the drinks and everything.”

And you are stressing out, wondering if Mark can feel either your heartbeat increase or your face redden

“N-n-not a problem!” You stutter quickly releasing yourself from his grasp.

He quickly grabs the bag full of his drinks and runs out to store his bag in the locker room

But not without screaming “THANK YOU!!”

And you just come out of the practice room with a blush on yourself and mutter “you’re welcome”

ANd Donghyuck comes up next to you and just nudges ya

“So… Mark huh?”

“Shut up Donghyuck”

When you guys set up, you spot Mark hanging out with his teammates

Y’all make eye contact and just give him a big thumbs up

He instantly smiles

When you are playing during the girl’s varsity game

You guys constantly make eye contact and he makes faces at you

(MOstly it’s just him saying a smile is bad and you need to frown which is counterproductive because all it does is make you laugh)

It’s when warm ups start that you guys really start interacting

It becomes his turn to shoot at the 3 point line

And he misses the first one

“Nice shot!”

You immediately elbow Donghyuck

“OW! What the hell was that for?”

You look at him and with a serious tone just “Just lighten up, okay?”

And he just rolls his eyes and walks away… “Lovebirds…”

You turn your attention back towards the court and make eye contact with him

He had seen the whole interaction and was shocked

You just mouth to him good luck

And he smiles and guess what?

Makes his next shot

Nothing but net :)

And he sees you smiling out of the corner of his eye and you bet your butt that he’s replaying that image in his head throughout the night

When the game starts, Mark seems to be real nervous. Starts the game shooting 1 of 4 and you can tell he is frustrated

His team doesn’t pass as much to him and he gets taken out of the game before the first half is finished

When the half finished, your school is losing by 10 points

When he gets pulled out, he runs his hand through his hand in frustration and looks up towards the band section

Right now he’d rather be up there with everyone than on the court right now

He sees you in the corner with a look of concern on your face and once again you make eye contact except this time, you notion to your head and mouth “Believe in yourself. I believe in you.”

And maybe just maybe

You see his frown turn upside down

When they come out from halftime and start their warm ups again

You see Mark make almost every single shot

You know this is a different person out there

When you see him in the starting lineup again, you get on the edge of your seat

Soon he is almost unstoppable making the next 7 of 9

And you swear but you cannot confirm

That everytime he makes a shot, he looks in your direction to see your reaction

Which is nothing short of a smile and a fist pump

There’s 10 seconds left in the game and the other team has possession

The score is 73-75, your school down by 2

The person who Mark is blocking has the ball, but he kept the ball far from his body

Mark saw an opening and stole the ball with two seconds left

And before he could get in a proper position

He just chucks the ball just before the buzzer sounds

And in goes the ball

3 points for Mark

A winning game for your school

You instantly start screaming for as long as you can

But you have to start playing the Fight Song

It wasn’t the cleanest as the hype flowed through the brass section creating a blatty and harsh sound

But no one cared because Mark just shot a buzzer beater and won the entire game for you guys

You wanted to go up to him after the game, but you had to put all your equipment away and when you looked at him, he had so many people surrounding him

After helping the percussion with their equipment, you finally have time to pack up your trumpet

When you place your mouthpiece in it’s hole, you get tapped on your shoulder

You turn around and see Mark, all hot and sweaty

“You got a lotta attention out there, huh?” You laugh

“I think you should be the one getting the attention; I don’t think I would have been able to do that without you.” Your face reddens “So same time next home game?”

“Of course” you laugh

And he walks off to go find his parents and go home

And you shut your case with a smile and with some pep in your step

And for the next month and a half before every home game

You bring Mark those three drinks during every practice

And he becomes more and more supportive of your playing

Anytime you may doubt yourself, he quickly reminds you to believe in yourself

And you do the same

He starts becoming more confident not only in class and on the trumpet, but also on the court. He doesn’t need to look at you in the stands as often when he plays, but you can still tell he takes some glances

And Donghyuck notices it all and develops a plan

The day before the final home game, Donghyuck approaches Mark in the locker room before practice

“Mark you gotta do something,” he whines

The look of confusion takes over Mark

“What are you talking about? Do something about what?”

“Don’t act dumb, your special trumpet friend!” the blush on Mark’s face just confirming his best friend’s suspicions

“I can’t! Especially before the biggest game of the year so far! What if they reject me and I lose my spark?” He says tying up his shoes

“Wow you might actually be dumb. Have you seen the way they look at you? You have absolutely nothing to worry about. You are Mark Lee. Everyone wants to be with you, whether romantically or mutually, and I can bet your ass that they feel the same way… romantically of course.”

And Mark melts at the thought of you being an item.

“Well what can I do?”

“It’s Senior Night. This could be the last time you could ever wear this uniform again, wouldn’t you want someone special to wear it with you?” Donghyuck smirks, winks, and walks off leaving Mark to stare inside his bag to see his jersey for away games

Boy is he going to have to wash that a lot tonight

For the final home game, you decided to get him a bag full of extra gifts

He had done so much for you in these last two months that you needed to celebrate it somehow

You had gone to the store and picked up the usual drinks along with multiple cups of watermelon, a gift card to his favorite pizza location, and for an extra special gift, you had ordered him a custom mouthpiece with the word “Believe” engraved on it

You really hoped that he would like it and not be put off by it

When you walk into the band room, you can hear him practicing through the walls

Your performance would be in two weeks and you guys knew the piece by heart

And despite hearing him play the same song over and over again

You were always mesmerized every time he played

You wait for him to finish before barging in

“Oh hey! I was just working on secti… oh that’s bigger than usual” he says pointing out the large bag

“Well it’s a special day, and I wanted to celebrate that. If we practice till call time, you may be able to get everything before your game.”

And you swore you had never seen Mark so eager in his life

So you play and play (but not without water breaks and running it by your director for final feedback)

And finally it’s 5 o’clock and the rest of the band is supposed to be there in 15 minutes

“Good rehearsal!” Mark says placing his horn in his case

“You too, I’m excited for Solo & Ensemble!” You start getting giddy just thinking about it

“Me too, it’s going to be a lot of fun, and I’m really happy with how it’s sounding.”

“You’ve helped me so much with playing so in order to say thank you…” you slam the bag into Mark’s lap, “Thank you!”

If you thought that you have seen his biggest smile, that’s a giant lie

He has never smiled that big in his life

He takes out the water, energy drink, and sports drink with care

When he sees what else is in there, he absolutely flips

“I love watermelon!!” He immediately opens the cup and pops a cube into his mouth, melting into the sweet and soft fruit “And I’m totally going to use the gift card this weekend.”

The mouthpiece, however, was in your pocket

“Mark, I have one final gift…” His head turns in confusion, “Here, just close your eyes.”

He is hesitant but ultimately shuts his eyes

You reach into his case and pull the body of his trumpet out and place the mouthpiece on it

You hold it out to him “okay open!”

“My trumpet?”

You couldn’t help but laugh

“Just inspect it okay!”

He takes the brass away from you and starts examining the bells and the valves. It wasn’t until he finally checked the mouthpiece that his confusion left

“‘Believe?’ Why?”

“Because, you can do anything if you just believe in yourself. You taught me that, and now if you need any reassurance, it’ll be right there for you!” When you are explaining, his head drops down as he smiles at the ground

You couldn’t help but become shy after giving it to him, still not sure how he felt about you

“I have a gift for you, too…” He trails off before reaching into his bag behind him. Your head picks up at the mention of a gift.

Before you realize it, Mark is handing you a piece of black cloth

“It’s my away jersey, and I’d love it if you wore it tonight.”

Your cheeks begin to burn as you take the jersey in your hands

“I would love to”

And mark just whispers a gentle “great” before staring at you

Once he notices Donghyuck in the window, however, he quickly starts packing up his things

Seeing him so frantic makes you do the same

You were about to leave when Mark calls your name

“Wha…”

As you turn around, Mark’s lips touch your cheeks before he mutters out a quick thank you and he runs out of the room

You stay in the practice room for another minute or so in order to compose yourself and to change into the jersey

The second that you walk out, Donghyuck starts a melody of harassing whistles causing you to walk out of the band room, but not before screaming “I swear to god, Donghyuck!”

Walking into the gym, heads turn everywhere seeing Mark’s jersey rest upon your shoulders

He couldn’t stop smiling to himself seeing you play the first trumpet parts he loves so much with his name on your back

And just like the first game, he wishes he could be up in the stands

Not because he is struggling

But because you looked like you were having so much fun and he’d love to be up there to experience it with you

Also to get Donghyuck off your ass

And after the buzzer sounds, your school won by a landslide and as you play the fight song, Mark looks and points up at you with the biggest smile on his face

It almost causes you to stop playing, but you had to

People swarm him like always but his attention is somewhere else

You let people get their share of Mark while you put all of your supplies away and change back into your old shirt

You hurry as fast as you can and run back into the gym to see all of players with their families, including Mark saying goodbye to his

When he turns back to pick up his bag, he sees you in the corner of his eye

“Good job out there, Mark.” You walk toward him handing him his jersey

“Thank you! It’s all because of you.” He smiles “Also keep it, you look nice in it.”

You immediately started laughing

Mark’s eyes grew, “What?”

“Mark, you do know you have an away game next week right?”

His eyes widen even more and he slowly grabs the jersey from your hand

“Oh… right.”

And he stashes the jersey in his athletic bag

And your laughs just continue

“Anyways, you did really well out there, Mark.” and this time you find the courage in yourself to do what he did to you earlier and place your lips on his cheek, “Goodnight”

And you walk out with a fire on your cheeks and a pulsing in your heart

Mark was no different

From then on, band with Mark had been….different

He can barely look you in the face, he can’t focus, and his tone starts to suffer

He hasn’t even played your duet since that home game and you still had until their final game to start practicing again

After that game, you only had seven days to rehearse and finalize any changes you needed to make in order to get that superior rating

While in the zone, it was as if nothing had happened between you guys

When you guys are playing, there is absolutely no tension between you. The only way you guys connect is through the music

But again

Something is missing

You ask your director to listen in and really analyze the song - not just say if it sounds good or not

And he says

“The notes are all there, you have all the dynamics and rhythm set, but there is not emotion. You feel like you are just two people playing together, not two people playing as one. It may look the same, but the sound is so different.”

You both just look at each other and frown

“Playing the same music is not enough to connect each other, our emotions are just as valuable. Maybe try hanging out together, let loose, something like that.”

And he leaves you and Mark in the practice room

“So….” Mark starts

“So….”

“What are we?” he quickly asks

Almost to the point you couldn’t hear him, but you most definitely did

“I hope at least friends…” you say with some hesitation, “but I would love to be something more”

“I-I…”

“I understand if you don’t think of me in that light. I can come together to play this song with you, but I don’t know how much more I could stay around you.”

You held your head low unable to look him in the eyes, softly playing with your hands in your lap

Suddenly, your hand is being warmed in the presence of Mark’s

“You don’t have to worry about that. I’d love to be with you.” And when you look up, you can see Mark’s calm, sweet eyes meet yours. He wraps his arms around you, trying his best not to be too awkward in this chair hug (which is absolutely awkward you cannot escape it)

“So….” Mark starts, “Should we start playing again?”

And you just nod

You don’t make it three measures in until Mark stops you

“Hey, what did I tell you about smiling?” He teases.

“Sorry,” you laugh, “I’m just really happy right now.”

And you just smile at each other

Solo & Ensemble couldn’t come faster

You had one practice with Accompanist!Johnny then all of a sudden, you and Mark were on a bus with other contestants from your school headed to the performance venue

You were one of the first groups to perform that day and to say you were nervous was an understatement

And as if Mark could sense it, he takes your hand in his and starts rubbing it

“You are going to do great today, just believe.”

And you can’t help but smile to yourself

You walk into the performance room and hand your score to the clinician

While Johnny gets his sheet music in order, you and Mark set your stands facing each other so not only will Mark be able to comfort you if your nerves get the best of you, but you will also be able to create an intimate atmosphere

As soon as you get the go ahead, you introduce yourselves and begin playing

[LINK TO DUET]

Afterwards, you feel absolutely breathless

Between playing the songs and watching Mark play full of passion, your heart was beating at a mile a minute

Your clinician has a lot to say, but most of it is good things!

His main critique was for stylistic reasons - he’d prefer more accents in some places and a ritardando in others

But his main compliment was

“You guys feel connected. You respond to each other almost perfectly. If he does one thing, you are right there with him as support. For some people, it’s about being the best, but you only try to compliment each other. They try to feed on these emotions while you guys try to feel them. Outstanding job.”

And both of you immediately blush while your director is almost crying because he was so proud of how you took his advice and it was actually paying off

When you walk out of the room, your smiles never stop.

Not even when the scores are posted

You promised each other that no matter how you placed, you would be happy with your performance

There was no need to be worried

Not only did you receive a superior rating, but you were the first place Trumpet Ensemble

When you read it, you wanted to cry

And Mark’s eyes just grow really wide and he looks at you with all the shock in the world present on his face

All he can do is hug you

And it lasts for a solid two to three minutes

Celebratory pictures are taken of course, but you guys are quick to watch your friends’ performances

During which, Mark holds your hand

Earlier it was calming, but now it was doing everything but

While the clinicians went on their breaks, Mark pulls out his wallet

“Celebratory dinner’s on me”

You turn your head and see the gift card you got him that final basketball game

“I thought you were spending it that weekend!”

“Well, I felt pretty confident about this performance. I was going to ask you no matter what happened between us, so pizzas on me!”

And before you can respond, the only thing you hear is

“GUYS, MARK’S BUYING DINNER”

“Shut up, Donghyuck”

I haven’t written an AU in a long time! I missed this so much. I will be doing a Band AU for the rest of the Dream Team along with a corresponding Sports AU! That means that there will be a full Basketball AU for Mark. This took almost all day to write, so I can’t guarantee when they will be out!

I hope you enjoyed this! Thank you guys <3

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blue-sky-and-rain · 7 years

Note

Tell me them Jethan headcannons, NSFW & Non-NSFW!!xx😘😘 (please xx love your blog!!)

(thanks!!)

omfg anon there are SO many (also there are some from @panic-at-casualty and @lornagonigall so with their permission I’ve included them here! Unfortunately, there are more but I was an idiot and can’t place names to them and I’m not gonna post other people’s headcanons without their permission, sorry :/)

Some of these are written as if Cal is still alive, and some before Scott died etc, it doesn’t exactly match up with the current timeline.

ANYWAY::: there are so many, hence the keep reading because this is SO LONG.

Once Scott’s been caught and charged, everyone thinks that Ethan will be okay because his mind will be able to rest because Cal’s killer would have been brought to justice, but it only makes Ethan - rather than lashing out - retreat into himself and he ends up hurting himself in a way, like being reckless and drinking a lot, not sleeping, risking his life on several occasions with the paramedics because there was that tiny part of him that thought everything was going to go back to normal and even he would get his brother back (obviously he wouldn’t, but yeah) so he just declines… ENTER JACOB STAGE RIGHT who just really helps him.

Since 8am that morning (when Ethan and Jacob, who are together, woke up), Ethan has been lying on his left side, on the left side of the bed. Jacob left a while ago. it’s Christmas day, the first Christmas without cal. it’s 11am when Jacob bursts through their bedroom door. he kneels beside Ethan’s side of the bed and places something next to Ethan’s head. Ethan props himself up onto his left elbow, grabs his cute little black geeky glasses and puts them on and looks at Jacob. Jacob smiles and says “happy Christmas”. Ethan looks down and sees a ball of fluff. a kitten. Ethan sits up properly, crosses his legs underneath the bed cover and carefully picks up the lil kitten and places him on his lap. Jacob goes round to the other side of the bed and sits next to Ethan, putting his arm around him. “his name is Caleb” says Jacob. Ethan cuddles Caleb and leans into Jacob’s chest, silently wishing all his (dead omg) family a happy Christmas.

Ethan is terrified of spiders and one day, he sees one in Jacob’s and Ethan’s flat. he spends half an hour trying and failing to get it out and he’s terrified because Jacob is out but then Jacob comes home and Ethan’s shaking loads and Jacob immediately comes to the rescue and removes the spider and Caleb comes padding in and meows and Jacob ruffles Ethan’s hair and Ethan kinda blushes and says “I could have done that” and Jacob replies “I know, I did it for Caleb, not you” then he laughs and Ethan laughs too but Jacob suddenly jumps and says “spider!” and Ethan turns so quickly he nearly falls and Jacob practically collapses with laughter for tricking Ethan and Caleb, as if he senses what’s going on, walks to Ethan and nestles into his leg so Ethan picks him up. “not funny” Ethan says… while smiling.

Jacob is SUPER protective over Ethan, especially because Cal’s gone.

When Scott comes into the hospital, he grinds Ethan’s nerves and really really annoys him and in the end, he gets to: “kill me. come on kill me.” and taunts Ethan or, “I’ve already got rid of one brother, and I’ll soon make it another” but *triumphant trumpet sounds* JACOB COMES IN AND SAVES THE DAY

Set in a world where Cal isn’t dead: someone hurts Ethan and cal and Jacob both get protective and start arguing over who will sort it out and in the meantime Ethan sorts it out himself and Jacob and cal are still arguing and Ethan just appears by them and just says “sorted it.” and cal and Jacob just stare at Ethan and be like “I was going to help”, “no, I was going to help!”

In a world where Cal isn’t dead: Jacob has moved into Cal and Ethan’s flat and Ethan then tries to reach something but he can’t and then Cal and Jacob both jump in to help him get it but instead end up arguing like “I’ll get it” “no I’ll get it” “no it’s okay, I’ve got this” “no, Cal. I’ve got this” and Ethan just shouts “shut up!” and then waves around the Thing he needed and managed to get and Jacob and cal just stare at him like seriously Ethan and Ethan just laughs loads

How everyone would react to Ethan and Jacob being in a relationship:

Elle would probably go up to Ethan and just (in a kind way) threaten - is too harsh a word but we’re gonna roll with it - him and make sure he’s going to treat Jacob right and (if Cal was still alive) Cal would do the same but like fully go up to Jacob and be like “oi you better treat my brother right” and be a little harsher.

Alicia would probably be shocked and a little jealous because she still likes (loves but she won’t admit it) Ethan and she just develops hate for them whenever she sees them happy together because she will always wonder what Jacob has that she doesn’t (everything).

Charlie would be quietly supportive and just smile to himself when he finds out and whispers to Duffy “I told you, didn’t I tell you?” and Duffy would smile back and laugh at her husband and whispers back “they’re good for each other”.

David would be surprised and make it a big and loud thing because he’s so shocked and, unlike Charlie, he didn’t see it coming and Dylan would just stare at them and hope that it doesn’t end up like every other couple in Holby - a complete disaster. He has respect for Ethan as a doctor, like he had respect for Cal as one, and nods his head in acknowledgement at how wonderful they are together and how protective they are of one another.

Connie, having dated Jacob in the past, would feel a little jealous (not as much as Alicia, mind) but know that Jacob and Ethan are much better together and - because she’s developed a protectiveness over Ethan - likes to check in to make sure everything’s okay, because in a post-Cal world she’s worried that Ethan’s searching for protection and guidance like he had with Cal but she soon sees that they really like each other and the protectiveness that Jacob gives him is the same as Ethan gives Jacob.

Iain wouldn’t care less because he’d be too focused on his own love life which includes Lily. Lily, once upon a time might have been happy or even jealous but now she has a partner and her and Ethan’s friendship has fizzled out she doesn’t really care either.

Louise and Robyn would gossip together and when they finally find out (from a not-so-quiet David), Robyn squeals in delight because she thinks they’re cute together (which they certainly are) and together Louise and Robyn rush off to tell Max and Noel - who are at the front reception desk at the time. Noel wins £10 from Max because he said they “could be dating” but then Max realises that Noel said “could” instead of “are” so Max gets his money back and the two are more focused on what the next bet is compared to Jacob and Ethan.

Ethan and Jacob are curled up on the sofa together watching movies and Jacob gives Ethan a lil soft forehead kiss because they’re Alone and he’s too embarrassed to do it elsewhere and Ethan falls asleep and Jacob removes the black Ethan Glasses (the old nice ones because they’re nice) and tucks the blanket around him and then Caleb (the kitten) pads up and curls around on Ethan’s lap and Jacob just looks down and thinks how lucky he is. And another forehead kiss for good measure.

Jacob regularly checks up on Ethan in his flat after Cal’s death and sends him little ‘how r u’ texts in the morning. If Ethan doesn’t reply within the hour he gets worried and goes around just to make sure he’s okay.

Cal keeps watch on the first few Ethan and Jacob dates to make sure Jacob is treating Ethan right but then bumps into Elle who had the exact same idea about Ethan treating Jacob right.

@panic-at-casualty’s headcanons

At Cal’s funeral, Ethan stumbles into the church drunk as fuck but Jacob silently helps him up and gets him to the front.

Ethan wearing Jacob’s sweaters which go to his knees.

They always stick up for each other. Always.

FOREHEAD KISSES

Ethan latches onto Jacob after Cal’s death because he reminds him a little of Cal and then a friendship forms.

Ethan is exhausted and falls asleep everywhere. Jacob finds him in various places for the rest of the day and has to wake him up, smiling because he’s totally smitten at Ethan’s flushed cheeks and messy hair.

Jacob always catches Ethan wearing his jumpers. Constantly. But he looks so adorable that Jacob doesn’t even mind. Besides, when he gets them back they end up smelling like Ethan - an added bonus.

Jacob tries cooking for them one time but fails miserably, setting the fire alarm off because he’s distracted by Ethan just being plain cute. They buy a takeaway instead, once Ethan has finally finished laughing.

Ethan is gentle by nature but if anyone messes with Jacob then he’s immediately furious. It’s so cute that Jacob just lets him (making sure he doesn’t get hurt of course), mentally ‘awwing’ at it all.

Jacob has a thing about carrying Ethan everywhere. Ethan looks tired? Pick him up. Time for Ethan to go to bed? Pick him up. Ethan can’t reach something? You guessed it. Pick him up.

(Darker) When Ethan is sad, which is quite a lot nowadays, J finds him on the sofa in his flat in a tiny ball and takes him into his arms. Ethan sometimes cries but always hugs back and is slightly happier by the cuddle.

(Very dark) Following Cal’s death, Ethan can’t go on anymore. Heartbroken, he attempts suicide. Luckily, he survives and ends up in the hospital. Nobody visits him - nobody but Jacob, who sits by his bedside and wipes his sweaty hair out of his face until he wakes. When he does, Jacob holds his hand and tells him that everything will be okay - one day.

(Darker) Ethan is depressed a lot of the time, filled with regret and pain over his suicide attempt. One day, in the midst of another breakdown, he shouts at Jacob: 'Just leave me, I’m not worth it!“. Jacob cries more than Ethan does and that’s the first time that Jacob says how much he really loves Ethan.

Jacob is forced to go away on a business trip, leaving Ethan alone. They miss each other immensely and are always skyping, phoning, texting, snapchatting and sending silly pictures to each other. It always cheers Jacob up, in the middle of a boring meeting, when Ethan sends him a picture of him being a dork with the attachment 'I miss you!’

Jacob and Ethan think they’re being SO secretive with their blossoming relationship but literally, everyone in the ED knows and supports it wholeheartedly and quietly.

Jacob is sad when EVERYONE forgets his birthday, but it turns out that Ethan organised a giant party and is cheered up by it. They end up sneaking off by themselves and have the best time doing absolutely nothing.

(An add-on of your idea!) One time, Caleb the kitten gets injured at home on Ethan’s day off. Ethan phones Jacob, who is at work, in a full-blown panic and a haze of tears to come home. Caleb the kitten is absolutely fine after a trip to the vets but Jacob had never seen Ethan cry quite so much.

For Ethan’s birthday, Jacob prints a picture of Ethan and Cal and puts it in a keyring. Ethan is delighted (a little bit sad, too), thanking Jacob so many times, and carries it literally everywhere. He even sleeps with it.

Jacob is heartbroken after a (silly) fight with Elle, but Ethan is there to feed him pizza and take care of him until the tears stop and tell him how it’ll all blow over in the morning. Jacob doesn’t believe him, thinking his friendship is over, but the next day learns that Ethan is very rarely wrong.

Jacob is invited to a wedding and brings Ethan along as his plus one.

Elle is so supportive of Jacob and Ethan’s relationship. She used to tease Jacob about how 'close’ they were getting but stopped when she realised how flustered Jacob got. From then on, Elle settled for cooing from a distance as Jacob gives Ethan kisses on the forehead when he thinks nobody’s looking.

(Darker?) Jacob is terrified of public speaking. So much so that he ended up having a full blown panic attack before a meeting. Ethan calmed him down, gave him a cuddle, and then stood next to him for comfort during the entirety of Jacob’s presentation (which he sailed through, by the way).

They have the best water fights in the summer (and sometimes winter). Jacob always wins but sometimes he lets Ethan, just because he loves how excited and happy he is when he 'wins’.

@lornagonigall ’s headcanons

If they faced homophobia Ethan would definitely be like "let’s just ignore it” but Jacob would be like “I’m gonna fucking kill them”

Robyn and Elle matchmaking Jacob and Ethan.

Ethan and Jacob being like “we should cook together” but they’re both rubbish cooks and end up with a mess on the kitchen counter so they’re like “JUST ORDER A TAKEAWAY THEN” and they’re both really happy with themselves. And when they’re sitting on the sofa Jacob just looks at Ethan and says “Cal would be proud of us for this”.They adopt a son and Ethan is just like “I don’t know what to name him” and Jacob says “Let’s name him Caleb”When it’s revealed they’re dating, Elle goes to Ethan and tells him to treat Jacob right and Cal goes to Jacob and threatens him to treat Ethan right or he’ll have him to deal with.Ethan can be super protective over Jacob if it came down to it like if Jacob was in trouble he’d go crazy.

Jacob would be so protective of Ethan and Ethan would be like “no Jacob no don’t do this no stop”

Cal literally being like “ok so when I’m home no business like that” an Ethan is like “CAL I’M AN ADULT AND SO IS JACOB WE ARE NOT KIDS”

Cal would literally be their biggest supporter along with Elle like they’d be texting both of them like “YOU HAVE EVERYTHING?? YOU HAVE THE WINE AND EVERYTHING RIGHT??” And Ethan and Jacob are like “we had wine?” and then Ethan shouts “HEY I FOUND THE WINE I FOUND IT” And Elle and Cal are like “why do we bother”

Jacob being super stressed about impressing Ethan but when Ethan sees that Jacob doesn’t do formal they just go for a takeaway and it’s better than any formal dinner they could’ve had

Ethan and Jacob have a daughter they’re sending off to school:Ethan: Ok, if anyone picks on you, tell a teacher, ok? *kisses his daughter on the head*Jacob: *hands her a knife* you know what you must do Ethan: Jacob nO

And Cal being That uncle that shows up randomly like “AY I GOT YOU PRESENTS” and leaves after five minutes whereas Elle advises them both on what to do when dealing with a teenage girl and after texting them comes over and is like “ffs ok let me handle this” and Jacob just stands there like whATAt the hospital everyone would gossip about then until Connie is the one that stops it because it’s “unprofessional” but really she doesn’t like that people are gossiping about them and Connie is sitting in her office one day and she sees Jacob and Ethan walk past laughing to each other and she just smiles really widelyHow everyone reacts to Ethan and Jacob dating:Connie - Doesn’t mind as long as they aren’t unprofessionalCharlie - Doesn’t careDuffy - Doesn’t care Louise - Doesn’t mind but finds the match oddNoel - Super surprisedRobyn - Surprised but finds it cute Cal - He fainted upon hearing about it Elle - Threatened Ethan but in a nice wayMax - Surprised and a bit put off by itLofty - Doesn’t careDylan - Doesn’t react

And then Cal threatens Jacob and Jacob’s like “with all due respect, take your hands off me” and Ethan is constantly trying to keep them apart, then something happens and both Jacob and Cal take it upon themselves to protect Ethan (while Ethan is trying to protect them but less aggressively) and they bond over that and Ethan’s just waiting crossed armed for them to return and he’s like “what did you two do” and they just walk in, turn to each other and laugh and Ethan’s like “what… what? guys what??” and they just continue laughing for some reason and Ethan’s just like… oh… okay they’re cool with each other.. but wtf did they DOEthan and Jacob getting harassed for being gay and Connie coming out of the hospital like “is there a problem here?” While holding a scalpel and the guy runs away screaming and she’s like “was it something I said or”

Cal and Jacob competing for Ethan’s favouritism until they’re literally doing everything for him and he’s like "I swear to gOD”

Double dates: Jez and Mickey, Ethan and JacobEthan staying at Jacob’s house and seeing it’s actually very neat and modern and Jacob’s like “please don’t tell anyone how I live”

Ethan and Jacob in the hospital helicopter crash instead of Ethan and Alicia. Jacob would lift everything off of Ethan and be like ETHAN I’M GONNA SAVE YOU and Ethan’s more concerned about Jacob. And Jacob’s like “I’LL SAVE YOU oh fuck your lEG”

Cal invites Jacob round and Ethan’s like “Cal we don’t even have milk” and Cal’s like “you go get some then” and Ethan sighs and goes to the shops and Cal tells Jacob stories about Ethan. And when Ethan comes back Jacob’s all coy about it and he subtly teases him about it and it takes absolutely ages for Ethan to catch on and finally, he’s like “Cal told you… didn’t he…?” Then Ethan asks Elle about Jacob stories.

These are general prompts I found on Tumblr from the users the-moon-dust-writings, tsutomi-goshiki, bumble-beany, not-such-an-angel.

Person A: “I didn’t know you had a soft side.” Person B: *Petting kitten while holding it to their chest* “I don’t.”Where Ethan is A and Jacob is B.

Person A: “We never got to talk about the thing.”Person B: “Oh you mean the thing where we kissed?”Person A: *Timidly* “Yeah.”Where Ethan is A and Jacob is B.

Person A: “Is that my shirt? I’ve been looking for that.” Person B: *Clearly wearing their shirt* *Whispers* “No.”Where Jacob is A and Ethan is B.

Person A: “You got me out of bed for this?’ Person B: “Our dog is wearing a unicorn horn! What part of that isn’t worth getting out of bed?”Where Jacob is A and Ethan is B.

Person A: “You didn’t have to do that, you know.” *Applies frozen peas to B’s freshly new black eye* Person B: *Flinches before taking the bag of peas themselves* “I had to at least try.”Where Ethan is A and Jacob is B, where Jacob has just tried to stand up for Ethan. Someone threatens Ethan and Jacob is all like OI SAY THAT TO MY FACE and goes all protective but gets punched.

Person A: “I am so cute, you are so blessed.” *Looks in mirror and fixes hair* Person B: *Smiles with light in their eyes* “Yes I am.”Where Jacob is A and Ethan is B.

Person A: “We are so screwed.”Person B: “We? You did that. I was just the innocent bystander!”Where Jacob is A and Ethan is B.

Person A: *smiles*Person B: *blushes* *slams hand on the table* that’s fucking it, I’m killing himPerson C: or you can man up and ask him outPerson B: k-killing..is easier.Where Ethan is A, Jacob is B and Elle is C.

Person A: Are you awake?Person B: I am now.Person A: I was just wondering…Person A: What do you think it’d be like to be a pregnant male seahorse?Person B: Really?! You woke me up for that?Where Ethan is A and Jacob is B.

Person A: *finger guns* hey, cool beans, how are you?Person B: *whispers* he’s so coolPerson C: you have such low standardsWhere Jacob is A, Ethan is B and Cal is C.

Person A: FUCK!Person B: languagePerson A: EnglishWhere Jacob is A and Ethan is B.

Person A: *has a black eye*Person B:*looks at him sternly* WHAT DID YOU DO?! NO, DON’T ANSWER THAT. I DON’T WANT TO KNOW. BUT! LET ME JUST TELL YOU THAT I’M VERY DISAPPOINTED. I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU! YOU-Person A: i-i’m sorry!Person B: Person A: *is super sad*Person B:Person A:Person B: *clears throat* did you win?Person A: *perks up* fuck yeah!Where Jacob is a protective-over-Ethan A and Ethan is B.

like some of these are just prompts and stuff but… who’s complaining

#bbc casualty #shoelace fandom #ethan hardy #jacob masters #caleb knight #cal knight #elle gardener #jethan #jethan headcanons #anon

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what-the-hell-is-graywater · 7 years

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Hey listen no one asked for this but listen losers club marching band au

Like DUDE im,,, in marching band and I couldn't resistresist so here are my headcanons hhahah if y'all wanna add anything PLEASE DO

Ok so first of all my boi Mike??? Drumline for sure you best BET that boy has the best tempo like??? He's nearly always on beat bc he's the only one in drumline that watches the drum major

he's either tenors or base drum, tho I CAN see him as a snare i think he'd be more of a tenor player

he does drums normally as well bc when he was young he would bang on pots and pans all the time and make little beats and his parent thought it was great and got him one of those super cheap beginner drum sets and it escalated from there (I'm a slut for the book so mikes parents are alive and love him very much)

now stan the man over here gives me a flute kinda vibe he can hold his breath for hours

richie makes some joke abt it ofc

something like "I wonder what kind of things you get up to to hold ur breath like that ;)"

stan just deadpan says "I don't breathe richie. Ever. I don't have lungs." and richie, looking at stans fucking sheet music is just like "yeah fair point"

once Henry Bowers (the fucker) have him a swirly in the boys bathroom down by the cafeteria and stan just sat there for 3 or 4 whole minutes NOT BREATHING and it freaked out the Bowers gang bc they thought he was dead

he wasn't

stan probably actually does a lot of breathing exercises for his playing and stuff and that is why he can hold his breath for so long

Now for Ben, I think ben would be a marching baritone? Or maybe a tuba

better yet he starts with tuba but goes to clarinet because it sounds cool and he wants to try something new

he doesn't ever hang out with his section though he hangs with bev mostly (none of the losers ever hang out with their sections)

ben is definitely the only clarinet that listens to directions like?? He's the sweetest boy ever you can NOT tell me he acts like a rude clarinet he is the sweetest

he offers to help the section leaders with absolutely everything

helps pit move things without being asked all the time. He once almost offered to help pit move things off field after a comp but the band director didn't let him

Bev is either drum major or color guard fight me on this

like for color guard she's the color guard captain and she's amazing at it

best posture, very clean movements, she just puts so much hard work into this

disrespect bev and die bc listen she's a SECTION LEADER and does her job WELL

Bev and Ben (despite Ben being a clarinet) ride the same bus for a while but then they started dating and Ben had to move to the brass bus :(

on the bright side bev gets to hang with eddie who is on pit and Ben gets to hang out with bill and richie

Eddie plays the marimba out of spite

like hear me out here his mom finds out he's joining marching band and FLIPS bc he could get hurt or sick or blah blah blah

and eddie really wanted to march he wanted to try Mellophone! It sounds nice!! But nooo his mom had to ruin that too

so of course he's not just going to DROP marching band. He gets her to let him be in pit at the very least

he does not tell her he chose the BIGGEST FUCKING INSTRUMENT

like listen man eddie - my tiny, short boy - playing a big ass marimba

he practices so hard all the time and he has a solo that took him so long to get the tempo right on bc it's probably like,,, the tempo is 160 and he has to play 16th notes Idk something fast

but he gets it right and is so proud and just AAAAAA

Eddie is the pit leader fight me on this

now, haha, richie??? A trumpet. For sure.

you Can Not convince me Richie is not a trumpet

he was originally going to choose sax, for the humor of it but stan was like no richie pick one you'll actually enjoy and have fun with *looks around* here pick trumpet

stan was spot on he played trumpet for a week and LOVED IT

richie is absolutely not section leader do nOT give this boy responsibility

he also helps pit push things

and by he helps pit push things I mean he pushes Eddie's marimba cause he wants to impress him/spend more time with him and Eddie's like "ok cool thanks for getting that babe" and proceeds to push one of the big ass speakers they have across the field and richies like <3<3<3

he makes the worst band jokes ever

EVER

one time someone fucked up their intrument rly bad and everyone in brass was freaking out bc this poor trombone cadet was gonna get murdered by the band director and richie just fucking "nah hey it's fine see you just gotta tune it" "richie wha-" "it's just a little FLAT" "RICHIE WHAT THE FRESH HELL"

he got dropped for 20 pushups for that one (it was totally worth it according to richie)

tried to trick the band director into letting him transfer to the color guard bus so he could hang with bev and eddie but the drum major caught on as soon as they saw richie talking to Eddie abt it and was like "richie big mood but n o"

Now last but most certainly not least is my boi big bill

Bill is a mellophone player I think

he's definitely a section leader and honestly he's probably brass captain

if not brass captain he's a loading officer but either way he's leadership

he's the one that dropped richie for 20 pushups for the joke abt the flat trombone

has no hesitation putting cadets in their place if you're here you're here to play not screw around

is still one of the nicest section leaders he really helpful if you're doing what you're supposed to be doing

"brass help pit push things inside!"

has a stash of gloves he bought during a Halloween sale the year before for when people lose their gloves they don't have to get in trouble

"no swearing in uniform- I'm looking at you richie"

spends his third quarter with bev and or stan and mike

his favorite part of games is meeting the other band let's be real here

His stutter gets in the way a lot even though he's been getting a lot better 1st controlling it and he's not SUPER intimidating but brass still listens to him bc he's a section leader and the drum major always backs him up

And make so anyway those are my headcanons for the losers club in marching band feel free to add on to this pls

#it 2017 #the losers club #marching band au #richie tozier #stanley uris #mike hanlon #eddie kaspbrak #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #bill denbrough #reddie #stanlon #but also #stenbrough #or just #stanlonbrough if thats a thing #but v lowkey #benverly #bc thats my life ajdjsjsjd yall sleepin on my boi ben now

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krissysbookshelf · 7 years

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Enjoy An Exclusive Sneek Peek of: Gem & Dixie by Sara Zarr!

Gem has never known an adult she can rely on, the one constant in her life has been her sister, Dixie. Gem grew up taking care of her sister when no one else could. Even as Gem and Dixie have grown apart, they've always had each other. When their dad returns home for the first time in years, Gem finds herself with an unexpected opportunity: three days with Dixie—on their own in Seattle and beyond. But this short trip soon becomes something more, as Gem discovers that that to save herself, she may have to sever the one bond she's tried so hard to keep.

LEARN MORE

WHERE ARE we going? Dixie would ask.

The forest, I’d say. Or, Space.

She never questioned me.

We need to pack survival rations, I’d tell her.

What’s that?

Food and water and gum and stuff.

She’d help me make butter-and-jelly sandwiches on soft, white bread. If we had chocolate chips, we’d sprinkle those in, too, and mash the bread down hard so they wouldn’t fall out. I’d lift her to the kitchen sink so she could fill a bottle with water, and I’d roll up a beach towel; then we’d put it all into the picnic basket that was really just a paper grocery bag on which I’d drawn a basket weave pattern with a green marker—badly, crookedly.

We would put on our jackets and shoes, and I’d make her close her eyes and I’d lead her around the apartment and spin her in circles and then say:

We’re here. Open your eyes.

I knew, and she knew, we weren’t in space or the forest or Narnia or anywhere other than our shitty apartment. Still, when she opened her eyes, they’d go big and bright. She was good at make-believe. My favorite thing was how she always skipped into whatever fantasy place we’d gone to. As soon as her eyes were open, she’d start skipping all around the living room and up and down the hall.

We’re in space, I might say. You can’t skip in space.

I can.

Okay, but you can only skip really slow in space because there’s no gravity.

Mid-skip she’d switch to slow motion and try to make her arms and legs more floaty. Then she’d get tired of it and get hot in her jacket and say it was time to go home.

No, we’re not going home. We’re never going home. I don’t remember when I started saying that part.

She’d stop squirming. What about Mom? And Daddy?

We’ll leave a note.

Then we’d spread the beach towel on the living room floor and if I forgot to bring crayons or markers to space I’d run into our room and get them, and we’d draw a good-bye note, our stick figures flying up to the moon and holding hands as we waved good-bye forever to our parents. Dixie liked to draw stars behind our heads like halos.

She used to play along. She used to believe everything I told her, and do anything I said.

She used to need me to take care of her, and I liked doing it. I liked doing it because, then, I thought I was the one who could. Even though nobody was taking care of me.

NINE QUARTERS.

They were the last of what had been left in the jar of laundry money that Dixie and I kept in our room, the jar that had never quite lost the smell of pickle relish. I counted and recounted the quarters in my pocket with my fingertips as the lunch line moved forward, as I’d counted and recounted them through English, physiology, and government. I counted because things in my life had a way of disappearing on me, and I’d learned not to trust what I thought was there.

What was there wasn’t enough—three quarters short of the cost of lunch—but I stayed in the line anyway as it moved me toward the food. Lunch roulette. Luca, the cafeteria worker on the register, might find seventy-five cents for me in his pocket. Or someone else in line might cover it, out of impatience or pity, which were just as good as kindness on a day that hungry. I hadn’t eaten more than a candy bar since the potluck in my fourth-period Spanish class the day before.

Denny Miller and Adam Johnson—freshmen—stood right in front of me in the line; Tremaine Alvarado and Katy Plant, juniors like me, stood behind. Tremaine was on my PE volleyball team. She’d stare through me on the court, or jostle me while we rotated to the serve, without saying sorry or excuse me or anything else that showed she thought of me as an actual person with a name. Katy Plant thought it was funny to call me “Jim” and got other people to do it, too. I don’t know what’s worse—people acting like you don’t have a name, or them saying it wrong on purpose. The point is I wouldn’t be asking Katy or Tremaine for a handout.

Not that I wanted to ask anyone for a handout. But being hungry—I mean really hungry—had a way of erasing a lot of the embarrassment. And Denny and Adam were easy, being the kind of undersized freshmen who still looked more like seventh graders.

“Denny,” I said.

Both Denny and Adam turned around. I could see them wondering how I knew his name. I knew it because they were both listed on a program from the last band concert, and it was posted in one of the display cases outside the counseling office, under a picture of the band. I spent a lot of time there. I knew not only their names, but that Adam played clarinet and Denny played trumpet and had a solo in “Stars and Stripes Forever.” They both had floppy hair and bad skin. Adam was taller, which helped me tell them apart.

“Can I borrow seventy-five cents?” I asked quietly.

“Me?” Denny pointed to himself.

“Either of you.”

The line moved and the smell of ravioli and garlic bread got stronger. My stomach seemed to fold in on itself.

“I use a lunch card,” Denny said.

“Yeah,” Adam said. “Me too.”

They turned their backs to me. Just because their parents loaded up cafeteria cards with money didn’t mean they didn’t also have some cash. I checked on Katy and Tremaine behind me; Katy was busy showing Tremaine something on her phone. I leaned closer to Denny. “But maybe you have some change or something?”

He drew back and shook his head. I wondered whether I’d tell Mr. Bergstrom about this in our appointment later and if I did, how I would describe it in a way that made me not look too bad.

I tried Adam. “Do you know Dixie True?”

That got his attention. “Um, yeah.”

“She’s in our social studies class,” Denny added, facing me again. “And English.”

“That’s my sister.” Maybe if they knew that, I would seem more interesting than weird.

They exchanged a glance.

“Really?” Denny’s voice cracked on the end of the word. Adam laughed through his nose.

“Ask her next time you see her.”

They wouldn’t, not boys like this, zit-faced and probably still playing with action figures in secret. They might sneak looks at Dixie but they wouldn’t dare say a word to her.

Denny pulled a wrinkled dollar bill from his pocket. “You can pay me back tomorrow, though, right?”

“I’ll look for you,” I promised, taking the money.

A couple of minutes later I had my tray of ravioli and garlic bread, a sad iceberg salad with two croutons, and a carton of milk. When I got to Luca at the register, he shook his head. “I saw that.”

I handed him the bill plus eight of the quarters. He shifted on his stool, the sleeves of his green school jacket swishing against his sides while he rang me up. “If you don’t have money,” he said, “you should get your parents to fill out the form online so you can get free lunch. How many times I gotta tell you?”

I stared at the peeling yellow school logo over his heart. Half of a lion’s mane, a third of its face. “Okay.”

“‘Okay,’” he said, imitating me. “You say ‘okay,’ then you’ll be back here hustling quarters in line tomorrow, these poor little freshmen.” He wasn’t talking loud but not quiet, either, and I imagined Katy hearing every word.

“Those are my sister’s friends,” I said, and decided that’s what I’d tell Mr. Bergstrom if it came up. “I’m going to pay him back.”

“You always had money in the fall. What happened?”

“I saved from my job last summer. That’s all gone.”

Since January.

His hands hovered around the register drawer for a second. Then he said, “Here’s your change.”

“But—” I was sure I’d given him three dollars exactly.

“Here’s your change, Gem,” he said again, putting four quarters in my palm.

“Thank you.”

He waved me away, and I took my ravioli to a quiet corner to eat.

“Is that supposed to be me?”

Mr. Bergstrom had gotten a new whiteboard. He’d drawn a stick figure, falling. I knew it was falling from the way the stick arms and stick legs pointed slightly upward, like gravity was pulling on its stick middle.

“I’m not a great artist but, yes, it’s meant to represent you. Here . . .” Bergstrom added some strands of hair that flew up, then capped his dry-erase marker and sat back down. “Is it at least close? Is this how you feel?”

“I don’t know.” In the way that she was alone, maybe, but even falling she looked more free than I felt. I got up and held my hand out for the marker. I drew a box around the falling girl. That didn’t look right, either. “This is dumb.” I picked up the eraser and wiped it all away.

“Maybe.” He smiled. He had a good smile and a good face, and a way of looking right at me without making me feel like I was being studied in some lab. He was way better than old Mr. Skaarsgard, the school psychologist he’d replaced at the beginning of the school year. Skaarsgard would always furrow his white eyebrows at me and make me feel like nothing I said made sense. Maybe it didn’t, but at least Mr. Bergstrom tried.

Normally I saw him a couple of times a week, not always on the same days, sometimes after school and sometimes during it, depending what was going on. I know it was a lot. Some kids at school could go a whole semester, even all of high school, without seeing him once. But right at the beginning of freshman year I sort of had this incident in pre-algebra, and my teacher referred me and then I was on the permanent rotation, first with Skaarsgard, now Bergstrom.

“What’s the box?” he asked. “That’s what it was, right?”

I shrugged.

“You feel . . .” He trailed off and I knew I was supposed to complete the sentence.

“I mean, you can’t put me on there with nothing else,” I said, pointing at the blank whiteboard. “You have to draw Dixie and my mom, and our apartment and school.”

“Earlier, you said you felt alone.”

“I do.” My hands curled up on my knees, my nails pressed into my palms. This office was always hot and small. I shook my head, not knowing how to explain feeling alone but also trapped in the middle of people and places that didn’t let me move or breathe.

Mr. Bergstrom had plain brown eyes, a little bit small for his face, but I could almost always see sympathy in them, like now. “It’s okay, Gem,” he said. “I know it’s hard to put into words.”

I opened my hands and took a breath.

“Do you want to update me on things with your mom?” he asked.

“They’re fine.”

“Fine? Last time we talked you seemed pretty worried about her. And Dixie.”

Sometimes, at our appointments, I’d tell him a lot, and it felt good in the moment, finally saying the things I’d had stuck in my head all that week. But then I’d be in bed those nights, and a smothering kind of panic would settle on me that I’d said too much. Like I’d given away something I needed and couldn’t get back.

“You said not to worry, so I stopped.”

“Well. I think I said it wasn’t your job to worry about your mom, it’s her job to worry about you. But I know it’s not that simple. Especially with Dixie.” He smiled again. “And I know you didn’t just stop worrying, Gem.”

I looked at the clock. “I have to go to detention. My bus was late this morning.”

He nodded. “Okay.” He wheeled his chair back. “We’re not scheduled again until next week, but come say hi anytime.” That’s how he always ended our meetings. Come say hi anytime. I liked knowing I could.

By the time I got home, it was twilight. Detention had made me miss my bus connection, so I’d walked, the chill and damp of Seattle a force I pressed against with every step. It was March, and things would get better and lighter soon, just not yet. Having to walk meant I missed my afternoon cigarette, too, on my bench in my park. The smoking time, which no one but me knew about, was when I didn’t feel the cage or the box or whatever it was. It made space for me and my thoughts. Without it I felt like part of me was left behind, trying to catch up.

The security gate at the front of our apartment building stood ajar despite the signs all over the entryway reminding residents in capital letters to MAKE SURE the gate stayed LOCKED SECURELY because there had been CRIMINAL INCIDENTS. The dark corridor between the gate and our stairwell always scared me, especially when the gate was left open.

I pulled it closed behind me, then checked the lock. Then I checked the lock again and told myself I could stop checking. But halfway down the corridor I went back to check it again. Then, grasping the pepper spray on my key chain, I went up the three flights of stairs—past all the handwriten notes old Mrs. Wu left everywhere about noise, garbage, pets, smoking—and into our apartment.

Dixie was home. She had the TV on and a sandwich in one hand, her phone in the other, homework all over the floor where she sat. She’d changed clothes since I’d seen her at school that morning—from jeans and a hoodie to shorts over tights and a green V-neck T-shirt that showed a lot. I had on baggy jeans and a plain blue sweater that would have hidden everything if there’d been anything to hide. As usual, she looked like the older sister.

She looked up. “I heard you stole money from some freshman today.”

Dixie had ways of knowing nearly everything that happened to me at school.

“Borrowed money,” I clarified.

“Why’d you have to tell them I was your sister?”

“You are my sister.”

“Thanks for embarrassing me.”

“You’re welcome.”

In our bedroom I put my backpack on my pillow with the straps toward the wall. My keys went on top of the cardboard box on its side that I used as a sort of nightstand. My shoes went inside the box, laces hanging out. I hung my jacket on the closet doorknob and put on the thick socks I always wore around our apartment. Whenever Dixie saw me doing this stuff, or checking the gate lock more than twice, she’d tease me and say I had OCD. But Mr. Bergstrom asked me a bunch of questions about it and said I didn’t fit the diagnosis, that it was more like I had a few rituals that helped me feel in control, and they didn’t interfere with my life, and it wasn’t the same thing. “Plus, from what you’ve told me about where you live,” he’d said, “checking the gate lock sounds like plain common sense.”

I confirmed one more thing—that my stash of cigarettes was still under the bed—then went back to the living room. The onion smell of Dixie’s sandwich made me salivate.

“Did you get that from Napoleon?” I asked.

She chewed and stared at me like, Obviously. Napoleon was the older guy who worked at the deli down the block and had a crush on Dixie—like a hundred other guys.

“Can I have some?” The ravioli from lunch seemed forever ago.

“No,” she said, but held it out anyway. I sat on the floor next to her and took a bite. Then another. Roast beef. Avocado. Cheddar cheese. Thin-sliced red onion and a hard sourdough roll. It was perfect, as if all of Napoleon’s craving for Dixie had been slathered onto that sandwich. I swallowed huge pieces of it, half chewed and sharp with mustard.

Dixie watched me eat. “You can finish that if you’ll go down and get the laundry from the dryer.”

“You did laundry? With what money?”

“Money I had.”

“I’m not going down there at night,” I said.

“It’s not night.”

She tried to take the sandwich away from me; I held it out of her reach. “It’s dark, though.”

“I washed some of your clothes, too, Gem. Do you want them to get stolen?” She lunged again for the sandwich.

“O-kay,” I said. I finished it and went the five steps to the kitchenette to throw away the white paper it had been wrapped in.

“Did you see your shrink today?”

“He’s not a shrink. He’s just a school psychologist.” I opened the fridge. There were a few stale corn tortillas, an opened bag of green beans, ketchup, and a white plastic butter dish with maybe a teaspoon of butter left, crumbs stuck all over it. Same as that morning.

“You should get him to send you to a real shrink. Say you need Adderall. You could sell it at school and then you’d have some money.” I’d heard that Dixie helped some seniors sell their prescriptions at school. I didn’t want to know. “I can tell you what symptoms to have,” she said.

“No thanks.”

I imagined going down to the laundry room. The lights could have burned out again. Sometimes there were noises that might be a zipper clanging against the dryer door, or might be rats or a creepy neighbor.

“Let’s go get the laundry together,” I said to Dixie.

She looked up from her homework. “You always do that.”

“What?”

“‘What?’” she repeated, in a bad imitation of my voice. “I already took my shoes off.”

“So did I. Put them back on.”

I went to the bedroom to get mine. When I came out, Dixie stood by the door forcing her flip-flops over her tights.

“You’re going to fall down the stairs and die,” I said as she shuffle-walked to me.

She shrugged.

I knelt to tie my laces. “Where’s Mom?”

“Out.”

“I know. Out where?”

“Work, I guess?”

I straightened up and we faced each other.

“Do you think Napoleon would give me a sandwich?”

She laughed. “Well, you might have to flash your boobs.”

“Is that what you do?”

“No! I’m joking, Gem, obviously. Do you really—” She shook her head. “You never get my jokes.”

It didn’t matter. I knew exactly why Dixie got sandwiches and why I wouldn’t.

Dixie is pretty. No one in our family is beautiful the way movie stars are beautiful, but she’s the type of girl who gets second, third, fourth looks—as many looks as people can get away with before she stares them down. She’s soft in the sense of being curvy, and hard in the sense of not taking any shit. She’s cute—her hair, her clothes, the faces she makes when she’s surprised or mad or thinks something is funny. And intimidating. She exudes a sexuality, but in a way where it’s like it’s for her, not for anyone else. It started in junior high, and by the time she got to high school, people couldn’t spend five minutes with Dixie before they wanted to give her things, feed her, touch her, get her to smile, be her friend, be her boyfriend. She got sandwiches, she got her cell phone bill paid, she got attention when she wanted and deflected it when she didn’t.

Whereas I still hadn’t figured out how to make and keep a friend.

I stared, she stared back. For her it was a game. She thought I was trying to get her to look away first. But really it was me trying to see who I was through Dixie’s eyes, me wondering if she evaluated me and my face and clothes and body, the ways I made it through the world, like I evaluated hers.

Did she look for herself in me, the way I looked for myself in her?

Finally she broke, and laughed. “You’re such a weirdo, Gem,” she said. “You probably scared that freshman with your creepy eyes.”

I didn’t want her to see I couldn’t take a joke, so I bugged my eyes at her to make them even creepier.

“Ew,” she said with an exaggerated shudder. “Let’s go downstairs before the rats come out.”

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