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renaerys · 3 years ago

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PPG One-Shot: Spelling Bee (Brick/Blossom)

Happy birthday to @genovah! She is always inspiring me to come up with more PPG content, a true hero. I’m back with another entry in the ongoing Shooketh, Not Stirred high school AU Reds series for your entertainment. As always, this can be read alone, but it happens in the same universe as part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, and part 5. This is also posted on my AO3.

Summary: Brick and Blossom hunker down in the library to study for the upcoming regional spelling bee.

***Reblogs are extremely appreciated, since this probably won’t show up in the tags due to cursing. Thank you! <3

xxx

In fairness, Brick had come to the library during his free period with the pure intention to learn. And he was certainly learning something. But somewhere between sliding into his seat opposite Blossom and watching her lips move around insouciant as if it were a strawberry slathered in ganache, his purity was torn from his weak, teenage boy fingers and there was absolutely no going back.

“Brick, are you listening to me?” She touched his hand across the table.

“Yup.”

“Did you need me to repeat the word?”

“Yup.”

“In-SOO-see-uhnt.” She sounded it out slowly, and hand to god, that dominating SOO went straight to his cock.

This, of course, was fine.

“Origin?” he asked.

She twirled her hair around her finger and puckered her lips. “French.”

Fuck.

“I…”

Blossom mistook his increasingly horny stupor for plain old stupor and sighed. “Are you even trying? Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were completely fine with Darla Dimpleton going to regionals instead of one of us.”

“I am not fine with that.”

Darla Dimpleton was an unassuming, unthreatening nobody with the personality of plain oatmeal. Brick would never have even bothered to learn her name had she not committed the cardinal sin of scoring so much extra credit while everyone else was busy having lives that she stole the number one GPA right from under him. Which meant she stole it from under Blossom too. Which meant Brick was no longer a respectable silver medal to Blossom’s gold, but currently ranked third and therefor merely happy to be on the podium at all (and for the record, no one has ever been happy merely to be on the podium, just like no one has ever been happy winning Most Improved: you sucked, and now you suck a little less. Except this time, you actually suck more because Darla fucking Dimpleton decided to Quaker Oats her way to the top of this rat race that doesn’t actually matter, but it’s the principle of the thing, i.e., the only thing that matters.).

All of this to say, Darla Dimpleton was the Worst™ and she was one hundred percent going down.

“Are you sure? Because you’re being awfully cavalier about this. Some might even call you insouciant.”

It was a testament to Brick’s powerful fondness for winning and being seen doing it that he spelled insouciant in one Darla Dimpleton-shaped cock blocking breath.

Blossom smiled like she knew something. “Much better.”

Yeah, she knows a lot of things.

The problem with dating, Brick was convinced, was that suddenly the mundane became extraordinary. Everyday experiences that he had previously taken for granted—flying around Townsville, enjoying a cup of coffee, thwarting his sometimes murderous demonic overlord from distributing incriminating polaroids, that sort of thing—were suddenly exciting, thrilling even. Because now he got to do those things with Blossom, and Blossom was cool in a smarmy, elitist sort of way that both softened his heart and hardened his dick all at the same time, and that was kind of A Lot to deal with at 9 a.m. on a Tuesday.

“All right, do me,” Blossom said, and Brick coughed so badly his aforementioned weak, teenage boy fingers shook to stifle himself.

Mercy, he thought, probably. But all his blood was rushing south and it was going to take a supernatural willpower to get through these words so that one of them could beat the upstart porridge peasant to this year’s regional spelling bee.

“You’re the boss,” he said, because it was true, and also because he liked the way she looked at him when he said it. Like he was now the ganache-coated strawberry in this overextended metaphor that he was too laden with Homeric concupiscence being in her general proximity to unpack.

Concupiscence, there’s a ten dollar word for you, you horny genius.

He made a mental note to brag to Blossom about this later.

“Okay, let’s see…” Brick made a show of organizing the flashcards so that she wouldn’t see him discreetly re-situate his pants under the table. “Your word is cymotrichous.”

Blossom tapped her lips, and Brick found himself sympathizing with the Puritans in their absolute befuddlement over the libidinous effect of women having lips. Witchcraft, surely. “Could you use it in a sentence for me?”

Compelled entirely by black magic and therefor not responsible for his imminently questionable choices, Brick obliged her with: “Thinking about how I’d rather run my fingers through your cymotrichous hair for the rest of free period instead of sit here spelling words no one’s ever heard of.”

Blossom, who he was dead certain was extremely thirsty for him and had been for years long before they ever reconciled their rivalry, leaned over the desk separating them. Her hair, long and loose and indeed quite wavy today, was tempting. “Brick, are you flirting with me?”

It was a well-known fact of being a Weak-Fingered, Teenage Boy that one must never reveal such weakness, especially not in front of one’s girlfriend. On the other hand, co-opting said weakness and rebranding it as the suave truth was galaxy brain levels of flirting. And Brick, as has already been established, was a horny genius. “Yup.” He leaned in to meet her, and he twirled her hair between his fingers because they were weak for her, indeed. “How am I doing?”

Blossom, too determined to let her thirst deter her from her goal of sweet, academic retribution and bragging rights, tapped a finger to his lips. “Great. But we have so many words to spell, and only thirty minutes left to do them all. So get shuffling, stud.”

Well, he could work with that. One thing that made his relationship with Blossom work very well was their insatiable competitiveness. Whether they were whaling on each other over an empty parking lot, debating the efficacy of post-its as a note-taking device, or combining their powers to Captain Planet a cornmeal know-it-all back down the leaderboard where she belonged, they were relentless glory chasers. And the greater the challenge, the more they enjoyed the experience and each other.

Blossom spelled her word perfectly, by the way. She stretched out the o-u-s at the end in a bewitching little whisper as she pulled away and her hair slipped through his fingers. That moment when the light changes and the temperature shifts and you’re weightless in a state of existential anticipation of something monumental about to happen, but not quite? That happened. Thirty minutes to explore the shape of that anticipation was enough time to taste it but not enough to savor it. Which, Brick supposed, was about to make this the best thirty minutes he was likely going to get all week.

“Are you ready?” Blossom watched him from behind the card she’d drawn. She had a glint in her eyes that told him she was smiling behind that card.

“Anytime.”

“Your word is eudaemonic.”

That fucking gorgeous ooh again.

“Define it.”

Blossom flushed as though he had just ordered her to bend over. She bit her lip (it must have been a ten Hail Mary’s kind of day when the Witch-Finder General caught a flesh and blood woman doing that with her improbably sorcerous lips) and grinned. “It means producing happiness. Based on the idea of happiness as the proper end of conduct.”

Producing happiness, which is proper, much like how Blossom came off as proper and even prim around adults, when really she was the most fun, most confident, most person he’d ever met, especially when she was spelling in that chiffon top (son of a bitch, that was a great top on her), and the only conduct he was interested in was of the happiest kind.

“Oh.” His throat clenched, and then his stomach twisted, and then his pants grew little too tight again in a full-body chain reaction that began and ended with a fierce determination not to give in first even though it would mean release because release would be meaningless without this etymological tête-à-tête.

Don’t think about tête-à-têtes.

Seventeenth century, noun, borrowed from the French meaning literally “head to head” (please, please stop hurting yourself like this).

“Brick?”

Brick cleared his throat. “Yup. Got it. E-u-d…”

Crisis averted, Brick picked the next card and promptly choked on his own tongue. Blossom made a show like she was concerned and are you all right? and please drink some water. Brick drank her water, which of course she had had her anatomically heretical lips on earlier, which was just fantastic for him. Tuesday fucking morning.

Milieu was her word.

“Milieu, hmm.” Blossom’s smile was spellbinding, which was a pun because he punned when he panicked. “Origin?”

You bitch, he thought, and be cool, and also, witchcraft.

Brick leaned back in his chair, slipped his trembling hands in his pockets, and squeezed every ounce of anything you can do I can do better into a winsome grin. “French.”

Blossom’s adult-facing façade cracked like an egg, and he got a glimpse of the raw delight she felt for this game, for the words, and for him for making it happen. For cultivating the electric milieu, if you will, currently driving them both into a state of impassioned, competitive euphoria at 9:42 a.m. in the library.

“Right, um…” She stumbled over her words, and Brick had to restrain himself from crowing for joy and risk the rheumy-eyed librarian coming to scold them.

By the time they got through another set of words, they were each visibly frustrated and doubly turned on by the other’s masochistic resolve not to throw in the towel.

“Okay, ready for another round?”

She wasn’t even trying to hide her intentions now, and that was just fine with Brick. “Of course.”

One more.

If it was another French word, he was fucking done.

“Really?” Blossom truly had ice in her veins for the way she was able to school her face then. He couldn’t read her, and that was very bad.

If it’s another fucking French word…

He could be over the desk and on her faster than you could say concupiscence.

“Okay.” Blossom set down the flashcard she’d drawn and folded her hands on the table. She looked him dead in the eye licked her lips. “Succedaneum.”

The bookshelf shook but Brick’s fingers didn’t as they pinned Blossom’s over a Dewey Decimal-stamped spine and he kissed her with all the horny passion of a teenage genius who would make a note to thank the devil for giving women lips. One of his better ideas.

xxx

“Hey, has anyone seen Blossom? I’ve sent her, like, four texts!” Bubbles shoved her phone, open to the ignored texts in question, in her sister’s face. “She was supposed to help me with Chem homework.”

Buttercup ducked. “No, and watch where you’re swinging that thing.”

“I saw her earlier,” Boomer said. “She was with Brick coming out of first period.”

“Oh, yeah.” Mike slung his arm around Boomer’s shoulders. “Don’t they both have a free period right now?”

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “What a scam. Whoever decided to give the A-students free periods while the rest of us mere mortals gotta slave away is a straight-up Supervillain.”

Boomer snapped his fingers. “Hey, I just remembered! They both decided to compete for the spot at the regional spelling bee this year. I bet that’s what they’re doing.”

“God, that’s the saddest thing I have ever heard in my life. That’s a new low even for Blossom.”

“I heard there’s a cash prize for the regional winner,” Bubbles said. “It’s like twenty thousand bucks! Remember, everyone in school signed up and we had to have that assembly to narrow it down?”

“Twenty thou— How the tits did I miss that?!”

“I mean, it was all over the school,” Mike said. “We signed up too.”

“What? And no one thought to tell me I could’ve won the lottery?”

Boomer chuckled. “Dude, come on. You wouldn’t have stood a chance in hell against Darla Dimpleton.”

“Who?”

Bubbles cast Boomer a not worth it look, and he just sighed. “So, if they’re studying for the spelling bee, do you think they’re in the library?”

At that moment, Butch came bursting down the hall a little too fast to be human. Open lockers rattled on their hinges as he passed, and a Sophomore girl’s binder went flying, scattering looseleaf papers everywhere. Buttercup looked ready to punch him in the dick for breaking the no powers in school rule. “Guys, you’re gonna shit!”

“Calm down before you blow a load, Jesus Christ.” Buttercup yanked him back down to the floor so he wouldn’t spontaneously float.

Sensibly, Boomer asked, “Why?”

“‘Cause Brick and Blossom are making out in the library right now!”

Mike cringed. “Oh, come on.”

“The hell they are,” Buttercup said.

Bubbles smiled. “Good for them.”

“I’m serious! There were books everywhere, and the noise—”

“Oh look, there goes my dignity. Better catch it before it gets away. C’mon, moron.” Buttercup dragged Butch down the hall over his protests. “What were you even doing in the library? I didn’t think you knew where it was…”

“Like that could ever happen,” Mike said. “Those two wouldn’t waste a minute of study time if it means beating out the competition.”

Boomer did not look so convinced. “I don’t know. I mean, they’re officially, for real dating now,”—“Finally!” Mike interjected—“so it’s not that unbelievable.”

The bell for the next period rang. Bubbles groaned thinking of stewing for an hour of Chem. At least she shared that class with Boomer and would not have to suffer alone. They parted from Mike and walked together through the throng of students rushing to get to their next period.

“Hey, do you think…”

“I mean…” Boomer shrugged.

They rounded the corner and nearly ran into Blossom dashing to her next class with a rushed “Got your texts talk later bye!” before she disappeared into the crowd.

Bubbles whirled on Boomer. “Did you see her buttons—”

“Completely uneven—”

The late bell rang and made them jump. Among the last stragglers, they both dashed a bit too fast to get to class and made it to their seats just as Mr. Micelli finished writing a problem on the board.

Boomer winked when she caught his eye a couple desks away from hers, and it took everything she had not to laugh.

“Good for her,” Bubbles said to herself.

“You are late,” Mr. Micelli said.

Everyone turned to watch Brick sink into his seat, his short hair totally askew and looking healthily flushed for a Tuesday morning.

Boomer burst out laughing and needed a whole minute to calm down.

He’d tell her later that the detention was worth it.

xxx

Witchcraft! 👁️👄👁️✨

#powerpuff girls #blossick #ppg reds #ppg blossom #ppg brick #ppg shook #powerpuff girls fanfic #february fic prompts #this probably won't show up in the tag due to cursing #so reblogs are super appreciated!!

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redsbrainrot · 4 years ago

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Gruvia Week - Discovery

This is my first time positing on here lol - go easy on me please

Warning: minor smutty themes

_ _ _

"Juvia, you feeling alright?"

Juvia, sat on a bench in the guildhall next to Levy and Gajeel, continued to rock back and forth in her seat with her arms clenched around her stomach. In Levy's lap was placed one of the twins in her hold, giddy and babbling while the one Gajeel was cradled into his shoulder and fast asleep. Therefore their conversation had to remain quiet or the six month old baby would awake screaming.

"Juvia's okay," She mumbles, "I think I just ate something weird."

Levy and Gajeel glance at each other, "Do you feel sick?" Levy asks.

She nods, "A little."

"Weren't you feeling crappy yesterday?" Gajeel adds.

"A bit." Juvia would bend her truths to save her friends from worrying too much.

For the past four days, Juvia had been experiencing mild nausea. Every day it appeared to be more frequent, this day being the worse.

"Come on," Levy stands up and carefully hands over the twin she had to Gajeel, "I'll take you home."

Levy walks Juvia down the sunsetting street to the apartment Juvia shared with her boyfriend, who was currently out on a long lasting job, leaving Juvia with a feeling of absence in her apartment, and peacefully waiting for him to return in a months time.

Juvia frantically gets out her keys to unlock the door, a sensation of rush bursting through her veins. As soon as she enters, her direction is in a locked path directly towards the sink as it was the closest thing for her to unleash half digested food from her stomach.

Levy quickly grabs a chunk of Juvia's wavy blue locks to save them from being stuck together by portions of puke while her hand eases her by rubbing circular patterns on Juvia's back. After Juvia retracts her position from over the sink, she sinks to the ground, exhausted and somewhat hungry again.

"Juvia, how long have you been feeling like this?" Levy questions, dropping next to her.

"A few days."

"Are you sure it's something you ate?"

Juvia's eyes widen a little, peering up towards Levy's face. She hadn't exactly thought what it could be. Truthfully, she was denying what it most definitely was. Juvia's an intelligent woman, and can tell the difference between an illness and... the other topic.

Juvia begins to twiddle her thumbs in nervousness as her nose buries into the skirt of her dress on top of her knees, "Juvia's not exactly sure..." She confesses.

Levy's next query would for sure strike something, "Is your period late?"

That one didn't actually enter Juvia's mind. She mutters a sequence of dates and numbers to herself, counting on her fingers in concentration. "Shit!" Juvia cursed on rare occasions.

"Is that a yes?"

Eyes wider than ever, she nods. "Two weeks late!"

Levy knew all these symptoms. Juvia had been oversleeping and coming to the guild at later times in the day, the nausea, the missed periods... It wasn't hard to calculate. She pushes herself from the floor and taking Juvia's hand with her, taking her towards the bedroom and implying her to sit on the bed, as this will be pretty heart stopping.

She takes her hands into hold, and kneeling in front of the puzzled blunette, her voice gentle and calm, in attempt to keep things light hearted, "Juvia, I think you're pregnant."

Her eyes slant to the side, taking in the life changing information that may be a high possibility. "No..." She says under her breath, "Gray-sama and Juvia aren't even married yet... not even engaged." Juvia likes to keep traditions in mind.

"Doesn't mean it's not a possibility. All the evidence is right in front of you, you can't possibly deny it. Plus you've always dreamed of having kids with Gray. This can be a good thing if you want it to be. If not, that's totally fine too."

Juvia and Gray hadn't discussed kids more than once. At least alone together and not in a teasing situation surrounded by their guild-mates.

"Have you got any pregnancy tests here?"

Juvia shakes her head in reply.

"I'll go out and get you one." She breaks the contact, exchanging a smile with her as she heads out the door.

Juvia falls into her bed, glaring at the ceiling as she processes the situation. The chances of it being true were actually quite high. The two of them were very sexually active, yet also taking precautions. Most of the time. Once or twice, Gray may have relied on the withdrawal method. A few weeks before Gray left for his job along with Natsu, Lucy and Erza, the two of them went out to stargaze. Mere touches were grazed on each others skin. Those touches becoming more lewd, lewd gestures forming into kisses, and eventually, the kisses leading to sex under the midnight sky.

Juvia's hands slap to her face in utter embarrassment, and stupidity flowing through her mind. No contraception which was one hundred percent effective existed, and they increased the chances of conceiving by using the worst method possible.

Juvia unconditionally loves her Gray-sama, and even though it took some time, the feeling was completely mutual. However, Juvia had planned out her life with Gray. First moving in together, which had already been achieved. Second, waiting for the day he proposes (she doesn't have the guts to do it herself). Third, the day the two lovebirds finally get married. Last but not least, babies.

Juvia had strong mother instincts, she was born to be a mother. What made her dream bigger about it was the fact Gray would one day be a father to them.

Ten to fifteen minutes later, Levy returns with a plastic bag. Containing some comfort food and of course a pregnancy test.

Juvia hesitantly takes the test, and heads inside the bathroom.

She follows the instructions while her heart beats worryingly fast. In fear of the answer, she slaps the test into Levy's hand while they wait a few minutes for the result, not wanting to see for herself.

"Juv..." Levy calls after a few minutes.

Juvia peaks up from her slouch as she sat on the end of the bed, her teeth grinding with anticipation.

"It's positive."

Juvia had trouble believing it. She was actually pregnant? Even though she was going to beat herself up for not being more careful, a hint of joy sprung out of nowhere. Hormones, perhaps?

A brief smile emerges on Juvia's round, porcelain face, while her eyes are screaming. She's actually, after all these years, going to have a baby with the man she's wanted to the most. Just a little bit earlier than she had originally planned.

Gray doesn't return for another month. After this, she wouldn't be able to bare another moment with him not knowing.

"When does Gray get back?"

"Just over a month... I don't know what I want to do..."

_ _ _

On the couch, dressed in her boyfriend's shirt and a pair of shorts, Juvia sat in peace and comfort while skimming the pages of one of her favourite books to pass time. Gray's arrival was due that day. Juvia had a burst of anticipation to see her boyfriend after so long, but coated with fear in addition.

Juvia slams her book as she catches the sound of keys turning the locks. After discovering she's pregnant with her Gray-sama's baby, she'd spent the previous month reading pregnancy books, making space for the baby in the spare bedroom, which was previously used as a storage room which would grow like mould. For the majority, she'd be sleeping and having naps three times a day, and throwing up anything that'd enter her body. Her cravings were wild, her tongue rejected almost all of her favourite foods, including her most adored Gray buns.

Juvia'a smile lightens Gray's life up as he opens the door. His jacket is immediately stripped without a thought and his arms around her body, first pulling her closer to him and their lips briefly locking for a sweet moment. Juvia's hands crawl up to his neck, she retracts her lips for a second and tugs him back for an even deeper, more tender one.

"Fuck," Gray curses in a breath, "I've missed these lips," He kisses her once more, "I've missed you."

He makes her squeak as he grabs her thighs. Juvia loops her legs around his waist as an immediate reaction, giggling and melting into the strong, hungry kisses. Gray's tongue surprises her as he licks her bottom lip, needing to meet with hers. By how he was moving towards the bedroom, tugging his teeth at her lip and occasionally licking, his crotch pressed right against hers, she knew what he wanted and was aware he wanted it now.

"Gray..." She pants, breaking the kiss.

Gray ignores her, assuming her words are more of a moan and slips his tongue inside her mouth. She allows his tongue to take control of her mouth, being distracted by his taste and moving into a moment of bliss. Then reality slaps her in the face as her back hits a door.

"Gray, I need to talk to you." Worried and out of breath, her usual third person switches to first.

Gray's lips halt their work, his eyes opening and hands becoming looser, dropping her to the ground delicately.

"Are you okay?" His fingers brush through her bangs, tracing to the side of her porcelain face.

She nods, retaining a smile and she takes his hand, turning around and opening the door to their bedroom. She takes them to a bed, this time for conversational purposes, not making hot, sweet love.

Holding his hand, her eyes flutter close, mouth intaking a deep breath, releasing a sigh a second after. "Remember that time, you and Juvia were out in the fields outside of town, stargazing?"

Gray's smirk startles her, "Oh yeah, I remember that night." He recalls the sex immediately.

"You also remember making love then?" She urges the memory, and a possible yearning sensation in Gray's boxers.

"Yes?" He took note something was wrong rather quickly.

"And how you had to pull out since Juvia wasn't on the pill that week, and we didn't have a condom?"

He nods, eyes narrowing.

"Well," She chokes on her words, unable to confess immediately, "you may have pulled out a moment too late..."

She pressures herself inside her own head "Spit it out, Juvia!". She'd had the perfect pep talk from Levy, and was convinced she'd have no trouble revealing her pregnancy.

Luckily, words didn't have to be used. A more convenient way was also possible for her.

Juvia lifts up her sweater, having a tighter t-shirt underneath. She holds the top of Gray's hand, and guides it to her stomach, having him feel her bump, confessing her pregnancy in a nonverbal way.

Gray's eyes break from hers, darting to her stomach and widening, his reaction unreadable from Juvia's perspective.

Juvia's concern over his reaction rises, as he wasn't uttering a sound. About to panic, scream of how she had the worst feeling in the world she knew he'd be against it, Gray's free hand holds the other side of her small bump. The anxiety in his eyes had faded, and gazing with awe in replacement.

"Gray-sama?" Juvia says, after many silent moments of listening to each others breaths.

"There's actually... a baby us in there?"

Having him say "a baby us" melted Juvia's heart. Out of all the possible ways Gray could've responded it, that she was not expecting. "Yes. What do you think?"

He doesn't respond straight away, continuing to gaze at her bump, his hands trailing over it and lightly caressing. He catches Juvia off guard when his lips swiftly kiss hers. He places excited, soft, joyful kisses from her lips, to the corner of her mouth, cheeks and forehead. Juvia's unable to contain a smile, giggling into the final heartfelt, impassioned kiss. Her arm loops around his neck, deepening their kiss, while his hand is at the back of her neck and one staying on her bump.

"Gray-sama is happy?" Her eyes widen with joy.

"Yes!" He exclaims while kissing her once more.

She pulls away, out of breath with a hyper voice, "Gray-sama wants to have a baby with Juvia?"

He pushes himself further back, regaining some control, taking her hands into his, "Well... Yeah. We've been together for two years. I know we both thought marriage would come first - I'll be honest, having a baby right now will be scary as we weren't trying for one and it's just happened. I know I don't bring up the thought of us having a child together often, as it's more of a you thing..." He pauses, nervously taking a bite at his lip, "But I knew we'd end up having one eventually. If you're happy with one now, so am I."

Juvia's face had blushed immensely red throughout his words. There's no way in hell Gray would confess that in front of the entire guild. Having him say it to her face, while holding her hands, was just enough for her.

_ _ _

Two days had passed. Gray and Juvia spent the weekend together, discussing their excitement over the baby, and mainly catching up on the past two months apart.

First night back, Gray's sleep was muddled and would wake up at least three times during the night. His emotions were complicated to explain, but he could sum them up and admit his happiness. The news may have not fully kicked in, and he was shocked of how Juvia seemed to be able to relax, sit peacefully on a couch and read books. Yet again, she had just spent a month by herself well aware of what was growing inside her.

The two agreed they'd wait a few weeks before fully announcing it to the guild, plus Gray's shyness. However, an infamous dragon slayer had other plans.

Juvia was clothed in baggier clothes than normal, concealing her bump as her tighter dresses were incapable of that. Gray, Natsu and Lucy were sat at a table in the centre of the guild. Natsu throwing unintentional flirtatious comments at Lucy, and would receive relatively harsh slaps in the bicep in return.

"Hi everyone." Juvia sweetly announces herself as she slides beside Gray, discretely grasping his fingers as she's sat down.

"Hey, Juvia." Natsu grins, which soon disappears as his nose begins to twitch.

"Something wrong?" Gray questions.

He nods, his sniffing becoming more obvious, "Can you smell that?"

"I can't." Gray shrugged, raising an eyebrow at Juvia.

"We don't have the nose of a beast like you," Lucy giggles, "What is it?"

Natsu leans forward, following his scent with his sight in attempt to locate it, which his glare ends on Juvia. "It's you!"

She jumps at his forwardness, gripping Gray's hand firmer. "Huh?"

"There's something different about you... new perfume?" She shakes her head in response, "It may be the dress, never seen you in something so loose."

"Watch your mouth, pervert." Gray growls as he takes Natsu's innocent comment more crudely.

"You're calling me a pervert!?" Natsu immediately bites back.

Lucy slaps her hand to Natsu's shoulder, pushing him back into the seat, "It doesn't take much for you to get riled up, does it?"

"Seriously though," He flounces out his hands towards Juvia, "Something is different! I can smell it!" Lucy sighs and hushes him as his bellowing was grabbing the rest of the guilds attention.

Juvia and Gray eye each other in fear. Natsu may not have the IQ of a genius, however his nose is powerful enough to sense any form of change. Lucy quickly takes note of the glance they exchange, figuring out by the scent and the stares, something is certainly up.

"Wait..." Her eyes narrow in query, "Is something actually different, Juvia?" Her choice of tone more calm than Natsu's, easing the two of them.

Juvia's eyes slant as her leg bounces in anxiety. Announcing her pregnancy five days earlier than planned would certainly drive Gray crazy. He hasn't mentally prepared himself for the attention and congrats as he's soon to be a father.

"Well..."

"Juvia!" Gray objects.

Juvia releases a frustrated breath, "Gray-sama, there's no harm-"

"I'm not ready to tell yet!"

"You're pregnant."

Juvia and Gray's heated stare breaks as Natsu points a finger at them, shockingly figuring out their secret much quicker than expected.

Lost for words, the two gape like blank minded sheep.

"I'm right, right?"

Gray's opinion on Natsu is still pretty low, even though over the past years it had risen. How on earth did he figure it out in the snap of his fingers!?

In Juvia's head, it made sense. He wouldn't ask if they were engaged as her scent would remained the same. With the evidence of looser clothes, the scent, secrecy, there's no hiding her pregnancy from him!

"Yes... Juvia is pregnant." Getting it off her chest to her closest friends, minus Gajeel who already knew, was a relief. Her confession initiated a smile to tug at her delicate lips, watching the two with stars in their eyes as they take in the information, while Gray slams his face into the palms of his hands.

"You sneaky little fucker!" Natsu's method of congratulations are somewhat unique, "Nice!"

"Oh my god!" Lucy squeals in delight as her hands hyperly applaud, "I'm so happy for you!"

"Thank you," Juvia caresses her bump under the table, "We weren't planning on one of course. But Juvia thinks she's ready for a baby, and so does Gray-sama."

Gray pulls himself up from the grave of his hands, admitting a smile to Juvia, taking her hand and placing his lips on her knuckles. He may not express his love for her much in public, but that tiny gesture said it all.

"Yeah... I am."

_ _ _

#gruvia week #fairy tail #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #writing #gruvia #gruvia+fanfiction

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jaeminscoffee · 4 years ago

Text

Little do you know | L. Ty

Pairings» Lee Taeyong x reader.

Genre» Fluff.

Word count» 1.53k

Warning(s)» tw/mental health.

Synopsis» Because little do you know, he was there to stay. Stay and love you. Love you till the sun dies.

Listen to: Little do you know; Alex and Sierra

Your mind could be described as a ticking time bomb.

Your constantly flowing thoughts as the timer. And your insecurities; the safety that's threatening to pull itself off and just put you into this world of dread you've been staying cautious from for as long as you can remember.

You've been a strong independent person prior to all misfortune in your life. You were capable of keeping yourself together, of keeping yourself anchored, or keeping yourself sane. Key word, were.

Having regretted not listening to everyone around you saying "it just takes one dreadful event to spoil the rest of the entirety of your life" you let the bad take over the good.

Obviously, you were warned and it's easier to just accept that you were in the wrong from the starting, but that's the catch, you weren't.

He was genuine, seemed genuinely into you and did of course care about you, a little too much maybe but that was, as you'd thought till now, for your sake.

Sangyeon was the reason you'd worn few of your brightest smiles. He was the reason you'd been happy for a certain period in your life. He was the reason you'd been safe, barricaded by all those bad things happening outside this small love bubble he had created around you. It was just him and you against the world, again, that's what you thought.

In reality it was him against all those who cared about you to drag you away from potentially ruining your life. And truth be told, this was something Sangyeon could have done nothing about. OLD, and schizophrenia.

Not knowing about these until 2 years into your 'relationship' you were heartbroken but nevertheless, ready to stay by his side and help him out. But it was when he started viewing you as a prized possession rather than his lover when you started contemplating your decision which of course led to extra precautions, extra arguments, extra physical restrictions and extra everything.

Jojo had warned you, Eric had warned you too, so did Juyeon and so did basically the entire senior year students, probably even the entire campus. Heck best friend!Taeyong had even gone as far as getting into a physical fight with your ex. The matters only got worse from then.

Your ability to smile slowly deteriorated. Your ability to make out whether you're feeling too much or too little deteriorated. Your ability to feel loved even after being spoiled both materialistically and emotionally deteriorated. You were weakened. Mentally, and physically.

Helpless.

Breaking free from such toxic relationships was a whiff of fresh air in a long time. But that regular breathing came with a cost. The cost of living on constant fear of never being able to go back to normal again. To never be able to know what true love is again. To never be you again.

Taking a glance beside you with another silent sob breaking free from your throat. You felt nothing. Or maybe you did, you just didn't know. That overwhelming feeling of being a burden to the poor guy beside you due to your doings made you feel extremely horrible.

Taeyong had always been one to warn you from the day he saw your ex steal a glance at you from way across the cafeteria. He was one to always walk on glass shards to have you walk on a smooth road. He was one to always be there for you sp that you'd have a shoulder to lean. He calls himself, your human diary.

Of course being oblivious to your friends' genuine love and concern for you, you took it as Taeyong's conscience that asked him to move in with you when he got to know the state you were in. Rounding back to the point that you feared you could feel nothing, you couldn't feel his love for you.

It took years of constant breakdowns and arguments with everyone around you to normal down a bit. When you could smile a little more usual. When you actually got to know all that Taeyong gave up to stay by your side for your healthy recovery. And that's where the feeling of being a burden comes in.

Taeyong always reminded you of how much you mean to him. How much he's ready to wait. How much he likes you for how you are and how much more he's ready to express for you to believe him. And you appreciated that but at the same time, you didn't want him wasting your time on someone like you.

You scoot further down the headboard, shifting closer to Taeyong's unconscious form as you wrap your arms around him, your shoulder shaking ever so slightly to not disturb the peaceful boy as you constantly let out chains of apology, pulling yourself even closer to him as you rest your head in the crook of his neck.

You get flashbacks of your seemingly innocent relationship, how you'd be just in the same position with your ex, how he'd have his arms wrapped around you, keeping your body flush against his, how he'd always sleep only after making sure that you'd fallen asleep. Only encouraging your tears to flow down faster.

Too focused in staying silent and indulged in memories you fail to notice Taeyong's shift in position, turning to face you as his breathing picks a steady pace at the sudden intrusion to his slumber, immediately shooting awake when he notices your trembling figure, wrapping his arms around you the same manner as yours around his.

"Y/n?"

"I'm sorry.." you shake harder with each loud sob that left your throat, squeezing him a little tighter, feeling guiltier now that you woke him up dead in the night.

"Hey, it's okay.. It's okay, love. Let it out, hm?" he hushes your apologies, moving to shift both of you into a sitting position as his back rests against the headboard, while he lets you straddle his lap.

"I'm so sorry you have to go through this all because of me.."

"I'm not going through anything because of you, Y/n. I'm going through everything with you. Don't be sorry for that" He hums in a comforting manner, rocking your figure back and forth in an effort to calm your reckless cries.

"I don't know why, Tae, i.. -i just, keep getting reminded of all the-times i spent with him and, the dread, the fear, it.. -it all comes crashing in at the same time and i keep pulling you into the pit too, I'm so sorry.."

"Your emotion's something you don't have a grip over, doll. It's like that for everyone. You really don't have to apologize for anything. I volunteered for this, I stayed because I wanted to stay. And I'm more than happy that I'm the one you're facing your worst at. That you're not alone. But I'll need you to stop feeling bad for it Y/n. So that i know you trust me a hundred percent.. "

"i need you to stop feeling like you have to apologize for something you can do almost nothing about. And I need you to know, I'll be there. Whenever, where ever." you sob silently as you let him do the talking from here on, not trusting your voice.

"I also need you to just let go. Let yourself feel bad, let yourself cry, let yourself lean onto someone without feeling guilty because, y/n if you'd just let me, i could be your safe space in this harsh world. And I promise I'll stay, and no judgements will be passed. You're human. There's no way you can handle all by just yourself, you'll only end up losing yourself if you do that. So, don't apologize hm?"

"But, yong. You're wasting your time, your love. Yourself for.. Me.. -me. I don't. I don't deserve it. I d-don't deserve you.." you choke out as soon as he comes to an end to his talking.

"That's how you think, darling. If anything, you deserve much more than me. And about wasting my time loving you?" he shifts again to rest his chin on top of your head.

"I'm ready to wait, for as long as you want me to wait without reducing an ounce of my feelings for you. Don't worry about that. " Taeyong places a peck to the crown of your head, rubbing your back as you calm down a little, the soreness from all the crying kicking in.

"But I'll need a little more time, Taeyong.. I don't know when, but i promise I'll get back and.. I don't know if that'll be enough to return all that you've done for me.. But i.. I'm trying." you lift your face up and away from his shoulder to look at him.

A faint, fond smile grows on the lad's face, as he let's go of one of his hands to brush the stray tresses away from your face and then proceeds to dry your cheeks, kissing the last tear away.

"And I'll wait. And I'll love you till the sun dies. So just let go. Trust the process."

"Lay your head on me, and let yourself breathe"

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ateezmakemeweep · 5 years ago

Note

can you do ateez reaction to you flinching during an argument?

tw: (past) domestic violence

❥ kim hongjoong

it had been your worst fight to date and neither of you even remember exactly how it started. all you know is the two of you were in each other’s faces, hongjoong’s eyes glaring down at you in a way you’ve never ever seen before and your own hands threatening to fly up and push at his chest.

he was just being so mean, his words biting and cruel like he was purposely trying to hurt you. but then when his own hand rose while he said “y/n, i’m fucking warning you,” your heart fell into your stomach as you immediately flinched away before his hand could make contact to your cheek, as you expected.

but then his face fell immediately and his words stopped, looking over you with a completely different look in his eyes; it wasn’t hard for him to guess what you thought he was gonna do.

“y/n…i-i would never…” he couldn’t even get the words out because he couldn’t believe he had scared you to that point. that you actually thought just because his voice was raised and he was mad that he would hit you.

“i just wanna stop fighting,” you whimpered out, confused and upset that your first reaction was to flinch away; but it’s just natural, you think, the quick movement of what was supposed to be him running his hand through his hair mistaken.

so he took you in his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, rocking you back and forth as he mumbled apologies and sweet nothings against your hair. he promised that from now on, your fights would never get to the point and you’d talk it out maturely.

❥ park seonghwa

“fuck you, i’m leaving,” you growled at your boyfriend, annoyed over the fact this was the third night in a row he tried to reschedule your date.

you were understanding at first, looking up at him with wide, sympathetic eyes and asking him softly if he felt okay. but then somewhere between making dinner at home and picking a movie, you both had gotten irritated. you asked him if tomorrow, friday night, could really be your date night. that you know he’s busy but it’s not fair that he’s pushing off your anniversary dinner.

he told you that you knew what you signed up for and that if he needs a night in with you after a long day of practice, why can’t he just give that to you?

“why can’t you just give me one night, seonghwa? i don’t think i’m asking for much.”

“why can’t you just be happy with our time together? is this not enough?”

and that comment made your eyes narrow and veins flood with irritation because how dare he imply it’s not enough? to turn this around on you and make you feel like the asshole. so that’s what lead to you cursing at him, standing up from the couch and walking around the coffee table to make your way toward the door.

but then you felt his hand roughly pull at your arm, turning you around and looking down at you with the fire in his eyes that’s always there when you’re bold enough to curse at him.

“don’t talk to me like that,” he demands, his deep voice low and gruff only making you roll your eyes at him.

“let go of me, you’re being an asshole.”

“i’m being an asshole? you’re the one who-“ you rip your arm from his hold with all your might, the boy’s body teetering back ever so slightly. it’s what causes him to bring his hand up, planning to wrap his hand around the back of your neck to pull you into him.

but then he sees you flinch away from him, eyes watering and wide and he immediately drops his hand. you can only look at him in confusion and sadness because you can’t believe you just did that and his only matches because:

“why did you…” his voice is still deep but so sweet and gentle it makes you swallow the lump in your throat. “i would never hurt you, baby.” and they’re words you know with one hundred percent certainty but they still serve to make tears fill your eyes and fall down your cheek, seonghwa immediately taking you in his arms as you bury your face in his chest.

it was the calm after the storm and it even ended up with him taking a much needed vacation day the next day, spending the morning cuddled in bed before taking you on the most elaborate anniversary date you’ll probably ever experience.

❥ jeong yunho

yunho knew that you were abused in your relationship before him.

he had been there as a friend helping you through it all: when you finally broke down and told him what had been going on. that the bruises on your arms and stomach weren’t from you being clumsy, the very much needed breakup and court proceedings that drained your body and the soul, the nightmares and anxiety attacks that followed afterward you’re still tortured by,

but now, almost a year later, you’re still reeling with the fear and anxiety your ex had given you. because even the smallest arguments now with yunho bring you right back to that place. fearing that a sassy comment leaving your mouth will end with a smack, that if you tried to defend yourself he’d maybe see the effectiveness in halting your words with his hands.

that maybe if he hit you, you’d remember he didn’t want onions on his sandwich.

“ugh, y/n, what the fuck,” he complained to you, “i told you three times i didn’t want this.”

“i’m sorry, i thought i told them,” you said quietly, the curse and his raised voice already making your skin prickle.

“how could you have forgotten, the restaurant is down the block,” he mutters, reaching over you on the floor to grab a napkin. but he catches from the corner of his eyes, the way your shoulders fly up to your ears and you lean away from him.

his heart lurches immediately, seeing such a familiar reaction in you that never fails to make him wanna cry. because he knows that there are lasting effects from surviving abuse, that a part of you might always have those nightmares you wake up crying from. but it always hurts him when he sees you’re scared of him sometimes, like it’d even be possible for him to hurt someone he loves so much.

you know you flinch away from him and you look up at him, mumbling an “i’m sorry,” that only makes him feel worse. his sandwich forgotten, he drops it on the plastic and wipes his greasy hands on his shirt before taking your face in his giant hands. it’s such a slow, gentle movement that it makes you lip tremble, knowing what you just did and that it probably hurt his feelings.

“it’s me, baby” he says quietly, the same thing he speaks to you at night when you wake from a nightmare and cry quietly into his chest. “it’s me and i’m never gonna hurt you.”

and just like at night, it works to soothe you slightly. his familiar soft voice and gentle touch, the way he’s looking at you so lovingly you hate that you can’t scream at your body and brain to understand that he would never put you through what he put you through.

but yunho knows that it’ll take him for you to get there, leaning in to peak your forehead, nose and lips in a kiss that always brings a small smile to your face.

❥ kang yeosang

your fights with yeosang were either borderline playful banters, snippy comments back and forth that always left you with smirks on your faces, or blowout disasters. and tonight, proved to the be the latter.

it had been nonstop. you extra irritable because you were on your period and him because he was completely overworked preparing for the comeback. it was little things like the way you spilled your water on his pants and the way he didn’t put the seat back down on the toilet that started it.

and then somehow, the fight moved to the topic of you not being considerate of his work schedule.

“are you fucking kidding me?” you sneered at him, watching him look at you from the doorway. “like you actually have to be joking.”

“and why’s that? because you could do no wrong?” he asks, the snide sarcasm in his tone making you more and more angry. “you do more things wrong than right these days, y/n.”

“wow.” you say simply, shaking your head in disbelief as a heavy silence falls between you two. it doesn’t even look like he regrets those words, just his eyebrow raised challengingly, like he’s waiting for you to make the next rude comment. “you’re an asshole. maybe i’ll just leave then.”

he only rolls his eyes because that’s exactly what he was expecting. for you to just leave instead of working on and fixing your problems. “why would i stay here?” you ask when he voices that thought aloud, hearing your voice waver with emotion. “you’re just gonna be a dick and try to hurt my feelings.”

and when he doesn’t make it obvious he’s gonna talk again, you walk away from your shared bed and stomp toward the door. but he only throws his arm up, blocking you from leaving and it sends a hot sear of irritation through you.

“i’m leaving. move.”

“no you’re not.”

“yes i am,” you yelp, resisting the urge to stomp on his foot. “i don’t wanna be with you right now.”

“too bad,” he says, “we’re taking about it and there’s nothing you can-“ and maybe it’s because his voice is so calm and steady that him bringing his hand up so fast scares you. causes you to jump back and look at him with wide eyes. he only blinks in the doorway looking at you watch him with wary eyes, like you’re not 100% sure what he was just about to do.

it makes his heart hurt and stomach lurch, taking a step closer to you and his face crumbles when you take a step back. your knees hit the bed and he can only watch you sink down on it, the heavy silence between you two too much to bear.

“did you think i was gonna hit you?”

and like the thought of that physically pains you, tears immediately prick your eyes as you struggle to find an answer. because you’d never think that, no matter how crazy your bad fights get. but you also don’t know why you did that, why you thought…

“i’m sorry,” he says immediately, making his way over to you on the bed and dropping to his knees. a tear falls down your cheek as you see him look up at you with his own tears, his head shaking because he can’t believe you actually thought that. “i’m sorry, baby, i would never-“

“i know,” you blurt out, resting your head on top of his hair and stroking it softy. “i just…i got scared. i don’t know.”

“but you don’t have to be,” he says sadly, reaching up so he can wipe a tear from falling down your face. “i love you and i’m sorry i said that.”

❥ choi san

the first fight you ever had with san started with both of you screaming and ended with both of you crying.

you had been together for almost seven months without a single fight or argument, not even over small things like where to eat or what to watch. the both of you just always compromised or thought about the other, would sacrifice whatever you wanted for the other without even knowing it.

you always knew he struggled with insecurities and you couldn’t imagine why when you looked at him; handsome and kind and funny, there really didn’t seem to be anything wrong with him for him to feel that way. but he told you he was getting better, more secure in himself and it made your heart warm.

but when you came in from your long day of work and dinner with coworkers at 10:00 at night, you saw him hunched over the couch and knew he wasn’t right.

“san…” you said lowly, hesitantly, like you were approaching a broken man or wild animal. his head snapped up and you couldn’t believe the rage you saw in them; you had never seen anything like that before from him.

“where the fuck have you been?”

his tone and words cause your eyes to widen, because never in all the time you’ve known him has he raised his voice or cursed at you. it made your heart hurt, narrowing your eyes at him as you looked at him in shock.

“excuse me?”

you don’t miss the way his jaw clenches, shaking his head before he gets up and walks over to you like he’s a predator and you’re the prey. “i said where the fuck have you been?”

“i went out with my coworkers?” you say, even though it sounds more like a question. “i told you this morning?”

“no you didn’t,” he snapped, shaking his head as he looks at you and you’ve never seen his eyes look so stormy. angry and sad and embarrassed as he tears you into you. “and you weren’t answering my calls. do you know how fucking worried i’ve been? why weren’t you answering me?”

“my phone died,” you tell him, your own voice raising now as you show him the black screen of your phone. “and i did fucking tell you this morning, san. because you asked me where we were going and when i told you that new mexican place, you said you wanted to try it.”

his gaze on you doesn’t waver in terms of anger but you see the moment he remembers that exact conversation this morning, letting out a scoff as you push past him. “maybe if you just listened to me for once and didn’t freak out immediately, you would-“

he immediately pulls you back by the hand and you slam into his chest with an oomph, your eyes raising to his and swallowing nervously when you see how dark they are. “listen to you for once?” he repeats, “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

you narrow your eyes because okay, you hadn't meant to say that. he always listens to you and hears you out and gives you his attention 100% of the time. but you’re just so thrown off, being greeted like this when he usually smiles at you and places a long kiss on your lips; and you really needed that kind of greeting after your long day.

“that if you didn’t freak out and jump to the worst case scenario, you wouldn’t be attacking me the second i walk in the door.”

“like i usually do this, y/n?” he questions with a roll of his eyes. “usually you’re more considerate.”

“oh so now i’m the asshole here?” you snap, his dark eyes never leaving yours until you push him away. “whatever, san, i’ve had a long day and i wanna-“

“we’re not finished,” he growls and when his arm grabs out to pull you by the shoulder, you can’t help the way you jump back with a flinch. your bag drops to the floor and your leg hits into the coffee table, tears pricking your eyes at the pain and the way san’s face immediately falls.

you don’t even realize what you’d done until san’s eyes start to water, watching him look at you as his adams apple bobs. it’s clear to see you flinched away from him and that thought he was gonna hurt you.

but why? why did you think that? had he ever given you a reason to think you couldn’t trust him?

a broken “sorry,” leaves his mouth before he plops down on the couch, his hands rubbing over his face. you rub at your leg before picking up your bag, walking over to place it on the dining room table a few feet away. but san must think you’re leaving him because his head snaps up and a broken call of “baby,” followed by another apology pierces your ears.

you walk over to him and hesitantly sit down next to him, a pout on your face when he turns to you with unshed tears. “i’m so sorry if i scared you,” he says softly, “i just…didn’t know what happened to you. i didn’t know where you were and you weren’t answering and-“

“i’m sorry,” you say, shaking your head because you probably would’ve reacted the same way. and you hate that he’s crying, that you flinched away just on instinct and now know he’s gonna beat himself up for this; but he didn’t have to yell at you like that or come at you so harshly either.

“baby, if you’d think i’d ever hurt you, i need you to know i would never.”

“i know,” you say, moving over and throwing yourself into him. you hear him sigh out in relief, pressing a kiss to your head as he brings his arms around you and holds you tight until he brings you into bed.

❥ song mingi

the power behind mingi’s voice was something that either excited you or terrified you; more often than not, it sent shivers down your spine in the best possible way. hearing him lowly talk in your ear as his breath tickles your skin or smile upon hearing his pretty, deep chuckle.

but then if he was mad, it was terrifying. loud and booming as his eyes stared down at you and yelled at you. yelled about how stressed he was and that you were supposed to make him feel better, not add on to it. how he’s doing his best for you and is trying to find the proper balance between his career and a relationship.

“why are you yelling?” you whimpered, feeling your back pressing into the couch cushions.

“because you’re not listening to me,” his voice booms, his hand smacking off the table as he gets up and paces in front of you. “you just keep going on and on, y/n. what the fuck do you want from me?”

“i want you to stop yelling!” you yelp, the tears in you eyes doing nothing to soften him. because even though he loves you and hates to see you cry, his anger is outweighing everything right now. “why can’t you just stop!”

his eyes narrow at you, jaw clenched and body tense before he stomps his way over to you. he intends to pull you up and against him, lowly growl in your ear that he’ll stop when you get it through your thick skull that he can’t answer his phone all the time. that he’s gonna miss some family dinners and date nights because of his job.

but then he sees you flinch further into the couch, another whimper leaving your mouth as your eyes squeeze shut and it occurs to him just how terrified you are. that you’ve been shaking and your breathing’s been labored and he’s been too busy wallowing in his anger and stress to see it.

“stop,” you whimper, shaking your head and you don’t even recognize your own voice. “please stop. i-i don’t wanna fight with you but i just miss you, mingi. i feel like i don’t even see you anymore and-“

he sits next to you on the couch and immediately pulls you over his lap, rubbing your tensed back before you eventually relax against him and bury your face in his chest. tears prick his own eyes at the reminder of you backing away from him and he now only feels anger directed at himself.

“i’m sorry, baby, i’m sorry,” he whispers in your ear, kissing the side of your head and face before he tightens his arms around you. “i don’t wanna fight with you either. i would never ever hurt you, baby.”

❥ jung wooyoung

the moment wooyoung saw you flinch at the sight of his hand raising, he knew he was in the wrong this whole time.

neither of you can even remember what happened but one minute you were in his face, pushing at his chest and hearing him tear into you and the next, you stepped back to turn around and you were flinching at the sight of his hand.

“if you could just shut the fuck up for three seconds, maybe we could-“ his face falls immediately, not even realizing he was talking with his hands until you flinched away with a scared gasp. “what-what just happened?”

you swallow nervously, staring at him wide eyed as your mouth open and closes like a fish. his anger immediately dissipates, taking a cautious step toward you and taking your hand in his. “baby, you didn’t think i was gonna-“

“i just got scared,” you mumble, biting at your lip as you look up at him. “i don’t even know why we’re fighting anymore, wooyoung.”

and despite the heaviness of the moment, a humorless chuckle leaves him and he shakes his head, taking you in a hug and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. you breathe out against him, melting into his body and splaying your fingers out under his shirt.

“please don’t ever be scared of me,” he mumbles against your head. “i love you.”

❥ choi jongho

“i’m so fucking tired of this conversation, y/n, we’ve had it a million times bef-” he watches as your face falls and you back away from him, shoulders flying up to you ears as you squeeze your eyes shut.

he’d been yelling at you for the past five minutes, only getting in a few words of your own before he shook his head and growled that he wasn’t finished - but you were. you were so checked out and done with hearing him yell and fight and go at you nonstop until you saw his hand come up.

“what are you...?” he asked and your eyes immediately pop open. his entire dispoistion had changed, further away and looking at you with the soft, round eyes that always look so nice and soft. nothing like the eyes that were shooting daggers at you just ten seconds ago.

and just like then, you can’t find any words. you can only stare blankly at him, shrugging your shoulders and feeling your throat close due to the emotions threatning to take over you.

“are you scared of me?”

tears fill your eyes at the broken, sad way in which he says it, shaking your head before you take a step closer to him. “of course not,” you whimper out, watching as he hesitantly reaches out and interlaces your fingers together. “i was just...you wouldn’t stop yellling and i wanted to talk to you.”

he lets out a sigh, shaking his head at himself and feeling disgusted that that’s how he handled an agrument between you two. that he yelled at you to the point you felt fear and sadness.

he takes you in his arms and pecks a kiss onto your shoulder, your own body melting against him as he promises to never yell at you again. promises that he would never hurt you and loves you more than you know.

#💌#ateez #ateez reactions #request

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sleepless-in-starbucks · 4 years ago

Note

Hi could you talk more about why youd recommend not watching ww84?

Sure!

warnings for under the cut: spoilers for WW84 and a bit of the first wonder woman; i only saw WW84 once a few days ago + it’s been a hot sec since i saw the original so if i get a few details wrong i apologize

tl;dr with no spoilers: WW84 is a poorly executed movie that insults its viewer with its messy and self-proud plot, bad character/relationship portrayals, and offers a personal slap in the face to a majority of its audience in their various discriminations, generalizations, and plot points.

the first point is the racism, made well by the post i reblogged here, (edit: found a second post that goes more in depth here) so i’d just suggest looking at that for that matter

next is just How they portray wonder woman in this one

i really appreciated the way the first movie portrayed diana because they did very well in keeping true to her Amazonian raising and life while still clearly showing she was a woman

when i say this i mean that a lot of media has a tendency to either make women who are very fem and keep to traditional gender roles or women who more or less shun femininity and attempt to largely fulfill only male gender roles

diana in the original is a warrior, strong and fierce, but still a woman, not trying to shun that or anything. she wears styles that suit her while still being woman’s styles (she doesn’t force her way into a suit), she talks of and addresses her womanhood proudly and without issue, etc

i want to note here i have no issue with female characters who act extremely masc and reject femininity- i love them tbh- but it’s important to remember that it’s not inherently against womanhood or anything to be a strong fighter who doesn’t stick to every stereotypical social gender norm

and the first wonder woman movie shows this very well

WW84... oh boy

first of all, wonder woman’s changing outfits every other scene. even between scenes where it makes no sense! i’m not saying she can only wear one set of clothes but Geez this was too much

not to mention an entire scene dedicated to her helping steve pick a fashion look? i understand this was to highlight the ‘80-ness of the movie, and it would’ve been fine if it seemed diana was helping him pick a period appropriate look, but it was clear she was trying to help him pick a ‘fashionable’ look which. wonder woman? from the island without a sense of popular outfits or fashion? what?

and the amount of focus on her wearing high heels.... ugh

i’m not saying you can’t have a badass woman who also likes social gender norm fem things but it felt clear that wasn’t what they were going for

wonder woman in the first movie liked practical fashion and not only were many of her outfits not that, her high heels? one hundred percent not practical

it didn’t fit her character and felt horribly out of place, clearly just the producers / directors / whoever going ‘oh, wonder woman is a woman how can we show this? fashion! high heels!’ and i hated it

(warning: imma be jumping from thought to thought as they bump into each so uh... enjoy the train-of-thought style of flaw informing)

and starting at the beginning like.... wow that scene had no purpose

wonder woman cheats in a competition and is punished for this by losing it in the end. except. this is stupid for two reasons

as the audience is shown she didn’t cheat on purpose. she made a mistake, lost her horse, and made a strategy to get back into the race despite this. honestly? i thought the story was going to be a lesson in ingenuity in the worst looking situations. but it wasn’t, which is bad storytelling, because the lesson is then based on a point that isn’t even that true

it is literally Never important again later. unless you count what was going on with the wishstone as ‘cheating to victory’ which i dont. that’s not even what the villain did. he wanted to take over the world. there’s no victory there you get without cheating. wtf. why did that message even happen

going into the actual story we meet the cheetah pretty quick, when she’s still whatever-her-civilian-name-is

and the cheetah... she’s such a bad villain

she doesn’t have the same backstory as she does in the comics

in this one, she uses the wishstone- which is a whole ‘nother thing in and of itself- to wish to be like diana, because ig being smart as hell but social awkward as hell too is so bad you need to desperately wish to be someone else? i hate that trope, but onwards-

she gets that, but in exchange for not only diana’s likable personality she also gets her wonder woman powers (and she loses her glasses, because pretty and cool means no glasses, right? /s), she loses her kindness bc of the rules of the wishstone- in exchange for your wish, it takes smth u care about a lot from you; for her, it was her kindness

this makes her villain! just because she lost her kindness. yep. honestly not a good look regarding all those people out there who are low/no empathy and can still be wonderful nice people but i digress

at one point she complains about why she needs to keep her power rather than go back to being just Her and i fucking wanted to scream

she has like. half a dozen degrees, clearly a couple of friends even if she’s awkward, and she’s got a life that was perfectly okay before she made the wish. as someone who is also socially awkward as hell, it infuriated me to here her acting like it was the fucking end of the world she couldn’t be more extroverted or whatever. there are ways to work on that!!! the movie trying to convince the audience she had a legit reason to not un-wish her wish (for the good of the entire world) was stupid and insulting

also her transformation between ‘looks human, wearing cheetah-pattern clothing‘ to ‘humanoid with cheetah fur/skin/appearance’ literally just. happened. for no reason. that was stupid

y’know what else is stupid? the wishstone. it was clearly just a plot device, and a poorly executed one at that. it isn’t even consistent in how it works

and they did a whole side thing with like. how it had the language of the gods written on part of it and it appeared in random locations across history around the time of great tragedies and,,, that was it???

they never explored the divine connection??? who planted it or why??? how it location traveled or anything????

like i said. poor plot device

i move on now to steve

oh boy steve

he’s brought back to life by diana’s wish on the wishstone, but... it causes him to come back in someone else’s body, quantum leap style. this is. weird. and is never ever addressed by him or wonder woman except once in a throw away comment. like. diana and steve kiss and are implied to have sex while steve is in someone else’s body and neither of them seem to care. this is not good!!

and then his relationship with diana? HORRIBLE

in the first movie they were barely starting to fall in love, only barely a couple even if that. more importantly they were friends, and that night he died diana didn’t lose a potential lover so much as she lost her first non-Amazonian friend

but WW84 portrays their relationship as if they were not only already a couple, but one close enough that even after forty years since steve’s death diana is still completely and hopelessly in love with him to the point that she’s literally hanging off his arm as soon as he’s back and making love that very night

it plays again once more into the misrepresentation of wonder woman’s character (how stereotypically hollywood female to fall over herself at the sight of her love interest) and it wrecks their relationship, which had been a lovely friends-who-could-be-more

what they should’ve done was focus on that friendship, build it back up after the long gap for wonder woman, and then started to rebuild that possible romance (and tear it down at the perfect moment... right when steve had to go again... ah that would’ve been lovely)

but they wanted to go in full-haul on the romance and it just felt. wrong and weak to me. diana’s refusal to consider giving up her wish (to get her powers back and save the world) is bc she doesn’t want to let steve go again, which makes more sense in the context of a first and true friend rather than a hastily slapped together love interest

steve’s character was generally good tbh but the way he played into the story? bad

moving on... the main villain of the movie? sucks. he’s just. fucking awful

despite a motivation being given that he wants to have money, he launches into wanting to take over the world for no real reason. he takes advantage of people for this and almost destroys the world he wants to rule for it. the main reason he stops this is for his son, who up until now he largely ignored and didn’t seem to care that much for outside of basic obligations. and the movie dares try to make him sympathetic by throwing in the fact he grew up poor and was bullied and not liked which i HATE

lots of people are/have been poor. lots of people are/have been bullied (myself included). that does NOT justify them DESTROYING THE WORLD TRYING TO TAKE IT OVER. can it be used to show the audience why he does what he does? yes. but to use it and clearly try to make it a reason to hand-wave-away what he did? NO. FUCK NO

also fucking. y’know how wonder woman took down this villain? she talked to him and the world. she gave a stirring speech while she laid slumped against a wall, not injured, just too weak to beat a bit of wind. she talked and she looped her lasso around his leg so she could talk to the world to to convince them to give up their wishes

once again... the mischaracterization

in the first movie, wonder woman gives a stirring speech while fighting Areas. it’s done in her battle, beating the god of war up while reminding him of what she stood for, who she was, why she would keep fighting for a broken world

it was BEAUTIFUL. it was MEANINGFUL. it was BADASS but SINCERE

this was weak. and it clearly wanted to be more than it was

the whole movie wants to be more than it is- it wants to have an important meaningful message like the first movie, about wishes for the self and war and the world and whatever. and it wants it so badly it does it horribly

the message is ham-handed yet messy and unclear and not right. it doesn’t make sense, and it feels poorly plotted. the movie thinks it’s more than it is and that makes it very hard to watch

and to finish my rant off... WW84 lied to its audience

did you see any ads for WW84? i did. they were bright, vibrant, funky music, stunning moments, action and intrigue. i was thrilled for a movie like it

the actual movie isn’t that

it’s not nearly as action filled, it’s not as ‘80s-focused as it leads you to believe, some of the most prominently featured moments barely matter

the lightning swing? pointless, as at that point in the movie wonder woman’s learned how to fly and does it for no reason but the trailers

and that cool suit? introduced in a random myth for no reason halfway through the movie, brought in at random with no explanation, only there for show and the trailers

WW84 is not the movie is lead people to believe it was, and the movie it is is poorly executed and insulting to a variety of peopler/minorities

if you’re gonna watch it, pirate it. i can give you a link. just don’t give dc your money or your legit views for it

#that got long #but what can i say? im passionate about my bad movies #and ww84?#that was a bad movie #if anyone wants clarification on smth let me know #wonder woman 1984 #ww84 #ww84 spoilers #the cryptid speaks #lost in the fray

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nanagoswife · 4 years ago

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Bending The Law - Part 3

Summary: Cases will not stop flowing in, but you were surprised when one came in.

Warnings: Torture, blood, descriptions of violent acts, swearing

A/N: I do not agree with the violent actions that take place that I have written here. I apologize if the way it is described is disturbing in any way.

To your dismay, there was no grace period between cases. The next day you went to the office, there was already files on your desk and a time written on a post-it note. You only had about an hour before the meeting started.

Sighing, you leaned back against your chair and covered your face with your hands. The fabric of your pants slid on the smooth surface of the chair as you slumped into it.

Dropping your hands, you hesitantly brought yourself to the file and opened it. You sighed again when you saw what the case was. To your relief, you can easily just ask for a settlement and there would be no need to go to court.

The man who came into the meeting was wealthy. You were easily able to convince him to settle and end the stupid dispute. Mind you, it also wasn’t the first time you had dealt with him.

Later, after finalizing the details with the other lawyer (who had seemed equally annoyed as you), you took the time to do nothing. Sure, there were people in the building you could talk to but that seemed like the worst thing to do.

So, you decided to leave the office early. All you wanted to do was have some time alone.

Almost as soon as you walked in your door, you saw how many messages your sister was sending you. She was desperately trying to apologize for what happened those couple nights ago.

Embarrassment flowed back through you. Having been talking with the infamous Roman Sionis, then having to deal with Zach and Kristy. The amount of times I’ve told her to be careful, you thought with annoyance creeping back in.

Thankfully, Michael was there to help and added another apology to Roman for you.

Images of Roman’s smile and glint of amusement filled your mind. You had noticed your heart picking up speed and a smile creeped across your lips at the thought. If you found time, you would go back and start over without any personal drama.

~ ~ ~

Screams of agony filled the room. Happiness filled him as he personally twisted the knife in the man’s stomach. Looking back at Zsasz, a wicked grin was plastered on his face as he enjoyed watching Roman’s work.

He twisted the knife more while also paying attention to tearing more into the flesh. The more wails he heard, the more satisfaction grew within him.

Ripping the knife out, he once again delighted in the scream it gained. The once white shirt the man wore was now a deep red. Streams continued down the man’s face and dripped on the floor below him. Multiple slices trailed around his face and body. There was a small trail that led in different directions from the slight swinging the actions caused.

The work he had down to gain the sensations had been a sweet release. It had been quite a while since he delighted in the agony himself. The longing had made him go further than usual, but it just made him prouder of his work.

“So,” Roman started when the man became quiet enough, “was it fucking worth it now?” A wail of agony was earned when he dug a gloved thumb into the knife wound.

He knelt down and tilted the man’s head towards him. The extra fear that showed in those eyes from seeing the mask made it all the more enjoyable.

“You never fucking answered me,” he took the knife and sliced up the man’s face, just barely missing the eye. “Was it worth the effort to try and kill me?”

“Just kill me now,” the man finally said, pain filling his tone.

Even though it wasn’t visible, Roman smiled, “That is precisely what I won’t do. Not fucking yet, anyway.” Standing back up, he turned to Zsasz. “Have fun with him. Make sure he feels everything for at least a few more hours. Then, let him bleed out and clean house. We won’t be able to come back here for a few weeks.”

Nodding, Zsasz moved forward as Roman peeled off his gloves and threw them over his shoulder.

“Wooo! That was fun!” he said with joy before escaping to his car.

~ ~ ~

Apparently, winning a high profile case doesn’t grant you any down time. Many people came asking for you to represent them one after the other.

You were sorting through the cases, trying to search through which ones you’d actually take, a knock on your door gained your attention.

“Michael! You didn’t get into trouble already, did you?”

“No, no. I know our case only ended a couple of weeks ago and I wouldn’t do that to you.” he replied with a playful tone. His smile fell as he closed the door behind him.

Confusion began to take over as he took a deep breath. “Is everything alright?”

“I do actually come to you for a case, though.”

“For who?”

“Roman.”

Your eyes widened. Even though you knew what he did, you never thought you’d ever see him charged. He had always been so clean with everything.

Stumbling over your words, you couldn’t find the right thing to say.

“Someone tried to kill him a few days after the trial was over,” Michael began, knowing what you were trying to ask. “He gets personal with it often, so that wasn’t the issue. The issue was that a source reported it. The plan was to have the man caught.”

Understanding flowed through you. This happened quite often when bigger conflicts arose from the rogues of Gotham.

“Thankfully, no actual evidence was captured. No pictures, gloves, anything.”

“How do they have a case against him, then?”

“The person that came forward. It was his driver that night.”

Shock suddenly overcame you. That was a scenario you had only heard of once, and it was thankfully one that you weren’t involved in any way. Those were the toughest battles to win. Not even money would get you out of it. Not in Gotham, anyway.

“Michael, this is a lot,” you started and paused. You really had to think this through.

“I know. Roman said he would understand if you said no. If anyone could pull it off, it would be you. I know you could.”

Taking a deep breath, you weren’t sure what to do. This would be the hardest case you have ever faced. Yet, if you didn’t help, you don’t know what you would do with yourself. There was something about Roman. He was the first one to catch your eye, let alone your interest in a long time.

“Please,” Michael’s pleading voice cut through your thoughts.

“Before I say yes, I need a one hundred percent guarantee that no bribing of anyone or tampering or threatening will happen. If it does, it will only strengthen the case against him.”

He sighed in relief as his shoulders relaxed.

“Don’t get too relaxed just yet. I might not take the case.” He nodded in response. A smile still managed to spread.

“How does tomorrow sound for a meeting. It will be while the club is closed so there’s no prying eyes.”

Despite the fact that this was all happening, the thought of seeing Roman excited you. In the back of your mind, you knew you were going to take the case. Well, as long as he lives up to your requests. If you took this case, you were going to pull all of your tricks out.

“Okay. What time do you want me there?”

@stardancerluv @jaydenwoo

#Roman Sionis #roman x reader #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis pov #roman sionis x y/n #bop #fanfic #violent #ewan mcgregor #black mask x reader

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imagination-is-key-in-my-world · 4 years ago

Text

Lockdown

Authors Note: I am a British writer and luckily enough I have never actually had to experience something like this happening. I cannot imagine what it must be like. There is reference to the ‘shooting’ during the fanfiction, therefore, I do not blame anyone if they differ from reading this. Nothing is graphic and if anything it only gets mentioned for a small portion and there is no one hurt either. I would really like to do a part two. Let me know if anyone is interested.

Summary: It was just a normal day in Beacon Hills. Y/N and her friends were going about her business when a gun threat disrupted the balance of things. Strangers and potential foes grew closer as their lives hung in the balance.

Warning: Gun Threat, Swearing, Adult Language and Themes

Pairing: Reader x Stiles Stilinski

Word Count: 3,787

“You can not tell me that you didn’t just see that look he gave you?” Jackson brushed up against my side as I tried to jot down the new notes that Coach was terribly transcribing on the chalk board. I mean was that even spelt correctly, how did this man become a legal teacher?

“It is probably just in your head Jackson.” I counter.

“No he is seriously giving you the stink eye. What is McCall’s problem?”

I shrug him off as he is up to his typical shit stirring mode. Jackson and I are neighbours and long-time friends. Since I was nine, we were barely ever apart, we shared our biggest secrets with one another. Mine was that I am the daughter of two illusive demon hunters. I am the only person who knows that he has been pretending to be someone who he is not. Jackson has been in a secret relationship with Ethan. Deep down Jackson was a sweetheart. A sweetheart who cannot control his mouth or fists but Ethan and I are working on that.

“Come on Y/N!” He bumped my arm which made my hand jerk and my notes start to resemble that of Coach’s horrible penmanship. If there is one thing that I hate, its when my notes are not written one hundred percent perfectly. I slam down my pen and turn abruptly in my chair to face Jackson, which sparks some attention from the brunette boy on the table in front. He did not fully turn his head around which was lucky for me as my cheeks immediately go red from embarrassment.

“What is your problem Jackson?” I enquire, nostrils practically flaring which only invoked a chuckle from my best friend.

“Take that chip off of your shoulder and listen to me would you.” He countered as he pushed a note into my hand. “Read this and tell me you wish I left you to copy down that gibberish from the board.”

I huffed and started to carefully unfold the piece of paper. Coach didn’t really care if we showed up to the lesson, let alone if we were actually listening. I read it three times before I actually registered what the words were telling me.

Hey Y/N If you could would you be able to meet me in the west stairwell after 3rd period? You look really pretty today, btw

“Jackson, who is this from?” The boy shrugged and dropped his head to focus on the words coming out of Coach’s mouth. “Don’t pretend like you care about what he is saying” I gesture to the shaggy haired man “now tell me at least who you got this from.”

Jackson pointed to Lydia who was not at all aware of the two pairs of eyes on her as she casually scribbled in her journal. “But I have no clue who had the note before her. It was probably that McCall.” He sneered. I exhale disappointedly, as much as Scott was a nice guy and all, I don’t want this to be from him. I do not have anything against the guy, he is just not someone who I would want to be interested in me. He seems to always be around trouble, and that is something I cannot be involved in.

“Why don’t you just go and see who it is. I will go with you and if it turns out to be McCall, I will rescue you.” He gave my hand a slight squeeze for reassurance and gazed down at my notebook. “By the way what did you get for number four?”

I laugh a little too loud which causes the brunette to turn around and give me a quick glance that I couldn’t translate in time before he was facing the front again. Again, my cheeks flared, the same way that they do every time his eyes meet mine. I shake the thought away and turn back to my friend. “Jackson, did you think this was a test the whole time? Number four is literally asking you to write down your height.”

_____________________________________________________________

I was packing my stuff into my bag as the bell rang. “So, are you going to meet this mystery person?” Lydia enquired as I put my water bottle into the slot at the side of my bag, looping the strap over my one arm.

Lydia and I do not really talk, but considering she was my only lead on who this note could have been from, I bit the bullet and spoke to my lab partner. As we were filling the beakers with corrosive liquid, I came straight out with it. “So, about this note you handed to Jackson for me? Do you know who it was from?”

Lydia shook her head, a little startled that I asked her a question that wasn’t ‘can you pass me the pipette?’ “No, to be honest I can not even say who had passed me the note. When I looked down from the board it was just there lying on top of my journal. I am sorry Y/N, I wish I were able to help more but I honestly wouldn’t be able to say who gave it to me.”

I was a little discouraged by only knowing what I did during first period and it was now third. I was meant to meet this person in only a matter of minutes. Lydia and I continued to talk throughout the class. She was really nice to talk to, but I could sense that there was something about her that wasn’t normal. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something.

“I have no clue if I am going to go or not.” I admit, letting the anxiety slip in. It would be hard enough for me to go through with it even if I knew who it was I was going to meet up with. This person said I was ‘pretty,’ for all I knew this could be a joke. That’s all I needed, I was already the girl with all the ancient supernatural protection runes all over my person and possessions. My mum and dad are hunters, and I have been brought up in a world where I cannot go anywhere without some protection. The salt and holy water in my bag is proof of that.

“Well, I hope whoever it is, knows how amazing you are. If he doesn’t, he will have me to deal with.” She bumped my hip with hers and waved as she left the lab.

I picked up the last item on the table and turned to leave the classroom when I was knocked onto the floor, landing hard on my butt. At first, it felt as though I had walked straight into an invisible force field. Little had I registered that it was a person.

“Oh shit!” It was the brunette from this morning. ‘Dammit’ I thought. I could already feel my cheeks start to turn red. Why did this always have to happen. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to; I wasn’t looking where I was going.” The brunette boy bent down to help me up from the floor.

I brush off my jeans once I am back on my feet, avoiding making eye contact with the boy in front of me. He too looked really nervous as if this incident was his worst nightmare. “I- it’s o- okay.” I stutter. Really voice, of all the times you want to fail me, it’s now. “I w- was just going.” I try to walk past him when a blaring siren started ringing throughout the school.

Panic flashed across my face and his too. Everyone’s worst nightmare, a gun drill. The siren was one hundred percent recognisable. “Get down!” The brunette boy threw himself at me as I yet again landed flat on my backside but with him on top of me this time. We were both frozen for a couple of seconds, my eyes locked on his and it might sound girly, but I could literally lose myself in them.

Finally, he lifted himself up off me and slid underneath one of the tables. I copied and mirrored him under the table in front of his. “I’m sorry, I thought I saw someone walk past the window inconspicuously behind you. I just panicked.” His eyes searched my body, the way that I was now hugging my legs, resting my chin on top of my knees. “Oh God, did I hurt you?” Fear flooded his face at the thought that he may have caused me any pain.

I shake my head. “No.” I whisper. “I’m okay, thank you.” My hand instantly goes to play with the locket that hung around my neck.

“What’s that?” His eyes caught my fingers tracing the metal details.

I freeze. “What’s what?”

The brunette flicked his head towards the chain that was between my fingers.

“Oh, it’s a necklace my dad gave me, to protect me.”

The boy smiled. “That’s cool. My dad gave me a baseball bat to protect me.” I felt the corners of my lips rise into a slight smile.

“I bet you wish you had it now?” I enquire.

The boy sniggered. “If only a bat was an equal match.” I knew what he was on about. A bat could not compare to a gun. “Wanna know something funny?”

“Something funny would be great right about now.” I could feel my foot start to twitch the way that it did when my mum and dad were out on a hunt. Total and utter uselessness. I was a sitting duck.

“My dad once told me that I am always at the centre of some drama.” He let out a sigh. “That wasn’t really that funny was it?”

I shake my head but smile. “Your dad seems like a smart man.”

He smiled and raised a hand to ruffle his hair. God why did he look so good when he did that. “He has to be, I mean he is the sheriff.”

“You’re the sheriff’s son?” I question my eyes went wide in shock. I had heard a lot about this boy. He was best friends with Scott McCall and his dad is right, he always seemed to be in trouble.

He smiled beautifully if that were possible during a terrifying circumstance. “Yeah, you didn’t think it was a coincidence that I am called Stiles Stilinski and there would be no relation to Sheriff Stilinski?” His smile and baffled tone made me smile back at him. “It’s not as common as most surnames. I mean what’s yours?”

“Winchester.” I reply.

“Now that is not a common surname.” He leaned out from under the desk with his arm stretched out. I took his in return. “Nice to meet you Y/N Winchester.”

“You too Stiles Stilinski.” My eyes locked onto his and our hands clung to each other. It felt like we had been holding hands for hours, completely frozen in each other’s gazes.

Suddenly there was a loud pop that rang throughout the building. This tore our hands apart finally. I retreated under the table and moved my legs back up to my chest, creating a shield. Stiles did the same but did not take his eyes off me. I started gripping onto my locket as my breathing became more rapid. I was normally better at threats, my parents dealt with the supernatural world. They battled ghosts, demons, vampires and even werewolves and yet a civilian with a gun going around the school, finger on the trigger, changed me into a nervous wreck.

There was this scuffling noise and suddenly there were arms around me holding me tight. “Shh, its okay Y/N.” Stiles was holding onto me, trying his best to soothe my breathing down. “Breathe with me okay. Copy me. Y/N, you need to look at me.” His hands were either side of my face as he whispered to keep our location a secret. “You can do this. Ready?”

My eyes locked onto his, tear stains running down my cheeks. I watched him attentively as he took each breath. I copied never losing eye contact with those light brown eyes. “That’s it. One more time okay?” His thumb caressed my cheek as I nodded. My breathing finally falling back into place. I take my last breath and let it fall. “That’s it.”

I thought now that my breathing was back to normal that Stiles would release me, but he didn’t. He held his grasp onto my body and did not look away. “Are you okay?” He whispered, his voice getting caught in this throat. Part of me wanted to say yes, to pretend that I was this tough girl. But the boy had just seen me during a panic attack. Me saying that I was not okay wasn’t going to come to be that much of a surprise. I shake my head.

“It’s okay not to be okay sometimes.” I went to wipe a tear that was falling from my cheek but Stiles was there before I got a chance. “Do you want to know a secret?”

I nod, dropping my legs from my chest. “I’m afraid of a lot of things. My friends and I, we face a lot of scary things and for most of it, I feel like I will die. But the thing is, we could die. But that could happen any day and at any time. I believe that we live through the scariest moments in our lives so that we can tell people about them.”

“What was the scariest moment in your life?” I ask, my voice all croaky from holding back the tears.

“Well apart from this one?” He pauses as he gathers his thoughts. “The scariest moment in my life was the day that something possessed my best friend and it led him to almost commit suicide.” I gasp, shocked by what he had just confessed.

“What happened?” I have dealt with possessions before, that wasn’t the part that shocked me.

“Well we went on a school trip and there was something supernatural that had possessed my friends, they were driven to madness. Scott picked up a flare, he was covered in gasoline, it was all around him.” He broke off as his voice cracked. “I walked over to him and held his hand and the flare. I told him that if he needed to do it, then we were both going to go. I was and always will be by his side.”

I took his hand this time and I felt him jump. “I had no idea. I am so sorry that that happened.” Stiles was staring at our entwined hands.

“But the other scariest moment in my life was when I wrote you that note.” I felt a sharp thump to the chest. I was so stupid, how did I not know it was the cute boy who sat in front of me in practically every class that we had together. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” I respond. Stiles had not lifted his head since our hands connected.

“Were you going to come and meet me? I mean obviously before all of this happened.”

I stop and think. Was I? I hadn’t given that moment another thought since the siren went off. It felt like days ago I had been handed the note. “I don’t know.”

“Oh.” Stiles’ tone was defeated and sombre. His grip on my hand also weakened the minute my response registered. “I know it was a stupid thing to do. I just thought that if I was going to take a jump and finally try to ‘make my move’ as they say.”

“Stiles, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture-“

“It’s just you don’t like me. I get it. I actually get it a lot.” His head dropped and he tried to pull away. I feared that he was going to leave me alone under the table and return to his own.

“No stiles it wasn’t that-“

“Is it cause I’m weird looking? Dad and Scott say I look a little odd.” The boy was rambling.

“No you’re not weird looking-“

“Then it is because of the way I talk isn’t it?”

“No it-“

“It’s my clothes then isn’t it? I dress in a lot of tartan. You know some people say-“ I grab the boy, placing a hand behind his head I pull his lips towards my own. Stiles’ eyes widened the second my lips connected to his. But soon enough his hands drifted from his side and tied themselves in my hair pulling me deeper into the kiss. It was as if Stiles had come alive once we kissed. Our lips moved in time with each other almost as if they were made to do this and only this. The shy boy became more confident and definitely more dominant as his tongue lightly brushed my bottom lip. I let his tongue meet my own, and his moan vibrated against my mouth.

Our bodies moved in sync with each other. My one hand entwined in his hair while the other draped down his back. His were on my hip and the back of my neck as we both pushed ourselves closer together if that were possible.

When I broke the kiss, his pupils were wide in surprise and desire. “Why did you stop?” Stiles questioned, brushing a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“I would have met up with you Stiles.” I whisper into his ear. When I pull my head away from his neck his eyes were wider than they were when the kiss broke apart. “But maybe next time, you should author your notes, perhaps?”

A cheeky grin spread out across his face as my words registered. “Wait, does that mean I forgot to say it was from me, that you’d be meeting me.” I nod as the boy put the puzzle pieces together. “I am an idiot.” The boy slapped his own forehead at his carelessness. “Can I ask you another question?” I smile and nod. “Can we do that kiss again? I really liked it.”

The smirk on his face was enough for me to give into his charms. Before I could lean in, Stiles had grabbed me by my hips and pulled me onto his lap. I hooked my arms around his neck and allowed his lips to connect with mine, his hands firmly on the space between my hips and my ass. It was a bit of a squeeze under the table, the top of my head was rested on base of the table. I was aware that I may have gum in my hair because of this, but I didn’t care. Hearing his moans as my hands trailed from the back of his neck and down his spine was enough for me to crumble within his arms.

Stiles’ lips drifted away from my own but instantly connected into the crook of my neck. This time it was my turn to let out a moan. “Stiles.” I sighed when he hit the right spot and began to suck on it with his hot breath spreading across my skin.

Both of us jumped apart when we heard a cough from the front of the lab. There stood Scott McCall. I was just thankful that it wasn’t Coach or any other member of the School Faculty. I looked back at Stiles who for once didn’t seem happy to see his best friend. “Not exactly what we were taught to do during a school shooting, Stiles.” He nodded towards me “Y/N, Jackson is worried about you, he said you were not answering your phone.”

Stiles detangled me from his lap and helped me to my feet in front of the table rather than being under it as we had previously been.

I pulled out my phone and funny enough there was sixteen missed calls from Jackson and twenty-two messages from him as well as a couple from my own father. Not cool Jackson do not get my dad involved in this.

“What are you even doing out in the open, Scott?” Stiles grilled. “There is a school shooting going on you know.”

“Dude that ended about twenty minutes ago, your dad came arrested the guy. The teachers announced that we could all go home. I was on my way home when Jackson came up to me and asked me if I had seen Y/N. When I told him no, he went into panic mode and started running up and down the corridors.”

I felt my phone vibrate in my hands, Jackson again. “Hello?”

“Oh my God. Thank God you’re okay. Are you still in the school? Where are you? I will come and get you and take you home.”

I look up at Stiles who held onto my hand and gave me the sweetest smile. “Jackson I am okay. I think I am going to get a ride with someone else. Thank you for always looking after me. I love you.”

“It’s my job. Who are you with so I know you are safe, put them on the phone?”

I hand the phone over to Stiles who takes it apprehensively. “He wants to make sure I haven’t concocted some excuse to avoid listening to Taylor Swift in his car, again.”

“Hello?”

“Oh my God, Stilinski? What are you doing with Y/N?”

Stiles pulls the phone away from his ear and places a hand over the microphone. “I don’t think he is too happy that you’re with me.” I laugh and he put the phone back up against his ear. “Jackson I will look after her, I promise. Enjoy Taylor Swift though. I really like the one she sings with Ed Sheeran.” He pulls the phone back and hits the end call button on the screen.

Scott looks questioningly between the two of us. “So, what is going on between you two. Is this going to be a normal thing now? Am I going to have to write up a schedule for who gets Stiles during the week?”

Stiles slaps his friend’s back. “You still got me. But now she has me too, only she gets more kisses than you. I mean we could add more kissing sessions when we are together if you would really like?”

“I think I will pass.” Scott announced.

“Good because there would be no competition.” Stiles twirled me so that I was now pressed against his chest and laid another kiss on my lips. When he pulled away, his head was bent down to mine, eyes locked on my own. “You ready to go home?”

Part 2?

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crimsonfluidessence · 3 years ago

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Prompt 14: Commend

Esredes liked to consider himself someone who could break the world down into things that made sense, or at least identify where they did not.

Everything had to fit neatly into preexisting pieces. This is how one thing operated, this was how another functioned and went. People often defied this in various ways- in romance, especially, for one, throwing themselves at the worst possible matches and declaring it love, or in various other areas that should require logical thinking, and instead he watched everyone flounder.

Esredes himself tried to make sense too, and he liked to think he made perfect sense until a giant wrench was thrown into his entire life, multiple times. An ordinary noble man serving his duty as a Temple Knight, there was nothing to misunderstand. He would fight and die for his city, and that was all there was to it. He wouldn’t leave behind things undone in a trail of misery, it would all wrap up in a neat little bow and be laid into the ground, for he wasn’t composed like a civilian with more to offer.

A soldier that wasn’t a real person, through and gone. Simple.

And then he was a harrier, and then he was a citizen again, and if things hadn’t stopped making sense before, they absolutely did by the time he regained legal person status. Now everyone wanted different things out of him.

During the war, he had at least been exactly as he was before- a soldier, designed to die on the battlefield. Even if his halves got muddled and mixed into a pool of confusion at times, he had that.

But being forced to accept a civilian role left him lost. People told him so many different things, more than usual. “You should be allowed to live your life. You’re a real person, Esredes. You deserve happiness.” Put together, that was the summary of what everyone said- he should try to be a real person now. Ever a skeptic, this did not make sense to Esredes. People weren’t simply born with the capacity to become true people- they either were or were not. He had felt that emptiness inside him for all of his life, and everyone else had noticed he wasn’t real too. You could tell in the way people looked at and responded to you, that they noticed something was missing, no matter how much you tried to shapeshift around it. The insults were just one of many parts of it- stick in the mud or up somewhere specific, no fun, boring, filthy traitor, bastard, disgusting, brat, idiot, snake, manipulative, untrustworthy, and the ever present times heretic was used as an insult, that was just every day, something to absorb to prevent a real person from taking it.

Hm, Esredes thought to himself. No, he didn’t believe what all these people said, but perhaps if only to see if there was a chance in hell of their idea being logical, he considered their arguments, and tried testing them through shapeshifting. “You’re not a monster,” people often told him when he tried to say the obvious. “You’re just someone who fought for what was right and made the hard choices.” Those he loved most would tell him in soft tones how much he meant to them and how he was capable of so much more than he thought. “Please, Esredes. Live for yourself.” How would that ever be possible? He went out every day and people were immediately hostile, even if they didn’t know anything about who he was. They did not see a real person when they looked upon him, and he couldn’t magically make himself one, not like this. Strange things did happen, that was true. Like Heilyn. Heilyn was a useless bastard who hated him for being a heretic who actually did something. There was no convincing Heilyn otherwise- how could he after he had manipulated his son into helping him?

Except Esredes kept forgetting Heilyn was one of those people who never made sense. "I just don't understand why we can't just both give each other more of a chance.” Heilyn had told him during those first couple weeks of them being stuck together in the same job, with Esredes trying to torment him into quitting. “That goes for both sides. I was an ass in the past sure, but... doesn't wanting to make up for that count for something?" "You want to make up for it?" Esredes asked back with an eyebrow raise. "What motivation would you have for that besides that you're forced to now that you can't get rid of me?" "Trying to be a better person? Right my wrongs? I actually care? All of the above?" Esredes’ brow raised up even further. “You actually care about what.” “You, this, all of it?” Heilyn spoke as if this was supposed to be obvious. “Is there something wrong with that?” “…Yes? That doesn’t make any sense.” God, why did this broken stupid tall man constantly fail to have any form of sense? It frustrated him to no end. “Explain which part doesn’t make sense and I’ll gladly explain it to you.” "You claiming you care about me. I don't get it. Are you really suggesting that you give any ounce of a shit about the man you've put a dagger to, insulted relentlessly, know berated your son, and sold your soul to as your last ditch way out? Because that... is just straight up lying to yourself to make this situation more tolerable. Even I know you better than that." "And if I'm not lying? What then Esredes? I... learned a thing or two from Alastor. Changed my mind a little. Thus, I want to make up for past things said. Its that simple." Esredes just stared at Heilyn for a moment. "...Nope. That still makes the least amount of sense possible." Heilyn shook his head. “Did I... not phrase that right? I thought I was finally getting better at my shitty phrasing." "I... I don't even know. Phrasing or not, that just doesn't make sense." "I'm... pretty sure I spoke plainly? I've been told I don't make sense often because I don't do that. Or... wait. Do you just not believe it at all?" "No I don't believe it all. What reason would I have to? You already know how horrible I am." "I learned? I listened? Perceptions can change feelings you know." "What the hell are you talking about. We didn't speak between you asking me for help and now. And in that time, you've seen and heard nothing except me insulting you. You still believe me to be the devil you sold your soul to willingly." Because Heilyn could be nothing but a fucking idiot. "Alastor didn't," Heilyn replied plainly as he looked across the table at Esredes’ eyes with conviction. "He didn't and told me all that he could about you. Insisting I shouldn't hate. So I listened, and I learned, and my perception changed."

Still, he didn’t want to get it. A few days later and Esredes was bringing up the same thing. "So. You claim to have changed your mind... after Alastor told you. Which must have been after it happened. And yet, you still acknowledged me as only a devil when you sold yourself to me. You were only using me as a way out. So, I still don't really have, any sort of reason to believe you. And so I suppose that is my question. Why, Heilyn? Why does nothing about you ever make any sense? Why is it that you think in such an incomprehensibly impulsive way that I have no hope of understanding? How are you supposed to work, really? Is there any method to the madness, to how you just flounder and scream in your own head? This is a genuine question, I assure you."

Heilyn was silent for a good few moments before he finally sighed and spoke. "So, the answer is probably going to piss you off, but when we met before taking on that bitch, that was the longest period of time I'd spent in this area in ages. I was under a shitton of stress, and on top of that the song was just raging like hell in my ears. I hardly had clarity until the first time Alastor helped kill that monster. Then there was just a bit of sweet relief to ease the mind. Bottom line? I was stressed, and just pissed that nothing was going right all the while just making sure that my stupid son who got accused of murder was okay. The plan wasn't even to come back here until I heard that he had no place to go that was safe aside from my family's manor. Figured he was lost, scared, and needed me, so I took the risks and paid the prices." "Yeah. Yeah, you did. But that still doesn't answer part of the question. Do you understand why it's extremely hard to believe your claims from the other day?" "Oh yeah, I totally understand. My mind... was- is like a storm some days. And I'm like a little boat just trying to make it through. Find the eye of the storm, or have someone guide the boat to it. Alastor told me things, and that started getting me to that place. seeing you again though, while my mind was clear, I think that's when it clicked in a hundred percent on the things he said." And when Esredes asked him to elaborate, he continued on. “Well, one, I can't see Ferrant asking for your help unless he was damned sure you meant no ill will. that meant you were strictly here to help make this city better for heretics and shit post-war, right? Second, they wouldn't even let you in the city if you were as awful as I'd thought you at first. Third..." Heilyn hesitated. "You looked lost. Very lost. A little flicker in your eyes that didn't look at all like before. And I've known that kind of pain all too well myself, so I recognize it quickly. Couldn't hate after seeing that in the slightest." “When the hell did I look lost?” "Its not... a physical look. More like... a feeling you get? When you look at that person? Like... there's something important missing from their very spirit. That sort of thing." "I've always had a lot missing from my spirit. That's nothing new. And certainly not something worth deeming me unhateable." "Then take the rest of it as my answer if you don't want to take that part." "Well at that point, all you're going off of is evidential assumptions. And here's the problem with your logic. If it's based off assumptions, then it breaks apart the moment you're wrong about anything. Therefore you don't actually care, do you? You just want to know something isn't dangerous and going to stab you." Heilyn tilted his head. "Look, you didn't use my Nidhogg notes against me, you were willing to compromise and use the notes system, you realy honestly haven't done anything so far to make me actually think you're too much of a bastard. I'm willing to trust you unless you prove otherwise and frankly? I don't believe you will. You’re fine, in my book at this point.” Still, the conversation went on and on and on. “You have no evidence I’ve changed. What reason do you have to forgive anything? How am I not that shitty given everything else? I don’t believe I meet your definition of not dangerous, you know what I am capable of.” Thing after thing Esredes threw out, forcing Heilyn to continuously keep trying to explain himself, and yet somehow by the end of the conversation, they had come out being nice to one another.

Still, Heilyn was an exception who defied logic. It didn’t matter that Alastor took his apology and said he believed he was good with little effort, or that Yulionne saw the best in him despite what happened, that Ferrant believed wholeheartedly in him, that Murielle’s adopted son of all people came to him and asked if they could talk about everything they had to discuss civilly, that the very man who betrayed him and sold him out as a heretic came around to apologize, or that some people immediately saw him as a heroic or positive figure, included but not limited to an atoning shiny and green celebrity performer, a Garlean defector who Esredes had originally insulted, the one member of the Temple Knight Company that all hated Esredes who for some reason treated him like a real person, and a High Inquisitor of all things who praised him for his independent service before asking it of him.

The fact still remained he was an empty being, and why had the world ceased to make sense so much people kept trying to defy that? Of course his loved ones wanted to insist on a false narrative because they cared about him, but why did all these other people want to tell him so much of why they saw good in him?

Ah, that swirling red fog was annoying to see through. You are, you aren’t. He would continue to watch the most unlikely people come to see what he wanted them to, the others see right what he knew was true, and unknown to himself, he had ceased to make just as much sense as the people around him.

I want to know what it’s like to live. I am delaying the inevitable. When will it finally come? I’m a monster. I’m not a monster, can’t you look around you and see how many worse people are right there? I merely did what was right, and you are assigning more blame to it because it’s not your side. You shouldn’t be around me. You can trust me, I’m here to help you.

I’m still not a real person, was the one thing that remained when the various voices came and passed. As he hyperfocused and leeched on to the next person to come along and give him praise to fill that incessant hunger in that never ending cycle, he certainly must be at peace with it.

The world had stopped making sense. He had stopped making sense. And while Esredes could not fully give up his nature of trying to make sense of things, he ultimately decided to exist in a nebula, for now. Wind blew past him, and dubiety persisted like an old friend, wrapping itself all around the man with a whisper of I told you so.

—-

@thecalmnessandthestorms / @heartofthefury Heilyn, Alastor, Ferrant, Murielle, Trystan (unnamed mention), Raulin (unnamed mention)

@eternal-finis Yulionne

Zenith Alphinoix (unnamed mention)

Fern Cinnieux (unnamed mention)

@emeraldeorzean Kalas (unnamed mention)

Forte Tertia (unnamed mention)

#writing #in action #ffxivwrite2021 #heilyn #alastor #ferrant #trystan #kalas #tertia #murielle #yulionne #alphinoix #cinnieux #raulin #screenshots #fancy coat attire

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agreatperhaps12 · 5 years ago

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There are a lot of misconceptions about Warren Peace. Five times Layla Williams saw through the bullshit, and one time Warren returned the favor.

happy holidays, @katiewont :)

Misconception No. 1: Warren Peace loves a good fight.

Warren Peace does not go looking for fights. Fights find him.

See: Stronghold chucking a lunch tray at him the first week of class. Dumb and Dumber challenging them to Save the Citizen. Stronghold’s date going full supervillain at homecoming and nearly dropping a school-size anvil on an unsuspecting suburb.

That’s just the highlight reel for September.

When another villain interrupts Warren’s History of Heroism midterm with another school invasion, Warren’s first thought is: Could everyone around here chill for five fucking seconds.

No. Literally, not ever. See: three weeks later, when Warren is standing in line for lunch with the entourage of freshmen he’s long since given up trying to shake off. It has not even been five minutes since Warren and Stronghold defeated their latest challenger at Save the Citizen, and Zach is already doing a clumsy live-action replay.

To Stronghold, “Did you see his face when you were like?” Zach swings his arm with the spectacular confidence of someone not standing in a very crowded cafeteria. To Warren, “And then you were like—” Zach mimes shooting fireballs from his fists, complete with sound effects. “Totally brutal. You looked scary, bro.”

“He always looks scary,” Ethan says, smiling at Warren like that’s a compliment.

Warren glares down at his tray. He and Stronghold have been defending champions of Save the Citizen for over two months, Hero Team every time. He doesn’t get how people are still managing to make him feel like the bad guy about it.

“How was play-pretend battle?”

Layla has emerged from the crowd to stand beside Warren, with a smirk that makes a stupid something flutter behind his sternum. Layla stopped coming to their Save the Citizen matches after their dozenth victory, because “violence should be the last resort in any hostage situation” and “Save the Citizen completely undermines a valuable opportunity for Sky High students to learn strategic negotiation skills.” Warren doesn’t know what she does with the free period.

Take me with you, he thinks.

“The match was epic,” Zach says. “Will got to throw a car.”

A bashful smile overtakes Stronghold’s dumb, Labrador face.

“And Warren almost barbequed Evans,” Ethan says.

Jesus, could they shut up about it already.

“Really,” Layla says, eyes on Warren while he pays for his food.

“Yeah,” Warren says, in a deadpan to rival Magenta. “It was epic.”

Layla frowns, but instead of launching into the pacifist manifesto that Warren is expecting, she holds up her bagged lunch says, “Want to eat outside?”

Before Warren can answer, Stronghold says, “Outside?” like he’s never heard of such a place. “It’s freezing out there.”

“It’s almost forty degrees,” Layla says, “and I had to come in early to finish a project, so it’s been over—” She checks the clock. “—five hours since I’ve felt roots under my feet. I’m eating outside.”

“Okay, but like.” Stronghold glances at Warren. “Do… you want me to come?”

“No, you’ll just be a baby about it,” Layla says gently. “Warren doesn’t get cold, do you?”

She looks to Warren for confirmation of a fact that Warren is one hundred percent sure he’s never told her. He shrugs to hide his wrong-footedness.

“Great.” Layla claps a hand on Stronghold’s shoulder and uses it to steer him toward the others, who are already sitting at what used to be Warren’s personal lunch table, once upon a time. She shrugs on her jacket, flips her hair out, and looks to Warren. “Shall we?”

Warren follows her outside warily. Sitting down across from her at the picnic table closest to the edge of school grounds, he says, “So, what is this, exactly?”

Layla pauses in uncurling her lunch bag. “What do you mean?”

Warren shrugs. “We don’t really hang out. Alone.”

They did, a little. Back when Layla was using Warren to make Stronghold jealous. But that pretty much ended with the homecoming debacle—after which Layla and Stronghold spent a few weeks trying to get their romantic relationship off the ground, decided they worked better as friends, and went back to normal.

“What are you talking about?” Layla says. “We hang out at the Paper Lantern all the time.”

It’s true that Layla eats at Warren’s workplace a few nights a week, when her mom is too busy with day-saving to make family dinners at home. But Layla is always doing homework, and Warren is always doing Work work, so, “I don’t think that counts.”

“It does,” Layla says confidently. It’s the kind of confidence that only Layla can pull off, because rather than coming across as arrogant, she gives the air of a mysterious woodland nymph, whose secret knowledge mere mortals wouldn’t understand.

“Okay,” Warren says, because he has precious little personal experience to back up any assertions about how friendship is supposed to work. “But this isn’t the Lantern.”

Layla raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to go back inside?”

“No,” Warren says. He doesn’t want Layla to leave, either. There’s a sureness about her that Warren finds comforting. She’s never been afraid of him—probably because she could kick his ass. Warren likes that about her. But he also likes to know where he stands with people.

By way of explanation, Layla says, “Did you know that when you get stressed out, literal steam comes out of your ears?”

“What?”

“Mm-hmm.” Layla pulls an apple out of her lunch bag. “A little. It’s easier to see when your hair is pulled back.”

Warren brings a self-conscious hand to the rubber band he used to tie his hair up during Mad Science Lab.

“It happens a lot when Zach is doing his Save the Citizen play-by-plays,” Layla observes. “Thought I might spare you an entire lunch of that.”

“Oh.” Warren’s hand drops into his lap, blind-sided by the unexpected kindness. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” Layla maintains eye contact while taking a bit of apple. Warren shifts in his seat and drops his eyes to his pizza. “You could tell Coach Boomer to assign Will a different partner,” she says after a moment. “Save the Citizen isn’t mandatory.”

Yeah, except it kind of is. No one’s ever voluntarily stepped back from a winning streak like Warren and Stronghold’s. Benching himself would never be worth all the extra side-eye in the halls. Not to mention the explanation he’d have to give Boomer. What kind of superhero-in-training refuses to fight?

Except for the one Warren is currently sitting across from, of course. Who’s looking at Warren with such doe-eyed earnestness that it almost squeezes a “Yeah, maybe” out of him. But Layla is a difficult person to lie to, so he says, “I thought we weren’t going to talk about Save the Citizen.”

Layla sits up a little straighter. “Right,” she says. “Consider it forgotten.”

“Thanks.”

Not that Warren doesn’t trust Layla, but she is the kind of person to press points she thinks are important. Before her mind can cycle back to Save the Citizen from some other angle, Warren says, “Sorry I dragged you outside in the middle of November.”

Layla tilts her head to the side. “You didn’t drag me. I dragged you.”

“Yeah, but for me,” Warren says, and there’s that stupid fluttering feeling again.

“And for me,” Layla says. “I wasn’t lying about needing to get out for a bit. Being inside all day, with the linoleum and cinderblock.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s creepy quiet, when you’re used to feeling everything alive around you.”

He’s never actually thought about it, before. How Layla has her finger on the pulse of something so vast and intricate, even when she’s not bending it to her will.

“Even in November?” Warren says. “Isn’t everything, like… dead?”

Layla laughs. “No. Just taking a long nap.”

“Huh.” Warren looks around the grey-brown landscape of the schoolyard, with its bare branches and faded grass, with new eyes. It’s a nice idea, that all these lifeless-looking things are just waiting to wake up.

Misconception No. 2: Warren Peace doesn’t give a damn about his bad reputation.

Anyone who dyes a single streak of hair, wears fingerless gloves, and walks around like he’s got nothing to prove has something big to prove.

For Warren Peace, that is: I do not give a fuck about my family legacy.

Before starting high school, Warren figured a couple kids might recognize him, by name or by strong family resemblance. But Warren’s dad had already been locked up for a long time. It wasn’t like he made the news anymore. Worse came to worst, Warren thought he might have to field a few awkward questions about it.

Homeschooling did not prepare Warren for how big a household name Barron Battle was.

The first week of school was all open seats around Warren in class and at lunch, cold and curious looks over shoulders on the bus, “Check it out, that’s Barron Battle’s devil spawn” and “I can’t believe they even let supervillain kids in.”

It was treat or be treated like dirt, and Warren chose the former.

Fast-forward to junior year, and Sky High students know Warren Peace for the asshole he is, rather than the asshole his father was. Warren is comfortably back to pretending like his dad doesn’t exist. It mostly works.

Except during a History of Heroism unit on the most notorious villains of the twentieth century, when Warren’s class is staring at a PowerPoint slide that depicts the leveled Brooklyn neighborhood where Barron Battle and the Commander had their final showdown.

Warren ignores his classmates’ not-so-covert glances as Mr. Magnificent rattles of statistics like ‘seven dead and dozens injured’ and ‘nearly one billion dollars in damages.’ Magnificent has to pause his lecture to silence the white noise of whispers that has swelled up, and Warren wants to sink through the floor.

It’s like the first week of freshman year all over again. Warren is projecting I don’t care vibes so hard, there’s a good chance he’ll spontaneously combust.

What feels like an eon later, the classroom lights come up. Warren shoves everything into his backpack and heads for the door before anyone can try to talk to him. As usual, Layla is out of Hero Support early and waiting in the hall to meet Warren for lunch. Her patent sun-bright smile slips as Warren escapes the classroom.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” she says.

“What?” Warren stops up short. “Nowhere. There’s no fire.”

“I was kidding,” Layla says, and winces at herself. “Poor choice of words. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Warren rakes his fingers through his hair. “I can’t come to lunch today. I have to—work on something.”

Normally, when Warren is feeling like shit, there’s nothing he’d rather do than sit with Layla in their little oasis of calm at the schoolyard picnic table. But right now, Warren needs at least thirty minutes to pace around the empty auto shop classroom, literally and figuratively cooling off, before he subjects himself to more human company.

“Okay,” Layla says, hugging her notebook to her chest and looking at him critically. “Are you—”

“Yeah. It’s—whatever. I’ll see you later.” Warren shoulders his way through the crowded hall toward the shop room, head down.

Smooth, he thinks at himself. Very smooth.

Shut up.

Warren assumes the first chance he’ll have to apologize to Layla is the next day at lunch. But when Warren shows up for his shift at the Paper Lantern at five, Layla is already sitting at her usual table. Weird, because Layla usually doesn’t come to the Lantern on Thursdays. Weirder, because when she does come, she typically arrives sometime after eight, when the dinner rush has mostly cleared out.

“What can I get you?” Warren says, drawing his pencil out from behind his ear as he approaches Layla’s table. They do try to maintain some appearances of an employee-customer relationship, to appease Mrs. Zhou.

“Hmm.” Layla examines the menu. “I’d like one kung pao tofu, one green tea, and—” She looks up at him. “—for you to explain why you fled your History of Heroism class today.”

“I didn’t flee,” Warren says. “I stormed out.”

“All right,” Layla agrees easily. “Why did you storm out of History of Heroism?”

Warren crosses his arms. “None of your business.”

“Okay.” Layla holds out her menu.

Warren blinks. “What?”

“You’re right, it’s not my business,” she says. “I just thought you might want to talk about whatever it was.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.”

Warren squints. “Okay…”

“Okay,” Layla says again, and flaps the menu in her hand.

Warren takes it slowly, waiting for the catch. But Layla just pulls a binder and notebook out of her backpack. “Honey with the tea, please,” she says, and clicks open a pen.

“I know,” Warren says, and leaves Layla to her homework. He spends most of the next half-hour trying to untangle why he feels disappointed rather than relieved.

The thing is, Warren sometimes gets a “What was that about?” or “Dude, what the hell happened back there?” from classmates after he goes nuclear. Like after his cafeteria fight with Stronghold in September. Those questions always feel voyeuristic. Prickly and probing.

With Layla, though, the question feels less invasive and more inviting. For the first time, Warren wants to explain himself. He wants Layla to understand. He doesn’t want her to see him as some moody, unapproachable asshole. But he also doesn’t know how to approach her, or the subject, now that he’s already shut it down.

He’s been talking himself in and out of going back over to Layla’s table for ten minutes when Mrs. Zhou sidles up to the pass-through window where Warren is brooding.

“If you’re going to stand around making eyes at your girlfriend, take your fifteen and go over before the dinner crowd arrives,” she says.

Warren’s face heats, and he looks around to see whether anyone is in earshot, even though he’s pretty sure none of Mrs. Zhou’s whitebread suburban customers understand Mandarin. “She’s not my—never mind.”

Deciding he’d rather be having any other conversation besides this one with Mrs. Zhou, Warren forces himself to walk over to Layla’s table and sit down.

“We learned about the Barron in class today,” he says, abandoning any attempt at preamble, “for a lesson on notable supervillain takedowns.”

If Layla is surprised by Warren’s sudden attempt at conversation, she doesn’t show it. She hooks her pen through the spiral of her notebook, closes it, and waits for him to continue.

“Magnificent was showing pictures from the last time Dad and the Commander fought in New York,” Warren says, “and people were looking at me like I was involved somehow, even though all that shit went down when I was still in diapers, and those people have been in my classes for three years, like—I know, we all know Barron Battle is my dad, why can’t everyone fucking get over it already—”

Layla lays a hand on his forearm, cutting Warren off and drawing his attention to the fact that his clenched fist is smouldering like a hot coal. “Shit. Sorry.” Warren shakes out his hand, and Layla pulls back. He wishes she wouldn’t.

Layla waits for the red glow of Warren’s knuckles to dim and then says, “Mr. Magnificent is an idiot. It was totally inappropriate to include your dad in a presentation, especially without asking you first.”

Warren shrugs. “A lot of people’s parents end up in his presentations,” he says. “They’re just usually on the right side.”

“He still should have asked you,” Layla says. “Also, you helped save the entire school in September. If people still think you’re anything like your dad after that, they’re idiots and you shouldn’t care what they think.”

Warren wants to say “I don’t.” What comes out is, “This is high school. Everyone cares what everyone thinks.”

“I don’t,” Layla says.

Warren wants to contradict her, but from what he can tell, Layla genuinely doesn’t. “You have to care a little,” he says.

Layla raises her eyebrows like oh, yeah? and points to her characteristically Whoville-style twist of braids and glittery clips. “You think these hairdos made me a lot of friends in middle school?”

“I didn’t go to middle school.”

“Well, they didn’t,” Layla says.

“Then why do you wear your hair like that?”

“Because I like it.” Layla twirls a stray piece of hair around her forefinger. “And I don’t need to be one of the pretty girls to feel good about myself.”

“You are pretty,” Warren blurts, and immediately has to suppress the urge to set himself on fire.

Layla’s eyes go wide. The last time Warren saw her blush this deep, he’d just called her out for crushing on Stronghold. But instead of straight-up embarrassed, this time Layla’s blush is weirdly, shyly pleased. “You think so?” Her chin is tilted down so that she’s looking up at him through her eyelashes, which is not fair.

“Me?” Warren points at himself, like an idiot. “I don’t—I mean, I do, but it’s not just—you are pretty. People know that. It’s an objective fact.”

“Really.” Layla’s cheeks are still pink, but her smile has a playful slant now.

“Yeah,” Warren says, more defensively than he intends. Christ, he was so much better at this when they were fake-dating, when none of Warren’s smirks or swagger could mean anything. Now, without the protection of pretense, everything feels altogether too personal. Warren is not good at personal.

“Thank you,” Layla says, and bites her lip in hesitation before tacking on, “you’re pretty, too.”

Whatever that comment is—reflex, or politeness, or something else—it is officially too much. “I have to get back to work,” Warren says, overloud in the quiet restaurant, and bangs his knee on the underside of the table in his haste to stand up.

“Okay,” Layla says, trying to hide a smile behind her hand. Before he can turn away, she adds, “Warren,” and points to either side of her head.

Warren stares at her blankly for a second before he catches her drift, yanks his hair down from his ponytail to hide his surely steaming ears, and practically runs back to the kitchen.

Misconception No. 3: Warren Peace thinks he’s got the best power.

“I feel like I should warn you,” Layla says as she turns the key in her front lock, “my house is kind of crowded.”

Warren frowns. “I thought you were an only child.”

“No siblings,” Layla says. “A lot of roommates. You’ll see.”

What Warren sees is a menagerie that would do Ace Ventura proud.

“Watch out for the—everything,” Layla says, leading him through a flock of peacocks, a few dogs and several cats that slink by too quickly to count.

“Why… is this?” is the only semi-coherent question that Warren can formulate as he shoos a parrot from his shoulder and shakes his pant leg free of a fox’s jaws.

“You’re not the only one who has to live with your parent’s superpower,” Layla says.

Layla’s mom, apparently, is a zoolinguist. The only place in the entire house not overrun by furry or feathered residents is Layla’s room.

“Wow,” Warren says as he crosses the threshold.

Layla’s bedroom is situated on the back corner of the house, and the two external walls and ceiling are all paneled glass. Presumably to usher in maximum sunlight for the greenery that crowds almost every inch of space besides Layla’s bed and desk. Warren has to shed his winter coat immediately to avoid overheating in the humidity.

“Yeah,” Layla says. “Sometimes I forget how weird it is. Will’s the only friend I’ve ever had up here.”

Layla is the only friend Warren has ever had in his room—which she immediately declared “entirely predictable,” on account of the punk rock posters plastered across his walls. Layla’s room is way more predictable, if you ask Warren. Or at least, Warren would have predicted this, if he’d known literal greenhouse was a legitimate option.

“It’s nice,” he says. “Peaceful.”

“Isn’t it?” Layla takes Warren’s coat and hangs it on a hook behind the leaves of an elephant ear plant. “Mom had the place renovated before we moved in. I think she figured, if she was going to let every animal in the neighborhood have the run of our house, it wasn’t fair to exile my plants to the backyard.”

“Do they all live here all the time?” Warren says, pointing at the floor to indicate the veritable petting zoo downstairs.

“Some of them,” Layla says. “Mom is good at finding homes for most. I think donations from her fans are single-handedly keeping every shelter in the city afloat.”

It’s rude to ask about superheroes’ secret identities, but context clues give Warren a pretty good idea who Ms. Williams might be. Charismatic Megafauna is basically a one-woman PETA operation, liberating animals from factory farms and delivering them to free-range pastures as often as she commands her elite squadron of apex predators to take down baddies. She’s a more controversial figure than the Commander and Jetstream, but she does have an extremely dedicated cult following.

“Her power sounds amazing,” Warren says.

“Most of the time,” Layla says. She collects a watering can from beside her bed and begins to fill it with a knee-high spigot beside the door. “But there’s a lot of animal suffering in the world. It can get exhausting for her to be tapped into it all the time, you know?”

Warren pauses to consider. “Yeah, I guess that would be overwhelming.”

Layla turns off the tap and carries her watering can to the closest table laden with potted plants. “Everyone’s superpower looks spectacular on the news,” she says, with a very un-Layla-like smile. “No one’s around to see it when your power makes you so sad you can’t get out of bed.”

“Except you,” Warren guesses.

Layla drops her not-really-smile. “Except me.”

Warren shuffles along the row of plants beside Layla while she waters them. He waits until she finishes refilling the can and starts a new row before asking, “Does that ever happen to you? Your powers getting you down.”

Layla studiously waters a flower with orange starburst petals. “Plants have more…auras and vibes than thoughts and feelings,” she says, and tickles the flower under one leaf. The plant visibly perks up under her ministrations, and Layla smiles. For real, this time. “Their pain doesn’t feel as sharp to me as animals’ pain does to my mom.”

“But,” Warren prompts.

“But sometimes, yeah,” Layla says, and moves on to the next plant.

Warren casts around for something comforting to say, but comes up with nothing better than, “That sucks.”

“Yeah,” Layla says, “but it’s the exception to the rule. Most of the time, I wouldn’t give up feeling this—” She rubs her fingertips over a browning leaf to paint it green. “—for anything.”

Warren shouldn’t be jealous of Layla’s powers. Especially after she’s just admitted what a burden they can be. But Layla has also just confirmed what Warren has long suspected: Superabilities, even the ostensibly powerful ones, are not created equal. Warren’s pyrokinesis is, fundamentally, a weapon. A blunt tool to wield when the situation calls for violence. Layla’s power, on the other hand, seems more like a sixth sense. A trapdoor to another plane of reality.

How much of Layla Williams’s worldview draws on the alien insight of plants that no other human being, least of all Warren Peace, could ever possibly understand?

Layla interrupts Warren’s inferiority spiral with, “I’ve never talked about this with anyone but my mom.”

Warren watches Layla coax a stem into standing up straighter. “Not even Stronghold?”

He should not take as much pleasure as he does in Layla’s dismissive laugh. “Especially not Will.”

“Why not?”

“For a long time, he didn’t have any powers, and he was so jealous of mine, it seemed mean to complain about them to Will.”

“And now?”

“Now, he’s in the honeymoon phase with his new powers,” Layla says, “and it seems mean to bring him down.”

Not even Warren believes Stronghold can be that fragile. “I’m sure he’d get over it.”

“Maybe, but, you know. The things we do for our best friends,” Layla says, with a what can you do shrug, and returns to the faucet for another refill.

“So, why tell me?”

Layla chews the inside of her cheek. “I guess because you already have a complex about your own powers the size of Texas, thanks to your dad.”

“What?” Warren balks. “I do not.”

Layla squints. “Don’t you, though?”

“No. I—shut up.” Warren looks away, feeling hot all over.

Layla bends down to turn off the tap. A moment later, her hand on Warren’s shoulder startles him into looking back at her. Her big, brown eyes are wide with sympathy. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not upset,” Warren snaps.

“Okay.” Typical Layla, letting him feel whatever he’s going to feel and say whatever he’s going to say and refuse to throw hands about it.

Warren’s spark of anger sputters and dies. He huffs out an exhale. “It’s not only about my dad,” he admits, quietly, mostly to the floor.

Layla’s hand remains on his shoulder while she waits for an elaboration. Warren very carefully does not acknowledge it in any way, for fear it might stop.

“Fire is...useful,” he says. “But it can only destroy things. I can’t create. Not like…” He waves a hand around Layla’s room. “All I’m good for is fighting, and sometimes I wish—” Warren shoves a hand through his hair. “I dunno. It’s stupid.”

Layla’s hand squeezes his shoulder. “First of all, you are not your power,” she says. “No matter what Boomer or anyone else says. Second, fire is creative. It creates light and warmth.”

“If I’m ever transported back in time to an era before electricity, I’m sure that’ll be extremely handy,” Warren says, aiming for wry and not quite making it, because the tickly feeling that flitters to life in his chest whenever Layla says nice things about him is going wild.

Layla rolls her eyes. “Third of all, you do not need a superpower to create and nurture things.” Before Warren can stop her, Layla has pushed her watering can into his hand.

“What?” he says. “I don’t know anything about plants. I’d probably kill them all.” He holds the watering can out to Layla, who does not take it.

“Don’t act like you don’t have a book of Keats in your backpack right now,” she says. “If you know ‘To Autumn,’ you already know the most important things about plants. Everything else is technicalities.”

Warren gives her a doubtful look.

Layla sighs. “Trust me. Which you should, because I know literally everything about plants, and I’m a very good teacher, and I would not let you hurt any of my babies. Okay?”

Layla holds out her hand, and Warren has to channel all his concentration into keeping his cool enough that he doesn’t burn her when he takes it in his own. Layla grins, and Warren feels a little light-headed with the thrill of it.

“Come on,” she says, and pulls him toward the row of potted flowers where they left off. Warren follows, as helpless as any of the flora around them to resist the benevolent force of nature that is Layla Williams.

Misconception No. 4: Warren Peace doesn’t get scared.

This illusion is at least partly on purpose. Part of the do not fuck with me ethos Warren has been cultivating for the better part of three years.

In reality, plenty of things scare Warren. Like the idea that everyone is right about him after all, and he’ll end up on the Superheroes Guild’s Most Wanted List someday. Or that deep down, a kernel of grudge in his mother resents Warren for taking so closely after his father. But those are more midnight-existential-crisis concerns than acute fears.

Warren gets scared during battles, too. But the initial kick of adrenaline always seems to knock his consciousness clear of his body, such that he spends most of the fight controlling the firestorm of his fists from somewhere above the action. He usually doesn’t realize how freaked out he is until after the fact, when his brain plugs back into his body and he thinks, huh, my hands won’t stop shaking.

It’s rare that Warren feels, in real time, the bass-drum beat of his heart and a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. But that’s exactly what happens every time he gets close to asking Layla out on a date.

He’s come close so many times. He’s had the tickets in his jacket pocket for weeks. But the prospect of actually asking Layla invites the prospect of Layla saying no, and Warren—can’t.

Sometimes, he can almost convince himself that she would say yes, despite the fact that Layla is kind, beautiful, mystical Layla, and Warren is social-pariah, problem-child Warren. Like last Tuesday, when Layla said “you’re such a disaster” with such heart-stopping fondness, while she pulled a rubber band from Warren’s hair to replace it with one of her own, more comfortable fabric hair ties. Or last Friday, while they were watching a movie at Layla’s place, and she tucked her socked toes under Warren’s thigh on the couch. Or yesterday, when she held her hands out over the picnic table for Warren to warm her pink fingertips between his palms.

And always, in the back of Warren’s mind: “You’re pretty, too.”

But whenever Warren opens his mouth to ask, his tongue goes dry and his palms go damp. It’s such a stupid thing to be afraid of, it makes Warren want to close his head in a locker. Worst case scenario, Layla turns him down. They’d still be friends. She wouldn’t be cruel. She’s Layla. But Warren isn’t used to having so much of himself caught up in another person. The idea that Layla isn’t equally caught up in him provokes a strangled, withering feeling in the pit of Warren’s stomach that he can only imagine would intensify tenfold after the actual rejection.

So, Warren’s been procrastinating.

But time is running out.

It does not help that Stronghold’s flock of freshmen is currently obsessing over Winter Formal like a bunch of… well, freshmen.

“You guys asking anyone?” Zach says at lunch, one day when freezing rain is lashing Sky High too hard for even Layla to sit outside. Zach hooks an arm over Magenta’s shoulder, as if to underline the fact that she’s already spoken for. Magenta rolls her eyes but doesn’t shrug him off.

“I would ask Larry,” Ethan says, pushing steamed vegetables around on his plate with his fork. “If I could stop going full-puddle every time he looks at me.”

Layla and Magenta make sympathetic noises.

“I think I’m gonna ask Abby,” Stronghold says, eyes cast over at a table where Warren assumes this Abby must sit. He hasn’t bothered to keep up with Stronghold’s latest romantic fixation. They’re already two—three?—full crush cycles past Layla. Warren can’t believe he ever felt threatened by a kid with the attention span of a housefly.

“She’d totally say yes,” Magenta says. “I overheard her about how hot you are during the Shapeshifting Students Association meeting.”

“Really?” Will says, at the same time Layla goes, “Magenta!”

“What?”

“Gossip.”

“Okay, Mother Williams,” Magenta says. To Will, “We’ll talk later.”

Layla looks intent on pressing the matter, but Ethan says, “Do you have a date, Layla?”

Everyone turns to Layla, except for Stronghold, whose eyes inexplicably flick over to Warren—who glares him into dropping eye contact.

“No,” Layla says, unconcerned.

“Not yet,” Zach says. “Just a question of who asks first.”

Warren’s heart stutters, and he swallows back a “What?”

Luckily, Stronghold has less restraint. “What?” he says, like he wasn’t ogling another girl 0.2 seconds ago.

Zach looks at Stronghold like, Are you kidding? “Layla’s hot,” he says slowly. Magenta nods in agreement. “Chen, Robinson, and Feinstein are all thinking about asking.”

“And those are just the ones we’ve heard about,” Magenta says.

“Where are you guys getting this intel?” Ethan says. “We’re your only friends.”

“You can hear a lot from the inside of a locker,” Zach says.

“Or from the vents,” Magenta adds.

“Who’s still shoving you in a locker?” Layla says, frowning at Zach.

“Don’t deflect,” Magenta says. “Who are you going to take?”

“I don’t know,” Layla says, very pink and very determinedly acting like she’s not. “I didn’t know I had options until right now.”

Warren didn’t know he had competition until right now. In his defense, he deliberately pays as little attention as possible to rest of the Sky High student body, except for the five freshmen who invaded his space last fall and refused to leave. But of course other guys want to ask Layla.

Fuck.

“What about you, Bucky Barnes?” Zach says, throwing Warren an upward nod. “Got your eye on any hot junior goths we don’t know about?”

Warren scowls. “No.”

“Warren’s too cool for school dances,” Magenta says.

Stronghold frowns. “He took Layla to homecoming.”

“Only to make you jealous,” Layla is quick to correct.

Warren’s eyes snap over to her, but Layla isn’t looking at him. Just stabbing at her salad with her fork and letting her hair partially obscure her still pink cheeks.

An uncomfortable, sour feeling settles in Warren’s stomach. He makes himself look back at Zach. “I don’t do school dances. I have a thing anyway.”

“What thing?” Magenta says.

“A thing,” Warren says, with enough finality that even Zach knows better than to push it.

That is, until Stronghold corners Warren at his locker after final period to ask, “What thing do you have to do instead of Winter Formal?”

Warren continues loading books into his backpack. “A thing.”

Stronghold, in a bid for Warren’s full attention, shuts his locker door. As soon as Warren turns a glare on him, the kid goes bug-eyed.

“I am so sorry!” he says, reaching out to open the locker, only to remember that, duh, it’s Warren’s and he can’t. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Warren must be spending too much time with Layla, because instead of picking Stronghold up by his shirt collar, he merely swats Stronghold’s hand away and unlocks his locker.

“It was only—I know someone who was hoping you’d ask them to Winter Formal,” Stronghold says, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Warren fixes Stronghold with a flat expression. “You’re not my type.”

For an aspiring superhero, Stronghold flusters extremely easily. “Wh—not me!” he says, and then leans in and lowers his voice. “You know.”

Warren, who is not in the business of getting his hopes up—no matter how many summersaults his stomach is doing—raises his eyebrows.

“Layla,” Stronghold murmurs, so low that Warren has to read his lips.

Summersaults, cartwheels, handsprings. Warren’s stomach is performing a full-on gymnastics routine. “Did she tell you that?”

“No,” Stronghold admits, and Warren’s stomach immediately flops. “But I am something of an expert on Layla Williams.”

Warren, who has an entire September’s worth of evidence to the contrary, makes a psh noise.

Stronghold squares his shoulders and ticks off on his fingers: “She hangs out at the Lantern all the time. She eats lunch with you, alone, every other day. The way she talks about you—”

“She talks about me?”

“Dude.” Stronghold lays a hand on Warren’s shoulder, looking so delighted with the irony that it takes everything in Warren not to ignite. “You’re so stupid. She’s totally into you.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Right.” Stronghold’s hand immediately slides off. “Seriously, though. If you don’t ask Layla to the dance, someone else will.”

“Noted,” Warren says, like he isn’t already tying himself into knots over that exact possibility.

“You’re gonna ask her, then?”

Warren heaves a sigh. He can’t believe he’s about to confide in Will Stronghold, of all people, but at this juncture it seems like the path of least resistance. “I have tickets to something that night, and I want to ask Layla to go with me.”

Stronghold has the audacity to look innocently perplexed. “So, why haven’t you?”

“I’m, you know.” Warren pushes back his hair. “Waiting for the right time.”

Stronghold looks dubious. “It’s a date, not a prom-posal.”

“I know that,” Warren snaps.

Stronghold blinks, and something seems to click in his head. His expression goes slightly amused and, even worse, sympathetic. “You’re nervous.”

“I am not,” Warren says, but it sounds like a lie even to his own ears. “I’m just waiting for the right moment.”

“Okay, well.” Stronghold blows out a breath and puts his hands on his hips. “Any chance the right moment might be, like, today? Around now-ish?”

Warren narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Because Magenta texted me five minutes ago that Andrew Chen is standing next to our bus, waiting for Layla.”

Warren’s heart lurches. “You should have led with that, Christ.” Guess he’s doing this now. Is he really doing this now? He has to, so he is. Warren slams his locker and swings his bag over his shoulder. “Where is Layla?”

“Magenta said she stayed after class to talk to Mr. Boy about—oh, okay, then. Bye! Good luck!” Stronghold calls after Warren’s retreating figure as he strides off down the hall.

Warren is so preoccupied with figuring out what he’s going to say to Layla when he finds her that he nearly runs into her as she exits Mr. Boy’s classroom.

“Warren,” she says, blinking up at him in surprise. “Hi.”

Warren, who suddenly feels like he’s stepped on stage with no lines prepared, takes a second to remember how to breathe before he gets out a “Hi.”

Layla stares up at him expectantly. Right. He’s supposed to say more words.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

A pucker forms between Layla’s eyebrows. “Sure. I actually wanted to talk to you, too.”

Warren clenches the tickets between sweat-damp fingers in his pocket. “Okay. Do you want to…” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder at the mostly empty hallway.

“Okay.”

Layla follows him out into the hall, and they stand in semi-awkward silence until Warren says, “You first.”

“All right.” Layla tucks her hair behind her ears. She already looks embarrassed. Not good. “So, I might be way off base here, but I get the feeling you’ve been working yourself up to asking me to Winter Formal?” Her voice lilts up like a question, but she must find all the confirmation she needs in Warren’s expression, because she immediately continues, “and I just wanted to make it clear that you don’t have to.”

When Warren opens his mouth, “Oh” is all that comes out.

“Yeah.” Layla hooks her thumbs through the straps of her backpack. “I know school dances aren’t really your thing—and they’re not exactly mine, either. So I didn’t want you to think homecoming set some sort of precedent, that you have to ask—”

“I wanted to ask you,” Warren says, finally unsticking his throat.

It’s Layla’s turn for surprised silence. It takes a full two seconds for her to get out, “You did?”

“Yeah, but—not to the dance. Here.” Warren pulls the tickets out of his pocket. His thumb has smudged the ink of the top ticket, so he hands the bottom one to Layla. “Town hall is holding a fundraiser gala next Saturday to raise money to build a park on an empty lot in my neighborhood.”

Layla takes the ticket in both hands and stares down at it.

“There’s going to be food and music and dancing,” Warren says, heart rate accelerating. “I think they’re going to auction off dedications for benches and flower beds and stuff. There will probably be a couple boring speeches by some government officials, but.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “I dunno. It sounded like it could be fun.”

Layla still hasn’t said anything, and Warren’s heart is throwing a fit in his ribcage, so he adds, “It’s the night of Winter Formal, though. So if you wanted to go to the dance with someone else and hang out with your friends, I totally—”

“No,” Layla says, looking up at him with bright eyes and a wide smile. “I’d love to go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Warren says, too overcome by the cold flood of relief pooling in his gut to say anything more substantive than, “Cool.”

Layla carefully slots her gala ticket into the front pocket of her backpack. “Took you long enough,” she says, angling a teasing smile at Warren. “I couldn’t take another week of you opening your mouth like you were going to ask me something and then not saying anything.”

“Thank Stronghold,” Warren says, wondering what his life has come to, that those words just came out of his mouth. Must be the generosity of giddy relief.

Layla’s nose scrunches up in tickled confusion. “Why?”

“He warned me that Chen was gonna ask you to the dance this afternoon,” Warren says. “Sort of lit a fire under my ass.”

“But Andrew—” Layla breaks off with a laugh and shakes her head. “Will.”

“What?”

Layla takes Warren’s hand and starts walking them down the hall. “Andrew Chen’s been sick with the flu all week,” she says. “He’s not even here today.”

Warren’s mouth hangs open for a few seconds. “Stronghold.”

Layla laughs again and swipes her thumb across the back of Warren’s hand, and a great, soft warmth blooms in Warren’s chest.

Well. If he has to be indebted to Will Stronghold for something, this is as good a favor as Warren could have asked for.

Misconception No. 5: Warren Peace is not a touchy-feely person.

Warren himself would have sworn by this one, until a month ago. He has never, in all his life, considered himself a cuddly person. By any stretch.

It turns out that in order to identify as a cuddly person, you need someone to cuddle. Or, more specifically, someone you have permission to cuddle.

Dating Layla Williams finally gives Warren that permission.

He expected it to be harder, weirder, more awkward to transition from being someone who looks at Layla and thinks I want to put my arm around you, to being a person who can actually reach behind her back and curl his fingers over her hip bone.

It’s not hard at all. The first time Layla kisses Warren, up on her toes with her hands fisted in the lapels of his suit, in the dark of her front porch after the fundraiser gala, there’s a shift. A gravitational kick that sends them into closer orbit around one another, so that now it’s routine for Warren to wrap Layla in his jacket and tuck her into his side as they walk. Steal her hand to press her knuckles to his lips. Knock his knee gently against hers under their picnic table.

“Who knew Warren Peace was such a cuddle bug,” Magenta says, tipped back in a papasan chair to peer at Warren upside-down.

Warren is sitting on the shag carpet of Stronghold’s basement with his back against the couch to let Layla play with his hair while they talk over a movie. She’s just tied off an elaborate braid, so now his cheek is resting against her knee while she twirls the fine hairs at the nape of his neck around her fingers.

“Call me ‘cuddle bug’ ever again and I’ll roast you like a marshmallow,” Warren says, too sleepy and comfortable to put any real heat behind the threat.

Magenta, true to form, doesn’t so much as blink. “Hate to break it to you, but an elegant Dutch braid kind of undermines your whole tough-guy act.”

Warren simply shrugs. It’s an occupational hazard of dating Layla, spending a lot more time around her—their?—friends outside school. Warren resisted at first, but at this point, it’s more exhausting to continue holding them all at arm’s length than to let them have the run of his life.

“Layla, in general, kind of undermines his whole tough-guy act,” Zach says. “You know he wrote her a poem for Valentine’s day.”

“Read her a poem,” Warren says. What else was he supposed to do? He couldn’t very well get Layla clipped flowers.

“That’s still sappy as hell, dude,” Ethan says.

“It was very sweet,” Layla says, leaning forward to plant a kiss on Warren’s forehead.

Warren unsuccessfully tries to bite back a smile.

“He’s preening so hard right now, oh my god,” Magenta says.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t tease him, or he won’t come back,” Layla says, but Warren hears the smile in her voice.

“Please. He’d go anywhere you go,” Magenta says, and as Layla’s fingertip traces the shell of Warren’s ear gently, always gently, Warren doesn’t even attempt to contradict her.

+1 Misconception: Layla Williams is a just happy, go-lucky hippy chick.

Outside Layla’s bedroom window, everything green is tucked under snow and the weight of waiting for spring. On the other side of the world, everything is burning.

Record-setting wildfires have raked Australia for weeks. Neither Layla nor her mom can directly feel what’s happening to the outback. But Layla knows her mom must sense it like she does, every time a singed koala or graveyard of splinterlike tree trunks appears on the news: a gnawing sensation that something on the far edges of her mind is vanishing into smoke.

The worst part is knowing there’s nothing Layla can do. Even if she had the means to get to Australia, there’s no way to salvage the aftermath of a forest fire. Layla wields incredible power over living organisms. But it’s like conducting an orchestra. Not much to be done if the entire ensemble is already dead when she takes the stage.

Actually, the real worst part is knowing that the inferno currently eating up Australia isn’t an outlier. The warming world is parching landscapes and revving up hurricanes, and every weather-related threat to her beloved biosphere is only going to get much, much worse. It makes Layla feel horribly, inescapably small.

To avoid sitting around the house and chewing her nails down, Layla takes on more volunteer shifts at the animal shelter. Helps Magenta with outreach for the Shapeshifting Students Association. Spends a couple Saturdays with the local river cleanup volunteer crew. Cooks dinner on the nights her mom is actually home. Overstudies for an exam in Hero Support.

It’s all a good distraction, but at the price of exhaustion. Layla feels emotionally sore. Like she’s been doing the psychological equivalent of running springs.

Case in point: “Layla?”

Layla blinks herself out of her middle-space-stare at the picnic table. “Hmm?”

Warren frowns. “I said, are you coming to the Lantern tonight?”

“Oh, no,” Layla says, and winces her apology. “Will’s coming over to study for Hero Support.”

“Why? You’re gonna ace that thing.”

“I promised Will I’d help him review.”

Warren’s frown deepens.

“What?”

“You should take a break,” he says.

Layla hides a yawn behind one hand and waves the other dismissively. “I’m fine.”

Warren gives her a flat look. Most of his expressions are pretty flat, but Layla has gotten good at reading the subtleties. This one says, quit your bullshit.

“What?” she says.

“You—” Warren spends a couple seconds struggling to find the right words. “Your hair is in a ponytail.”

Layla replays that in her overtired mind, wondering whether she heard correctly. “Excuse me?”

“No sparkly clip things. No scrunchies. You didn’t even do the thing where you wrap a little piece of hair around the elastic to hide it,” Warren says, as though that clarifies anything. When Layla’s expression makes clear that it does not, Warren sighs. “Babe. You’re exhausted.”

“Am not,” Layla says, and feels totally betrayed by her own body when the words are stretched out by a yawn. “Coincidence,” she says, in response to Warren’s unimpressed eyebrow-raise.

“Layla.”

“It’s fine,” she insists.

“Take a break,” Warren says, more insistently. “Stronghold can survive cramming for one exam on his own. Let baby bird learn to fly.”

“He’ll drop like a rock,” Layla says mournfully.

“Probably,” Warren says. “But you don’t have to be there for everyone all the time.”

Layla studies her bitten nails. “It makes me feel better.”

Warren’s ever-warm hands take hold of Layla’s, making her look up. But whatever he has in mind to say is interrupted by the bell. Warren gives her fingers a brief squeeze before releasing them, so that they can collect their things.

“Tell Stronghold to find himself another tutor so you can have a night off,” Warren says, hooking an arm over Layla’s shoulders as they head for the front doors. “Please.”

Layla does not. Which is why, when she says “come in” to the soft knock on her bedroom door at eight o’clock, she expects Will. Instead, she gets Warren, hovering on the threshold with his usual carefully concealed uncertainty, like he’s a vampire who has to wait to be invited in.

“What are you doing here?” Layla says, sliding off her bed. “I thought you had work.”

“Got someone to cover my shift,” Warren says. He’s holding what looks like a magazine. “This was more important.”

“What is… this?” Layla says. “You know Will’s going to be here any minute.”

“No, he’s not,” Warren says. “He’s at Magenta’s”

Layla narrows her eyes. “What did you do?”

“Told him to go find another study partner,” Warren says. “Since you’re already prepared.”

Layla crosses her arms and sinks her weight into one hip. “I told you, I want to help.”

Warren adjusts his grip on the magazine. Layla hears the paper stick to the sweat on his fingertips, but his determined expression doesn’t change. “Then help me.”

Layla blinks. “With what?”

Warren holds up what turns out to be a gardening catalog. “I want to get my mom a couple of indoor plants for her birthday,” he says. “Something pretty but doesn’t require a lot of attention, because she’s gone so much. I thought maybe you could help.”

Layla stares at him. “I love shopping for potted plants,” she says slowly.

Warren exhales a short laugh. “Uh, yeah, I know. And you are a good teacher, so.”

He rolls the catalog up between his hands and looks at Layla with guarded hope that shoots a bolt of affection like heat lightning straight through her stomach. She needs to sit down.

“Come in, then,” she says, and ushers him through the door. While Warren is taking off his shoes, “Just so we’re clear, you are not going to make a habit of rearranging my schedule behind my back.”

Warren stands up straight, dead serious. “Got it.”

Layla indulges a smile and leans up to kiss him. “I’ll forgive you this time, though.”

They sit on Layla’s bed, flipping through Warren’s catalog, as well as a stack of magazines that Layla has pulled out from under her desk. Warren loops his arms around her waist and hooks his chin over her shoulder, listening intently while she explains the care and keeping of flowers. It’s comfortable and easy and requires just enough idle attention to avoid falling into a slump. Layla could do this forever, she thinks.

Not an hour later, Layla is lying with her chin propped on her hands, which are folded over Warren’s chest, struggling to keep up conversation through yawns of increasing frequency.

“You can go to bed, you know,” Warren says, dryly amused, and tucks a strand of hair that has fallen out of Layla’s loose ponytail behind her ear.

“I might fall asleep right here on top of you, if you keep talking about it,” Layla says, closing her eyes and pillowing her cheek on her hands.

She feels, rather than hears Warren’s hitched inhale, and suddenly feels more acutely awake than she has all week.

Three seconds pass before Warren murmurs, “You can. If you want.”

Layla very carefully keeps her body relaxed and does not open her eyes to avoid breaking the fragile moment. “Mmm-kay,” she says, and adjusts to find a slightly more comfortable position. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Warren says, one hand splayed between her shoulder blades, his other thumb smoothing the hair back at her temple.

Layla is so keenly aware of every point of contact that she thinks she might stay awake after all. But within minutes, the soft touch pulls her down into sleep.

#layla williams #warren peace #sky high #my 11-year-old self would be proud #first het fic ever #but i caught feelings writing this and guess now i ship ForestFire #i think it got angstier than your original adorable prompt intended but #what else is new #apologies for the climate change existential crisis that popped up at the end there #i might have been projecting

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hanjislabig · 4 years ago

Text

Hanji's Past

"Isn’t it worth trying?"

————-

(Thats an extract from a story me and my friend write. An evening with Levi and Hanji, eating crackers, drinking red wine and talking about old wounds.)

Hanji looks at Levi with loving eyes. "Offer up your beating hearts... that’s a really serious promise... at least that’s what my mother always said." She takes another cracker and slips it into her mouth, while relaxing on the bed again.

Her last sentence makes Levi sit up. "You've actually never told me much about your parents, how comes?"

"There’s nothing special I could tell you,” she answers his question and shrugs casually. “But what do you mean, I already did tell you some things.”

"Right, you did", Levi says. He has noticed her unusual reaction to his question immediately. "But only a few things from your childhood. I mean - what else? Are they still alive, are you still in contact with them, do they know about me, whatever."

Hanji remains silent for a moment. She often talks about her parents casually, but rather with the intention to displace the latest happenings. The ones that she’d rather ban out of her mind completely. Now she gets confronted with everything again, she doesn’t hate to talk about what happened, but she’s definitely not keen to tell it everyone.

Hanji takes a deep sigh before she changes her position and sits up, pulling her legs against her body and wrapping her arms around them. "You really wanna know? I mean you don’t have to ask out of politeness.“

Levi changes his own position a little bit. "Sound like there's something that's not easy to talk about", he says. "So I only wanna know if you wanna tell me."

Hanji sighs again but nods then. She props her chin on her knees and starts thinking where to begin.

"So, my father was a scout in survey corps. He always used to be away for long periods of time, when they went on expeditions. Besides he always needed to leave for Trost to work. In his free time though when he was at home, he did a lot of stuff with chemistry and architecture. I loved to read in his books and rummage in his stuff,“

Hanji chuckles lightly at the memory.

"Altough i didn’t understand anything of these academic textes. You know I just wanted to seem as smart as did. So I assume his interests somehow woke the interest in me too.“

She sighs.

“My moms a botanist. Sometimes she also cared for the kids in our neighborhood. We also had this huge lively garden where I spent a lot of my childhood in. She planted her flowers everywhere, it was beautiful, especially in spring when everything bloomed. Sometimes I simply sat the whole day in the grass, watching the insects flying around and doing their tasks, listening to the birds... I loved the nature, I remember that.“

From one moment to another Hanji gets more serious again and it seems like she came back to reality.

"When I was 12 years old, my father died,” she continues with a voice that doesn’t reveal much, “he was one of the deceased of an expedition. My mother and I didn’t know much about titans back then, no one has ever seen one, they were only known through stories. When I was a child... we didnt have these wall problems yet,” Hanji stares down on her feet, lost in her thoughts.

“We got the message over a letter from the commander. That my father died in war against the so called titans.”

Hanjis eyes narrow, almost not noticeable while she speaks about the titans. Even if it’s only for a short moment, it seems like her attitude towards these monster changes.

"Before that happened I never considered joining the sure corps. I didn’t even think about it. It was nothing more than the job my father had. But after I got to know he got killed by titans...“ she falters, "... I think that could’ve been the trigger for my Titan obsession. But not exactly like I see them now, no... I wanted retribution, revenge, justice for what happened to my father. I got obsessed with titans because of all the hate I carried in myself. So I guess that was the moment when i realized I want to avenge my father and I decided from one day to another that I’ll do the same job as he did. I wanted to kill all of these titans everyone was talking about and afraid of."

Hanji swallows with a dry throat and takes a brief break.

"Like I said, I was twelve years old at this point. My father passed away only a few months before the recruitment for the next legion started. I was completely convinced that becoming a soldier would be my destination so I... I let myself get registered that day... but without telling my mom...“

Hanji lowers her eyes and gazes at her hands, a feeling of guilt coming over her.

“This lead us to heaving the worst fight ever. It was... something worse ive ever experienced in my entire life before at this point,” Hanji can’t help but pulling a slightly pained face as the memories flash her, “I told my mother that I was joining the corps. And she said no. And I said yes. My mother...I realize it now... she was so concerned and frightened. If I just imagine this... her only daughter wants to do the exact same job that got her husband killed only a few months ago."

Hanji presses her lips together.

“She didn’t want me to go... but I didn’t listen. I didn’t care, I thought she’d be too selfish to let me go... how could I-... I was too young to understand how the love of a mother works..."

Silence again.

"I packed my few necessary things and left my mother behind. I was so furious, you can’t imagine. Full of blind anger and a raging, ambitious heart. I can-... still see her face... this expression in her eyes when I-... when I left without turning around a single time...”

Hanji slowly shakes her head in disbelief and breathes out shivering.

“That was the last time I saw my mother. I’ve never seen her again since then.” She has to look away from Levi, her facial expression tormented and hurt as she remembers what happened back then.

Levi listens to her the whole time without saying a word, just focusing on her story. When she talks about her life back then he feels a little pain in his chest. It sounds more than beautiful. So beautiful he's having a hard time even imagining it.

He finds it hard to believe such a happy childhood is even possible. But then he learns how that happiness ended. It's just a story like all the others, nothing they haven't heard a hundred times before. And still it's not. Because it's her story. Her pain, her motivation, her reason to choose the path she chose, the cross she has to bear every day.

There's this picture inside his head, a twelve-year-old Hanji, fuelled by sorrow and hatred, trying to turn that pain into power. This part of the story seems much more familiar and Levi thinks to himself that at least she had something to focus her anger on. In his own story there was no bad guy, no-one who had ruined his life and still it was ruined. So he turned his hatred against the whole world, but the whole world is a bad enemy.

Levi continues listening and it doesn't get better. He feels sympathy for Hanji's mother, what her daughter did to her wasn't fair. But still he doesn't blame Hanji. She was young, passionate, furious, had a goal. If she was anything like she's now that made her unstoppable. But back then she didn't have the far-sightedness to realise how what she was doing affected the person who cared about her most. Sometimes she still doesn't.

Hanji's wish to join the survey corps is just as understandable as her mother's for her to stay. It was a tragic situation with no possible outcome that would have been good for everyone. Still Hanji should have handled it differently. She knows that and this knowledge tears her apart. This is why Levi forgives her immediately. He's as sure that her mother would forgive her as well as he's sure Hanji won't ever. Maybe that's why she suffers from guilt issues whenever something happens to the people and creatures around her.

For almost two decades she's lived with the knowledge that it was her who has caused a person close to her pain and she never wants that to happen again. But whenever something similar happens she thinks it's her fault automatically. The fact that she hasn't found the courage to see her mother again since surely makes it worse. Hanji probably thinks she's a coward, which doesn't exactly help her build self-esteem. Levi moves a bit closer to her and starts massaging her neck soothingly.

"Thanks for telling me this", he says after remaining silent for a while. "What happened between you and your mother is really bad", he begins carefully.

"But you know that you did her wrong and that's the first step in the right direction. You didn't mean to hurt her back then, you just did what we all have to do at some point, you chose how to live your life. She shouldn't have tried to stop you, that's probably what she's telling herself every day, but she was worried. And you shouldn't have left without talking to her about it, but you were a young girl who had just lost her father and got it all wrong. It's awful how it ended..."

Levi stops for a moment and his voice changes.

"...but it didn't end. You're alive, she's alive, thank whoever you want to thank for that. So many of our next of kin are dead, there's no way we can sort anything out or be united with them in this life again. You've got that chance so many of us dream about. Take it."

He gives Hanji an encouraging nudge.

"You've forgiven her and you love her, there's a high chance she's forgiven you as well and I'm a hundred percent sure she loves you. So what are you waiting for? You love each other, you miss each other. You've both made mistakes but we all do. If there's any way you can talk things out and become a family again, isn't it worth trying?"

#attack on titan #levihan headcanon #levihan #angst #hanji zoe #levi ackerman

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justsomewritingsandshit · 5 years ago

Text

The Struggles of a Male Veela (Part 5 - Selene’s Got A Date)

Louis Weasley x Soulmate!OC

Length: 3190 words

Warnings: soulmate!au, altered ages of next gen, female OC, Hunter Parrish as Louis, fxf date, mentions of sAd bOI hOuRs

Part 5 of this series | Masterlist | Part 4 | Part 6

Selene has never been fussy when it comes to dating – for her, (so long as the person expressed an interest, didn’t seem oddly clingy, or overly possessive) anyone was game. So, when the attractive Mari Singh (of Ravenclaw house) asked her out… well, she said yes.

Mari and Selene had been ‘classroom friends’ for years, so she had supposed it wouldn’t be too uncomfortable. Their rapport was friendly enough, and Mari was an attractive girl, so there was no real reason to say no.

Plus, Selene happened to know that she was the first girl that Mari had asked out since her coming out over the summer. Selene felt that she had a sort of duty to treat Mari to a wonderful time, setting a good example of what Mari should look for in a partner, should she choose to date again. Too many people let themselves be in bad circumstances, simply because it’s all they knew, and Selene wouldn’t let Mari’s kind soul be one of those. Selene wished she’d had a person do the same for her, when she was younger. It would have saved her a lot of broken hearts.

In the end, the two girls arranged it for their date to be the first Hogsmeade trip, which was on the last day of the month. The two of them were going to end up spending their entire time there making awkward but friendly conversation, and drinking butterbeers – there was never much to do in Hogsmeade, after all.

If anyone was asked to go off and experience Hogsmeade, they’d come back and say that it felt as if the village had been unchanged for hundreds of years. Contradicting that analysis was the known fact that many of the buildings were only two decades old, as some of them had to be repaired after the war. And, the war memorials and plaques in the middle of the village were only a few years old themselves.

Despite the newer builds, the town was one of the oldest magic-only communities in the United Kingdom – there were much older communities in remote areas of South America, Asia, and in concealed tribes all throughout Africa, though. There wasn’t much to the small town, just a joke shop, a sweet store, a few small trinket shops, a pub or two – basically; nothing much for the teens whose only chance at an off-campus activity was a monthly trip there.

So, yeah, dating at Hogwarts was kind of the worst.

Louis didn’t find out about the date, until what he would consider the last minute.

On the eve of Halloween (a Friday that was surprisingly mild for the season), Selene and Louis found themselves once again at their usual haunt – a large, wooden table located in the back of the ginormous hall that was the library.

Said teens were staring intensely at the parchments clasped in their respective hands. Louis’s happened to be a letter from his mother, a long winded one that was reminding him to try and ‘stretch’ in his veela form weekly – the fact that she went on to describe how it may feel similar to a female’s period was why he was contemplating an attempt at trying to burn it with his gaze. Selene’s parchment held the notes that she’d taken down in Charms earlier that day – at that moment, they weren’t making any sense to her.

“Louis? This new Charms stuff, I don’t get it. Help me out over here?” Selene’s interruption was received warmly by Louis, as Fleur Weasley (nee Delacour) had, in her lengthy letter, began to describe the severity of her monthly flow to her teenaged son.

“Go ahead.” Louis eagerly ditched his parchment to the side, one-hundred-percent ready to never read it, ever again. “Was it the wandless stuff we started this week? On Tuesday?”

Selene sent him a confirming nod, going into her dilemma, “If I’m casting a charm like ‘protego totalum’, how am I supposed to control what I’m casting it on? It’s, uh, pretty important that it’s cast on the right thing.”

Louis was momentarily distracted by the way her brows furrowed together in obvious confusion, sending his mind spiralling. By the time he managed to force his stupid veela brain to focus, he realised that he had succeeded in the task of being weirdly silent for close to a minute. If there was a wizard-god, then Louis prayed to them that Selene would just think he was seriously contemplating her question and coming to a slow conclusion. “I guess it could be one of those charms that are always going to require a wand. Or, you can just think super hard while casting.” Louis let out a breathy chuckle.

Entertaining this thought, Selene muttered, “I don’t know what wizard-kind did before they realised they could use a wand.”, as she flipped over her parchment.

It hadn’t been a real question, but none the less it had amused Louis to think up an answer to it. He chuckled, crossing his arms on the table to rest on, “I can just imagine it was a bunch of people awkwardly performing ‘accidental magic’, like when we were kids.”

His words caused Selene to laugh too, as she pictured people in old-timey clothes waving their arms accidentally and setting something on fire. “The first person to use a wand must have been like; ‘what?’!” Selene’s face got slightly warmer, as her breathing was interrupted by her chortles, “They were like ‘Bartholomew,” Louis had to cover his mouth in order to hide the snort of laughter he produced at Selene’s excellent impression of the ‘Bloody Baron’. His uncle’s impression was nothing on hers. “Thou hast pick-ethed up a stick, which doth work well-eth’ at mastering thoust powers’.”

Both of them had stomach cramps, trying to contain their laughter. Louis had tears building up in his eyes, and his face was turning red. Selene had doubled over, laughing mostly silently, the only sound being her inhaled breath and the slapping of her had against her knee. Their ‘quiet’ laughter was eventually drowned out by the librarian’s shrill cry of, “Get out of my library if you’re not going to follow the rules!”

Hurriedly, the two of them pack up all their belongings, erupting into occasional giggles every time the two caught each other’s eyes. They burst from the library’s entrance, and the Gryffindor and Slytherin stumbled along the large corridor. By the time they’d reached the end of the long hallway, they both decided it was best for them to start making their way to their respective common rooms.

There was calm silence for ten minutes.

Eventually it was broken. “So…” Louis’s shoulders were hunched over a little, his hands looking as if he’d shoved them as deep as he could, into the pockets of his school trousers. Making himself look smaller was his main way of coming off across nonchalant. However, the only thing he looked, was uncomfortable. “The, uh, first Hogsmeade trip is tomorrow. Are, um…” He paused to inhale some confidence, “Are you going to go?” Louis wanted so bad to shout out, to ask (or even beg) her to go with him on this trip. The sixth-year could imagine it now; the two of them wander the lanes of Hogsmeade together, their noses getting redder the longer that they’re out in the cold… their breath visible and intermingling, as they get closer and closer… maybe, a kiss? Oh, Louis wanted nothing more than that.

“Yeah, I-” Selene argued with herself. She shouldn’t have felt uncomfortable (awkward?) telling Louis about her upcoming date… and yet, she did. Which was absurd, because they were friends! “Uh… Actually, I have a date.” Merlin, Selene’s stomach squirmed. She felt awful admitting this to Louis, even though there was no need to, at all. Her nerves made her ramble, “With Mari Singh, from Ravenclaw. I think she’s in your Transfiguration class?” Selene went on, her mouth moving a mile a minute, but Louis heard none of it.

The blonde boy felt like he’d been physically hurt, despite knowing he certainly had absolutely no true right to feel as pained as he did. Selene Morgenstern was his soulmate, sure, but she didn’t know that. He hadn’t informed her that destiny (and, he guesses; his veela instincts) had fated them to be together. Plus, he was pretty sure that he hadn’t let on about his romantic feelings towards her either.

The Slytherin was her own person, and as such; allowed to date whomever she wanted…

But Louis was allowed to be upset about it. Even if it was irrational to be so. Boys (well, really, he’d insist that he was closer to a man, now) could be emotional too! However, he wasn’t going to expose said hurt feelings to Selene. He was upset by her words, but they were just friends… just friends, even if he did have different sentiments towards her.

Everything Louis Weasley had been taught by his family as a child was blooming into fruition in this moment; good friends support their friends – no matter the personal consequences.

As if the gods above had granted him lee-way, Louis’s turning to go up to the Gryffindor Common Room was fast approaching. “Well, uh, you have a great time! I’ll see you later!” Hastily exiting the situation seemed to be the only way to end this conversation, plus Louis was finding that his eyes were quickly filling with tears, and he didn’t want Selene to see them.

“Uh, thanks, Louis! See you!” Frantically waving at the back of the already turned-away boy was not the way a cool and collected Slytherin behaved. For love of Merlin, why was she acting like this? In true Slytherin sentiment, Selene ignored the way her stomach clenched up the moment Louis was out of sight. “Ugh, I need to get more sleep.”

Louis spent that night clutching his pillows tightly to his trembling body, desperately trying to not burst into his veela form. It was exhaustingly difficult to hold on to his human form, as his veela’s desire to fly away from all the pain he was facing was almost too powerful. The teen was virtually bursting at the seams, due to the effort it took to hold back this side of him.

His heart felt like it was under an intense pressure, as if it was being compressed. And his skin was positively feverish! Every pore along his body was asking for relief. Every muscle fibre itching for some form of freedom that only his veela form could give to him.

And to think, Louis had bitterly mused to himself, all this because I’m jealous. Louis knew, deep down, that he had no true reason to be jealous, or hurt, or sad, or angry. Selene was not his. Not his girlfriend, nor anything more than his close friend! The girl was her own woman. One who can decide for herself who she wants to love, and whom she wants to date.

Still… His acknowledgement of this fact did not miraculously send him into recovery.

Louis remained lonesome and feverish through the night.

There was a problem with Selene’s date.

Or, rather; there was a problem with Mari Singh – well, not really.

Okay, so the issue was with Selene. She was positively sure that there were a dozen other places she’d rather be, than on this date with Mari. The Slytherin clearly did not feel one iota of a romantic stirring towards the bird.

Now, that’s not to say the other girl was not lovely! Mari was smart, pretty, and rather funny - an all-around kind person.

Still, Selene found herself wishing that she was not the one opposite the Ravenclaw in the Three Broomsticks. And, that wasn’t to say it was an awful date! Not at all. It was a… nice affair. They talked over a butterbeer, and giggled at each other’s stories... And, yes; the conversation had been (sometimes) intelligent and (somewhat?) interesting.

Selene just felt like something was missing from it all, though.

“I was like; ‘why does this always happen to him?’!” Mari let out a chortle at her own story. It was a rather long-winded, yet deeply hilarious, anecdote of her families’ latest vacation. Her father apparently fell off a dinghy that the whole family had been sitting in, right into the arms of what may have been a hairy man (or, perhaps, a large bear), whilst not even in the water yet. “Anyway…”

The two female students had slowly been making their way back to the castle. And, now they were standing at the crossroads of where they’d each have to turn away to go to their separate common rooms.

Before Mari could even say anything else, Selene had to be honest with her, “Mari, I had a nice time today, but, uh, I have to be frank with you… I like you as a friend, Mari, but I-” Selene paused, to place her hand on the Ravenclaw’s shoulder and to carefully choose her following words. “I, um, I don’t feel for you, romantically that is.” Mari’s face began to crumble, “I’m sorry, but I had to be honest with you. It would be cruel for me to get your hopes up like that. You’re my friend but sparing your feelings now would only hurt you later. Right?”

Mari mulled the words over, but finally nodded her head softly.

Selene removed her palm from the other girls’ shoulder. She felt obliged to offer up some information that might soften the blow she’d just been dealt, “Plus, it wouldn’t be fair to Naomi…”

Mari’s head tilted to her left, “Gnomes?” It was a cute nickname Mari had for her roommate, fellow Ravenclaw Naomi Gardener. “W-Why would it be unfair to her?”

Selene heard the thinly veiled excitement in her voice. It was well-known within the female population of their respective year-group, that Naomi Gardner fancied Mari Singh. It was true that pretty much everyone knew that, but only Selene heard said information first-hand from Naomi. “Well, Naomi may have mentioned something to me… But it’s probably best to ask her about it.” She leant forward, pressing a friendly peck to Mari’s cheek, “Thank you for a lovely time, Mar.” Sending a wink to the girl, Selene began to walk away. “I hope we’re still friends, Mari! Good luck!”

Louis didn’t expect to see Selene the next morning.

Not because he assumed that something… like that... would happen between the two girls. No, not at all! Rather, Louis was surprised to see Selene, since he had decided to try to avoid her altogether.

Also, the idea of seeing her in the boys’ bathroom was incredibly surprising.

“Um, hello?”

Carefully, Louis angled his entire body away from the approaching teenaged girl. As quick as he could he tucked himself away and buttoned up his trousers. Due to his complexion, the flush on his cheeks was all too visible. Even knowing she could see the blush; he tried his best to act casual as he walked over to wash his hands. Selene was in his peripherals the entire time.

“So,” Louis shook his hands out, getting them dry enough to wipe against the fabric against his thighs – he didn’t even think about using his magic or wand to dry them. “Uh, what brings you to the men’s bathroom?” Before he could embarrass himself, he tucked his hands into the back pockets of his trousers. It was an attempt to seem casual.

Selene let a faux look of sadness creep onto her face, “Well, when I saw you practically running down the hallway when you saw me coming, I figured I should check on you.” She rested her shoulder on the wall to her right, “After all, I am a good friend.”

Louis’s was sure that his heart was going to jump out of his chest. Even though he knew that she was being a nice person, a great friend, his veela hindbrain was absolutely screaming at him. Surely that meant she was accepting the bond! Checking on her mate, right? Merlin! Louis had to snap himself out of those thoughts, because they weren’t facts. He knew first-hand that not thinking truthfully only damaged your own feelings.

“I- I just,” Louis was tongue-tied now. How exactly could he explain that he didn’t want to hear about her amazing date with bloody Mari Singh? “Well-”

Selene cut him off, not wanting to hear any of his poor attempts at lying to her, “I wanted to vent to you, about my date last night.” She rushed out first, before pausing. The Slytherin was gathering herself, choosing her next words carefully. “It was alright.”

The male noticed the lack of enthusiasm in her description of the event. His stomach lurched in awkward excitement.

She let out a quiet laugh, “You know… I was going to talk to Emmaline about it all, but-” Her head lolled to the side as she thought hard, “But I don’t know, I just-” Eventually, Selene pushed off the wall she was leaning on and strolled closer to the him. “I guess I just really wanted to talk to you.”

Louis was sure that he wasn’t breathing. “Oh.” In fact, he was pretty sure that he hadn’t been breathing for Selene’s entire speech. “Okay. Yeah... Alright.” Taking his hand from his pocket, he gestured over towards the exit of the bathroom, “Shall we, then?” Yes, that was normal. If only his heartbeat could chill out, too.

Luckily for them, there was only one first year in the otherwise empty hallway. Said single first year awkwardly still stood, deer-in-headlights-style, as they witnessed the two elder teens exit the boy’s’ bathroom together.

“So,” Louis was trying his best to seem calm, “It didn’t go well?” He paused, before clarifying, “Your date, I mean.”

The two of them were back in the school’s library. It was during a shared free period of theirs, and like always Selene and Louis were nestled together at their table. Heads were pushed closer to one another than strictly needed, both attempting to talk as quietly – they were in fear of the librarian, who had already given them both the most scathing look when they’d walked in talking.

“No, it was fine.” Selene answered him, her lips twisting into a grimace as she thought over the date, “Nothing awful, it just - it didn’t feel right.” She played with the quill in her hand, “I guess when I’m on a date, I want it to feel nicer than a ‘fine’ or ‘alright’.”

Louis nodded, understanding what she meant. “True.” There was silence as the blond wrote down a sentence or two on his parchment. He could feel the tingle of Selene’s eyes watching him do so. “So,” He began again, “No second date, then?”

Selene averted her eyes from his form, pretending that she didn’t catch him observing her from the very corner of his eye. “Not with Mari, no.” She looked down to her work, and unbeknownst to her Louis did as well.

Both had smiles on their faces.

TAGGED:

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#louis weasley #louis weasley imagine #LouisWeasley #louisweasleyimagine #louis weasley x oc #not reader insert #hp imagine #next generation #next generation harry potter #next gen harry potter #nextgen!#harry potter imagine #hunterparrish #Hunter Parrish #the struggles of a male veela series #the struggles of a male veela #series #harry potter series #harry potter

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ask-de-writer · 5 years ago

Text

LEZON (part 2 of 3), a Science Fiction tale.

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Science Fiction

Lezon

Glen Ten-Eyck (De Writer)

17837 words

written, 2003

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

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Detection failed to answer. She was unconscious. A head wound showed how her primary screen had been broken. Fire control, stanching a cut forearm answered. “Ma’am, it was a pulsed tachyon burst with a signature like none that I have ever heard of. There were seven pulses of ten megatons each, spaced unevenly over a period of less than one second.

“The Talon’s power capsule let go. That’s what caused most of the damage. I spotted the targeting ping and secured the shields. If the Talon had still been at our shield boundary, as it was before I tightened up, we would have been destroyed by the blast. We have retained sufficient fire power to defend ourselves and have no damage to the main engines…”

“I just heard sixty five percent. That sounds like damage to me,” M’ase stated.

“We lost two of the five primary superconductor cables, Ma’am. I talked to engineering just moments ago. Most of the damage in the power room is due to superconductor saturation blast. It will take them about an hour to clear the damage enough to string and cool the replacements. We have full in-system power but lack fine maneuvering capability.”

“Why did you call engineering? Was it about your gun batteries?”

“No Ma’am, I already knew their condition. I was trying to identify the nature of the pulse weapon. They’ve never heard of anything like it before either.”

“I see,” M’ase cocked her head at fire control and asked, “Recommendations?”

“The ragged nature of the pulse spacing is hard on our shielding generators, especially now, with them damaged. Under no circumstance should we get closer to this weapon than 15 C seconds if it can be avoided, until the generator repairs are complete.”

“Good, fire control. Do you have any knowledge of where the shot came from?” asked M’ase, urgently and intensely curious.

“I found that by accident. The blast scar can still be seen in the atmosphere of the nearby gas-giant. I returned fire with all surviving batteries as the tumbling of the ship rotated them to bear. I doubt that I did any damage, Ma’am.”

“Cease fire. I will log a commendation for saving the ship. You may get your first Name from this.”

/////////////////////////////

Below the clouds of methane ammonia and hydrogen, Lezon, true to her determination, had fired her one carefully set up burst and boosted the D’ancer away from the spot as swiftly as she could go. She was maintaining their speed by watching the skin temperature readings, going just slow enough not to burn the ship by friction as she tried to put the bulk of the planet between herself and the enemy. The impact blasts of the return fire from the Hand of Claws could be felt jolting the ship until they got well clear.

She was barely holding her tears, knowing what she had done to those enemies that she had once known so well. Her lifelong training in the Warrior’s Way stood her in good stead.

Lezon had her emotions under control by the time that a dripping wet K’ress joined her. “I went into the tank with the kits until the worst seemed over. What can I do now?”

Lezon looked at K’ress with approval. In spite of all of the shocks and horrors of the day, K’ress stood ready to help. “Activate 14-25 again. I need to know what we did before we jump into their jaws.”

K’ress settled into her crash couch and began to call up information. “You have been busy, haven’t you Lezon? The big ship is tumbling. It looks to be out of control. I can only find one thing that might be a Talon but the computer isn’t sure and flagged it with an uncertainty icon. Here, you take a look.” She put the information on Lezon’s screen while Lezon concentrated on flying the D’ancer like an aircraft in this soup of an atmosphere.

“That was a Talon. It’s destroyed but mostly intact. Give me scale plus one hundred on the Hand of Claws,” Lezon instructed.

She studied the new images for a few moments. “Damaged, not out of action,” she pronounced. “The time to make our break is now, before they get the tumble under control.”

As Lezon’s hands began to dance across the controls, K’ress asked, “What was that funny pounding we felt?”

Lezon absently said, “You mean their return fire?”

“No, we all felt that too,” K’ress said positively. “I mean our salvo. It felt wrong.”

“Lady K’ress,” said Lezon carefully, looking like a kit caught raiding the galley for snacks, “I modified our batteries for more effective fire-power. Each gun now fires a ten megaton pulse that is brief enough that the five kiloton continuous fire provision is observed. We just hit harder for a shorter time.”

“Lezon, is that even legal?”

“As I have read your laws and treaties, yes. The T.C. sealed it as legal. I am sure that Commander M’ase would disagree. She was on the receiving end. That often gives you a different point of view.”

“I see,” said K’ress dryly. “What was it that we did in the power room?”

“Lady, we gave the grav compensator power to the inertial drive. Comfort is a luxury that we cannot afford when it consumes nearly one fourth of all of our power. The Restriction field and primary inertial drive together will energy lock us and prevent us from feeling acceleration changes once we can start them up.

“We need to run now, before they regain control, which they will soon.” Her hands were busy with the engineering controls and the piloting computer. K’ress could see that the routines that Lezon was calling up were ones that would never, could never, be found in a proper Clan ship.

The routines cut too close to the ship’s absolute limits for safety and that was only the beginning. There were alterations being made to the shielding generators’ programming. The Contraction Restriction fields that allowed light to be outpaced lost their safety interlocks. All of the guns in each battery were set to do automatic independent targeting when not directed. Just seeing what the small ship that she had called home might be able to do caused K’ress to shrink inside just a bit and also to be glad that she had the help of somebody like Lezon who knew how to do these things properly.

As Lezon reached for the Restriction field controls, K’ress said in a small voice, “We are still in an atmosphere.”

Lezon just said, “I know that, Lady. There is nothing here to harm.” She touched the activation key.

///////////////////////////

M’ase watched as the damage control workers were replacing the broken detection screens. She fumed a bit, at the loss of long range scanning ability but it would soon be online again.

Damage control was far more concerned with replacing the tachyon radiator in order to restore faster than light capability to the ship. That was nearly done. She had allowed the ship to continue tumbling even though attitude control had been restored. It would deceive her adversary about their true abilities.

In the meantime, fire control was keeping a close eye on the gas-giant with the targeting arrays. The Clan ship was down there somewhere, hidden in the natural tachyon noise of the planet.

Fire control almost yelled, “Found them! They’re breaking out toward the primary!”

M’ase spat a few choice M’cratti curses, while admiring her adversary’s skills, ability and daring. She could see the rising fireball spreading across almost a tenth of the planet’s visible area. When it could rise no further, it sat there, a huge glowing wart on the side of the planet. A glaring point of efficiently fusing hydrogen rose, apparently off center in the wart, due to parallax.

“Fire!” she called, and when nothing happened called again, Fire! They’re getting away!” Finally, seconds after the order, the big disruptors of the Hand of Claws came on line. There was a small puff of vapor from the fleeing ship as it got clear of the salvo. The pilot, acting without orders, was already sounding the maneuvering warnings and stabilizing the ship. Her action had taken the operational battery out of the line of fire, regrettable but necessary, if they were to follow the Clanner.

“Damage analysis,” announced fire control. “We have iron, titanium, copper and rubidium. They lost one of their tachyon radiators.”

The ship began to shake in the irregular lack of pattern already seen in the unusual weapons of the enemy. “They are laying down a very effective suppression fire. Every time that one of our functional batteries comes to bear, they hammer it, preventing us from returning fire. When there is no other target, they concentrate on our shield emitters. They may actually damage us with those guns if we get too close.”

M’ase wrinkled her muzzle in amusement at that. “Little fear of getting too close for a while. I wonder how they pulled off that trick down on the planet? And how they survived it.

“They have the jump on us but we can outrun them in a long chase,” said M’ase in satisfaction. “We got one of their tachyon radiators. If they try going too fast, their Restriction field generators will overload and save us the trouble of destroying them.”

The damage control technician reported, “Long range scanner is back to function, Ma’am. It needs proper calibration before it will be much use for detail work but it will keep us pointed in the right direction and warn us of hazards.”

M’ase absently acknowledged the report and got a new person on the detection console scanners. Her restless pacing brought her behind the pilot. “Pilot, how fast can you get us up to ramjet ignition speed?”

“Less than an hour, Ma’am. Faster, if engineering can finish the cable repairs for the inertial drive. We only have seventy five percent of full power right now.” The pilot was already boosting the Hand of Claws out after the fleeing Clan ship that was making a dive straight for the primary at a crushing acceleration.

“They’re doing a Lezon Dive,” the life support officer observed. “I wonder if they plan to make a powered cometary orbit and come back at us in a classic Lezon attack or if they will leave the system?”

M’ase paced past the new detection officer, pausing to check the quality of the scanner for herself. As the technician had said, it was too inaccurate to tie in to fire control properly. Still, it told a useful story.

“They are going to leave the system,” M’ase observed over the detection officer’s shoulder. “Do you know how I know that?”

This detection officer was young and new to the bridge crew. She desperately wanted to impress the Commander. She called up the observed operational profile of the fleeing ship and its class details along side it. Her eyes widened as she read. Tapping her information screen she said, “This is wrong. They are far out-performing their class limits.” She closed the useless class material and concentrated on the observed data.

“Ma’am I think that I see it. If I read what I see from the targeting array correctly, they used the Restriction field and the ramjet fusion igniter deep in the atmosphere.

“A few thousand tons of the hydrogen in the atmosphere fused when they did that. The detonation was both the fireball that we saw and the launcher that got them up to ramjet speed. They are already up to 0.085 C in a Lezon Dive and accelerating. Assuming that they are using full power to get away from us, they haven’t got enough engine power to pull a cometary that could be used for an attack. Also, the weapons that they have used are too light to attack us successfully. There is no point to a wide orbit that opens them up to our longer range weapons, so they are going to keep right on boosting and leave the system.”

The detection officer shuddered at the thought of someone doing such an insanely risky thing as the method that the Clanner had used to launch itself. Under most circumstances, a pilot would be executed simply for activating a Restriction field in an atmosphere because of the damage it could do to both planet and ship. Firing the ramjet’s fusion igniter in a hydrogen rich atmosphere was only a flavor dip for the snack.

“Well reasoned,” M’ase complimented. “You are a fine Warrior. Find me their possible courses. We are going to lose them against the radiation and tachyon flux of the sun shortly.”

Engineering got the last cable repaired and they achieved ramjet speed in only a little more than a half of an hour. The chase was on.

As the Hand of Claws began to catch up, the stern batteries of the D’ancer began to pour a nearly continuous fire of ten megaton pulses at the shield and Restriction arrays of the pursuing ship.

////////////////////////

K’ress came to, groggily aware that the D’ancer’s guns were firing. She gazed about the control room and saw superficial damage, caused by a massive acceleration, only partly shielded and compensated. They were still accelerating. She could tell that by both the screens and the pressure that held her into her crash couch. Lezon was wasting no power on frills like balancing out the ramjet thrust. The forward view showed the star swelling almost as she watched. She needed to check the course to be sure that they were going to miss it.

The rear view screens were being used for targeting. Lezon was not only alert, she was making constant, minute adjustments to the point of aim. Even at nearly 15 C seconds range, she was still aiming her fire with an accuracy that would have been deadly if her target had been less well shielded.

“Lezon, what happened? This says that we have only been underway for an hour and a half. How did the fusion ramjet get lit? It takes us three hours on inertial drive to get to ramjet speed.”

Lezon did not spare a glance for K’ress, concentrating fiercely on her targeting. She did, however, answer. “Lady K’ress, we have been at ramjet speed since the first one minute and eighty five seconds from launch. What we did back there is the reason why it is against the law to establish a Restriction field in an atmosphere.

“The field, along with our shields, protected us at the same time that it initiated fusion in a dense atmosphere rich in deuterium and tritium. The blast was somewhat larger than I expected but it has damped out. We rode the shock wave of the explosion as a launcher. As soon as we were clear of the atmosphere I started the ramjet. We never needed to use the inertial drive to get up to speed at all.”

K’ress digested the information in silence, studying the screens. “They easily have the power to catch up to us. Their shields seem to be strong. Why are they hanging back?”

Lezon gently bit her tongue before answering. “They have a very good fire control officer and their detection officer is no slouch either. They suspect, and rightly, that I would kill them if they got closer.”

Suddenly, K’ress’s attention was caught by one number in the data on the screens. “Lezon! We are nowhere near C and the Restriction field is already up to point three six! If it hits point seven the overload will blast us out of space for the M’cratti.”

“I am aware of the problem, Lady K’ress. And so are they. That is why they are following us so tightly. They are giving us no chance to repair the one good hit they got. The number three tachyon radiator was destroyed as we went past them while launching from the Gas-giant. Their fire control officer is good, or very lucky. Good, if I know M’ase.”

“Is there anything that we can do about the tachyon radiator, Lezon? I don’t want our kits to die.”

“Lady K’ress, I don’t either. There is something that you can do. I cannot leave my post. In the power room, connect TY-330-rd and TY-331-rd across to the extra connectors on ARS-4-1/7.

“Get the kits out of the exercise tank and have them help you. Put T’cill at the engineering comm to let me know as soon as you have done it. Stay at your posts. There will be more to do after that is finished.”

“Yes, Lezon. We’ll get it done as fast as we can.” She went down the central passage and collected T’cill, T’lass and K’sere from the exercise tank.

In engineering, K’sere was the first to find the TY-330-rd and TY-331-rd cables. Little T’lass scrambled around the cables that had multiple ends and found the ARS-4-1/7. K’ress had the kits hold onto the first of the two cables as she pulled the quick-connect handle. There was a brief spurt of vapor as a little liquid nitrogen in the joint evaporated. The kits took the weight of the cable as it came loose and K’ress guided it to the proper connector and latched it into place.

“Mother K’ress?”

“Yes, K’sere?”

“This is hard work but you and T’cill could do it all by yourselves. Why did Lezon send us all down here?”

“Hold the cable, Little One, while I get the connector loose. There … I think that she sent us all to the best protected part of the ship.”

“I see … push it between these two, Mommy. It will go straight to its connector … Why is she fighting so hard to protect us?”

“T’cass would never allow us to treat her as a slave so she has always been a part of the family. The M’cratt are not supposed to love anybody. It doesn’t mean that they can’t. I think that after she was raised without love, she found it here with us. I believe that she treasures love more for finding it late.”

K’sere considered this information for a moment, brow wrinkled and whiskers twitching with concentration, before changing her line of questions. “Why wouldn’t Mommy,” she swallowed a lump in her throat before saying the name, “T’cass let you treat Lezon like a slave?”

“At the battle of K’stall, T’cass flew a fighter and battled a Talon to a standoff. Neither could gain the advantage needed to destroy the other. T’cass ran out of ammunition and weapon energy. The Talon pilot got into tight formation with her and gave her a M’cratt Warrior’s Salute and signaled that they would fight again if the goddesses permitted. That Talon escorted T’cass back to the safety of Clan territory.

“Later, after the battle at Monafar, T’cass found a wrecked Talon that she thought was the same one that she had fought before, at K’stall. Lezon was in that Talon, alive but seriously injured. T’cass spent all of her war booty and battle pay to heal Lezon and always believed that Lezon was the pilot who had spared her life.”

T’lass entered the conversation as the connector was drawn up tight. “We were talking about Lezon while we were in the tank. We think that since those bad people killed M’rel, Lezon should marry you and become part of the Clan. She’s taken care of us and taught us. We already love her.”

While her kit was talking, K’ress was trying to get the connector to close up. It was resisting. Worse, it was leaking a spray of liquid nitrogen. She released the connector and saw that an O-ring was damaged. She consulted the information etched into the metal of the connector and said, “Get a number thirty seven O-ring. T’cill will know where they are. Run!” K’sere ran and told her sister what was needed. K’ress and T’lass heard the sound of rummaging in a supply locker. T’cill bounded in with the needed O-ring and K’ress quickly fitted it into place. This time, the connector closed up properly.

T’cill called Lezon and told her of the completion of the errand. The response, heard over the unsteady pounding of the stern battery, was, “Good! Now pull the P-12 off of the ARS-4-1/7 and hook it to ID-2. Then everybody get back in the tank except K’ress. I need her up here.”

K’sere spoke for all of the kits when she said, “Lezon, why do we have to ride in the tank? I want to see what’s going on.”

“K’sere, I have sworn to get you safe or die in the attempt. I need all of the power I can get for drives and guns. The tank will shield you from radiation if we have a shield breach and buoyancy will shield you from acceleration changes. It already has.”

The dejected kits were making their way back to the tank when T’cill was hit by inspiration.

“We can set up a projection computer link by the tank and focus it on the ceiling. If we put a comm link beside it, we can communicate with the bridge. It will only take a few minutes! Can we do it, K’ress?”

“If Lezon agrees. We are in her hands, now,” K’ress said, pausing by a comm link. She talked for a few moments and turned beaming to the kits. “She thinks it is a good idea. You have five minutes to set it up before she begins our next maneuvers.”

The kits were gone in a flash to get the equipment and set it up. They reported to the bridge in four minutes that they were ready and in the tank.

K’ress was in her crash couch and waiting, watching as Lezon’s hands danced, constantly updating the instructions to the targeting computer. She spoke, still glued to her screens, “K’ress, we will soon be putting the bulge of the star between us and the Hand of Claws. Already, the accuracy of our fire is suffering from passing through the photosphere. They are trying to close up on us, to follow our turn as tightly as possible and cut us off if they can. I want them to. There is a surprise awaiting them at the end of this dive, I hope.

“On your screen are the figures for the maneuver. You fly the ship and I will handle the guns.”

K’ress looked in awe at the figures. “I had no idea that the D’ancer was capable of doing something like this. I will fly it as you have it. I just noticed that the Restriction field is down to point two, where it belongs, how did we get the tachyon radiator fixed?”

Lezon grinned ferally. “You did that when you routed the field flux cables into the guns. As long as we keep firing, we can hold the field down to safe levels.”

“I see. Ingenious. Do M’cratti ships use that dodge to dump surplus tachyon flux?”

“Not unless they figured it out since the last war. Do you see the Restriction field buildup to point five in the turn?”

“Yes, is that because we will be around the star from them and don’t need to shoot?” asked K’ress, setting up the piloting computer.

“Only partly. That is part of their surprise. We are going to use the engineering maintenance bypasses to shut off the remaining radiators. Then we are going to collapse the field manually on my mark because the computer is programmed against it. When we do, the energy of the field will transfer to every atom of the ship and either we will explode or it will leave us on our new course at about 0.54 C. Then we get the joy of trying to restart the field quickly.”

K’ress said nothing to this. She knew that the maneuver was dangerous and risked severe damage or the destruction to the D’ancer. Certainly, the risks from wrecking the Restriction field generators were less than the risk of staying under the guns of the Hand of Claws. She opened the locked engineering panels and began to set things up.

When she was done, she announced, “It’s set, Lezon. All that you have to do is cut power to the inertial drive and switch it back on.”

////////////////////////////

“Ma’am, I have the Clanner’s likely courses in this blue cone, probability sixty percent, given their speed at the end of the dive as .3 C and the gravitational pull of the star. These courses all add energy by gravitational slingshot principle. The red cone is less likely, being ones in the ship’s observed combined drive energy potential they are graded by shade. The tight yellow cone is where I personally think that they are trying to go. There is a Clan colony at this star, only 32 C years away.” Detection leaned forward to tap her screen with an extended claw at the indicated star.

M’ase looked at detection’s display. She could find no fault with the reasoning. That, in point of fact, was what bothered her.

She placed a hand on detection’s shoulder, a familiarity of high praise for one with a Name to one without. Thoughtfully she advised, “This adversary is as unorthodox as Lezon was. What could she do if she tried something else? Think outside the normal rules. You have seen some of her tactics already. She is not afraid to risk her ship to catch us by surprise.”

Detection tapped her right fang lightly as she thought. Then she began to query the computer’s known facts about small family class Clan ships. Shortly, she began to type information into the computer’s course generation program.

M’ase watched as the new possible courses began to unfold. “What did you assume to produce these?” She asked, amazed by the array of possibles.

“Ma’am, I assumed that they might use the collapse of the Restriction field as a source of energy for changing course. It seemed likely, since she has already used the Restriction field in an unorthodox way.”

M’ase laid a hand on detection’s shoulder for a second time. High praise indeed. She studied the huge array of courses that had opened up and reached several conclusions. “I see three destinations that I would rank as highly probable. What do you think, detection?”

Detection expanded her scales to include the four nearest Clan colonies and studied the result. She felt the hand on her shoulder as a weight of responsibility and trust. She pointed first, then added yellow highlights to make her choices clear. “Any of these colonies are less than six months flight time away. If I were in her place, I would therefore not head for any of them. I would go for this closely spaced trinary system.” She added a white highlight for the course.

Detection heard a slight hiss of breath drawn. M’ase was looking at the display in both delight and dismay. All that she said was, “Brilliant.”

M’ase reached over detection’s shoulder and tapped keys on detection’s console. The display had been sent to the pilot with an order. “Alter course immediately, full power.” To detection, she said, “The star hides her from us. It also hides us from her. If she does do what you have guessed, think deeply on your first Name.”

//////////////////////////

K’ress finished her piloting computer setup and asked, “Why not just head for one of these colonies? The Clan there will protect us and we could make our claim.” She highlighted the four colonies on the screen. “We would come out of the maneuver at nearly 0.7 C if we went in their direction.”

“That is true, my Lady. Unfortunately, we would never arrive. The Hand of Claws is faster than we are. If we went directly for one of the four that you have chosen, they would fall back out of range of our guns and finish their repairs. Then they would catch up and we would have to fight a flock of Talons that know what we can do. We would not survive the encounter.”

Lezon adjusted the scale and highlighted two different courses about the star. “The red course is the one that they will follow if they think to pursue us to the colonies that you have chosen. The yellow one is the one that they will follow if they think to try cutting us off from the trinary suns.”

“Now you have made me very curious about those stars,” stated K’ress. “What is special about them?”

“Education time,” Lezon announced through the computer more cheerfully than she actually felt. “Does anybody see anything about those three stars that is unusual or useful?”

Dubiously, T’lass, the youngest, ventured, “They’re awfully close to each other — only about a C hour apart. That makes them rotate around their center awfully fast. I don’t know how useful that is.”

T’cill suddenly had it. “The space-time curvature around them will be fierce and generated by a three-body problem. It will be impossible for a ship to simply follow us through! The orbits change so quickly that they will have to figure their own course solution and if they miss on which system we are going to, they will lose us for good.”

Lezon beamed approvingly as she continued to pour fire at the oncoming ship. “You remembered your relative frames of reference theory, T’cill. I am proud of you. You too, T’lass. You laid the base of information that T’cill used. You are both right. Snack points.

“Astronomically these stars are only mildly interesting. Tactically, they are M’ase’s worst nightmare. If she falls back out of range to make repairs she can’t catch us before we turn. If she stays close enough to be in range, radiation from our guns will prevent her from repairs to missile launchers and Talon bays.

“The stars are only three weeks flight from here and we can use them for a gravity slingshot to any of these three colonies” Lezon completed her lesson by highlighting their possible destinations.

/////////////////////////

“Commander M’ase, we have lost them against the background of the stellar flux,” detection said calmly. “Just as expected, they appeared to be shaping their orbit to aim for the Clan colony 32 C years off.”

The pilot interposed, jealous at detection’s two touches of familiarity and praise, not to mention the promise of a Name so soon, “It is not too late to pursue. The system that we are shaping for is not even a good hiding place. The gravitational situation is too complex. That’s why close triples never have planets…”

“And big blue stars never have anything but giant planets. Either stony-giants in close or gas-giants further out,” M’ase finished for her.

The pilot laid her ears back in embarrassment. She held to the full power course change thinking to herself, “Following that kit’s advice will lose them for us! The Commander is getting soft.”

Moments later, fire control sounded the action alarms and began trying to track a target crossing their orbit less than two C seconds ahead but moving at over 0.5 C and boosting. She almost had it locked on when it fired first.

The first pulse, just at 140 megatons, was a direct hit over the forward tachyon battery, next to the sensor grid, the second, hit the Restriction field emitter a glancing blow. If the shields had not been up at full strength, the Hand of Claws would have been destroyed. The pilot had just time to chop off drive power as the ship was hurled tumbling off course. The Restriction field was, mercifully, still operational. The long range sensors were out of action and damage reports were coming in from all over the ship. Mostly crew injuries, this time, and one major hull breach forward.

Fire control still had the enemy on her screens but there was nothing that she could do. Her only functional forward battery was a disruptor with a maximum range of only 30 C seconds and easily shielded against at any range over 10 C seconds. The hull breach was all that was left of the only forward tachyon battery that had survived the Talon blast.

The pilot was working carefully to regain control. The moment that they could begin to boost out along the course that the fleeing Clanner was following, she did. It was the course predicted by detection.

M’ase turned to fire control. She had just one word. “How?”

Fire control was studying her records of the chase and had the class information for the enemy up along side it. Her answer was, “I’m not certain but I think that I see how they are doing it. I need a little more analysis time. My previous warning to hang back at least 15 C seconds stands.

“They may have outsmarted themselves this time, though. They have tried to restart their Restriction field. Twice. So far, without success. They are going too fast for it to be easy to do. Starting threshold energy increases with speed.” She showed her fangs in a wide grin.

The pilot put in sourly, “I could collapse our restriction field to boost us after them but the manual says that the maneuver is restricted to emergencies.”

M’ase agreed, “And it’s right, too. I’ve seen ships blow themselves to less than atoms trying that stunt during the last war. They weren’t all ours either. We will pursue by standard means while detection and fire control work together on what that Clanner has.”

As soon as M’ase said it, fire control and detection took it as an order and began to pool their data. M’ase watched in approval as they began to compare information.

Damage control gave her the welcome knowledge that the long range detection array had survived. It would need external work to restore alignment for best accuracy. It had been knocked out when internal safeties had blown from EMP overload. Two to three hours to fix at most. The tachyon battery was a total loss. The shields had stopped all but about a kiloton of the enemy’s attack but that was more than enough. The hull breach had been sealed and efforts shifted to repair of the other forward battery. Six hours should see it back into action.

//////////////////////////////

K’ress tried the Restriction field for the third time and failed to reestablish it again. “Lezon, I can’t get enough threshold power to get the Restriction field up, we are going too fast. What do we do now?” She did not need to add that she could easily see the Hand of Claws finishing her interrupted turn in pursuit.

Lezon could see the screens as well as she could. Better, in fact. Lezon’s lifelong battle training showed her how to analyze what she saw. She found it hard to believe that the small resources at her command had done so much damage to a ship that she knew to be one of the best of her class.

The automatic bombardment programs that she had worked up could handle things for a while. She shifted her screens to share K’ress’s piloting information. The fusion ramjet was working well, adding its minuscule but steady thrust to the D’ancer. It was also adding a huge torrent of power to the collectors and giving the inertial drive the ability to push the ship at nearly three hundred gravities of acceleration. Without the Restriction field, it would all be for nothing.

The Restriction field controlled the contraction in length and increase in mass dictated by Relativity Theory and practice as any physical object approached the speed of light. The faster you go, the shorter you get, the more massive you get, and time slows too. The result is that light speed cannot be exceeded, unless there is some mechanism to interfere with the contraction and mass gain.

The Contraction Restriction field solves that problem by taking the mass increase and converting it to energy. The ship then takes the excess energy from the field and disposes of it through its tachyon radiators. This interruption of the relativity equations prevents the other consequences of approaching or passing the speed of light as well.

There are two serious limitations on the use of the Restriction field. The faster a ship is going, the more mass has to be disposed of to get the field established. This threshold energy increases rapidly with speed. The other restriction is not one of theory, merely engineering. Huge amounts of energy are involved and the best equipment will overload if the field gets too strong. This also imposes practical limits on the speed of ships.

“K’ress, I have looked at the ship’s power budget. Store everything that you can in the power capsule. I am going to cease firing at the Hand of Claws, hopefully, in a fashion that will lead them to believe that we have had a malfunction in the gun battery. Store it all until my mark. That should get us the energy that we need.”

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#LEZON #Part 2 of 3 #Science Fiction #Written by De Writer

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bigsnzstanacct · 5 years ago

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Dr. Brown’s Interdimensional Time Traveling Sneeze Clinic

Another story I wrote, with a concept I found to be a fun frame for doing alien sneeze one-shots. Maybe I’ll bring that back but weirder.

“So, Mr. Ackerman, I’ve got to ask… what exactly is a ‘sneezing emergency?’”

Dr. Brown peered over his glasses at his newest patient, a Mr. Ackerman who’d rushed into his office, with no appointment, and begged to see him, said he’d heard Dr. Brown was the best ENT in the galactic system and that he had, as he said, a “sneezing emergency.” This particular patient appeared to hail from an “earth-like” homeworld, that is, a world that attempted to maintain the culture and practices of the human homeworld in the era immediately before its first contact with the galactic system. Of course that was millennia and millennia ago, but alas, who can argue with traditionalists? Besides, worlds that upheld the culture of some particular historical period or other were actually quite in vogue, though Dr. Brown hardly understood the trend.

“Um, well doc, you see… my allergies are… my sneezes can get… just… when I have to sneeze I get all… and then it… and I hate it but I can’t help… it’s just an emergency doc! You gotta make me stop sneezing.”

Dr. Brown chuckled a bit. He’d certainly never seen a patient so flustered over a few sneezes. On one level, he was a bit shocked that sneezing itself, in all these millennia, had never been eradicated. But sneezing was a shockingly persistent adaptation, consistent in well over 95% of sentient, near-sentient, meta-sentient, and periodically-sentient species, as well as those beings that had “evolved beyond the need for labels, and sentience is a social construct anyway” (which was, in fact, their official designation.)

Bound by his oath to reflect the cultures of all worlds, Dr. Brown offered his patient what relief he could as would be appropriate to Earth circa 2015. Quickly scanning the minds of all doctors on the #DocBrown Network (Dr. Brown was a proud meta-sentient, don’t you know), he arrived at the 2015-Earth-appropriate prescription, and figured he’d deliver the prescription and finish the day in time to catch the televised Beyonce-bot concert: “Well… alright, Mr. Ackerman certainly I can prescribe some medication for seasonal allergies, but of course there’s nothing one hundred percent effective…”

“No, no, you don’t understand doc, I need something one hundred percent effective! I just… I can’t sneeze anymore.”

“You mean… you can’t sneeze… ever again?”

Ackmerman just looked at Dr. Brown, a stupidly eager look on his face that made him look rather like an overgrown puppy.

“Yeah, doc! You got it! No more sneezes for me. Ever again.” A quick look of… consternation, perhaps… passed over Ackerman’s face before he added. “Ever.”

Dr. Brown glanced over his patient. For all that he’d seen rather ridiculous requests over his many years as a time-travelling, species-agnostic, interdimensional, intergalactic ENT specialist (though he preferred the term “atemporal species-agnostic, interdimensional, intergalactic ENT specialist”), he’d never seen someone be quite so… earnest about something so obviously impossible as preventing any and all sneezes.

“Well certainly, son, you understand the impossibility… people sneeze for so many different reasons, not just ones that we can treat, like a cold or allergies.” Quickly performing a biometric scan of his patient, just to confirm his memory of human anatomy, Dr. Brown continued, “Essentially any time anything irritates the tiny hairs inside your nose, that triggers the reaction that we call a sneeze… once the irritation has triggered a reaction, the reaction is, pragmatically speaking, beyond control.”

“Listen, doc, I don’t care you just… you gotta help me, doc, I can’t sneeze anymore. I can’t sneeze ever again, ‘cause when I do it just… when I sneeze it’s… I…”

Dr. Brown wanted to be irritated by the patient’s stammering and inability to get out any real statement, but he found himself curiously sympathetic. Whatever was ailing this young man, it was certainly causing him a great deal of distress. Dr. Brown said as much. “Whatever is ailing you young man, it is certainly causing you a great deal of distress. That much is clear. But whatever it is, I’m going to need you to fully explain the situation. The galaxy…” Mr. Ackerman looked at him irritatedly—OldWorlders hated it when you reminded them of what millennia it was, nevermind that they took intergalactic instantaneous transportation to get to you, if you happened to mention that such a thing would never exist in “their century” they would always respond in a fashion Doc Brown considered unnecessarily snippy, if not out-and-out rude.

Doc Brown took a second before he continued, “The, ah, world of medicine”—and Mr. Ackerman looked mollified—“is full of quirks and oddities,” he said, smiling brightly at the young man in the hopes of encouraging him to open up. “Whatever has happened to you, I am quite confident that others have suffered it as well.”

At that, the boy perked up. “Really? You think that… it’s not just… you think other people have got the uh… the sneezes like I got ‘em?”

“I am sure of it, my boy. Now, just tell me what happened…”

And Mr. Ackerman began to share his story.

--- Well, first off, ah, Doctor, I’ve ah, I’ve always been a big sneezer. Ever since I was a little kid. I couldn’t help it. When something tickled my nose, I had to let it out, full blast. I always heard people doing those little squelchy sneezes, but I never understood it—how can that be satisfying? So I’ve always, um, you know sneezed big.

And then I grew up and, I mean I’m not a small guy you know? I’ve got a big chest, and that means I got big lungs, and I definitely got a big nose, the guys all tell me. I mean look at it it’s like half a foot off of my face, right? Anyway, I got bigger and the sneezes got bigger with me. I started working out. Got stronger. Sneezes got stronger with it. But, you know, nothing weird, nothing out of the ordinary, just, you know, big sneezes.

Plus, you know, I always get those sun sneezes? You know where you’re allergic to the sun? Whenever I walk outside after class I get these great big, “AAAAAAEEEEEESSSSSSSHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” kinda sneezes. I’d walk outside and blast one of those out, and half the people around me would jump ten feet in the air. My buddies, the folks who knew me, they would kid around with me about it, they’d say, “oh there goes a nine-jump sneeze, ladies and gentlemen, a nine-jump sneeze.” That meant, you know, that was a sneeze that would make nine people jump when I let it out, right? And you know, a little one was just a three jump sneeze but sometimes when we were stuck in a dark classroom for long enough I could get out like a fifteen-jumper or even once I got like fifty people after a school assembly… ah, good times, good times. I miss those sneezes…

Anyway, I also have, you know, pollen allergies, and ah… during the spring, sometimes the teachers’ll leave the windows open and it makes me… it just makes me really, really sneezy, you know? So I’ll sit there, and I’ll sit there and I’ll be fine, for a while. And somehow, always when the teacher’s right in the middle of something, that itch’ll hit me. And I dunno, I can’t fight it! When I gotta sneeze, I gotta sneeze so I… you know, I sneeze! And when I sneeze it’s… or anyway when I used to sneeze it was… well you know it was really loud and every time it would interrupt the whole class with a “WWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAA-HHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” kinda thing, just really screamed it out ‘cause you know that pollen had really got my nose good and… you know my friends would just sit there and laugh ‘cause they didn’t really wanna be in class anyway. And besides you know, the way the pollen used to get me once I started sometimes I couldn’t stop til I did it four or five times but… it would tickle me in between each one for so long… so the teach’d really get started good again and then my nose would go off again with a “YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” sneeze… and then the class’d be interrupted again ‘cause, you know, when I was sneezin’ it wasn’t like you could hear anything else… probably in the next classroom over neither. See, doc, I told you I was a big sneezer… or at least, back then I thought I was a big sneezer… Anyway, half my teachers told me I had to start goin outside the classroom when I had a sneeze comin, but they could hear it through the door anyway so I don’t figure how it helped ‘em much, really…

Oh but okay the worst, really the worst one was we still had… oh man oh man it makes my nose itch just thinkin’ about it… but you gotta promise me if I look like I’m gonna blow you ah… you gotta stop me okay doc? But right, I was telling you the worst one, the worst one of all was sitting outside during football practice. ‘Cause you know, we didn’t have the ah, the astroturf, no, no coach insisted on real grass. But every time they had to cut it, they would cut the grass right before practice and doc? When they first cut the grass? Oh man nothing makes me sneeze worse than fresh cut grass, I mean that was like a fifty-jump sneeze every time—or worse—those were… they made ME jump and I was the one sneezin’ you know? So anyway, the first few practices nobody says anything, or you know, they rib me about it, you know, like guys do, they say, “Hey… Ackerman, you gonna sneeze us off the field? That your plan?” Yeah they were laughing then…

Plus the grass ones weren’t like my normal allergies, and they weren’t like the sun sneezes, you know? The grass sneezes, doc, they would just build… and build… and build, and I’d be squinting up at the sun, hoping it would help me sneeze so I could finally get rid of the tickle, but I’d just sit on the bench for like… five minutes of those mega-dramatic little sniffles and sniffs and breaths like, “eehhhhhhhhhh… heehehhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… hhaaaaaAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH… hAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…” and I mean I’d still be breathin’ in and I’d practically be shoutin’! I don’t know what comes over me with those grass sneezes but I couldn’t help it! And when it finally came out… Doc, even then I was worried for my health. ‘Cause it was like a bomb went off or something just, “HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” And you know, I’d sniff and I’d feel bad about botherin’ everybody and interruptin’ practice but… I’d always still feel that tickle, doc! Way back in my nose just waitin’… I’d probably have to let one go at least two or three times each practice, every time they mowed that field. And that was just what I let go during practice. In the showers, after? Man, guys swore they went deaf listening to me sputter and sneeze. I’d sneeze for twenty minutes straight, either sneezing or itching and gasping and it was even worse ‘cause you know, I couldn’t look up at the sun and I’d just be panting and gasping and guys’d look at me like I was a TNT ready to go off or something…

Anyway, at first, everybody laughs it off. Then they start, you know, they start teasing a little harder. And then they start making fun of me real bad. But I can’t stop, doc, I just… when I smelled that grass it just made me… I mean I just went off like a nuke, felt like I couldn’t stop it whatever I tried. Anyway, they tried to joke me out of em, but it wasn’t like I was doin’ it on purpose! And so we get farther in the season and every time I sneeze during practice, I got the whole team glaring at me. QB says I’m throwing off his arm, ‘cause he’s just waiting for me to go boom. O-Line says they can’t hear the QB over me. By the time we’re deep in the season, and we’re trying to practice a play and I just start shooting off? Nobody’s laughing. I just get these death glares, man. Finally one day, Coach just loses it. He’s like, “Ackerman! You get that damned nose under control, you hear me? You get that nose under control or you’re off the damn team. I’m not kidding around here! Can it with the sneezing or I’m taking you off! You got that?”

And you know I’m terrified, ‘specially since even when he’s saying it I still got that tingle you know, that tingly feeling in my nose that tells me that I might get a sneeze coming at any moment but he said I had to stop sneezing and… doc, I don’t know how to make myself stop sneezing. I’ve always let ‘em rip. Ever since I was a kid, I get a great big itch in my nose, I can’t help it! I just blast out one ‘a my monster sneezes! I’m not equipped to, you know, pinch it and squeeze it down and do those little chew-toy girly girl sneezes. When I gotta blow, I gotta BLOW, doc, no two ways about it. But, the team is important to me so… I start trying to choke ‘em back.

And at first it works, right, doc? I keep my eyes closed when I’m not on the field, ‘cause I know the sun gets to me too. I keep my finger under my nose, and I press real hard every time the itch gets big. And if all else fails and I really gotta let loose… I pinch it. I pinch my nose closed and… doc, you talk about crazy. Keepin’ all that pressure bottled up, it was… it wasn’t comfortable that was for sure. And when I did it that way I’d have to do, like, fifteen of ‘em before I felt any better. And you could tell the guys wanted to make fun of me for it, for doing the chew toy sneezes but they couldn’t, ‘cause they were afraid it’d make me go back to… you know, the real sneezes. Or at least, how they were then…

But it’s never satisfying. I sit there all of practice holding it back, and holding it back, and then doing the little stifle-y sneezes and it’s never… it never feels right, doc. And yeah I’m still blasting em out during the showers but… the more I stifle and the more I hold back, the more I can’t even let ‘em out during the showers. Soon I couldn’t even get a real sneeze out in class, or when I walked outside. Even the sun sneezes failed me, doc! I mean I remember I got a cold for like two days and the whole time, even with a cold—and doc, if there was anything as bad as the grass sneezes, it was my cold sneezes, boy!—even with a cold in my nose, I couldn’t do a real sneeze.

Well, anyway, it helped me on the team. And Coach says I’m doing good work. And I’m getting off the bench more. And then I’m really getting off the bench a lot, and finally, in the last game of the regular season, Coach starts me. And then we go to the playoffs. And I’m starting! I’m starting, Doc, that’s never happened to me. And you know, I’m thinking, well, sure, I can’t sneeze… ever, but… I’m starting. And we get all the way to the playoffs, all the way to State, and ah… at the State game… that’s when things went… off…

We had to drive down to this dinky little college town, like four hours away from home, and… the closer we get to this town the more my nose starts… itching. Like really itching, like… I mean not as bad as when they cut the grass on the field, but… different, like a slow-burning kinda thing that just tickles more and more and more and… I’m not sneezing I’m not even doing the little chew-toy sneezes, the little squeaks. But the itch isn’t going away. It started out so tiny but the closer we got the more that itch grew, and grew… and I felt like… I wanted to start doing those hitching breaths like I used to, when I got hit with the grass smell but… I didn’t want folks to worry that I was losin’ control of my sneezes, like I used to. So I just… didn’t. And it itched, more and more and more, but I didn’t sneeze, didn’t even breathe like I was gonna sneeze. You know, none of the “huh… hehhhhhh… hiiiiiiiihhhhhhhhh…” kinda business. Nothing! I’m on nose lockdown, nobody even knows what’s happening in there but doc, inside my nose it’s just like… like a trampoline party for like… super tiny ants or something, right on the sneeziest part of my nose.

So my nose is already on fire, right doc? Like it’s tickling so bad, probably worse than I can ever remember, ‘cause you know what I was used to was just… you know, getting the urge and blastin it out, right? Okay anyway… we finally get there and we’ve got a night in the hotel before the game right? So you know, I get outta the bus and doc, I gotta tell you I nearly lost it then and there. That tickly feeling got like three times worse all of the sudden, soon as I got outside. I couldn’t see straight I hadta sneeze so bad. But I couldn’t let anybody see it. I blew my nose a little but that didn’t really help. And in my head I’m wishing, oh god, I’m wishing I could just sneeze, however big or loud or hard I had to sneeze, I didn’t care, whatever it took to get that itch outta my nose!

And I still can’t show it to nobody. I mean I froze when I got outside and they’re like, “Are you OK?” and I’m scared to talk, doc! I’m scared to open my mouth cause if I say anything it might make my nose tickle and either way I just know they’re gonna hear the sneeze in my voice, so… so I keep holdin’ it off.

I finally get to the hotel room when my willpower just gives out, just like… I’m in my hotel room, my roommate’s gone out for a sec and it’s not like the walls can hold my sneezes—I know the rooms nearby will hear me—but maybe, just maybe I can let one out, full force, and maybe that’ll get the tickle to where I can stand it at least. So I let the tickle take over and I’m huffing and puffing and I’m sure it’s gonna be a monster but then… the dude who I gotta share a room with walks in and… I couldn’t help it, I just shut it all down and sneezed a little chew-toy sneeze. Only I couldn’t stop. I just kept going with these little squeaky tiny sneezes. All night. Even at the point where we’re trying to get to sleep, and okay I’m lucky the guy I’m rooming with is a decent dude so he’s like, “At least you’re not blowin’ my eardrums out… just… try to knock it off as soon as you can.”

Well I do the squeaky sneezes til I drift off to sleep, a good two hours after my buddy in the other bed has called it a night. And then I wake up, stretch, yawn, take a great big breath of air… and start in with the squeak sneezes again, the little stifle-y sneezes. The other guy in the room just rolls over and gives me a look before he drags himself into the shower. And even while he’s in the shower, I’m all opening the window, looking into the sunlight, trying to get a real sneeze off so I can get some relief, but… nope, no such luck.

So I’m still doing the squeak-sneezes, and they’re just going and going. They’re going while I shower. They’re going while I get dressed. They don’t stop when I get on the bus, just winding up and then another squeezed-down squeaky stifle sneeze, the exact opposite of how I used to sneeze. And they barely give me any relief, almost none at all, and as soon as I get outside, leave the AC in the hotel, whatever it is that got to me about this town just gets about a thousand times worse. And the squeak-sneezes start coming even more often, until it feels like I’m constantly squeaking and it keeps going and going all the way until we’re back on the bus and we’re practically at the field.

And that’s when I realize, doc, like… it don't matter how many chew-toy sneezes I do, this itch isn’t going away. And I can’t play if I’m chew-toy sneezin’, now can I? Coach sees what’s happening, starts rollin’ his eyes and then… I see ‘im and I can’t even blame ‘im, I wouldn’t start me either, popping off with a squeaky little sneeze every two-n-a-half seconds but damn if it didn’t get to me. I mean my nose can’t get any relief, I still don’t get to start, I’m damn near blowing my brains out every time I do one of those squeaky sneezes and most of all doc, most of all there’s this itch, this itch is like… like I just huffed on every flower in the whole hemisphere while staring into the sun on a fresh cut field a grass. And speaking of which…

I start to smell it. Oh no. The field, they…

It was a whole field of freshly cut grass.

Doc, I don’t know how I held on another second, but I did, but I… I mean what happened next I… I wish I’d just… I wish I’d let go before we got out on the field but I… I’m still doin’ the chew-toy sneezes until… until… until… it happened… but anyway I held back for a while longer. I held back the whole time we got dressed, didn't even so much as do a chew-toy squeak. But my nose was on fire. It was like it itched too much to sneeze! But I made it through the warmups and through the Coach’s speech… and after all those chew-toy sneezes I’d done he was sure relieved to have me looking normal. And yeah, I looked normal but inside my nose… was a different story.

And then uh… doc you gotta… well this is why I’m here ‘cause… well okay. Coach is done talking, we’re all warmed up, it’s time to go out on the field right. And my nose… my nose has never felt like this before, right? It just feels like… I’m gonna go nuclear at any second. But I’m looking fine, right, nobody can tell the difference. And it’s driving me crazy but… you know, people have played through worse than a tickle in their nose, even if it’s like… the worst tickle anybody’s ever felt in like a billion years. I can do this, right? Well… that’s what I thought.

So the other team’s already done their whole run out on the field bit and they’re just standin’ there right? Like they’re gonna do some announcement or something or sing the national anthem or whatever… so they want both teams out on the field. And then, we run out and doc, doc, you gotta believe me I tried real hard but… when we ran out on that field… with that grass ticklin in my nose, something just… something snapped and the sneeze I’d been holding for so long… I mean it was like… it was like a year’s worth of sneezes just… I tried to hold it but… I just couldn’t, I didn’t, I had to…

I started sucking in air. Now right away, I knew, even for me, this was gonna be a big one. I mean Coach might drop me from the team right there, during the game but… that tickle in my nose! It was so bad, doc, I didn’t even care anymore. I didn’t give a damn about football or starting or Coach or the whole damn team or the state championship I wanted that itch OUT! I needed to SNEEZE a real, massive, full-size, tornado-strength Jimmy Ackerman AH-CHOO… and besides, whether I wanted to or not, it was coming…

I was gasping. The whole team’s turning around to look at me, even while we’re supposed to be running out onto the field. I’m standing right on the field, right in the end zone, and I… I can’t move. It starts real low, like a “huuuhhhhhhh… huuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhh…” but I’m feeling… doc I know it’s crazy but I’m feeling like… like there’s a wind rushing towards me, and my eyes are tearing up and all but I blink down and I’m looking at the grass and it’s… doc the grass is swaying a little…

And then it just keeps coming and now I’m really gasping it in like, “HHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHH… HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…” I mean my chest is swelling and I know I'm not imagining it now… people’s hair is blowing around in the breeze, there are clumps of grass that are just come out of the ground altogether, people are just… they’re just confused, they don’t know what’s happening any more than I do, and Coach is… Coach is walking over and he’s lost it he’s just screaming like, “ACKERMAN! You get that damn nose under control, or I swear… never seen a perfectly good player get so damn sidetracked by sneezing, I mean…”

And, doc… I… I knew it was gonna be a big sneeze, right? But I mean I didn’t know, I couldn’t have known how massive this sneeze was gonna turn out to be. I mean I was used to making people jump with how loud they were but this felt like… well… anyway Coach was right there, in my face, and I was trying… you know I tried to signal as much as I could… tried to get him to move, to get out of the way but… he just kept getting in my space, and I could hardly think about anything… anything except the sneeze, and right when he put his finger in my face, his face is right near my face… I just loose it, doc.

“HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-CCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

I mean doc I’d never sneezed like that… ever, and it… well… I felt all that air blowing out of my nose and my mouth, I felt how much force I was blowing out, how much air I still felt in my lungs as I just kept blasting and blasting… I mean you know my eyes were closed while I was sneezing but I just knew… I was almost afraid to open ‘em you know? And when I did…

Doc I… you’re never gonna believe me but… Doc, I blew Coach halfway across the field. Not just that, I blew most of our team down… ten, fifteen, twenty yards? Doc, the goal post on the other end of the field was swaying. There were banners all around the stands that had blown clean away in the blast, even folks in the stands looked like they’d fallen on top of each other, and… and the worst part was… I wasn’t done.

Doc, I fired off like… ten more of those monsters. I was out of control, I just couldn’t stop. And they never went back to normal, they never got smaller. Just sneeze after sneeze after sneeze. At a certain point people just started running for cover, trying to get away, it was like there was a storm coming but… doc, I was the storm, my nose, my sneezes. Man it was so… embarrassing! And I just kept going and going and going. By the time I finished sneezing, the stadium was basically empty… and basically wrecked. And since then… Doc, my sneezes… they aren’t going back to normal.

I mean they didn’t even want to let me into the hotel room when I got back… and when I did, I totally lost it again, blew out a few windows, totally wrecked the room. I just… I couldn’t help it, it’s like every single sneeze I’d ever held back was just… built up, waiting to get out. And I’ve never had another one quite like that fit at the football field but…

I walk out into the sunlight, get a tickle? Forget a fifty-jump sneeze, it’s liable to be a fifty-foot sneeze, as in people get sneezed fifty-feet away. I mean I haven’t hurt anybody, yet… Coach was a little banged up but he was OK… and the guys were wearing pads… and now everybody knows when I get the sneezes they gotta steer clear. But it’s gettin’ to the point that I’m scared to walk outside! I try to keep my eyes down to the ground but that sun gets to me every time.

And the sneezes in class? I gotta sneeze out the window so I don’t blow nobody through the window! Everybody just leaves a seat by the window for me… and of course I just get more pollen in my nose so I end up sneezing half the class… and I’ve already blown out like ten windows…

And fresh-cut grass, well… let’s just say I don’t get within a hundred feet of anybody’s football field. Hell, my neighbor was mowing the lawn the other day and I was lucky I didn’t blow down his house like the Big Bad friggin Wolf! Doc, it’s crazy! So… so that’s why… I can’t sneeze. Ever again. So uh… will you help me?

--- Dr. Brown was… impressed? Since roughly the midpoint of his story, Dr. Brown had deduced why Mr. Ackerman was so distressed, but he’d searched 13 out of his 79 consciousnesses, and he’d yet to find any situation similar to Ackerman’s. But, he was THE Dr. Brown, the single greatest atemporal, species-agnostic, interdimensional, intergalactic ENT the world had ever seen! If anyone could conquer Ackerman’s admittedly impressive sneezes, it was Doc Brown.

“Well, Mr. Ackerman… I can see now what the problem is… and I have to admit to you, I’m still searching through my multiple consciousnesses and…”

Ackerman made that sour face again. Stupid OldWorlders.

“I mean… I’ll have to finish searching the ah… oh god what did they call it… the um… the inter…”

“Oh you mean searching the internet, doc?”

“Yeah, right, the internet.” Doc Brown barely controlled his eyeroll at that. 21st century technology. “But yes, I’ll have to search the internet, but I haven’t come across a problem like yours in the past.”

Ackerman looked devastated. But Dr. Brown always found a solution! “However… I would love to work with you personally on developing a system to mitigate the effects of your symptoms… ah, you might think of it as a sort of ‘Sneezing Reduction Therapy.’ With any luck we’ll have you back to your old self, just terrifying your fellow humans with your sneezes, rather than blowing them across football fields! Doesn’t that sound great?”

Ackerman brightened up considerably. “Doc! That sounds perfect!”

“Yes… yes… I’m sure it does.” The wheels in Dr. Brown’s head were already turning. (Literally, although the wheels were sub-nano-sized and really only were used for the robo-limbic system, the process for long-term thinking was totally different and involved a great deal more atomic fusion, to say the least…)

--- A few days later, the following ad appeared on advertising media across the galactic center (Doc Brown even sprung for DreamVertising, and you’d think twenty thousand years of marketing experience would get you a better name but, advertisers as always were rather lazy…):

Having issues with your sneezes? Nose causing you dismay? Never fear! Dr. Brown has solutions for sneezing problems of all shapes, sizes, kinds, manners, species, and orders of sentience. Particularly for those having trouble with especially… powerful… sneezes, Dr. Brown’s therapies are a sure-fire success!

Now all that remained was to sit and wait for the clients to roll in…

#snz fic #snz story #male allergies #dr browns interdimensional time travelling sneeze clinic #gigantic sneezes

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yallreddieforthis · 6 years ago

Text

My Summer From Hell: A Tale of Friendship

Fandom: It (2017)

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier (minor mentions of Richie’s crush on Eddie)

Rating: T (for language)

Words: 2.9k

Movie canon-compliant. Also posted on AO3. This is that summer experience essay Richie warned us about.

“Richie Tozier?”

Richie takes a reluctant break from the sick-ass game of MASH: The Wonder Years Edition he’s playing by himself in his algebra notebook to look up at his teacher, who is waving a blue note and glaring expectantly at him.

Blue note. That means Neil wants to see him. Damn, only five days into the school year! New—actually, not a new record. Richie feels like he and the principal should be on a first-name basis by now; Richie’s in his office a lot. He rarely gets punished because most of the things he does toe the line of punishable offenses magnificently—he usually just gets told to stop doing whatever it is he’s doing and then gets sent back to class. If he was down there getting detention every other day, he’d understand what the problem was. But alas, Neil shot down the suggestion of being called Neil right away. So they can only be on a first-name basis in Richie’s head. Too bad.

The Math and Science building is as far away from the Administration building as you can get without leaving Derry Junior High, and Richie takes his time during the walk to Neil’s office, stopping outside the computer lab until Eddie catches sight of him through the window. He makes a gesture that causes Eddie to give him a surreptitious middle finger, hidden from his teacher by the monitor, but his cheeks also bloom cherry red, so Richie counts it as a win because it’s the cutest goddamn thing he’s seen all day. It feels like every other day now Richie’s being hit in the face with how adorable Eddie really is. He’s torn between wanting to pinch his cheeks and kiss him on the mouth, and frankly he’s mostly still straddling the fence on that issue only because he doesn’t want to deal with the answer.

In contrast to having a pretty good idea deep down what direction things are headed in regarding his general feelings about Eddie, Richie has not the slightest clue why he’s being called to the principal’s office the Friday after school started. None of the things he’s done should have been discovered yet. It makes no sense.

Bill is in the computer lab too, and Richie can’t see him from where he’s sitting, so he heads over to the staircase at the end of the hall. Pausing to make sure no teachers are lurking around to give him shit for it, he sits down at the top of the railing and slides down. Actually, he slides about a fourth of the way down before falling off and sort of rolling the rest of the way, but no one saw that so it still counts as a success.

He walks past the yard to watch Stan and Ben running the mile in P.E. Stan is fucking booking it, and Richie dawdles long enough to figure out that he’s a lap ahead of everyone else. Running away from Bowers for a few years will do that to ya. Well, at least it will if you’re Stan. Richie still can’t run an 8 minute mile, so his P.E. grade has stagnated at a B-.

Richie stops in the middle of the hallway in the Language Arts Building, glancing into Mr. Tremblay’s French 1 class. Bev was planning on taking that this year, and she’d be in there if she hadn’t moved to Portland. Sometimes—and Richie hates thinking about this because there’s no use in dwelling on it—but sometimes he really wants to kick himself for not getting to know her sooner. She’s the best bro he’s ever had that’s a girl, and it just really sucks ass that they only got to hang out for like one summer.

Before he even realizes it, he’s walking into the front office. Bertha glances up at Richie through her horn-rimmed reading glasses.

“Mr. Tozier! What’d you do this time?” she asks brightly. Ah, Bertha. She and Richie have a rapport. Richie might go so far as to say she even likes him, at least a little. He’s made her laugh at least seven times, and once in sixth grade she told him he had a real gift after he showed her his best Rick Moranis impression. She doesn't bullshit him, and he doesn’t bullshit her. Well, not very much at least.

“I have no idea,” he tells her honestly, resting his elbows on her desk, which is decorated with a rubber band ball, a Hoberman sphere, several pictures of her nieces and nephews, and the biggest Hershey’s Kiss Richie has ever seen in his entire life. Seriously, it’s almost as big as his goddamn face. Apparently, she got it on a trip to New York, and she’s had it at least as long as Richie has known her. He has never wanted to eat a thing so badly in his entire life, regardless of how old it is. It’s a fucking Hershey’s Kiss. Do those things even go bad? Either way, it’s Richie’s number one goal to take a big fucking bite out of that thing before he culminates at the end of the year. He’s a thousand percent sure it will taste like sweet victory.

“Neil?” Bertha calls over her shoulder. “Did you send for Richie Tozier?”

Neil’s voice floats back through the open door behind Bertha. “Oh, yes. Thanks, send him on back.”

Neil’s desk always starts the year looking pristine, and by the last day of school it is filled with stacks of pure chaos. Richie admires him for trying again at the beginning of each year. It’s like how his mom buys him a binder for each class and book covers and sets up an organizational system for his homework and notes despite knowing that it won’t last a month. It’s nice of her to try, but Richie is pretty sure they both go into it with the understanding that it’s kind of a hail Mary situation.

So right now Neil’s just got like three pictures of his wife, a snowglobe with GREETINGS FROM ST. PAUL written on the base, and a manageable-looking stack of papers in file folders. Godspeed, sir.

“Mr. Tozier,” Neil says by way of greeting, “please have a seat.”

“How was your summer, Ne—Principal McCormack?” Richie asks, plopping down into the chair directly opposite Neil.

Neil’s eyebrows raise. “Not as interesting as yours, based on what I heard from Ms. Pfarrer this afternoon,” he says, reaching into his desk and pulling out two pieces of lined paper stapled together. “Care to explain?”

He places it directly in front of Richie. Richie peers at it. The top right corner reads: Richie Tozier, English 8A, Period 4, September 3, 1989. It wasn’t stapled when he handed it in, he’d just sort of folded the corners over together and hoped for the best, but Ms. Pfarrer must have gone ahead and stapled it for him.

“That would be yesterday’s English homework.”

“Correct,” says Neil. “I want you to read this entire essay out loud to me, and then I’m going to ask you some questions. Okay?”

Richie’s not sure if the questions are about the contents of the essay, or if Neil just can’t read his handwriting. Then again, that sounds like a Ms. Pfarrer problem; he’s not sure why she’d bring it to the principal if she just couldn’t read it. Normally she just hands it back to him and tells him to rewrite it when that happens, or at least that’s what she did last year. If his teachers have suddenly decided to send him to the principal every time he turns in an illegible assignment, it’s going to be a very long year.

But whatever.

My Summer From Hell: A Tale of Friendship

If you had asked me at the end of last year what the worst thing about my summer would probably be, I would have bet a hundred bucks it was going to be the trip I took down to Augusta to see my grandma two weeks ago, which sucked. All we did was watch Matlock all week and she made me get a really shi bad haircut, just like last year. It’s going to take me months to grow it out. But compared to what went down in July and the beginning of August, eating soup at Grandma Dottie’s house was NOTHING.

You know how kids just disappear off the face of the earth all the time here in Derry? If you didn’t, that’s a fun fact from me to you that I learned from my new friend Ben (he’s in your 5th period class). Well, while we were looking for my other friend Bill’s missing brother, we found out where they all went.

Underneath our feet, down in the sewers, there lives a killer clown. That’s right, you heard it here first. Like John Wayne Gacy, but 100000x worse because it’s for sure not human. Sometimes It’s a clown, sometimes not. Depends. On what? I have no idea. It was usually a clown when I saw it but one time it started turning into maybe a werewolf. It can turn into anything it wants and it eats kids.

Anyway, It almost killed all of us on the fourth of July. We Bill decided to go try and fight It at the creepy ass house on Neibolt street, and that was an absolute shit show disaster. Ask Ben to show you the sick scar on his stomach if you don’t believe me. Eddie fell through a giant hole in the floor and broke his arm. I got mad at Bill for bringing us all there and he punched me in the face, and then I didn’t talk to him for a month.

Then It dragged Beverly Marsh into its nasty sewer lair and we all went down the grossest well in Derry to get her back. Henry Bowers followed us because he just has to ruin everything, even things that are already the worst. There’s this giant cistern that has a huge pile of broken toys and crap and the clown lives in there. There were hundreds of dead kids floating in the air.

It’s a long story but I beat the shit crap out of It with a baseball bat and we fought it back. We swore to each other that we’d all come to fight It again if it returns. Anyway, the moral of this summer is that you can achieve anything if you work together and also that there is no way Henry Bowers could have caused an explosion during the 1800’s. I want to see him go to jail for taking a dump in my backpack for sure, and I guess for killing Belch, Vic and his dad too, but I know for a fact that he didn’t kill Georgie Denbrough or Betty Ripsom or Ed Corcoran. This town is just cursed.

Richie looks up brightly at Neil when he finishes reading. Neil takes a deep breath and rubs his temples with his fingers.

“I’m not sure you understood what the assignment was, Richie,” he says. “This is an inventive—and deeply disturbing—story, but this was supposed to be about what you actually did over the summer, not—”

“Yeah,” says Richie. “It is. I mean, I didn’t think Ms. Pfarrer was going to actually read them all. But—”

“This was a nonfiction assignment though.”

Neil’s being real slow on the uptake. Maybe his brain is still on summer break.

“Yeah,” says Richie, nodding. “As in, this is what actually happened to me. Here’s where we swore we’d come back and fight again when we’re old. If It comes back.” Richie holds out his left hand so Neil can see the freshly healed scar.

“Ouch,” Neil winces. “How did you get that?”

Richie rolls his eyes. “I cut it on glass. On purpose. Go get the others—they’ll tell you. Eddie Kaspbrak, Stanley Uris, Bill Den—”

“Please stop with the games,” says Neil. “Just—I’ve had a long week. We all have. Ms. Pfarrer wanted me to look into sending you to the school psychologist. I know you like to, you know, do what you do, but this is taking it too far.”

“Why would I lie to you about this?” Richie asks. He puts both elbows on the desk and leans forward. “Seriously. Why?”

“Attention-seeking behavior is common after the kind of trauma we’ve all experienced over the past year,” Neil says. Super patient, like he’s quoting a textbook and speaking to a preschooler. “I know what happened with Henry was a surprise to—”

“Wait, wait wait,” Richie interrupts. “You think I wrote this to get attention?”

Neil sighs and throws up his hands. “I can’t think of any other reason. If there is one, I’d love for you to give me some insight.”

Honestly? How fucking dare he. It strikes Richie in that moment how goddamn unfair this is. They had to do this with everyone—from explaining those nasty bites on Stan’s face to Eddie being grounded for the rest of the summer, to knowing exactly why there were so many more bodies in the sewer than missing kids from this past year and no one believing them…

“How about this for insight? ” Richie says. “I’ve been through too much trauma this year to come up with another bullshit story that all you adults will eat up. None of you care what actually happened; you just want me to tell you something that means you don’t have to do anything about it. Well, you’re gonna have to come up with your own lie to tell yourself. I’m not doing it for you.”

Neil is gaping. But Richie keeps going.

“I thought it was Bowers before this summer and honestly, I wish I’d been right. And it’s not like I’m sorry that he’s getting all this shit pinned on him even though he didn’t do it. My life is a million times easier without him around—he can get strung up by his ballsack for all I care.”

“Richie, there’s a mountain of evidence against—”

“I don’t give a shit about evidence,” says Richie. “I know what I saw. I know what happened. I know, and Bill knows, and Stan knows, and Bev… What do you care though? You’ll probably be dead anyway by the time It comes back.”

“Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?” Principal McCormack asks. His face has gone hard and stony like Richie’s never seen before; like Richie has crossed a real line this time. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows there’s going to be nasty consequences for this, but he can’t find it in himself to give a shit.

“You wouldn’t believe me even if it was,” Richie mutters. “Just… Fuck it. Send me to the school shrink or whatever. Give me detention; flunk my essay. None of this shit matters anyway.”

“You can bet you’re getting all three of those things,” says Principal McCormack with a mirthless chuckle. “And I’m not sure what’s gotten into you this year, but I feel like—”

“Do I sound like the grownups in Charlie Brown when I talk?” Richie demands. “Seriously, am I making like, actual words to you? Or are you just hearing wah wah wah when I—”

“I’m calling your parents,” Principal McCormack says over him. “Is something going on at home?”

Richie feels blood pounding through his veins. Like it could melt his skin. He looks Principal McCormack dead in the eye, reaches for his essay and tears it to shreds, standing slowly.

“In the end,” he says, his voice shaking and frustrated tears threatening to overpower him, “it’s not going to make any difference if you don’t believe me. We’ll come back, all of us. Me and Eddie. Ben, Beverly, Mike. Bill. Stan. What you think doesn’t change that.”

And as suddenly as it came, the anger evaporates. Just...poof. Gone. It clears, and there’s fucking gobsmacked Principal McCormack sitting there like a lump, staring at Richie. Maybe he heard the individual words, but one thing Richie know for sure: he still doesn’t get it. And he never will. And not just him; Ms. Pfarrer. Even Bertha, whether she thinks Richie is gifted or not. And his parents…

There’s a sick loneliness that kind of creeps in to fill up where his anger was, colder than a January wind. Every time his dad comforted him as a kid, when he’d check under the bed and in the closet for monsters, was a lie. When his mom told him he’d be safe sleeping in their bed. That nothing was coming to get him. That they’d never let him get hurt. Lies, all of it. And it’s not like the adults in his life are lying to him on accident. The truth is right there in front of their stupid fucking faces and they just refuse to look at it.

The chill settles into a stony sort of resolution. Richie has stared the truth in the face and didn’t flinch. Even getting suspended is fucking nothing compared to… Whatever. He’s getting detention anyway. Might as well make it memorable. He turns on his heel and walks out of the office.

“If you’re still alive in 2016,” Richie calls over his shoulder, “I’ll hit you up at your nursing home and let you know I was right all along.”

#It (2017)#richie tozier #Stephen King's IT

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