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selormohene · 6 months

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day 118 (sunday, october 29th 2023)

For some reason I have a lot to say for today, which is nice.

When I was in college (I think it was, although it may instead just have been the first semester of my first year of the PhD — but I’m pretty sure it started in college) there was this donut shop called Union Square Donuts that used to come to the weekly farmers’ market on Tuesdays in the Science Center Plaza. They had the best donuts. There was one particular kind I used to get, the maple bacon flavour, which actually had pieces of bacon on it. It was incredible. Then later it used to be that I could only get them on Sunday mornings at the market near where I lived, so I had to make sure I woke up early. I usually got them after church, if there were some left, or if I managed to wake up early enough I could get them before church. Anyway, they opened a branch in Harvard Square just a few weeks ago, and you’d think that would be an incredible thing — finally, this great donut is incredibly accessible, and so on — but actually it seems to have made it less appealing to me than it used to be.

It’s weird, how much I used to look forward to having Union Square donuts but can barely be bothered to buy them anymore now that they’re more freely available. It’s not even that I don’t like them as much or that it’s the mere fact of availability that makes things less appealing. For example there are all sorts of things in the Square which I consume frequently, and it’s not a matter of a lack of novelty either because I have all sorts of old favourites which I continue to enjoy. I think it’s something about the fact that it used to be less accessible than it is now. There was a point when being able to get Union Square donuts was something I could look forward to on Tuesdays (or Sundays), when it gave me an extra incentive to be out and about doing whatever I was doing, when going to get the donut was a point around which I could organise my other activities, and so on. I felt a sense of accomplishment if I could wake up early enough to get to church on time and that kind of thing. And there’s a whole thing about the relation between dopamine signalling and reward relative to effort or something but I’m not sure about the details of that. In any case, though, the fact that my reward system seems to be functioning in this way — that the increased availability of something like that seems to have made it less rather than more appealing — feels like a good thing, a sign that I’m well-adjusted in this respect, if you want.

On legality and morality in mathematics. I feel like I’ve become a lot more legalistic since I started studying university-level mathematics. I’ve thought about the “bait-and-switch” from big fundamental questions to narrow technical problems in academic philosophy, such that when one comes back to the big fundamental questions one either ends up working on them in an overly narrow technical way or else has to work one’s way back to capturing the “big, fundamental” spirit behind them while not throwing away the resources one has gained from the technical questions. But now I feel like something similar is happening to me with math. To be fair, I did realise some time ago that the change in focus or content or subject matter (from calculations and concrete objects to more general classes of objects and proofs, so from following certain rules to solve algebraic equations to proving general theorems about the class of all objects governed by certain axioms or kinds of axioms) was a thing that happened in math. And in the past I’d thought about the issue more in terms of the purely theoretical cognitive-scientific question, that is, of how it was that facility with spatial reasoning or visualisation and the sort of math that you do in middle school (as well as interest in that kind of math) should translate to facility with and interest in pure math, in proofs and stuff. And that’s still an interesting question for me as well. But I didn’t realise explicitly until now how much there’s also a question of psychology, how much one becomes legalistic rather than moralistic, in the sense that you may still have a sense of morality, of an intuitive sense of how things work or just being able to accept certain claims as true based on hand-woven definitions for the purpose of being able to solve problems or build up a general Gestalt, but now you find it much easier to make progress in following the rules, and the rules become a lot more precise (formal proof rather than formulas, or mathematical modeling, or conceptual creativity). Like I’ve become even so legalistic that if I’m reading some book which involves an introduction to some sort of thing (like a book on information geometry which begins with a basic account of differential geometry), I feel like my understanding is incomplete unless I first metabolise an entire book on differential geometry, which builds up the axioms and definitions and proofs all the way from the ground up, and that even my understanding of that would be incomplete (no matter how self-contained the treatment is) unless I first read entire books on linear algebra, analysis, point-set topology and then differential topology, and then differential geometry. I’m not sure how much of this concerns my actual ability to understand or to “go on” from the minimum required background, or to feel comfortable in the process of actually learning the material in question, and how much of it is just learned aversion to not being thoroughly grounded in the fundamentals of a given topic, because in the past I’ve studied stuff for which I didn’t feel like I had the prerequisites fully mastered and it went badly and so because I don’t like the feeling of things going badly I now feel like I want to master all the fundamentals first. Perhaps all of this is also a matter of changes in fluid intelligence versus crystallised intelligence. Like now I feel like I’m most in my element when I’m synthesising insights from knowledge I already have, rather than coming up with them spontaneously.

On “you should listen to X people about X issues” and “only X people should speak about X issues.” I think some version of the thought expressed is correct and significant, but it needs to be expressed with care, and the right version is hard for people to come to appreciate because the conceptual basis for it isn’t as widely understood as it should be. The idea is that it’s not about certain minorities or members of various ascriptive identity categories being in a better epistemic or moral position with respect to issues that pertain to them, but a special, distinctive epistemic and/or moral position. It’s a kind of authority (in the sense of first-personal authority), but also that authority is kind of better construed as responsibility, not in the dyadic sense of “accountability” as in they owe something to someone, but in the monadic sense of “up-to-me-ness.” Like we should listen to people because the experience is theirs, they have a perspective on it (both as a series of objective features of social reality) and as a vantage point on the world. Only black people are capable of having the double consciousness that pertains to being black in a society like the United States, no matter how much a non-black person may know about the reality of racism, no matter if their scholarly understanding or even moral clarity goes far beyond that of some particular black person. This goes also to the question of practice. There’s a sense in which a black person fighting racism is fighting for self-determination, or at any rate fighting for the self-determination of people of a category under which they also fall, in a way that non-black people aren’t (at least not insofar as they’re fighting anti-black racism), no matter how morally invested they might be in ending such anti-black racism. Moran’s discussion of this notion of responsibility or authority in his book Authority and Estrangement is very good. So this is a good counterpoint to both the people who think “X people are hallowed oracles on X issues” and the ones who say “there’s nothing particular to X people with respect to X issues that non-X people can’t also have.”

(This would be an interesting lens through which to examine the Killers of the Flower Moon movie.)

This pertains also to the variety of kinds of knowledge. You could divide knowledge into at least three kinds: practical, propositional or theoretical and experiential knowledge, or, roughly, know-how, know-that, and knowing-what-it-is-like. I feel like a lot of work on this question of whether or not X people have a special relationship to X issues depends on either conflating these kinds of knowledge (you can’t have any one without all three) or sharply distinguishing them (you can have any of them without any of the others, or some particular one, probably know-that, to a completely adequate extent without know-how or knowledge-of-what-it-is-like). And I’m thinking of the Dror paper here, as well as the work of Williamson and Stanley. Like I think we need a richer understanding (informed by the phenomenological tradition, Heidegger, Gadamer, Merleau-Ponty, Sartre etc.) of the interrelations between these kinds of knowledge, as well as more engagement with the first-personal stuff, in order to properly engage with this question.

On the first and second commandments. The second commandment, “Love your neighbour as you love yourself” is inadequate on its own because (a) it’s overly voluntaristic, (b) it’s too close to “treat others as you want to be treated,” which is too close to “treat others as you want others to treat you,” which is too close to “treat others as you expect them to treat you.” The point of the first commandment, “Love the Lord your God” and so on, is that it teaches you how to love yourself, and gives you the proper basis from which to love yourself; it’s not a question of how you happen to love yourself, and it’s not that the principle of equal treatment has its source in the value you happen to confer upon yourself, but rather that, although your love for others may have its proximate motivational basis in your love for yourself, your love for others and yourself both have their ultimate motivational basis in God’s love for us. “We love because God first loved us.”

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jtprojects · 1 year

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Game Development with JavaScript

Blog Post 1 - INTP-362

So recently, I started learning JavaScript focusing on the game development side of it instead of just the regular website functionality stuff.

I'm going off of the assumption that you are from my class who has learned JavaScript in terms of website development before (if you aren't then hello!), I'm also gonna assume that you already know how to code and the basics of JS.

So game development using JavaScript isn't anything new, having been used in many beloved games such as Bejeweled, Pac-Man, Tetris, Agar.io, and so on and as game development has always been something that I've always wanted to learn, I figured why don't I try to make my own? "But why JS?" you may ask. Well here's the true answer, as cool as it would be to learn game dev in C or C++, those are simply just languages I'd rather learn on my own time without the pressure of meeting certain deadlines or having due dates for deliverables for while learning whereas I already am familiar with JS and it'll be easier for me to produce product that way :P (as this entire thing is currently kinda just for school and one of my subjects).

I started my journey learning JS game dev on a site called SoloLearn (a website that's whole purpose is to allow people to learn and practice coding). For the first couple weeks, the lessons were purely just recap of things I had already known (html, css, basic web dev stuff) and given the limited amount of lives that would be taken away if you answered the quiz questions wrong (which was embarrassingly more often than I'd like to admit. Turns out the recap was definitely needed lmAO) I only recently actually started getting into the new content.

From my limited time actually getting into the game dev side of JS, there's definitely a lot more math to be done. So far in our courses, I've found that we haven't really needed to get deep inside complex math (I'm talking trig and things to do with radians and pi and vexes and shapes bc let's be honest, that stuff is harder than calc or algebra I wiSH I could be doing calc or algebra instead of using pi bro) but I've found that JS game dev heavily relies on these aspects. Now of course, you don't need to manually do every single calculation to figure out every shape (circles make themselves essentially if you know what you're doing) but looking at all these numbers and tryna remember which axis is the x and which is the y after 2 years of not touching that pains me. I had to relearn how to convert angles into radians I'm in pain. But other than circles, the math was still necessary, especially given the short quiz questions that were handed out to me in which they gave us the x and y dimensions of the canvas (which is where all the cool shapes and stuff shows up) and we had to do math to figure out where a shape was supposed to be placed if we wanted it in a certain space on the canvas like the centre. While you may be thinking "Hey OP, that's genuinely not too bad, you simply divide the canvas x and y in half!" yeah, sure for circles but for rectangles/squares, it's a tad more difficult (or a lot more difficult if you have monke brain like me). In order to place a rectangle in the middle of the canvas, not only must you find the middle of the canvas, you must also take the width of the rectangle divided in 2 and then subtract that from the width of the canvas divided by 2 and then do the same for the length of the rectangle and canvas. Now while that may not be too bad, you must remember that my brain has the memory of chimpanzees (who apparently have the worst memory? Just like me fr) and I simply cannot remember that many numbers while still processing future math problems because I simply currently don't have the ability to (my memory is being reserved specifically by random minecraft and science facts).

Now that I've finished malding over the pain of numbers, onto what's kinda the neater part of game dev: the animating. I cannot explain to you the pain I went through when testing out different things. Fortunately, SoloLearn provides examples that you can run on the website while learning but despite the example being directly in front of me, I still manage to make mistakes when adding features to practice my understanding. Take this code for example:

A nice loading bar-like animation! For the longest time, I sat there wondering as to why when changing the value to blue, a portion of the line would flash blue before reverting back to red then doing the same thing again. This, of course, was because when I redrew the line starting from the beginning, the code to actually set x to 0 and to redraw the line in another colour was in the last if loop, causing the line to just restart drawing in red when the function was called again. Now while the solution was simple, as most of you have probably encountered before, actually finding the problem is a much more difficult process. I cannot explain the many errors and hours (it was more like max 5 mins but it deffo felt like hours to me) that it took for me to finally understand exactly what the problem was. But alas, my stupidity doesn't end there! Take another snippet of code and output as example:

The way that I viewed this animation was like watching cars go by or maybe the windows of a train or something of the like truthfully as it is, it can be whatever your heart desires it to be. Regardless of how you might view it, though, nothing can deny my pain when trying to code this. So the steps when coding animation for a moving subject is as follows:

Clear the canvas

Draw the object(s) in their new position

Update positions based on logic

Repeat

Along with the rule that whenever you draw another shape, you must always context.beginPath(). Pretty simple, right? Well admittedly, yes it is fairly simple HOWEVER recall my previous mention of my monke brain you will also have to remember that I fail do simple procedural things. Now I hope you have realized where this is going. When trying to code the blue moving square, I came across a problem. Suddenly my red square had disappeared like my hopes and dreams. But how could all the (extremely simplistic like a kindergartner's drawing probably worse if I'm being honest) cars looks the same? Where's the diversity? After hours (again, minutes) of searching my code to figure out who had been the cause of this devastation (it's me) I had finally found the reason(s). The first problem was that I had added another context.clearRect(). Because of this problem, I had completely erased all red cars from showing themselves, leaving a hole gaping hole where they would've been found. Now once fixing that problem, everything should be fine right? Wrong. I had accidentally forgot to include context.beginPath() meaning that while now there were the proper amount of cars, there was still a lack in diversity. Failing to execute this code causes the former shape to inherit the same characteristics as the latter shape which caused all my cars to become blue (kinda like white wash-). Finally, once that code was added into the correct place, it finally looked like as it should.

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flannels-and-fannypacks · 3 years

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Will They Won’t They | Part 1/4 [Reggie Peters]

Pairing: Reggie Peters x fem!reader

Words: 7000

Summary: Reggie and reader were the best of friends up until middle school where they drifted apart and decided never to speak to each other again. What happens when a shared algebra class and a resulting detention force them to spend and increasing amount of time together. Will it be enough to overcome the mutual hate? Or was the relationship doomed from the start.

WARNINGS: swears, spicy dancing, ANGST

A/N: Okay this is the first of hopefully many collabs between Drea and I! We’re both so excited to share out very long baby with you and hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it! - mimi <3

A/N (2): hi babes it’s drea taking over HAHAHA to repeat what mimi said, we are SO EXCITED to collab and work together to create this SUPER ANGSTY but also SUPER FLUFFY AND FUN fic! your feedback is highly appreciated! and if you like our writing, please like, comment, and reblog! we’d love to hear what you have to say! sending my love! - drea :)

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The night was young in your eyes. All the lights in the (L/N) household were off, aside from the nightlight in your bedroom. Despite it being nearly eleven at night, you and your best friend, Reggie Peters, were far from tired.

The soft humming from the radio was all that could be heard from your room, along with the occasional giggle from you or joke cracked by Reggie. You laid on your bed next to him, your legs tangled in the bedsheets. As much as you loved sleepovers with your best friend, you had to admit that Reggie’s growth spurt did not help your cramped situation.

“Your elbow is jabbing my ribs,” you grumbled, kicking Reggie towards the edge of your bed.

The boy only shoved you back, a playful smirk on his face. “You’re just jealous I’m taller than you now, Cookie,” he said triumphantly.

“I’m jealous you’re taking up all the space on my bed, dork,” you shot back, kicking hard enough to push him over the edge. Reggie let out a yelp before hitting the ground, groaning upon the impact. You fell into a fit of giggles as you peeked over the edge of your bed to see a pair of narrowed blue-green eyes and a scowl. “Sorry, Flicka,” you squeaked.

Reggie glared at you jokingly, rubbing his elbow in pain. “No you’re not,” he whispered back.

“Yeah, I’m not.”

You swung your legs over the edge of your bed, standing up to reach -well almost- Reggie’s height. You frowned at his arm, gingerly taking it into your hands. The boy winced upon first touch, but relaxed in your grasp. “Does it hurt a lot?” you asked in a concerned voice.

Reggie shrugged his shoulders. “It’s whatever,” he responded nonchalantly, but the pain in his voice was visible.

You raised an eyebrow at your best friend. “You don’t have to pretend to be all strong and tough,” you reminded him.

The taller boy sighed, a pout adorning his lips. “I know,” he murmured. “But we’re starting middle school soon. I should be ‘all strong and tough.’”

Snorting, you shook your head. “Who cares about that nonsense?” you exclaimed in a hushed voice. “We all feel pain, that’s not a bad thing. Besides, it’s just me, Flicka. You don’t need to put up an act.”

Reggie’s lips turned upwards as he looked into your eyes. Everything just felt right at the moment. The smile on your face. The redness in his cheeks. The moonlight reached the window and illuminated the room. It was perfect.

The radio, forgotten by the two of you, started to play a new song. Your song.

“You got a fast car

I want a ticket to anywhere”

Glancing up at Reggie, you could both tell you were thinking the exact same thing.

“Dance with me, Flicka?” you asked, giving his hands a squeeze.

Reggie’s face burned in embarrassment as you moved his hand to your waist. “I’m not any good at this, you know that, Cookie,” he muttered, resting his chin on top of your head.

You scoffed, starting to sway along to the music. “Just follow my lead, Reggie. I promise I won’t leave you hanging.”

There, the two of you swayed silently to the music. The moon shined bright from your window, making the blue and green in his eyes shine brighter than usual. Reggie watched as you moved your head so that it laid against his chest. You could hear his heart practically beating out of his chest, making you giggle softly.

“Flicka? you spoke up in a hushed tone. Reggie only hummed in reply. You took a deep breath. “Promise me you’ll never leave me?”

Reggie looked out the window, seeing a glimpse of both of your reflections through the glass. “I’d never leave you, Cookie.”

“You promise?” you whispered.

“I promise.”

That was your first broken promise. The first broken promise upon millions. Reggie told you he’d never leave you, that he’d always be your friend.

Funny how fragile promises can be.

That was nearly seven years ago. The late nights spent doing who knows what, listening to the radio seemed like a distant memory from a past life.

Now your days were spent alone in the library, bent over textbooks determined to ace your classes to get a scholarship and go to a good college. You wouldn’t make your parents pay for that. That was asking too much of them.

You weren’t sure where Reggie was, or what he was doing. Once you both were in middle school, he found himself new friends, and apparently a band, too. Even though you weren’t on speaking terms, you had listened to his music every once in a while. You knew he was destined for big things. Those big things just didn’t include you.

But that was fine. Your entire life wasn’t centred around some boy from your childhood. You had school and your family. So, for you, that meant signing up for all the most challenging classes and studying your ass off for all of them.

You didn’t want to admit it but this class was killing you. Your pride always got in the way. Most of the time, you believed you were capable of passing every class with flying colours. But, there was no denying this class was more difficult than the others. How were you supposed to know what effects the Great Depression had on farmers of that era? You weren’t them and they were all dead.

Your tired eyes drifted over to the clock and you sighed as you realized what time it was. Packing your things, you left the library and dragged your feet to your algebra class.

Sitting patiently in the front row while your teacher explained the lesson plan you barely even registered the faint knock on the door frame, but when you turned your head up your expression changed from one neutral to a scowl.

He hadn’t changed a bit. Aside from the whole outfit -he definitely switched his old sports sweatshirts for leather jackets sometime in freshman year- he was the same old Reggie Peters. The same dark hair, piercing blue-green eyes, and rosy red cheeks.

“Um, sorry I’m supposed to be in algebra with Mr. Milenika, I just got transferred.” the dark hair teen said, running a hand through his hair and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yes, Mr. Peters correct?”

Reggie nodded wordlessly. Your heart was beating out of your chest. Not from nerves, but is pure hatred for the boy. He couldn’t be in this class. He just couldn’t. Why would the universe do that to you?

“Very well, take a seat.”

Reggie walked into the class, eyeing where to take a seat when he noticed the only open spot was next to you.

His features hardened and he threw his bag down next to the empty desk, pulling out the chair and sitting in it with a loud thump.

“Flicka,” you spat.

“Cookie,” he nodded with a hiss in return.

“Great, I take it you two know each other?” Mr. Milenika asked, unaware of the drama that was associated with whatever relationship you and Reggie had. It was a stretch to say you even had one.

You and Reggie gave him a bitter “Yes.”

Mr. Milenika, never one who was ever good at differentiating bitterness and normal answers, beamed at the two.

“Good, because even though this is a math class, I will make you work with your partner quite often. So I suggest you get to know whoever is sitting next to you.” Your body stiffened. As if it couldn’t get any worse, Mr. Milenka never failed to disappoint.

Mr. Milenika continued on, explaining the rest of the plan for the class, but you seemed unable to concentrate, entirely focused on the boy who was now sitting next to you. With his stupid face and stupidly strong cologne, you couldn’t focus at all on whatever was on the board. It was as though you were in a haze, and all you could think about was him.

It had been years since you’d last spoken, not to mention you barely saw him in the halls anymore. He was notorious for skipping class to go rehearse with his so-called band while you were quite the opposite. Never missing a day, no matter what it took.

“Never thought you were one for staring,” he whispered under his breath and you scoffed.

“Oh so we don’t talk for seven years and you think now’s a good time to start?”

“Yeah, I do, cause then I could tell you how stupid those shoes look,”

“I’m literally just wearing converse, you are too Reginald,” you spat.

“Shut up!” he said, raising his voice slightly.

“You first!” you said, voice becoming louder. Was it a childish comeback? Perhaps, but you weren’t one to back down, no matter how stupid your comebacks were.

Now the whole class was listening, even Mr. Milenika had stopped teaching to observe what was going on with his students and just as he was about to intervene it seemed the debate had gotten worse.

“Me? shut up? You’re the one who was always bossing me around and telling me what to do! I could never get in a word with you!” Reggie snapped back.

“That’s because you were too thick-skulled to listen to anything I had to say!” you hissed, not realizing the audience you had. “Who knows Flicka maybe if you had you wouldn’t have failed this class last term!”

“That was uncalled for!” Reggie exclaimed, now standing from his chair. “And it’s not my fault the tutor bailed on me because it was a conflict of interest. This isn’t Judge Judy (Y/N)! If anything it’s your fault!”

“You manipulative little asshole!”

“Suck up!”

“Motherf-,”

“That’s enough!” Mr. Milenika yelled over both of you, causing you to shrink and turn to look at the very angry teacher. “Never in my years of teaching have I seen such barbaric behaviour! That’s two months' detention. Both of you! Now go to Mrs. Hillside’s office, immediately.”

Reggie angrily grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder, kicking a stray chair on his way out while you followed close behind in a much quieter fashion.

You had no words as you entered the principal’s office, sitting across from her desk while Reggie took the seat next to yours.

It was your first day back from the holiday. Your first day back and you finally had a conversation with your childhood best friend in seven years and got two months of detention with said childhood best friend. Your heart ached at the thought of the big flaw printed on your record. You only had Reggie to blame.

Purposefully, you shuffled away from him and he rolled his eyes as Mrs. Hillside finished her phone conversation with Mr. Milenika.

“Disrupting a class?” The woman exclaimed. “Foul language? Damaging school property?” Your face burned at each accusation.

Mrs. Hillside glared at you. “Ms.(L/N),” she addressed with a frown. “I did not expect such reckless and irresponsible behaviour from a promising student like you. I’m greatly disappointed.”

Tears threatened to fall from your eyes. “Please don’t make it go on my record,” you whimpered, your voice cracking.

The woman pressed her lips together. “You’re lucky this is your first detention, Ms.(L/N).” You released the breath you had no idea you were holding.

“Kiss ass,” Reggie muttered.

You narrowed your eyes at the boy, prepared to shoot back another comeback when your principal had something far better.

“I find that rich from you, Mr. Peters,” she laughed humorlessly. “Remind me, how many detentions did you have last term?” The boy’s cheek flushed, instantly shutting his mouth. You held back a laugh as to not get a snapback of your own from the teacher. “Now as much as this is infuriating, you both do have a class that I believe would be in your best interest not to miss. So we’ll draw up a schedule for these two months of detention and then you can return to your class in an orderly fashion. You understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” you nodded and Reggie just shrugged, if he blew this for you, well let’s just say there wouldn’t be any evidence of the crime.

“So let’s make this three days a week for two months. Thursday, Friday and Saturday and the hours will vary from time to time depending on the tasks you need to complete.”

“Three times a week?” Reggie exclaimed. “Mrs. Hillside, I have band practice-”

“And I’m losing my patience,” she cut him off. “Now go back to class before I make it four detentions a week.”

You squeaked a quiet “Thank you” before picking up your things and leaving the principal’s office. Speeding down the hallways, you didn’t hear Reggie catching up close behind you. When you saw a blur of black and red in the corner of your eye, you fought the urge to turn your head.

“Stupid Reggie Peters,” you muttered under your breath. “Stupid algebra class. Stupid Mr. Milenka and his stupid detention. Stupid-”

“Are you talking to me, Cookie?” Reggie spoke up, making you jump in surprise. By that time, you were already at the door of your algebra class.

You pressed your binder close to your chest, shooting the boy a pointed glare. “I hate you,” you said, opening the door just enough for you to slip through and slam in Reggie’s face.

You didn’t dare speak when you returned back to class, not wanting to try your luck and possibly extend your already long detention.

Reggie seemed to be thinking the same thing, possibly except he didn’t have his record on the line it was that stupid band practice of his. If he had spent as much time studying as he did practicing maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation because he would have passed the class in the first place.

You knew that you’d need to spend time catching up tonight so you didn’t even bother paying attention to the lesson. Anger bubbled in your chest as you mindlessly wrote notes for the class, not processing anything at all. Occasionally, you would notice a pair of blue-green eyes staring at you, only for them to turn back to the board each time you would look back.

You couldn’t even look each other in the eye. How were you supposed to last two months of detention with him?

Finally, the bell rang and allowed you to escape the confinement that was the loud stares of your classmates as you headed to your first assigned detention. Cleaning up the backroom of the library.

Reaching the library, you were met with the librarian, Mr. Mallard. The old man was hunched over a box filled with books, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. It seemed as though he didn’t realize you were right behind him, so you awkwardly cleared your throat.

Mr. Mallard jumped, turned around to see you nervously waving at him. “Oh, Ms. (L/N), I didn’t see you there.” You waved his comment off.

“Not a problem,” you said with a kind smile. You mentally let out a sigh of relief. Good thing Mr. Mallard was nicer than the rest of the teachers here.

“I was just listening to music,” he explained, nodding at the radio playing soft music. He looked back at you. “You know I used to be a dancer back in my day? Now, I got this bad back, so I’m stuck here with you rascals.” You laughed at the man as he tried to snap his fingers and sway his hips to the music. “Ah, I got too carried away, sorry, dear. Now I must be getting old because I could have sworn there were supposed to be two of you here with me.”

You nodded, looking around for the boy in a leather jacket and red flannel, but came up empty. “He must be running late,” you told him.

Mr. Mallard frowned. “Well, I guess we can wait for him,” he settled, sitting down on his desk chair. “Feel free to take a seat over there until he comes in.”

Reggie came in a few minutes later, tossing his bag onto one of the chairs and placing his bass guitar on the table.

“The usual Mr. Mallard?” Reggie asked and the older man gave him a nod. It seemed Reggie had become familiar with the library as you had, just in a different way. “Well what are you waiting for?” he looked at you unimpressed. “The faster we start the faster we leave.”

You didn’t say a word, only followed him into the back room where you’d be organizing some old books, boxes and trophies

You stepped into the room, squinting at the shadows of assorted boxes. It was completely dark.

“Well, come on, Cookie,” Reggie said, giving you a shove. “We don’t have all day.”

You took in a shaky breath. “It’s dark,” you pointed out.

Reggie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I think we’ve established that,” he said. “Let’s just find the light switch and start cleaning.”

You nodded, blindly searching along the walls for that damn switch. Not noticing the small box on the floor, you kicked it aside, spilling all sorts of books onto the floor. You squeaked in fear, grabbing the first thing in sight. Of course, that had to be Reggie’s hand.

You whipped your head around, face red in embarrassment. Lucky for you the darkness of the room prevented him from seeing that. “Sorry,” you muttered.

Reggie scoffed at you. “Still scared of the dark?” he asked in a teasing voice.

“Still sleep with that horse plushie of yours?” you shot back.

Reggie glared at you but didn’t say anything else. Without letting go of your hand he flicked on the switch and the room filled with a dim orange hue.

“You can let go now,” you said, trying to shimmy your hand away from his, only prompting him to grip harder.

“What are you scared of me now?” he asked with a smirk and you scowled, ripping your hand away from his.

“Let’s just clean, like you said, the faster we get this done the faster we can go home.”

The room was silent aside from the noises of books falling against the floor, making a quiet thud. You made a small area of your own in the back of the room, a stack of boxes hiding your view of Reggie. But from the lack of noises made in his part of the room, you could tell he wasn’t doing anything productive.

You poked your head out of your small space, frowning at the boy. He was sitting on the floor, slouching as he scribbled on a dusty piece of paper.

“Hey!” you called out, throwing an old yearbook in his direction.

Reggie barely ducked in time, sitting up and turning in your area. “What the hell?” he yelled.

“We’re supposed to be working on cleaning this room!” you snapped. “You aren’t doing shit, Flicka.”

“I did clean,” he muttered. “I just had an idea for the band-”

“That stupid band! Why can’t you just stop for once in your life and focus on what’s in front of you,” you scowled, frustrated that even now you were the one stuck doing all the work. Seemed like maybe things hadn’t changed much from seven years ago.

“Maybe if you loosened a screw or two we wouldn’t need to have this conversation,”

“Just shut up Reginald, you have no idea what it means to take responsibility for something. You haven’t changed and you never will.”

Reggie was about to come back with a retort when the door to the backroom swung open and Mr. Mallard came in with a smile on his face.

“Could I get you kids some snacks?” he asked kindly.

“Always, you’re the man Mr. M.” Reggie grinned, completely ignoring you and giving the librarian a high five from where he sat on the ground.

“I’m good Mr. Mallard,” you shook your head and he left you both with a nod of his head and promised to be back with some assortment of fruits and such.

After your first detention, it was safe to say that all hope of fixing your friendship with Reggie went down the drain. It seemed as though every hour you spent with him gave you all the more reasons to throttle him and be glad he stopped talking to you back in middle school.

—

Detentions became just another regular part of your week, integrated with your studying and your part-time job at the cafe. So you were more than happy to take a minute and walk back home where you could take a minute to rest.

Unfortunately, the universe had other plans.

“Reggie!” a voice yelled. You took a deep breath as you tried to make yourself invisible. It was his friends, Luke, Alex, and Bobby. The friends he left you for.

Reggie’s face lit up as he walked past you, running over to his friends. “Hey guys!” he said with a toothy grin. “What are you doing here?”

Luke shrugged his shoulders. “We thought we might as well give you a ride to practice since we were already around here for lunch,” he explained nonchalantly.

Bobby sent his friend a glare. “You mean I gave you a ride,” he corrected, gesturing to the keys in his hand.”

Luke waved his comment off. “Details. Oh, who’s that?” Luke asked pointing over to you and you tried to pick up your pace before he eventually made his way to you.

“That’s just (Y/N),” Reggie shrugged. “We have detention together.” Luke approached you with an overexcited pep in his step. You tried to back away as subtly as possible, but you were stopped by a wall.

“You’re adorable!” he grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulder while you looked at him in a sort of odd confusion. “Your face is so cute and pink, kind of like a bunny! You know, growing up I had this bunny for a pet named Carrot. We’re adopting you, right boys?”

You ducked under his arm, trying to stay as polite as possible. “Oh, I’d love to be your friend and all,” you began nervously. “But um...I just have things to do and-”

“We’re. Adopting. You,” Luke said in a sickly sweet but firm voice. “Right boys?”

As you tried to slip out of his grasp and walk away, Alex, who was also coincidentally your lab partner, called out from the van.

“Hey (N/N), you need a ride?”

“No thanks! I’m fine walking,” you called back, but Luke didn’t want to take no for an answer. He ran up in front of you and scooped you in his arms, throwing you over his shoulder causing you to shriek in surprise.

“We’re taking you with us! Who knows what kind of dangerous types are wandering around LA.”

“At the moment I would think you’re one of them!” you exclaimed, squirming to have him put you down, before finally giving up when he tossed you in the van. “Could this constitute a kidnapping? I feel like it’s a kidnapping. Can I call the police?”

Reggie followed close behind the two of you, clearly not liking this at all. He had already spent enough time with you in detention. Now you’re with his friends? He took the backseat, right behind you. “Dude, come on,” Reggie said as Luke fastened your seatbelt before patting the top of your head. You shot the guitarist a glare. “I really don’t want to be arrested for kidnapping. Especially since it’s her. Lord knows she’ll manage to pin the charges on me.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Nonsense,” he said. “We’re not kidnapping her. We’re making friends!”

“That’s not how making friends works, Patterson!” you yelled as he slid the van door closed.

While they were making their way to your house Luke seemed to glance at the time on the dash and gasped.

“Shit! Guys turn around we’re gonna be late for practice!”

“Practice, you said you were taking me home!” you exclaimed. “This is actually a kidnapping now! Flicka your friends suck!”

“Sorry Lady Bunny,” Luke shrugged and you whined.

Reggie groaned and banged his head on the seat in front of him while Bobby took a definitely illegal u-turn to go where they normally had their rehearsals.

The car stopped in front of a fairly nice house with a big studio. The boys filed out, leaving you grumbling in the back seat. Luke opened the door, bowing dramatically.

“Lady Bunny,” Luke said, reaching his hand out to you.

You scowled at the boy, crossing your arms on your chest. “I want to go home,” you muttered.

“No can do, Lady Bunny,” Luke said with a shrug of his shoulders. “We have practice to do.”

“Then I’ll walk home,” you whined.

Luke laughed at your frustrated face. “Can’t let you do that either,” he told you. “Besides, you’re too little and innocent to brave the world on your own.” Luke reached for your cheek, patting it softly until you turned your head and bit his finger. “Ouch!”

“Yeah, bunnies bite, dick head. This is holding an innocent party against their will and you will do jail time,”

“(N/N), just stick around this once, I’ll make sure you get home later,” Alex offered and you slouched in your seat and mumbled a “Fine,”

Alex patted your back and led you into the large studio where there was a girl with frizzy brown curly hair, sitting on a couch.

“Finally! What took you guys so long!” she sighed and stood up.

“We adopted a bunny, Rose!” Luke grinned and hugged you from behind tucking your chin in his shoulder. You rolled your eyes and mouthed help me, to the girl and she scrunched her nose as if to say, ‘sorry honey there isn’t anything I can do.’

Luke pulled you to the couch and sat you down. “Now you stay there while we practice, okay bunny?” he said, patting your head.

“If you’re good we might give you snacks,” Bobby added from behind Luke, snickering under his breath.

Rose shot both boys a pointed look. “Cut that out, you two,” she ordered. Rose sat next to you, patting your knee. “Can I get you anything? Water? A snack? You don’t have to do a flip for treats or whatever.”

You laughed in response, nervously playing with the hem of your sweater. “I’m fine, thank you,” you responded politely. “If anything I just want a ride home.”

Rose frowned, leaning against the pillow cushions. “I’d give you a ride but my sister took the car for today,” she explained apologetically. Rose could sense the awkward tension, and wanted to break the ice. “So which one of them is your boyfriend?”

You choked on air, not expecting her question. For once, you were thankful the band was blasting music. “I’m sorry?” you coughed, causing Rose to reach over to grab a water bottle from the table and offer it to you. You took a big gulp, sighing. “What made you think that?”

Rose hummed as she thought of her answer. “Well, you’re way too nervous around me,” she began. “And the boys all keep on looking at you. Alex is not your boyfriend because he’s currently talking to this guy in my English class. Bobby...definitely isn’t your type, now that I look at you. I considered Luke for a moment but he’s way too dedicated to music to date anyone but his six-string, you also just seemed way too annoyed by him, but what’s new. And now that leaves Reggie.” she looked over at the boy playing the bass. Reggie, who apparently was watching the two of you talk, quickly ducked his head, his cheeks visibly red. “You two have history, don’t you?”

You froze, eyes widening. “How did you-”

“I think you forgot we were in the same homeroom since fourth grade,” she laughed. “You and Reggie, you guys were glued at the hip. Don’t you have nicknames for each other or something?”

“I-I guess,” you shrugged, it wasn’t really something you used as a term of endearment anymore, but it was still there. “He was Flicka and I was Cookie,”

“Did you date?” she asked curiously, leaning in closer.

“No,” you shook your head. “Just friends. Used to be.” you corrected and Rose frowned, but before she could ask another question you stopped her. “If I have to sit here and wait for Alex to take me home you think we could talk about something else?”

“Sure,” Rose nodded, “Well in that case I think you should come around here more often,”

“What do you mean?” you nervously chuckled.

“I don’t know, I just think we’d be pretty good friends,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

You leaned your head on her shoulder, smiling at the warm feeling bubbling inside you. “Yeah,” you agreed in a quiet voice. “I’m starting to think so, too.”

—

“And then he told me I was annoying!” you hissed, angrily scribbling the data of your experiment onto your notebook. “Can you believe that? Him!”

Alex anxiously watched you as you reached for a pipette, squeezing the poor thing like it stole your money. “Really?” Alex only said in a shaky voice.

You nodded furiously, taking the indicator, not even caring to count out your drops and just pouring the purple liquid haphazardly into the Erlenmeyer flask.

“He’s-He’s just a… argh! I can’t stand him!” you waved your hands almost knocking over the whole buret and ring stand with a very strong molarity composition of hydrochloric acid in it causing Alex to let out a strangled yelp from the back of his throat.

“C-can you please at least stay ten feet away from the table?” he requested. “You’re going to either break something or send me to the hospital with an acid burn and I really would prefer if that didn’t happen.”

You placed your materials down, glaring at the blond boy. “What are you talking about?” you snapped, not meaning to take your anger out on your friend (and chemistry experiment, at that).

Alex placed his hands up in the air in defence. “Just-” he swallowed loudly, trying to think of the right words. “Maybe take a deep breath? I know Reggie gets you all angry and stuff, but please don’t put our lives and chemistry grade on the line.”

“Makes me mad is a fucking understatement,” you grumbled.

“Okay, we can start there,” Alex began, slowly moving the materials far away from you. “I think it’s reasonable and incredibly understandable that you dislike him. But do you really hate him?”

You scowled. “Yes, Alexander,” you said in a scarily calm voice. “As a matter of fact, I do. He’s a fucking pain in my ass and can go fuck himself for all I care. He’s rude, inconsiderate, and selfish beyond belief.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Alex, you’re not my therapist, stop acting like you have every right to be in my business when you don’t know a single thing about me!”

Alex didn’t respond to that comment, fearing what you might say next. You paused, noticing Alex’s uneasiness. “I’m sorry,” you only mumbled.

He nodded wordlessly, gently placing his hand over yours. “Don’t worry about it, (N/N),” he reassured you.

Silence followed, aside from the quiet mumbling of instructions for the experiment. Minutes in, you finally decided to break the silence.

“Because he left me,” you whispered in a broken voice.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?” he said, genuinely not hearing you.

You sighed, placing your pencil and notebook down. “He left me for your stupid band. He got friends and I got nothing,” you explained further. You removed your glasses, wiping away a stray tear. “I probably shouldn’t even be mad at him, at this point. He’s moved on...and got popular and actually has something going on for himself. And me?” You laughed humorlessly at yourself. “I work a job to help mom and dad pay the bills and work my ass off so I can go to school and make a life for myself. No one told me trying for success would be so lonely.”

“(Y/N),” Alex said, frowning slightly.

You shook your head. “But he’s happy, isn’t he?” you asked. “Reggie. He’s smiling wider than I’ve ever seen before. Singing and playing the bass, dancing his heart out on stage. He never used to do those things with me.” You looked away from Alex, unable to take his pitiful gaze. “He’s changed while I’ve stayed the same. I’m stuck here, still moping about my past. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he is better off without me.”

“He’s not,” Alex said without even thinking.

“How could you say that? He’s clearly happier. It’s not like you can pretend you don’t see that,”

“But he’s not. He just replaced what he had, his friendship with you, with music. I might not know him as well as you, but it’s his coping mechanism. It hides all the bad things in life that he chooses not to deal with,”

“Reggie’s not like that,” you shook your head, refusing to believe what Alex was saying.

Alex, starting to get frustrated, slammed his hands on the edge of the table. “Dammit, (Y/N) can you just realize for one second that you don’t hate Reggie and that Reggie doesn’t hate you?” Your mouth remained closed, so Alex took it as an opportunity to push further. “You two talk my ears off about each other more than you realize. It’s always “Reggie did this” or “(Y/N) did that” can’t you two get your heads out of your asses and see that?”

“C-Can you take care of this, I’m just going to run to the washroom,” you murmured, not waiting for a response. You took off your goggles, gloves and lab coat, making your way to the courtyard, contrary to where you said you were going. Pulling your MP3 player out of your pocket you threw on a pair of battered headphones and turned the volume all the way up clicking on the familiar track of Fast Car maybe you couldn’t run away physically, but right now, your heart sure needed a break.

—

“You two will be with Mrs. Leona today in the dance room,”

“What does she need?” you asked with much confusion. Normally Saturdays were used for either sitting in silence or cleaning up some area of the school.

“She needs help choreographing the dance she’s going to use for the sophomore class next semester,” Mrs. Hillside explained. “Now go on, get dressed and meet her in the dance room.”

You and Reggie walked away to the locker rooms. A scowl was plastered on the boy’s face. “These detentions are getting more and more ridiculous each day,” he muttered.

Scoffing, you crossed your arms on your chest. “Well, that’s something we both can agree on.”

You parted ways for a short time to get changed before meeting back up again in the dance room where Mrs. Leona was already setting up and waiting for you both.

“Perfect! So glad you guys could make it,” she grinned.

“We have detention,” Reggie noted. “Not really much of a choice,” You shot the boy a glare, elbowing him roughly in the ribs.

“Right,” she chuckled. “Well, I’m working on a routine for my sophomores. Apparently, they think we’re doing the same thing over and over again so I’m going to give them something new for a change. I was thinking a partner assignment would work best.”

You and Reggie nodded as Mrs. Leona walked over to the stereo, popping in a CD and playing All That She Wants in the background on repeat while she would lead the stretches.

“Isn’t this song a little inappropriate to have sophomores dancing to? Or like even just to play in school?” you asked as you followed along.

Reggie rolled his eyes. “Of course that’s what you ask,” he muttered.

Mrs. Leona waved off your comment. “It’s fine,” she insisted. “It’s an upbeat song, and it’s “in,” so might as well give the kids a fun assignment.”

“Mrs. Leona, what kind of dance moves are you thinking?” Reggie asked curiously. “Because I’m not that good of a dancer and (Y/N) is practically so old she could break her hip by breathing.”

“I’m not old,” you snapped, crossing your arms on your chest.

“You sure act like it,” he shot back.

“You bit-”

“Enough talking!” Mrs. Leona cut you both off. “More dancing. Now I have a couple of ideas for you two, so make sure you’re really stretched out so you don’t pull something.”

You groaned, looking up at the ceiling. “What did I get myself into?”

—

“It’s a simple concept!” Mrs. Leona insisted after the millionth attempt. “You two are just so awkward with each other.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Can you just explain it again, please?” you requested.

Mrs. Leona sighed, standing up to show you the dance sequence. “Reggie, take her hand and bring it to your lips. Step away, and (Y/N) you pull him back. Then Reggie turn so that you and (Y/N) are facing each other. At that point, you grab him by the shirt while he takes your waist, then he twirls you and goes in to dip you. Simple enough!”

Simple to maybe a Rockette, but not to a bassist and an awkward bookworm.

“Let’s take it from there, okay guys?”

You grumbled to yourself, positioning yourself in front of the boy. “This is way too much,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

“Just shut up and do what she says,” Reggie hissed. “I don’t want to be any closer to you than I have to.”

When the music started playing, you felt Reggie’s fingertips trace down your arm to your hand, unknowingly creating a trail of goosebumps. Weaving his fingers with yours, he brought your intertwined hands up to his face, his lips ever so gently grazing your hand.

On beat, Reggie started to walk away from you, only for you to pull him back. His eyes met yours as you brought your other hand to his chest, balling the fabric of his shirt in your fist. You watched as he dropped his hand to your waist before pulling away to twirl you. The moment he pulled you back into his chest, you saw his cheeks redden. You were so close, close enough to smell that stupidly distracting cologne of his. You knew Reggie was just as flustered. His hand was getting clammy in yours. Before you could even process it, he dipped you down, making you gasp in surprise.

You didn’t even notice the music had stopped. All that was on your mind at that moment was Reggie. His eyes flicked down to yours, and you could have sworn you saw a hint of a smile on his lips.

The loud clapping coming from Mrs. Leona had snapped you out of your trance. Immediately regaining his composure, Reggie loosened his grip on you. You fell to the ground, hitting your elbow upon impact.

“Ass,” you muttered, rubbing your elbow in pain.

“If you’re saying I’ve got a good one then I agree,” he smirked and you scoffed loudly.

Mrs. Leona walked up to the two of you. “That was probably the best dancing I’ve seen from the two of you all morning,” she applauded. “And for that, you can take a five-minute break,”

“Oh thank God,” you whispered and flopped onto the ground, trying to relax your muscles. You tried to pull one leg over the other, stretching it out, but unable to turn properly in order to pull the tension out of your muscle.

Your eyes were closed so you didn’t notice Reggie coming closer and kneeling toward you, placing a hand on your thigh and pushing it down for you, causing you to open your eyes and see him practically leaning over top of you.

“Ow! Fuck! Too much,” you hissed and he loosened his grip. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Helping you stretch, you’re ancient so I thought I might be able to lend a hand,”

“Get your hand off me,” you said seriously.

“What,” he grinned, lifting his hand higher and causing your breath to hitch and slap his hand away and sit up, scooching back.

“Fuck off Flicka,” you said, the words barely able to leave your mouth, throat turning dry.

“Only trying to help, Cookie,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. He looked over at your arm, seeing as you winced with every movement. “Does it hurt a lot?”

You cradled your elbow. “It’s whatever,” you mumbled in response, unconsciously mimicking his answer.

Reggie scoffed, leaning back on his hands. “Say what you want, Cookie, but I know when you’re lying. You can’t pretend around me.” You paused, vaguely remembering that night with the radio.

“I said I’m fine, Reggie,” you insisted firmly.

“Just let me see it,” he asked, crawling over to you, prompting you to scoot all the way back until you hit the mirror. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he frowned.

“That’s what you said seven years ago but I’ve learnt the hard way to take promises from you with a grain of salt,” you said venomously.

Reggie paused, moving back to his spot, far away from you. “Fine,” he simply said. “But don’t act like you were the only victim. I got hurt, too.”

You opened your mouth to respond when Mrs. Leona walked back into the room with three water bottles. “Well, I’m back. Are you two rested enough to continue?”

You shook your head. “Mrs. Leona, um I think it’s probably time we head back to Mrs. Hillside’s office,” you suggested. “It’s erm, late and I hurt my elbow, so…”

Mrs. Leona nodded understandingly. “Yes, of course, I forgot how much time had passed. You two work so well together, I might as well keep you guys in my class!” You laughed nervously before grabbing your things and waving goodbye. You didn’t bother looking back at Reggie. There was nothing left to say.

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free-pancakes · 3 years

Text

Kiss the Drummer

Summary: a LeviHan Jazz!AU

Levi, a talented trumpet player famous in the jazz clubs of New York, is struggling with his instrument and feels burnt out—he wonders if he chose the right path in life.

The bassist of his quintet, an old friend named Erwin, invites a quirky new drummer to play with them, who brings a new spark into Levi’s life.

Notes: Drum "chops” describe a drummer's technical ability, including a large vocabulary of licks, and how freely they express themselves on the instrument. BPM = beats per minute Songs: Giant Steps - John Coltrane

sorry this AU fic is pure self-indulgence and has become much longer than originally intended lol

crossposted to AO3

CHAPTER 1

He licked his lips and pushed them readily against the smooth, silver mouthpiece, ready to hit the first note of the song, Giant Steps. He suppressed his desire to grumble at yet another fast swing tune.

He stared out into the audience, peering at the people sitting around the tables of the club. Their faces were slightly lit from the reflection of the stage lights, wearing expressions of both excitement and anticipation. “Just another night of the same old thing,” Levi thought to himself, letting out a soft, exasperated sigh, one only he could hear. His stance conveyed confidence, but his eyes spelled apathy.

He heard snaps on 2 and 4 marking their starting tempo at 289 bpm and Levi quickly puffed warm air into his trumpet.

“One… two… one two three four—“

——

Levi wiped down his trumpet, carefully cleaning the beautiful brass after yet another great performance. He gently placed it in his case, and looked up at himself in the dressing room mirror. He stared blankly at his reflection, noting the tinge of purple beneath his eyes—he knew his body was aching for sleep. It had been restless upon restless night for the past year or so, and he wasn’t completely sure why. He looked down at his trumpet case with both affection and disdain. Maybe... he just wasn’t meant to do this for this long.

He didn’t hate playing, but the truth was, he had simply been good at it all of his life. Quite gifted at it, one would say, and thus he passively let it lead him to success. It was just what it was. He was good at jazz, he was good at trumpet. Naturally he studied it at a top university for jazz performance and joined this famous quintet, and naturally he worked hard to improve his skills. But as any routine would, practice and rehearsals became monotonous, grunt work.

While lost in thought, his eyes trailed over to his small, neat pile of math textbooks at the edge of the dresser.

If anything, he did enjoy jazz theory. It was just math, anyway—circle of fifths, cadence patterns, fancy scales—it all just added up and broke down for any message or feeling you wanted to convey with a melody for your solo, and those tools were simply available in your brain to make it happen—tools to play some straight dirty solos that make you smirk satisfactorily when listening. To Levi, it just made sense, to a lot of other people, he was called “genius”. But after years and years of this, he was burning out and he was quite aware of that. He felt like he was losing his edge, and he was just a machine clunking out music most nights of the week. Again he thought, maybe he just wasn’t meant to do this forever. But what else would pay the bills?

Shaking his head, he let his jumbled thoughts fall away momentarily. He picked up a textbook, and leafed through the pages. He clicked open a ballpoint pen and began adding to his lesson plan for one of his students, a young girl named Sasha. Honestly, she seemed utterly hopeless with math at times, but he was determined to help her at least pass her algebra class. Her little friend Connie on the other hand…well that’s a story for another day, he thought, and chuckled softly to himself. If anything, he did enjoy his side job as a math tutor for the local school system. He didn’t really need the extra pocket money, but something compelled him to keep up with it.

As he jotted down notes, muffled noise of cheering and commotion rocked against the door. Tonight’s gig was Nile’s last performance with them, as he was moving out to the west coast to play with another group and accept a teaching position somewhere out there. Levi didn’t care much for his drumming or his personality for that matter, so he wasn’t particularly sad to see him go, nor was he keen on joining the celebration out in the bar. He yawned and continued finish up writing his lesson plan, as he knew he’d probably have to drive his drunk colleagues home.

——

“Levi! I’m gonna miss you buddy!” Nile exclaimed as he aggressively ruffled Levi’s hair, causing the cowlick he spent every morning trying to gel down to stick straight up embarrassingly at the top of his head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah… good luck Nile.” He shoved him and Mike into a cab, as they lived in the same apartment complex. He turned back into the bar to Erwin smiling drunkenly and Nanaba knocked out cold, sleeping soundly as she sat with her head down on a table. Levi grumbled and picked up Nanaba’s saxophone case to haul into the trunk of his car. He returned to pick up Nanaba and carried her on his back, and Erwin walked with them to Levi’s car.

“Hey Levi, Our new drummer is flying in tomorrow. I told her I’d come and pick her up from the airport at 7am.”

Levi looked Erwin up and down with a look of disgust. “In that sorry state, Eyebrows? Tch, go sleep off the hangover tonight, I can go to the airport. What’s her name and what does she look like?”

“Her name’s Hange. She has messy brown hair usually worn up in a ponytail, wears tortoise clubmaster glasses and well… honestly you can’t miss her, I’m sure you’ll find her right away.”

“Okay. So why’d we need to bring in a completely new drummer anyway? Couldn’t we have just brought in Moblit?”

“Ah you know his style doesn’t fit ours as well, plus he’s doing well with his band right now. Don’t worry, Hange and I played together all 4 years of college together, she’s got chops. Plus, I think Hange will probably bring in the change we need. Your playing’s gone a bit stale... hasn’t it, Levi?”

“Stale?! Pfft you’re just drunk,” Levi muttered, irritated as Erwin raised his eyebrows at him. They arrived at their apartment complex and Levi begrudgingly unlocked the car doors, gently woke Nanaba, and the three of them walked up to their floor. Erwin fumbled with his keys, and Levi snatched it out of his hands, frustrated at how long it was taking him. Erwin chuckled, and Levi scrunched up his nose at the stench of alcohol in his breath. As soon as the door opened, Nanaba immediately ran to the bathroom, retching into the toilet.

“I got her,” Erwin laughed. “Go to bed, Levi, you’re the one getting up early. Flight info’s next to the door.”

Levi nodded, turned into his room, and plopped down on the bed. He stared at the ceiling, and wondered how much longer he’d keep playing, or more like, how soon he’d quit. If this Hange person was as annoying as Nile, well… he probably wouldn’t hold out much longer.

——

Levi stood with his hands in his pockets, eyes peeled for this Hange person. He looked at his watch—“Maybe she was still waiting on her luggage,” he thought. He walked over to the small cafe to his left, and waited in line, squinting for any decent teas on the menu. Before he could decide, he suddenly heard a small yelp, and something shoved right into his chest, feeling piping hot coffee running down his white, longsleeve shirt. Before he could yell obscenities at the moron who just ruined one of his favorite shirts, he was met with frantic apologizes.

“I’m so so sorry! Oh my goodness it was a complete accident, can I get you a drink to make up for it? Man I am so clumsy...oh! Maybe you can wear one of my shirts I have here, free of charge! Or I could just—“

He looked up in the middle of incessant rambling to see the culprit—a tall brunette, hair messily tied up in a bun, wearing tortoise clubmaster glasses, and a bright yellow coat.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Levi thought to himself. He looked down to see a large black cymbal case and a stick bag with yarn mallets and drumsticks poking out of it.

—I could just buy you a new shirt! Oh, how bout—“

Levi was livid—this clown was potentially going to be playing gigs with them over the next year? The coffee stained fabric was sticking uncomfortably to his skin and he felt the biggest headache coming on—all this pain just from one person. He reached up and gently placed his hand over her mouth to physically stop her chattering.

“Is your name, Hange?”

She nodded, Levi’s hand still covering her mouth.

“You’re Erwin’s friend?”

She nodded again, her eyes lighting up at the name, Levi feeling her lips forming a smile under his palm.

“Okay, I’m taking you back to our apartment.”

Levi reached for her bags to carry them, but was interrupted.

“Wait—the least I can do is give you the extra shirt I have in my backpack so you can change out of your soiled one,” she said softly. She reached in her bag, and pulled out the shirt and Levi felt his eye twitch in annoyance at the words printed on its front. He sighed, and debated sitting in his wet shirt, but it seemed like he didn’t have much choice—he’d have to wear it.

——

Levi blinked his eyes open. He felt oddly rested, but one thing was strange—he was sitting up, and he felt something unusually heavy on his shoulder.

“What the—“

He looked to the side and saw a mess of brown hair immediately to his right, heard the soft sound of snoring, and felt… something wet on his arm? He looked down and grimaced. “Drool. She’s drooling. On my goddamn arm.”

He looked around for some kind of napkin. He didn’t remember falling asleep, let alone letting this absolute stranger curl up against him. How in the world did he let his guard down this far?

He stared blankly at Hange and thought, “What a mess—what was Erwin thinking? We’ve known each other for less than 5 hours, and she seems to have already made herself right at home. I haven’t even confirmed whether she was good enough to play with us, yet.” He tried to shift out from underneath Hange, but before he could wriggle is way out—

“Kiss the drummer?”

Erwin and Nanaba stood before Levi, both with hair in a complete mess, having just woken up from sleeping off their hangovers. Smirking and holding back laughter, they stared at the scene—Levi wearing an oversized t-shirt with the words “Kiss the Drummer” in bold letters plastered across his chest, along with Hange sleeping quite cozily on his shoulder, her glasses held gently between his fingers. Levi tried covering up the words and scowled at his two friends.

“Laugh it up,” he muttered. “What is this, Erwin? She’s clearly made herself at home already—and we haven’t even gotten to play together yet.”

“Relax, Levi, she’s a great musician. And look, she likes you!”

Levi grimaced at Hange draped over his shoulder.

“Hmph, I still have to hear her play and have my opinion considered. We all get a vote yknow…”

Over their hushed voices, Hange shifted groggily towards all of them and rubbed her eyes. “Erwin?”

Hange’s eyes lit up immediately in recognition, shoving Levi back further into the couch as she jumped up to wrap Erwin in her embrace, excited to finally be reunited with her friend after so many years.

After a few minutes of catching up, Erwin smiled brightly. “Yes, we can take you around the city a bit. Rehearsal’s not til this evening anyway—we did have a gig lined up last minute for the middle of this week if you were comfortable with that, Hange.”

“Of course I’d be down to do that! I—“

“Oi. Like I said, we still vote if you get to play with our group officially. Don’t be late to rehearsal tonight.” Levi then slowly stood up and walked quietly towards his room.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just being strict about our technical audition policy,’ Erwin reassured. He and Nanaba quickly darted for their rooms to ready themselves to take Hange sightseeing for a little while and introduce her to the city, leaving her standing alone in the middle of their living room. Her eyes trailed after Levi, curious about his calm yet sad energy. She felt that she saw through that aura, noticing every little kind gesture he made towards her from the time they met at the airport to the moment they fell asleep on the couch. Hange was determined to get him to show that side of himself a little more. As he turned to grab the door behind him, she smiled at him, and was quickly met with a scowl and the slam of his bedroom door in her face. Seemed it might take some more effort to get through to him than she originally thought.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction #levihan fanfic #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe #lol idk what this but here ya go #inspired by the movie Soul and because i miss playing drums

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cockasinthebird · 4 years

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hi!! can you write steve getting all horny in class and billy noticed it and because of the dick he is he throws steve a paper where he says all filthy things and the way he would fuck steve right now and steve’s trying his best to keep himself calm. then of course billy fucks steve in the janitors closet after the class.

Oh dearest anon, believe you me when I say that I have been thinking about this already, and then you come in here to read my goddamn mind, you gorgeous piece of filth!! Hope you’ll enjoy!

Steve Harrington is a normal teen in his senior year of high school. He shaves his face every morning, struggles with all of his homework, drinks shitty cheap beer, has a babysitting job, and he owns his fair share of Playboys and watches porn during late nights on the TV in his living room.

And sometimes those images invades his mind when he's sleeping, as is only normal for any typical hormonal 18 year old.

They had been so vivid this morning, only to be interrupted by the blaring of his alarm clock, with no time to fix the situation or he'd be late for class again.

They're there now, halfway through first period and he's sitting with his chin in hand, drooling slightly as he daydreams about things vastly more interesting than algebra.

Soft thighs, exposed tits, plump lips, long hair. It's quite well known that Steve Harrington is easy and frankly a bit loose, but can he truly be blamed for his incessant neediness, when there's a lack of love at home? Who isn't touch starved and constantly seeking heat.

Lesser known fact is how he dreams of things he shouldn't. Hairy pecs, muscular biceps, strong hands, hard cocks.

Girls are nice and gentle and delicate. Laurie, Amy, Becky, Nancy. Pure and kind and good. They smell of flowers, feels like silk, sounds of an angels choir.

But they cannot compare to the way the right guy will reach everywhere. Tommy, Billy. Bending him over, fingers digging inside, stretching him out, slapping into him with such fervor he'll walk funny for nearly a week. Their musky smell, calloused fingers, animalistic grunts.

And it riles him up. Can't help but drift off to think about Billy. Won't even fight it, as he finds himself in Hargrove's bedroom, the place reeking of sweat and cologne and testosterone, Billy standing by his small, cheap bed. Shirtless with the body of a bronze statue, pants unbuckled to expose a blond trail of hair disappearing beneath his tight briefs. A hand caressing the outline of his-

There's a sudden kick to his shin and he's wide awake, still in algebra class, the teacher scribbling away on the blackboard as he drones on about whatever. Steve wipes off the bit of drool that has fallen down his chin and looks to his left to see...

Billy Hargrove, pulling his leg back from having just kicked Steve awake. He's all teeth in a mischievous grin, eyes heavy and intense as he catches sight of amber hues. Quickly he glances down, far down, then up again, as if to gesture for Steve to do the same.

So he does, and oh... He stops moving as if that's any less suspicious than what covering his crotch would have looked like. A bulge in his jeans shows that he's sporting far more than just half a chub, and he can feel his fucking heart beat in his hardened flesh, as he stares straight ahead into the back of the brunette in front.

Perhaps if he thinks really really hard about math and algebra and numbers, he can will it away with a headache borne from straight up confusion as to why x and y matters.

When a paper ball flies in from the east and lands perfectly in the middle of his textbook. He glances shortly over at Billy, who's resting on his hand, blinking slowly and expectantly for Steve to unfold the little crumbled up note.

Steve shifts around uncomfortably, hoping to find a way where his jeans doesn't apply too much unwanted pressure on him. And when he sees what Billy has written down here, his face goes impossibly red with a faster heartbeat.

Need a hand there, pretty boy?

He looks at Billy who has the audacity to wink and stick out just the tip of his tongue. Scribbles out a stern and serious No. then throws it back.

Billy lets out a light huff in disbelief, raises his brows in the same tone, then throws the ball over.

I don't believe you. What were you dreaming about?

And Steve grips his pencil with near breaking force as he considers telling the truth, even though just thinking about admitting to it sends pulses through him. It's been so long...

You.

The way Billy then grins reveals everything he's thinking, and the sight of it only makes the whole situation... harder.

And he brings his pen to paper... and he doesn't stop. Writes and writes and writes till nearly every line is filled out, before tossing it right back with such a masterful flair from basket practice.

Oh yeah? What about? The time in your pool where I proved just how long I can hold my breath?

Steve is quick to throw Billy a rather dangerously wanton glance, and watches how he wags his tongue, then back to the paper.

Or in your living room, where you had been so angry with me at first, for wanting to fuck you right there on a couch that costs more than my fucking car, but you loved every single inch of me. Moaned and cried out as I came inside your tight hole.

He shifts in his seat again and looks around to ensure that no one has noticed how flushed he is, but everyone else here seemed to have dozed off as well.

It's been too long pretty boy. Last time we had any fun was in my bedroom, right? Where you were such a cock hungry slut, spread out on my sheets as I fucked you raw and you complained for days about it, but I know you're just waiting for me to make a move. And maybe I've been teasing you for long enough.

Fuck, would it be too obvious if he decided to run out now? Excuse himself and make a go for the bathroom? Each curve of Billy's meticulous handwriting only making his situation worse, word by word. He can feel how pale eyes stares, and oh he burns under the attention.

Want to feel your ass sucking me in again, clenching so tight around my fat cock baby. I want you all dripping wet and praising my name as I fuck you so good and hard.

And Steve's doe eyes goes impossibly wide at the last line.

Can't wait till after school. Meet me in the janitors closet after class.

Billy is the first to stand when the bell rings out, and he makes sure that Steve catches how he licks his lips, stares intensely, as he struts out of the classroom, winks with a grin before vanishing through the door frame.

Steve is the last to leave, pretending to struggle with getting his books into his bag as everyone else goes without paying him no mind. This has got to be the longest fucking hard-on he's ever had, and it is painful.

When he finally stands up to leave as well, he clings to his backpack as if it's the most precious of his belongings, carrying it low in his arms but in a tight grasp, as he attempts to cover himself up in a less-than-awkward manner, but truly he looks like a moron.

Without ever even thinking about it, he finds his way to the janitors closet, needy and aching for release; to be filled completely and touched finally. Because, as much as it pains him to admit, Billy was right. Steve has just been waiting, patiently so, for the bully to reach for him again and push him around, shove inside.

From the crack in the door, light blooms and illuminates Billy's rather impatient figure that leans against a dirty sink in the darkness of the limited space. But only for as long as it requires to allow Steve through, and once the door is closed they're wrapped up in near pitch black, the only light comes from underneath the door.

But they do not need to see, when they can feel.

Feel firm and rude hands grab on to Steve's gorgeous ass. Feel a moan travel out as bodies collide. Feel teeth bite at his lower lip just to receive an apology by a searing tongue. Feel his chock-full erection grind against where Billy is quick to fill out himself.

If anything, Steve loves how small he feels when he's with Billy. Sure he's taller, with or without the hair all pomp and grand, but the way Billy just manhandles him like he weighs nothing is such an intense thrill that he can't get from being with girls. Tommy has tried, but he's just too soft and caring, and that's dangerous territory.

“Shit, ah- Billy-” Steve fights to keep low, but the way Billy rolls his hips more brutally at his sounds only urges him on. “A-ah fuck!”

“Mmh you're such a fucking pervert, Stevie,” Billy drawls out and scrapes his teeth along Steve's neck, tongue out to taste how his pulse quickens. “Were you really dreaming about me?”

“Y-yes,” his response a whimper, and he pushes Billy away just enough so that he can work at the buttons of his red shirt.

And the bluest eyes to ever exist admires the rushed movement of fingers, stares down and lets Steve do all the work that he's so willing to offer up. Once the last button comes loose, Steve dives right in; wraps his arms around Billy's muscular torso and brings their bodies flush together. He kisses and moans into the heated skin by the crook of Billy's neck, all the while bucking his hips forward to force hardened flesh together. Feels the rough pleasure nearly blind him as he gets lost chasing his high.

Enough soon becomes enough, and Billy growls out, yanks at Steve's hair to bring him away from where he's sucking a bruise mindlessly - too high for his collar to cover it. Branded in a way that might anger Billy, but there's a desire for the attention hickeys bring, for how everyone will stare and wonder.

He doesn't say anything about how badly he wants to fuck Steve right this second, just grabs him by the hips and spins them both around till it's no longer his ass that's getting jabbed at by the sink.

Steve leans back a bit and grabs hard onto the gross edges of metal, as Billy's hands makes short work of his belt and zipper, to allow way for his harsh hand to force its way into boxers wet with pre cum. And Steve takes a sharp inhale and bites down on his puffy lip to keep his voice under control.

“Can't believe how hard and wet you already are, baby,” Billy's own voice a thing of lewd intentions through flashy teeth, and he wraps his fingers around Steve's intense length. “God, you're so fucking hot. Can't wait to feel you stretched out around my cock.”

“Billy...” Steve whines and brings one hand up to pull at Billy's open shirt till their lips meet again in a feverish heat.

His own tongue is quick to surrender and fall into the slippery rhythm that Billy demands, a dance a bit too quick and uncontrollable, but it matches so well with the crazed movement of calloused fingers on sensitive skin.

“Fuck, Steve,” Billy grunts out all impatient. “Turn around.”

And Steve doesn't need to be told twice; the moment that hand is gone from down his tight trunks, he does just that, spins to then bend over, barely catching himself on the sink as Billy shoves him forward. It takes just as short a moment before his pants and briefs pool around his ankles.

The both of them share no more than two things in their lives: ceaseless impatience, and an incessant craving for the other.

“Do you have lube?” Steve asks and twists to look behind, although there's barely a thing to be seen under the cover of darkness.

“Of course, you never know when you'll need to bang a princess real quick between classes,” the grin in his tone so ardently clear, Steve can perfectly imagine what he looks like.

There's a brief rustling as Billy bends down to rummage through his back pack, and next there's a pop, as the lid to the tube flicks open.

Steve breathes something near a moan, as cold, slick fingers run across his outer rim, and his head falls to hang low. Hips move by themselves as they chase that feeling; icky at first but it all ignites something so wonderfully as one digit presses in to the first knuckle.

“Mmh yes, oh...”

“Yeah?” The broad finger moves deeper and deeper.

“A-ah, fuck, yes!” And Steve pushes onto it till there's no more length to swallow.

Billy crooks and curls around inside that velvety heat, one which he has been craving for weeks, and makes a silent promise never to go that long without hearing these noises again. Oh how Steve croons and sings out sweet little things just from one finger.

And oh how his voice increases as a second digit is added all too soon, but he seems just as eager to envelop it just the same. Pleasant little words becomes rough curses and heated pleas. Although unnecessary, Billy squeezes out more lube onto where he's fingering Steve's hole with a rapid speed, and the sounds of it all now an obscene squelching as he thrusts inside. He did say he wanted Steve to be wet.

“Shit baby, listen to that-” He slams his hand harder and works his strong fingers with all his might, coaxing out a dozen little ah's and fuck's. “-you're so fucking wet and dripping, your ass soaked.”

“Billy,” Steve is keen on crying out.

“You think you're ready for my fat cock?”

He nods swiftly. “Yes, please, I need you inside me so bad, fuck.”

Belt unbuckles, zipper runs down, and Billy grunts all too loudly as he strokes himself with even more lube. “Yeah you do,” his voice like tires on gravel; rough and heady. He throws the bottle to the floor and grabs on to Steve's hip to help guide himself blindly through the black void surrounding them.

With no mercy he bottoms out immediately, and Steve loses the ability to breathe at the stretching sensation of a too-unprepared muscle, tears stinging his cheeks, but still he pushes back till he has devoured every single veiny inch.

“I'm-I'm- ah,” he whimpers out, unable to think past where pain and pleasure mixes so deliciously.

Lube tickles as it runs down his thighs, his trembling dick dripping with pre onto the floor, and barely does he get control of his breathing again before Billy pulls out just to snap back in deep.

“Fuh-ck, Billy!”

There's a chuckle to be heard, like thunder from behind sculpted pecs, and he sets a mean rhythm of slowly moving out then shoving back inside, each slap of skin accompanied by a naughty little cry that mixes “Billy Billy Billy” with “shit fuck oh”, bordering on sobs.

“You like that, pretty boy?” Billy grabs on with both hands to ensure every thrust plunges as far as humanly possible into the mess of Steve's clenching ass. “Like feeling my big cock filling you up?”

“Yes, Billy, ahh, f-faster, please,” Steve moans out and tries to move, to increase the frustratingly slow rhythm, but Billy's fingers dig deeper into his flesh with bruising force. He's going to be all kinds of sore tomorrow, but oh how it's worth the pain then.

“Since you asked so nicely...” Billy growls out and thrusts faster, skin slapping together with such salacious sounds as he buries his throbbing erection in Steve's aching flesh.

Steve bites into his worn lip till it cracks and bleeds in his attempt to not make the entire school aware of their situation. His ever so lonesome prick dangles freely, and although he feels a near primal need to jerk himself to a quick finish, he can undoubtedly cum untouched with just the furious tempo of Billy's own lust.

A hand fists around dark locks, and Steve's head gets yanked back to where Billy bends forward to groan hoarsely into his ear, spewing out filth and biting with all too sharp teeth and his lobe.

“God you're doing so fucking good for me, princess,” his voice raw sex and fucked out, “your pretty little ass so tight around me, sucking me in deep, harrh- taking all of my giant cock, yeah?”

Fingers grip harder at the smooth edges of the sink they're bent over, and Steve turns his head to try and find Billy's lips. “Yeah,” he whines.

Billy's scorching hot tongue licks across Steve's bleeding lip before bringing the metallic taste inside, and he moves across familiar slickness and swallows every single sound that cannot be restrained, no matter how hard Steve tries to be quiet.

“Shit, Steve, I'm close,” the hitch in his voice a clear indication of the truth.

“Mmh- me too, ah-”

“Want me to...”

“N-no! I- fuck-” Steve has to pause to fight back a threateningly loud sound as Billy's steely cock hits just right. He raises himself up on his toes and feels the head hit it again and again and again. “Right there! Billy- I-I-I'm gonna...”

He can feel the grin press against his cheek, and the way Billy speaks urges him closer, “That's so hot, pretty boy, you getting off on just my cock alone, like the slut you are.”

It takes no more than that for it all to flow over, and Steve brings up a hand to cover his mouth as he paints the dirty floor in perfect white, the heat gathered between his legs blowing up and coursing through his entire bloodstream as his body tenses, muscles flexes, eyes rolling back to be blinded by fireworks that only Billy knows how to ignite.

And the brute behind him doesn't stop moving; continues slamming inside with the same continued fervor as he stands back upright. The pleasure quickly drains out, leaving Steve behind to become all too over-stimulated by the way Billy continues hitting that bundle of nerves that has already been pressed for all it's worth.

“Fuck, Billy,” Steve complains and his fingers curled around the metal twitches with the discomfort of being used senseless.

“I know, I know, I'm almost- arh-” Billy reaches up to hook his hand on Steve's shoulder for leverage, and it takes him a handful of erratic thrusts before he chokes down a moan, nails digging into supple flesh as he cums, completely submerged in Steve's fluttering hole, hips twitching till there's no more heat trapped inside.

He grabs on to the sink beneath Steve for support, otherwise they'd both undoubtedly fall down together, and he pants for air, laughs a bit too, albeit rather weakly from exhaustion.

Steve is... happy, content, tired, as he bends down to rest his sweaty forehead against his hands. This has been hell, in its own sense, of having spent most of today with a strangled boner, exhausted from too little sleep, and having been fucked till he's near sore in the most unhygienic room of the entire school. Also there's no doubt that his hair is a mess.

And then the bell fucking rings.

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oikawas-fav-alien · 4 years

Text

Dominant | Taichi Kawanishi x Reader

✧ Summary: Student body president to the most renown school in the Miyagi Prefecture, it made you wonder how Kawanishi, a regular on the infamously dominant volleyball team, was such a lazy jackass.

warnings: language, otherwise none, rated K+ :)

✧ Masterlist ✧

As the student body president, it was your sworn duty to uphold the high ethics as a student and leader. Many often described your personality as rough or overly haughty from your mean-looking resting face. However, they continued to vote for you simply because you were the most qualified and your very presence screamed authority. You wanted to pursue politics in the future and therefore treated the role professionally. In your first-year, you were already elected as a delegate to the student government. Second-year, you were the vice president. And in your third-year you were the highest position possible. The only thing that kept you held back before was the very fact that underclassmen were not allowed to run as president.

You used the position as practice and cared for your potential constituents. There were a few major players here and there, thankfully they were your friends. Growing up alongside Ushijima and Tendou had their benefits. If you had the favor of the volleyball team, you might as well have the whole school crawling in the palm of your hand. Thankfully, none of the people actually on the team could run for student government since they were so busy with the sport. To win over the rest of the student body, there was a fairly popular second-year student who came from a wealthy family that many just looked up to. You often questioned why she did not run for student govt. and once asked her why.

After spotting her at the library, you decided on approaching the girl, “You would be perfect and I don’t see why not.”

“Thanks senpai, but nah. After you’ve seen the shit that I’ve seen... You wouldn’t want to be the leader of such arrogant little sheep.”

You laughed at her metaphor and asked, “I didn’t know sheep could be conceited?”

“Of course! They’ll give you all the attitude in the world, but still follow you in the end.” She joked. Behind her you recognized the light tuft of brown hair that indicated the presence of the current starting setter of the volleyball team.

“It’s a pleasure to see you, Shirabu-kun.” You nodded to the boy who was waiting for the girl in front of you, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you from your boyfriend.” Almost instantly, they both denied the claim. The both of them were rather sheepish in their words and you wondered really if the two of them did not have something going on.

“That’s cute. Well, when you guys end up going to the spring formal together, be sure to send pictures to the Shiratorizawa Academy page on Instabook!” You advertised to the blushing couple, walking away before they assaulted you with more denials.

You were early to your class and browsed away on said application to see the newest posts. Since you were the secret wielder of the Shiratorizawa page, you saw everything. People were still liking the post of Semi and his girlfriend at the autumn formal and that had been months ago. There were various other couples scattered throughout the page, but when other students saw Semi and his significant other, they could not help but think, “Goals af.”

They were going strong and you could not help but feel a hint of jealousy. You grew up in Shiratorizawa Academy in both junior high and high school and there was not a single person in your year that you were not already previously associated with. The boys were those who were immature or simply someone you did not see pursuing. After seeing Tendou eat four-crayons in fourth-grade or Ohira singing along to the barbie-girl theme song, you could say that your view of many of the boys was incredibly skewed. You knew them for too damn long and there was no way you could date any of them. On the flip-side, the people you spent most of you life with knew your name, face, and outgoing personality more than any other candidate. You won the popular vote with a landslide majority, even during your first-year when three other people were running for the same position. This also came with an obvious disadvantage. Almost everyone knew you and that put yourself in a large spotlight. Your daily life was constantly broadcasted and you had to put on a sunny demeanor even if you were having a bad day. Teachers expected the very best from you and anything less would indicate that you were not prepared to be president, forget being prime minister.

It was unfair of your teachers to take advantage of your position, but you took it with stride and a chin held high. It was your sworn duty and you would not slack on any given responsibility. You would volunteer to help clean a classroom in addition to your duties in student government. To do this and uphold good grades in advanced classes, your social life was nearly obliterated. The only person you kept in daily contact with was him, a new project that a teacher assigned to you almost out of spite.

He was a starting middle-blocker on the volleyball team. That fact in itself made you assume that he was as diligent as Ushijima or his very roommate Shirabu, or really like most of the other members of the male volleyball team. His transcript showed his engagement in advanced classes since junior high. And yet, the teacher aggressively requested that you tutor the young man.

And you learned rather quickly that Kawanishi Taichi was an ass.

It really bothered you that a man with his potential failed to fully utilize it. You had better odds finding Kawanishi asleep in his dorm than in the library with his supposed study group. In advanced, you asked several times for the two of you to meet the group and study there. And more than once, he failed to show up and you simply studied with Shirabu and his not-girlfriend.

After that escapade, you made sure to show-up directly at his door with the reading material, snacks – so he could not complain about being hungry – and enough prayers to Jesus to help you through this trial.

You were sat-up on the edge of his bed, dictating to him which sections of the chapter and the appropriate equations he should memorize for the upcoming exam. Kawanishi was previously sitting next to you, but he opted to lay back with his hands folded behind his head. His roommate, Shirabu, was out (probably studying in the library with you know who.)

You sighed loudly and almost slammed the book shut. “You’re so cute when you’re angry, (F/N).” He commented.

“Flattery won’t help you pass abstract algebra, Kawanishi-kun.”

“I’ve told you to address me by my first name. And hopefully, it’ll get me a date with the most elusive girl on campus.” He slowly drew out.

“And I told you not to.” You sighed again, adding to the innumerable amount, “You were the only one who qualified for college prep classes in your second-year and you’re taking advantage of this by… failing advanced math.” You stated.

“Ouch.”

The pure fact that he shared the same third-year level math class was impressive. You sat in the very front and your attention never strayed from the professor’s lecture and had failed to notice the young-man before. But once you saw Taichi's work ethic up close, you knew he was nearly a lost cause. It was rare for him to study and you only wondered why. The teacher originally told you that Kawanishi had the capacity to be the best in class, only he was barred somehow.

Ugh.

You reiterated the question once more, “Prove that if a and b are nonzero integers for which a | b and b | a, then b = ± a.” You looked over and was not surprised to see that Kawanishi had the audacity to close his eyes! You dropped the book on the ground, startling the boy. “I’m leaving.”

“You have to give me time to think, babe.” You were halfway across the room when he sat-up to write some solution to the problem. Unsure if he was actually doing the question, you went back to look-over his shoulder.

Before you could read to the bottom of the page, he slowly turned his head towards you to say, "Since a | b, there is an integer m with b = ma. Since b | a, there is an integer k with a = kb. Substituting a = kb in the equation b = ma we get b = m(kb), so since b is nonzero we can cancel it to get 1 = mk. Since both m and k are integers, and |1| = |m| · |k|, we must have |m| = 1 and |k| = 1, so either b = a or b = - a.”

You looked back into the book to see that yes, Kawanishi’s answer was correct.

He was giving you his lazy stare, one that even you could not decipher. Kawanishi was waiting on you and you hesitated, completely dumbfounded, “Well… It seems you’re ready for the exam.” You gave a weak excuse and exited from his dorm. He did not fight it and seemed to lie back down as you left.

Kawanishi was an utter conundrum. This was not the first time that he amazed you with his intelligence. You brushed off these previous events as rare, but it seemed to not be the case as time went on. The teacher never indicated he was failing, you only assumed so by the many red-marked on his returned homework assignments. But homework was only a small percentage of the final grade, falling in importance by attendance. Outside of your tutoring sessions, you did not really know Kawanishi in his natural element.

You decided on watching the game between Shiratorizawa and Johzenji High. You spotted other people in the crowd, like the supportive girlfriend of Semi and not-girlfriend of Shirabu, but decided on straying from the rest and sitting elusively alone. Kawanishi was just switching into the game, standing right next to the net. After spending extended time with Tendou in and out of class, you knew the basics to volleyball and his role. It just so happened he shared it with Kawanishi.

He played an offensive and defensive role that competed with the tallest members of team. The tallest person was probably Wakatoshi, but he was middle blocker. After that, Kawanishi seemed to tower over the rest of them – Tendou included. The problem was that Tendou shun so brightly, with his unusual hair and outgoing personality. Everyone was aware of his skill and given nickname, the “Guess Monster.” You could almost call the two middle-blockers opposites. To any outsider, Kawanishi was giving a completely impassive appearance to the enemies on the court. But you knew he was thinking and that the little hamster in his brain was working tenfold. He was capable of blocking the spikes of a certain loudmouthed Johzenji player, who made it necessary to yell at random moments. Kawanishi made it appear as if he was putting little to no effort – probably to keep his cool-looking exterior – but you knew better.

Maybe you judged Kawanishi too quickly?

Shiratorizawa closed both sets in their favor and you made your way down to the court before the crowd could block your way.

“Could I get a picture of the victors to send to the Shiratorizawa page?”

Tendou was eager to nod in agreement before grabbing an underclassmen you recognized as Goshiki Tsutomu and an expressionless Ushijima Wakatoshi. Kawanishi spotted you and looked away, deadpan appearance still displayed on his face.

What the hell was that?

During your private tutoring session, Kawanishi was a man filled with unending charisma and charm. And in this instance, not a full day later, he was ignoring you entirely. Who could possibly explain the paradox that is Kawanishi?

“Why do you want to know so badly, huh?” Tendou supplied your question with not an answer, but another question. You shared an English class with the guess monster and decided that during break, you would ask more about the young middle-blocker.

“You know I tutor him… And I fear that I might have judged him too quickly.”

“He’s an ass.”

“Well, I know that.”

“He doesn’t talk to his teammates much.” He candidly stated, “Kawanishi is very similar to his roommate.”

“Shirabu?” You asked incredulously.

“Yeah, they’re both quiet little shits. They like to sit and observe others around them, only speaking if they were called out. Taichi is quieter than Kenjiro though, the latter is hella salty and has no problems sassing his older ones!”

“Huh.” This description seemed like the opposite one that you were used to. Kawanishi had no problems calling you nicknames and there was never a quiet between the two of you. It seemed like he even took amusement in constantly teasing you.

“Something wrong?”

“Not at all what I expected, that’s all.” You confessed, “He seems pretty lazy.”

“Oh he is!” Tendou interjected, “Don’t get me wrong, Taichi has let a ball hit the ground perfectly in! But he’s smarter than he gives off. We play the same position, but his blocking methods are more experiential. Taichi sticks to read blocking, but when he’s in the zone he guess-blocks like me. And if all else fails, he’ll go for the option he knows he can block.”

“That’s… clever.” You were hesitating in your words and Tendou noticed it, evident from the narrowing of his wide eyes, but he did not comment on it outwardly.

Instead, he replied with, “But it’s obviously not as impressive as my method!”

You laughed lightly and complimented, “Seems like no one can compete with the attention of the guess monster.”

At this point, the teacher entered the room and continued with class. Your thoughts often surrounded the elusive man and you wondered if Kawanishi really did act differently around you than the others, but you were running out of options to ask from. If Tendou’s description was accurate, then there was no way that Wakatoshi could give you more valuable information. Shirabu was Kawanishi’s roommate and closest companion, he must know more than the rest. But surely, he would convey to the middle-blocker your interest and you could not handle Taichi finding out.

You went to the second best.

“How’s my favorite kouhai?” You attempted to coerce the popular second-year into conversation, but she gave you the face that knew what you were up to. It was a widely known fact that she was Shirabu’s best friend, member of a second-year study group that included him, and gossip queen – she had to know something.

“If you need something just say it, (L/N)-san. Better make it quick, I have class soon and I can’t be rude to the only senpai that I like.” You caught her in the hallway, typing away on her phone.

You sighed, “What can you say about Kawanishi?”

“Taichi?” She put her phone back in her bag to look down at nothing in particular, whilst frowning. “He’s a lazy piece of shit who knows better than to act like how he is now. You’re tutoring him, so you’ve probably seen it.”

“Yeah…”

“He’s pretty quiet, but not at all shy. Taichi has a personality that’s rough around the edges and it seems like he has a permanent bitch face on. But he opens up to those he can trust.”

“Oh.”

At that reaction, your kouhai quickly stepped in front of you and stopped walking, blocking your immediate pace. “What do you mean, ‘Oh?’ Do you like him?”

“No, it’s just he’s been acting a certain way around me. I was wondering how much of him I really knew.”

“Like how?”

“Like teasing me, calling me ‘babe’ of all things.” Her eyes widened at the newfound gossip and you could almost feel the internal screaming she was projecting. You were unsure if you should walk-away at the stunned girl or shout to grab her attention.

“How cute.” She simply stated, composing herself in a single second and then was on her way.

That conversation did not help your nerves at all and your next class was shared with the aggravation of your thoughts! You approached life like a simple equation. There were variables here and there, but eventually all would be solved and revealed. Math was your shit and yet Kawanishi defied every prior algorithm of judgement you had unofficially convened in your mind.

Since you were relatively early to class, you took the empty seat next to Kawanishi – which was the very last seat in the back! He strolled in with headphones buried in his ears, showing not a single care. His dark eyes narrowed at your presence, but this time he actually acknowledged you with a casual wave.

“Are we still on for tonight?” He did not dignify you with a response, just a sly lift of his eyebrow that you knew suggested something! But you simply rolled your eyes, happy to see your usual Kawanishi and continued, “For studying. Don’t get anything in that head of yours.”

Woah, take a step back.

Your Kawanishi? Since when did you think of Kawanishi as yours? That thought slipped your mind quickly and almost naturally. That fact alone scared you. The two of you had spent numerous nights studying alone and it was clear that he thought of you as a friend, as per his insistence of using his first name. It seems his determination and utter repetition were finally getting to you. And you were surprisingly okay with that.

This was your hardest class and there were exams every week. The professor handed the last test back and you almost cried at seeing your eighty-nine out of one-hundred! Thank the lord! Amongst the few that took the torture known as abstract algebra, the topic for the last exam was agreeably the hardest and you would not be surprised if you were the curve.

Once the professor returned to his desk, he announced, “Sorry class, there is no curve on the exam grade this week.”

What the fuck?! You had never dropped below a ninety math and it was rare for anyone to be ahead of you. There were a few times that the curve was slightly above you by a point or two, but never a full letter grade.

You looked over to Kawanishi and saw the perfect score that he was failing to hide. His expression was a grim line and you reached over to take the paper off his desk. He did not fight you and allowed you to compare answers.

His work was perfect, his penmanship was sloppy, but the answers were completely legible and circled at the bottom. You even remembered him leaving the classroom earlier than you during the exam. At the time, you figured he was going to take a nap – which he did – and not be bothered by the importance of the exam. But boi, you were wrong.

You felt like an ass.

“Looks like you’ll be tutoring me from now, Taichi-san.” You teased. Kawanishi froze at your sudden playful-tone, one he had perceived before, but never seen used against him. He urged you several times before to use his first name and, of all times, you decided now in the middle of class.

Taichi had observed you through junior high and now. You were smart and made it widely known that you and you alone were the leader. You would inwardly groan at teacher’s directions, but do it anyway because that was simply how you were. He grew in the contrary direction and wanted to know why you were so damn happy leading a bunch of idiots.

The student body was easily swayed and not worth his time to keep a reputation. It was easier to keep an impassive disposition than appeal to those he simply did not care about. And yet, you were just as smart as him and you wanted the favor of those beneath you. Kawanishi wanted to know why you subjected yourself to this arduous task through the years. What could be so good about volunteering time into people who widely did not deserve it?

Kawanishi was willing to let all six-years go to waste. Spend his time merely watching you and never actually saying anything. He could easily grab your attention, but what was the point? Your heart belonged to the student body and you would never dedicate time to just him, another student in a sea of others.

Until his matchmaker of a math teacher forced you to.

Kawanishi silently thanked whatever deity was watching over him. He wanted to push your buttons, see how far he could go before the kitten would show her claws. You were put alongside the rare amount of people he could truly express himself with. And damn, you were pretty entertaining. He loved seeing the determined glint in your eyes after he paid even the slightest bit of attention to your tutoring. Or the way you rolled your eyes in amusement after he gave a rather presumptuous statement.

You were a mature intelligent young-woman, a year his senior, with an honest-heart and an ass to boot.

When you were riled enough, you fought his teasing with your own harsh words. Taichi could literally watch your usually composed demeanor collapse at his words. Your usually kind vernacular would get replaced with punitive and ruthless sayings towards him and it strangely invigorated him to see more. You would heave a sigh and force deep breathes to calm yourself and he loved seeing the dramatic rise and fall of your chest.

Taichi long-accepted his interest in you and was not at all shy at expressing this. But you were just??? So dense??

But now that you were finally teasing back… Kawanishi fought down the strange heat rising to his cheeks and attempted his most casual tone of voice, “You can drop the formal suffix, (F/N).” Damn, that was too low! I sounded like a male pornstar.

You laughed, he was could not pinpoint the exact reason since you were smiling so radiantly at him, “Alright, Taichi-kun.”

He sighed at your teasing and refused to respond to your mischievous statement.

Oh boy had the tables turned.

Neither of you could pay full attention in class since any movement from the other person would catch your immediate notice. The two of you did not have to voice it out loud, but it was obvious that you were both on edge, eager to say something but never actually saying it.

The professor decided on letting the class out early and you grabbed his hand, “Hey. Want to have dinner first before we study?”

Kawanishi mulled over your request, frown slowly tilting to a smile when the classroom emptied. “Can’t get enough time with me?”

“Yeah, whatever.” You joked, grabbing your stuff and walking alongside the male. He was keeping an unusually large distance, but at this point you could almost understand the puzzle that was Taichi.

You were a contender for a spot in the top ranked students in the Academy and it was for obvious reasons. And after observing Taichi throughout the week, his personality seemed clearly defined to you. He was not shy or held-back, but honest. Quiet, since he found no reason to speak to those beneath him. Taichi did not radiate the same intelligence as others, but you could still sense his pride and hidden tenacity.

However, you could not explain why his frank behavior was pointed towards you. You were never a member of the volleyball team and yet he treated you like one of his close friends. Kawanishi was a year your junior and you were the president, so maybe he found the need to place formal respect? But he never exhibited the same regard for other seniors or delegates to student government. You glanced back to the hazel-haired male. He was walking at a leisurely pace, his permanent little scowl displayed to the rest of the world.

You swiped into the cafeteria, grabbed some food, and sat in a booth across Taichi. Conversation was mostly comprised of you talking with his occasional comment. This was definitely new behavior, but maybe not at all. This must be his normal disposition and you were entirely okay with that.

It made you feel special, that he talked differently to you in private.

But the small privacy of the booth did not last long. “Hey, (F/N)-san!” You spotted Semi’s girlfriend, arm-in-arm with her setter. “I just had a quick question about prom.”

You were whisked away with multiple questions of what not to wear and the theme. She ended up taking a seat next to you. You were not at all troubled, it was only part of your duties as student government and you were delighted to share details about the most massive event of the year. Semi scooted into the booth next to Kawanishi. Both boys watched the conversation in silence, giving only a polite greeting to one another.

After giving many thanks, the couple took off with a wave. You and Taichi continued in your dinner and you off-handedly asked, “How do you feel about losing so many senpai’s?”

He frowned and sat-back, “They’re moving onto better things. I trust Shirabu.” You nodded at his explanation and the rest of dinner went by casually. His words were concise and you found his current curt vernacular very similar to Wakatoshi.

The moment the two of you were completely alone, in the comfort of his shared dormed room, Kawanishi did not hesitate to slam the door behind him and flash you a flirtatious smile. “What’s up with you lately, babe?” He walked over to his bed, throwing his backpack on the top. You realized it was not as heavy as yours and spotted his textbooks scattered haphazardly on the floor. You did not comment on it, not this time.

“Why?” You had a raised brow, but wide smile on your face.

“Why do you keep smiling at me, (F/N)?” He questioned, sitting on the edge and leaning forward so his elbows were on his knees.

“Why do you treat me like this, Taichi-kun?” You asked, “I’m not complaining, but I seem to be on a special list in your mind. I just want to know what I did to earn it.”

His gaze shun with understanding and amusement, traveling for you to a spot on the floor, “Maybe you’re not as smart as you think you are.”

Back to the teasing! “Well, you’re definitely smarter than I first thought. So I am sorry I misjudged you for a lazy idiot. You’re just lazy genius, it seems.”

His bit his bottom lip and kept a firm gaze back on you. It was rare to see such an intense stare coming from the boy and you fidgeted in your spot, standing in the middle of the room. “A compliment just to knock me down?” There was no hint of a smile despite his amusing tone, and he continued, “Should I punish you?”

Your smile was wiped clean off your face and you looked at him with wide eyes. There were no words you could respond with to make sense of the conversation, so you simply stated, “Do you think you could handle me?”

Oh my god, why do this sound like the beginning of a porn?! You shrieked in your mind, confidence outwardly radiating but on the inside you were literally screaming.

He gave a light chuckle, smirking away at how easy you were to read. Taichi stood up, leisurely walking in your direction and not showing signs of stopping, “It’s easy to get a kitten purring.” And he continued strolling right past you to his desk. “But first I have to tutor you. Now be a good student and sit-down.”

At this point, you were inwardly heaving at the obvious tension and the fact that his smirk looked so hot. You were always the one who brought the study session back to its true purpose when the two of you deviated. And yet here Kawanishi was, getting you all riled-up just to walk-away from his obviously effective work.

This is bullshit!

You were a whole year older than him and the most powerful student at Shiratorizawa – there was no way this tall-ass sloth was going to one-up you! Taichi, you learned overtime, loved to be in control of a situation. He observed other people from afar and would act according to what he wanted as the outcome. And you refused to be another marionette in his game.

You grabbed his shoulder, whipping him around to sit back down on the bed. Taichi leaned back, eyes wide with surprise. You propped your knees onto the edge, initiating a very intimate very dominate position, and pushed the subject, “I think it’s time you learned your place. You can endlessly tease me when I’m trying to help, but I can’t? You better answer my question here and now.”

“It’s because I have feelings for you.” His eye-contact did not waiver, so Tachi easily perceived your astonished-look despite how well you thought you were hiding it.

You opened your mouth, words not coming out, and slowly leaned closer to the man. At this point, any outsider could observe your pose as straddling his waist. But! This was simply not his way. With you still in a daze, Taichi had no problems switching the positions with him now looming over you.

He grabbed a hand in each of his, placing them above your head in his grasp. “Sorry sweetheart.” Taichi murmured above you, noses gently bumping each other. You leaned upward and closed the distance, lips molding against each other. He tasted of mangos, a fruit you would not have expected of the quiet boy.

You felt the sweep of his lips against yours and opened at the invitation. Taichi previously had a knee on the bed, but now he was fully inclined on top of you, hips to hips and to nose to nose. He moved his left-hand from your shoulder to grasp the back of your head tenderly. He was invading all your senses and it seemed his only goal was to deepen your already intimate contact. Your left hand found itself on his shoulder, gripping tightly as the other hand threaded between his auburn-hair.

You moaned at a particular sensation and Kawanishi leaned back to get a full-look at your flushed face, “Well? I like you too. Keep kissing me, you idiot.” You spurned him on, earning a smile as he pushed you further up his bed to a more comfortable position.

He continued in his dominant pose, not hesitating to place himself over you. The heavy-air was incredibly evident and you knew your eyes were hazed over with lust. You traveled a curious hand from his hip to the bare-skin of his stomach and you swear he basically growled. He was sporting that intense gaze again and you only wondered how you were not aware of his feelings before. Taking away by your thoughts, Taichi returned your favor by placing a warm-hand on your waist and roaming upwards underneath the comfort of your shirt. But he was not stopping.

His hand stopped at the crest of your breast when –

“Oh my god!”

“Leave a sock on the door or something, holy shit.”

You broke apart to see Shirabu and his not-girlfriend in the doorway. She had her hands covering her face, but not her eyes. His poor roommate looked entirely done and not at all surprised. The two of you quickly sat-up, but Kawanishi secured a firm hold on your waist. Shirabu and his study partner did not leave the room, but in fact walked-in further.

Your kouhai was quick to compose herself and started, “Wow, (F/N). You work fast! And you said you didn’t like him, no wonder you were gushing all—”

“Are you leaving?!” You interrupted.

“This is my room.” Shirabu stated, sighing. “But we’re just stopping here to grab books and then to the library to study.” Kawanishi was dead-silent, lips a straight-line, but the hand on you was drawing lazy circles on your skin.

“Don’t hesitate to text me if you need anything, (L/N)-san! Some snacks? A condom?” Shirabu flicked the girl on the forehead before grabbing her and almost dragging her from the room. "You were gushing over me?" Taichi asked, stating the question dangerously close to your ear. "I'm going to kill her." He laughed and extended another hand, both of his arms resting across your waist as nibbled lightly on the shell of your ear. "Now, don't be mean because she was honest." Kawanishi whispered, a tingle traveling up and down your spine and causing you to arch forward into his touch.

“That was hella embarrassing.”

He pulled back, “It’s embarrassing to be with me?”

“No!” You were quick to answer and grab his arm, pulling him back, “Not at all. I just don’t want an audience when I’m being intimate with the guy I like... What if they walked in a little later?”

He raised a brow at your question, smirk splayed on his face yet again and returning to his close-position by your ear, "What do you think we’d be doing?”

“I don’t know!” You covered your face with your hands, corrupt thoughts popping up and you were almost sure Kawanishi could see your thought bubble. He laughed and placed the hands away, returning back to lean his forehead against your's.

“You’re cute.” And he enveloped you back into another kiss.

You were not the sort of couple that would hold-hands in the hallway and Taichi would rarely ever kiss you out in public. But you would not have it any other way. His affectionate side was for you alone and he made sure to affirm his affections the moment you were behind closed doors. You noticed the little things, lingering looks or a smile thrown your way. In the comfort of your privacy, Taichi would not hesitate to have roam his hands on your skin.

Taichi Kawanishi was one-of-a-kind and you thanked whoever was out there for blessing you with such a charming boy. He was still an ass, no doubt, but he was your ass.

You loved him fully and he would not hesitate to do the same.

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sky-bee42 · 4 years

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Just remembered im legally done with math for the rest of high school

Im taking one last year of AP com sci to push my self a little over the top and hopefully get some college credit from the AP test, but its not a pure math class and i am so glad because it was either that or actual calculus and no way was i gonna be able to take that class, i already flunked and had to retake pre calc, Freshman year i tried to take 2 math classes, pre calc and AP com sci principles, and i got 3/4 credits from apcsp but 0/4 from pre calc because the teacher didn't know how the fuck to teach (most of the people i was in class with that year and all of my friends who have had her for 2 other math classes agree with me on this) and i couldn't understand anything she taught us (except for stuff to do with quadratics but only because i find quadratics fun to do) so i was 2 credits short at the end of freshman year, but now i got 4 last year and 1 in summer school (i failed 1 quarter of algebra 2 in middle school) so now i have 15 credits, after this year i'll hopefully have 19 and no reason to keep doing math (12 is the minimum to graduate in my district, 16 is recommended for a good portfolio) so i'll have an extra elective senior year which is exciting

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cdelphiki · 5 years

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please write some casual tim and damian when you get the chance! love your writing!

Out of all the stuff I wanted to work on tonight, this is what I ended up doing. 😂 Thank you, anon. I hope you enjoy this completely pointless Tim & Damian fluff.

“Eww,” Tim said, interrupting Damian’s thoughts as he worked through his Algebra homework at the kitchen counter, “How can you eat that?”

Damian scowled, resisting the urge to snap his pencil in half in frustration. Not only was it a mechanical pencil, and would likely take a bit of effort and cause injury if he were to snap it, it was his last one. He had no idea where his pencils kept going, but he was down to just one and it needed to last at least until next Tuesday, when Alfred went to the store.

After taking a breath, Damian continued on to the next step of his equation and took another bite of his celery and peanut butter.

“You are ruining perfectly good peanut butter with that abomination of a vegetable,” Tim continued, rummaging through the cupboard, clinking together the bowls as he pulled one down, “why would you do such a thing?”

“If you don’t mind,” Damian said, through clenched teeth, “I am trying to do my homework.”

Tim dropped the bowl down on the counter across from Damian, then went and pulled out a spoon. Damian was fairly certain Tim was making as much noise as possible as he did so, since he seemed to push around every single utensil in the drawer before pulling a spoon from the bottom of the pile.

“Math, huh? I know some math about celery. Did you know, celery is 95% water and 100% not pizza?”

At that, Damian dropped his pencil in his textbook and glared over at Tim. He promised Father he wouldn’t fight with Tim. That had been part of the conditions when Tim moved back to the Manor. He’d been against the idiot moving in, of course, but no one cared what his opinion was. Apparently, Drake being 16 meant he was too young to be living alone, so Damian had to suck it up. For two years.

Which meant he had to suck it up now. And not fight with Tim.

Damian screamed inside his head, then said with a flat voice, “Your math is sound but the point you are making is stupid.”

Tim’s lips twitched, then he spun around and opened the freezer, “Anyway, is Alfred making you eat that crap? Ice cream is a way better after school snack.”

“No,” Damian said patiently. At least, he thought he sounded patient. He probably had what Dick called his ‘murder face’ on. “He is not. I chose it because peanut butter is an excellent source of protein, and ice cream is nothing but sugar.”

“But why the celery?” Tim asked, after tossing two different flavors of ice cream on the counter and turning toward the pantry.

“How would you suggest I eat the peanut butter?”

“With a spoon?” Tim said incredulously, “like a normal person.”

Damian scrunched his nose at that and picked up the jar of peanut butter, “That is disgusting. You don’t eat it straight out of the jar, do you?”

“Well, yeah kind of. But I get a fresh spoon for each scoop, relax.”

“Tt.” Damian set the jar back down and took another bite of his celery, which he’d already spread some peanut butter on with his knife.

“Why don’t we have any fu…ricken sprinkles!” Tim shouted, knocking something over in the pantry.

“Are you done yet? I would like to finish my homework this year.”

“Harr harr. No, I’m not done. Where are the sprinkles?” Tim demanded, still rustling around in the pantry. Had Alfred been in the kitchen, Tim would have already been kicked out, Damian was sure. He was making quite the mess.

“Why would we have sprinkles?”

“Why would we have…” Tim repeated in horror, “because sprinkles are happiness in an edible form. You can’t eat an ice cream sundae without sprinkes!”

“Don’t you think you are being a tad dramatic,” Damian said dryly, rolling his eyes as he slathered his last piece of celery with peanut butter.

“No,” Tim shouted, “look. I’m not saying this house’s lack of sprinkles is the reason none of you ever smile. But there is a very clear correlation, don’t you agree?”

All Damian could do was roll his eyes. “Sprinkes are not that good.”

“You have clearly never had so many rainbow sprinkles on a scoop of ice cream that you cannot see the ice cream. If you’d experienced the pure joy that is a rainbow-”

“Drake,” Damian cut in, “shut up.”

“No. We need sprinkes,” Tim grabbed the ice cream and shoved it back into the freezer, then spun to face Damian, “Go get your coat, brat, we’re going to the store.”

“I am not accompanying you to the store.”

“Yes you are. You need more happiness in your life, and lucky for you Walmart sells it for 2.49 a jar.”

“It is 15º Fahrenheit outside.”

“And?” Tim asked, looking at Damian expectantly. As if Damian were going to hop up and go get his stupid coat like Tim demanded.

“I am not eating ice cream in the middle of winter.”

“The temperature outside has nothing to do with the deliciousness that is ice cream. Go get your coat.”

“No. I need to finish my homework. Go to the store by yourself.”

“I don’t want to,” Tim whined, and honestly, how was it Tim was the one closer to adulthood out of the two of them? “Apples go good with peanut butter. I’ll buy you some apples if you come with me.”

“We have apples.”

“Then why did you pick celery!”

Damian angrily twisted the lid back on the peanut butter, then got up to put it back in the fridge. The sooner Tim left, the sooner he’d be able to finish his homework and leave. Go off and hang out with Jon. Or just hide in his room until patrol. Anything to avoid tolerating annoying brothers.

“Have you ever had the chocolate sauce that freezes on ice cream?” Tim asked, his tone curious now, instead of annoying and whiny and grating and ugh. Damian really didn’t like having to deal with annoying brothers.

“No.”

“It’s good. You pour it all over the ice cream and it hardens. Then you have to smack it with your spoon in order to eat it. It cracks into several pieces. And if you put sprinkles on it before it hardens, the sprinkles freeze in it.”

That actually sounded pretty cool, Damian hated to admit. He wasn’t a huge fan of sweets, but simple vanilla ice cream with a little chocolate syrup was one of his favorite treats. And a chocolate syrup that froze sounded… decent.

“Does it end up tasting like chocolate chips?”

“Way better,” Tim said, grinning, “We can get some of that, too. They have all sorts of flavors. I’ll let you pick.”

Damian spent a long minute scrutinizing Tim. Staring at him with narrowed eyes. Because going with him to the store would be…. He wasn’t sure. It was something brothers did. And it would be like admitting they were brothers, wouldn’t it?

But they were brothers. And the promise of cool freezy chocolate sauce…

“I need more pencils,” Damian said, sliding back down off the stool he was sitting on, “and we need plain vanilla ice cream. We only have those candy-filled abominations you and Grayson prefer.”

This time, Tim’s smile was so wide his teeth showed as he said, “All right. And sprinkes. All the sprinkles.”

- - -

“It’s good, right?” Tim asked, later that afternoon as they both sat on the couch, eating their sundaes and watching some ridiculous action film Tim purchased.

Damian took another bite of his ice cream, which was just a couple scoops of vanilla ice cream with a lot of the chocolate sauce and half a spoon of sprinkles on it. Half a spoon. Not half a jar like Tim had put on his.

“It is acceptable.”

“Told you. Way better than that not pizza you were eating earlier.”

Damian snorted, then took another bite to hide it as he suppressed the smile his lips were itching to show. Because it was a dumb joke and did not deserve laughter.

“See. I told you sprinkles were happiness.”

“Shut up, Drake.”

#Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #Robin #Red Robin #Batman #Batfam #Batfamily #Batbros #Fluff #Fanfiction #C writes

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sailorchiron · 5 years

Text

Michael Guerin Week Day 6

Better late than never? Day 7 will be up in a minute too.

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Close Enough To Perfect

Michael was standing at his locker, just looking around, getting his books for first and second period, hanging up his bag. Y’know, normal, before school stuff. Checking the hall for people that might be assholes, trying to avoid any fights, since he always got blamed for them. It was chilly in the hall, drafty from the open doors, and the air currents ruffled his hair. It looked pretty good right now. Lisa, his foster mom, had gotten him a real haircut and shampoo and conditioner for curly hair, and he didn’t mind looking at himself in the mirror. Not that he’d ever really felt like he was ugly, and the female companionship he’d enjoyed implied that the was attractive, but he felt kinda confident when he saw his reflection. Which was great.

Because Ryan Arriaga kept looking at him, and he’d decided that he wanted to keep those eyes on him.

He felt butterflies in his stomach just thinking about the other boy. They had two classes together, Spanish 2 and culinary arts, and they’d talked to each other a couple times. Ryan already spoke Spanish and offered to help him with his work; they’d tentatively agreed to work together for this week’s culinary project. He tried to stop smiling, but couldn’t.

Michael had never had a crush like this on a guy before, and had had a pretty good freak out when he recognized what he was feeling the first week of school. He’d decided, tentatively, that he could accept that he was bisexual...and then remembered that, to the best of his knowledge, he wasn’t even fucking human, so why should he stress about the perceived binary sexuality that Americans were so fucking obsessed with? He knew he probably needed to keep that fact that he was into dudes to himself, since his current ‘home’ was pretty religious, and he didn’t want to get kicked out. But feel like there was something wrong with him? For all new knew, everyone from his planet was bisexual, and humans were freaks. Of course, even with that decision made, he still felt off balance sometimes, but forced himself to get over it when it happened.

“Hey Michael.”

He realized he’d completely zoned out and missed that Ryan had gotten to school and was now standing in front of him. He smiled so hard his face kinda hurt. “Hi.”

Ryan was a tall guy, and had won the genetic lottery of his mixed Latino, Basque, and Native American heritage. He was a senior and Michael wasn’t sure what had inspired him to talk to a sophomore in his Spanish 2 class, and had to assume it was because the other boy thought he was cute. At least, I hope he thinks I’m cute.

“Did you study for the Spanish quiz?” Ryan was only taking Spanish to learn to read and write, he’d grown up speaking Spanish.

Michael nodded. “I know the material, but studied anyway.”

“Your Spanish is really good, you almost don’t need the class. You could probably have tested out of your foreign language requirements.”

“I’m not that gifted,” Michael laughed, sure he was showing Ryan heart eyes like in a cartoon. “But it’s impossible not to learn Spanish living in New Mexico.”

The bell rang, and they started walking together. Both of them had math first, Ryan calculus and Michael algebra 2, and they were on the same hall. “I don’t know, most white people still don’t speak Spanish well, even if they understand some of it. You’re at least somewhat gifted.”

“Thanks,” he answered, sure he was blushing hard enough to glow.

They’d arrived at their classes and they stopped to the side of the hallway. “See you in Spanish?” Ryan asked, even though there was no chance they wouldn’t.

“Yah.” Michael couldn’t stop looking at him. He watched Ryan reach out and nearly died when he squeezed his shoulder.

“See you then.” He went into his classroom, but Michael just kinda stared for a minute before the bell reminded him that he had a class to get to himself.

He was kinda distracted, but math came as easy as breathing, and didn’t really have to pay much attention to the lesson. His next class was honors chemistry, and he paid more attention to that since they had a big test on Friday, and the experiment they were setting up for tomorrow was important. All of his classes were honors classes; he’d decided not to take AP classes because his counselor had told him that a 4.0 in regular classes looked a lot better on a college application than a 3.0 with AP classes. It was less work, and was going to pay off in the end. He figured he wouldn’t have been able to pay to take the AP tests anyway.

Third period, though...was Spanish.

He and Ryan sat at the same table with two girls that were just as good at the language as they were, and the four of them were natural-born show-offs, and spoke Spanish to each other as much as possible. Sometimes Ryan would teach them the Basque he knew from his grandmother, and it made him more attractive to all three of them. He’d never flirted with Brianna or Cynthia, and that made Michael very happy.

“Ready for the quiz?”

Michael smiled up at Ryan when he sat down. “Yah, it’ll be easy.”

“Probably.”

The quiz was easy, as predicted. The lecture was interesting, but Michael was distracted by the gorgeous guy sitting next to him. He was taking notes, but wasn’t sure they would make sense later. And then it happened.

Ryan’s hand brushed his thigh, then settled on it for a moment before he moved away. I am going to die. How the hell was Michael supposed to concentrate on past perfect tense now? Something else was far more important. He had to make sure Ryan knew he liked it. Michael turned his head to the side just a little and smiled slowly. Ryan smiled back, and squeezed his leg before putting his hand back on the table. Feeling incredibly impulsive and silly, Michael leaned over and drew the tiniest of hearts in the margin of Ryan’s notes. He heard a soft chuckle in response.

Class ended too soon but also not soon enough. In the hall, Michael and Ryan just looked at each other for a minute, smiling like idiots, before Michael reached over and took Ryan’s hand, squeezing it. “See you at lunch?”

“Yah, I’ll meet you at your locker.”

Brianna came up beside Michael as Ryan walked off to his next class. “Are you dating Ryan?” She sounded incredulous.

“I hope so.”

Language arts was pure torture, and Michael was a mess of fidgeting and checking the clock. 52 minutes had never passed so slowly. Never. When the bell rang, he was out of his seat faster than a sprinter off the starting block at the Olympics.

Ryan was waiting at his locker, and he thought his heart might pound out of his chest. “Hi.”

“Hi.” They got stuck looking at each other for at least 30 seconds. “Put your books up,” Ryan instructed with a soft laugh. “Let’s go find somewhere to sit.”

Neither of them were especially hungry, but got lunch anyway so they wouldn’t just stare at each other and giggle like middle school girls. Michael had no idea was it was, he ate it without really tasting it. They talked before, but now they both had more to say, and lunch was too short.

“Can I hold your hand?”

Michael’s eyes widened, and he smiled, surprised. “Yah.” They walked slowly back to their lockers, completely uninterested in their 5th period classes.

“I have to go or I’ll be late.” Ryan’s locker was close to his next class, but a hall over from Michael’s.

“Okay, yah. See you in culinary.”

“Would you be okay with a hug in front of everyone?”

He nodded, breathless. “Yah.”

It was the best hug ever.

Brianna was in Michael’s 5th period PE class. “I think it’s safe to say I’m dating Ryan,” Michael told her, unable to stop smiling.

He was excited to go to culinary arts, and hoped he wasn’t too sweaty. Worst thing about having PE in the middle of the day. He was sitting on his stool at the prep table when Ryan sat down next to him. “Hi.” He didn’t know how Ryan would react, but he offered him his hand. He immediately took it, lacing their fingers together. They left their intertwined hands on the table top while they went over the prep instructions for the carrot and ginger soup with brioche toast they were making. Ryan whispered in his ear that it sounded absolutely disgusting, and Michael definitely had to agree. Gross.

It was definitely gross. But it was fun to laugh about it with someone that he figured was probably his boyfriend. That was an absolutely terrifying thought in the same way a roller coaster was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. He had a boyfriend. Michael Guerin, social outcast, had a boyfriend and he was one of the hottest guys in the entire school.

Michael was reluctant to go off to world history, and Ryan seemed reluctant to walk away as well. Unfortunately, their classes were in opposite directions. “See you after school?”

Ryan smiled. “I’ll meet you at your locker.” They squeezed each other’s hands and headed to class.

History was worse than language arts. Michael didn’t give a fuck about human history. He still got perfect test scores and did all the homework, but it was the least interesting thing he could think of, especially when the end of the period meant that he got to see Ryan. He just barely managed to survive until 3:16.

He’d put his homework in his backpack and closed his locker when Ryan came up to him. Michael initiated a hug this time, and was so content in those warm arms. He’d never hugged someone taller than him, at least not romantically, and it was a nice feeling. He pulled away before it could get awkward. “Do you have anywhere to be right now?”

The other boy shook his head. “No, I just have to be home by 5:30 for dinner. You?”

“No, just have to be home around 5.”

“If you want to hang out, I’ll drive you home.”

“Yah, that’d be great.”

They ended up at the park three blocks from school, and they took over the swings before any little kids could claim them. They were both too tall, and just sort of twisted around on them, laughing, talking about school and things they liked and Ryan’s family. It was 4:45 before they knew it, and got up from the swings with a sigh.

“Hey,” Ryan started softly. “Am I right that you don’t want your family to know?”

Michael nodded, relieved that he’d picked up on that. “Yah, this family is pretty religious, but they’re kinda nice, I really don’t want to get kicked out.”

Ryan took his hand. “Then is it okay if I kiss you here?”

“Oh, yah, I mean, yes, please, by all means.” He smiled when the other boy chuckled. “I’ve never kissed a boy before.”

“Cool, I was kinda hoping I’d be the first.” He cupped Michael’s cheek and leaned down to press a very soft, chaste kiss to his smiling lips. “Okay?”

“I’ll be okay if you kiss me again.” That wasn’t nearly enough.

“Really? I definitely want you to be okay.”

They kissed for a few moments, still fairly innocent, but they were in a public park after all. There was definitely chemistry there, though, and Michael couldn’t wait for a chance to be alone.

They held hands on the drive home, Michael teasing Ryan about his terrible taste in music and Ryan failing to defend himself. 80s country? Really? It was a travesty. They were at Michael’s foster home too soon and just kind of looked at each other for a minute.

“I really wish I could kiss you again.”

Michael smiled, heart full to bursting. “I wish you could too. Tomorrow morning?”

“That sounds like the perfect way to prepare for calculus.”

Michael almost floated into the house, and was glad Lisa and Hank weren’t home yet, because it would be impossible to hide the level of happiness he was currently feeling, and was sure he’d blurt out that he had a boyfriend. By the time his foster parents were home, Michael was deep into his homework, and his earlier elation was thoroughly crushed. But he took a break after dinner to check his email, and saw that he had an email from Ryan. He’d forgotten that they’d exchanged addresses at the beginning of the school year. Michael looked around to make sure no one was behind him, and he opened it.

Hey Michael,

It was nice to hang out with you this afternoon. I enjoyed talking to you and stuff. I’m attempting to make this email as neutral as possible. Is it working?

Your friend,

Ryan

Michael cracked up.

Hey Ryan,

Yah, totally neutral. I’m also making this email as bland as possible. It was cool to see you. Thanks for the ride home.

Sincerely,

Michael

He’d finished his algebra when he got another email.

Dear Michael,

Here’s another boring email. I attached my Spanish notes for you.

Your friend,

Ryan

Michael looked around again. He could hear Lisa doing dishes and Hank was yelling at the TV. Football inspired so much misplaced passion. He opened the attached picture.

It was a picture of the tiny heart he’d drawn on Ryan’s Spanish notes, but he’d circled it and drawn another one. This one is for me. Michael tried desperately to think of a way that he could respond that wouldn’t be immediately incriminating.

Dear Ryan,

Less than three.

Sincerely,

Michael

Michael smiled, logged out of his email, cleared the browsing history on the computer, and restarted it for when the other kids got home from whatever sports thing they were at. He went to bed still feeling arms around him, and allowed himself a little happiness and hope to carry him off to sleep.

#mgweek19 #guerinweek19 #malex fic #malex #roswell nm

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yallreddieforthis · 5 years

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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