#and one just fucking. spawned. in the grass. i heard the sound effect and just Turned. and there it was. threw a jet ball at it or w/e they | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs | Tumgik

#and one just fucking. spawned. in the grass. i heard the sound effect and just Turned. and there it was. threw a jet ball at it or w/e they

front-facing-pokemon · 9 months

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#kricketot #they kinda look like an enemy in a mario game. with the nose shape and the eyes. they're cute. they look like a guy whom mario could stomp #on their head and they would like. squish down and then disappear and drop a coin. does this make any sense #i guess so. actually i got a random shiny kricketot in my first playthrough of legends arceus. came right after the shiny luxio i got #both of which were like. my first “full-odds” shinies though some would argue they don't count bc they make a loud sound when they spawn #and it's not like. a “Real” pokémon game. which. is fair. i also got a lot of shinies in scarlet/violet but you can see those in the overwo #ld too so maybe those don't count either? if those are our criteria then i have never gotten a full-odds random shiny before. in a pokémon #game where you can't see shinies in the overworld. but i'll still always remember kricketot as one of the ones that i did get #i was like. climbing up the mountain behind the second camp in obsidian fieldlands. the one where you get wyrdeer and fight kricketune #and one just fucking. spawned. in the grass. i heard the sound effect and just Turned. and there it was. threw a jet ball at it or w/e they #'re called and got it. and i can't remember what i named her but i do remember she was female

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traumatized-motherfuckers · 3 years

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CPTSD and Core Beliefs (Your lens, built on traumatic fuckery)

Alright, so you know I have this Patreon thing that I try to make worth your while in return for your economical help. One of the benefits is the good ole’ monthly ask me anything. And I love it. Because the questions are great. And they push me to dig into topics that I was procrastinating. This month’s AMA is a particularly good one! A question that needs to be addressed, anyways. So it’s perfect. Let’s aim for two birds with one stone.

Our good friend Cassie - you know her by now - asks, how do you identify core beliefs and start to change them? Which is a very simple and very complicated question.

So, to take a step backwards, what she talkin’ bout?

Well, one of the internal issues that complex trauma sufferers have to rectify is their belief system. Between our core beliefs and our inner critic, we have a lot going on in between our ears to keep us downtrodden and destitute.

We’re talking about what I call Fucked Up Core Beliefs here… which are your trauma-born core beliefs. Again, called FUCBs because when you discover them, you’ll likely whisper to yourself, “wow, that’s actually really fucked up.” These sentiments are like the lenses that you surgically stitched onto your face several decades ago in response to your upbringing, as your little mammal brain tried to understand its place in the global hierarchy and how to be chill about it.

The framework you built from your early development and beyond, that all information still filters through today - both on the way in and on the way out of your head. The words that stream through your brain consciously or subconsciously to shape the ways you appraise… everything. Yourself, your life, your past, your future, other people, and everything that happens in between.

So, essentially, talking about the ways you interpret your existence and the collected pool of knowledge from where you make decisions, and therefore the ways you act. If this is starting to sound like a big deal - it is!

But it don’t come with a big flashing sign. The Challenge

These beliefs are challenging to figure out because:

One, they were adapted early on in your life in an effort to understand the circumstances around you or directly downloaded from the sentiments expressed in your environment. When you were first establishing your perspective of the universe and trying to figure out how to navigate it based on the clues presented.

Plus, the harder part is… because of the early adoption, you’ve already accepted the idea for so long that it doesn’t even seem like a “belief” to you - you’re not choosing it and it’s probably not apparent to you - it’s just the secret narrative running in your head that corrupts all later data. Not cognitive thoughts that you’re directing on purpose. You probably don’t have recollections of the time before you believed such and such to question what you believe - these ideas are solidified in your head with as much certainty as the alphabet.

So, you might believe you’re a worthless piece of shit as a function of the neglect and abuse you experienced, a way to explain the mistreatment to yourself from a young age… OR you might believe you’re a worthless piece of shit because mom, dad, sister, and society directly told you so. But either way, many years down the line, it’s difficult to pinpoint either of these originating factors as memories fade or to even question the validity of the thought… or to even notice the thought.

Two, if your family of origin was always repeating the same sort of thoughts and you later associate with people who make you comfortable to be around (i.e. probably have some similar views of the world), you have nothing to compare your beliefs to.

Your environment teaches you what’s normal. There’s no reference for what is and isn’t healthy, fair, or functional if everyone is drinking the same kool aid. And, unfortunately, in traumatic environments, folks seem to congregate around the fucked up beliefs to protect them with a mutual unspoken agreement. Accept the accepted narrative of the group or be outcast. The same story is replayed on repeat from all ends of your social circle, so why would you even begin to think there’s another way to look at things?

So, if mom, dad, cousin, uncle, grandma, neighbor, peer, teacher, and media are all telling you the same reality exists, how would you ever even begin to have the wherewithal to think otherwise? The thought probably never crosses your mind. The sky is blue, grass is green, and the world is a miserable place where everyone is trying to take advantage of you.

Three, again, I cannot over-express how insidious, subtle, and generalized these things can be. Fucked up core beliefs affect how you see and process everything. Again, like lenses or an instagram filter permanently applied to your corneas. So, there’s not necessarily one life-effect linked to one-FUCB for easy detection or one event that will cause a clear-as-day defined belief to come shooting to the top of the pile. More like, you very slowly realize you have an unhealthy view or twenty about yourself and the world that have sorrrrrtof impacted every single area of your life now that you spend years considering it.

Thinking you’re a worthless piece of shit, for instance, has led to you taking low-level jobs with chaotic schedules, living with an abusive partner, and settling for living in the same environment with the same behavioral patterns that you’ve known your entire life. It’s also allowed you to give up exercise, eating right, staying sober, and trying to make any life-improvements. Why bother spit polishing shit? And here you are, wondering why you feel awful about yourself and don’t enjoy anything you’ve created in your life.

But. It’s not that simple to sort out, or else we would have done it already. You probably haven’t ever purposely considered how commonly this impression is operating below the surface of your actions. Realizing that the belief “I’m a worthless piece of shit who deserves nothing” and trying to change it would be like pulling out the wrong Janga block - everything it has been supporting suddenly comes tumbling down and you’re left with a real fucking mess to rebuild from the bottom up. And, to top it all off, no one ever even taught you how to create a sturdier structure in the first place.

Fourthly, from some of my own learnings, I’ve come to the conclusion that the core belief, itself, doesn’t even have to present itself at any point to be making a difference in your life. They are so deeply ingrained in my brain that my thought center just naturally uses them as a jumping off point, without even directly touching on the words that might ping my brain as unusual. Just like we can subtly detect risks in our environment that set off our warning bells without ever creating a conscious thought to go with the arousal, I feel like I can apply a core belief to my world without ever noticing the accompanying stream of consciousness.

Sometimes I feel like fucked up core beliefs have become so accepted over time that they’re feelings more than cognitions. As if they’ve become so reflexive through repetition that you have muscle memory - an intuitive response that bypasses your logical brain recognition threshold and jumpstarts shittily-related thoughts… and those will actually register on your thinking scale. But at that point, you accept the novel-feeling thought and never note that it was actually spawned by a very old recording.

Which is to say, you might have to work on identifying your fucked up core feelings before you can get to the thought deeply buried underneath. Taking a meta break from the episode to tell you, I’ve never thought about that so thoroughly before. But Fucked Up Core Feelings definitely sounds like a solid description of my world. I guess we also have FUCFs to go with our FUCBs from now on. Anyways.

With all of this in mind, I’m sure you can start to see why these fucked up core beliefs are a big problem. Hell, if you’ve listened to this podcast for more than a few episodes, you’ve definitely heard that I’m still challenged by my own. Like, when I say that I’m freaking out because no one should listen to me and I feel like an imposter - I believe that I’m not good enough to share information with people. That I’m too flawed to even express myself. This is a problem for, say, podcasting. Or, living. And I have to fight it all the time.

Long story short.

Your core beliefs are sneaky, they can be comprehensive, and they are hardwired into your brain as your default system for analyzing everything on the planet. Again, kind of like looking for goggles strapped to your face, but in reality you had lasik surgery about 30 years ago.

So, if you aren’t constantly on the lookout for core beliefs and actively working against your pre-programmed ways of assessing yourself and the world around you… they will get out of control, cause a fair amount of avoidance and defeat, and set you back several steps in your mental health management… plus, potentially your entire life, if you make any big decisions out of this unhealthy mindset. Which you will, because that’s how the brain works. I’m almost certain that you have some experience with this already.

If you ever think things like: The world is a dangerous placePeople are cruelI’m not good enough I’m not smart enoughI’m not enoughI’m brokenOther people don’t like meThere’s something wrong with my personalityI’m not allowed to… (live like others, have nice things, be happy)I’m not one of those people who… (has money, has good luck, gets what they want)Shit is just harder for meNothing ever works outLife is always hardI can’t.

Then you’ve had some fucked up core beliefs floating around in your head.

These are some super broad ones for the sake of demonstration, so don’t disregard highly specific beliefs that might relate to your particular circumstances or upbringing.

If you haven’t ever noticed yourself thinking these big shitty picture things… check again in all your deepest nooks and crannies. I think a lot of us TMFRs operate from some version of the narratives above - plus, much worse. Like I keep saying, these beliefs might not be in your conscious thoughts, so much as they’re directing the show from behind the curtain.

How do we pull it back? Discover the beliefs ........

Keep reading or listen up at t-mfrs.com

https://www.t-mfrs.com/podcast/episode/532f2b1c/core-beliefs

#cptsd #complex ptsd #complex trauma #complextraumarecovery #healingcomplextrauma #complextrauma #complexptsd #cptsd problems #cpstd #just cptsd things #actually CPTSD #cptsdsurvivor

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agreatperhaps12 · 4 years

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

happy holidays, @katiewont :)

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

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

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

That’s just the highlight reel for September.

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

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

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

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

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

“How was play-pretend battle?”

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

Take me with you, he thinks.

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

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

“And Warren almost barbequed Evans,” Ethan says.

Jesus, could they shut up about it already.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” she says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smooth, he thinks at himself. Very smooth.

Shut up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.” Layla holds out her menu.

Warren blinks. “What?”

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

“I don’t.”

“Okay.”

Warren squints. “Okay…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t,” Layla says.

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

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

“I didn’t go to middle school.”

“Well, they didn’t,” Layla says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s nice,” he says. “Peaceful.”

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

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

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

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

“Her power sounds amazing,” Warren says.

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

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

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

“Except you,” Warren guesses.

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

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

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

“But,” Warren prompts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

“And now?”

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

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

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

“So, why tell me?”

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

“What?” Warren balks. “I do not.”

Layla squints. “Don’t you, though?”

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

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

“I’m not upset,” Warren snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Warren gives her a doubtful look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, Warren’s been procrastinating.

But time is running out.

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

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

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

Layla and Magenta make sympathetic noises.

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

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

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

“What?”

“Gossip.”

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

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

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

“No,” Layla says, unconcerned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Or from the vents,” Magenta adds.

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

Warren scowls. “No.”

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

Stronghold frowns. “He took Layla to homecoming.”

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

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

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

“What thing?” Magenta says.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re an idiot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She talks about me?”

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

“Don’t touch me.”

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

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

“You’re gonna ask her, then?”

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

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

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

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

“I know that,” Warren snaps.

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

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

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

Warren narrows his eyes. “Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dating Layla Williams finally gives Warren that permission.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Warren unsuccessfully tries to bite back a smile.

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Case in point: “Layla?”

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

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

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

“Why? You’re gonna ace that thing.”

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

Warren’s frown deepens.

“What?”

“You should take a break,” he says.

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

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

“What?” she says.

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

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

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

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

“Layla.”

“It’s fine,” she insists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Warren adjusts his grip on the magazine. Layla hears the paper stick to the sweat on his fingertips, but his determined expression doesn’t change. “Then help me.”

Layla blinks. “With what?”

Warren holds up what turns out to be a gardening catalog. “I want to get my mom a couple of indoor plants for her birthday,” he says. “Something pretty but doesn’t require a lot of attention, because she’s gone so much. I thought maybe you could help.”

Layla stares at him. “I love shopping for potted plants,” she says slowly.

Warren exhales a short laugh. “Uh, yeah, I know. And you are a good teacher, so.”

He rolls the catalog up between his hands and looks at Layla with guarded hope that shoots a bolt of affection like heat lightning straight through her stomach. She needs to sit down.

“Come in, then,” she says, and ushers him through the door. While Warren is taking off his shoes, “Just so we’re clear, you are not going to make a habit of rearranging my schedule behind my back.”

Warren stands up straight, dead serious. “Got it.”

Layla indulges a smile and leans up to kiss him. “I’ll forgive you this time, though.”

They sit on Layla’s bed, flipping through Warren’s catalog, as well as a stack of magazines that Layla has pulled out from under her desk. Warren loops his arms around her waist and hooks his chin over her shoulder, listening intently while she explains the care and keeping of flowers. It’s comfortable and easy and requires just enough idle attention to avoid falling into a slump. Layla could do this forever, she thinks.

Not an hour later, Layla is lying with her chin propped on her hands, which are folded over Warren’s chest, struggling to keep up conversation through yawns of increasing frequency.

“You can go to bed, you know,” Warren says, dryly amused, and tucks a strand of hair that has fallen out of Layla’s loose ponytail behind her ear.

“I might fall asleep right here on top of you, if you keep talking about it,” Layla says, closing her eyes and pillowing her cheek on her hands.

She feels, rather than hears Warren’s hitched inhale, and suddenly feels more acutely awake than she has all week.

Three seconds pass before Warren murmurs, “You can. If you want.”

Layla very carefully keeps her body relaxed and does not open her eyes to avoid breaking the fragile moment. “Mmm-kay,” she says, and adjusts to find a slightly more comfortable position. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Warren says, one hand splayed between her shoulder blades, his other thumb smoothing the hair back at her temple.

Layla is so keenly aware of every point of contact that she thinks she might stay awake after all. But within minutes, the soft touch pulls her down into sleep.

#layla williams #warren peace #sky high #my 11-year-old self would be proud #first het fic ever #but i caught feelings writing this and guess now i ship ForestFire #i think it got angstier than your original adorable prompt intended but #what else is new #apologies for the climate change existential crisis that popped up at the end there #i might have been projecting

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xxbyimm · 5 years

Text

Confession - Fíli x reader

So here’s my Fili fic of the day! It spiraled out of control (as usual) and suddenly it became much longer than intended it to be. Anyway, I do hope you enjoy my FIRST EVER FÍLI FIC!

xoxo

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Confession

Summary: Reader has developed feelings for the eldest prince of Durin’s folk and has no idea how to handle it.

Tags: @theincaprincess @fizzyxcustard @soradragon Let me know if you want to be added to or removed from my taglist!

Warnings: Mild swearing. A bit of tension and kissing, nothing too explicit.

‘YOU INSUFFERABLE DWARF!’

Your voice echoed through the valley. A few birds nearby were startled by your tirade and they flew away, squawking indignantly. Normally you would have thought twice about destroying the peace and quietness of a beautiful place like Rivendell, but today you couldn’t care less. You huffed and trashed the delicate foliage, frantically searching for a path that would take you as far as possible from that unmannered, hateful prince. You did not tolerate anyone belittling you after a day full of running and fearing for your life. Especially not while you were having an argument with a certain stupid dwarven leader who refused to see things your way too. The eldest spawn of Dís had NO right to contradict you like that in front of the whole company!

Oh, how you hated the golden prince. You hated how fine he looked, even after almost being cooked by trolls and chased down by a pack of orcs. You hated his golden manes, the way his hair shone in the setting sun… And how his braids moved when he was tilting that ridiculously handsome head of his. How his mustache braids rocked as he was telling a story with an intricate precision only he could muster.

Ugh. You had a thing for males with long hair and beards. When you took a quick look at your handful of exes, the fact that all of them had long locks and at least some facial hair was abundantly clear.

No wonder that you found yourself swooning over the golden manes of a certain prince. He just possessed two desirable features that made your abdomen churn every time he was near. Evolutionary need, it was. Nothing less, nothing more.

The forest around you grew more dense, making it hard for you to move on. Angrily you paused, got out your knife and started clearing anything that was in the way. With each strike, you imagined stabbing Fíli in his ridiculously handsome face. You hated him. You hated the way he laughed, that light-hearted almost blessed sound that soothed your ears after bearing Thorin’s growling demands all day. How those serene, blue eyes observed EVERYTHING around him, and the way they could flash when the prince was slowly losing his temper. You hated how he and his brother Kíli were sometimes acting like two immature dwarflings, pulling pranks on everyone in the company. He was an idiot, and a smug one too.

Finally you reached a large clearing where you stopped to catch your breath. It was a quiet, peaceful spot, with long, soft looking grass that seemed excellent to nap in and delicate flowers in a variety of colors. The only sound you heard was the rushing of leaves in the wind. The beauty of this place was striking and it made you feel a little ashamed of your recent rage.

It hadn’t been the valley’s fault that you had a fallout with Thorin, nor had it really been Fíli’s doing. To be fair he had made it worse by his comment, but after a day like this… Could you really blame him for making a error in his judgement?<i>‘Yes.’</i> A little voice inside you murmured vividly. <i>‘He hurt me. I hate him with the fire of a thousand suns!’</i>

You heaved a weary sigh and settled against one of the trees in the soft grass, the exhaustion from the whole day finally getting the better of you. The anger that had pumped through your veins moments ago still lingered under the surface, but the demand of your body to rest was stronger. Your feet were sore, your legs hurt and your head was spinning. All you wanted was to close your eyes and take a moment to relax. Just a moment…

‘Y/N?’ Fíli’s voice startled you and your eyes flung open. He was standing no more than ten feet away from you, the expression on his face worried. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked while coming closer. ‘We were worried about you. You’ve been gone for hours.’ ‘I’m fine.’ You croaked, still a little sleepy.

Ugh. Now he also dared to disturb you in your sleep. Who did he think he was? You blinked slowly and groaned when Fíli’s physique came closer into view. He had taken off his coat and was wearing a dark brown tunic and trousers, and heavy boots. Above the v-neckline of his tunic you could see some blond chest hair.

A soft hand on your shoulder sent pleasant shivers down your spine, but then you remembered the heated argument with Thorin and how the prince had taken his uncle’s side. It was enough to make your blood boil again.

‘Do. Not. Touch. Me.’ you warned in a low hiss. ‘I’m sorry.’ Fíli said, as he quickly withdrew his hand. ‘I should have asked first, please forgive me.’ ‘Yeah, you should!’ You snarled.

A small part of you hoped that your offensive attitude was enough to drive him away, but Fíli merely walked a few paces back and sat down on the long grass. You felt that knowing gaze of his burning through your soul, but you refused to give him even as much as a glance and stared into the distance. The silence felt less pleasant now and you slowly became very aware of yourself. You shuffled awkwardly in your spot.

‘Am I the reason you stomped off into the valley?’ he softly inquired after a few minutes. ‘Why would you possibly have anything to do with my actions?’ you scoffed. ‘Even if I wasn’t even part of that reason, I would like to apologize.’ Fíli told you. ‘We had a rough day as it is and when uncle Thorin refused to cut you some slack, I only made it worse.’ ‘Made it worse?’ you retaliated. ‘That’s an understatement! You made a fool out of me against the WHOLE COMPANY! Oh, and did I forget to mention those FEW POINTY EARS IN THE DISTANCE?’ ‘I’m so sorry, Y/N.’ the prince pressed again. ‘It was not my intention to hurt you. Is there anything I can do to make it right?’

That was another thing you hated about him. His chivalrous behavior towards you. You didn’t want a special treatment and sure as hell did not need one.

But still… You looked in his direction. Fíli was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the clearing. The daylight was already fading, but the last sunrays shone upon his golden manes. Your heart skipped a beat as you got to watch his hair radiating the warm, golden light of the sun. The silver beads on the ends of his braids were a wonderful contrast. Your fingers curled up in your lap. How would it feel to grasp those braids, to feel the cold metal under your heated skin?

And as he sat there in the clearing, this gentle and kind dwarf, this king in the making watching you patiently, a daunting realization hit you. The anger that had resided in your chest faded away, leaving a burning ache that burned through your body.

Well, fuck.

How could you have missed this? After all those years you had spent mending your broken heart, you had forgotten how it felt like. You had told yourself over and over that you were unfit to love, that the long history of unrequited loves and bad relationships were your fault. Maybe you did not deserve it, or it just wasn’t in the books for you. It didn’t matter. You had walled the soft side of you up under this defensive, angry demeanor and that had always protected you from people coming too close.

Sure. It was lonely, but so much more effective.. You preferred it that way, safe and hidden from the rest of the world.

Until this prince came into your life and smashed your carefully built walls without even trying. The painful truth was that you didn’t hate Fíli at all, you just wished you could. You weren’t mad at him, you were mad at yourself for letting your guard down. It only had taken a few weeks to fall head over heels for him. You loved this trained fighter, this valiant prince and you had no idea if he loved you back. It was like someone held your heart in his hands all over again, just moments before crushing it. You were terrified.

‘No.’ you finally whispered, not trusting your voice. ‘Why do I have the feeling this is about more than what happened today?’ he murmured. You shrugged while looking at your feet. Tears welled in your eyes, but you quickly rubbed them away with your sleeve. ‘Y/N.’ he pleaded. ‘Can I come closer?’ ‘If you must.’ you mumbled. He heaved a weary sigh. ‘Yes, I must. You’re clearly hurting.’ ‘Fine.’

You allowed him to sit next to you and even shuffled a bit so he could settle against your tree trunk comfortably.

‘Can I ask you something?’ he inquired. ‘Okay.’ ‘Are you always this tensed?’ he asked quietly. ‘You seem angry all the time, and I couldn’t help but develop this feeling that from the whole company, I seem to tick you off the most.’ You lift up your head to meet his gaze. His bright blue eyes were fixate at your E/C ones, as if he was sure he could find his answer there. ‘I’d like to know what I have done that offended you.’ Fíli whispered. ‘I need to.’ ‘Oh.’ You stammered. ‘No, it’s not you. It’s me. I’m… I’m…’ ‘Please speak truthfully, Y/N.’ ‘I don’t hate you.’ You told him. ‘I wish I did. I…’

You could not bear to look at him any longer. You shifted your gaze towards your hands, analyzing the current state of your nails.

‘During my life, I have built up these walls.’ You finally began. ‘People have broken my trust, my heart. I have found safety in hiding away my true self under this angry attitude, and I’d like it to keep it that way.’ ‘That must be lonely.’ You grimaced. ‘But so much more effective.’ ‘But lonely.’ Fíli objected again. ‘Perhaps.’ You gave in. ‘When you’re left with a pile of dust that used to be your heart, you’ll doubt if you’re ever going to be able to love again.

The rough bark of the tree was starting to hurt your back and you moved a little. The silence hung heavily in the air and you anxiously licked your lips. Your heart was pounding in your chest. The sound was so fucking loud, that Fíli probably would be able to hear it. Heck, make that whole Rivendell. You were inclined to walk away and dodge this whole conversation, but you knew you had to stay put and sit this one through. You just had to keep on breathing, that was the key.

‘But then there you were.’ You confessed. ‘Shamelessly breaking apart those walls I’ve spent years building and suddenly find myself falling hard for you. But at the same time I’m terrified that once I show you my true self, you’ll hurt me.’ ‘So you lash out.’ Fíli concluded gently. ‘Yes.’ You said, a wry smile displayed on your face. ‘I lash out. And I get that you do not love me back and that’s fine. I’m not relationship material anyway.’

There. You said it. Now he only had to tell you he did not return your feelings, and the whole situation would be over. You tried to get up on your feet again, but after sitting down for quite some time, your knees where wobbly and you lost your balance. You fell backwards, landing on his lap.

His skilled hands broke your fall, grabbing your hips to steady you against his own body. Oh god, he was so close. His arms slid around your waist, his scent enfolding you like a blanket. Your thoughts got slurred as all your attention was directed to the places where the two of you touched. Your mouth eventually found a single world, which you breathed out shakily.

‘Sorry.’

Neither of you moved. His arms were wrapped around you, hands laid still against your sides, sending pulsating shocks up your spine. Your backside was still pressed against his chest and the places where you touched your skin was on fire.

‘Y/N.’ Fíli finally spoke, his voice sounding a little hoarse. ‘Yes.’ You moaned. ‘Look at me.’

Ever so slowly you turned until your E/C eyes met his again. But where you had expected to see compassion, pity even, you only discovered admiration, laced with an hint of desire.

‘Mahal knows you are everything I have ever wanted in a woman.’ Fíli declared. ‘But I didn’t know if you returned my feelings.’ ‘But I am bad news, Fíli.’ You reasoned. ‘I am the sum of failed romances and broken hearts.’

But the prince merely shook his head.

‘I’m a lucky bastard because of that, am I not?’ He concluded with a smile. ‘That’s not funny!’ you hissed. ‘I’m deadly serious about this!’ ‘So am I.’ he said. ‘You were meant to be with me, that’s why it didn’t work out before.’ ‘I don’t believe in fate.’ You growled. ‘I choose my own path.’ ‘Then make the choice..’ He dared. ‘Kiss me. Or walk away.’ ‘Are you mocking me?’ ‘I would never.’ The prince replied, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. ‘I’m simply giving you a choice.’ ‘Much of a choice I got when you’re holding me.’ You pointed out. ‘Fine.’ Fíli let you go and raised his hands in the air. ‘Then go.’ ‘Really?’ Fíli shrugged, a small smile painted on his lips. ‘As I said: your choice.’ You narrowed your eyes, still not sure if he was mocking you or not. ‘But if I walk away, you can’t make it up to me.’ The prince chuckled. ‘That’s true, my lady.’ ‘If you say my lady to me again, I’ll make you suffer for it.’ You cautioned. He smirked. ‘Makes me wonder what you’ll do…’

But before he could tease you any further, you rushed forward and caught him in a hungry kiss. He groaned into your mouth as your surge of passion spread like wildfire. Hips were grinding, hands wandering. Your fingers clawed through his golden hair, finding the silver beads in his manes and pulling on his braids. As Fíli deepened the kiss, the bristle hairs of his beard were scratching the delicate skin of your face, setting it on fire. You hissed as the cold metal of the beads in his mustache braids soothed the burns. The prince’s arms slipped around your waist, his hands grabbing the soft flesh of your hips. A moan escaped him when you pushed yourself against his arousal, the sound sending waves of pleasure through your body.

It was not enough, yet too much. You weren’t ready to lose yourself completely. With all your control you broke the kiss and sat back like a panting mess. Fíli was watching you intently, the fire in his blue eyes undeniable. A naughty smirk was displayed on his lips, inviting you to repeat what just happened.

‘I’m sorry.’ You blurted out while retreating further on his lap, still panting. ‘What for?’ Fíli teased with a sigh. A giggle escaped you. ‘This explosion. It’s just that I have wanted to do this for ages.’ ‘Don’t be.’ The prince assured you as he pulled you closer once more. ‘I feel exactly the same…’

#the hobbit #fíli #fili #fili x reader #fili x you #fili appreciation week #xxbyimm writes #fili fic #fili fanfiction

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fearofaherobrine · 7 years

Text

Roleplay Sever log #235

“Testificates Tour the Gods Home”

[Lie] Has entered the village early the next morning. She had come home to an angry CP and a letter from TLOT and Steve about what had happened. She's in the village to give some excess food she's grown away-

[Coocont] morning Mis Lie!

[Lie] - Morning! Do you need any vanilla? I've got way to many pods at the moment

[Coocont] Oh! Yes please! In fact, we should take some to the bar and give it to them. It tastes quite good in milk with sugar. Then everyone can have some.

[Lie] - Lead the way

[Jelli] Is snipping the grass outside the bar and waves cheerfully-

-The kids are already up and around and the village is lively with the sounds of them playing and the Testificates going about their little routines.

[Lie] Waves at those they pass, sneaking some peppermint cattails to the kids-

[Coocont] Mis Lie brought more vanilla!

[Jelli] That's perfect. I was nearly out. It lasts a while, but everyone likes it.

[Lie] - Where do you want me to put it?

[Jelli] Oh I'll stow it- Holds out his hands-

[Lie] Passes a few stacks over-

[Jelli] So generous! Thank you!

[Coocont] Snags a few-

[Lie] - How is everyone here?

[Coocont] Faring well. The group we rescued are a bit unsettled, but then they did have a rather rough time as prisioners. And once they'd calmed down, the loss of Muug and Handle did kinda hit them hard.

[Lie] - Do they need any healing or calming flowers? I can easily provide those... Or perhaps my dream flowers if they are having bad dreams about it

[Coocont] I don't know, they were just a bit sad. Thankfully no one lost their mates. That would have made it harder.

[Lie] - True, where are they? I'd like to check in with them

[Coocont] Looks around and then up before pointing. - They're on the balcony of the hotel, at least Spork and Bee are. Candelabra may still be in hir room.

[Lie] - Thank you, I think I'll go see them now. Just let me know if there's anything else you need

[Coocont] You are too kind. - little bow-

[Lie] Heads for and enters the hotel, heading for the balcony and knocks on the wall to announce herself-

[Bee and Spork] Turn to look -

[Candelabra] Is sitting on the edge of the hot tub with hir feet in the water-

[Bee] Little gasp-

[Lie] - Hello, I came to check in on the three of you. How are all of you?

[Spork] Overwhelmed...

[Bee] It's her... Are you Lilinthia?

[Lie] Nods- Yes, I am. Although everyone here refers to me as Lie

[Candelabra] My lady... You honor us with your presence.

[Bee] Lie?

[Lie] - It's nothing really. Everyone here is on friendly terms... Well, most everyone...

[Spork] Are you referring to your husband...?

[Candelabra] He seems rather bombastic.

[Lie] - Yes and no, there are a few others...

[Bee] There are enemies even in the home of the gods?

[Spork] There are always gods of darkness as well as light Bee.

[Lie] - Unfortunately, but most know better then to start shit here

[Candelabra] The Lord of Tears keeps the peace?

[Lie] - Them and Doc... And Deer

[Bee] Who is this Deer? We do not know of them.

[Lie] - I believe she's referred to as the Earth Mother on your server

[Candelabra] Brightens - She is known to me! The graceful hooved lady of the land.

[Spork] Ah!

[Lie] - Yes, that would be her

[Bee] The others told us a little. But mostly they've just given us space to grieve and recover. They are all busy with their children after all. I've never seen so many Alexs and Steves before.

[Lie] - They actually aren't Alex's and Steves. There a whole other... Server full of humans. Each one is their own unique individual. I actually come from that world

[Spork] Are they just normally small? Or did some terrible fate befall their parents?

[Bee] Worlds within worlds...

[Lie] - They were under the effect of zombification when they were brought here, so we reversed it. Their parents all believe them dead

[Candelabra] I've heard stories of magicks that can revive the undead. It's far beyond what my people can achieve.

[Lie] - Yes, a potion of weakness and a golden apple

[Candelabra] To make so many potions and apples, and save so many...

[Bee] That's beautiful. One who would brave the Nether even once... they must have the hearts of a dragon.

[Lie] - Dragon indeed. Doc was the one who provided everything. They pulled the items out of creative

[Bee] It shows compassion no matter how they were gotten.

[Spork] I've never seen such a happy, lively town. Our home is so small and quiet in comparision.

[Lie] - Yes, the testificates here were overjoyed to finally have children

[Spork] I'm old enough to remember when our Lord was travelling, lifting the ban wherever he trod. We heard stories from travellers of the places he'd been, and of a town by a swamp where the mals were gathering in solidarity.

[Lie] - Yes, and when NOTCH came after them, Doc found them, and brought all of them here

[Bee] There was a lot of sorrow when we heard they'd all vanished. Some still cursed him, but there were many that believed his way was the right one and tried to carry on his teachings.

[Lie] Pauses for a moment as she considers something- Would you like a small tour of this place?

[Candelabra] Shakes off hir feet and puts hir sandals back on. - Yes please.

[Bee] We would be honored!

[Spork] Nods-

[Lie] - I'll wait for you downstairs if you need to gather anything

[Candelabra] What you see is what we have mistress.

[Bee] Hurries to her.

[Spork] I am also ready.

[Beanz] Is standing in the lobby as they pass- Hello Lie. Come to take our visitors around?

[Lie] Smiles- Yes, how have you been Beanz?

[Beanz] Beset by Flickr! She has decided she wants to be friends! I don't know where she got such a foolish notion. As if I'd want to be friends with someone- who- who- smells like dirt all the time. - huffs-

[Lie] - Beanz... I usually smell like dirt...

[Beanz] Waves a hand airly- It's different! You also smell like flowers! With no hint of- of- creeper dung!

[Bee] Someone smells of creepers? That's dangerous!

[Beanz] She's a tamer of creepers. A Testificate who bonded with a whole herd of them.

[Lie] - Sure Beanz- Is grinning a bit- Perhaps you should go and speak with TLOT?

[Beanz] I- I might just do that!

[Lie] - Good for you

[Beanz] Decisive nod- Good day to you.

[Lie] - And to you- Lie went outside and looked upwards at Babylon- So, what would you three like to see first?

[Bee] Anything you wish to show us mistress.

[Candelabra] We emerged from the darkened tunnels into a garden of plenty to see our war god yelling at a ferocious dragon. I suspect we should allow our goddess to guide our steps.

[Spork] Especially since you said there are dangers here-

[Lie] - Yes, I heard him yelling at GK. That was my garden you entered into

[Candelabra] As befits a goddess of the flowers.

[Spork] Gk? Is that.. the dragons name?

[Lie] - It's the shorthand for his name. His full name is Herobrine, the Griefer King

[Bee] Another Herobrine?

[Spork] I saw his eyes and wondered. What sort of powers does he command?

[Bee] Gets distracted by the plants in the flower shop-

[Lie] - His is similar to my husband, Mostly a fire user and can transform between the dragon form and a human form

[Candelabra] Like the Doctor we've heard so much about of late. The dual faced deity of life and death.

[Spork] Is being able to transform common for Herobrines?

[Lie] - It depends- Starts walking towards the gates of the village- Some like TLOT are able to transform naturally, while those like my husband and I have to be given another form

[Zile] Walks up out of curiosity. - Are these the newcomers?

[Spork] Narrows her eyes at him. - Why are you dressed like a priest of NOTCH?

[Zile] Oh. Just a habit. I do not follow NOTCH anymore. I am sworn to the Lord of Tears.

[Lie] - Morning Zile, yes, these are the newcomers, Spork, Bee, and Candleabra

[Spork] Is still slightly suspicious of him-

[Bee] Your scarf looks like our lords cloak.

[Zile] blushes- It was a gift.

[Candelabra] He is a god who believes in second chances after all.

[Zile] And gratitude where it is due.

[Lie] Continues walking, glancing at Ding Ding the mooshroom-

[Escar] Is trying to coax Ding Ding down off a stone wall in a way that doesn't result in the mooshroom falling in the pond.

[Bee] What a strange creature...

[Spork] You've never been to a mushroom biome? It's pretty gross. The ground is all steamy and squishy.

[Bee] Yuck!

[Lie] - Yes, and somehow that Mooshroom ended up being mayor of the village...

[Zile] Don't ask...

[Bee] O-kay...

[Lie] Reaches the gate to spawn-

[Candelabra] Looks out the gate and takes a short breath at the sight of the two pastel colored trees laden with ice cream cone 'saplings'.

[Bee] They're so pretty!

[Mb] Is playing with Celine at the spawn. He's holding her while she flexes her wings as if flying-

[Spork] Who is that?

[Lie] Stiffens a little at the sight of MB- That would be Master Herobrine...

[MB] Notices Lie and gives her a huge grin- Hellooo.

[Bee] Is unsettled-

[Lie] - Hello MB

[Mb] His words are slightly oily - Having a nice morning Lie?

[Celine] Squeaks at Lie -

[Bee] Quietly - Is this one of the dark gods we were discussing?

[Spork] HUSH!

[Lie] - Yes, I am- She smiles down at Celine- Morning Celine

[Mb] Ah she's happy to see you too-

[Celine] Bit of tail wagging that shakes the lethal ball of spikes on the end of it. -

[Mb] Would you like to hold her?

[Lie] - Sure- She holds her arms open for the baby dragon and cradles her against her

[Spork] Another dragon... miracles.

[Bee] It's so small.

[Mb] Huffs- She'll get bigger.

[Candelabra] risks giving the baby a pat-

[Celine] Happy squeaks and purrs as she rolls around in Lie's arms.

[Lie] Feels a little tug on her hair-

[Celine] Shakes her tail and finds it stuck, she jerks on it in annoyance- Squeak!

[Lie] - Ow ow ow...

[Celine] Grabs Lie's neck with an unhappy squeak as she tries to shake her tail free.

[Mb] What the fuck are you doing?

[Lie] - Her tail is stuck, stop that Celine! I can't get you untangled if you keep moving like that

[Celine] Panics a little and scratches Lie's cheek with her nose horn accidently before giving off an unhappy squall-

[Mb] Give her back, you're making her more upset!

[Lie] - I'm trying!

[Mb] Runs up to her and tries to help, but he also gropes her accidently trying to get her to hold still-

[CP] Feels his wifes immediate distress and teleports there in an instant- MB...

[Mb] Have you never handled a baby dragon before you twit?! Fucking hold still! - He pulls Celine's tail free but takes a few strands of Lie's hair with it-

[Celine] Clings to Mb- Meeeeeeeeeeh!

[Testificates] Back off when he appears-

[Lie] Winces in pain as the strands are yanked from her head-

[CP] - THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?

[Mb] Rescuing my dragon from your wife! Back the fuck off!

[CP] Growls and lunges at MB- YOU'VE HURT HER!

[Mb] Sweeps Celine to the back of his head and draws a sword with a growl of his own-

[CP] His pick emerges into his hand-

[Lie] - And here we go again

[Celine] Digs her little claws into Mb's scalp and sets up an awful unhappy whine-

[Mb] Backs off to try and comfort her- Fuck off Cp.

[CP] - Why the fuck were you hurting my wife!?

[Mb] Celine got tangled up in her stupid hair!

[CP] Growls-

[Lie] - Knock it off CP!

[Candelabra] Softly - It was a misunderstanding...

[Bee] Just looks afraid. She doesn't want to be in the middle of a battle between gods.

[CP] Is still growling-

[Lie] - CP if you don't knock it off I will withhold sex from you for a month

[Mb] Bares his own teeth in imitation of Cp-

[Celine] Clings to his hair and gives the tiniest hiss at Cp-

[CP] Grumbles but does turn away from MB and approaches his wife-

[Lie] Once her husband is close enough she reaches up to push some hair out of his face- Thank you

[Spork] Slides over to one of the candy color trees and gently plucks an ice cream cone off of it before sniffing it-

[Bee] Spork! Ask first!

[Spork] Yeek! Sorry!

[Lie] Notices- It's fine. It's also tasty to eat

[Spork] Tastes a little- I've never had anything like this... it's amazing!

[Bee] Can I try mistress?

[Lie] - Certainly, go right ahead

[Bee] Plucks one of the mint green ones instead of the strawberry -

[Candelabra] Chooses the pink and licks it happily- Thank you mistress.

[CP] Whispers- You get annoyed when Endrea calls you that...

[Lie] - Yes but we're not living with them so I can tolerate it

[Candelabra] Would 'my lady' be better?

[Lie] Realizing she was heard- Oh, it really doesn't matter! My husband was just curious

[Mb] So what's with the noobs?

[CP] - Rescue mission

[Candelabra] We're Testificates. Not noobs. ...Sir.

[Mb] Did they try to swallow their own tongues?

[CP] - Nope, were kidnapped and being held for food by raptors... TLOT dragged me along

[Mb] Color me not suprised. I think he just likes collecting Testificates.

[Bee] Wha? Who- who else is here?

[Mb] Another whole village of them, led by a witch- points-

[Candelabra] Ah. We heard rumors that the guardians of the last outspost had vanished.

[gem] -comes from the tunnel system and is approaching the group because she had to pass though spawn she seems relaxed and is stretching-

[Mb] Snorts at her- Got tired of digging in the dark?

[Testificates] Little screams and they hide behind Lie-

[[Lie] Quickly turns to reassure them the best she can-

[gem] actually I am finished all the tunnels are -realized she scared the testificates and lowers her self to look less scary-

[CP] Is snickering-

[Bee] Looks the most terrified-

[Candelabra] Tunnels?

[gem] -is making her self look shorter- yes I just finished a large group of underground track systems to help people get around

[Lie] - It's alright, this is Gem, a friend

[Spork] Looks a little skeptical - She looks pretty ferocious...

[Candelabra] That sounds.. efficent.

[Lie] - I assure you, she's friendly

[gem] I am not ferocious just ask eddy and Edward or even aven

[Bee] Has noticed the bit of Ender black on Gem and is trying not to make eye contact.

[Candelabra] I'm sorry, we're new here. I don't know of whom you speak.

[gem] eddy and Edward are the two baby Enderman I adopted and aven is an old friend of mine -notices bee being scared of her enderparts- I might be part ender but I don't attack when people make eye contact

[Bee] Looks up cautiously, her ice cream shedding a few drops as her hand shakes a little.

[Spork] If Lie says we are safe, I trust my goddess.

[gem] -just blinks at bees gaze she doesn't even look mad she just look calm-

[Lie] - So Gem, where are you heading?

[gem] just to the castle I figured that would be the best place to start to let everyone know the tunnels are done

[Lie] - Ah, I see. I'm guessing you'll also take a rest?

[gem] yep but it was worth the work to have this tunnel

[Celine] Squeaks at Gem-

[Lie] - Well, we'll let you get your rest- Lie motions for the group to follow her

[Testificates] follow-

[Candelabra] Gives Gem a bit of a wave and scurries after.

[Spork] Thoughtful munching-

[Bee] Has finished her cone out of nervousness

[Lie] - The first house they come up upon is Alexsezia's- This is Alexsezia's house, you should have heard of her

[Bee] I have! I have! She was one of only two humans on our seed! The faithful friend and archer of our Gods!

[Spork] I heard she was always the kindest to stray cats.

[Lie] - Take a listen

-Sounds of cats-

[Bee] Giggles-

[Lie] - Come on, there's so much more to show- The next place on their route is Stevie and Alexis' place- You three remember Stevie, right? This is his and Alexis' place

[Candelabra] Is Alexis his sister?

[Lie] - His girlfriend, and both are good friends of mine. Stevie is also CP's brother

[Candelabra] Hard to believe they are related...

[Basil] Goes humping along, following the shoreline and leaving a wide wake-

[Lie] - See that thing in the water? Be careful of it

[Bee] Is quiet for a long moment. - That makes me never want to go swimming ever again...

[Lie] - Oh there are plenty of friendly things in the water as well, like Lapras, Aqua, Hera usually

[Spork] Usually?

[Lie] - She's a brine, she still likes to grief at times

[Spork] Nice to see that female Herobrine's are not uncommon.

[Lie] - We're still not as common as the males, but we are around

[Lie] Leads them on to the purple house- This is Sweet Alex

[Bee] Aww her house is so cute!

[Lie] Laughs a little- She's one of the nicest people on the seed

[Herabrine] Is swimming in her guardian form and does a little artful leap in the bay-

[Steffan] Is trying to fish and shakes his fist at her-

[Spork] Are all Alex's nice?

[Lie] - All the ones here are

[Enderbro] Tps right in front of them and throws a bunch of confetti pixels in the air- HI LIE!

[Testificates] Scream and look away frantically-

[Lie] - Hello Enderbro- She turns towards the others- It's alright, he's friendly. You can ook at him

[Enderbro] Towers over Lie- I learned a trick!

[Testificates] Super nervous-

[Lie] - Oh? And what is it?

[Enderbro] You have to turn around first!

[Testificate] flop sweat-

[Lie] - Okay- She turns around

[Enderbro] Leans over her and quickly pulls out her hair tie. His long fingers extend from his normally flat and stumpy hands and he makes a bunch of quick darting movements behind Lie's head- TADA! - Lie's hair is now braided quite expertly with the hairtie at the very end of the braid-

[Bee] I think I wet myself-

[Lie] - Awwww, Thank you Bro!

[CP] Grumbles a little-

[Enderbro] Looks super proud- Sweet Alex taught me!

[Lie] - Well you should be very proud of yourself, it's a good trick to have mastered

{Enderbro] Does a happy enderwiggle- Yee!

[CP] - Hey, I'll give you a cookie to go bug Stevie

[Lie] - Really CP?

[Enderbro] Thinks hard- Two cookies!

[CP] - Done- Tosses him some cookies

[Enderbro] Catches them deftly - YAY! You got a deal! - poofs away-

[Candelabra] I assume 'bug' doesn't mean scream at him and tear his flesh with terrible claws?

[CP] - I wish

[Lie] - No, more like making him pet a grass block

[Spork] That's a cruel thing to say of one's brother.

[Bee] Well... grass is soft....

[Lie] - Surprisingly those two have gotten better about their relationship

[Spork] Quietly- I'd hate to see what it was before...

[CP] - Lots of murder

[Bee] Shivers-

[Lie] - Come on, let's keep going- She goes across the bridge to where GK and Steffan's houses are- These are GK and his Steve, Steffan's, home

[Candelabra] Gk? That's a small house for a dragon.

[Lie] - As I said earlier, he has a human form as well

[Steffan] Calling from a little boat- Where did bro run off too Lie?

[Lie] - Stevie's house

[Aqua] Bumps Steffan's boat-

[Steffan] Oh okay- WHAOH! Not so hard!

[Aqua] Trills and nudges again-

[Lie] - Try feeding him some fish

[Steffan] But the water is full of them!

[Lie] - He's used to being fed, he hasn't really learned how to hunt yet

[Steffan] Ugh... Okay, whatever. - He holds up a salmon and waggles it above the water-

[aqua] Quickly grabs the fish happily-

[Lie] Turns down the other road and goes across the short stone bridge- This is where we'll gather sometimes and the larger building behind this one is a library

[Bee] Notes the huge pool of lava at the bottom of the hill- Why is that there?

[Candelabra] Puts out a gentle hand to the skeleton horses in their little pen-

[Lie] - That... Was a very drunken night...

[CP] - That was one of the few times you've cussed in front of everyone

[Lie] - I seem to recall a certain someone reminiscing about his good days with his brother...

[Spork] Alcohol is good for loosening men's lips...

[Lie] - That it is- She quickly looks inside the library to see if anybody is in there

[Bee] Is reading the warning sign on the forest gates-

[Lie] - That forest is the residence of LJ. He's a mystic clown who was a toy

[Candelabra] Is he also a brine of some kind?

[Bee] Does he tell fortunes?

[Lie] - No, a creepy pasta, a being who likes to murder

[Spork] Ah, another dangerous one. Even the land of the Gods is fraught with perils.

[Lie] - Yes, CP used to be much more like them. However the pasta's are getting better, especially once Doc removed the infection they all have

[Bee] The dual one's healing hand...

[Spork] Impressed gasp and glance at Cp-

[CP] Grumbles and just starts floating-

[Lie] - Come on, there's still more to see- She leads them over the small nearby hill which is behind her house

[Bee] Swipes a hand under Cp. She's trying to figure out how he's flying.

[CP] - The fuck are you doing?

[Bee] Sorry! I'm not use to seeing anything... fly like that.

[Lie] - CP leave them be. Anyways, this is my home- The horses in the pen whinny as they see Lie and try crowding the fence

[Candelabra] Reaches out hir hands to pet the horses.

[Spork] So many of them are undead...

[Lie] - They spawn often here

[Spork] We've heard the golden dragon favors the lightning. Perhaps they make a sport of ambushing the riders with their speed?

[CP] - Fucker acts like it's a game

[Lie] Is heading for the dog pen-

[Candelabra] For ones so strong, perhaps it really is...

[Spork] So many wolves!

[Lie] - Yeah, I tend to collect a lot of animals...

[Hope] Peeks through the window-

[Bee] Oh! You have such a tiny little cat!

[Lie] - That's Hope

[Hope] Is tackled aside by the Alolan vulpix-

[Banette] Toddles up to Lie and tugs her pant leg, arms open-

[Bee] Is she okay?

[Lie] - Hm, Oh hey Banette- She reaches out for the pokemon

[Candelabra] Is that a child?

[Banette] Is held and smiles it's creepy zippered lips-

[Endrea] Steps out onto the roof and shifts into her larger form-

[Lie] - No, it's actually a pokemon of my husbands

[Banette] Extra big smile at Cp just to be mischevious-

[CP] Growls at the pokemon-

[Bee] Notices the dragon and cowers a little bit-

[Candelabra] ....

[Spork] Hides behind Lie

[Lie] - Hm? Oh, morning Endrea

[Endrea] - Good morning

[Candelabra] This kind I have only seen in artwork, the dragon at the end of the world....

[Lie] - This is Endrea, she's CP's dragon, and mother to some of the little dragons on the server

[Bee] Nothing more dangerous then a mother with little ones....

[CP] Notices Rosebud bumping at the gate- Lie? Did you remember to feed the sheep this morning?

[Lie] - Yeah, of course

[Banette] Offers a berry-

[Spork] Ah, the rarest sheep. I've only seen a pink one in the wild once.

[Lie] - Banette, the sheep don't eat berries... That sheep is actually a gift from my husband. She's glitched so she'll never grow up

[CP] Sulks, not liking his softer side being drawn to attention-

[Bee] That's really sweet. She's adorable Lie.

[Banette] Ah- Puts the berry away and cozies into Lie's arms-

-There's some knocking around from the inside of the house as the vulpix's and Hope play-

[Lie] - Let's keep going, there's only a couple of places left to show- She walks around the outside of the dog pen to the front. She stops briefly to pet Beau- How's my Beau baby?- The donkey and vine horse nudge closer as well

[Bee] Is that one... woven out of greenery? Truly a steed befitting a goddess!

[Lie] - Doc and I built that one, but Beau here is still my favorite. I've had him since the other server, he's served me very well

[Candelabra] Pets the stallions nose gently- He is lovely as well.

[Beau] Nudges for treats-

[CN] Pops out on his balcony- Lie! Lie!

[Lie] - Yes?

[CN] - I finished all the pictures!

[Lie] - The pictures?

[CN] - Yeah, in the leather and paper things you gave me

[Banette] Waves to Cn, wanting to play-

[CN] Is unsure about the Banette-

[Candelabra] I have nothing for you sweet one. Although. - Xe plucks a tuft of grass that's out of the horses reach and offers it to Beau-

[Beau] Happily munches on it-

[Lie] - CN, do you not know how to read?

[CN] - Read?

[Lie] Sighs- We'll start working on that once I get back

[Lie] Puts the Banette down-

[Banette] Smiles at Lie and makes a halting run for the front door to go up and around to try and play with Cn-

[Lie] - CN? We'll be back soon. If you need anything just go to Notch's place, okay?

[CN] - Okay

[Lie] Gives Beau one last pat before heading around the other side of the village-

[Candelabra] Such a lively bunch. They're treated us so well.

[Spork] About half the things we ate for breakfast I'd never seen before.

[Lie] - Some things comes from the world which I come from... Actually most of the things do

[Bee] It must be a very complicated place.

[Spork] Perhaps this seed is quiet in comparision?

[Lie] - It is very complicated out there

[Lie] Soon the castle is coming into view- And this is what the castle is, it's not only Doc's home, but also TLOT's and Steve's and DEER! CLOTHES!

[Deer] Is buck naked and heading for the bay-

[Candelabra] Such a vision shouldn't be concerned with such pedestrian things. Surely she is also a goddess?

[Lie] - That's the Earth Mother...

[Deer] - Lie! Come join me!

[Lie] - No!

[CP] Is snickering a little-

[Bee] She is so lovely, graceful-

[Deer] Trips-

[Spork] Bites back a small giggle and slaps her own hand-

[Deer] Gives Lie a mischevious look-

[Lie] - Deer... I don't like that look...

[Deer] - Come here Lie!- She starts running for Lie

[Lie] Squeaks and starts running away- DEER NO! PUT SOME CLOTHES ON!

[Bee] Can we join you my ladies?

[Deer] - Sure, if I can catch Lie

[Bee] Runs after them both, so excited-

[CP] Lands and watches his wife with a sigh-

[Lie] Suddenly shifts into her cat form and darts for her husband who reaches down and picks her up. She gives a tiny hiss towards Deer-

[Deer] Laughs as she scoops up Lie's clothes- Well now I have your clothes

[Bee] Awww... darn.

[Candelabra] She can also be a cat?!

[Spork] An adorable cat!

[Deer] - Well she is technically naked now

[CP] - Due to necessity she can be

[Bee] At Cp- So you can be a cat with her, that's so selfless and sweet!

[CP] Rolls his eyes, not that they can tell-

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