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creative-anchor-blog · 6 years

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Young Adult Story Excerpt

I’m working on a YA story about a girl with a multitude of issues--one main one being she is discovering her sexuality as well as trying to deal with the onset of mental health issues (such as depression, an eating disorder, etc). And in this story are many friends dealing with similar issues, but handling it differently as they come from a variety of backgrounds. Here is an excerpt from it, involving the main character and her best friend:

“Hey Emery, where you headed?” Perla huffed as she sped through the throng of students after Emery.

Emery didn’t slow her pace, not sure if she wanted Perla to see she’d been crying again, her face obviously red.

“Dude, slow down!” I’m not made for running!”

Emery stopped at the edge of the sidewalk to the parking lot, wiping the last of the tear residue from her face. It was still cold even though it was early April and after lunch.

“Where are you going? Don’t you have class?” Perla wasn’t looking at Emery’s face, too busy catching air, her hands on her knees as the final bell for class to begin echoed through the air.

“Just not feeling political today,” Emery answered quietly, afraid her voice would break and the tears would flow freely again. “Didn’t want to hang in the nurse’s office for fifth period, needed some fresh air.”

This time Perla did look at Emery. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Not really, maybe a migraine.” Emery shrugged and stepped off the curb into the parking lot. “You going home? Thought you had physics?”

“I have three labs due and none of them are done. I feel like I’ll have an anxiety attack if I see the teacher and Mrs. Bailey knows I have class this period so I can’t go to the library. Thought I’d drive around. I have the car today. Maybe go get an ice cream and do a lab or two.”

They walked in silence for a bit, the birds oddly silent with them as the spring breeze blew through the air. Perla fidgeted with her calculator watch, her tension obvious.

“I feel like my Mom’s going to kill me if I don’t walk.” She finally exclaimed,

“For graduation?” Emery twirled her ring, the blue stone slipping easily round and around her finger. Talk of graduation made her nervous too. Time was slipping.

“Yeah, I mean the band’s playing so I can always attend that way but… Jeez… I’m failing three classes right now… I can’t catch up!”

“I’m failing stuff too, I just don’t seem to care about classes…”

“But that’s different, you know? I mean, you’re graduating a year early. You could stay another year and no one would think less. I’m an actual senior!”

They’d reached the tan car. Perla hadn’t bothered to lock the door so her brother could use it as a locker during the day. The car was so old and junky Perla figured no one was going to steal it compared to some of the other student’s cars.

“My brother didn’t graduate on time, he caught up in two weeks in the summer and got his diploma right after. You could do the same worse case, eh?” Emery climbed in and smiled shakily at her friend. She still felt on the verge of crying, but Perla looked the same.

“That’s really shitty advice.”

Emery buckled up, giggling. “I’ve had a really shitty day, man. Like, the worst.”

“You’ve got three labs past due plus other homework?”

“Will said no one’s interested in me ‘cause my chest is flat and my clothes make me look like I’m homeless.”

“Homeless?” Perla paused the key midway to the ignition. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, and if I wore tighter clothes maybe it would accentuate my body more ‘cause I used to have a really nice ass.”

Perla started the car and they pulled out of the parking lot as she thought silently about that. Emery thought about it too, remembering how her other friend Adam had remarked: “Yeah, but her hair is so short and boyish it makes her look way younger than 17!”

“No one can call you a boy but me, and I called you that before your mom cut your hair!”

“Perla, you call me that because of a manga I love. I don’t take offense to that because I know the difference.”

“I’m just saying it makes me want to kick his ass!”

“Well apparently he’s not the only boy who thinks so.”

“Dude!” Perla pounded the edge of the steering wheel. “That’s messed up! You don’t tell people that!”

“No one defended me either.”

“Was this at lunch?”

“Yeah, Dani sort of just stared and Jessica was shocked but it made me wonder…”

“Well, I’ll be having words--”

“Nah--Just forget about it… Where even were you?”

“School advisor’s office. Meeting about college choices. Total waste of time though. God, I’m hungry!”

“I mean both Dani and Jessica are really shy and Adam and Will just sort of say anything… They were talking about their perfect girls and then looked at me and somehow I became a target. Like they were helping me by pointing out faults they saw.”

“Jerks! I was serious about that ice cream. Food 4 Less gives three scoops for a dollar and I’ve got some cash. You want one?”

“Sure. Yeah, why not.”

“If you puke it up I’ll hit you.”

“I haven’t eaten today.”

“You still seeing a therapist?”

Emery slumped in her seat and glared at Perla, sudden anger filling her as well as more sadness.

“If you mean is my stepdad still talking about how horrible I am then yes, that’s still happening.”

“Dude, that’s rough. You should come live with me. My mom loves you.”

“I wish I could…”

“But your eating disorder is getting better” Perla pulled into the grocer’s parking lot, quickly glancing at Emery to see if she was okay.

“I couldn’t keep down last night’s sea food medley and Jim made me eat the puke that came up onto my plate. It was barely any. But as soon as I got done and had to take out the garbage the smell the the can made me wretch. I just can’t handle seafood.” Emery shuddered.

“That’s sick...It’s abusive.” Perla shuddered too.

“It’s part of my eternal groundation, these dinners. “ Emery explained. “Except its not helping me eat or keep my food down.”

“Yeah, that sounds miserable.”

“I snuck a protein bar late last night and ate that but I felt so sick this morning after JIm yelled at me before work I just couldn’t stomach breakfast. Then I forgot to pack lunch.”

“What’s your mom doing about it?”

“She told me to hide from him in the morning but to do all my chores. Kind of hard to do both successfully.”

“That’s insane! I haven’t even met the guy and I really don’t like him.”

Emery shrugged and slid out of the car. She brushed imaginary crumbs off her too large sweater and wondered if she really did look homeless. But bigger sweaters meant she could wear more layers. Emery always felt cold.

“Just don’t let him get you down all the time. I mean we are about to eat ice cream.” Perla grimaced at Emery, “Look how happy I am.” she put her big arms out in a “y” shape and walked toward the Grocers. “Happy, happy, happy!”

Emery laughed, running up and pulling her arms down. “Dude, don’t be so loud! We are already skipping school, don’t make our age so obvious.”

“I’m going to be this weird when I’m 80.”

“I hope so, I’ll be right there with you.” Emery hooked arms with Perla, the two girls sauntering through the sliding doors. “With our walkers, playing cards or something.”

“Nah, I’m going to be at the pool creeping on the life guards.”

“In a bikini--”

“My fat ass in a bikini…”

“Sipping on a something-something…”

“Getting my Meciana tan on!” Perla laughed. “‘Cause I’m so pale from watching all my dramas late at night.”

“Just don’t say you’re a vampire.”

I’m a vampire,” Perla steered them through the aisles, avoiding all the people with their arms still hooked, chuckling the whole time.

“Oh God,” Emery groaned. “You’re the worst best friend ever!”

“But I’m still buying us ice cream. Call me sugar daddy…”

“Um, no.” Emery rolled her eyes. “I’m the one with a job here.”

“Girl, you have less money than I do!”

“Because my mom makes me put half in savings from every pay check and if I want a phone I pay for it. You know I just got one.”

Which is the biggest fucking relief because you were basically unreachable before.” Perla snorted and pulled her arm out to reach into her pocket. They’d reached the snack stand.

Emery looked at all the flavors through the glass. Her stomach growled but her mind felt uneasy. She really wanted the ice cream but experience had taught her that once she started eating it was hard to stop. Her stomach would overfill and the food would bubble right back up. All the work she’d done to re-enlarge her stomach felt like it had been for naught when most nights at home were some bizarre seafood concoction. Secretly she wished puking wasn’t something Emery ever considered to combat Jim’s bizarre punishments. Now it was an issue beyond her control.

Emery looked up at the menu board. All the portions were huge and cost very little. She twitched, spinning her ring about her finger nervously. Her throat began to feel very dry, a ringing starting up in her ears. Chocolate, vanilla, swirled things, pistachio…

“Hey, do you want to sample something?”

“What?” Emery blinked several times, the ringing receding as she looked up at the attendant. He had a very freckled nose and brown hair.

“Would you like to try one?”

Emery looked at Perla. Perla had two small sample spoons, one already in her mouth the other ready to be eaten.

“Umm… No, I think I just want one scoop of raspberry sorbet in a cup.” Emery spoke quickly, a little surprised at herself because she’d made the order up on the spot--and it sounded good.

A couple minutes later Perla and Emery were sitting on the hood of the car, the hood still warm. Perla’s ice cream threatening to topple in all it’s three scoop wobbling monstrousness: chocolate brownie thunder; pecan pie; cookie dough on a cone.

“My sadness tastes so good!” Perla moaned as if in sexual ecstasy.

“Oh, is that what you call it?” Emery was forcing herself to eat very slowly. Trying to remember her friendly pediatricians words:

“Go slow and savor every bite. At this point in your anorexia I want you to eat what you want when you want it-but in snack size portions. Don’t over do it so you feel overwhelmed or the need to puke. Make food an enjoyment again.”

Perla tried to stick her tongue out but lost some ice cream onto her jacket.

“Crap! My favorite Star Trek Jacket!”

“Just clean it at home.”

“Nah, man that means All the laundry.” Perla rubbed a wet finger frantically against the spot.

“Get some of your siblings clothes in too then.”

“But then Mom’s like: ‘Mama! Limpialos! Limpialos!’ And I’m like; ‘bye Mom, got to go,’ and she starts yelling and off the chancla goes...and…” Perla rubs harder, “somehow it comes back to school and church and how I’m the eldest and all this stuff. Todavia!” Perla slumps, defeated.

“Ice cream?” Emery holds a bite of sherbert out to Perla. “Or...Sadness?”

“Yeah, somehow that doesn’t seem so good a name no more. Or maybe I just feel queasy. I mean, fuck. Just. Fuck.”

Emery stopped trying to feed Perla and set the ice cream onto the car hood. Five bites. It was really tasty but talk of Perla’s stress made knots in Emery’s stomach too. No good pushing it. She really wanted this to stay down. Perla punched hard and somehow Perla always knew.

“Perla, do you ever feel like no matter how hard you try things just don’t get better. And maybe it’s not even worth it?”

“LIke we should just be bad?” Perla dumped her ice cream to the pavement next to the car. “Oops, ha ha!” And started crying.

“I feel like we’re doing our damnedest and still we’re shit on. Still downtrodden. Still called names. We put out effort and it goes unnoticed. No one even fucking gives a damn!”

“I do.”

“And I know that, but we’re the one’s struggling.”

“Fuck. It sucks.”

“It more then sucks! It’s confusing and stupid and makes me so goddamn angry.” Emery started crying too, slamming her fist into the hood. “So goddamn angry! Because fucking why? Why? Why me?”

Perla reached over and wrapped her friend in a hug, knocking the sorbet off the car in the process.

“It’s okay, Emery.” She stroked Emery’s short hair, Emery’s glasses pressing into Perla’s shoulder as her body shook in grief. “You’ve got your friends and I’m here… and you’re here… And we’ll find a way through all of this, there’s always a way. I’m sure there is… I’m sure.”

Emery shook harder. Crying for the ugly comments that afternoon; for the tears falling on her face from Perla; for the sometimes torturous feelings about Helen; for her torn up life at home; for her shame about her mental health issues; for everything.

“I’m so sorry, Perla.”

“Hush, stupid I’m sad too. I need hugs too. And I’m not sorry about it.” She hugged Emery tighter.

“Thank you?”

“You’re fucking welcome.”

#writers on tumblr #young adult fiction #lgbtq fiction #ya fiction #young adult #writing #story excerpt #my writing #high school story #self discovery #literature #writer #book lover #bookworm #lit #books #ya literature

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mandelene · 6 years

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Rereading my old fics and reviewing them so I can make my former self cry: Part 1

It’s the middle of the night and I should be sleeping, but I’ve decided to torture myself by reading some of my old fics that I haven’t looked at in years, and when I say old, I mean old. I want to do this for three reasons. Reason 1: To remind myself that even though it feels like I haven’t made any progress in my writing, I have. Reason 2: I like finding new ways to make myself cringe and stay grounded. Keeping it humble over here. Reason 3: To prove that no one becomes a good writer overnight. It takes practice. We’re all mediocre at first, and that’s okay. It’s part of the learning process.

So without further ado, let’s get into it. I dug up my very first Hetalia fanfic ever: “America and the Tale of the Banished Ice Cream.” I believe I had just turned 15 when I wrote this.

Strap yourselves in. This is gonna be a messy one. Okay, here goes.

AN: WARNING! Beware of extreme fluff and the melodramatic hysterias of a young teen.

Ugh, I’m so pretentious. I’m sorry, guys

Everyone had their fears. For some it was spiders, public speaking, or death, and for Alfred F. Jones, it was ghosts.

But if there was one thing in the entire universe that was almost as bad as ghosts, it was dentists.

Going to the dentist was as bad as being told that you could never eat jellybeans again. It was simply heartbreaking. A fat old man would stand before you and scold you for indulging in the world's sweet riches of chocolate, lollipops, cookies, and soda. It was enough to make anyone distraught, let alone Alfred Jones; the soon to be hero of the world.

Honestly, I’ll take a spoopy ghost over a dentist any day. Also, I don’t know why I wrote that first part in the past tense, as it suggests that people no longer have fears. “Everyone has their fears. For some, it’s spiders, public speaking, or death. For Alfred F. Jones, it was ghosts.” Makes more sense.

"Alfred!" Arthur called from the downstairs kitchen. "You have five minutes to come downstairs willfully and with gentlemanly dignity before I come up there and force you to comply."

Alfred grumbled some unfavorable words under his breath that would most certainly not be considered "gentlemanly".

Arthur, great parenting. Everyone knows threats always work when someone’s scared. 10/10

Of course, Alfred was a firm believer in the fact that this was all Arthur's fault. He was sure the man had hired these people to walk around and torture young teens like Alfred's innocent self. No one in their right mind would consider becoming a dentist voluntarily. Only sick people would choose to torture people for a living. No doubt they were all sadistic communists and-

"ALFRED," Arthur bellowed warningly, obviously becoming annoyed at the lack of movement taking place upstairs. "Time to go, young man!"

Alfred sighed in a very put-out way. There was still the small chance that he would be capable of guilt tripping Arthur into bringing him back home, or at least into taking him for some ice cream.

I’ve met a lot of communist dentists in my time, haven’t you? The adverb “warningly” is unnecessary as “bellowed” already gets that point across. Also, “bellowed” is kind of a cringey dialogue tag to use here, but okay. I can live with it.

Ah, ice cream. It was yet another wonderful indulgence that Alfred had been denied of lately after his last appointment to the dentist. Oh, pistachio, chocolate, strawberry, cookies and cream, rocky road, and even just plain vanilla. He missed them all so much. They had been very close friends indeed.

Needless to say, his last appointment hadn't gone too well, which was why he was making a return visit to the office today in order to get a cavity filled. Arthur had blown a fuse at the announcement of Alfred's lack of oral hygiene and tossed out all the foods in the house that could be remotely considered junk food. No more chocolate covered biscuits, barbeque chips, gummy bears, cotton candy, popcorn, and not even those "Jaffa Cakes" that Arthur had been rather fond of at one point. They were pretty gross, but still. The thought that he couldn't even have those was jarring news.

The pretentious tone here is killing me, but I like how I added a little background to Alfred’s last encounter with the dentist. That’s a sign I was thinking about putting things into context, which is great. Also, what are you talking about, 15-year-old Mandelene? Jaffa Cakes are god damned delicious.

He had protested, begged, and gotten down on his knees one day to plead his defense, but Arthur was having none of it, not until Alfred would learn to take better care of his teeth.

So, Alfred had set out on a mission after that. He made sure to floss after almost every meal, and brushed his teeth each morning and night, hoping against all odds that he would be granted the privilege of merely seeing his ice cream again along with its glorious icy bursts of flavors.

And thus, today became known as Alfred's Judgment Day. After getting this one, bastardly cavity filled, he might finally be set free into the beautiful world of candy once more.

However, he most definitely didn't enjoy the idea of some stranger prodding and poking at his teeth today, but he would do it for the sake of his ice cream. His blessed ice cream deserved it. He was more than determined to grit his teeth and pull through this horrible day with a proud sense of triumph. After all, he was the hero, and no damn dentist would strip that title away from him.

The diction in this whole section is over the top and tries too hard to have flair. There are also some problems with tense here, which is very common in writers who are just starting out.

"Alfred," Arthur growled, now standing with his arms crossed in the doorway. "Downstairs. Now. I've had enough of this ridiculousness."

Alfred tried not to whine, he really did, but Arthur had no idea how painful this entire experience had been as of late. He simply couldn't help releasing a small whimper of discontent upon his older brother's ears.

"I won't be falling for your sorry little pouts today, Alfred," Arthur stated resolutely. He gave his little colony a nudge to keep him moving down the stairs and out the front door.

I say “colony” in that last sentence, but this is supposed to be a human AU, so I’ve just mixed up my worlds.

Alfred dragged his feet to the car with no evidence of a smile plastered across his usually carefree and joyful demeanor. He grumpily plopped himself into the backseat, determined to remain discontent with Arthur's presence. He refused to sit up front next to the "git". What a jerk, and his ice cream had to be the one to suffer his wrath.

Arthur sighed exasperatedly as he drove down the road. "You know, I only want the best for you. I know your still upset that you can't have any candy, but your health is more important to me than that gunk you used to consume on a daily basis."

"It's not gunk! It's the savior of horrible tasting English food," Alfred countered, furious.

"THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ENGLISH FOOD!" Arthur shouted, slamming his fist on the steering wheel. His cooking skills (or lack of) were an extremely sensitive topic.

Okay, there are lots of problems here. First, the diction is over the top and unnecessarily flowery. “Demeanor” doesn’t really make sense at the end of the first sentence and should be replaced with “face.” My use of “git” here is just a blatant attempt to insert some stereotypical British slang to sound cool. “I know your still upset” should be “I know you’re still upset.” Also, “It’s the savior of horrible tasting English food” is a poorly written sentence, and a boy of Alfred’s age in this story would never say something like that, realistically speaking. The capital letters as Arthur gets frustrated are unnecessary. And Arthur, calm the hell down. You’re in the car with a child. Stomach the insult and be a responsible driver. It’s not that big of a deal.

"You wouldn't even let me have a scone, and you know how bad they are. You shoulda been happy that I even offered to try one!"

Arthur refused to respond to that comment. He swore under his breath and continued to drive, refusing to give in to the youngster's attempt at pity play.

"We're here," Arthur announced, pulling the car to a stop after a grueling amount of silence.

Alfred moodily stepped out of the vehicle and slammed the door closed, lagging behind his brother as they neared the dentist's office.

"Sit," Arthur ordered when they had entered the office. He walked up to the receptionist's desk to sign in while Alfred found a seat in the back, slumping down over his knees. This was so not cool. He didn't deserve this kind of endless punishment.

Arthur couldn't help, but feel a little sorry for the young colony as he approached his slouched form. The boy had been keeping up a grudge toward him ever since he had tossed out those horrendous snacks, and England missed the bright smile usually present on Alfred's face.

I’m mixing up my worlds again.

"Don't fret, lad," he soothed as he sat down next to the distressed teen. Alfred's leg was bouncing up and down in anticipation, frightened at the type of torture the dentist would come up with this time.

"I don't wanna do this, Iggy," Alfred admitted sadly, a horribly adorable pout working its way onto the boy's face. His blue eyes retained the same puppy dog look ever since he had been told he was no longer allowed to eat his ice cream. The jellybeans and gummy bears were just the frosting on the cake. His ice cream had been the breaking point.

Arthur sighed once again and patted Alfred's shoulder, "I know, lad. It'll be alright though. Would you like me to come in with you?"

Alfred gave a pathetic nod.

Arthur couldn't help but smile, and ruffled the teen's hair affectionately. "Very well, then."

I can sympathize, Alfred. Dentists suck. Also, awww. This is where my descent into shameless fluff began, haha.

The two sat in comfortable silence for a while, and Alfred watched as various children entered the office and began playing with toy trucks.

"I'm the policeman!" the youngest boy of the group exclaimed, smashing his patrol car into the leg of an adjacent chair.

"Fine, I get to be the firefighter!" another boy called out, but just as he was about to pick up the truck, the first boy accidentally smashed his car into the other's finger. The effect was instantaneous, and the boy playing the firefighter burst into tears.

"I'm sorry!" the other cried out in apology.

Then, Alfred stood from his chair and put his hand on the crying boy's back. "Hey, firefighters don't cry. You're the hero! You have to get back up and keep fightin' the bad things that get in the way. You can't let anyone stop you!" Alfred encouraged, flashing the boy a cordial smile.

Arthur smirked at Alfred's need to implant his ideal values of courage and heroism at every possible opportunity.

A little preachy and unnecessary, but okay.

The boy stopped crying as hastily as he had started, and turned back to his game, renewed with a sense of strength and invincibility.

"Alfred Jones?" a nurse called.

Alfred groaned, but Arthur stood up beside him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"What happened to being the hero? I thought heroes didn't get scared," Arthur teased.

"Pft, who said I was scared?" Alfred said with feigned confidence. "Heroes aren't supposed to get cavities either," he mumbled as an after thought.

Arthur chuckled and guided Alfred down the hallway and into the empty room as directed by the nurse. There, Alfred took a seat in the rather comfortable looking torture chair, and watched helplessly as the nurse tied the paper bib around his neck. When she was finished, she smiled and said, "The doctor will be back in a moment," before walking out.

Afterthought is one word. Also, those torture chairs definitely aren’t comfortable. 15-year-old Mandelene hasn’t had her wisdom teeth yanked out yet, so her view of dentists is still idealistic. She’ll learn, don’t worry.

As she shut the wooden door behind her, Alfred got the sudden urge to jump up and run out.

"Not so fast," Arthur admonished, sensing Alfred's urgency to escape the scene. He stood in front of the door and tried to look as menacing as possible.

"Be a good patient, Alfred. Sit back and relax. Everything will be just fine."

"Iggy, can we come back another day? I'm really not feelin' so good right now," Alfred feigned a pained look.

"You look perfectly healthy to me," Arthur said firmly, but palmed Alfred's forehead anyway just to be on the safe side. "No fever. Now, sit down."

I’m gonna be nitpicky here, but I have a huge pet peeve about “Iggy” being a nickname for England. But first, let me address that I’ve mixed up my worlds yet again because England shouldn’t be England here, he should be Arthur, and when he’s Arthur, he can’t be Iggy. Second, “Iggy” only makes sense in the context of England’s Japanese name, so in a fic that’s been written in English, it seems very out of place.

Alfred grumbled unhappily again, hesitantly sitting back down on the edge of the chair. Arthur walked over and pushed gently on his chest to get him to lie down properly and took a peek at the instruments laid out on the adjacent tray resting on the table.

Arthur picked up the small drill and pointed it at Alfred. "Be a good boy, Alfred, or I just might have to drill all your teeth. MWAH HA HA HA!"

Alfred glared at his brother seriously. "That's not funny, Iggy."

"Stop calling me that."

Alfred ignored him, but couldn't stop his leg from bouncing even harder than before.

I actually like this little part here. It’s what distinguishes Arthur as being Alfred’s elder brother rather than his father, which is apparently what I was going for. The brotherly teasing develops their relationship.

Arthur frowned and walked around the chair, observing the various stickers and cartoons plastered on the walls in order to calm the children who came in here. After all, it was a pediatrician's office. He doubted Alfred could be comforted by the smiling dragon opposite him.

"Stop shaking, lad. I told you it would be alright. I was just joking before," Arthur tried to soothe, but he had never been an expert on this whole parenting ordeal. He stood behind the chair and rubbed the boy's head, then tickled his neck.

"Iggy, stop! Y'know I'm ticklish," Alfred fumed, but let out an involuntary giggle.

Abruptly, the dentist entered the room and shut the door behind him. Alfred just about jumped out of his boots, startled by the sudden intrusion. He shook Arthur's hand off of his head and gripped onto the armrests surrounding him for dear life.

I should have said pediatric dentistry office. Pediatrician suggests it’s a primary care doctor. 15-year-old Mandelene hasn’t gotten around to practicing her medical AU skills yet. Forgive her. Also, A+ to Arthur for trying.

"Ah, Alfred. How are you feeling today?" the dentist greeted.

"I'd feel better if I could have my ice cream," Alfred pouted, and Arthur shot him a look that plainly said "behave".

The dentist laughed, "You don't say? Well, then, let's see what's going with those sparkly whites of yours, hmm?"

He took a seat on the rolling stool next to Alfred and lowered the torture chair.

"Now, open wide," the dentist said gently.

Alfred thought he might literally be sick this time.

"Nnhmhm" he protested, shutting his mouth tightly.

"Alfred," Arthur scolded, "Don't cause the doctor any trouble."

The teen sighed a very long sigh, and parted his lips just a fraction.

"I know you can do better than that," Arthur urged.

Idk, Alfred. You should get out of there. This dentist seems like a creep.

"But Iggy-" he whined.

"No buts."

Alfred would do this. He would do it for his ice cream. Anything for ice cream. So, he accepted his fate and wore it proudly. He shrunk back and let out a small yelp when the sick tooth had first been picked at, but managed to squeeze his eyes shut and distract himself as the dentist performed the necessary evil.

He would never admit it, but he felt much better when Arthur grasped his hand midway through the procedure, giving him some encouragement to keep fighting for that ice cream.

Oh ho ho, he could almost taste it.

Cookie dough, mint chocolate chip, and butter pecan. Just a few more minutes of prodding. He could do this. He would do this.

No novocaine? Oh, god, Alfred. This dude doesn’t know how to put in a filling. How are you not screaming?

It felt like centuries, but at last the beloved words registered and resounded in his ears.

"All done!"

Alfred hopped out of his seat, released Iggy's hand and fought to remove the paper bib from his neck. In the end, Arthur had to help him eradicate the atrocious thing, but as soon as he was free, he stormed out the door and nearly skipped into the waiting room.

The receptionist smiled and asked, "Would you like a lollipop?"

Alfred turned around and was relieved to see that Arthur had stayed behind to talk with the dentist.

"Hell yeah!" Alfred practically cheered, tearing the cherry lollipop's wrapper away and sticking the candy into his mouth before Arthur would come barreling down the hall to take it from him.

What could Arthur possibly be talking about with the dentist anyway? Hopefully, it’s about the fact that Alfred got a filling without an anesthetic and now he’s gonna sue for malpractice.

He sighed contentedly as the sugary flavor dissolved from the heavenly stick of salvation.

"Alfred? You've just had your teeth fixed and cleaned, and you're already sucking on that monstrosity?" Arthur shook his head in disappointment.

Still, the elder was happy to see that his brother was smiling gleefully again, his tongue now red from the artificial coloring of the lollipop.

"Maybe we could go out for ice cream. Just this once," Arthur surrendered, regretting the statement as soon as he had uttered it.

"YES!" Alfred whooped in excitement. "Let's go, bro!"

The taste of victory in all its splendor was apparent when Alfred took his first bite of double chocolate fudge ice cream with oreo cookie crumb toppings. It had been almost too good to be true.

Arthur watched in disgust. "I wouldn't be too happy if I were you. You have another check up scheduled in six months, and if I see that you've obtained more cavities in that span of time, I won't be pleased."

Man, I made Arthur into such a party pooper in this story. He’s so extra. Also, the diction is still killing me.

Alfred groaned inwardly.

He wouldn't be able to survive the agony again. So he would enjoy this cone of ice cream while it lasted.

"Don't worry," Alfred assured his ice cream, "I won't let the mean jerk take you away from me again."

And thus, Alfred and his ice cream lived happily ever after.

For now.

“Happily ever after,” did I seriously use that cliche? *vomits*

All in all, that was only half as cringey as I thought it would be. The word choice was sloppy, there were some grammatical errors, and I kept messing up my setting, but for a first attempt at a Hetalia fic, it could have been worse. I’ll give it a 5.5/10, 15-year-old Mandelene. You tried.

I’ll be looking at some of my other fics soon (once my nausea from this one dissipates). I think I’ve tortured myself enough for tonight.

#old fic #review #hetalia #writer #fanfic

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agent-85 · 7 years

Note

Are you still doing the prompt thing? If so, fs + 82, please? :)

Hey there, anon! “I was in the neighborhood,” coming right up!

Academy AU. Based on true events.

“FITZ!”

Jemma jumps up from the table and comes at him so fast that Fitz freezes, even as she flings her arms around him. He’s afraid that the ice cream parlor door will swing closed and bang right into him, but it’s a near miss.

“Fitz, imagine meeting you here!”

Fitz shrugs. “I was … in the neighborhood?”

Jemma only grins at him. “I was just about to tell Stewart all about the project we’re working on! Come and sit with us!”

Fitz’s eyes dart from Jemma to the man who must be Stewart. The two exchange an awkward wave as Jemma all but pulls him into an empty seat.

“This is my best friend, Fitz,” she says, “and I haven’t seen him in ages. How are you doing these days, Fitz?”

He pauses, about to tell her that he saw her this morning and he’s not sure which project she’s referring to, or how they could be working on one if they haven’t seen each other, but Stewart cuts him off.

“You know, I bet Fitz came here to get some ice cream,” Stewart says. “And as it happens, I’m something of a culinary expert.” Stewart throws him a smug, flashy smile, and Fitz tries his best to not raise an eyebrow at him.

“Oh you are? That’s … interesting.”

“Stewart has been telling me all about his vast knowledge of food,” Jemma deadpans. “The onion soup at The Outback, for example.”

Stewart winks at him. “Impeccable.”

“And,” continues Jemma, “he has a very discerning palette. He tried every single ice cream flavor, then several combinations of flavors, before making his choice.”

Fitz looks over at the barrels of ice cream, knowing that there’s well over thirty-one flavors there. When he turns back to Jemma, he sees that her bowl of ice cream has already melted. It’s not until he sees the desperation in Jemma’s eyes that it all clicks:

Jemma and Stewart are on a date. And it is going badly.

“Here,” says Stewart, getting up, “let me show you.” Before Fitz or Jemma can stop him (Jemma actually makes an attempt at grabbing Stewart’s arm), he’s gone.

“I thought you had dinner plans,” Fitz whispers, watching an oblivious Stewart receive death glares from every employee behind the counter.

Jemma clenches both fists. “So did I!”

“So, what,” asks Fitz, “he said he’d take you out to dinner and didn’t feed you?”

“And then he spent the entire night talking about food,” she confirms.

Fitz facepalms, “Goodness gracious.”

Jemma’s not only on a bad date with a socially-inept narcissist—she’s starving.

“Here you go,” says Stewart, “it’s pistachio and—get this—bubble gum.”

Fitz takes the proffered spoonful of ice cream and doesn’t dare to look at Jemma before putting it in his mouth.

“Amazing isn’t it?” asks Stewart. Fitz swallows.

“It’s definitely something.”

“Come on,” says Stewart, “let me treat you to something. I still have a little bit left on my gift card.”

It’s then that Fitz can’t stop himself from looking over at Jemma, who casually motions towards the tip jar, which stands empty. He shudders.

“Actually,” Fitz says, “actually, I, um I came here to get Jemma. Her lab cultures are …” “He grapples for a word, but three semesters of biology fail him. “Sick.”

“What?”

Jemma stands up so quickly that she tips over her chair, then sets it right, then straightens and grabs her purse. “I’m sorry, Stewart, but those cultures are worth half my grade. If there’s anything wrong with them, I’m done for!” She reaches her hand out, and Stewart shakes it reluctantly. “Have a lovely evening.”

Fitz has just enough time to retrieve a handful of bills from his wallet and toss them in the tip jar on their way out.

“Ugh, Fitz!” She puts her head in her hands and groans. “That is the last time I let any anyone set me up on a date. Maybe it’s the last time I’ll go on a date at all.”

When he opens the car door for her, she sits down about as crossly as anyone is capable of sitting, and he smiles to himself as he shuts the door and walks around the car.

“Fitz,” she says when takes his seat, “do you know precisely how many words came out of my mouth before your miraculous arrival?”

Fitz furrows his brow and sneaks a glance at her as he puts the car in gear. “How many?”

“One,” she says. “‘Hello.’”

“No,” he says, gaping. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” She folds her arms, still stewing. “Not that I didn’t have anything to say, of course.”

“Of course.”

“But he insisted on telling me the most boring stories without letting me get a word in edgewise! I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up. I thought he’d be interesting to talk to, seeing as he picks up dead bodies and brings them to the Academy morgue.”

Fitz grimaces. “He … what?”

“I thought he’d have fascinating stories about dead powered people,” she says with a shrug. “And he had plenty of stories, alright—all simultaneously boring and inappropriate. I’m not exactly sure how he did it. Ugh,” she says again. “I swear, the only good man left in this world is you, and you’re not interested.”

Fitz almost stops the car, feeling that the air has been sucked out of the room. “What?”

“What?” Jemma asks in return, bewildered, until she sees his expression and all the color drains from her face. “I didn’t—I just meant hypothetically that—I mean, it’s not like I’ve met every man in the world, so that was an obvious generalization.”

The car comes to a red light and he stops, clutching tighter at the steering wheel as his hands become slick with sweat.

“Did you—are you interested?”

Jemma becomes suddenly enthralled with the hands clasped together in her lap, and he has his answer in her blushing cheeks. He stares at her so long that he doesn’t notice the light has turned green until the person behind him honks.

“I, um.” He clears his throat, grateful he has an excuse to watch the road. “I mean, if I did ask you on a date,” he says, “you’d go with me?”

She looks over at him briefly, then picks at the lint on her dress. “If you asked,” she says.

“Well, I … what if we go right now?”

That gets her to look at him again with wide eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, look, you’re already starving; we might as well get something to eat.” He swallows, keeping his eyes straight ahead. “You can get as much food as you like, because you know I won’t judge you, even if you order half the menu.”

“Go on,” she says.

“And, um, and you can talk my ear off about cellular biology, and I’ll thank you for it, since I need to study anyway. And if it ends up not working out, we pretend nothing happened and go right back to being friends.”

“Fitz,” she says, and he’s sure that he wants the street to open up and swallow him whole, “I thought you’d never ask.”

He’s never been more relieved in his life. “Really?”

“Really,” she confirms. “I only have one condition.”

He looks over at her, and this time, he knows exactly what she’s thinking.

“The Outback,” they say in unison.

———————

“Fitz,” she says as they leave the restaurant, “why haven’t we done this already?”

To be honest, he’d been asking himself the same question. This dinner has been just as wonderful as all the dinners they’ve shared, except there was a twinkle in her eyes as she talked and a playfulness in her words.

Except, he notes with pride, this time they left the restaurant arm in arm, with her head on his shoulder.

“Oh look, Fitz, the stars!”

He stops at her command and follows her gaze, agreeing that they are indeed magnificent. But as he turns back to ask her a question and finds himself a breath away from her, all thoughts leave him. He bends down to her as her lips meet him halfway, and surely, this is the most magnificent thing in the universe.

When he pulls back to look at her, she smiles.

“And to think,” she says, “a few hours ago, I was having the worst date of my life.”

He smiles back at her, suddenly bold. “How is this one going?”

She answers by grabbing him by the collar and kissing him again.

#FitzSimmons #FStag #FSfic #TheFitzSimmonsNetwork #Writings of Agent 85 #Vignettes #Answers of Agent 85 #Anons of Agent 85 #Okay so my friend was actually on a date of his own and we did not get dinner/fall in love #But the rest of it is 100% accurate #His name really is Stewart #He dresses like he just walked out of the 90s #And he's the reason my father is no longer allowed to set me up on dates

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