A/N: Hi all!
So I watched How to Train your Dragon 2 yesterday, and HOLY FECKIN' SHIIIIIT IT'S AMAZING.
So amazing. I might even write some HTTYD fanfiction it's so amazing. No regrets about the film or the massive headache which ensued. Amazing. Cate Blanchett is the best.
Huh? Oh, yeah, the story. This is something that me and a friend wrote together (i.e. I wrote about a third of it and then edited the shit out of the friend's work) and hey, I liked it, so woo, let's upload it. Minerva Quebec is my representation of TFA's Minerva - the only Canadian Transformer.
Prowl's logic glitch is a very difficult thing to crossover to humanisations. I mean, how do you write that in believably?
Firstly I started with just him being unemotional; then I figured, no, Prowlie's not unemotional, he's just badat expressing emotions. So then I decided to maybe have Prowl having very mild cataplexy - a condition frequently twinned with narcolepsy, cataplexy is when the suffered has a complete muscle lock-up while retaining full awareness; it's caused (statistically) mainly by surprises, laughter, or anger. But this is a comedy oneshot. I can't make fun of that, that would be sick! So I had to find a workaround. And I think I did okay.
This oneshot's dedicated to Narcolepsy UK, a brilliant charity who help so much but nobody's ever heard of them. Go. Donate to them. Muchly. Thanks for reading, and please review, too!
"Scarves & Closets" - Paul & Eilidh face the latter's second-worst fear, and come out smelling like roses. Rainbows. Trees. Whatever.
Paul Rowley was rather aloof, seemed cold to those who didn't know him well, wasn't great with people, was absorbed in his notepad 90% of the time; was always working; had a little bit of a fainting problem when met with surprises; and, finally, had a serious thing for Eilidh Dalton.
Eilidh Dalton was very neurotic and panicky; officially paranoid (she had the psychologist's report to prove it); unsocial and shy; constantly wrapped up in her almost-three-feet-long crimson scarf; awkwardly clumsy in the worst situations; and, finally, had a serious thing for Paul Rowley.
In both cases, the final trait was known and gossiped about by literally the entire school – pupils, classroom assistants, teachers; even the dinner ladies discussed the unanimously voted "most interesting fifth-formers" and their relationship status at intervals and lunchtimes.
Unfortunately (or fortunately), they were both currently locked in the same broom closet. Together. Even more unfortunately (or fortunately), they were both afraid of the dark. And, of course, the door was clumsily fallen on and locked by their mutual friend Minerva Quebec, who also happened to be an Olympic-level ballet dancer.
Eilidh stood with her back against the wall to make it impossible for someone to sneak up on her that way. Paul sat where he could see Eilidh's face in the tiny amount of light creeping around the door, illuminating half of her nose and one cheekbone.
Neither of them said anything, both much too flustered to come up with anything conversational.
Well, until Eilidh noticed the sound of something small scurrying around at her feet. As paranoid and neurotic as she was, Eilidh was terrified of mice. So when Paul announced that he most definitely did hear one in response to her question of did he hear one, she did the logical thing: she tried to get as far away as possible, which led to her tripping over Paul's outstretched leg, and falling directly onto Paul. Paul had no idea what to do with a very panicked Eilidh sitting on his lap and suddenly displacing his arms. He also had no idea what to do with his suddenly displaced arms.
So, carefully, he tried to put them back on his lap. Which was now covered by Eilidh's lap.
You see where this is going.
Paul knew he was in trouble when he felt soft fabric under his palm instead of his rough jeans.
If he had any doubts about being in trouble, they were dispelled with a sharp slap from Eilidh, who was still trying to figure out which legs were hers and which weren't.
At this point, Paul's mind decided to switch itself back on and tell him that putting his hands there was really not a good idea.
Not that that helped, because he was, as he very suddenly remembered, locked in a closet in very close proximity to a girl who didn't like very close proximities whatsoever.
Eilidh pushed herself as far away as she could – which, admittedly, wasn't very far, as her overly long scarf had tied itself around Paul's abdomen without her prior consent – and as she pulled back she yanked him forward, ending up with him on top of her.
This was not what Eilidh had planned for this situation, mainly due to the fact that she had never planned for this situation.
This really wasn't what Paul expected, either. He froze up for a moment, suddenly feeling the frantic beating on his chest from the girl still semi-pinned underneath him before remembering that social interactions didn't work like that. Quickly rolling off of her, he tried not to pull on the scarf so much as to pull Eilidh back on top of him and, miraculously, succeeded.
Eilidh quickly unwound the scarf from her neck, realising that would be faster than trying to untangle it from herself and Paul.
Just as she thought that once she had her scarf back it would all be over, the instigator of the entire mishap ran across her fingers. With a shriek, she leapt back into Paul's lap, hiding her face in his chest.
Paul was not good with pretty girls leaping up and into his chest. At all.
However, he wasn't exactly able to stop the very pretty girl who was currently ticking his nose with her scarlet hair.
He calmed himself down by taking a few deep breaths and inadvertently getting the smell of rainbows up his nose (admittedly, very calming). The mouse regarded them critically, before turning up its irritating little nose and scurrying off back into the hole from whence it came. Paul hesitantly tapped Eilidh on the shoulder.
"It's gone." he whispered in her ear.
For some reason Eilidh didn't move.
Paul couldn't work out why Eilidh didn't immediately vacate his lap. She hated physical contact – with anyone.
It wasn't until he felt her release a shuddering breath against his neck that he understood, and punched himself mentally. He would never actually ask her out loud if she were crying, as that would definitely result in the slow and brutal death of any chance he might possibly ever have had with her, but he slowly and carefully laid his arms about her (very shapely, his mind noted unhelpfully) waist.
When he was met with no resistance from Eilidh, Paul gently pulled her closer to him. Because it would be more comfortable for her, not having to twist her neck at such an odd angle, he reasoned. The thing he wasn't expecting was for Eilidh to wrap her arms around him in return, and, though he was sure it was all in his head, tilt her head and twist her shoulders slightly so it was less like her hiding from the mouse in his shoulder and more like cuddling.
Eilidh was shocked at herself. What was she doing? He had said the mouse was gone, and he had no reason to lie to her. But when she felt his arms around her waist, the part of her brain that controlled her movements decided to stop listening to any of the other parts of her brain.
Of course, what neither of them expected was for the door to suddenly be unlocked and opened, by a none-too-pleased looking teacher.
Now, what would you say is a high school teacher's first thought when finding two students (one with the other's scarf around his midsection), looking for all the world like they're cuddling on the floor of a high school's typically dishevelled-looking broom closet?
With a look so stern as to be frightening, the teacher ordered them to the headteacher's office.
The two walked slowly, heads hung in shame of something they didn't actually do, to the office, Paul untangling Eilidh's scarf from himself as he went.
After assuring the teacher, their respective guidance teachers, the headteacher, their parents, four police officers, and several other assorted figures of authority that nothing whatsoever had happened in the closet, and it was all just a joke gone horribly, horribly wrong, Paul and Eilidh were sent home. As they parted in the school's car park, neither noticed the other look other their shoulder.
It wasn't until she was halfway home that Eilidh realised that Paul still had her scarf.
Paul didn't realise it until he was digging through his bag for homework later that night, and found it in the pocket where he'd stuffed it. He couldn't believe Eilidh hadn't demanded it back the moment they left the school office that afternoon.
And if it smelled like Eilidh in the distinctly indescribable way that only she smelled (Rainbows. Definitely rainbows.), what business was that of his? It most certainly wasn't the reason that he still had it wrapped around his neck when he fell asleep that night.
The next day, during morning interval, Paul found Eilidh in her usual hiding place: the library, watching everyone on the grounds through the large-ish windows. When Eilidh heard the chair across the table being pulled out, and the last person she thought it would be sat down, she couldn't help the little flutter her heart seemed to give.
Paul pulled the scarf out of his pocket and slid it across the table, expecting to be yelled at for keeping it overnight. Instead, she took it with only a small smile and wound it back around her neck. Paul was slightly saddened to see such a pretty neck – could necks be pretty? Paul didn't care, hers was – hidden from the world, but felt a sudden, sharp pang of jealousy at the thought of anyone else seeing her without her scarf, seemingly so vulnerable without it to hide behind.
When the bell rang and students began to file out of the library towards their period three classes, Eilidh made a split-second decision. Darting around the table, she planted a quick kiss on Paul's lips before fleeing the library, scarf safely around her neck providing a nice beacon to watch through the shelves. When Paul stumbled in late to fourth period with a bandage round his head – having missed third altogether because he fainted in the library, cracked his head off the table, and had to be carried down to the medical wing – he still looked slightly dazed, pink dusting his cheeks and an inexplicable taste of strawberries in his mouth.
And if a night with Paul had made her scarf smell like his oddly enthralling foresty scent, well, what business of Eilidh's was that? It certainly wasn't the reason it was still wrapped around her neck as she fell asleep that night.
also maybe super sad oneshot later; I also watched the G1 film. Poor Prowl. And Ironhide. And Windcharger and Wheeljack. And Thundercracker and Skywarp and Blitzwing and Starscream and Ratchet and Brawn and Hound and Bluestreak and Mirage and Smokescreen and Kickback and Shrapnel and Bombshell and Optimus and pretty much everyone, really.
Except freakin' Rodimus. Dammit, Rodimus. This is all your fault.
Also Wheelie. No one likes you, Wheelie. Not even Daniel likes you, Wheelie.