#and I’d only JUST before summer got used to skating on one foot

[exopelagic]

THAT GUY WAS A US FIGURE SKATER

[sylvie-writes]

A Father’s Love

pairing: steve rogers x reader ft. sarah rogers

requests:Hey, can I ask for a Steve Sarah fic where baby Sarah is injured or unwell and Steve is more distressed than the reader and cries holding Sarah and she assures him that she is fine and brave girl -anon  2. hi i love your writing!! i have a request for a headcanon or oneshot: i watched ww84 (which was not that good of a movie oof) but there was a romantic fireworks scene and it made me think of celebrating 4th of july with steve rogers on his birthday and just like, cuddling up next to him on a picnic blanket while watching him watch the fireworks and oh it just makes me so SOFT- anon

word count: 1,750

author’s note: pardon any mistakes! sorry for combining the requests, hope y'all still like it!

gif below was found on google

Never before in your life had you ever experienced such fear. Although the warm sun streamed down in rays, creating a happy scene, you were somewhere else. A place where nothing else mattered except for your daughter. Nerves, anticipation, and dread flooded your veins. Any parent would feel this way, especially under these circumstances. A majority of the time, you wouldn’t consider yourself a “helicopter parent,” even though Bucky and Sam would say otherwise. Now, was an exception because your four year old daughter was learning to roller skate in the cul-de-sac where her grandparents currently reside. Her little hand was interlaced with her father’s and the 6’2 man crouched down to be a bit shorter. He was anything but an expert in this field and that made you even more nervous as he’d occasionally slip. Before you could say anything to him, he’d just put a hand out, signaling that everything was okay, and you’d be left to bite down on your lip, silently channeling your fear. 

From the looks of it, one would think you weren’t trusting of your husband and while that wasn’t the whole truth, you just knew he wasn’t the most...graceful and elegant human on planet earth. Rather he was the type of guy to fall and literally laugh it off. That was fine for him, but if your daughter fell on this rocky pavement, well, you’d both have another coming. Or at least that’s what you had assumed. 

Sarah’s giggles echoed and you could hear your parents’ shouts of encouragement from the house. You were standing on the end of the driveway, eyes glued to the giant man and the tiny girl, happily skating around. After a few minutes, Sarah finally found her footing, so to say, and was actually skating without Steve’s support.

Finally, you dropped your shoulders and let out a sigh of relief at the two enjoying themselves. It was all going fine until Sarah was turning, like she had done so many times before, but this time happened to catch a rock under a wheel on her right skate.

 In your mind, it all happened in slow motion, making your feet stay grounded, yet your conscience was “running” to her. Steve’s face looked absolutely mortified and he dropped to his knees, ignoring the pain from the harsh contact, he immediately scooped up the girl. 

For a moment, her lip quivered and Steve continued to soothingly stroke her hair, gazing into her watering eyes. Just when you thought the dam would break, Sarah swallowed her sobs, shook it all off, and stood from her father’s lap. She even held out a hand to help him up and he looked very shocked. Even more shocked than when you told him you were going into labor, which was quite the experience, one you preferred to not re-live. 

Eventually, you joined the two and up close you could see that Steve had a single tear running down his face. You knew his worst fear was failing his daughter, he had told you so many years ago. Sarah noticed Steve’s sorrow and she got down once more to sit back on her heels. With gentle movement, Sarah wrapped her arms around the man’s broad shoulders and pulled him into the most lovable hug you’ve seen in ages. 

“It’s okay, Daddy. Please don’t cry! See I’m just as brave as you!” 

Your daughter then laid her head on his shoulder, the two of them in their own little world as usual. You hated to break them up, but they were currently sitting in the middle of the road and you’d rather not get hit by a car. Softly, you tapped Steve’s shoulder and he slowly rose up, Sarah in his arms and tired from the scare as well. The three of you made your way back up the driveway and into the house where your mother met you with the same nervous look you had once wore. Once a nurse, always a nurse, for she had a first aid kit in hand. You quickly reassured her and followed Steve back to your rooms. 

Summer in New York City wasn’t that much enjoyable, so ever since Sarah had been born, you and Steve come in July to stay at your parents house. Today was Fourth of July and you helped your parents with their annual barbeque. That went well and then the whole roller skating incident happened and now here you were. It was 3 in the afternoon and since it was Steve’s birthday, you had some surprise plans for him later. He was unaware and had assumed you had forgotten his birthday, which you had not. 

An hour later, you found Sarah in the pool with your parents while Steve sat on one of the lounge chairs, only khaki swim trunks on. You could tell he’d been out of the pool for a while as his hair was starting to look a bit fluffy. Steve’s eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and in his lap you could see a sketch that he was tediously working on. Your daughter was too busy playing pool volleyball with her grandparents, that the three were yet to notice your presence. Deciding to take matters into your own hands, you strutted over to Steve and sat on the edge of his seat where you gently tapped his leg to gain his attention. 

“Whatcha working on, Grant?”

Steve peered up at you, his smile possibly even brighter than the sun that reflected on you both. He silently passed off the sketchbook to you. The sketch depicted the scene happening before your eyes, your parents bonding with Sarah, all of them wearing large grins and laughter. It was the kind of picture that could lift someone's mood in an instant, all because Steve was the best at portraying emotions in his artwork. 

“So, birthday boy, I have some plans for you… that is if you are still up to it.” You motioned to his current laid back state and Steve looked down at himself to see what you meant. He was curious as to what you had planned, having told you not to plan anything for his birthday. 

“Oh honey, I told you not to do anything.” Steve looked at you disapprovingly, his sunglasses now pulled down so you could feel the full effect of his “glaring.” 

“It’s not everyday that a wife gets to celebrate her husband’s...” Pausing, you did some quick mental math (that may have not been accurate) and came to an answer, “102nd birthday!” 

At that, Steve lurched forward and pulled you onto his lap, placing a kiss on your temple as his arms tightly wrapped around your waist. 

“You spoil me too much, doll.” A simple hum was your only reply and you leaned back into his embrace. 

----

About an hour later, both you and Steve got quick showers and tidied up a bit. The only thing Steve had heard about where you were taking him, was that it wasn’t too fancy as you told him to dress casual. As Steve got ready, you asked Sarah if she wanted to come along, but instead she decided to stay back and make some cookies with your mom. 

The two of you then met at the front door where you kissed Sarah goodbye and headed off to the car. Just as Steve was about to get in the driver’s seat, you stole the keys from his grasp and gave him a small “tsk tsk” causing the man to laugh. Earlier, while Steve had gotten dressed, you had been able to sneak out and put a prepared picnic basket in the trunk of the car along with a large blanket. For Steve’s birthday, you were taking him to see fireworks at a nearby park. You knew how much of a sucker he was for fireworks and a good, old fashioned, park picnic. 

As you pulled into the entrance of the park and globs of people sat out on the field, Steve’s eyes started to sparkle with excitement and you couldn't help but grin at him. 

“Babe, is this what I think it is?”

You put the car in park and turned in your seat to fully face Steve, “If you’re thinking fireworks and a picnic, then you’re right. I’m sorry it’s not a lot, but I know how much you-” 

Before you could finish your unnecessary apology, Steve sweetly grabbed your face and pulled you in for an enchanting kiss. 

“It’s perfect, (y/n).” 

Steve’s face softened into a loving look and his azure eyes looked the slightest bit shiny in the moonlight. 

You parted away from the man and exited the car, heading to the trunk where Steve met you. He helped carry the picnic basket despite your pleas for him to not do so. 

The park wasn't too crowded, but there were just enough people for you and Steve to have to search around for a good ten minutes. Eventually you spotted this place under a tree that wasn’t too surrounded and had a perfect view of where the fireworks would be. 

Swiftly, you laid out the plaid picnic blanket and Steve then set down the picnic basket that was filled with the components of your dinner. You began to set out the prepared food, even bringing out a candle, albeit fake, that provided some romantic and not overwhelming lighting.

Since you both had arrived twenty minutes before the show started, it allowed for you and Steve to enjoy the dinner peacefully. You had even packed some desserts but those would be for during the show as a little something to snack on.

Just as the show started, you had finished packing away the last of the Tupperware containers and now settled in between Steve's legs, his chest providing use as a pillow. The man delicately rested his chin on your shoulder and in return, you lovingly rubbed his forearms that laid in your lap.

“Thank you for the best birthday, my love. You’ve given me so much over these past few years and I swear I don’t know what I’d be without you.” 

It was a whisper in your ear, but you still heard it over the loud crackling of the fireworks. 

With a warm smile and quiet giggle, you brought his hand to your lips and placed a kiss on the back of his hand.

“Only you could pull off such a cheesy line, Rogers.” 

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

merry christmas, ya filthy animal

Hi guys! This is my contribution for @hockeynetwork holiday gift exchange, it’s 2.5k of sweet Tito fluff for @dreamypeaches and I hope you all like it. As always, I read all the tags and love love hearing your feedback, so hop into my inbox and reblog if you like it! 

word count: 2.5k+

Everyone has a favorite movie. Some go for a childhood classic like Cinderella, some find an indie documentary from a film class in college, some inherit their parents’ love for the Princess Bride or Casablanca. Not you. For you, there was no movie that could hold a candle to Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. You had watched it for the first time maybe around 7 or 8 years old, and had been hooked ever since, and even Donald Trump’s five-second cameo couldn’t taint the love you had for it. But your favorite part, other than the large cheese pizza and stretch limousine, was the end. The Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, Kevin and his mom finally reuniting after she moved heaven and earth to get back to her son by Christmas. 

It wasn’t your first Christmas in New York City, but it was the first one where it really felt like it was your city, like you belonged to it. And it was your first Christmas with Tito. You had started dating earlier in the year, just as the team was starting to make the big push for playoffs and two months or so before he left to Montréal for the summer. It was strange while he was there, not just because he was hundreds of miles away and in a whole different country, but because the two of you had only been exclusive for a few months and were set to be separated for three. You flew up for Canada Day and met his parents, and he came back for a week in August, but the interim was filled with more FaceTime calls and lonely nights than either of you would care to admit. 

But summer was long over, the leaves had fallen from all the London planes, and the temperature had started to drop below freezing even in the day. The cold weather wasn’t always great; you didn’t love having to scrape the ice off of your windshield or trudge through the slush when it was too early for the snow to stick to the ground, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. One thing that winter changed was date plans. Unless you hit it at just the right time, coffee in the morning was more prone to freeze your fingers off than warm you up, having dinner outside — normally one of your favorite things to do together — was all-but banned after November, and you could only walk around Central Park so many times. And it wasn’t for lack of trying; you knew for a fact that Anthony had spent hours on plane rides trying to figure out what was open, flipping in between Google and the weather app. He was making an effort, though, and that’s what mattered. 

Which is why you weren’t particularly surprised when he showed up at your apartment door on Christmas Eve, twelve hours after he asked you if you had plans that night. You didn’t and it wasn’t a game day, so he told you to dress warm and be ready by 8. You were waiting by the door five minutes early. He greeted you with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, closing the door behind you. “Did you already eat? I know it’s pretty late already but I think I saw a few food trucks by where we’re going if you’re still hungry.”

You nodded your head. “Anthony. It’s 8 at night. ‘Course I’ve already eaten.”

He ducked his head in embarrassment, the slightest pink appearing on his cheeks. “Should have figured.”

“It’s fine,” you said, slipping your hand into his and smiling. “You going to tell me where we’re going, though?”

“Wouldn’t be a surprise if I did,” he said. 

You should have known by the duffel bag in the backseat what his plans were, but some thirty minutes later and he was pulling into a parking lot off of West 49th, shouldering the bag and looking over to you with a grin. “What’s a Christmas in New York without ice skating at Rockefeller Center?” 

You rolled your eyes, trying desperately to keep in a laugh. “You don’t think it’s a bit unfair? You’re paid buckets of money to balance on knife shoes and the last time I went ice skating was,” you tried to remember, “two years ago? Three?” 

Tito shrugged, taking your hand as you walked out the door of the parking lot. “What’s life without a little risk?” Whether the Harry Potter quote was intentional or not, you weren’t sure. 

“Fair,” you conceded. “You’ll have to look out for me, though.” He promised he would, handing his card over to the cashier, who in turn passed you your skates. Anthony led you over to a bench, grabbing a bag of roasted chestnuts from a street vendor before sitting down. You ate a few before tying your skates, swinging one up on his thigh for inspection. “Do these past muster, inspector?”

Anthony took one look at them before undoing your knot, adjusting your foot in his lap while rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “You didn’t tie them tight enough, you could break an ankle in these, babe, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?” You shook your head; he pulled you up to a standing position, leading you over to the gate to get onto the ice. “Don’t feel bad if you’ve got to hang onto the side for a little bit, it doesn’t look like the zamboni’s been over it in awhile so the ice is probably pretty chippy.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “I’m not completely hopeless, Anthony. I’m no professional,” you half-slipped while taking your first step onto the ice, clinging to the railing, “clearly, but I’m an adult and I can handle myself.” 

He held his hands up in surrender, gliding backwards on the ice before stopping. “I know you can.” The two of you skated for about an hour before taking a break, sipping cups of piping hot apple cider while sitting on a bench off to the side of the rink. “There’s always that one person who feels the need to go in the center and show off, huh?” Tito mused, glancing towards center ice, where a woman was indeed in the middle of a spin so quick and intricate you had no clue how she didn’t throw up from the sheer centrifugal force of it all. 

“Says the professional hockey player,” you quipped. 

“I’d go insane if I tried to do anything like that,” Anthony responded, drinking the last of his cider before dropping the cup into the recycling bin. “Just about the only thing hockey players and figure skaters have in common is our ability to skate in a straight line.”

You laughed, squeezing his arm. “Have a little more faith in yourself than that, Anthony.” 

“Mhm,” he said, noncommittally like he didn’t quite believe you. “You ready to get going, or do you think you’ve got more in you?” 

You looked down at your watch; it was 9:30; the rink didn’t close for another hour and plenty of people were still milling about. “I think I’ve got a little gas left in the tank.” 

Sounds good,” he said, taking your hand and doing an extremely admirable job of not laughing at your attempts to hobble over to the ice on your skates. “One of these days I’m going to get you to go backwards,” he said as he stepped on, gliding back easily before coming to a quick stop. 

“I’ve just stopped having to hold onto your hands like a five-year-old, Beau,” you said, rolling your eyes as you took a moment to find your balance on the slippery ice. In your defense, he had been right about the lack of resurfacing on the ice; the skate attendant said the zamboni only came around once a day, shortly before opening, and the lack of smooth ice couldn’t have done you any favors. But you were determined to prove yourself, to show him and everyone else in Rockefeller Center that you were a fully grown and capable adult who could skate for a few feet without needing assistance. Which you did, for approximately two minutes, trailing ten or fifteen feet behind Anthony as he skated backwards, executing poorly-attempted jumps and spins for no reason other than your amusement. You were doing fine, until the toe pick of your skate caught in a chip in the ice and you tumbled down, down to the ice before Anthony could skate over and catch you,. Down, trying to break your fall with your hands. Pain radiated up your left wrist, the cold of the ice already beginning to melt into your jeans. 

“Oh my God,” Anthony said, kneeling in front of you as several passers-by looked over in concern. “You okay? That looked like a pretty bad fall.” 

You nodded, trying to push yourself up to a standing position, but the second you put pressure on your hand, you let out a sharp shriek. “Fuck,” you said, moving to rub your wrist. Not a good idea; the pain only got worse when you touched it. 

His brow only furrowed more. “If you put your wrist out to break the fall, you could have broken it or something. We should go to the hospital.”

You shook your head. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Tito,” you said as the two of you skated off the ice, your wrist hanging limply by your side as you bent down to try and untie the skate laces. He looked up at your face, seeing you biting your lip with tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as you tried to pull them. 

“Hurts to pull?” You knew it was no use trying to lie to him, so you nodded. He pushed the sleeve of your jacket up as gently as he could after untying your skates, handling your hand and wrist with as little pressure as he could. “Not exactly how I thought I’d be kneeling in front of you,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. You knew he had only said it to distract you, try to get your mind off of the inordinate amounts of pain you were in, but the words still made your heart skip a beat. His fingers moved feather-light over your skin, keeping an eye on your facial expressions as he felt. “Hurts to close your hand?” You tried; you nodded. “Hurts to turn your wrist?” A second nod. “Has it gotten worse or better since you fell?”

“Worse,” you managed to squeak out. 

He bit his tongue in concentration. “Shit. Yeah, we should go to the hospital.” You knew it was no use to argue, even as you weakly kept telling him it was probably just a sprain that would heal on its own as he herded you into the car, looking up the waiting times of Manhattan emergency rooms. “The ER wait at Lenox Hill is twenty minutes, it’s like two miles away,” he said, puting the car into reverse and backing out of the parking lot. Of course, two miles in New York City on Christmas Eve really meant fifteen minutes, and by the time he parked at the hospital and you were walking into the ER, it was just past 11. And of course, an ER wait time of “twenty minutes” the day before Christmas meant that, as a relatively low-priority case, you weren’t seen for well over forty. “I feel terrible about this,” Anthony said, slumping back in the chair to the side as you sat on the exam table. 

“Not your fault,” you said emphatically. “Could have happened to anyone. Literally anyone, Tito,” you looked over at him; he still looked guilty. “It could have just as easily been you, if you’d hit the chip at the wrong angle or there was some kind of slippery patch you weren’t expecting. And,” you added as he opened his mouth, “you were too far away to catch me.” Your expression softened. “I know you would have if you could have, but I’m sure it’s not hurt too bad and I don’t want you to keep beating yourself up over it. I’ll be okay.” 

The nurse practitioner chose that moment to poke her head through the curtain, calling your name. You nodded. She flipped open your chart. “I’m Emily, I’ll be taking care of you tonight. It says here you’ve got a wrist injury?” You nodded, explaining what had happened. She pulled a pair of gloves on, fingers moving over your wrist. “With what I’m seeing and how you’re rating your pain, I think we’re probably looking at a bad sprain or a break, but we’ll have to get an X-ray to confirm.” Fifteen minutes later, you were in and out of the radiology suite, and Emily was looking at the images on a tablet. She leaned over the table, pointing to the images on the screen. “Okay, so what you’ve got is called a Colles’ fracture, it’s a break in the radius and they’re actually super common, by far the most common type of wrist break we see. Yours isn’t too bad, so I’d say it can come off in six weeks or so.” She left for a minute to get the casting supplies. Ten minutes later, your entire lower arm was covered in cotton and fiberglass wrap tape. You wiggled your fingers towards your boyfriend. “I think purple’s really my color, don’t you?” you said, nodding towards your cast. 

You saw him crack a smile, his first since the accident. “It’s beautiful, babe.” Fifteen minutes and more than your fair share of paperwork later, you had handed over your insurance information and gotten the okay to leave, with strict instructions to keep the cast dry and call if you had any problems. 

“I think this definitely wins as the most interesting date I’ve ever been on,” you said as the two of you crossed the parking lot. 

“I’ll have you agree with you on that one,” Anthony replied. “I’m glad it wasn’t anything more serious, though. I would have felt even worse.”

You nodded. “You and me both.” Anthony looked down at his watch as he held your good hand, smiling when he saw the time. “What is it?” you asked curiously. 

“Guess there was too much going on in there to keep track of time. It’s 1:37 AM.” 

The painkillers they had given you had kept the pain in your wrist to a dull ache, but all was forgotten as you realized what it meant, what it being past midnight meant, and you couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across your face. “It’s Christmas?” you said, almost like a question. Nothing could extinguish your love for the holiday: not the freezing cold air nipping at your nose or the apple cider that was so hot it burnt your tongue or the fact that you went out for a night with your boyfriend and came back with a broken wrist. You had him, and that was enough. 

Tito laughed, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your lips as he unlocked the car. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

[toplinetommy]

Could you do 83 and 97 from the fluff/angst list with Tyson Jost?

Long story short, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Tyson was just a guy you had gone home with a few months ago, and now it seemed like you were meeting him at his apartment the second he got home from road trips, he was leaving guys’ night early to see you (sometimes even skipping it), you were watching his games even though you swore you weren’t that into sports, and you were each other's number one best friend on Snapchat.

But now his phone in your name had changed from just ‘Tyson Jost’ to ‘tys😋’ and he had added a photo of the two of you to your contact, smiling whenever your name flashed across his screen.

And now here you were, thumbs hovering over your open text conversation with Tyson, the last text being one you sent, telling him good luck before taking the ice for Game 4 of the conference finals. The Avs were trailing the series 0-3, making this a must-win game for the group. Your head was empty of any possible thing you could text him as you watched the handshake line after the Golden Knights had celebrated their series sweep, sending them to the Stanley Cup Final.

You had opted to not send him anything for the first hour, knowing that he would probably want time to be with his team and talk to his family or even anyone else that wasn’t you. After all, you were just two people sleeping together that had happened to now be good friends. Part of you wanted to see if he would message you first, wanting him to let you know how he was feeling without having to read between the lines.

The two of you had been dancing around your feelings for the other for weeks now. It was easy to see that Tyson had been putting in extra effort to see you, spending an equal amount of time between your place and his that was on the other side of town. He had slowly become someone that you weren’t just spending time with between the sheets and giving rushed goodbyes in the early hours of the morning. You started to hang out with some of the guys that lived in his building, he spent time with your roommates when they were around, and he had been more than happy to get you tickets to more than a few of his games.

And the sex. The sex had transitioned from just needy sex where you both were just trying to get an orgasm or two, to memorizing each dip and curve of the other person. It was plenty dirty, and you got to explore with him, but a light had switched one night after the two of you had gotten wine drunk off of the cheap Trader Joe’s brand in his living room. You had taken your time exploring the other’s body, placing soft kisses on the scrapes and bruises littering Tyson’s tan skin, while he sucked soft bruises onto the tops of your breasts, your hips, and your thighs. It was slow and filled with overwhelming emotion on both ends. His thrusts had hit you deeper at a more languid pace than he’s exhibited with you. From then on out, the sex was wild and dirty, but still sweet and heartfelt.

Nothing was said that next morning when you procrastinated getting out of his bed, causing Tyson to go a little more than the speed limit on the way to morning skate. Lingering kisses were left when you said your goodbyes at the door or at the other’s car, kisses on each other’s shoulders and foreheads when you passed by the other.

It was everything you wanted in someone, except he wasn’t yours. And that was starting to become evident as you fell asleep that night with no texts from him after his game, nor a text the following day as you started preparing yourself dinner. Throughout the following day, you continued to think of what to say to him but as the hours passed, you thought your opportunity to talk to him did, too.

The constant opening of your text thread with him was driving you crazy, so you had purposefully left it in your work bag the second you set it down by your front door when you got home. With the neverending slow day you had, your first task of the evening was to open your fridge and find a bottle of wine to pop open.

Hours later into the evening where the city around you is starting to fall asleep, you’re still wide awake on your couch watching the newest episodes of New Amsterdam. A loud knock comes through the door and you frown thinking of how late had gotten. Still, you pause your show and whip open your front door, thinking it’s just the guy your roommate’s sleeping with. But instead of it being the six foot four, blonde, banker, it’s a barely six foot, curly headed brunette that plays hockey.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Tyson starts slowly, noting the confused look on your face as the door swings open to reveal you in your college hoodie and a pair of running shorts. “But, I leave to go back home this weekend until next season and I really needed to see you.”

“So, you waited until the last minute before leaving for the summer?” you roll your eyes. “That makes sense.”

“Can I come in? There’s a lot I’d like to talk to you about.”

And you want to say no, barring the fact that it’s nearing 1:30 in the morning and you have work tomorrow. But the dark circles under Tyson’s eyes and his unruly hair tucked underneath the hood of his sweatshirt has you opening the door further and gesturing for him to take a few steps into your place. Tyson glances around the all-too-familiar living room, noting that the tv is paused on some show he doesn’t recognize, your favorite throw blanket is thrown on the couch instead of folded, all indicators that you still haven’t gone to bed.

“Another sleepless night, huh?” Tyson asks, but it’s more like he’s asking for confirmation that he’s right because he knows you too well. He knew you had trouble sleeping on a frequent basis because at one point he had started falling asleep on the couch next to you instead of in bed since it meant going to bed with you.

“Uh, yeah,” you respond, a knit-in your eyebrows. “I had a long day. What’d you want to talk about?”

Tyson feels weird, he knows exactly what he wants to say to you, but his anxiety is starting to bubble with the unfamiliar space between the two of you as he stands by the front door and you’re leaning against the back of your couch more than a few feet away. He takes a weary step forward, running his hand through his hair and pushing the hood down in the process.

“Sorry for not texting you back, I just wanted to do this in person because that’s what you deserve and I needed time to figure everything out with what’s going on between us. The playoffs were really tough and there was so much pressure to win, more than normal, and it was really defeating to not win a single game in the conference finals. I’ve never been so close, and it still sucks knowing there are two teams playing hockey right now and mine isn’t one of them.”

The sadness and strain in his voice aren’t hard to miss, coupled with his overall disheveled appearance. What he said to you was the exact reason why you didn’t reach out to him first. Knowing Tyson is here out of the goodness of his heart and isn’t here what you don’t think is bad news, you close the distance between the two of you, pulling him into a hug. He sighs heavily as his chin comes to rest atop your head, breathing in the coconut shampoo you regularly use. His hand comes to brush the ends of your hair down, something he had down all throughout your, well whatever this thing was called between the two of you.

You seemingly forget that he mentioned talking to you about things that probably just weren’t the disappointing end to his season. You drag him to the couch with you, hitting play on the tv remote and turning the volume down so you can still focus on the brunette next to you. His thighs are touching yours and he throws his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. Your fingers toy with the drawstring of his hood out of anxiousness as you wait for either him to speak or for when you find the right words to say to him.

“If it’s any consolation, I think you all played really well, and it’s fuel for the next season,” you assure him, your voice soft and barely above a whisper. Your gaze is focused on the moving doctors on the screen in front of you while he watches the blue light cast different shadows across your face.

“Thank you,” Tyson breathes out. “But I didn’t come here just to be negative and talk about things that already happened that I don’t have control over anymore.”

Your stomach tightens at that, your first thought going to the one that tells you he just came over to get his dick wet then leave for the summer. You start to shift your body to not rest any of your weight on him. But he puts a hand on the back of your head, keeping you against his chest. You can feel his breathing passing through your hair and the rise and fall of his chest underneath you.

“I wanted to talk you about what’s going on between us, and that, uh, you’re the only girl I’m seeing, well, been seeing honestly, like, since-”

“You’re kind of rambling,” you smile, looking up at him. “But it’s okay because you’re the only guy I’ve been seeing, too.”

He smiles back down at you, both of you clearly being on the same page. “I know this is terrible timing since I’m going home next week, but maybe we can plan something where one of us visits the other?”

“I’d love that,” you smile, leaning in to kiss him softly.

[ohmygodtheywereparabatai]

A piece for Azutara ~

—

She couldn’t help raising her brows when water transformed into solid ice in front of her naked eye. The edges of the lake crackled and fell silent as frost crept onto the banks. Even with her own warmth assured, she didn’t expect their surroundings to drop so quickly, as if the waterbender’s finesse had commanded every other element. Remarkable.

Her next exhale was visible, so small and withheld that it left in a wisp. It was how she knew Katara had stolen her breath - again.

“I promise, it’s firm enough to step on.” A boot measured the thickness with a tap, then she boarded the glassine surface with a satisfied hmph. It slipped Azula’s mind to peel her eyes away and pretend to scout the woodlands, fold her arms, sigh, anything that feigned emotional distance. She watched Katara’s hand move across her sole, sculpting from residue, setting down a knife-like edge with the clink of a cup on a saucer. She repeated with her other foot, straightening on thin slivers of ice like it was easy, hands on hips. “See? I told you we came prepared. Now it’s your turn.”

The princess unstuck her fists from her sides, taking the arm. Not a moment later her feet started to slide apart, grating on the only barrier between steadying hands and a splintering fall. “Oh. I didn’t expect - this is much more...”

“I’ll take care of that.” She gripped her waist, and Azula clutched back. “Just hold on tight.” With something of a kick that never landed, they were spurred into motion. The princess started with a hwah! sound, heart hammering even when coasting along her side, even pressed to the furs Katara was bundled in. Or her thoughts were flying, pulse singing, for another reason outside it all.

Black and dark brown hair fluttered behind them. The wind was hardly biting, jades and colored spots of flowers blurring into one line, pitting a sensation like summertime whisked out from under their feet. No chance. If there was any promise between them - and there were many - it was to snatch out sunlight when it broke the clouds, trap fleeting moments like lightning bugs in clear jars. Until hope spilled into her world, and Katara along with it, Azula learned to heal... and to her, love was an endless summer. One long overdue.

They drifted farther apart, round after round scaling the rink until they were only joined by their hands. Azula found her footing, prodigious learner that she was.

“Hey, you’re getting the hang of it!” Katara’s eyes glowed. She glowed.

With a surge of confidence, the princess dragged her heels, hooking an arm around the other girl and pulling with all her strength. They veered left with a giggling fit, arms locked as they circled to a halt. Dizzied heads were a small price to pay.

“That... was... fun!” Katara gasped out. Finally at rest, she brushed back the uneven cut of Azula’s hair, drinking her in. The sheared ends had regrown quickly, still somewhat mismatched; in just a few months, her reflection wasn’t in complete tatters.

“Next time, I’m taking you to walk over hot coals.” Azula smirked, skates moving in an intuitive waltz. “Or to set off fireworks. As many as we can manage before our hands are covered in ash. Isn’t this the theme we’re following - showing off?”

“Oh, I’d like to see you try and outdo me.” She leaned in, the warm press of lips to Azula’s forehead releasing butterflies in her stomach. Katara’s voice hovered above her ear, teasing, “Unless we’re talking about hot looks. Then I’ll have to step down, hm?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She scoffed, a little flushed, throwing back a flippant hand. Venom seeped into her tone out of instinct, but the words were anything but. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever set eyes on. It would be an insult to doubt my tastes.”

It flew out before she caught herself. Azula’s eyes snapped open, red-faced. “I... er- I meant it!”

Katara smiled. Before she could stutter her way back onto her dispassionate pedestal, a loud crack rang in the quiet. Their eyes shot straight down. Fissures spiderwebbed from under Azula, the ice tinged with heat. Oh...

Flustered, to the point of softening the ice underfoot. Azula could only fling her head up to Katara’s, pale with dread, lungs braced and teeth clicked shut for the cold shock. I’m sorry!

When the ice gave way and they tumbled, her eyes squeezed closed - don’t look, don’t look - no light or even afterimages allowed to pass through. Weightlessness stretched out for an impossible length of time... floating, hearing and seeing nothing, until her ears pricked. A voice.

“It’s okay. I got us. We’re safe.”

What? She loosened the death grip around her knees, squinting. It was dark.

“Azula? We’re okay. I promise.”

Katara, hand in hers - the first one she’d held after days imprisoned in the ward, blood pooling at her elbows. Her grip had been an iron clamp; they never doubted each other’s strength.

Azula looked up, head whipping around until what she was seeing made sense, logic falling into place. Air.

“You didn’t think you would drown with a waterbender at your side, did you?” A chuckle. Her palms were flat and spread, weaving in delicate circles. The pocket around them was held in place, walled on all sides by a swirling current.

Azula made no effort to contain her awe. The underside of the lake was striped azure blue, its bottom glinting in weak rays of sunlight. Shadows of darting fish crossed her periphery. She looked down at their clothes. Dry as bone.

“You know what?” Katara appraised their situation, hands dropping into her lap. Of course she could hold the bubble like it was an afterthought. Of course. “I think we found a great place to cuddle. Play Pai Sho, have a picnic...”

Azula couldn’t help but smile, scooting forwards as the world wobbled. She wasn’t afraid. Not with her. “Okay, fine. You’ve done your showing off. You win.” She pressed against Katara’s side, nuzzling into her neck. “My turn.”

[razorblade180]

Twin Snowflakes 22: Ground Zero

Part 21 -> here! <-

Bad luck has been a part of Qrow’s life for as long as he could remember. It manifested in a variety of ways but there was one in particular that was absolutely the worst, travel. Flat tire on a road trip, inconvenient. Plane delay, well that one was probably not his fault, but it felt like it! Certain cases like that were always a little iffy on if it was him or life. As the veteran huntsman stood on the deck of his son’s boat in the pouring rain with a Kraken raising from the depths, Qrow was sure of one thing. This one had to be his fault.

“I didn’t think grimm this big were still around. We’re in the middle of the ocean for crying out loud.” Qrow sighed, grabbing harbinger.” It’s cases like this he’d usually leave. Two big problems though. Problem number one, Sparrow was already firing cannons at it. Problem number two, it was waving Oscar around like a toy. He seemed okay though.

“CAN I HAVE SOME HELP HERE!?” He screamed, louder than the roaring winds and rough seas. “THIS GUY IS REALLY SLIMY!!”

“Slip out then!” Sparrow shouted in earnest. Oscar might’ve been far away but Sparrow could tell the man was not amused by that response. “What!? Do you want me to shoot that arm with you in it!? Penny will have a fit if I shot you!”

“PENNY WILL HAVE A FIT IF I'M EATEN!!!” Oscar wiggled and squirmed before finally managing to create an orb to push the tentacle off, then dispelling the orb to drop straight down. Cannon fire rained down on the center mass like grand finale fireworks, but only angered the beast. More tentacles cut through the air to reclaim its lost hostage.

“Give me a break.” The rain continued to pour down and sting against Oscar’s skin. He paid no mind to the whirlpools forming or the ship deck quickly approaching. Oscar simply closed his eyes. “Hey it’s been awhile. Mind lending a hand?” He called, subconsciously to his old friend.

“Hehe Oscar, do you even have to ask?”

Oscar smiled, opening his eyes and seeing Oz smile back through the reflection of the rain drops before seeing his own again, complete with white hair and golden eyes. “Let’s get to it shall we?”

xxxx

Nick remained quiet as Weiss drove back home from school. He was happy he made it back in time. A gigas dragging him away after his fight with Valerie would’ve made the entire incident worse. Though if he was being honest, fighting a gigas sounded cathartic in a way. He gently pulled up the window switch over and over, repeatedly.

Weiss took note of her son’s unusually sad demeanor. “Alright, wanna tell me what happened in there? You were full of energy before getting your work, and I doubt the workload has spooked you.”

“Nothing I’m not used to.”

“Ah, Valerie troubles.” Weiss glanced over and saw Nick glare at his own reflection. Looks like she was right on the money. “Take it from me, I’m sure whatever happened had more to do with her own personal feelings and not the feelings you have for her.”

“You say that with such confidence.”

“I was a teenage girl once too, you know? One with plenty of personal hurdles I tried to associate with other people instead of myself. It doesn’t ever really stop truthfully. You just get better at accepting the fact the problems fix itself when you decide to change how to respond to it.”

“Do you think I have a problem I should change? Loving a girl who pushes me away, it probably makes me look like a joke.” He tried rolling down the window again but found the switch had been locked. Yet another thing to make him sad.

“I think it’s not the wisest thing you’ve done, but it’s definitely the most normal teenage thing about you. Joke or not, feelings are feelings. They’ll work themselves out. Just don’t force anything and before you know it, you’ll see things a lot clearer.” Weiss reached over and ruffled his shaggy hair. “Who knows, maybe you’ll see this dew of yours needs to finally change.”

“As if!” Nick laughed, “I look too much like uncle if I cut it, and any longer makes me look like dad.”

“Not if you style it. Oh, or grow it out even longer. Like when you’re little! “Weiss cooed, “You and Summer were really hard to tell apart then.”

“Yeah, and people kept calling me ‘she’ and stuff. Nooooo thank you!” He folded his arms in protest.

“That won’t happen now that you got your father’s looks. You’ll just be a pretty boy. Then if you get facial hair!? Nick, let me make you gorgeous! I have Coco on speed dial!”

“This is why you had a boy and a girl, mom! So I can escape this torture.”

Weiss pouted, “Summer likes doing her own makeup and hair. I should be proud considering it’s my old look from waaaaay back, but I still wanna change things up. I’d give this entire family a makeover if you all weren’t so whiny about it.” Weiss looked in the mirror at neck length hair. She remembered how free she felt the first time she cut it. Having twins meant twice the hair pulling, three times if she counted the one person she wanted to pull her hair. Thinking back, there was a good chance it was one of times Jaune pulled it that gave way to the discussion of kids in the first place.

“Hmmm, maybe I should grow my hair out. I miss the old length sometimes.”

“Summer would be so upset.”

“Good, then she’ll change it. That’s one family member down.”

Nick playfully rolled his eyes. A makeover didn’t sound too annoying actually. Maybe after the tournament? He’d think about it. “Hey, mind if we train again today? I got a lot of pent up energy and new ideas.”

“I suppose. Someone has to make sure you don’t overdo it. Winter is coming over too, so it’s for the best I warm you up anyways. I’m positive after your recent school events that she has a few words for you.”

Nick gulped, knowing he was in for a workout. “Well now…guess I’m dying today.” He could already feel his muscles ache.

xxxx

Meanwhile in the woods, Summer and Veronica had crossed into unfamiliar territory, casual conversation. It wasn’t going well. They both agreed to chat but neither of them were actually talking! They were just walking with Veronica taking the lead, leaving Summer awkwardly following a few steps behind.

The girl had finally pulled herself together after her little episode. In truth, she was a little embarrassed to say anything after it. She hated looking weak, especially in front of Veronica, a girl who manages to look strong against even the harshest of critics and peers. It was quite envious, her attitude. Summer would give just about anything to have it. Summer looked down at her scroll for what must’ve been the tenth time. Still no missed messages.

“Expecting a call?” Veronica finally said, noticing the Schnee’s gaze consistently drifting. “Got a boyfriend or something I don’t know about?”

Summer felt like that might’ve been a jab but chose to ignore it. “Nick always calls me if Shiva gets out or nearly escapes. He’s always had a sixth sense for knowing her moves. It’s unlike him to not immediately call, even if he’s doing something urgent.” Summer put her scroll away. “Him not calling is odd.”

“Are you telling me she almost got out earlier? I didn’t really smell anything.” Veronica looked back to see the girl look at her confused. A fitting look honestly. “The one time Shiva was out and even when we argued yesterday, I smelled peppermint, a disgusting amount of it. The diamond dust smells the same.” Veronica pointed to her nose, “I didn’t smell that earlier.”

“Oh.” was all Summer could say. It should’ve been a relief, but it wasn’t. “Great, my panic attack was just unhinged. Even when she’s quiet, she’s ruining my day.”

“Are you saying Shiva tries escaping when you’re hysterical?”

“Apparently not, or at least not all the time? Agh, it’s impossible for me to tell.” Summer was even more perplexed than before. “Just when have I been talking to her? They’re not all fake, but...they’re not all real either? I can’t afford not knowing the” Her train of thought was broken when a snowball thrown by Veronica hit her coat. “Hey! Wh-”

Veronica quickly covered Summer’s mouth. “Shhh! Grimm.” She pointed several yards into the distance where two sabertooth grimm were roaming. “Alright, do your thing.”

Summer looked at the grimm, then back at Veronica, who gave a casual thumbs up. “Wait, you’re not helping?”

“Nope.”

“Whhhhyyyyyy exactly?” Summer questioned.

Veronica sighed, because one of the reasons I wanted to be out here is to better see you in action. Why else would I tell you to bring your blade?”

“You lead me here under the assumption of a fight…” Summer deadpanned, “Couldn’t you have looked up old videos of me? I didn’t see you drag Nick off to fight grimm so you can make his outfit.”

“Nick has double the videos of him fighting, as well as him figure skating. Also, I pay more attention to him than I do you.” It might’ve been rude, but it was the honest truth. Summer didn’t even seem surprised. She just looked at Veronica with judgment. “What?”

“Nothing, much.” Summer drew her blade and put a glyph at her feet. “Any requests for data purposes?” She could not believe this was happening.

“Just handle them how you would normally, oh huntress in training.” Veronica teased lightly.

Summer pointed her sword out with her right hand and her right foot forward, then took off. The distance between her and grimm was closed in a matter second. She leaped over one, slicing it’s head off through the back of its neck. Another glyph formed midair behind her. Summer used it to kick off right after the attack and thrust her blade through the second grimm’s eye socket. Not even a snarl was heard before it died instantly.

Summer looked back at Veronica. “Cake walk. You’d get more data out of a video than th-”

“BEHIND YOU!” Veronica shouted.

Summer looked over her shoulder to see a third one already pouncing. With a subtle breath, Summer slowed its approach and then back stepped to safety. One more glyph was put under the paws of the beast and pulled out like a rug to trip it. Summer spun the chamber of her Myrtenaster and threw into its ribs like a javelin. The chamber landed on flame dust, setting it ablaze.

“Phew! That was...unexpected.” Summer said, coming down from a surge of adrenaline.

Veronica ran over to Summer, surprised. “How did you do that, the breath thing?” Veronica asked, “That’s a trick I’ve never seen.”

“ Oh that? Well…” Summer took her left glove off and focused. Little snowflakes started floating upward from it in place like a snow globe. “I’m not too good at it, but I can control a bit of Shiva’s powers. Only when I’m cold though, or freaked out, but that second one is more involuntary.” Summer put back on her glove, “considering the potential risks and conditions, I don’t use it in fights. Explaining it to officials would be a pain anyways.”

That made sense. Veronica could smell a hint of peppermint coming off Summer. That was Shiva’s power alright. This also explained the mass amount of ice she saw Summer create in her video fighting the Paladin. “Permission to touch you?” Veronica asked, like she always did. Summer nodded. Veronica reaches out and places two fingers against the pulse in Summer’s neck. “Any other Shiva related tidbits to share?”

“Ummm, we share a subconscious, sort of? More like a neutral ground.”

Veronica paused momentarily, “what?” She said, annoyed by all this cookie cutter information. “Gonna need more tidbits?”

“It’s hard to explain. I don’t understand it either.” Veronica looked at Summer, unblinking. Apparently that wasn’t a good enough answer. “Look, imagine something like...an ocean, just water and the sky above. Now flip it upside and make that ocean completely frozen. That’s more or less what the subconscious looks like. There’s ground to stand on, but I can’t really see. Depending if I’m actually dreaming or in a certain place, then that’s what the subconscious can look like. The only constant is that ice ceiling.”

Every sentence from this girl felt like a fever dream to Veronica. “Summer, I doubt you're lying to me, but do you by any chance also do drugs? You know, the hard kind.”

“As if!” Summer swatted Veronica’s hand off her neck. “First of all, drugs and I don’t mix. Second, be serious!”

“It was a valid question. Rich kids do a lot of things. If Nick told me he tried it before I wouldn’t be surprised. Saddened, but not surprised.”

“While I would be hounded by you no doubt?”

Veronica crossed her arms, “I’d berate anyone who would do drugs.” Her tone was stern and cutthroat, “It’s an ugly slope that goes down fast.”

The way she spoke about it was rather serious compared to what Summer was used to. “Have...you done drugs?” Summer asked cautiously.

Veronica thought about her answer carefully for a moment. “For a brief time, yes. I’m past it however, totally clean. I thought it might help control my instincts.” Veronica slouched over with a sigh, “Unfortunately, noooo dice. Come on. Let’s keep moving.” Veronica continued to walk.

Summer stood quietly for a moment, then followed as well. She wasn’t expecting to get to the topic of Veronica’s genetics in such a personal way. Then again, someone’s very birth is nothing but personal. Curiosity began to get the better of her. They did make a deal after all.

“V-Veronica…?” Summer stuttered, “I held up my end of the bargain. The only other thing that may be worth mentioning is Shiva only knows what I know when she tries escaping, and I only know what she does if I’m conscious. Other than that I think all the dribble about the state of mind would make you snore. So…..”

Veronica could tell where this was going. “Relax, I’m not about to break a deal that I proposed in the first place.”

She reached for a nearby branch and plucked a silver flower off of it. It’s five petals were spread wide Veronica placed it in her own hair. “I take it that even your school isn’t bold enough to ignore basic faunus knowledge and history, despite their…questionable place in said history?”

Summer nodded, “Hey, Atlas isn’t the kind of place to bury the leads. Older society and its people simply do what they want, how they want.” Summer cringed, “Not that doing so is exactly better in the long run. Besides, you think rich tycoons wouldn’t tell their heirs and shady dealers how they amassed their fortune? Atlas’s people might know too well the benefits and contributions the faunus play in our history and in a work capacity.” Summer felt sick saying that. “It’s disgusting really.”

“Couldn’t agree more. With all that said, how much do you wanna bet there’s aspects glossed over?” Veronica wagered.

“I could’ve sworn you made it clear that you have no interest in money?” Summer quipped.

Veronica let out a humorous breath, “Tah, a girl can change her mind can’t she?” Veronica watched Summer reach in her pocket and pull out a hundred lien casually, giving it up. Veronica was surprised. “We didn’t even make the bet yet.”

“If I knew everything, then I wouldn’t be curious about this in the first place. Odds of you teaching me something new about your people is a given.”

Maybe it was the fact that Summer was made of money, or had good intentions for learning more, but Veronica couldn’t take the money. She could only waved it away. “Geez it was a joke. Making you pay would look bad.” She said, in a forest with nobody but themselves around. “Qualities Like night vision and other adaptations aren’t the only animals traits given. It’s fundamentally built into everything about us. Disposition, personality traits, social skills, everything; the animal you are influences all of these in a variety of ways in varying amounts.”

“Like how faunus with nocturnal animal traits tend to take night jobs?”

“Veronica nodded, “Yes. A bird faunus might choose a home at high elevations, even if they don’t have wings. A deer or rabbit faunus may have to work harder at public speaking than let’s say a wolf faunus. The subtles can get even tinier; or as obvious as a feline faunus loving fish.”

Summer never really thought about it, but that made sense.“What you’re basically telling me is for a faunus, nature vs nurture takes on an entirely different level of complexity? Nothing stops a rabbit faunus from being a motivational speaker, but it would be more work, unless their parents or even their environment had predisposed them to be apart of a more vocal and outgoing lifestyle?” Summer’s eyes lit up. “That’s actually really fascinating, sowhere do you fit in with all of this?” She asked, wanting to learn more.

Veronica was taken off gaurd by how interested Summer was. “For a person who apparently hates school as much as I do, you look eager to learn.”

“School sucks because of social pressure and redundant information.” Summer deadpanned, “Anyone would get bored of learning material that is forced upon them and is as quickly discarded.”

“Well, I guess that’s true. I wouldn’t say I’m in love with any aspect of school, but learning is the least problematic part of what I had to think about it. Anyways, what I’ve told you so far applies to all faunus. With the way the world is and all the kinds of possible traits, finding a place to fit in isn’t difficult. Those animal instincts are very much submissive compared and don’t hinder our ability. Like you said, a rabbit faunus can do public speaking. A bat faunus can absolutely walk around in broad daylight. However, there’s a minority among faunus that have their animal gene act way more dominant than the majority. Roughly 13 to around 18 percent of the faunus population, if I remember correctly. This group, my group, are easily recognized by having exaggerated or extra features. Extra large wings, skin more animal than human, cold blood-”

“Ears and a tail?” Summer interjected, “appearance wise, you seem to have gotten off easy. You covered in fur or having whiskers would be a little distracting. Not gonna lie.”

“Externally, I’m just a tick higher on date lists for everyone with disturbing cat girl fantasies. Make no mistake though, I’m not the average faunus. Super faunus, the minority, have their animal qualities cranked up and deformed. I can’t see in the dark, but my nose is keener than any dog I’ve encountered. All those little traits I mentioned before? They tend to manifest in my people aggressively and often. To put into perspective, I have more in common with my grandpa than I do my mom, on an animal level.”

“Wow, that’s…intense. Your grandpa roars and gets all apex predator on people when he’s pissed- oh! Wait, your temper is shit because of your genes!?”

Veronica inhaled, ignoring the insult for the sake of conversation. “To a degree, yes. I cannot pin the blame entirely on my DNA, unfortunately…” she added that last bit quietly. “Despite what people write online about my family, we aren’t just cats. We are big cats. I’m a panther for crying out loud.”

Summer squinted, “Well, seeing how you’re mostly blonde, aren’t you technically more of a jaguar or a leopar-”

“Panther.” Veronica said, this time with feeling. “I could dye my hair red and that doesn’t change my DNA, Summer.”

For her own safety, Summer wisely chose not to make a very easy pink panther joke. She thought about it, but this conversation didn’t need to fall apart for the sake of Summer wanting to be a smartass to Veronica for once. “Fair enough, continue.” She said, still thinking about the joke.

“My athletic ability is exceptional, hearing too. My tail gives me balance more than other faunus. Despite the term super, anyone with the mutation would tell you how daunting it is. The type of animal, like everything else, determines what the faunus might deal with. For me it boils down two major things that contradict each other. Problem number one, not eating enough meat.”

“What happens?”

“Same thing that happens to any starved predator. I become impulsive, irritated easily, confrontational, my senses get...sensitive, adrenaline makes me dizzy-”

“So you’re super hangry?” Summer said without thinking. She immediately tucked her lips in and accepted the “you are an idiot” look that Veronica gave her without mercy. “Why the hell did I say that?”

Veronica groaned, “Minutes ago I heard you bring up nature vs nurture for comparing and explaining what I’ve said. Now you compare things to being hangry? It’s not even about how full I am, it’s the nutritional and instinctual part of devouring meat that my brain wants. It’s no different than your body craving milk for calcium. If I’m not careful and reach my limit, I tend to lose sense of reason and even blackout into a haze of instinct. Essentially, I go feral. Your brother can tell you that it’s not a pretty thing.” Veronica frowned.

The bruises on his face that day after school started to make a little more sense. No way he’d just let Max and Darren get clean hits in! He was dealing with an enraged Veronica. It actually put a lot of things in perspective. Summer couldn’t count how many times Veronica looked like she wanted to actually claw a person’s eyes out. She might’ve actually been thinking it over! That...was a scary thought. “What’s problem number two?” There was no way it could be just as bad.

“Eating too much meat. That’s when I’m an apex.” Veronica said, giving a thousand yard stare. Summer immediately took her statement back. That sounded way more problematic. “My attitude shifts. My fuse isn’t as short as when I’m starved but let’s say I can be very...demanding. Yeah, let’s go with that.”

Summer raised a brow, skeptical of that statement. “Are you saying-”

“Better think twice before saying I’m already demanding. Neither you or Nick has seen me when I’m caught up in the euphoria of being what I am. I’d put that girl Amber to shame, and my physical prowess are even better. I’m wild in a completely different way. Filter, broken. Can’t even put that state into words. So yeah, that’s my genetic mishap in a nutshell.”

“You being a food snob and all of your diets make a lot more sense now. Why keep this to yourself for so long.”

“Simple, it’s not anybody’s business what I’m dealing with. It’s handled, and doesn’t need to be explained among faunus. Living normally isn’t hard when you know what you’re dealing with, which is why I’m shocked every resource hasn’t been poured into figuring out your problem.”

That stung a bit. “Oscar is currently crossing the sea to potentially find answers, I have you know.” Summer said defensively.

A scoff came from Veronica. “No offense, but that sounds like a waste of energy.”

“Saying no offense doesn’t make me feel less hurt.” Summer folded her arms. “How would you know? Unlike you, my affliction has no prior information to go off of, and isn’t a genetic thing at birth. Any move could be closer to the truth, or a shot in the dark. For all intended purposes, you were born and live normally like anyone else.”

“Hate to make you sound stupid, but a test tube baby isn’t normal in most circles. Two moms, remember?” Veronica said, coldly.

Summer stopped walking. For some reason, that didn’t sit right with her. “Isn’t that name...an insult?”

“Yep.” Veronica kept walking, “Keep up. I’ll leave you out here.”

Summer listened. Maybe it was her imagination, but that atmosphere between them felt like it changed again. They had both held up their end of the bargain. Now things felt cold between them like before. Summer wasn’t expecting to learn as much as she did. Many things were answered today, so why did it feel like she knew less about Veronica. Blanks were filled into a picture she never knew the true size of, and still didn’t. One of those pieces felt out of place. The piece that helped put build up to this situation in the first place.

“Veronica…?” Summer uttered, “By any chance, does any of what you told me having anything to do with the torn pages in your-” suddenly, Summer’s words were stuck in her throat. Veronica had turned around to look her dead in the eyes, coldly and without care. Summer felt herself become small and beneath Veronica yet again, inferior.

“Never bring this topic up again, got it?” Veronica had to stop herself from balling up her hands, or she’d cut them with her nail. “Got it?” She said again, doing her best not to blow a fuse.

“S..sorry. I just...thought-”

“You thought wrong.” Veronica said. She turned around and kept walking. “We’re not friends.”

Heat rose to Summer’s face. It was impossible to know if she was feeling embarrassed, upset, or anything. All she knew was for a moment, she felt tears well up before vanishing. She breathed through her nose and bit back. “Yeah, I’m well aware.”

xxxx

“Sloppy!!!” The commanding voice of Weiss’s sister cried, knocking her nephew into a bush for the tenth time today. “You’re unfocused! Surely you can do better?”

Weiss witnessed her child stumble back to his feet, hair messed up and panting. He stabbed his sword into the ground to brace himself momentarily. His aura was still high, and yet… “Winter, he’s still under the weather. Ease up.”

“This is me easing up. You simply coddle him too much. Nick is more than capable of continuing. I don’t remember going as easy on you when you asked for training all those years ago. You turned out fine.”

“I wouldn’t exactly use our relationship as a standard.” Weiss mumbled.”

Nick raised his sword quickly. He channeled a fire ball to the tip of his blade as fast as he could, but was still too slow. Winter had already rushed towards his left. He had no choice but to abandon the fire attack for a block that barely withstood his Aunt’s blade. Nick slid backwards on the stone ground.

Winter shook her head. “Once again, you waste aura and energy not because the attack was a bad choice, but because you simply cannot use your semblance fast enough.”

Winter shot off a fire ball not even a second later. She waited closely for Nick to raise his block, then used a standard glyph to propel herself forward. Her speed surpassed the fireball, and Winter was able to position her blade behind him as the flame made contact with his.

Nick looked over his shoulder at her, frustrated, but not willing to yield. He pivoted around with his blade held out to direct hers away, then put a glyph between them. By the time he did so, Nick already knew she was on the move again. “Don’t count me out!” His left hand pulled a summoned sword from the glyph. Nick swung it out to the left and around to his back while his actual blade was swung right. The weight to Winter’s attack came from back and was blocked, perfect. He leaned his body left with his blade as he felt Winter shift that direction to his opened side.

Winter could only smile as she went in to strike. Nick just played her and she knew it. Her blade still clashed with the summon weapon, leaving his right blade free to use the momentum from the lean and make a clean stab with no chance for her to block. Winter did the wise thing and jumped back, abandoning her assault. His left side was never really opened. It was bait. Both swords were used to block wherever she came from. The right one only stopped short because the left one did the job of making sure she aimed for his back by swinging outward. Winter would have either been hit or blocked if she immediately attacked left or right, and the glyph protected the front. By making her attack his back, he all but ensured she would aim left next because it was the only unguarded spot, a spot he was ready to defend and attack from simultaneously. It was this kind of quick thinking and reckless style that separated Nicholas from anyone else. Even his sister. Especially his sister. Winter loved Summer to death, but the girl was quick to panic if plans fell apart.

Normally Winter would hear him say something self-indulgent. Nope. Just a quiet stare and a fireball he had to fire off thanks to the distance between them. Still…

“Nice effort.” Winter said, knocking it away with ease. “But no. The simple fact you can summon the sword of an Arma Gigas so easily yet remain sluggish with more basic functions of your semblance is a baffling talent. If it wasn’t for your unconventional swordplay that you somehow make work, I’d say getting a gold medal would be impossible. Still might be. It only does so much.”

“Well it’s a little late to change my style now. This is what I know best.” He dropped his sword and slowly let out a breath, filled with irritation. “I know I’m lacking.”

Winter raised a brow. She looked at Weiss confused, “What’s wrong with him? The usual?”

“No. Well, yeah, but he’s been stretched thin in general recently.”

“I’m not stretched thin. I just...nothing feels like it’s enough. Training in particular. Like you said, I can make swords in my sleep. All the other things our family is supposed to be good at, I’m average!”

Winter turned off mentor mode for a moment. Clearly this is more than about training, but she’ll play along. It was time to be an aunt. “Nick, you are in a class of your own. Sixteen and this skilled by no means is average. In regards to us, your family, no one here was perfect. Nobody here is perfect. Your mother still over extends her strikes from time to time and your father definitely wasn’t a genius by any means.”

Weiss narrowed her eyes, “Hey, I’m free game but be nice to my husband. You’re right, but be nice.”

“Like me, you choose to wield two blades. Unlike me, it’s your go to stance.” Winter informed, “Our semblance works best when we have a free hand. That’s why shields aren’t a good option for us. The choice to use two blades isn't bad by normal standards. I’ve faced many foes that pressured me with similar tactics, even beat me. Though only one is real, another sword has made it harder for you to use glyphs. At least it should be, but summoning and a video of your exam says otherwise.”

Nick looked at his summoned blade in frustration. “I still don’t know what I did differently that day. I was faster and more in control than I have ever been. Not only did I actually make a gigas, but even all my other glyphs felt on par with Summer’s.”

“Remember Nick, You and Summer excel at different things.” Weiss reminded him. “Yes, her fundamentals and use of dust are better, but she has a knack for it. That’s her edge. In a fight, Summer’s wide range of dust and glyph combinations always means she’s never out of range to attack or control a fighting space. You may not have that but your speed, stamina, and reflexes make up for it. In close quarters, no one your age matches you in Atlas.”

“That merit just so happens to have made you neglect the need to sharpen your other talents. Do you know how dangerous you could be with-”

“Time dilation? Yeah, mom told me.” He interjected, “something about those other things simply don’t click in my head. Can’t even get a fireball right.”

He sat down on the ground and took another breath. “The way I fight, it isn’t like I built it to be the most versatile. My offense is my defense. The use of momentum to add power behind my strikes helps keep in moving. It’s why my stamina and speed is good, to push my body for relentless attacks.”

He didn’t say it out right, but he didn’t have to. Nick made a style that didn’t make him good against a variety of people in mind. No, Nick thought of style against Shiva. In the end, that’s the only fight that matters. Beating others with it was a way to refine it for the moment it mattered. Abandoning it was not an option. Only improving.

Winter could only look upon the boy's face and see someone who only ever has the best intentions for others slowly begin to waver. Her teenage years were long gone, but no one ever truly forgets the confusion they went through during that time. Winter walked over to her young nephew and sat in front of him, legs crossed. “Why is it always the most caring of people who can never give themselves the break they give others? Nicholas Schnee, you are a kind, hardworking young man that never doubts himself often. Much like your mother, you take hold of what you want and clench it tight.”

“Lately holding on seems to hurt more than letting go. Nothing...feels right. Not just in training either. I feel like a gap between me and everyone else has been growing, like I’m out of a very important loop. Val, Vee, even Summer.”

“This time of year gets people stressed. It’s possible every one just needs a breath. I can speak much on a gap, but I’m positive time will mend it. Despite my feelings towards the young Belladonna, it is pretty clear the two of you get along. Confide in her.”

Weiss and Nick went bugged for a moment. They both looked at each other and then back at Winter.

“Wow.” Weiss spoke, “That’s pretty big, coming from you. Anytime you see that girl, you have nothing but disappointing looks.”

“Yeah Auntie, I’m shocked.”

Winter turned a little red, “I don’t see why. I may find her a bad influence on you and your sister, but my opinion is one of many. With you, Veronica is a welcome distraction to break up your daily routine. I’ll give her that much.”

“How generous,” Nick said sarcastically. Veronica was starting to sound more like a battle tactic than a person. Though she probably wouldn’t mind if it meant spending time with him. Regardless, “I appreciate the suggestions, but my time is better spent training at the moment. If I can be half as capable as I was during my exam, then I chalk that up as good progress.”

Winter hit his head. “Fool, you’re not getting it!”

“Ow! What!? All I said was- Ow!” Weiss also hit his head, much lighter though. “Stop hitting me! I thought this was a pep talk!?”

“It is.” Winter stated, “It’s also a lesson. The way you are now, you can’t progress much further. I urge you to really think about what made that day different from now; what made your last attack against me different even. That is all the hints I will provide to him. I do hope your mother keeps quiet as well.”

“Hey! I get I’m a little...lenient with him, but I would never skip an opportunity to watch him grow. Besides, telling him wouldn’t mean he could do it any faster anyways.” Weiss teased. She could hear Nick’s ears practically buzzing.

“If that’s the case then say it!” He asked eagerly. He was given no answer. Winter and Weiss walked away from him like they didn’t peak his curiosity. He assumed training was about to resume like normal. However, it didn’t. A look of shock came to him when both of his elders faced him, blades drawn.

“What, both of you at once.” He said nervously, grabbing his sword and rising quickly to his feet. “What happened to me being under the weather, mom!?”

Weiss smiled, “Hey, you wanted fast results. Until you find the answer to your glyph problem, we’ll double down or swordsmanship. Brace yourself. I’ll hold back.”

“I will not!” Winter smiled.

Nick didn’t even get a chance to blink before the two of them came after him. He gulped, “Should’ve stayed in bed.” Nick prepared himself when suddenly, a cold chill went down his spine. Weiss and Winter immediately recognized the look of fear on his face and stopped their approach while he pulled out his scroll to call his sister. “Pick up. Come on Summer, pick up!” He muttered.

xxxx

Summer felt like an idiot. Of course nothing has changed. Why would it? A talk didn’She walked faster, out pacing Veronica.

“Hey, slow down. I haven’t told you where we’re going.” Veronica said, but Summer didn’t listen. “Hey!”

“Leave me alone! I may not come here often but I live here. I’ll find my way without you.” Summer said, grunting as she forced her way through dense branches and bushes.

“Can you not act like a child for once!?” Veronica yelled, running after her. “And stop ignoring me!” Veronica was near her wits end.

“.........”

And then she reached it. Veronica’s tail and tensed up. “Summer!” Veronica yelled again, going through the bushes. “I said stop ignoring-” the potent odor of peppermint invaded her senses out of nowhere. Veronica looked around the area, seeing nothing. Nothing, but a frozen lake, shimmering with diamond dust below the surface; and Summer standing in place, shivering.

“Summer…?” She said, concerned this time. Her words didn’t reach, not immediately. The scent wasn’t only coming from the lake. Veronica didn’t dare to move as she watched a finger point across the water. Her eyes looked in that direction to see nothing but scared trees and large rocks that had been chipped rather deep.

“A fight?” Veronica thought. She looked closer. All the markings looked to be going outward and from one spot. A spot several feet off the lake. Even with all the dust, it was clear that spot smelled the most foul. “No, an explosion.” Her attention went back to Summer. “A dust explosion.” Veronica yelled again. “Hey! Summer! Answer me, please!?” She could no longer be calm. Veronica ran to the girl screaming her name.

Summer might as well have been deaf to Veronica’s voice. All she heard was laughter. Her laughter, coming from Shiva skating on the ice.

“Hahahahaha! Oh wow! We haven’t been here in ages Summer!!!” Grinning and filled with joy, Shiva extended her hand, “Summer, come join me!” The glow of her eyes grew more dazzling, as well as her smile. “Just like before….”

[smolbeandrabbles]

Winter Night - Malcolm Bench x Reader (Vertical Limit)

Holiday Fic 2! ⛄⛄

@wltz-bby​ @happyskywhale​

Author’s Note: @mandy23b​ I know you still have to get to the end of this week to finish your finals. But Congratulations on your graduation! 🎉

I’m so proud of you - And I know I keep telling you that, but I’m just going to keep telling you!

Thank you for requesting - here’s some Malcolm for you, as a treat 😉😘

Disclaimer: Vertical Limit Not Mine / Basically a massive excuse to have 4000 words of banter / you better believe I got Tom McLaren in here / gifs and lyrics not mine

Premise: Malcolm Bench is back from K2 for winter break. You love snow, having to work in it 24/7 he does not - today you’re determined to change his mind...

Words: 4133

Warnings: swearing / sexual connotations

____

Have you seen the mistletoe? It fills the night with kisses Have you seen the bright new star? It fills your heart with wishes Have you seen the candlelight? It shines from every window Have you seen the moon above? It lights the sky in silver

Have you heard the boys all sigh When all the girls are skating? Have you heard the sweetheart's cry For all this time they're waiting?

Green is in the mistletoe And red is in the holly Silver in the stars above That shine on everybody Gold is in the candlelight and Crimson in the embers White is in the winter night That everyone remembers

Have you seen the children playing? Tiny hands are frozen! Have you seen them hurry home When suddenly it's snowing!

---

Waiting for Malcolm to return home from K2 was always painful, especially at this time of year. People liked their winter climbing getaways - but he liked to come home when it was a little too dangerous out on the mountains. He also wanted to take breaks to be with you: although wintertime was not always his favourite period to do so… because he saw snow 24/7 at work. He didn’t need to see it at home with you too. There was always the fear that it would be too dangerous for him to come back, and it wasn’t just the weather patterns there that mattered, but where you lived too. There had been plenty of times when his flights had been delayed, or he’d had to spend time in the airport overnight, because no planes were going to move under any circumstances. Luckily yesterday the plane home had at least taken off, and although the weather reports were all threatening snow storms here & the air was cold, the sky had been clear all day and not a flake had fallen yet. You prayed it would stay that way at least until you got him inside the house. But then you liked the look of the blanket of white across your front yard and the roads. Especially when it was freshly fallen and no-one had walked or driven through it yet. How it looked so crisp and sparkled in the sunshine; it always felt like you were a child again, when you used to play out in it for hours without a care in the world. Nowadays the cold got to you a little quicker, but that didn’t make it any less magical to you. As you drove to the airport, the weather again was interrupting your favourite tunes to warn of a particularly bad storm front coming. You didn’t think you’d greet Malcolm with this information - he’d probably grumble and turn right around to get on the flight back. 

 You received a text that he’d landed before you’d even reached the arrivals waiting area, which meant you wouldn’t be standing around too long for him. Bonus! But as you leant against the barrier you couldn’t help but watch everyone with their brightly coloured signs - awaiting the arrival of family and partners. You thought back to the day previous; all the girlfriends of everyone up on K2 had their own texting group and you all found it fairly cathartic to fret together (luckily that was seldom necessary) or share K2 news, or climbing photographs (at least one of you was up there every so often), or whatever you felt like really. And Tom McLaren’s girlfriend had texted you yesterday to let you know her man was back home, with a little note ‘And yours tomorrow! x’. If Tom was home then it really must have been end of season. They were due to get married soon - and their engagement often had you poking fun at Malcolm and subtly dropping hints as to when and where he was going to pop the question. Only for him to narrow his eyes at you and scoff and say “Well, I won’t be doing it like Tom fucking McLaren, that’s for sure!” You could only laugh. You had to agree though, the picture-perfect life of the Colorado Kid was not for either of you. Seeing Malcolm again always made you nervous, and you tapped your foot to a silent beat, taking controlled breaths - you supposed it was the effect of him being so far away for so long. Almost like figuring someone out all over again - as much as it was like no time had passed at all; always so giddy, like it was the first time you realised you had a crush on him. You received relentless teasing about that - probably because the Bench brothers were the two biggest idiots on K2. BUT they both had an insane amount of climbing knowledge, it made for an interesting combination; and you were definitely dating the sweeter of the two. You stood straight, on high alert, as the arrivals doors opened and Malcolm walked through, backpack slung over his shoulder. You were just going to give him a casual wave and let him walk over but his eyes scanned the crowd, looking fairly tired from his long-haul flight - and as soon as they locked on you, he lit up completely. And that cheeky little smile of his had you running - Malcolm stopped, bracing himself for your hug. “Ooof-! Geez, Y/N! Okay I get it! You’d think I’d be away for MONTHS!!!” He laughed so loud people started turning towards you but you didn’t care, you’d missed this goof like heck. And damn, that Australian accent. “Just let me miss you for 5 seconds dammit!” You pulled back with a smile, “Okay flight?” “As good as can be expected.” He checked his watch, “Annnnd that’s your five seconds, so I suppose within the hour you’ll be wanting to get me on the first plane back!” Your face burned; that was a joke one time and he’d never let you get away with it. “Weather permitting.” You placed a hand over your mouth, misremembering that you weren’t supposed to be saying anything about the snow. “Oh.” His face fell, “I knew it was all a little too good to be true.”

“Well, I suppose I should get you home before you grumble anymore…” He gasped, “You mean all that way and I don’t even get a kiss-!?” “Malcolm!” Okay, you took it back, his voice just had to be that loud, “I was getting to it!” You still had your arms around him and pulled yourself back to his lips. It was gentle and sweet and he wound his arms around you too, running a hand through your hair. Although when you pulled back you were a little shy, looking into his big brown eyes, “...Welcome home.” “Glad to be back!” He grinned, stepping out of your arms to take your hand in his, “Ah, civilisation!” You noticed the Colorado accent he put on and snorted, “Is that what you think he says when he gets home!?” “What, Mr. Fucking Perfect? Prince Charming of K2, Tom McLaren? Oh yeah.” “Well,” You shook your head and kissed him again, “I much prefer my little Australian hot mess.” There was a small smirk on his face, “Oh, you think I’m hot? I knew it!” “For sure! You can melt the snow all on your own-!” You winked, knowing he’d love that tease. “Ah, Fuckin’ have it-!” *** He was out of the car and bounding up to the front door before you’d even switched the engine off; you could do nothing but chuckle and roll your eyes. “So eager to be stuck in a house?” “Well,” Malcolm looked up at the outside for a minute, hopping from foot to foot and craning his neck, “it’s stuck in a house with you, ain’t it?!” He turned with a grin as you unlocked the front door, “I mean there’s plenty you can do stuck in a house…!” You gave him a sideways glance, “Give it a couple of days you’ll be screaming and wishing that you’re back in the great outdoors on top of a mountain.” “NOOOO-! Give it at least a week! I get to sleep in a proper bed!” “Mal, every time you come home you spend at least the first few days sleeping on the floor because you can’t get used to sleeping in a bed-!” “A’right, just pin me there-!” You blinked at him a few times as he leapt into the house, “I mean don’t tempt me, but I’m gonna need to tape your mouth shut too.” “Kinky, but I’d do it for you…!” He winked before hurtling towards the stairs and taking them in twos. You sighed, head in your hands. Why did you miss this? Maybe you’d be the one wishing he was back on a mountain… You glanced up at the ceiling - he also hadn’t noticed all the winter decor yet. But you supposed you’d give him time. You always liked theming your house for the season - not just the holiday within the season - and you always liked sending Malcolm aesthetic pictures, where he would graciously (if he was homesick) tell you that he wished he was there, and how pretty they were. Or sometimes just ask ‘what the heck is that!?’ and you’d have to put your phone down for five minutes whilst trying not to give up and throw it all away in a huff. When Malcolm trudged down the stairs slowly you noticed him looking around, although you broke the silence, “Did your brother get back okay too?” You knew Cyril was heading back to their hometown for the break. “Uh, he’s probably still in the air somewhere!” Malcolm leant around the banister, “I’m glad there’s no fake snow.” “Why have fake when you can have the real thing?” “Please no.” “Mal, I already told you the weather forecast says it’s on the way.” He pressed his lips together in his best attempt not to grimace; “Why can’t it be tropical when I get home?” “Babe, it’s wintertime, if you want a tropical vista you shoulda said and I’d have booked a vacation-!” Or he could have asked you to meet him in his native Australia, you knew it was summer there. He froze suddenly - so you knew he wasn’t listening - and when his face lit up you knew he’d spotted it; hurling himself over the banister Malcolm dropped to the floor none too gracefully - leaving you with your head in your hands one again. “My house isn’t a mountain face.” “Duly noted…” He pointed to the ceiling, “That’s mistletoe!” Yes! And mostly because he was coming home. “There’s mistletoe in here!? Come make out with me----!” You laughed as he joyfully whined the last word, and you were only too happy to walk forward into his arms, “Promise no more griping about snow?” “I’ll make no such promise.” You huffed. “Can’t blame me for trying…” He wound his arms around you and pulled you into a short sweet kiss. You were already giggling a little as you looped your hands around his neck, running them through his hair. You supposed it was just because you were giddy about him being home - getting to hold him this close again. With Malcolm’s body pressed up against yours, you were surprised his hands were staying so respectful; but there was time yet! The kiss was slow and soft, his tongue running your bottom lip gently, almost cautious about it. If you weren’t so caught up in it you would for sure have teased him about whether or not he’d forgotten how to kiss. This was your first ‘real’ intimate moment with him for months and months, and you were right, it was about getting to know each other again; even with the familiarity of this feeling. Like a jigsaw piece being put into place once more. You knew you fit right with him, you were happy to be back where you belonged. *** Inevitably his hands didn’t stay put, and you ended up laying back on your couch, his hands roaming over your body. You knew that it would be a few days before you actually slept together: you weren’t joking about him sleeping on the floor. If Malcolm slept in bed he was restless, and there was too much to get used to. Room temperature, mattress, sheets and you… sharing a bed with someone else. There’d be a lot of suggestive remarks and a bunch of almosts, like this one. Or forgetting himself for a moment over morning coffee, where he’d push you up against the kitchen counter - but you had to let Malcolm ground himself back on… well, the ground - a normal altitude - before he’d really be up for anything like that. Still, you weren’t about to lie - you kinda wanted to take that shirt off him when his hands were cupping your ass or grazing your bare skin where your own shirt had ridden up. You’d missed him a lot, and besides having him back, you had none of that other ‘normal’ stuff to get used to. You knew you had to be patient; but steamy making out on the couch was a good substitute, for sure. As you’d been doing this, the weather outside had been steadily changing; and you’d noticed the light changes in the room, but both of you had been far too absorbed in other things. However, when you paused for breath for just a second, both panting - clearly just not able to get enough of each other after months of waiting to kiss again (especially when the lingering memory of the last one was always the kiss goodbye, and hurt like hell) - you looked up to the window and immediately gasped. Flakes of snow were already falling; although not so thick yet, you could already see it settling over the grass and sidewalks… and on the road. You leapt off him, excitement rushing through you as you ran to the window. Immediately full-on child-like wonder. Malcolm stared at the snow for a minute and grimaced, hadn’t he just left enough of this? Why did it have to follow him here!? “What!? You’re kidding right!? You could be making out with me!” “Mal! Malcolm!!! Oh my gosh look-! LOOK! It’s settling!!” Snow had never lost its charm with you. It made you think of too many good memories: staying out in it and playing with your friends and family until your face was red and fingers and toes freezing, long romantic walks you had taken with past lovers, and ice-skating, you’d had skiing trips too, and some of your best snow memories truly were half way up a mountain with the Bench Brothers. But snow meant so much more: cuddling up under blankets with hot drinks and watching trashy movies - or good ones - both with family and the person you loved the most. And you loved those quieter moments with Malcolm too, even though he was so high energy. Those moments where there was nowhere to go, and nowhere to be but than with each other. You were grinning to yourself as you sprinted out of the room and up the stairs. Malcolm sighed to himself: “Oh my god- Y/N! What are you doing!?!” “Getting dressed!” You yelled back, rushing around to pull on a good coat, hat, scarf, boots and gloves. (Only because you knew Malcolm was about to lecture you on safety precautions, even when he sometimes sat out there on K2 in literally nothing.) As you finished getting ready and approached the window again the flurry was crazy - and you could barely see out of it for flakes of snow, building up nicely on the ground. That only made you even more excited, Malcolm looked from the snow to you and back. “Now before you go crazy, just remember, it may look nice but it’s a death trap!” “Malcolm. I’m not 10,000 feet up a mountain in thin air with no oxygen, will you stop lecturing me!?!” “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen! There is nothing good about that white stuff-! Even if you think it looks pretty!” That gave you pause for thought for a second - though truly only a second - had he seen bodies out there on his expeditions? Had he seen people die out there…? You shook that thought clear of your mind, now wasn’t the time to think on things like that. “- Then there’s frostbite! Hypothermia-! Heck, even a common cold is a bad thing; I don’t want you to get sick!” You reached for the door and he wedged himself between you and it, “What about when it pelts you in the face, huh!? Cold and painful! What about when your skin gets all dried and cracked and you start bleeding-!?” “Malcolm. Will you please shut up! I’m not listening…!” You yanked the door open, moving him, “You don’t have to come out, but you’re not spoiling it for me!!” By the time you had run to the end of your drive the cold air was already filling your lungs and you couldn’t help but laugh, tipping your head back to catch the snowflakes on your tongue. The neighbourhood kids were all outside now, parents on close watch, also shrieking and laughing and enjoying the first - but certainly not the last - heavy snowfall of the year. You didn’t know what Malcolm was getting at - couldn’t he just see the good side of snow, for once? You were a far cry away from what he was used to; out here everything was safe. You had a nice warm house to return to, what was his problem? Malcolm stood in the doorway, shaking his head at you and still grumbling to himself about the falling snow, before he closed it to keep the cold out and returned to the window to watch you. But as you stayed outside, admiring the scenery and greeting your neighbours, and passers-by - some of whom were asking how Malcolm was, considering they’d seen him come home (and of course you’d been talking about this day for the entire week) - you started walking up and down, and talking and laughing. Some of the kids were even throwing snowballs at you and you had no trouble joining in once or twice. That laugh was so infectious to watch, the way you lit up like that, the unbridled joy of being able to once again be stuck in a pretty winter scene and reminisce, the cold heightening the red in your cheeks. Malcolm found himself smiling and knew he was immediately done for. “Aw. Shit.” He laughed to himself, “Dammit… she’s gone and done it now…” Trudging outside and pretending that he wasn’t just so happy to see you happy, Malcolm put on his best grumpy face. You ran to him, but couldn’t help laughing at the fact he was dressed like he was about to attempt a summit climb. “Sooo it’s not all that bad huh!?” His eyes narrowed, “You’re kiddin’, I’m worried about you! Helloooo, bad things happen in the cold, weren’t you listening!?” “No. Not at all.” You gave him a teasing grin before trying to kiss that grumpy look off his face. It half worked, and Malcolm couldn’t help but grin before he tried to make himself look stoic again. You looped your arms through his as you walked slowly to the end of the drive and he also watched the kids rolling around in the snow and shrieking and having a good time. Growing up in Australia he didn’t have a lot to compare to this, but he could draw enough comparisons from other childhood memories to know what this must feel like for them. You nudged him; “See! The kids enjoy it, why can’t you!?” He pretended to grumble again, “Yeah, they’re kids. They’d hate it if they worked in it too!!” “I bet if you asked them, they’d love your job.” He laughed, “Great, they can have it and I’ll stay here with you-!” “Well, if you could be so persuaded…!” You leant into him and Malcolm turned to you with an eyebrow raised, ‘just jo-king.’ Although you caught that tiny smile lifting at the corners of his mouth as your joy bled into him. Malcolm could only admit, he was very happy to be out in the snow with you. The way the snow fell and settled on your coat, the tiny flakes in your eyelashes, and where it was melting and leaving sparkles on your skin. You were admiring the same on him; how it settled in his dark hair, and how the ones in his eyelashes were really bringing out that deep brown in his eyes, that were already getting accentuated against that white background. You looked back to the neighbourhood for a moment, glad that the cold could hide your blush. It was very cute; this winter scene just looked like one of those little painted postcards you’d often seen sold around this time of year.  

You didn’t get to admire the cold for long and almost screeched in surprise as you were hit in the face with just a little bit of snow. The cold against your skin was shocking. You spluttered as you turned back to your boyfriend; “What was that for!?” Malcolm smirked, raising his eyebrow slightly, “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you liked snow!?” You shoved him, which only made him laugh. “Not when your boyfriend is throwing it in your face like that!” “Just admit I’m right!” You swayed backwards, arms folded, look on your face set hard: “To you?! About snow!? Never!” This scrabbling around in the snow continued for a few minutes, until you were both flushed and giggling. You wiped droplets of water from your face, still not ready to concede his point about snow. He knew you weren’t going to either, rubbing the ice from his own cheeks - he was still right about it hurting as it pelted your face, though. You couldn’t help but sigh wistfully as you turned back to him, voice barely above a murmur. “I’m so happy you’re home to see this. And the good things about snow.” Malcolm’s smile almost became a knowing smirk as he hesitated for just a second: “Yeah yeah, what do you really want?” With the snow falling around him like that and the little look on his face, now his cheeks were flushing too you couldn’t help but take the tiny step to kiss him once more. He was only too happy to reciprocate and you shuffled a little closer to his body warmth, already looking forward to getting cozy back in doors afterwards. Even if he’d probably give you some kind of ‘I told you so!’ lecture. Right now you got to kiss him in snowfall and it got to be romantic - no-one's brother yelling at you to get a room, or other idiots at camp wolf-whistling at you (or getting emotional at not having their other halves right there. Which Malcolm said he never did, but how were you to know. You bet he did, secretly.) You just got to kiss him and enjoy the moment, and the soft snowfall. Suddenly you realised that Malcolm had snaked his hands under your coat and your shirt and he didn’t have gloves, AND he’d just been throwing snow around. And you shrieked as his freezing fingers touched your warm skin. “MAL! NO!” But it was too late, he grabbed you, laughing, putting his cold hands on every bit of skin he could possibly reach. You were screaming at him, but also howling with laughter as you tried to wiggle from his grip. “OH GOD! STOP!” You wouldn’t be surprised if the whole neighbourhood was watching you now and shaking their heads, muttering ‘crazy kids’. “Only if you admit snow is bad-!” “Shut up, you are so enjoying this!”

He dropped you back to the floor, chuckling, before he cleared his throat and folded his arms. “A’right. I concede. Probably about as appreciative of snow now than I’ve been in years.” Your face lit up again and you opened your mouth, taking a deep breath for your loud ‘I KNEW IT’ but he held his hand up to stop you, “But only because you’re here.” You immediately deflated, and knew you couldn’t fight him saying something so sweet, instead you punched his arm, “You sap.” Malcolm’s face became unnaturally serious; “You best be careful, Y/N, my hands are still cold!” “NO!” You were screaming again as he grabbed you, but this time he simply lifted you up into his arms, “You drop me in the snow, Malcolm, I swear to god.” “Pretty sure you wouldn’t have a problem with that-!” He grinned; but you weren’t about to let him win twice. Instead you looped your arms around his neck once more touching your nose to his. “Ah-! Now you’re cold-!” But he reciprocated. “I best think about getting you in doors.” “Just shut up about how bad the snow is, and kiss me already!” “Aw, the snow isn’t that bad… really… If I get to share the infectious joy of it with you. And maybe get you warm every so often.” Malcolm grinned, with a cheeky wink, before once more obliging you with a sweet kiss. Oh, you were so glad to have him home.

---

Thank you for requesting!! Thank you so much for reading! 😘😘

[ben10daily]

happy gwevin week! here’s the first of my fic offerings, for the prompt of the day: crash. big thanks to @brooken-gwevin-weeks for organising the event!

title: hearts on fire words: 1,246 summary: the tennyson family on ice, featuring kevin. loosely reboot-verse.

Gwen tied the laces of her skates into a tight bunny-eared knot, exhaling a small puff of vapour into the cold air as she hopped up off the bench. Before her lay the only skating rink in Bellwood, an oval sheet of ice that would span a line-up of maybe thirty people, at a push. Today, though, only a scattered few were making slow loops around the rink, most of them in couples or families of three.

A small part of Gwen had really believed Grandpa might disappear at the end of summer break. He was, after all, a grey-haired mirage of a man who had slipped in and out of their lives for as long as she could remember. Grandpa belonged to a world wholly separate from theirs, one with aliens, monsters, and portals into other dimensions. Scary ones. Meanwhile, she and Ben had school five days a week, and homework on the weekends.

But Grandpa hadn’t vanished. Or, at least, he always re-materialized every Wednesday afternoon, just in time for the final school bell, and waited patiently in the school parking lot with the old Rustbucket taking up at least three spaces by itself. Sometimes they went for smoothies, and sometimes they chased ten-armed aliens out of their little town.

Today, with Winter break not far on the horizon, they were trying something different.

“Why does it have to be so slippery?” Ben complained from the edge of the rink. Grandpa had been leading him by both hands for a while, keeping him upright with some real effort, but Ben quickly grew too embarrassed that someone they knew might wander by and laugh at him.

So, with very little persuasion, Grandpa had gladly retired to the diner by the entrance to watch (and eat a party-platter of sandwiches), leaving Ben clinging to the waist-high wooden barrier by himself, legs quaking like a baby deer learning to walk.

Gwen smirked at him. “Maybe you should turn into an alien with better balance, dweeb.”

When Ben’s face immediately perked up in consideration, she shook her head, trekking across the rubber guard mats to meet him at the wall. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Hey, this place could use a little action,” Ben said defensively.

Together, they watched the couples passing by, all of them bundled up in thick coats while they held hands under the beaming overhead lights. Holding each other up, laughing at each other’s stumbles, arcing around each bend in easy tandem.

“Ugh.” Ben jabbed a finger to his mouth in a theatrical gag. “I’m so out of here.”

He pulled himself along the wall with painstaking slowness, and Gwen watched as he clumsily manoeuvred around the resting skaters in his way. Totally oblivious to the fact that he was skating in the wrong direction.

She smiled after him for a while, almost fond but mostly exasperated, before she found an opening in the barrier and pushed herself smoothly out onto the ice. Weaving into the stream of skaters as they banked around felt as natural as breathing; Gwen had been coming to rink with her parents,  around this same time every year, since she could walk upright by herself.

It was freeing to glide with every kick, as close to flying as she could get without her spell book in hand. Her legs held steady, bent at the knee to keep her body leveraged as she rotated.

Gwen closed her eyes, just for a second, as the wind whipped locks of short red hair across her face, and crashed into a body only slightly larger than her own.

Immediately, her legs flailed out from under her, and Gwen had a brief two seconds to yelp and grab a handful of the other person’s jacket before they both tumbled sideways onto the rink.

“Ouch,” she mumbled, shuffling onto her knees and shivering when the ice seeped through her jeans.

“Watch where you’re going, stupid!”

Gwen definitely knew that voice from somewhere.

Kevin Levin was staring at her from the ground less than a foot away, pushing long black hair away from his reddening face as he blustered. “Wha-what’re you doing here?”

“You’re skating the wrong way.” Gwen lifted herself up off the ice and he did the same, facing her. “And I should be asking you that question. Are you stalking Ben now?”

“I got better things to do that chase your loser cousin around,” Kevin said, scowling. He pulled the hood of his padded black jacket up over his head and seemed determined to avoid eye contact with her for some reason.

Gwen leaned forward, curious. “Then… why come here, today of all days?”

“I just wanted to skate, okay?”

That seemed genuine, at least. Kevin was the kind of kid who just did whatever he wanted, when and how he wanted to do it. Impulsive was probably the word. Maybe a little stupid. He and Ben really did have a lot in common.

“Okay.”

He finally glanced at her, catching the amused look on her face before immediately casting his eyes away again. His cheeks still carried a pink hue, but that might have been the cold. “See, I’m pretty good at it. Probably better than Tennyson.” He paused. “The other Tennyson.”

Gwen looked around and spotted Ben grappling with a disgruntled couple on the far side of the rink, yanking at the man’s long beard in a panicked flail.

“Well, that’s not saying much.”

“I could show you some moves,” Kevin said, and his voice sounded a little loud, pitched a little higher than usual. “If you want, I mean. I guess I have time.”

That, she had to see. “Oh, sure. I’d love to see what you can do, Kevin.”

His shoulders jerked a little when she said his name, and he turned his back to her, posturing with both hands on his hips. Around them, people swerved to avoid his wide stance with annoyed looks. He was still facing the wrong way.

“Watch and learn, rookie.”

Kevin’s right foot wheeled out, scraping the ice loudly, and he crouched low, head bent forward like he was about to take off in a dead sprint. Gwen clasped her hands behind her back and watched, patiently, as Kevin spun and tripped over his own feet to land face-first on the ice.

Swing and a miss.

The laugh burst out of her throat before she could help it, and Kevin rolled onto his back with a pained groan. She skated over and hunched down at his side, extending a hand out to him in offering.

His face was the colour of Grandpa’s famous chili now, hot red from humiliation and where his cheek had imprinted on the floor. After a moment of hesitant staring at Gwen’s expression, as though expecting her to scoff and draw her hand back at the last second, Kevin reached out and let her pull him up.

“I don’t think the skates here are advanced enough for that move,” she said, just to save him a little dignity.

“Y-yeah. That’s what it is.”

They both looked down at where their hands were still grasped together. Gwen felt his fingers freeze up in realisation, but he didn’t pull away. Kevin’s bare hand was freezing cold; he didn’t have any gloves of his own.

She squeezed his palm in hers and pulled him forward along the ice, this time in the right direction. “Let’s just take it slow for a while.”

[denotday]

Maybel Rhodes: Protectress

Itchy arms. My armbumps bumps take over life and chew my head off like a black mother. Even the sleeves of this sweater craddle these potholes as an english muffin craddles butter. But I'm more than my bumps and I'd make a quip on Fergie, but I'm no Joan Rivers. I'm small, meager. At eighteen, trying to find myself, live my own life. Typical teen drama, boring narrative, sob story. bored already. But know what isn't boring? I like strawberry shortcake and cheeseless pizzas. I have hopes of becoming a journalist and actually leading a career as moreof a Clark Kent than a Mary Jane or whatever the fuck that bitch's name is. Mary Anne? That used to be the name of one of my teachers. Going off; just thinking these thoughts while skateboarding to highschool.

Stay on the sides, away from cars, on the sidewalk, not too close to the white kids. White kids mean white mess, white messes mean cops who sweep the streets and take all the black kids with them in the process. I'm not a racist, just a black kid trying to stay alive in white america. Thank god I'm a weak bitch, one who cries for black men, one who doesn't face real issues like projected aggression. I'm a butterfly, something that men swat away and don't care about until MeToo movements. Gotta be careful but not too careful, kind but not too kind, firm but not a bitch, bitch but not a faggot. faggots suck.

No one thinks to ask these questions, here this thoughts. They see a black woman, better yet, a black female child. Worse thing to live in a ghetto. Sike; I say that I'm black and in a ghetto and get sob points. Fucking racist. I'm skating to one of those Fresh Prince schools. Didn't move on up, I'm simply moving; parents are mid class well grounded and guess what? My parents are still together. Probably breaking up soon but still breaking barriors of broke baby daddies and black slutty whore mothers who don't believe in abortion.

That's humor in of itself. A black kid skates into a white neighborhood with white sidewalks and doesn't have a nigger daddy and nigger mommy. What can be said by those PTA suburban soccer moms who want to demonise me and my own? Or am I palatable and a token black?

Making good grades, going to class on time. Only thing is, I don't have any friends to call. Even if I had one of those top quality iPhone 411s, I still wouldn't want to burden myself with filling up those high-techy contact lists. It's all bullshit after all, just capitalistic bilge. Something to fill the void without actually trying to let the public know that the void they're filling chalks up to capitalism. But again, those little tangents? "What does this have to do with having friends?" Everything. I don't give a shit, I accept shit. I tell things like it is, speak with lisps or change it up by sounding like an oxford professor.Not going to just abandon stream of consciousness 'cause class just started. This aint sims 4 and life ain't something that can be controlled; sped up or slowed down for the sake of an other's pleasure. I'm learning about shit that I'll never use like economics. That's shit that the government gives the state to teach, a little but not enough for highschoolers to overwhelm the system and decide "fuck student loans".

Not too bad here, though. Not all just "fuck hyschool" and teenaged angst. I go to the library, read books, go on my computer, listening to some Biggie and MFDoom and Tribe. Guess I am a nigger. Nigger-me and my nigger music. Even tththough it's they inspiration for they cracker music. Hate on us enough to keep us down but keep us up enough to steal from us. Today I'm reading some teen dystopian fantasy novel that I don't feel inclined to share with you guys. And no, it's not Hunger Games. It's Gunger Hames, the cousin of the franchise. Whoops just gave ya'll the name sorry. Either way I'm into that. Idea of a not-so-distant-future; humans making mistakes that fuck up the planet---disregarding that fact long enough so that the white main character can get it on with someone from the other side. Modern day Romeo and Juliett.

End of lunch, going back to class. It's back to back all day; boring teen shit that nobody cares about. Raising hands, answering questions, not understanding anything by the end of the day. Getting by is my motto. Long enough to get an A in the class and be on those ivy league watchlists. Even if I have to bust my ass to pay for student loans. Leaving highschool after all that non-work---no friends to lie to, no one to walk with, just me and my skateboard. These white paths not dirtied by brown except for my dirt body moving at the speed that a skateboard will go. Shift right here and there. Move away from rocks so that I don't fall headfirst. It's good shit. Here and there there are stone pebbles, blunts from---ironically enough--- the white kids and sharp object that I can't identify. FUCK. I don't have time to move around it and I can't just run offf. My leg'll get cut by it. Gotta just build up enough speed to roll over. Rolling...rolling...here it comes. Crouch down, focus, focus, pump speed anddddd....it stops my speed and loosens one of my bearings. Now I gotta walk the rest of the way back to my white little house with a white picket fence. Man screw--haha pun---this object. I have to use my 20/20 vision to find some small silver bolt that'll practically blend in with this bright ass sidewalk. Fuck white America.

In a little patch of weeds growing like black fists raising in the air I see the bolt and the responsible party for tossing me off the board. I raise my foot to crush this sonnofabiscuit like a bug so that some white kid's bike tire doesn't get licked---mind you this should be considered community service---and I figure that I won't ruin my rubber soles on the glass, so I'll just pick it up and toss it into the sewer. I put the bolt in my sweatpants pocket to keep it safe. I bend over again to peer at the crack in the sidewalk that I'll punt to the other side of the street where the other half of the street lives. It has tribal markings on it and must be, gasp, an ancient arcane ruin that'll give me superpowers. Kidding, you dumb bitch. "Why am I talking to myself this way? Jeez, some self-improvement classes would be nice". It's a bracelet made of some sort of beads. Kindof pretty but caked up with dirt and sand like no-one's business. I'm no Rocket Racoon so I just leave it. Even if I felt that it was interesting enough, I'd have to clean it off and disinfect it. It would just ruin the material underneath. Hm. Hm. Hm. Hm. Hm. Hm. Lemme stop; for real, in this white bread neighborhood, I might be able to get it appraised and pawn it off for some money or at the very least, see if it's worth keeping. I know; "this is the start of every horror movie", every tv show. I get it, but I'll cleanse the jewelry before wearing it. It's fine. It's fine. Hope it's fine. Jeez.

I put the bracelet in my other pocket away from the bolt and walk back home. The soles of my feet hit the white pavement and my feet move in the fashion of jubillee ferris wheels. Slowly rise in a circle, fall in perfect arch. Walking is divine poetry in of itself. Not too long now. A little further. Feels like the day is stretching. Still light outside and the summer-brink of fall--air is warming my rectum. "Oh god, what's with gays and their rectums". You know your g-spot is in your ass, men. It feels good for us too you know. Nice coolness for the butthole----rectum is for men, butthole is for women. I think. See? Not a Cliff Huxtable type; don't know everything. Not an Urkle. Conversations with myself like this are truly golden (ponyboy).

Fondle the silver piece, twist it in lock, get somewhere new. Novel design, simple concept. My rubber soles give me cat-walking abilities and I edge up the stairs. Hear shuffling downstairs in the kitchen. But the smell of musky forest wood with a hint of olive tells me that it's just my father. I'd announce my presence but this isn't a sitcom and I have a phone that I can use to text. Who talks nowadays?

On the table near the keyrack, I scoop into my pockets in search of the goods. The warm cotton touches the cool silver bolt. Set it aside to attach it to the skateboard later. "Why not now?" That'll be a problem for me to solve tomorrow. "Procrastination isn't good" Yeah I know. I've read the same 1990's health pamphlet that the health teachers give out. I hug my side to reach around for the other pocket. Same warmth, same feeling of comfort except...it's a new sensation. Hollow and porous. It's either bone carved into beads or plastic. Hope to...Well, not God, maybe I hope to goodness? Goodness? What am I? A preacher? Maybe that's why I like 16 year old boys. Anyway. It's too white over here for it to be bone. Unless it's some cracker who brought over some hoodoo shit and dropped it somewere. Great. Gonna burn some incense to cleanse it. Then gonna toss it somewhere so that it can't hurt anyone. Wait. It doesn't FEEL menacing. No darkness, no coldness, there's a comfort to be had. I don't see any visible engravings, no bite marks no arcane symbols. It may be safe. Just to be sure, I'm keeping it downstairs for it to curse someone else in the house. I rise up the stairs into the wide landing. Step, rise, step, rise, step, rise. Before I get to the top, I feel funny. Not sick funny or CURSED funny, but someone-is-in-my-presence funny. Strech my neck to look over my shoulder. Not too far to show interest but far enough to see what's going on---it's my dad handling the bracelet.

I whip my body around and I suppose this gives him a start.

"Hey, just got back from school. I'm pretty tired which is why I didn't want to talk. Found that bracelet in the sidewalk cracks before my skateboard broke. I wouldn't touch it if I were you. Don't know if it's cursed or not."

"Cursed? Bee, this is a genuine Sudanese artifact."

"Huh? When'd you turn into a archeologist? Or are you just nerding out about a 'special interest'"

"Har har. Nothing like that. This area used to be an auction town for slaves shipped from Sudan. Martinsville, Pennsylvania wasn't necessarily known for it's 'clean hands' you know. Gentrification made the area look nicer but its history is still pretty shit-covered."

"Ah, I remember now. I heard about this in history class" No I haven't. I don't even have history. Just want to stop talking to him about some dumb bracelet. "Can it sell for big bucks at a pawnshop?"

"I mean, sure if you'd like to get rid of it. Better to give it to the local museum though! It looks to me like it's made out of elephant tusks. Pretty well preserved too! The wearer must've been some warrior. They only wear these types of jewelry if they're the village's protectors. That's what I've read online anyway. You know how the interweb is though. Could be false."

"Oh wow. Ivory? That's a pretty dirty trade. Don't want to give something like that up to white people who continue to promote the trade. This'll just make the ivory market worse. I may keep it; I just wonder if it's cursed or something. I'll ask a local witchcraft practitioner to check it out tomorrow. Can I have thirty bucks for an appraisal along with an after-school snack?"

"Thirty? What're you going to buy? A salmon dinner with asparagus and steak? I'm not giving you Carabbas money. I can do 18. Enough for some street food."

"Not enough for the appraisal!"

"I'm sure the person will be able to work something out for you. You look twelve. You can play the 'Uwu I'm a baby who has no money, please help me out adult!' card. Or, how about this: pretend to be doing a research project for school on Sudanese slaves in the area. Just act like the school lent you the bracelet for the project"

"So lie?"

"I call it embellishment."

"I see"

I reached into his calloused palm and stole its contents, As a thief, I ran upstairs away from the site of the crime, away from the demons that lurked beneath the stairs. That's customary practice when going up stairs, right? To haul ass like there's no tomorrow like we're that black chick from Scary Movie? Sounds about right. I heaved and ho'd swinging my body back and forth up the stairs. Snaking my way into my room where I burrow for my after-school nap. That's what I tell my parents anyway. What I really do is blaze up in my room and turn on the fan. Gotta keep the smoke minimal. "Such a typical teen". Yeah, whatever. Like your generation wasn't popping ass and drinking bathtub wine when ya'll were young, Get outta here.

It's a good high. Kind where you'd listen to lofi and eat peanuts just for the fun of it. Another bong hit. Satisfying. I'm just leaning back on my sofa; it's firm and uncomfy but when I'm blazed, don't none of it matter. I could lose all of my words...give up....let....go.....

"...."

"What is this energy I'm feeling? So warm and electric. Is this love? Am I so sexually frustrated that I'm in love with a bong? Shit, I fuck with that. That's pretty words. 'I'm in love with my bong'. Such nice love. haha."

I'm hungry and it's four am. The weed has worn off. So tired man. Gotta go downstairs for some chips or something. Hungry to the max. Munchies munchies munchies for the weed monster. What a drug.

I creep down the stairs and up once more. My bare footpads cling to the hardwood and leave sweat prints in the shape of my stompers. During my ascent I leave crumbs. Have the house feeling like a Brother's Grimm story. I satisfy my snack desires as I prepare for school in the next hour.

Running water on my arms. Three passes of lotion on arms and legs. Can't be the ashy black kid that look like they an African living in a dirt house. Ain't able to help the rough patches that coat my body but I can help keep my skin moisturized.

A'ight. Got my fit got my board. Just have to screw the bolt back on and find the bracelet. Shit. Left it upstairs. I'm already late as hell. Rushing up the stairs. Search for the bracelet, find it, get out house. Objectives objectives. I spot it from afar and gravitating toward it, put it gingerly in my pocket. Kindof like someone would with a used tissue. Aren't humans gross? I mean, snot? Bacteria-filled snot? Nasty. Thoughts gone, make brain go from thinking to doing. descending now. Board in arm, door opens with the flick of the wrist and just like that, I'm outty. Deck on ground I put my best foot forward and ram it onto the hard cement to push myself forward. Sorry foot, betrayals sure do suck.

School begins, in class siting in a chair. All day, several hours. Ah, the beloved system at work. Great to know that there are adults who "work" all day by keeping kids seated in a chair. Very progressive, America. Library break? I think so. On my laptop, I pull out webpages on the pocketed---the word reminds me of 'closeted---bracelet. NOW I'm imagining a gay bracelet. hilarious. Great. Typing 'Gay Bracelet' into the search bar and am getting rainbow plastic bands. Ya know, the ones that they sell at Hot Topic during pride month.

"Damn, I'm getting sidetracked" She mutters to herself. Imagine if life were a story being told by some omnipotent force? omnipresent? Think that's the word.

With a bit of typing and a bit of focus. Swift movement of hunched fingers. All is complete, then some. Ogdle: "common of the Azande warriors were pieces to signify their status such as septum tusks, mouth disks, necklaces and other adornments. Bones and tusks were common materials of such articles."

Crazy how this history is hidden. Power was taken from us and buried so deep. We're the originals but every piece of history buried underground. Hidden, secretive Big Bad America. Tale fit for young people all over. Democracy, boo yah.

Train whistle blowing through the air. No train nearby, just the sound of a change in the block. I put it all away, sweep it into my bag. Everything is so messy, so fast. On schooldays like this, it feels hard to even take time to breathe. But I get by since the system wants me to. Think I'm going to skip. Not that the next two classes even matter in the long run. "Such a poor black baby, representing her race so poorly". Yeah yeah. Not the black chick that highschools would put on a recruiting card.

Just another push....door after door falling at my fingertips. The same once that touch the coarse sandpaper of my board. Foot on, foot off. kick once, twice, thrice, now we surf the cement. Now it's time to visit good the kind old black woman who practices witchcraft on dolls. That's what you'd think right? No, they're native and keep old customs within the community. Everyone calls them---agender--- Sage. Nonbinary native americans are actually more common than people think.

Before selling the bracelet to some old rich white drudge of society, I wanna be sure that the bracelet can be cleansed first. I mean. To give away black history to the white man? Hellll no with multiple "l's". It is a pretty long ride there, even on a board. Rumbly road. Pebbles everywhere. Thousands of little rocks acting as smaller wheels vying to fling me off. It's too much.

Mumbling of my own. "Where's gentrification when you need it?" Alright, yes I get it. It's a bad joke. Of course gentrification is bad. Blah blah. Time to pick up my skateboard I guess. Walking on this ground feels just as bad as suicide. Feaful of getting my ass flung into the afterlife. Few yards left....or at least fifty feet. Forty eight, forty five, forty-however-long.

Ended up reaching it after twenty minutes. This trip better be worth it.

"Hi there, Miss Sage. Mind checking out this bracelet for me? I need to check it for a curse or evil energy. My cheap father didn't give me enough for a full appraisal but what can you do with nine dollars?"

"For nine? Not much, doll? What was your name again? You look young, do you have an adult's approval for this?"

"Oh, right. You've got me. It's for a school project. School each student a historical object to research. I figured you'd be able to help me get an 'A' on the project, you know?"

"Your manners are lacking but you seem young, so I'll let you pass. Allow me to take a look at it, if you please?"

God. Full-fledged adults really are something else. I'm only eighteen, not eight. Guess I look younger than I am----

Sage starts burning this wood that's tied with string. Incense maybe?

"That incense?"

"It's a closed practice really, so I don't want to expose anything. But it is a form of incense that I prefer to use to cleanse the spirit of objects and areas."

"Ah, didn't mean to intrude. I'm glad that there are still practices that you keep to yourself. Nothing like the White Man stripping us of our culture."

I got a soft chuckle out of them. Glad that they're able to lighten up a bit.

"..."

"OK, so here's what I've found. There's immense energy here; the power coming off of this thing is tremendous. There's nothing negative about this piece. How'd you ever come across it, again? School, you said? Shame that you'll have to give it back. Something like this would provide a large power surge to spirituals. I'd pay a pretty penny for this."

"Mhm"

"Wonder how the school even came across this. I tell you what. Ask your school where I can find something like this and perhaps I'll give you a little something for your intel, huh?"

"Oh. Sure. I'll just--uh---"

"Right, right, right. The bracelet, I'm sorry. Really, it's more an anklet truly, but--ya know what? I'm sorry. Here ya go"

"...take it from ya. Thanks."

"No problem. Come back with more info on the anklet. That'll be your payment for my time"

Got 'caught in a lie it seems. Don't know how I'll snake my way out of this one.

"Brrrrrzzzzz"

Shit, it's five. My dad's probably looking for me.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter two:

" You skipped class? Bee, I know that you're better than this."

God moms bitch too much. Must be the nursing job coupled with her daily acting gigs that make her so aggro.

"I hear ya, mom. I just had some research to conduct after school..."

"Research? Which kind---?"

"The school kind. I don't know what else you want me to say. I'm sorry for skipping lasses. I got too overzealous and went in over my head. It won't happen again."

"Tskk. Better not. I know that I'm gone almost every hour of the day, but please give me a break, baby. Please just listen to your father and follow the rules. All I ask."

"Mhm, even though he-----you know what, nevermind. Am I dismissed? I have to write up today's school report to type"

Phew. Gonna hit the bong now to calm down from this encounter.

Fuck homework. .... ..... Mhm.

Five minutes passs. Fifteen, twenty. Maybe not minutes. hours? seconds? Time is too funny. With LEDs on, the vibe is fatallll. Still have to open a window to let out the smoke but gosh is this magical.

Mhm magic. Does it even exist? Doubt it. It's all science, right? ....

.....

Right. Like, this anklet. Not real power. Not real magic. Just something people believe in. Like God. It's all faith.

"So, theoretically, I could even put it on my person and nothing would even happen"

"And, so it begins"

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT VOICE" and why am I screaming?

Get off, get off, get off! Something's dripping on me.

"Tears, they're tears"

Oh god, I fucked up. I knew that I shouldn't have smoked that much. Knew it'd bite me in the ass one day. Now I'm fear-crying. I NEVER FEAR CRY.

It's all a dream maybe. Go to sleep, Bee. Just take a weed nap.

"Ba ba bang"

A booming voice raspy from coffee withdrawal.

"Everything OK in there Bee? You're about to be late for school."

Shit!

No time for conversation. Move it move it move it.

"'Cmon Bee. I'll drop you off at school on my way to the college".

Bookbag? Check. Board? Check.

I feel the rush of air against my cheeks as I fly out the door and jump into the getaway car. Fast, but atleast I'm not Furious. Dad and I chat it up all the way until the tires cross the smooth pavement of school grounds. Departing words are exchanged along with "I love you's" and "knock 'em deads".

That familiar sound. Principal as the school conductor. "Chooo". Just as it drones, my body moves to the steps of teens dragging their feet toward their dreaded first classes of the day. The light of morning cradles the marble arches of the school entrance until the sun starts to suck in the morning cold to blow out midday warmth.

"So, who are you, voice? What's your angle? Typing ensues. The screen watches my fleeting pupils; left, right, side, side. Wouldn't be surprised if the computer got whiplash from me. One scroll, two, three. Read a page. Nothing. Another website. Up and down; my fingers are cramped now. Nada. New Oogdle search: "Can I hear voices with weed smoking." Now I have a hit; "yes weed can have you seeing voices. Many aren't even your own. Maybe lay off the TV for a while."

"Thanks 'BouncyNina29'. Quora is one hell of a place." Guess it must've just been the drugs then. Hilarious, me hearing some voice. "Gotta lay off the bong smoking".

"Shhh!!" Some nerd in a striped beanie raised a finger to pursed lips.

Sorry, sorry....Jeez. "My bad" You know what? Maybe I can visit----

the train whistle interrupts my 11pm "ball" with myself. "Dammit". OK. Maybe I can bribe one of the delinquents behind the school to take my place in English. Teacher's not there anyway; the sub won't know the difference. Time to go pay someone off.

"..."

"Here ya go, five dollars."

"A'ight and you said what room that English class in?"

"301 B man. It's at the end of the third floor, right wing. Hard to miss and---remember---my name is Maybel Rhodes. Just fake like you're doing some work and no one will even notice that you're not me. I'm a loner, so, that'll work."

"Mhm hmm. I hear ya Maple"

"MayBEL"

"Yeah, that's what I said"

Scoff. In a smooth curvular motion, I plant my feet on the board and race to Sage's before their store closes.

As I approach, they're putting a silver key in a lock. Gah! The store closed.

"Miss Sage---"

"Gah! Don't do that!! Scaring me and sh--I mean, 'crap'. Scaring me and crap. Look kid, I'm closed right now but we open tomorrow. By then, I'll have the energy to discuss your school's anklet with you. Actually, about that. Do you have intel on where the-----"

"Yes, yes. About that, see...I lied. I didn't really get it from the school. I found it on the ground somewhere."

"'Found it on the ground somewhere' is code for 'I don't have money to pay nor do I have anything else to provide'? Am I getting warmer?"

"Look Miss Sage, I'm really sorry. Hey---look at it this way. I'm in debt to you. If you'll just help me with one teensy little thing, I'll ask my dad for some food money and will give you every cent he gives, alright?"

"Kid, that's not how an adult runs a business. Call what I gave you yesterday a 'freebie'. You're banned from the store. Good night."

Wait. "Wait" Their stride is aimed toward their silver camry. Yeah, I know a camry. Did you expect them to be riding a horse? Racist. Sage acts as though they don't hear and gets into their seat, key in ignition. One twist away before exiting the rocky parking area.

"IT SPOKE TO ME" Yup. That is how I yelled it. All caps, woke some birds up even. Just like in those Loony Toon cartoons. Is that why they're called "Loony Toons" 'cause they're loony cart----

Now they exit their car, slamming the heavy metal door. "What did you say? It...SPOKE...to you? What do you mean 'it'?"

Mhm Mhm. Just prepping my throat. "I wore it on my ankle and I heard a voice that has never existed before in the chasms----"

"Stop the theatrics"

"....Chasms of my mind. It was a male. Around your age in old-timey-ness."

"Har har."

"But it's the truth!" Why won't they believe a magical voice but insist that sage, a random plant, purifies the air?

Their chest contracts and expands in a sigh. Sage closes their eyes for a second. I could practically smell the gears turning. Need some WD-40, really. "Fine. Come by the store Saturday. That way, no one will be in to eavesdrop."

"Deal!"

"And bring actual MULA this time or else we won't have our little discussion". Crud.

"...."

"What are you thinking Sage?" No response. I paid one hundred fifty dollars for this after BEGGING both my folks (who think I'm using it to enroll in some after school sport) to slide me some cash so that I can 'better myself as an individual and actually do something with my time as well'. Lies are no good.

"Shh! Let me think, please!" Sage subverts their attention from me back onto the tarot cards laid in front of them----exactly where the bone anklet (bonklet) lay in silence

Ten minutes pass before Sage gives me the break down. "So, as I've said before. The anklet carries some heavy energy, something similar to passion and justice. Very potent stuff. That's what the spirit realm is saying, anyway. When you were---ahem--- HIGH----"

At this point I look away

"...You honed into that energy and that's why you heard the voice"

"Hm. So, how do I hone in on that energy now? Is it something I can control conscious?"

"Look, I dunno kid. Just, be safe. Meditate beforehand so that you are actually able to chime into the anklet's power source. Don't want to darken the talisman's power or anything."

"Sure, sure" I am literally out the door before Sage utters the second part of their sentence. I buzz with excitement at the opportunity and the best part is? I'm basically a super! Hoo ho. This is awesome.

There's an empty industrial facility near by Hawesome Li Cosmetics. It went bankrupt several decads ago. I'm pretty much the only one who knows about the place. Excellent ground to skate on---smooth as butter. Either way, it's empty and no harm will come to anything or anyone nearby. Any damage that I do will be to the building nearby, which no one cares about anyway. "So, it's just me and you buddy." Blunt in hand, I blaze it up. "Time for the magic to happen."

It's a slow high. The high takes as long as a flame reaching the wooden stick of an incense rod for the high to hit. Upwards of thirty minutes. So I wait. It feels like time warps. So I meditate. So I clear my thinking and reach out to the anklet.

"Mhm, Anklet, tell me who you are?"

"What?? You can hear me?"

"Yeah man. Who are you, why you speaking to me?"

"Why would I tell you? I don't even know yer name"

Tiring. It's like talking to a wall.

"Hey, I heard that!"

"Maybel. My name's Maybel. What's yours? Let's start there."

"Nat."

"Like Nat Turner? The rebel slave?"

"Don't know who that is, this 'Nat Turner'. Just knew my master gave me the name." How progressive. "So...I suspect that I'm dead."

It's not easy news. I get it. But hey, the north won. That's something, right?

"Well, I guess it is....you know, I had a name before all of this...."

"......"

"......??"

"......."

So, are you going to tell me?

"You may call me 'Asim'."

"I'll call you Ase."

Don't call me 'Ase'. Too late, Ase. Hey, how old are you anyway? 12? 11? My name is ASIM, nothing else. Fine, grumpy. ASIM. I'll call you Asim, Asim. Where'd that name come from anyway? What does it mean?

"Let's find out, shall we?"

"...It feels electric! (Boogy woogy woogy). Such power, this wade in...glory."

Are you a God?

"Blasphemy!" Then what are you? How are you able to lay such energy unto me?

Look, I don't know either, alright? But what I do know is...we're both negr---

Black. We don't say that word anymore.

"Black, then... Perhaps I'm connected with you due to our shared skin?" We stopped being related millenia ago. Millenia? Not familar with that word.

"Long, long ago. We don't share any common ancestors. It was all a lie." A lie? You don't believe in a God? I'm moreso spiritual; creation is a possibility not something I'm invested in. I believe in forces of the universe. "But not a God? So, this can't be some spiritual connection. We're too different." So perhaps a soul connection? A link between our spirits.... What else do we have in common? A slave and a black kid?

"Hatred of the white man? Wanting justice against them?"

"War. Destruction"

"Yes."

"No, I don't want that. I'd prefer peace." There may be no PEACE without WAR.

"A lie. Violence is not the answer. Kindness is."

"'Kindness' doesn't resolve problems. 'Kindness' doesn't end racism. 'KINDNESS' was the one that slept at my feet while I was lashed! "

"..."

Asim?

"..."

Andddd you're gone. Great. Well, I'm going to head back home, then. We can hang out again tomorrow. "Head back" means leave. All right, see you.

[stardusttrashed]

Dancing in the Moonlight

Based on Dancing in the Moonlight by Alt-J

A/n: y/n’s quirk is both earth and water manipulation, but she hasn’t quite got the hang of using both at the same time

You shifted your foot in the soil, digging into the dirt slightly. The soil was cool beneath your aching feet, providing a smidge of comfort. Steadying your breath you focused on the air filling your lungs. You held your breath as your arms moved into place, the limbs fluid like water. Your eyes fluttered shut as you drifted into a deep concentration. You formed a dirt wall in front of you by turning your foot and prepared your water for the next part of your attack.

“It’s almost curfew,” a familiar voice called out, breaking your concentration. The water you had been gathering with your arms splashed out of control, soaking your shift before seeping into the ground. You muttered swears to yourself as you turned around. Todoroki gave you an apologetic look, “sorry. I didn’t mean to mess up your concentration.”

You relaxed your shoulders and smiled tenderly. “You’re out late, everything alright?” You picked up your water bottle and sipped from it, maintaining eye contact. You unsuccessfully attempted to keep your eyes from drifting down his body and focus on his. But you couldn’t. As beautiful and enchanting as his heterochromia eyes were, you couldn’t help but take in the rest of him. He was in his casual clothes but seemed far from getting ready for bed. His button-up shirt hid his slim yet muscular form making him seem almost lanky. 

Todoroki’s eyes drifted down to the ground, focusing on his shoes. “Yeah. I was heading to bed and saw you out here.” That wasn’t completely the truth, but it also wasn’t a complete lie. Truth be told he had been looking around the dorm for you since you weren’t up to hanging out with everyone else. Quite frankly he missed your presence. He missed being able to look around and spot you or feel your warmth fill the room. He had excused himself from the group to go find you. 

He spotted you through a window and watched you for almost an hour before he got himself to walk over. All he could see was a silhouette in the moonlight, but he knew instantly it was you.  You were the only one he could think of with movements so graceful yet firm like bamboo in the wind. 

You watched him for another moment, waiting to see if he’d bring his eyes back up to yours. “Well… since you’re awake,” you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. Being around him filled your stomach with butterflies and made thinking clearly a troublesome task. And yet there was always a sense of familiarity with him like you’ve known him for years. You busied yourself by fixing your bun. “Feel like helping a friend out with some sparring? Won’t get better with my quirk if I don’t use it in combat situations.” 

It was nearly ten and he knew he should say no. Tell you that you both should go to bed. Or even that you shouldn’t fight out here. But he couldn’t, not with you looking at him like that. You were his kryptonite in so many ways, yet even he was oblivious to it. “Any rules?” He shrugged off his button-down shirt and walked closer.

You popped up to your tiptoes in excitement. “No holding back. And don’t get caught by Aizawa,” you shrugged as if it was simple knowledge. The smirk on his lips sent a rush down your spine. You dug your toes into the dirt, readying your defensive stance. 

Todoroki stood in front of you casually. Without any signal, he sent a rushing wave of ice along the ground. He knew you, watched you fight enough to know you weren’t one to underestimate. Even if you didn’t always have a good handle on your quirk. 

You lifted the ground beneath you, using it as a stepping stool to launch yourself onto the icy floor. You skated towards him, narrowly avoiding a blast from his flashfreeze heatwave. With a flick of your wrist, you transformed his ice into a water barrier. You swung your arms to guide the water into a rushing wall that encircled you and him. A look of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by an impressed smile. 

“When’d you learn how to do this,” Todoroki asked cooly, his smile suppressing itself into a smirk. 

“Like I’d tell,” you smirked proudly. The cool summer breeze provided a refreshing feeling and pushed your stray strands into your face. “But I did have inspiration.” You searched his eyes wondering if he’d pick up that he was your inspiration, but all you received was a blank stare. With a sigh, you flicked your finger, guiding a small burst of water towards his back as a sneak attack. 

“Try again,” he chuckled in an almost cocky manner as he froze the burst and wall. The ice block fell to the ground with a loud clatter, shattering into dozens of ice bits. “Nice try though.” The ground around your feet began to quickly freeze, trying to latch onto your feet. 

You formed a flight of stairs out of the ground as you tried to escape the lighting fast ice that engulfed everything in its path. “Is the famous Todoroki talking trash,” you teased him as you leaped off the highest step with a graceful flip. You formed a small wave to help guide you back to the ground. Before you could attempt another escape Todoroki sent ice shards towards you that froze your wave and feet along with it. 

Todorki shrugged confidently, “just an observation. Looks like I won.” He shoved his hands into his pocket and tried to turn around to go get his shirt, but his feet wouldn’t budge. He looked down with a dumbfounded expression at his buried feet. You had somehow managed to trap his feet into a dirt prison without him feeling. 

You suppressed your giggles and took advantage of his momentary guard drop, sending a wave of water towards him. You rode on the tail of the wave, watching as it soaked him, unfortunately breaking your dirt prison. “You didn’t think I’d give up that easy with you, did you,” you asked as you landed a short distance in front of him. 

He looked up at you through his drenched hair, the water dripping into his eyes slowly. “I hoped you didn’t.” You looked absolutely gorgeous under the moonlight. It was hard to admire you and fight you at the same time, but that didn’t deter him. He adored the way the two strands in your face were slowly starting to curl from a mixture of sweat and mist in the air. He loved watching this new side of you with your quirk. In class trainings you always seemed to have a hard time using both aspects of your quirk at once, but now you were doing it almost effortlessly. He began to wonder if it was all an act. If you were holding back in class to keep everyone from knowing how strong you were. 

“Hey, stop staring at me like that.” A blush crept onto your cheeks and you made the ground roll beneath him so he wouldn’t see. He stumbled backward, unable to catch himself before falling onto the ground. 

“Like what?” He turned the ground into ice and formed a wall behind you, bringing you towards him. You came in faster than he expected, crashing into him as he stood up. Todoroki wrapped a protective arm around your waist to steady the both of you. The close contact drove him crazy and all he could do was hope it did the same to you. His cheeks flushed as he looked into your eyes again. 

“Like-,” your breath became uneasy. His strong arm around your waist made your mind hazy while his tender eyes sent you into a drunken state. You couldn’t even escape his grasp with your quirk if you wanted to, it required too much concentration that you didn’t have. “Like that. You keep it up and I might have to kiss you,” you scoffed, assuming that’d help him let go of you. To your surprise, he continued to hold you. If anything he pulled you closer. 

“Can I?” His voice was no more than a whisper, his breath ghosting over your lips. He couldn’t tell if it was the summer heat that made him so warm or his embarrassment from having you so close. 

You let out a nervous laugh, “this isn’t very funny Shoto.” His unwavering expression settled your nerves slightly. He meant it. The boy you’d been crushing on since your first year really meant it. Two whole years of doubt and worry that your feelings weren’t returned. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing could find its way past your lips so you simply nodded. 

His palm cupped your cheek carefully as if you were the most delicate thing in the world. Now that he finally had the chance to make his fantasy come true he seemed to be frozen in time. He knew he had your permission, but he was still nervous out of his mind. He wanted to make sure he did it right. Make sure he wouldn’t disappoint. He allowed himself to get lost in your eyes, ingraining you into his brain. 

With a soft giggle and an eye roll, you wrapped your arms his neck, pulling him down to you. You gingerly pressed your lips against his, his wet hair resting against your forehead. Without hesitation, he pulled you flush against him and pressed his lips against yours. You took it as a sign to continue, deepening the kiss. Your heart poured itself out onto his lips, letting go of everything you held onto for years. His soft lips were warmer than you thought they’d be. 

Todoroki craved more, wanting to devour you. Your taste was even more intoxicating than you were. He would give anything to make this moment last forever, but his growing struggle to breathe said otherwise. He would gladly suffocate in your presence just to keep holding you close. 

You reluctantly broke the kiss, your breath escaping your lips in small pants. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that.” You opened your eyes to catch him admiring you once again causing you to blush. 

“Me either, but I don’t want to wait that long before we do it again.” He caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger, guiding you to look up at him. “Pardon my forwardness, but I like you- a lot.” His ocean eye lured you in closer while his fiery eye set the butterflies in your stomach ablaze. “I think I have for a while now.”

“I like you too,” you spoke softly as you swooped his hair out of his face. “And I’d really like to kiss you more often. If that’s okay with you?” The blush on his cheeks slowly crept over to his ears, making him almost as red as his hair. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Of course. I’d be honored to see more of your skills.” He looked at your smirk with a confused expression before it finally clicked. “I meant with your quirk,” he added sheepishly. “Not that I would mind seeing other things. Not- not in that sense.” He sighed in frustration as he stumbled over his words.

You cut him off with a quick kiss on his lips. “It’s fine, I’m just giving you a hard time. Come on, it’s getting late,” you slipped out of his arms, missing his warmth already. You gathered all of the water out of his clothes and hair and disbursed it into the grass. He smiled at you gratefully before picking up his shirt. 

As you both walked back to the dorms you felt his hand slip into your, holding on softly. The walk was comfortably quiet as the two of you basked in each other’s presence. You decided to take the stairs to avoid being too loud. And to give yourselves more time together before you split off to your separate rooms. 

“Good night Y/n,” Todoroki whispered as he stood in your doorway.

“More like morning,” you teased him. “It is 3 in the morning after all.”

He chuckled quietly, “I suppose it is… I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.” You chewed on your bottom lip as you tried to think of an excuse to keep him by your side longer. “Unless you want to stay,” you decided to jump out with it, immediately regretting your decision. 

Todoroki stared at you while he thought it over. Every passing second felt like an eternity and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and never come out. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

The two of you laid in your bed, limbs entangled, allowing the sound of the other’s breath to lull you to sleep. One bold move after another had made way for a new summer ritual. Every night you’d both sneak out around 10 to go fight or talk and wouldn’t return until 3 in the morning. It was something you both looked forward to. A loving constant that only made the both of you fall head over heels. Though it was never outright said, during one of those nights you had transformed from friends to something more. Night escapades merged into afternoon moments of public affection and the rest of class 1-A was here for it. Your late-night fights would slowly become a show, two silhouettes dancing in the moonlight as mist and smoke floated in the air.

[moth-and-raven]

CHAPTER EIGHT

I’m proud of myself for finding the Raven again. It’s much easier during the day, though I must’ve gotten turned around at some point because I’m approaching it from a different direction this time. Regardless, I slip in the front door and see Julian immediately, pacing the length of the bar and chatting distractedly with the bartender in Neviv.

“Reyja!” He rushes over as soon as he notices me. “Thank god!”

The bartender rolls his eyes and puts down the stein he’d been cleaning. “You’ve a strong stomach, my friend, if you can stand our Ilya’s nerves.”

“I don’t mind,” I say softly. These words are for Julian’s benefit, not his. “It’s worth it.”

Julian blushes as we’re waved out the door.

“You’re alright?” he asks once we get outside, pausing on the steps to tuck my hair behind my ear.

I take his hand and mesh our fingers. “I’m good.”

He checks the area almost automatically, but there are very few people around at this time of day. Relieved, he lets out a breath and crosses the street, keeping to the shadows despite the lack of foot traffic. “I don’t know what I expected, but I couldn’t stop imagining all these horrible things...”

“It’s okay.”

Julian laughs bashfully and raises my hand to his lips. “It’s okay,” he repeats, marvelling over the words. “Hm. I haven’t said that in a very long time.”

“Nadia told me you’ll get a trial.”

“She’s a good woman, the Countess.”

I hear the heartache in his words. “You deserve it, Julian. I mean it.”

He cups my cheek, the leather of his glove cool against my skin. “I know you do,” he says softly. “It’s, well… yes, I know you do.”

He shakes his head like he can clear the gloom that’s fallen over us and nods towards the end of the street. “I thought we could go to my favorite tea shop. Barth makes a mean drink but it’s a bit early to start downing the Bitters, even for me.”

I’ll let him change the subject for now. I don’t want to upset him. “You’re not going to believe this, but I don’t drink tea either.”

He laughs. “No coffee, no tea, no alcohol. Next you'll tell me you don't like seafood.”

"Um."

"Ha! Mazelinka will be so pleased. She's been trying to keep me kosher for years."

"Is seafood not kosher?"

"Some of it is. But I developed a fondness for lobster after I left Nevivon and shellfish is assuredly not." He points down a side-street.

We turn the corner and I smile at him, latching on to his elbow. "I'll keep all your urges in check."

"Oh, I'm sure you will. I can't wait to see how."

He's so easy to talk to. Actually, this might be flirting. Maybe I'm better at it than I thought, when I have someone so eager to volley it back. "Does the tea shop serve anything else?"

"Mm, I think they have hot cocoa. A bit unusual for summer, perhaps, but I'm sure they'll make it if we ask."

"That’s the only hot drink I like."

Julian chuckles to himself. "You know, a good friend of mine prefers hot cocoa too. I hope you’ll meet him someday."

"I hope so too." I want to meet all of his friends, learn which foods he likes and which he doesn't, hear stories from his childhood in Nevivon and his apprenticeship in Prakra. I want to know him inside and out.

I want to love him.

Maybe I already do.

We walk for a while in companionable silence. My thoughts careen away into a bright future, full of peaceful nights and laughter. For once, it seems attainable, not a dream but a memory yet to be made. I don't have to dream when reality is so kind.

I catch Julian staring at me several times. He smiles when I meet his gaze, but he can't quite hide the sadness in the set of his brows. I understand: we're not safe yet.

Still, I've never felt more free.

"This is it." Julian stops after several blocks and gestures to a nondescript storefront patterned with abstract marigolds. We duck inside to cool shadows slanting across the floor, the shop mostly empty aside from a pair of young women giggling in a corner and an older man buried in a newspaper at the counter.

None of them even look up as we weave around rickety tables until we reach the back of the room. Julian pulls out a chair for me and hangs his coat on the back of the other, settling down where he can see the door.

“Will you be alright here?” I ask. I should’ve thought of that earlier.

But he nods. “This shop’s been good to me. Well, I should say its former owner has.”

“Former?”

“She sold years ago, after her wife died.”

“Oh.”

“Mm.” His gaze drifts to the counter, as if looking for a familiar face. "Aida was one of the first victims of the Plague. Poor Nura. It broke something in her, I think, to see the love of her life fade away like that."

"I can't even imagine."

"I wish I would've been here to support her."

"I'm sure you did what you could." I reach over to rest my hand on his.

He smiles wryly. "You think so highly of me."

"Yeah, I do." I watch him search me, like he expects to find the lie in my eyes. “I do,” I repeat more softly.

It almost seems like he wants to argue, but he shakes his head and redirects his attention to the mahogany tabletop, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb.

“Tell me something, my dear— that is, if you can. But I’ve always wondered: how do those cards of yours work?”

I feel the tingle of the tarot deck Asra made for me from my bag, like it’s been waiting for him to ask. I wasn’t even going to bring them, but I stopped by my room at the palace on the way out to pack some essentials in case I happen to find alternate lodgings again tonight, and when I was changing clothes, the black velvet pouch caught my eye. I can’t believe it’s only been a few days since I got them. I feel like a different person now.

I lean away from Julian to grab the cards. I don’t think he was expecting me to actually have them, but he smothers his surprise quickly. I tip them out of the pouch and start to shuffle as I talk.

“So the deck is seventy-eight cards: the Major Arcana, which has twenty-one cards plus the Fool, and four suits of fourteen cards each. Those are the Minor Arcana. We go to them for advice on everyday things, like money and emotions.” I pluck a card at random. “Like this, the King of Wands. He’s…”

I falter, but only for a moment. If this wants to turn into a reading, I’m not going to stop it.

“He represents someone bright and charismatic, eager to help if he can. Maybe a little older, but still confident and, um. And sexy.”

Julian raises a brow but doesn’t interrupt.

“He’s one of the court cards. Four of those for each suit. And every card has two sets of meanings, depending on if I pull them upright or reversed.”

“Reversed?”

“Upside down. Like this.” I spin the King of Wands to show him.

“And what does he mean then?”

“He might be more fearful, maybe afraid of losing control or showing that he isn’t as confident as he appears to be. Sometimes it means that he’s prone to anger, but—” I swallow hard. “But usually it’s more that he’s trying to force a certain outcome and kind of doesn’t care who he steps on to get it.”

Julian touches the card’s deep black surface, skating his gloved fingertips over the inverted King’s crown and the delicate silver lines of his leafy staff. “I see,” he says quietly. “Are these outcomes set in stone?”

“What?”

He looks up at me. “The fortunes they tell. Do they always come to pass?”

“Oh, um. Actually, ‘fortune-telling’ is kind of a misnomer. I think of reading the cards more as asking for advice. Sometimes what they say helps people make a decision, or see something from a different perspective.”

“Ah.”

I put the deck down when he has nothing else to say. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, don’t mind me. I’d just wondered what sort of secrets you could learn, if there was some way to…”

To tell if he’s guilty or not. “We can ask.”

“What do you mean?”

The cards can be tricky. Their messages are usually complex, multifaceted, and depending on who chooses to speak, purposefully vague. But the voices of the Arcana can’t lie. Whatever they say, no matter how deep the meaning is buried, is worth listening to. “Well, all that back-corner-of-the-market ‘you’ll marry into a rich family and have thirteen children’ kind of fortune-telling is bullshit, but if you hear what the cards tell you, they can help.”

Julian shifts in his chair, eyeing me from behind his curtain of auburn curls. “I’ve run out on you before,” he says. “Back at your shop, I mean. When we met. I, ah, I don’t think I knew what I was asking then.”

“I pulled the Magician, didn’t I?”

He laughs harshly. “You did. I assumed it was referring to Asra, but of course I already knew I was looking for him.”

“It might’ve been, but not like that. The Magician usually means new opportunities. Success. Maybe following a logical outcome and getting what you need.”

This time, his laugh is warmer, and when I look at him, he’s smiling. “And it led me to you.”

I hadn’t made that connection. I think he’s more familiar with this process than he assumed he was. A warm flush settles into my skin as he reaches across the table and strokes my cheek, his attention following the sweep of his thumb and settling on my lips, then darting back to my eyes.

“Perhaps I need another reading,” he says softly. “One I’ll listen to this time.”

“Okay.”

It’s so much easier to reach him now; his aura is welcoming, a rich imperial purple that invites me into it like an embrace. It’s ragged around the edges, fading to rust-red, but I could lose myself in its depths and never think I was lost. The tingle of a card beneath my fingers calls me back.

I wish it hadn’t.

“The Lovers, reversed.” I wonder if the Arcana are capable of mocking. “Um, before I say anything else, the Lovers doesn’t always mean, like, actual lovers. It might be referring to any relationship.”

Julian examines the silvery figures, avoiding my eyes.

“So, um. Lovers reversed could be something like not taking responsibility for your actions, or feeling a disconnect with someone you—” I almost choke on the dismay rising in my throat. “Someone you thought you were close to. Maybe there’s something getting in the way of being together.”

He nods sadly and I regret every word I’ve said since I fished the deck out of my bag.

“Yes, that… that clears some things up.”

The finality of his tone scares me. “It does?”

He tries to smile but it reads as a grimace. “Let’s get out of here, my— Reyja. I think we need to talk.”

------

It’s getting late when we leave the tea shop; the gentle tinkle of the greeting bell as the door shuts behind us sounds like a warning. I thought my nerves had settled, but Julian’s bearing has changed so thoroughly that I almost don’t recognize him anymore. His shoulders slump, his fingers pluck at the buttons of his uniform, and he won’t look at me. After catching him staring so many times, it feels odd.

I suppose it isn’t hard to guess why. Clearly we saw the same thing in the cards: there’s a lot going against us if we want to make this work. But we knew that. From the beginning, we knew that. I thought we were going to try anyway. The idea of losing him so quickly constricts around me and I find myself reaching for him. At least he lets me, and squeezes my hand so tightly in return that it almost hurts.

It crosses my mind that we could leave. Find a ship in the harbor, set sail for distant shores where no one knew us or what we’d left behind. But almost as soon as I think it, I know he’d never agree. He did that exact thing for three years; it was because he learned it didn’t work that he came back.

I won’t help him run. And I won’t let myself run either. I’m willing to fight for him even if he isn’t. I have to tell him that.

I’m about to when a musical voice cuts through the gathering evening.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite beanpole.”

Julian flinches, drawing me to his chest. But he relaxes again as soon as he turns around and recognizes who spoke.

“Speak of the devil!” he laughs. I can almost believe there’s nothing wrong, hearing him happy again.

“Talking about me? I’m not surprised.” The woman rests her beautifully-decorated crutches against the sandstone wall behind her and fishes in the pocket of her tunic for a cigarette case.

“No, you wouldn’t be, would you?”

“Oh stop, you’ll inflate my ego.”

“Ha! You’ve never needed my help for that, Nura.”

Is this the same person who started the shop we just left? The South End must be smaller than I thought.

“Who’s your friend?” she asks, gesturing at me with her head.

I’m not going to wait for him to introduce me this time. “I’m Reyja.”

“Nurlan. Your doctor and I go way back.”

A strange sort of pleasure warms me at the idea of Julian being my doctor. I wonder if they’ve known each other long enough for her to reassure him that there are people on his side, in words he won’t accept from me. “How far back?”

Both of them look at me oddly, but Nurlan shrugs. Her single sandal, I notice, is patterned with the same sort of flowers that adorn the walls of the tea shop. “Before he skipped town,” she says.

Good. “How did you know him?”

Nurlan raises a heavily made-up brow. “Jealous type, huh?”

I flush. That isn’t what I was thinking, but it’s a possibility I hadn’t considered. And I’m ashamed of the hostility that floods through me even without proof… and even though she’d called him mine mere moments ago. “I- I just meant, um.” How can I salvage this? How much can I give away without giving anything away? If I tell her I’m looking for a witness to his character, to prove to both him and the Palace that he isn’t the man who murdered Count Lucio, will she play along or try to get away from me as fast as she can, like simply being around me will summon the guards? I wouldn’t blame her either way: it’s a weird thing to ask.

But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m running out of time.

“Uh, sorry. Honestly, I was just wondering if he was always—” Thank god I’m already blushing, because I can’t believe I’m going to say this. “—as cute as he is now.”

Julian sputters and Nurlan laughs, bold and brassy. “Ha, you think he’s the cute one? Of the two of you, you definitely have that covered,” she says, and winks at me.

It’ll be a miracle if I ever stop blushing.

Nurlan doesn’t push the point, calling a tiny flicker of flame to her fingertip and lighting her cigarette. She takes a deep drag and eyes me through the cloud of smoke she lets out. “Yeah, he’s always been that cute. And he was always willing to do the difficult thing, always there when… well, he’s one of the good ones. Fewer of those around these days.”

Julian shifts, almost like he wants to run. But instead he chuckles nervously. “That talent for flattery is what makes you so popular.”

"Oh, you’d know if I was really flattering you. I could have you on your knees before you even realized it.”

“A-ahm, yes, I’m sure you—”

Nurlan cuts him off, holding up one hand. “Does that answer your question, Reyja?”

“Yeah.” I never doubted it: the only one who seems to is Julian himself.

“Good. I’d love to stay and chat but there’s a show tonight. You two are welcome, if you want to come. I can always find a place for my friends.”

Julian shakes his head. “Thank you, Nura, but, ah, we have other plans.”

“Suit yourself.” She taps out her cigarette. “But you owe me a drink before you go galavanting off again.”

“Of course.”

Nurlan eyes him suspiciously, but waves goodbye and starts down the alley next to her, towards a door held open with a box of stage props.

Julian’s gaze lingers on me after she leaves. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Why? She seemed nice.”

“Oh, she is. I’m glad you got to meet her before…”

I can’t let him keep doing this. “What is it, Julian?”

“What is—? Ah. Yes. Erm, right. How about we… the seawall. Let’s, ah, let’s go down to the water and, and talk.”

My heart aches as we cross the street, following the sound of the waves to the southern pier. He wouldn’t keep putting off whatever he wants to say unless it was big. I should be brave and just make him say it now, but I don’t think I want to hear it either.

We walk again, this time in silence. I stew in my own thoughts until I realize that we’ve stopped under a lantern just turned on for the night, close enough to the bay to see the Lazaret’s ominous outline cluttering up the horizon. Julian stares at it for a moment, then wheels to face me. I catch just a glimpse of the pain in his expression before he wraps his arms around me and kisses me so hard, I lose my breath.

He tangles his hands in my hair, his mouth frantic on mine like he would die without me. I’m only too willing to kiss him back, anchoring my grip on the collar of his coat. His attention wanders across my throat, drawing little red bruises where he sucks instead of licks, his breath warm on the saliva he leaves behind. I hold him closer and graze my lips along the shell of his ear, wound up in him so fully that, for a moment, I’m almost able to forget about the looming conversation that brought us here.

He hisses when I take his earlobe between my teeth, pulling away just enough to pant a few words. “P-please, don’t be afraid to bite.”

I happily oblige, and his hiss becomes a moan as his knees give out, making him sag against me and the wall behind us.

“Oh, again!” he begs, tearing his collar down to reveal the side of his neck. “Here, where you’ll leave a mark!”

As I sink my teeth into his pale skin, the image of him doing the same to me, brewed in the swirl of my desperate dream the morning after we talked so long at the Raven, comes rushing back. The cry he fails to swallow sounds so familiar, so passionate, that I almost don’t notice the tears on his cheeks until he steps away and cool evening air flows in to replace him.

“I’m s-so sorry,” he says, turning away to scrub at his uncovered eye with the side of his branded hand. “I’m so sorry, Reyja. Oh, I’m so, so sorry.”

And all at once, I know why we’re here.

“I’ve done you a h-horrible disservice,” Julian continues, pulling each word from a tortured place. “I’ve hindered you, distracted you. And now if I make you fail, I’ll have put you in the bad graces of the Countess herself.”

I answer without hearing my own voice. “Make me fail?”

“I’m afraid I’ve done to you what I’ve done to the people here, people like Nurlan and Barth. Somehow, I’ve made you all believe that I’m a good man, and I’m not. I can’t be: if I haven’t done what they say I’ve done, then where does this guilt, this certainty that I’ve wronged someone so terribly I can never atone for it… where does that come from? The simplest solution is usually the right one.”

He shakes his head and takes another step towards the heartless sea. “I was so selfish, dragging you into this. Oh, I should’ve been strong enough to stay away from you, no matter how much I wanted—” His voice cracks. “All I can do now is make sure you’re safe. Please stay safe, Reyja. Please. This time we’ve stolen meant so much to me. I’ll never forget it, but I hope you can.”

I fight through my numbness enough to find outrage. “You want me to just abandon you, leave you to your fate? You want me to forget my first, my first anything? My first everything? ”

“I want you to be safe. And you won’t be safe with me. There’s a warrant with my name on it in every city from here to Dayyruz. I cannot, will not, be the blood that stains you. Believe me, if I thought I could be the man you deserve…”

“Please don’t do this,” I whisper.

But he isn’t listening anymore. “The Lazaret out there, that’s what I have to offer. A monument to my failures as a doctor and as a man. I killed hundreds. Thousands, maybe. Every life that slipped through my hands is red in my ledger. If I don’t hang for the Count’s murder, I should hang for countless others.”

“Julian, please!”

His shoulders tremble beneath his heavy coat. “I won’t ask you to forgive me. You were right, what you said: that puts far too much of a burden on you to erase the wrongs I’ve done. And you shouldn’t forgive me anyway. I’ve h-hurt you.” He does his best to swallow his tears. “The best I can do now is cauterize the wound and leave you with nothing more than a handful of pleasant memories.”

“Please—”

“I’ll apologize to you with every breath until my last, Reyja, and it still won’t be enough. I know that. C-can… can you get home from here?”

With the bay on one side, I know exactly where I am. Maybe I shouldn’t tell him that, though, if only to spend a few more moments with him. But I won't let my last word be a lie.

“Yes,” I say, so softly it’s a wonder he hears it.

“T-t-then, then this is goodbye.”

He shifts out of the circle of light.

“Julian, wait—!”

But he’s already gone.

---------------

Nurlan Samal belongs to @atypicalacademic​.

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[slapshot-to-the-heart]

When We Went From Friends to This - a. beauvillier

One day late, but here it is! I’ve been studying for the LSAT, but finally took it today, so I’ll have some more time to be writing more regularly now. Title is from Taylor Swift’s Paper Rings. I loved getting to write this, so please please let me know what you think, my inbox is always open! Reading the tags is one of my favorite things to do, and reblogs help me know people are liking my work.

word count: 7.7k+

September 18 (sat)

Astride Leclair was the kind of person you always wanted on your side. She’d drop anything for a friend, always be the first to reach out, and would never give up on something — or someone — without a fight. She was also incredibly stubborn. Astride had also always had a penchant for adventure, which is how she found herself in a new job 600 miles and one international border from her hometown. And she hated asking for help, it really didn’t matter the circumstance. Which is how she found herself alone, trying to heft an armchair up the stairs of her new apartment building after being very rudely informed by the width of the elevator door that it wasn’t going to fit. 

The lump sum her firm gave her for relocation was enough to cover a fair amount of the furniture for her new place and she tried to bring as much as she could on the drive down, but it wasn’t like she was about to rent a U-Haul and there was only so much a Honda Civic could hold. And Astride was still her father’s daughter, still would rather step on a rusty nail than pay Ikea for assembly, so by God she was going to do it herself. And “doing it herself” apparently meant dragging an 80 pound box up three flights of stairs in 90º heat in September, when New York City seemed to have not quite yet gotten the memo that the rest of the Northern Hemisphere was now in fall. 

Astride finally managed to get the chair in the door, propping the door open with one of her moving boxes, unceremoniously pulling the box through the entryway as she scooted backwards into the living room. The 600 square foot expanse of her apartment was covered in boxes, more boxes, and for good measure, extra boxes. There were moving boxes, furniture boxes, shoeboxes filled with anything except for actual shoes. There was her guitar leaning against the microwave, three suitcases worth of clothes in the barely-assembled bedroom, and her dog in a crate in the corner, who had started to whine. 

“I know, baby, I’ll get you out soon,” Astride said, shooting a sympathetic glance towards the beagle mix. She had adopted Poutine a little over a year ago, soon after starting her first job out of university. It was never a question whether or not she would make the trip with Astride, and thankfully it was much easier than she anticipated to find a dog-friendly apartment in Brooklyn. It wasn’t too long a walk to Prospect Park, a little under a mile, and she was looking forward to getting out with Poutine later in the day. If, that was, she actually finished unpacking enough boxes to function like a normal human being. She had picked up her mattress-in-a-box earlier in the day, but it was still sitting in the corner of her bedroom and she wasn’t particularly looking forward to a night on the hardwood floor. 

---

Three hours later, Astride had finally gotten all of the boxes out of her car and began to make decent headway on assembling the chair, finally having let Poutine out of her crate. The beagle trotted around the apartment, sniffing the baseboards, boxes, and single bag of groceries Astride had picked up from Whole Foods earlier in the day. The rest of her Ikea order was coming the next day, the actual bedframe and couch along with a couple of other larger furniture pieces that she had had to leave in Montréal. Whatever she couldn’t order online she’d find at a thrift store. 

Astride looked tiredly over at the kitchen. She really wasn’t in the mood to cook, and was in even less of a mood to dig through all the boxes until she finally found her set of pots and pans. She really should have taken her mom’s advice and labeled everything, but Astride was stubborn as a mule, and once she was stuck in her ways, there was precious little anyone could do to convince her otherwise. Pulling out her phone, she navigated to her Uber Eats, feeling a tiny pang in her heart as she switched her location to New York. Not the language, though. Astride was so hungry that she literally clicked on whatever place could get there the fastest, which ended up being a Chinese place a mile or so away. After placing her order — she got an extra box of chow mein so she wouldn’t have to deal with breakfast the next day — she settled back into the hair, the only fully-assembled piece of furniture in the whole apartment. Her finger hovered over her Instagram for a moment before she clicked on it, liking a few photos before going to post one of her own. It was a picture of the Brooklyn Bridge as she crossed it that morning, Poutine’s head lolling out the front window. One tap and one caption later, it was posted. 

---

Anthony flopped onto his bed, his duffel landing with a satisfying thump on the floor beside him. Training camp had just ended, and while he’d certainly been keeping up on his workouts over the summer, the hours upon hours of skating had nevertheless made him more than a little sore. He grabbed his phone, opening up Instagram and scrolling through the new posts, only half paying attention. Astride’s new photo caught his eye.

Sometimes, needing a change means a new haircut. Sometimes, it means a new country. Very excited to start this next chapter in my life. Salut, New York! Anthony quickly clicked onto her profile page and read her bio. International economics analyst. Eating my way through the world one pancake at a time. BCom McGill. MTL-NYC. He read the last line over and over again. MTL-NYC. He swiped back to the photo; she had tagged herself in Brooklyn. Brooklyn. She was less than an hour away, not even thirty if the traffic wasn’t bad. But she hadn’t told him, she hadn’t said anything. Anthony felt a pang in his heart. Astride knew who he played for — obviously — and she knew that of course he’d want to see her any time they were even remotely in the same place. She knew that. Right? 

He spent the next twenty minutes typing out a message to her. Then deleting it. Then retyping it. Then continuing the type-delete-retype cycle until his head was spinning. This was his best friend. Why was he so nervous to talk to her? Because she was his best friend, and as much as he hated to admit it, he really wasn’t sure where they stood. He hadn’t been sure for a long time. Hey Asty! He internally cringed at himself at the use of her old nickname. I saw you moved to New York, that’s amazing! I’m over on Long Island, so I’d love to catch up with you for coffee or something when you get a chance. It’s been too long :) 

It might have been a little petty — scratch that, it definitely was petty — but Astride didn’t respond to his text that night. She didn’t have read receipts on, thank God, but it sat in her messages, without response, like something she was too scared to confront. And she didn’t even know why. Okay, fine, she knew exactly why. She had moved and suddenly they were in the same city for the first time since they were kids and he was, had been, her best friend, but why now of all times? It’s not like he was never in Montréal during the year, or like they couldn’t have committed to a weekly FaceTime or something, or at least texted more than once a month. He could have done something. And that something, that lack of a something, was what kept her from responding until the next morning, tapping out a text as she halfheartedly made her way through a bowl of oatmeal. Hi, Tito, just saw your text! Lie. I did, an opportunity for a transfer came up and I decided to take it. I figured you were pretty close by, so it would be great to catch up. I don’t start at the office for a week, if you’re free any time between now and then. That much was true. She wasn’t stupid, she knew the Islanders played on, well, Long Island, and as much as she wanted to still hold a grudge against him, her heart ached at the prospect of finally being able to see him again. 

Anthony responded almost instantly, Astride having just closed the door to the dishwasher — a luxury in New York, she was told — before seeing her phone light up with the telltale bubble. I’d love to, we just finished up training camp so I’m more or less free aside from practices. A second later. Is brunch still your favorite meal?

Astride laughed. It didn’t surprise her that he remembered, but it was still touching to see him say something about it. It is.

How about Tuesday? I’ll send you the directions. It’s this little café in Flatbush, I think you’ll love it. 

I’m counting on it. 

September 26 (sun)

Brunch had turned into dinner, which had turned into going to a Broadway show — Anthony had insisted the moment she told him she’d never been — which had turned into him coming over for Saturday night movies, an old habit of the pair’s from their days back in Québec. Which had turned into two movies and two bottles of wine, which had turned into Tito sleeping over on the couch instead of driving the thirty-odd minutes back to his apartment. Poutine sniffed him curiously, nudging one hand with her head. Astride stifled a giggle, opening the door to the balcony. “He’s very sleepy, Poutine. It’s not good manners to wake up your guests.”

“Even when they fall asleep on your couch and steal all your blankets?” Anthony said sleepily from behind. 

Astride wheeled around, greeted by a half-awake Anthony Beauvillier, who was indeed bundled in all of the blankets she owned that weren’t actively on her bed. “Tito! Oh my God, you scared me. How’d you sleep?”

He shrugged. “Not bad, about as well as can be expected.” He tapped his phone, cursing when he realized it was dead. “Do you know what time it is?”

She glanced down at her watch. “8:52, why?”

Anthony jumped up, throwing his shirt back on and grabbing his still-dead phone. “I’m supposed to meet Mat for breakfast at 9:30, and the place is,” he paused for a moment, running through the grid system in his head, “probably half an hour away? I’m never the late one, can’t break that streak now.” 

“Gotcha.”

He grabbed his keys, looking back at her. “Why don’t you come? You’re already dressed, and you remember Mat, right?”

She wiggled her hand. “Kind of?” She crossed the room, letting Poutine back in. “You only want me for my charged phone and navigation system.”

“You got me,” he said, laughing. 

---

“You named your dog Poutine?” Mat snickered, taking a bite of his eggs. 

“Would you rather I named him Tim Horton?” Astride deadpanned. “He’s a good Canadian boy with a good Canadian mom. He needed a good Canadian name.” 

Mat raised his coffee mug, tilting it over towards her. “Touché.”

Anthony waved his hand in front of Mat’s face, trying to catch his attention from where he was utterly preoccupied with destroying his sourdough toast. “Hey, Mat.”

“Mmm?” He glanced up. 

“Did you know that Astride lives right by Barclays? Like, right by Barclays?” 

His eyebrows rose. “No way?” Astride nodded. “That’s a great area, would have been awesome if you were here a couple of years ago. Short walk to the games.”

“That’s what I told her yesterday,” Tito responded. 

---

“You’re kidding,” Anthony said, looking up at her building, then across the street to Barclays, then back to Astride, one hand tangling through his hair. “We used to play right across from here.” 

Astride laughed. “I thought about that,” she said. “You know I still watched your games, right? Even after we fell out of touch?” Anthony shook his head. “You were still someone I cared about, are still someone I care about, even when we only talked a few times a year.” 

Beau stood there, unable to formulate a complete sentence. As far as he knew, the last Islanders game she watched had been the 2016 opener, his NHL debut and her first year at McGill. Why did he assume that? Why did he assume the worst? You can care about people even when they’re not in your life anymore. And sometimes, if you get really, really lucky, they come back. 

October 9 (sat) 

“Ebs is having a barbeque thing over at his house this weekend, just stuff to celebrate the beginning of the season if you wanted to come. No pressure if you’ve got plans already, though,” Anthony said over the FaceTime. 

Astride nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds great, I’d love to come! Just let me know when to show up and what to bring, and I’ll be there.”

 It was almost a fifty-minute drive for Astride from her apartment in Prospect Heights to the house in Garden City, but there wasn’t too much traffic and besides, she had always liked driving. So she set off in her Civic, plugged her music in, and headed down 495. Anthony met her outside of the house, greeting her with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek as he cocked his head towards the backyard. “Party’s this way. Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” 

Astride dutifully followed, trying not to let her nerves take hold of her. Everyone might have already been Beau’s friends, but she didn’t know them, or the dynamic of everyone’s relationships, or really, what to expect at all. 

He noticed her apprehension, stopping her with a feather-light touch on her arm just before walking through the back gate. “Hey, Asty. What is it?” 

She let out a little huff, still upset that he could read her like a book even after all this time. “I’m just worried that I’ll feel like I’m intruding on everything, like everyone already has their friends and a group and everything, and here comes some random Québécoise who’s a friend of Tito’s—” 

He laughed, turning her around to face him. “Astride, they’re going to love you. As long as you’re the hilarious, witty, caring person I know you are, they’re going to love you as much as I do, and you’re going to fit in just fine. Do you trust me?” 

She gave a tiny nod. “Yeah.” 

He smiled, squeezing her hand. “Good, now come back, everyone’s waiting.” 

They walked through the gate, greeted by a crowd of smiling faces as Anthony brought her around to everyone to make their rounds. There was Anders, he was the captain, and his wife. There was Jordan and Lauren, and she already knew Mat, and JGP — who was excited to have another person to speak French to — and a dozen or so others, along with their respective partners and children. Anthony had gone over to talk to Mat and some of the other players, while Astride had wandered over to the drinks table. Some of the other women were chatting nearby; one of them caught Astride’s eye and waved her over to join them. 

“Beau didn’t tell us he was bringing anyone!” one of the women said, pulling her over to the group with a bright smile and handing her a glass of sangria. 

“Mhm,” she replied, taking a sip of the drink. “I’m new to the city, obviously, so I think he wanted me to have some people I know outside of just work.” 

They all nodded. “How long have you two been together, though?” another asked. “I didn’t even know he was seeing anyone, did you?” She looked around at the others, who shook their heads as Astride’s eyes bulged. 

“Together? No, no, we’re not together. We’ve been best friends for ages, but,” she shook her head. 

“Could have fooled me,” Lauren said with the smallest of winks. 

Astride suddenly became very interested in the floating berries in her sangria. She looked over at Anthony, who was throwing his head back, laughing at something one of the rookies had said, and smiled. But Lauren’s words kept lingering in the back of her mind. Could have fooled me. Okay, it wasn’t like it was the first time they had been mistaken for a couple; whenever she’d make the trip up to Shawingan to visit him when he was in the QMJHL, more than once she’d have to explain to his teammates that no, she wasn’t Beau’s girlfriend, they were just best friends who had known each other forever. Just best friends. 

Astride had always equated her lingering feelings for Anthony to the nostalgia of a childhood crush, the safety and security that came with remembering something from a time that seemed so simple and so easy. But childhood crushes didn’t last for ten years. And that wasn’t something she hadn’t wanted to come to terms with, something she’d been putting off for years if she was being honest with herself. 

“You didn’t tell me Astride was coming,” Mat commented, seeing her mid-laugh in conversation with the other girls. 

Anthony nodded. “Yeah. She didn’t have any plans for the weekend and I thought it would be nice to introduce her to everyone. I remember how shitty it felt to be in a new city away from your family, don’t want her to be lonely. Plus, I genuinely think she’ll fit in great with everyone.” 

Mat hummed his agreement. “She’s changed since Switzerland, don’t you think?” he asked appreciatively, referring to over five years ago, the last time he had seen her in person.

“Don’t even think about it,” Beau mumbled to Mat, seeing his eyebrows go so far up they were hidden in his hairline. 

“I see a hot girl, I appreciate a hot girl,” Mat shrugged. “But don’t worry, I won’t try anything. I know she’s off-limits.” 

The rest of the afternoon passed quicker than she would have thought, and after a few hours and more good conversations, it was time for Astride to leave. “Have a safe drive back,” Anthony said, giving her a hug. 

“I will,” she responded. 

He opened the driver’s side door for her. “I’m really glad you came, you know. Everyone liked you, you fit in great.” 

“It wasn’t all me,” she said, sliding into the seat, turning her head to Anthony to continue the conversation. “Everyone really did seem to go out of their way to make me feel included, I think they understood the feeling of moving to a whole new place without a big support system and wanted to do what they could to help mitigate that for me.” Astride consciously left out Lauren’s little comment, four words that had been bouncing around in her head for hours since they had been said. He didn’t need to know. She didn’t need him to know, it could confuse him and complicate things when they were just getting back into the rhythm of friendship, of being each other’s person. 

Anthony tapped his fingers on the car door. “I’m glad.” 

“Me too.”

Beau went to sleep that night, Mat’s words bouncing around in his head. “I know she’s off-limits.” It’s not like Cass was his sister or something, someone who would inherently be barred from his best friend’s dating pool. But Mat seemed to know right away, without having ever been told, that she wasn’t someone he could ever even consider pursuing. Why? And what did Mat seem to know that he didn’t?

November 12 (fri)

It was early November, and Anthony and Astride had just settled down at a table in Prospect Park, coffee cups warming their hands through the late fall chill. “How do you feel about last night?” Astride asked teasingly. He had a three point game, two goals and an assist in a 4-1 win over the Canes, so there really wasn’t any question that he was still riding on the high. 

Beau rolled his eyes. “Good, obviously. It would have been nice to get a hat trick, but I know that’s asking for a lot and I didn’t want to tempt fate too much. They made a really good push late in the second.”

“But you won,” she said, poking his shoulder with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around her mocha. 

“But we won,” he agreed. He suddenly got quiet, the kind of quiet where, if you know the person well enough, you can tell that something’s up. That they’re thinking of something. And Astride was right. “Do you ever think about Switzerland?” he asked. 

Astride looked at him from the side, knowing right away that he wasn’t asking about the country. “All the time,” she admitted. 

---

It was the spring of 2015, and they were in Lucerne. By they, Astride meant her, Tito, and the rest of the 2015 Canadian U18 World Cup team. And by in Lucerne, she meant crowded into someone’s hotel room with no adult supervision. Anthony wasn’t sure where any of the coaching staff had gone, but if he was being honest, he was riding on way too big of a high to even care. They had clinched the bronze medal earlier that day, celebrating with the family and friends who had made the trip out, gotten dinner, and then packed into the first team room they came to. Well, technically, Astride, Tito, and Mat had made a stop at the grocery store before meeting everyone else back in the room. The drinking age in Switzerland was 16 for everything but spirits, and everyone was planning on taking full advantage of that. The cashier gave them a look as she took her and Anthony’s French licenses and Mat’s English one, but the charge went through just fine, and fifteen minutes later they were walking back through the doorway with three cases of beer and a few bottles of sparkling wine for good measure. Astride had never been so grateful to have her own checking account. 

“You ever drink before?” Mat asked her as they opened the cases. 

Astride shrugged. “Not really. A glass of wine every now and again back home with my parents, but nothing too crazy.” 

He held out a bottle for her, fishing around in his pocket for the bottle opener they had picked up at the store. “Have fun.” 

And have fun Astride did. She had finished off two of the beers, and one of the younger teammates — she didn’t remember who — had popped open the wine. In his slightly inebriated state, it took longer than it should have to twist off the muselet, which then led to foam all over the floor and fifteen sixteen and seventeen-year-olds running to the bathroom to grab towels to try and mop it up with. And then running back to the bathroom to get the water glasses because they needed something to drink it out of, right? And then to everyone else’s rooms because they quickly realized that two cups definitely wasn’t enough to go around, and then everyone was back in the room, on the beds and around the beds, finally letting themselves celebrate. Astride was just finishing her glass when Mat spoke. “Anyone up for never have I ever?” Nobody said otherwise, so two minutes later, they were all arranged in what could very generously be called a circle, fresh drinks in hand. After a solid five minutes of repeating the rules — there was always at least one person who seemed to genuinely struggle with the idea that you drank if you had done the thing, not if you hadn’t — they were slowly but surely making their way around the circle. 

Questions ranged from the mundane — “Never have I ever gotten detention” — to the raunchy — “Never have I ever had my parents walk in on me” — neither of which Astride or Tito drank to. 

By the time it was Mat’s turn, he had had plenty of time to think, looking around the group with a conspiratorial grin. “What is it?” Tito asked skeptically. 

He shrugged. “Never have I ever...kissed anyone in the circle.” As expected, nobody drank, but apparently that wasn’t expected, not for Mat, at least. He looked between Anthony and Astride incredulously. “Seriously? You two have never kissed?”

Anthony shook his head. “Nope.”

“How? You’ve been friends for, like, a million years, not even when you were little or anything?” he asked. 

“Never,” Astride said. “Kind of hard to kiss your best friend when you haven’t kissed anyone before.” She barely even realized that everyone was still listening in. 

“You’ve never kissed anyone?” Anthony asked, surprised. 

Astride looked down at her hands, sipping her beer. “Nope.” She gave him a brief smile. “I know it’s nothing to be ashamed of, but no. Just hasn’t happened yet.”

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, or maybe it was feelings buried so deeply in Anthony’s mind that he didn’t think would ever see the light of day, let alone have to be confronted, that made him say what he did next. “I could—if you wanted—you don’t have to, but—” he stammered.

Astride laughed, looking at him curiously. “What is it, Tito? You’re not normally one to stumble over your words like that.”

He picked at his fingernails, an old nervous tick from his childhood that his mother was never quite able to get him to break, keenly aware that the whole room had decided to listen into their conversation. “I was just trying to say...I could do it, if you want. Kiss you, I mean. If you just wanted to get it over with, or whatever. I just figured. You know me, you trust me, you’re comfortable with me. Better that than some idiot at school who doesn’t care about you.”

Her cheeks burned as she looked over at him, but even though it took her nearly a minute to respond, she had her answer after five seconds. “Why not?” Astride flashed him the purest, gentlest smile, the kind that let him know just how much she cared about him and how deeply she trusted him. And the look on her face meant the world to him. 

Anthony leaned in, his hand coming up to rest on her shoulder, his fingertips just barely touching her cheek as their foreheads leant together. “You sure about this?” He needed her to be sure. 

She nodded. “I’ve had a couple of drinks, and I never imagined my first kiss would be in front of an audience,” she paused to giggle at the rest of the team, who were giving the scene their full attention in a way that somehow wasn’t uncomfortable at all, just wholesome and supportive, “but yeah. I’m sure.”

That was all the permission Anthony needed to lean forward, pressing his lips against hers, in a kiss that was soft and sweet and somehow everything Astride needed all in one. He pulled back after a moment, a goofy smile on his face. “How was it?”

Astride couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Good, it was really good, Tito. Thank you for that.”

“What are friends for?”

---

“Friends are for kissing each other, apparently,” Astride giggled, leaning into Anthony on his couch. 

He laughed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over her arm. “Did you ever think something was going to happen between us?” Anthony asked curiously. 

Astride shrugged. “At some point, yeah. I think it was kind of hard not to, with our parents and literally everyone we spent time with saying we were destined to fall in love.” She looked down at her hands, trying not to give away the fact that at one point, she had believed them. 

November 30 (tues)

“Do you want to come over Friday?” Anthony asked, sprawled out across her couch on one of his rare nights off. He had made the drive over to Astride’s apartment, cooking salmon and roasting vegetables while she took the much more daunting task of picking what to watch on Netflix. She settled on Back to the Future. “I can order in Thai, I know we’re trying to work our way through the Mission Impossibles.” 

Astride grimaced. “I actually...kind of have a date Friday night,” she admitted. 

Anthony made a hum of surprise. “You do?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t act so shocked, Tito. There are men in this city of nine million who want to take me out.” 

He sputtered. “It’s not that that shocks me, Asty. You’d have men lining up around the block for you if you’d give any of them a second glance. It’s just that. You never seem to bother actually going after any of them. What made this one different?” 

“I mean, honestly hour?” Astride said, shrugging. 

“Honestly hour.” 

“I haven’t been on a date since I left Montréal, you know that. It had been a few months there too. And I’ve loved hanging out with you more, getting to know Mat and the team and everyone’s partners, but...I needed something different, too. Something that felt like a part of my life that wasn’t directly connected to the team. Which, don’t get me wrong,” she added hastily, “I love them, and it’s been so nice to be a part of that group, I just…” Astride trailed off. 

“You can’t let that be the only part of your life. I get it,” Anthony added helpfully.  

“Yeah,” Astride agreed. “So enter Cole. He works in a different division of the IE department, I’m obviously Europe and he’s Asia, mostly does work with Taiwan and Singapore. Um,” she said, her eyes turning towards the ceiling, “he seems really nice, did international business at UPenn, which is a great program. Speaks fluent Mandarin, uh, I think he mentioned he’s got a few fish at home.” 

Anthony snorted. “What’s wrong with fish?” Astride asked defensively. 

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong with fish,” he said. “Just seems like an odd choice. Maybe his building doesn’t allow pets or something.” 

“Maybe,” Astride responded. “I wouldn’t know, he lives in Manhattan, over in Tribeca. Bikes to work.” 

Tito laughed again. “I don’t trust people who bike to work in New York City, Asty. They have zero regard for their own lives or safety.” 

She giggled. “That might be true. But I’m looking forward to it, the date, I mean. I really am. It’s been a while since I’ve really put myself back out there, and I’m ready for something good. Something real.” 

He gave a half-smile from his side of the couch. “I’m happy for you, Astride. I hope you have a great time, and I hope he treats you right. If he doesn’t, just let him know that you can sic an entire professional hockey team on him with a single phone call.” 

“I will,” she said. “I’ll call you when it’s over, tell you how it went.” “

I’ll be waiting,” he said. 

Anthony thought back on the conversation as he sat on the corner of his bed that night, about to go to sleep. He turned his phone over and over in his hands, his eyes fixating on the chip in the crown molding that he hadn’t gotten around to fixing yet. He wasn’t lying to Astride when he said he was happy for her. He was, of course he was, who wouldn’t want their best friend to be happy? But while he wanted nothing more, nothing more, than to be able to give his full-throated support for her date, and the potential the future held for her and this Cole guy, he couldn’t do it. There was something stopping him. And the worst part of it all was that Anthony was starting to realize what it was. 

---

Astride had said that their dinner reservation was at 7, some brasserie in the West Village. “That’s a French thing, right?” Cole had asked. 

“It is,” Astride responded, gearing up for her translation skills to be used for the first time in months. She spoke almost exclusively French around Tito, and with JGP and Brassard, but the majority of her day was spent in English. Cole said that the restaurant had come highly recommended from one of his Wall Street friends, something that should have been the first red flag. 

“Never trust the finance bros,” Reese, a German specialist and one of her friends at the office, had said. “They all think they’re God’s gift to mankind when I can guarantee you they ain’t shit.”  

She had said it was at 7, so Anthony wasn’t expecting to hear from her until much later; honestly, he would have been surprised if she had called before 10. He tried not to think about what it could mean if she didn’t call at all that night. She had said it was at 7, so when he heard a knock at his door at half past nine, he practically jumped out of his skin before scrambling to open the door. His eyebrows rose when he saw Astride on the other side of the door, then his face contorted into a look of sympathy as he saw the sad smile on her lips, her jacket slung over one arm. 

“Can I come in?” she asked. He nodded without question, holding the door while stepping out of the way. He padded to the kitchen, bringing out a bottle of Moscato and two glasses. Astride smiled gratefully at him as he uncorked the bottle and poured. He knew that she couldn’t do red wine when she was upset, and she was upset. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked tentatively. 

Astride shrugged, sipping the wine. “Not much to tell other than it was probably the worst first date I’ve ever been on.” 

That piqued Anthony’s interest. He’d never be happy that she was upset, but something told him the story wasn’t quite that simple. “What about it was so bad?” 

“Where do I begin?” she sighed. “He was on time, but that’s pretty much the only thing Cole did right the entire night. He was rude to the waitress when we had to wait all of ten minutes until our reservation was ready, because the couple ahead had gone long. Then he ordered the most expensive bottle of red wine they had, without even asking me to see what I wanted. He really just was trying to show off that he could afford it. And it was a Sangiovese, and you know I hate dry wines, so I was just trying to choke the whole thing down. And then he insisted on ordering for me, which is probably the most chauvinistic thing I could think of, I mean, who does that anymore?” she asked incredulously. 

Tito shrugged. It was disrespectful, absolutely, but more than that, it was just weird. If women have mouths that work, then they’re more than capable of doing something as simple as ordering their own food. 

“And he kept trying to pour me more wine after the first glass, even when I told him a million times I was good.” Anthony’s grip on his glass tightened. Astride rubbed her temples with her free hand. “He just kept going on and on about work, and this big promotion he’s insisting he’s going to get even though I know for a fact that they want Maria for it. I could barely get a word in edgewise. That’s when I just decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I faked that Jean-Claude was calling, grabbed my jacket, and caught a cab over here.” She looked up at him, the same disappointed expression she had worn when he opened the door. “I was really hoping this one would pan out, Tito.” 

He felt an ache in his heart. He may have been less than thrilled about the prospect of Astride going out on a date, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less to see her so despondent. He leaned over, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear that had fallen loose. “I know, Asty. And I’m sorry it didn’t.”

December 13 (mon)

Anthony and Mat were the last ones in the locker room after a morning practice. “I found this new place nearby last week that’s got great smoothie bowls, want to get one after you finish packing your stuff?” Anthony asked, looking over at Mat. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, Sounds good,” Mat nodded, half-listening. 

Anthony glanced over at him, a weird look on his face. “You good, dude? You sound distracted.”

Mat spoke abruptly, looking over at Tito with a laser-focused expression. “How long have you been in love with Astride?” 

Anthony’s eyebrows jumped a foot. “In love with Astride? Why would you think that?”

Mat gave him a look, the kind of look that let Anthony know he was dead serious about what he was saying, and more than that, that he believed it. “Tito, I’m dumb, but I’m not stupid.”

Anthony leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “It’s that obvious?” 

“Yep,” Mat said, popping the p. 

“Do you think she knows?” His voice had dropped to barely above a whisper. 

“I don’t know,” Mat said, shrugging. “I don’t think so, she doesn’t seem like the type of person to really be able to know about something as big as that and not address it. Doesn’t like to keep things bottled up, it’s not really her style.”

Anthony nodded. “It’s not.” He raked one hand through his haid, his head still leaning on the other one. “God. How do you tell your best friend you’re in love with her?”

Mat put one hand on Beau’s back, comforting him as best he could. “I don’t know, Tito. I wish I could help. What I do know,” he said, “is that you’re going to have to eventually. Because it’s going to tear you up if you don’t.”

December 18 (sat)

Astride tossed one final empty can into the garbage bag. “I think that’s it,” she said, giving his living room a cursory look. What had looked like a warzone only less than an hour before now more closely resembled the somewhat-messy but perfectly respectable bachelor pad of a man in his 20s, like it should have. With the holidays approaching, Anthony had decided to take it into his own hands to host a party — alongside Astride, who he had practically begged for help — intent on showcasing his newly-acquired skills by playing bartender the whole night. He was surprisingly capable, Astride had thought, if her Sazerac was anything to go by. 

He smiled at her. “Thanks, Asty. And thanks for staying and helping clean everything up, you really didn’t have to.” 

She tied the bag off and set it by the door with the other one. “I wanted to. And besides, I’m staying over,” she said, looking over at Anthony, “so what did you think I was going to do? Lock myself in the guest room while you cleaned up the whole apartment by yourself? What kind of a woman do you take me for?” she asked in mock offense. 

Anthony laughed, sitting down on the couch with a satisfying thump, pulling Astride into his side when she settled next to him. 

“I’m so glad we got back in contact,” she said, muffled against the fabric of his hoodie. “I’m so glad we’re friends again.” 

He felt guilty; more than that, he knew that the guilt, at least some of it, was deserved. “I should have done more,” he lamented. “I should have done more to keep in contact, more to show you I cared, more so you’d know that your friendship is one of the things I value most in my life.” 

Astride gave a small smile. “It’s a two-way street, Tito. Sure, I won’t lie and say that you really put all that much effort into keeping in contact. You didn’t.” He winced, she shot him a sympathetic look. “I love you, but you know me. I don’t mince my words. But I definitely could have done more than text you congratulations or leave a thirty-second voicemail on your birthday. We both could have done more. We both should have done more,” she said, correcting herself. “What do you think happened, though? Where did we go wrong?” As much as she might have hated it, Astride was that kind of person. She went through every bad decision in her life with a fine-toothed comb, needing to know what went wrong, needing to know what she could have done differently. 

“I think,” he began, “that it was just so easy to get distracted from ‘back home’ things. From our friendship, from my relationships with my family. From the important things, the things that I should have made an effort to prioritize even when the season got hectic and games got hard. And I’m not trying to make excuses,” he added quickly, “but there was just something about where I was, physically and mentally. I was 19, a rookie in one of the biggest cities in the world, and I think I just lost sight of things. Between the practices and games and going out and community events and trying to get in more than five hours of sleep a night, it was a lot,” he admitted. “It was stressful, probably weighed on me more than I wanted to admit. And I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because I’m well aware I was — and am — living a life thousands of kids would kill for, but there’s a lot that goes on behind the scenes that you don’t really understand unless you’ve been through it. I don’t have many regrets from my rookie season, or really many in my career so far. Don’t regret moving for minors, don’t regret going to the Isles, don’t regret any of the contracts I’ve signed or plays I’ve made. Well,” he smirked, “maybe a few. But the one big one? The only real regret I’ve had? Letting you go.” 

Astride swallowed hard, choosing her next words carefully. “What do you mean, letting me go?”

Anthony let out a hard sigh. He’d put it off for long enough. He couldn’t do it any longer. “Never telling you how I feel.”

“How you feel?” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, her fingers tangling in the fringe of the fleece blanket that was slung over the couch cushions. 

“Like I love you so much my heart could burst.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “How long have you known?”

He looked at her with a soft smile. “Ever since Switzerland.”

“Six years?”

“Six years.” He reached out slowly, so slowly, pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear when she didn’t move back. They sat in silence for a moment, and when Anthony spoke again, his voice wavered. “Asty? Say something.”

Astride’s lifted her head, finally meeting his eyes. “I knew since I was 15.”

His face split into a grin, wider and wider until she was sure she’d never seen a bigger smile. “You did? You do?”

She nodded, leaning forward so their foreheads were touching. She put her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat fluttering butterfly-fast underneath her fingertips. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since I knew what love was, Tito.”

He pushed forward, pressing his lips against hers for the first time since 2015, the first time since Switzerland. It was gentle and meaningful and somehow communicated all of the love and emotion that had been built up between the two of them in the past six years. Anthony pulled back after a minute, his lips pink and slightly puffy. “Tell me where your head’s at, Astride.”

“Is it too cliché to just say that this might be the happiest I’ve been in years?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Not at all.” But there was something that she wasn’t quite letting go of. “What is it, Astride?”

Astride sniffed. “I want this. You and I, I want it so mad it hurts. I just hate the idea that we’d turn into some sort of cliché. Childhood friends who grow up and fall in love, but something goes wrong and they split up and suddenly the dynamic of everything is messed up and I don’t want that, Tito. I don’t know if I could deal with you hating me because of how things ended.” 

“But things don’t have to end, Asty. Every broken heart, every date where some asshole has stood you up has led you to know that you deserve more. You deserve so much more, Astride, you deserve the sun and the moon and someone who would hang them in the sky for you. It doesn’t have to end in heartbreak. It doesn’t have to end at all.” 

Astride had always been someone who was cautious, someone who thought before she acted and never spoke without thinking through every possible outcome. But this was one of the times that she couldn’t do that, one of the times when, as much as she may have hated it, she needed to take a leap of faith. And so she did. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Anthony asked, his voice lifting. 

She nodded, the happiness on her face unmistakable. “Okay.”

And as Astride and Anthony FaceTimed her parents to break the news, her mom slapping her dad’s shoulder, claiming that she had “called it” back in 2014, Astride was filled with a sense of undeniable, irreplaceable joy. The kind of joy that the poets write about and artists put brush to canvas trying to depict, the kind that most people go their whole lives only hoping to get a glimpse of. The kind that made Astride more certain of one thing than she had perhaps been in her entire life. It didn’t have to end in heartbreak. And this one didn’t have to end at all. 

And as they stood two years later in a little church in their hometown, promising in front of their family and friends and the entire New York Islanders to love each other for the rest of their lives, Astride finally believed it.

[basmathgirl]

Many thanks to @somewherefictional for tagging me, love!

Relationships: *carefully eyes hubby of several decades* I’d better say I’m married, you know, just in case. But should DT ever ask, I’m open to offers.

Break Ups: I’ve had one romantic breakup, that happened when I was 16, just before my exams. Despite his declarations, he was ashamed to be seen with me; and the saddest part is that I can completely understand why.

Kids: I have three of my own and have unofficially adopted many others (I even have grandchildren that way!)

Brothers and sisters: 1 one of each (I’m nothing but fair). 

Pets: sadly none. :(

Surgeries: a bit of embroidery after childbirth, shall we say.

Tattoos: none, since I’m still not willing to show off my body.

Countries you’ve been to: France, Belgium, Germany, Cyprus, Gran Canaria, Majorca, mainland Spain, Scotland, Wales, Finland, Denmark, and the USA (Boston, Las Vegas, New Orleans & northern Oregon, plus a trip to Mount St Helens).

Been in an airplane: yes. I’d sat in a plane a few times before I actually got the chance to fly in one. A bit late at the age of 28, but Helsinki, Finland was worth the wait. I got to sit on Concorde at Duxford and that was quite thrilling at the time.  

Been in an ambulance: Sort of. We went to an ambulance station open day and got to sit in one. 

Sing karaoke: I have only done so once, as part of a party video game where you scored points by hitting the right notes. Would have helped if I’d actually known the song, but you can’t have everything.

Ice skating: tried it the once and hated it. The people I was with were furious that I kept grabbing their arm, to stop myself falling over, so I soon gave up.

Been on a cruise: I don’t think a day trip on the Norfolk Broads, or down part of the River Rhine, counts really, so the answer is no.

Driven a motorcycle: no, since I’m still waiting for my cousin to fulfil their promise to let me try their one.

Ridden a horse: no. I sat on one once when I was about 2 or 3 years old, but nothing even close since.

Stayed in hospital: yes, on the ante natal and prenatal wards.

Favourite fruit or berries: I tend to eat raspberries or bananas the most, strangely enough, but I’m not dissing apples, kiwi fruit, strawberries or melon at all.

Favourite colours: blue and yellow; especially a greyish blue.

Last text: a reminder from Kwik Fit about my booked appointment to get a tyre changed. Racy stuff, huh!

Coffee or tea: Tea. With a splash of milk. Although in places in America I avoid their milk and drink it black or with lemon.

Favourite pie: apple pie. My mother-in-law’s version was to die for! Although I’m very fond of homemade lemon meringue pie too, when it’s allowed.

Favourite pizza: if it is Domino’s or Pizza Express then virtually anything. From Pizza Hut it is a chicken supreme.

Cat or dog: dog, please. I’ve asked for one several times

Favourite time of the year: probably autumn. After the hectic life of summer and birthdays, it’s a time to relax in the prettiness before all the Christmas malarkey begins with a vengeance.

Met a star: no. Although I have stood near a few. The last ones were Jo Brand, Helen Mirren, and Matt Smith.

Flown a helicopter: No, and not sure I’d want to. It was bad enough going up a ski lift near Ben Nevis.

Been on TV: no.

Broken my leg: no, but I broke a bone in my foot once.

Seen a ghost: only in a dream but I have seen a wispy spirit a few times. We were convinced our old house had a ghost (I called it Jack) – it would do useful things like find lost stuff and leave them in the middle of a doorway – and my sons often spotted it when they were toddlers. It’s a bit spooky being suddenly asked: “Who is that man standing by the end of the table?”

Been sick in a taxi: no. Then again, I have rarely travelled in a taxi or been drunk.

Seen someone die: yes. There isn’t the ethereal experience when they pass you’d expect, judging by films.  

——-

Tags: @breval, @joi-in-the-tardis, @fuckyeahfredandginger, @melmey-fanfics, @julielilac, @spirit-ella and anyone else who might fancy doing this. 

[lynnchkn]

Protein, Parrish

Adam Parrish is the newest member of Aglionby University's men's hockey team and for the first time, he feels like he's a part of a family. But Adam's rec league hockey team didn't prepare him for the scariest part of college ice hockey. Checking.

If Adam's going to stay on the team, he's going to need help from the last person he wants to ask, his apathetic captain, Ronan Lynch.

*A TRC Check Please!AU.*

Read it on AO3!

Chapter One

Adam Parrish, a habitual skeptic, believed Cabeswater was magic. As the sun rose past the trees, they cast a haunting shadow over the ice. He’d been awestruck by it when he’d toured the rink, but he still couldn’t believe it was his home.

Technically his home was a 115-square-foot room in Dittley Hall, but he wasn’t interested in splitting hairs.

He hadn’t been on the ice since May, and he hadn’t been at all in his new skates, so he was a little shaky to start. He hovered near the wall to avoid suspicion.

Gansey, who had taken a liking to Adam for some undetermined reason, stuck close to him. It wasn’t that Adam minded. It was just that he was trying to break in new skates without announcing it to the whole team, and Gansey’s persistent hover wasn’t helping.

Gansey trailed off from the story he was telling. “You’re from Virginia too. Right?” Adam nodded. He didn’t want to talk about where he was from, but it wasn’t a secret. “Near Jonesville?”

“Henrietta.” He tried not to spit when he said it.

“Right,” Gansey said. “How could I forget? The cave systems near there are extraordinary. Have you ever had the chance to explore them?”

He could remember a cave on a field trip once when he was a kid, but nothing recreationally. Robert and Sarah Parrish didn’t do family outings.

“Only a little,” he said.

“I haven’t been in probably five or six years.” His enthusiasm was a quiet hum in Adam’s ear. He could see Gansey physically restrain himself from fidgeting. It would have been endearing if the conversation at hand was about anything other than Henrietta. “I’d love to go back sometime. The Welsh influence in the region is fascinating.”

“Gansey,” a voice called from across the ice. Ronan Lynch skated toward them. Adam didn’t let himself flinch, but it was a conscious choice, certainly not what his body’s first instinct would have been. His rigid stance threw off his balance, and he grasped the wall tighter to recover.

Ronan was taller than Adam had imagined, and there was a permanent sneer on his face that warned casual observers off. But after a moment of consideration, the fear relaxed. Not completely. Adam never wholly relaxed, especially not around new people. But Ronan couldn’t be too dangerous if he was going to so much trouble to look it. The people Adam actually feared hid their menace behind layers of polite conversation and neighborly handshakes.

The two fist-bumped casually and what a strange pair the two of them were. Gansey, encased in marble, trapped forever with the face of a teenage scholar, and Ronan, with rough stubble and bags under his eyes that made him look closer to his thirtieth birthday than his twentieth. “Ronan,” Gansey said, turning the attention to him. “This is Adam Parrish.”

Ronan’s stare was unwavering, but Adam was the most stubborn person he knew. He held his chin up and matched the larger, scarier man eye-to-eye. Adam wasn’t scared of some trust-fund legacy player. If he kept thinking that, maybe he could convince himself it was true.

“What’s wrong with your fucking skates?” he asked.

Adam didn’t have a good response. He thought he was hiding his discomfort pretty well.

“Jesus,” Gansey said. “Are those new?”

“Yeah,” he said. There was no point lying when the truth was so obvious.

“You didn’t have time to break them in this summer?” Ronan asked.

“No,” he said. “I promise you my old ones were beyond hope.” Persephone had offered to buy him new ones, but he didn’t feel comfortable with that. He liked his new ones. He could already tell they were going to speed him up. For what they cost him, he sure hoped so. “I’ll be alright. I’ve just gotta break them in.”

Ronan rolled his eyes, an irritating gesture that oozed indifference. Indifference was a privilege Adam had craved his entire life. If Adam didn’t give a shit, he didn’t get shit. He’d only stayed alive as long as he had by caring. By wanting so damn much, it leaked out of his pores. Ambition was a hell of a drug.

“We’ve got ourselves another Virginian on the team,” Gansey said, thumb rubbing anxiously at his lip. “Adam is from Henrietta. That’s near you, right?”

Ronan nodded. “Singer Falls.”

“Really?” Adam said. Another lie, of course. Everyone in the Shenandoah Valley knew the Lynch family.

“Yep,” Ronan said. There was nowhere else for this conversation to go without bringing up Ronan’s background, or worse, Adam’s, so the three of them stood in silence for way too long to be comfortable. Gansey glanced between the two of them like he was waiting for them to make some grand connection, but they continued to stare.

Ronan’s stare was a wild one, meant to scare off opponents. But Adam didn’t shy away from it. He didn’t like conflict, but he was good at it. He’d lived with it since he was born. This was his arena. A little staring competition was nothing.

“Well,” Gansey said, clapping his hands together. He rubbed them anxiously against one another. “Good talk. Ronan, I think Blue wanted to talk to you about something in the equipment room.”

Ronan took a moment to tear his gaze away from Adam, but Adam held it even as he turned to go.

“Sorry about him. He’s not always like this,” Gansey said.

Adam was willing to venture a guess that he probably was.

The first few rounds of warm-ups and drills went better than Adam expected. He was getting more comfortable in his new skates, and while he was struggling to keep up, he wasn’t the worst on the ice like he thought he’d be.

Then they started running plays.

They weren’t overly difficult or complicated. Adam was doing okay for the most part, but there was one thing he’d been dreading since he’d first signed his contract with the team.

Technically, Adam had never been checked before.

In Henrietta, the ice had been the safest place he could be. Persephone used to let him stay for hours after practice, running drills by himself or making penalty shots, or sometimes just sitting around, killing time before he had to go back home.

Here, in Cabeswater, it was going to get violent. He’d known that all along, but he’d hoped it wouldn’t happen during his first practice. He’d hoped he’d have a little time to adjust.

Henry Cheng was not a big guy, no bigger than Adam anyway. It shouldn’t have been scary watching him charge across the ice. But the second their pads collided, Adam went down hard.

His father was leaning over him. He had a tight grip on the front of his sweaty t-shirt. His breath smelled like cheap beer, and Adam couldn’t figure out why that of all things bothered him so much.

“Look at me when I talk to you,” he hissed.

Adam couldn’t get his eyes open. There was dust in them. Dust in his blood, pumping through his veins. It was who he was. It was where he came from, and when he died, he’d turned back to dust. He could only hope it was soon.

“Parrish,” a voice called, softer than his father’s, almost hesitant.

He peeled his eyes open.

He was at center ice. He was lying at center ice at Cabeswater, and the entire Aglionby Men’s Hockey Team was staring at him.

“I promise I didn’t hit him that hard,” Henry said.

“Shut up,” Ronan said. “You gonna survive, Parrish?”

Adam nodded. He pushed himself to his feet. Ronan reached out to help him, but he brushed it off.

“That was impressive,” Noah said. “Do you think we could make a play out of that?”

Adam watched the coaches, gathered at the wall, watching him, expressions concerned. He gathered himself, turning his expression to stone. It was fine. He was fine. He had to show them he was tough enough for this. He couldn’t freak out every time he got checked.

Except once a guy hits the ice in a full-blown panic attack, the team gets a little nervous about hitting him again. He watched them skate around him, slowing down to let him pass. They moved slower, more deliberately. But it wouldn’t work long-term. Other teams weren’t going to leave him alone just because he was scared. He hated them, their pitying looks, their tense smiles. Fuck all of them.

He didn’t stop to talk to anyone when practice was over, not even Gansey.

He let himself take far too long in the shower. He couldn’t remember ever showering without worrying about the water bill, so he let himself enjoy then warmth as it washed over him. Once he was sure everyone else had left, he scrambled for his towel and clothes, changing as quickly as he could before returning to the main part of the locker room. Several of the guys had already left, so it wasn’t hard to avoid stares and questions. He didn’t want to talk to any of them ever again. He’d never been so embarrassed.

In the parking lot, a small crowd had gathered around a shiny, orange Camaro. He wanted to walk away. He wanted to get ahead on the reading for his Sociology class, and he hoped to find time to call Persephone and lie to her about how his first practice went great, and it was going to be a great year. But something drew him in. Whether it be fate or intuition, he wasn’t sure. Persephone used to call him perceptive. Maybe that was it.

Gansey sat in the driver’s seat, hopelessly turning his key in the ignition. A guttural growl came forth, but no signs of actual life. Blue, the team manager, was leaning out the passenger side window, yelling unhelpful instructions at Ronan as he fiddled helpless under the hood. Noah, in the backseat, stretched over the center console, face concerned. “I don’t have a fucking clue, man,” Ronan said. “You’re going to have to call Triple-A.”

“Need any help?” Adam asked.

“That depends,” Gansey said. “Do you happen to know anything about cars?”

“I know a thing or two.”

It turned out to be a faulty spark plug, a stupidly easy fix. Adam finished quickly and soon found himself in the backseat, tucked between Noah and Ronan on his way to Nino’s.

They led Adam straight to a booth at the back of the restaurant. He rushed ahead of Gansey to put his left side against the wall. Gansey slid in beside him, and the other three piled onto the opposite booth.

They ordered a large deep-dish pizza—half avocado and half sausage. Adam didn’t order anything other than water. He had a meal plan and had been taking full advantage of it. But he still couldn’t afford to be blowing what little money he had on pizza.

“You play hockey. You fix cars,” Gansey said. “What can’t you do?”

“Take a hit,” Ronan said.

Blue smacked his shoulder. “Shut the fuck up.” She turned to Adam. “Ignore him. We’re thinking about getting him a shock collar.”

Adam had known this outing was a bad idea. He’d been distracted by the hope of it all, their closeness, the way these guys knew each other better than anyone else. These were uncharted waters for Adam. He’d let them draw him in. But he knew better, and he had to keep reminding himself. He was unknowable. Untouchable. He was a functional machine made of broken pieces, and one day it would all come to a grinding halt. It was better to keep everyone else out of the way of the inevitable crash.

Gansey turned a stern glare to Ronan like he was about to scold a toddler. He opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it in a silent huff. He turned back to Adam. “Any other hobbies?”

Adam knew how to do lots of things, just nothing he’d call a hobby. His father had taught him how to protect his face. His mother had taught him how to lie. But Persephone had taught him how to play hockey. When he’d showed up at the rink, scrawny and hungry, searching for a third job, she’d seen him for what he was. She gave him a job cleaning the stands after games. She’d paid him more than he was worth and bought his equipment. Hockey was his ticket out of Henrietta, but there was one more thing she’d taught him.

“I can bake a mean pie.”

“I beg your pardon?” Gansey’s grin broke through his marble features. It made him look less noble than his previous politician-perfect smile. “Pies?”

He nodded.

“You should come bake at Monmouth,” Noah said. He bounced in his seat, an impatient gesture that shook the whole table.

“That is not a bad idea,” Gansey said. “We never have baked goods.”

“I made brownies last year,” Noah said.

“Those do not count.” Gansey shook a stern finger at Noah. “And you know why.”

When their waitress came back with the pizza, she sat it in the middle of the table and handed plates to each of them. Adam gently pushed his away. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

“I’m sorry, Adam,” Gansey said, eyebrows pulled up in a concerned crease. “We should’ve asked what you wanted. We can order something else if you’d like.” His words said I was wrong, but his eyes said you poor thing. Adam hated pity.

“I’m fine,” he snapped. “I’m just not hungry.”

Ronan leaned over the table, grabbing a slice with sausage on it. It slapped onto the plate, and Ronan slid it forward, just under his face.

“Eat it anyway,” Ronan said. “You could use the fucking protein.”

Fuck Ronan Lynch.

He ate it anyway.

[lezliefaithwade]

Being An Actress

I remember the moment I decided I wanted to be an actress. I was walking across the parking lot of my high school after an undoubtedly stellar performance as Portia in an all-girl production of The Merchant of Venice when my father turned to me and said, "Do you think you might want to do this for a living?" At the time I remembered feeling a little insulted. My grades were excellent. Didn't my father think I could be a lawyer or a veterinarian or a psychologist? It wasn't that I didn't love to act, but everyone I knew who wanted to be an actress was either egotistical or unstable. Not that one was mutually exclusive of the other. What did this say about me? No one in my family acted, although my Grandmother often hinted of an unsubstantiated family connection to Hermoine Gingold. Occasionally my parents would take us to see a play or listen to a concert, but only to help make us well-rounded individuals. When someone would go on about the Sound of Music my father would roll his eyes and say, “How can I take a nun singing on hilltops seriously?” And I found myself admitting that he had a point.

When I was four I appeared on Romper Room for an unprecedented two weeks. At the time my best friend, Mary Lou, had been selected for the local cable network but her incredibly shy demeanor had her mother worried.

“She’s gonna sit there like a sack of potatoes.” Mrs. Dean told my Mother who quickly suggested that I accompany Mary Lou for moral support.

“What do I have to do?” I asked my mother as she was tucking me into bed.

“Just be yourself,” she replied. My mother knew exactly what that meant. Naturally loquacious I kept things hopping on the set by constantly commenting on the camera man kissing the teacher. When asked what my father had in his garage, I remarked that it was presumptuous to even assume we had one. There was some discussion about a third week, but Miss Dawson put her foot down and said I was stealing the show.

Soon I was taking dance classes and skating lessons. My first stage appearance was as a rabbit in the famous ballet, Bugs Bunny's Birthday Party. I was excited because we second tiered rabbits were going to eat sandwiches on stage. Then disaster struck. The sandwiches were going to be peanut butter and I hated peanut butter. Teary eyed I complained to my mother who told me to grin and bear it. “That’s acting,” she said.

In grade four I wrote a play about a pair of motorcycle lovers and sang Baby Driver while they straddled their desks and rode off into the sunset.

“Hit the road and I’m gone.

What’s your number?

I wonder how your engine feels?”

“Okay,” Mrs. Orcutt interrupted, “I think that’s all the time we have for that today.”

After my father gave me his blessing to pursue a career on the stage, I decided to explore all of my options. I auditioned for an amateur theatre company and played bird #4 in Aristophanes’ The Birds, and a milk maid in Galt MacDermot’s musical adaptation of Shakespeare’s Two Gentlemen of Verona. Not exactly earth-shattering roles, but I knew there was a pecking order (no pun intended) and that dues must be paid. In Niagara Falls, where I lived as a teenager, there were two amateur companies. The youth group that took over the Firehall Theatre in the summer months of July and August, and the adult group that staked their claim the rest of the year. The youth company was run entirely by a handful of 18 to 20-year-olds who took themselves very seriously. We stretched ourselves artistically, which is really just another way of saying that were out of our depth. I remember as Bertha in Pippin I had to say, "Men raise flags when they can't get anything else up." At the time I had no idea what that meant but I certainly enjoyed the response I got every time I said it.  

The amateur theatre company in the neighbouring city of St. Catharines were doing large scale musicals with professional directors and a cast of a thousand. Even I could tell the difference between Garden City’s production of West Side Story and the Niagara Falls Music Theatre Production of A Shadow Box. We told ourselves that we were doing something significant for the five or six audience members who sat in the dark to watch us perform. “At least they can appreciate art.” we told ourselves, ignoring the occasional snore beyond the footlights.  When someone who had seen our production complained in the paper that “…smut didn’t belong on stage.” I was devasted. “Some people just don’t know a good thing when they see it,” I ranted, “It’s a Pulitzer award winning play.”  I forgot that we weren’t Tony award winning actors.

Anxious to spread my wings and get a taste of the real thing, I auditioned for a one-act play festival at the nearby University and managed to get the part of an uptight bible thumper in an original musical called A Hundred Bucks a Week. It was the story of a topless shampoo parlourist who castrates a guy with her teeth. Did I mention that it was narrated by a cat? I still remember singing:

“We all must be as babies in the garden.

Smiling with our mouths all bright and new.

Innocently smelling lovely roses.

Not prying with our fingers in dog doo.”

Needless to say, my father was a little shocked when an actress appeared on stage topless while I sang my heart out in a futile effort to convert her. This time as he walked me across the parking lot to the car he suggested that perhaps I should seriously consider journalism at Carleton. “Impossible!” I stated dramatically, “I’m an actress.” And I actually believed it.

I arrived at University wearing vintage clothes with frizzy hair and John Lennon glasses. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to be Doris Finsecker from Fame or Janice Joplin. My dorm room-mate was an engineering student who was the first to know of a kegger and had never seen a play in her life. She often returned to our room late at night reeking of booze and sludge water after spontaneous dips in the Detroit River.

At theatre school I was told I couldn’t dance, I couldn’t sing, I had speech impediments and a wandering left eye that would completely destroy any hopes of a career in film “Too bad you didn’t have it looked at when you were a kid,”one professor told me, “It’s easily treatable if caught when you are young.” At the age of five I was a frequent visitor to Sick Kids Hospital for my eye and wore a patch over my glasses for a year. It didn’t cure me. So much for trusting the knowledge of my professors. Strike one!

I began to sink under the pressure of looks and expectations. While the rest of the women in my class wasted away proclaiming to have eaten nothing but broccoli over Thanksgiving, I gained seven pounds over a new found love of peanut butter and developed a bad attitude towards anyone who encouraged me to “feel space”. When my teacher overheard me mutter under my breath one day that I hated improve she called a class meeting to discuss why I hated her. Everyone stared at me shocked and disappointed. Why was I resisting the pu-pu platter of techniques spread out before me? “You’re a very stubborn actress,” the teacher announced, “but I’m going to break you.” That was strike two.

At my first semester tutorial I was told that I had talent, but I wasn’t tall, thin or pretty enough. “You have the face of Sally Field,” the department head told me, “but the body of Kathy Bates.” Strike three.  I went home for Christmas and announced to my father that I was dropping out to focus, instead, on getting into a proper theatre school in New York. After all, I reasoned, it’s where I really wanted to be anyway.

There is probably nothing quite as depressing as returning to your hometown in the middle of winter when all of your friends are away at school having the time of their lives. The overall perception is that you have failed. It didn’t help to think that I had willfully brought myself to this point in time. The phrase, “small fish in a big pond” kept going around in my head. While my best friends were acing all of their classes and dating interesting freshmen, I was eating cookies, and counting the days until everyone would return to amuse me. In the meantime, I moped around the apartment, wrote letters to theatre schools and read a lot of plays.

“You have to get a job.” My father announced and for the first time I was forced to slog my way through the want ads in a half assed attempt to find work at either a wax museum or a fudge shop. Completely unqualified for anything except theatre, I was forced to become a chamber maid at a tacky little hotel near Clifton Hill. Picking up after the kind of clientele that honeymoon in tacky hotels in Niagara Falls is enough to get one thinking seriously about their life choices. Maybe Dad had been right. A career in the theatre wasn’t looking so good anymore. Something had been tarnished from University and I couldn’t pretend that my trajectory to success was going to be one clear straight line to the top. I’d hit rock bottom and was picking up the condom rappers and dirty Kleenex to show it.

There have been many times in my career when I’ve been very close to throwing in the towel and becoming a real-estate agent or a tour guide.  At each one of those moments of genuine universal surrender something miraculous always happens. That year it was a letter of acceptance from the Neighborhood Playhouse in New York. By now my father, less convinced that I could make a go of it, made me a deal. If I could find a place to live in Manhattan within a week, he would allow me to go. So, I boarded the train in Buffalo and headed for the Big Apple.

I arrived in New York at around 2:00 PM on a very, very hot day in August. I walked straight to the library, took out the Village Voice, circled an advertisement seeking a room-mate for a four-bedroom brownstone on the Upper West Side, was interviewed at 7:00 PM and secured my living accommodations within twenty-four hours. It didn’t matter to me that I had no idea who the three men I’d be living with were. The place was nice and the price was right. I think I heard my father drop the phone when I called to tell him that I had accomplished the impossible. Studying in New York proved to be the best and possibly the worst thing that ever happened to me. I developed a philosophy of acting that has served me in every way, but it also created a high standard that hasn’t always been easy to live up to.

_________________________________________________________

A few years ago, I was invited to direct a production of Blue Stockings at the same University I had so unceremoniously departed from those many years ago. Parallel universes collided as images of my past kept imposing themselves on the present. There was the quad I had been initiated in. There was the building where I’d slept and laughed and cried. There was my window with the view of the cemetery and McDonalds. There was the library where I looked up the address of every theatre school in New York. There was the theatre I did my practicum in, all pretty much the same as the day I left it. The walls, hallways, buildings hadn’t changed, but I had. I didn’t need reassurance anymore. I didn’t need someone to tell me what I wasn’t or couldn’t be. If only we could teach students the value of tenacity and resilience.

I enjoyed directing that class. I hope I encouraged and inspired them. I was happy when they came to rehearsals in sweats and tee shirts, less concerned about how they looked than we had been. More confident in their choices. More involved. On Opening night after the cheers and flowers and the congratulations, it felt good to climb into the car and head for home. I’m not cut out for institutions. I don’t like the brick and the neon and the bureaucracy. Still, it was good to make my peace with that time in my life. On the four-hour drive to Niagara I was thinking about the young people I had just worked with making the transition from student to actor. Maybe some of them will end up in New York. Maybe not. The thing about acting is it can take you anywhere…from Romper Room to the stars with a few tacky hotels in between.

[unholyhelbig]

omg haha that was completely my fault for not being specific! especially bc i like the other fic too! if you're considering writing a pt 2 to the one where hope is a surfer you definitely should bc that's my fav ❤️

Read on Ao3 | Send me more Legacies Prompts! | Read Part One Here

[a/n: Thank you so much for the love! As always, writing smut is not my strong suit, so go easy on me!]

Title: Braving the Storm [P2] 

Ship: Lizzie Saltzman/ Hope Mikaelson 

The warm summer wind curled around Hope Mikaelson’s legs, the thick scent of the sea pulled at every inch of her as she walked along the mostly vacant beachfront. The sky was cloudless and large water-washed rocks sat littered with seaweed drawn in from the storm. She reveled in the silence.

Her board had been broken and her keys were somewhere in the sand. Despite the warnings and her pounding headache, she took to searching the stretch of land helplessly. Palm leaves and different patio furniture that hadn’t been bolted down lay crumpled and broken. She had left Lizzie at the store, had flushed, and walked out because she couldn’t even justify what had happened.

Concussion or not, Hope Mikaelson wasn’t one to have a quick fuck in a stock room an play it off like it was nothing. She liked to have a connection, or at least a decent meal with a woman first. Hell- even a last name would settle the odd feeling in her stomach. But no, it wasn’t her.

She frowned and kicked weakly at a pile of sand that could have been a magnificent castle with a trapped princess and a valiant prince who would have been a woman all along; because only someone with the female sense could rescue a girl from a tower that large. Finding her keys was a long shot.

Hope had fastened a pair of fake lifeguard pants around her waist- the word was misprinted and the color was an abrasive shade of red. She flexed her toes in the wet sand and breathed in the overwhelming scent of rain and her own sweat, shockingly glad that Lizzie had forced her to down that much water. It eased the nausea in her stomach.

The world felt like it was on its edge; everyone still huddled in their homes either too drunk to see the light of day or too concerned with the power lines and rising water to venture past thresholds. She stared at the waves like so could see the clear line where it cut off, watched as rolling darkness hurried away.

“You’re following me now?” Hope didn’t tear her eyes away from the ocean.

“I figured if you dropped out of nowhere, you’d want someone around.” Lizzie grimaced before taking a breath “I don’t know how concussions work.”

Hope chuckled and glanced over; Lizzie looked effortlessly captivating in the sunlight. Her hair caught every turn of the wind and her eyes were bluer than the very waves they stared at. Her nose was red and raw and her expression was tired but content. It matched how Hope felt.

“It’s just a little headache, I’ve had a few.”

Lizzie lifted a perfect brow as if prompting her to continue, to fill the unwavering silence of their Eden.

“Before I started surfing, I skated. God, my mom was furious with the choice but knew there was no talking me out of something I was determined to do. She took me to a skate park and without any training, or practice, I took to it. I fell within seconds and she had to take me to urgent care for some stitches. I had a concussion then, too.”

“You sound like you’re stubborn.”

“The best people are.”

Lizzie smiled, and Hope couldn’t tell if it was more to her, or to the world.  Either way, she could feel her palms sweat and her throat tingle. There was an odd pull to Lizzie, one that made her feel like it would be okay to straddle in her a back stock room filled with cheesy t-shirts and multicolored rocks that they bought in bulk.

“I’m not like that,” Hope finally stumbled out.

“Stubborn?”

“No, I’m more stubborn than I’d like to admit. I meant… I’m not someone who plays into that whole surfer stereotype. I don’t just fuck random people because they saved my life, or whatever.” Hope’s cheeks felt hot and she averted her gaze.

Lizzie took a deep breath and turned until she could face Hope entirely, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re thinking too much. You’re not the only one who got something out of that, you know? Don’t run yourself ragged over something silly.”

“Like morals?”

“Well, I suppose it depends on who you ask, but yes.”

Hope shoved her hands into the pockets of the cheap sweatpants and sighed “it doesn’t bother you in the slightest that I wouldn’t have given you a second glance if it weren’t for this hurricane and a rainbow umbrella?”

“Oh, should it? People don’t tend to notice a girl behind a counter when all they sell is novelty items. Why would someone who lives here have any reason to buy another shirt with the state they live in, embroidered on the breast?”

Hope weighed her options and her outlying guilt. Lizzie had a point- when she first moved here she was captivated by the glass-plated buildings and what they had to offer; the towels that were screen printed with images of sunsets, the key chains flashing with the most common names, and whatever neon toy was on the market.

“So, just sex?” She sounded out.

“Just sex, if that’s something you’re interested in.”

She pursed her lips and turned back to the waves, watching as they pulled a generous amount back out to sea. Hope had never had an offer like this laid out on the table, not so bluntly, anyway. There had been hookups and long term relationships. But never something just focused on the end goal of pleasure.

“Okay,” her voice was slight “Yeah, we can do that.”

Lizzie nodded, seemingly satisfied with herself, before turning and walking back towards the boardwalk. Hope hated the fact that she watched the entire way, and felt an odd type of ache in the bit of her stomach. But maybe that had something to do with the fact that she couldn’t find her keys.

It took two weeks for their small town to feel normal again. The stores had pried wet wood from windows and piled sandbags in sheds instead of at the edges of doors. Hope had been careful and calculated when it came to every visit to the beach after that.

She couldn’t deny the pull it had on her. She had gotten a new board and fished deep in her junk drawer until she found the spare key to the jeep. The beaches were full again and the waves towered enough to get some good days in- and still, Hope couldn’t bring herself to step foot through the doors of the small novelty shop.

She struggled to peel the wet suit from her skin, releasing the top zipper as her bare feet burned against the asphalt. She ignored the wandering stares around her, and the cooks behind the nearest restaurant as they puffed in smoke before slowly letting it fill the air.

Hope moved the rest of the wetsuit down and threw it in her trunk, feeling the stifling summer air against her mostly bare skin. She started to dig helplessly through her backseat in search of a large t-shirt or even a pair of pants.

“I can’t say I’m not enjoying the view.”

She straightened out, a flash of anger moving through her. Hope dug her nails into her palm and turned to face the culprit “Would you still enjoy the view if I- oh,”

Lizzie had a smug smile on her face, and Hope cursed herself for feeling that familiar rush of heat. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You’re not rethinking our deal, are you?”

“No, of course not, I’ve just been a little tied up is all.” Hope spoke too fast for her own good and Lizzie was quick to take notice, but nice enough not to say anything in the first place. She knew her cheeks were a soft pink but chalked it up to the sun that beat against them.

The blonde leaned forward, she smelled like sunscreen “How’s your head?”

“It’s fine.” Hope lifted an eyebrow cautiously “Oh, um, I mean- it still kind of hurts. Maybe you could get a better look at it… in my car.”

Lizzie schooled her stance and her smile twinkled as if she was just given an invitation for a massive masquerade ball complete with freshly clipped roses and fancy platters of food. Not the backseat of a used Jeep that had a healthy coating of sand on the floor.

Hope opened the door further, like a real gentleman and watched carefully as Lizzie climbed in before doing the same herself. And she hadn’t really thought this all the way through- because the riskiest place she had ever had sex was a few weeks back in the middle of a category five.

Now they were in the back corner of a parking lot that was surrounded by a weather-washed fence and the backs of a few shops. She suddenly felt like she was exposing more than Lizzie was- still in her work uniform of jean shorts and a t-shirt while Hope sported a black bikini, showing the full expanse of her stomach, arms, and legs. Lizzie traced every inch while Hope leaned forward and locked the doors.

“Your car is nice,” Lizzie managed

“It’s a piece of junk, but thank you for trying.”

“Come here.”

Hope allowed herself to be guided to Lizzie’s side of the car by the top strap of her suit. It hadn’t been hard enough to unloop it, but she was effectively in Lizzie’s lap, a tongue running over the roof of her mouth in a matter of seconds. She wasn’t sure which one of them moaned first, but it lit a fire deep that ran deep against her skin as Lizzie’s hands wandered.

Hope bit down softly on Lizzie’s lower lip before running her tongue over it and moving her touch to Lizzie’s jaw. “I’m in charge this time,” She spoke in a low snarl.

“And what makes you figure that?”

She moved to Lizzie’s pulse point, feeling it quicken under her lips “My shitty car, my rules.”

Hope didn’t’ hear a further objection, just a small whimper of pleasure as she looped her fingers around the bottom of Lizzie’s shirt and pulled it over her head. Hope hadn’t been one to take control before- the nerves of starting a relationship, or lack thereof, like this was teeming at the back of her mind. But not when Lizzie was under her like this. Exposed.

She unhooked the latch of her bra, throwing the flimsy fabric into the backseat with her wetsuit. Hope could feel her own heart rate rise as she got a good look at Lizzie; the way her skin seemed soft, breasts flawless in the early evening lights. She knew in that moment that she wanted to watch Lizzie unravel completely. She wanted to be the cause of it.

Hope kissed softly down Lizzie’s chest, nipping tenderly, her stomach heaving up and down with hot breath. “Stop teasing.” She hummed through clenched teeth, fingers digging into the leather seats.

The button to Lizzie’s pants were easily undone, and she eagerly lifted from the seat long enough for Hope to slide the shorts down to her ankles before they were discarded entirely among the sandy floors. Hope lowered herself, even more, running her nails against Lizzie’s sides.

“You know,” She spoke against Lizzie’s thigh, biting down soft enough to elicit a moan of pleasure, “I thought this idea of yours was pretty crazy.”

“Uh huh,”

Lizzie wasn’t listening, and Hope knew that. She was trying to scoot down the seat to bring Hope’s mouth closer. But the shorter girl had a good hold on each of her legs, moving just a bit closer to her sex.

“It’s starting to grow on me a little bit.” Hope ran her tongue over the little bite mark she had left on the inside of Lizzie’s thigh “Unless my priorities are all out of wack.”

“Hope, don’t take this the wrong way.” Lizzie moved her hand from the seat to the girl's chin, pulling her gaze up until blue met a deeper hue of cobalt. “I don’t care about your priorities unless one of them is screaming at you to get on with it, and fuck me.”

She blew out a puff of air and smiled “Message received.”

Hope returned back to her task, pushing Lizzie’s legs further apart before shifting the strip of wet fabric to the side. She breathed in the scent of lavender before running her tongue over Lizzie’s slit, just barely tasting her. The girl writhed beneath her and let out a shuddered breath at the quick contact.

She had reveled in the fact that Lizzie hated to be teased, ghosting her lips over her clit, hot and heavy. Hope knew what she was doing, knew how to trace little patterns, and suck with just the right amount of pressure until Lizzie shook under her touch. She dug her hand into Auburn locks.

“Keep going,” Lizzie husked, clenching her eyes shut to avoid staring at the fuzzy gray ceiling.

Hope followed the command, changing her pace as she ran her tongue over the small bundle of nerves in a steady rhythm until she felt Lizzie’s body fall rigid. Her own hair being pulled as Lizzie bit down hard enough on her bottom lip to draw blood, to keep from screaming loud enough to catch the attention of anyone who happened to be in the parking lot.

Her chest heaved, her mouth dry as Hope pulled away and moved her thumb against the corner of her lip, a satisfied grin on her face.  Lizzie was coated in an even sheen of sweat, her fingers grasping at her t-shirt. She pulled it over her head, finally catching her bearings.

“I might like you better when you’re not talking.” She sniffed, sitting up as she reached for her shorts.

“Thank you, I think?” Hope pushed herself onto the back seat, moving her hands against her knees to brush off the rest of the sand. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I meant it as one. But maybe next time, can we do this somewhere that isn’t your car?” Lizzie moved an old energy drink can from where her back had been resting. “Not that this isn’t great, or anything.”

Hope scoffed and pulled that random shirt that she finally found over her head. Her skin was hot and the sand was scratching close to her skin. But it was better than the sudden blush that bloomed against her skin.

She smiled. “Message received.”