#it tastes like whip cream and clear skies

[screampied]

happy birthday to my man 😙😙😙

actual footage of me giving him the sloppiest jaw breaking head but it’s cropped out

[luninosity]

Catching up on @evanstanweek posts! (Yesterday was a busy teaching day!)

Here’s day one, for the prompt ‘Dodger’ - soft domestic established-relationship fluff.

Read here on AO3 - 1133 words, no warnings, rated T for now though that may change with additional chapters!

Or read on tumblr, below!

#

Chris finishes pouring Sebastian’s coffee, pauses to watch as constellations become visible across the mug given the newfound heat, and grins at stars for a second. He’d bought Seb this mug, a couple months ago, just because he’d seen it and wanted to. Seb adores it.

 Sebastian’s happy. Here. With him. Chris knows that right down to the marrow of his bones, and it lights him up inside.

 He’s happy too. Fuck, he’s happy. Right here in their kitchen, on an afternoon full of bracing chilly winter air and grey drizzle from damp skies. More than he’d ever imagined he could be.

 He’s always wanted a family, a partner, love. He’d said so, laughing, in interviews, even long before meeting Sebastian Stan. He’d always pictured the kind of life, domestic and cozy and romantic, where he could get up early and make the love of his life breakfast in bed, or take someone stargazing, or go for a walk in the woods with a big friendly dog or two bouncing alongside.

 He’s got all that. He’s got all that and more. Just now he’s making coffee—and tea for himself—because Sebastian loves coffee in the same way kittens love sunbeams, and Chris loves seeing those familiar sweet opal-ocean eyes get all warm and pleased.

 That always makes him feel warm too. Right down in his soul, where joy lives.

 He knows Sebastian doesn’t always like gloomy days, darker sunless days. Seb likes rain and storms, because they’re full of motion; Seb likes sunlight and tempting horizons and even whipping wind, a world that’s quick and alive. But the flat dull leaden weather, day after day, gets hard. Restless. Scratchy, under Seb’s skin.

 Right now Chris thinks they’ve got it handled, though. He’s loved Sebastian for years, and he’s learned a few tricks. New books help. So does good sex. And warmth and coziness, feeling soothed and calmed and settled into place.

 He grins at the mug again. He’s left Dodger out in the living room with Seb, being good company and a good anchor. He loves that Sebastian loves his dog, and Dodger loves Seb right back. They got along right from the start: playtime, tummy rubs, laughter, walks together. Sebastian stays with Dodger when Chris has to fulfil some obligations, when Seb’s not busy doing the same; Chris had given him keys to the house early on, before it became their house and not just Chris’s, though that hadn’t taken long either. Sebastian feels right here. Part of this home.

 Chris had come in once after a shower, tired from a long plane flight and a weary drive amid sputtering cloudbursts, and had caught Sebastian flopped down on the floor by the fire, having an earnest conversation with Dodger, nose to nose: you know I love him, Seb had been saying. You know how much he means to me. So we’re gonna take care of him, okay? You and me. We got this.

 Chris, worn thin by hours on a plane and interview anxiety and the tension of driving in rain, had felt the tears well up. He’d stood there in the doorway and put a hand over his mouth, afraid to make a sound; both Seb and Dodger had looked up, and smiled at him.

 Thinking of that, he smiles now; he turns back toward the living room, the sofa, his family and his heart.

 He takes a step or two that way; and then he has to stop, because the sight’s so wonderful, so piercing, that he forgets he’s holding mugs of hot beverages and starts to press a hand to his heart.

 He catches the motion. But his hand quivers to do it anyway: to feel the emotion, to flatten his palm over the wild thump and leap and bonfire glow inside his chest.

 Sebastian’s fallen asleep, settled right where Chris left him moments ago. His book—that new history of women in the space program that Chris’d given him that morning—has fallen onto his chest. His hair’s fluffed up, dark against the blue-striped couch-pillow; his mouth’s a little open. Firelight traces his cheekbones, his chin.

 He’s wearing one of Chris’s long-sleeved shirts and his own sweatpants and striped fuzzy socks, and he’s tucked up in the giant cream-colored knit blanket that Chris had put around him, and he’s got a second blanket in the form of Dodger, who’s draped across him and snuggled under one of Seb’s arms, which has obviously been good for cuddling.

 Dodger lifts his head when Chris takes another small step. His ears perk up, but he doesn’t move. His expression says: I know where I’m needed, I’m keeping him safe and warm and pinned under a nice heavy dog-weight, he’s good at snuggling puppies, and I’m taking excellent care of him for you.

 You are, Chris wants to say. Oh, you are. Oh fuck I love you both—

 He’s afraid if he tries to talk he’ll either start bawling or wake Seb. So he just stands there helplessly gazing at the loves of his life, while his heart cracks and spills over with light, incandescent and shattering and blinding. He’s pretty sure he can’t die from love, but at the moment he just might anyway, because the sight lances right through him and opens him up, pouring out clear profound aching protectiveness and adoration and desire and rightness in rays of crystal.

 When he remembers to breathe he tastes the scents of his own tea, and Sebastian’s coffee: herbal, nutty, full of steam. His hands are warm. The fire crackles and pounces on greyness and shoos it all away: nothing but light and heat left here in this room.

 Sebastian stirs slightly but doesn’t quite wake. His fingers shift in Dodger’s fur, then relax. Dodger sets his head back down atop Seb’s chest, contentedly.

 Chris breathes out, blinks rapidly—his vision’s kind of water-logged—and crosses over to them, as quietly as possible.

 He doesn’t think he’s made a noise, sitting down and putting mugs down, but Seb yawns and stirs again, eyelashes lifting: half-awake and drowsy. He finds Chris to look at immediately, and smiles: sleepy, unguarded, beautiful. “Hey.”

 “Hey, yourself.” Chris tugs Seb’s feet into his own lap, rubbing one gently. With those fuzzy socks, they’re warm; with a Dodger-blanket, Sebastian must be completely warm and weighed down, securely held, all over. “Go back to sleep.”

 “No,” Seb protests lazily. “Coffee. You. Dodger. Nice.” Dodger lets out a happy puppy-huff at the sound of his name, and also at Seb’s hand resuming scratching duties behind his ears.

 “Don’t worry,” Chris tells them both, one hand now kneading Seb’s calf and the other getting back to puppy-petting duties himself, right where they all should be, “I’ll heat your coffee up anytime it gets cold.”

[flannelshirtandjeans]

I was for once in a writing mood! Some teen boys being friends! They love each other and love being friends! Have been since they were Quite Small! Guest appearance by @keycchan's Tiffany!

___________________________

I've got it covered

(Image is relevant but also wrong season lmao)

"Tiffamommy!" Ordell called through the house, hopping on one foot while trying to pull on his ski pants.

"What?" came her call back, probably from the kitchen.

"Can you make me and Wyatt some hot chocolate if I clear the snow?" He got his leg through the tangled lining layer and stepped it on the floor with a satisfied ha!

Tiffany peeked into the entrance hall, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

"Are you gonna take off those pants and not do it if I say no?" she asked and Ordell pulled the pants up.

"I may take these off because I think I need a bigger size," Ordell said, half-squatting a couple of times. "I don't think I'm getting TALLER anymore but now the muscles are playing catchup. But otherwise no, I'm still gonna go shovel."

"Okay, well, we just gotta go shopping soon then. Any special requests for the hot chocolate?"

Ordell beamed. "Mint chocolates on the bottom of the mug and a little whipped cream on top. Please?"

"Oh, feeling fancy! Okay, anything else?"

"Nope, that's perfect. Thank you! I'll tell you when I'm almost done!"

He pulled on his coat and gave his mom a quick kiss on the head before she turned back into the kitchen and he threw on the rest of his clothes and hurried outside.

The air tasted humid and the clouds in the sky promised more snow later, but for now the air was clear and the snow made a satisfying muffled compacting noise when he skipped off the porch and into the freshly fallen layer covering all of their footpaths and clear areas (and most importantly, the driveway out front). He loved the sharp crunches and creaks that came with freezing temperatures, but this kind of snow was exactly what he had been waiting for for WEEKS now.

He grabbed the big plow from where it leaned against the wall and took it to clear the driveway first - that was always the least fun part of the snow duties for him; the wider area could be frustrating to clear especially when there was as much snow as there was now -- most of whatever he was pushing just kinda fell off the plow so he had to go through the area over and over. But the foot paths - those were fun to go through with a shovel even thought he was making it harder for himself by taking all of it to one big pile of snow by the little shed instead of just throwing it next to the desired path.

About an hour later he was done, and so was the promised hot cocoa. He was so warm that he had opened his coat and taken off his gloves, hat, and scarf, and he was a little surprised that he wasn't physically steaming. He grabbed the hot chocolates in their thermos mugs, thanked his mom, and then waded with the mugs to the fence between their property and the neighbor's. He COULD have used the path he had cleared to the gate but what would have been the fun in that? Anyway, there was a light in Wyatt's window (albeit a dim one, so likely the bedside lamp), so he wouldn't have to go their door anyway.

He set the mugs down in the snow, grabbed a handful of snow, patted into a loose snowball, aimed, and threw it at Wyatt's window. The first snowball landed a little short and just sunk into the snow, but the second one hit the wall just under the window. He made another one just in case and waited for a moment. When no Wyatt appeared in the window, he threw the other one -- just as Wyatt did appear. The snowball went baff on the window and scattered and Wyatt jumped visibly inside, and Ordell felt bad for a second but then laughed and waved when Wyatt put a hand on his chest and slumped with relief. Wyatt opened his window.

"You almost scared a curse out of me!" he called, and Ordell laughed. "I already owe the curse jar some cash! What are you throwing snowballs for!"

"Come out! I wanna sit on the roof with you! Mom made hot cocoa for us!"

"Isn't it a little cold for that?"

"We don't have to be there for HOURS! Just a little bit? Also it's suojasää like your dad says, ski pants and a coat are plenty! I had to take off layers."

"Okay but--"

"Mom put mint chocolates and whipped cream in heeere," Ordell said and waved the cocoa mugs around as alluringly as he could. The look on Wyatt's face was worth every shovel of snow in their yard, and then some. Ordell wanted to laugh at the way he bounced on the balls of his feet in frustration -- but didn't because he knew why Wyatt was reluctant.

"But Ordell, I don't think I can climb onto the roof! It's already a clamber in the summer, but now it's snowy and my knee--"

They'd just gotten news that Wyatt's knee would need re-surgery to try to fix how it was healing wrong -- they'd all expected it because Wyatt should have been able to move without pain by now if it HAD worked properly. Didn't make it any less devastating.

"I got that covered. Do you want the cocoa or not?"

There was a furious little pause, and then Wyatt muttered something to himself while closing the window, flipped Ordell a bird the way that friends do, and disappeared. Ordell waited patiently, and after half a minute, Wyatt appeared in the window again, pointedly pulling a cardigan on and making faces. Ordell grinned, and started wading towards the gate. Wyatt met him at the gate a few minutes later, and Ordell let him through to his side.

"Are you sure you're wearing enough?" Ordell asked, and Wyatt laughed. He had on his ski pants and his thickest coat, and at least the theatrical cardigan from the window as an extra layer underneath. He had a scarf and a fur lined hat with ear flaps strapped under his chin, and bick thick mittens, and looked every bit prepared for like... at least fifteen degrees colder weather than this.

"Look, if you're gonna somehow get me onto that roof, I'm gonna be up there for a good while so I figured I better prepare. Like, I don't doubt that we can get me up there? You could probably THROW me at this point. But coming down sounds painful now matter how you spin it."

"Don't you worry! I told you, I got that covered!"

"Are you planning to throw me DOWN? What if there's rocks in the snow?"

Ordell laughed.

"Don't be silly! We don't have rocks near there. Might be a garden gnome buried in there somewhere though."

He led Wyatt through the paths, by the house where they waved at the moms peeking out of the window, and to the shed they liked to sit on and talk when they just wanted to chill. They always did it rarely in the winter, and hadn't been up there in months in any case because of Wyatt's knee. Ordell missed it, he really did, it was one of those times when his heart was truly at rest. They'd sat on the patios and park benches and stuff in the late summer and fall, or under trees or on the beach... but it was never the same.

Wyatt stopped when he saw the snow stairs carved into a big pile of snow leading up to the roof and made a little surprised noise. Ordell turned to look at him and his heart glowed a soft gold at Wyatt's awed, incredulous smile and watering eyes.

"You made STAIRS?"

"Yeah! I've been making them for WEEKS, but then it got too cold and the snow wouldn't shape properly so I had to wait to get them high enough. Shouldn't be slippy either, I made them tilt a little like... towards the back of the stair so you can't slip down them even if they get icy. At least very easily."

Wyatt shook his head and laughed.

"You-- you really are something. I- thank you. Wow. Love you, Ordell."

"Love you, man. Wanna go first?"

[author-morgan]

Deliverance † Arthur Morgan

Two: Eastbound and Down Chapter Summary:  With renewed strength and the weather finally clearing, the gang ride down from the mountains, meaning to set up camp somewhere the weather is warmer.     Masterlist

     COLTER IS AN old mining town buried in the snow of the West Grizzlies and where the Van der Linde gang has made camp for now. It's freezing and Pearson, among others, isn't happy there's another mouth to worry about feeding. They'd lost Jennie and Davey but already replaced them with three new hungry bellies —Sadie Adler, Kieran Duffy, and now Lilian Cornwall.

    "Here" —Arthur holds out a tin cup of watery venison stew as he kneels next to the fireplace— "ain't much but can't have you witherin' away." Unable to hide the rumble of her stomach, Lilian takes the stew, gingerly nursing the bland broth and watching as Arthur stokes the fire 'fore adding another warped piece of lumber.

    Dry wood crackling in the hearth permeates the tense silence until the shrill howl of the cold wind starts back up, whipping at the door of the small cabin and under the tin roof. Lilian Cornwall glimpses the stern look on Arthur Morgan's rugged face as he stares into the dancing flames from under the brim of a worn gambler's hat. His lips set into a harsh line half-hidden behind the unkempt beginnings of a beard and blue-green eyes shining with flecks of gold from the fire and lanterns. Sitting aside the empty cup, Lilian brings her knees up to her chest, shrinking into the torn and stained fustian coat.

    The warmth is chased away by the cabin door swinging open —snow skitters across the uneven floor with a great gust of wind. "Dutch," Arthur greets, gaze tracking the gang's leader as he moves fireside, peeling off a pair of thick leather gloves and righting an upturned stool. He sits with a flourish, pushing back the hem of his thick, black winter coat and stretches his hands out toward the fire. With an audible sigh, Dutch Van der Linde turns his attention to Lilian Cornwall.

    Her pensive stare reminds him of the card in his pocket. Bill had been so kind as to offer it up after getting back to the camp. The portrait is already a few years old, three or four if memory serves her right —they curled her dark hair and placed a crown of white lilies upon her head. Rising Stars, a collection of young entrepreneurs and doe-eyed beauties sure to make it far. Lilian Cornwall made card number twelve. Dutch tosses the cigarette card down between her and Arthur, lips curving into a smile.

    "How is our Lily doing?" It's a saccharine question with no sincerity. She spares a glance but does not reply —silence is answer enough. "Don't worry, Miss Cornwall. We're jus' biding our time until the moment's right."

    Once the weather cleared, they'd pick up camp again —no one wanted to linger up here longer than needed, and it'd put more distance between them and Blackwater. She watches Arthur pick up the card, turning it over to see the list of names in the collection. "Then you'll let me go?" The question is meek. Lilian doesn't like feeling helpless or sounding so weak —she is a Cornwall. Her name alone commands respect and authority. She's the same woman who'd secured over six thousand dollars in new investors for Cornwall Kerosene and Tar within the past week, successful in her own right. But Dutch Van der Linde makes her feel uneasy, more so than the rest of his rabble of outlaws.

    "Of course," he grins with something lurking in that unsettling smile —the first cracks of madness shining through, unseen by those closest to him but clear to Lily. "Of course, my dear." It's meant as reassurance, but a knot forms in her stomach, a growing realization she might never leave. Dutch rises, stretching his back and slipping his black riding gloves back on. He stands by the fire for a moment longer, warming his aging bones before going back to his Irish rose. "See that she don't freeze, Mr. Morgan," he says from the door, flooding the small cabin with the frozen night air again.

    Lilian shivers, in part from the cold, but mostly because of Dutch Van der Linde. Arthur hangs his head with a nigh silent sigh. He's not one for words —never has been— and he knows Lilian Cornwall won't believe anything he says any more than she believes an outlaw will keep his word. When he glimpses her again, she's staring into the fire with a blank expression, tears sliding down her rosy cheeks.

    Arthur brings a patchwork quilt from one of the side rooms, draping it around her before sitting back near the fire. He knows they've messed up big this time —knows Hosea will agree with him on that— but Dutch has a plan, and he doubts anyone will be able to talk him out of it. The Van der Linde gang's luck seems to be changing, but Arthur can't say now whether it's for better or worse. Lilian shifts, watching as he takes off his worn hat and rakes one of his hands through his hair —only a few shades lighter than her own. "Won't be too much longer 'fore we can get out of here," he says, voice a low rasp and laced with exhaustion —the last weeks were more than enough to make sleep hard to come by.

    HE HAS SILVER hair and a kind smile, introducing himself as Hosea Matthews in the early hours of the morning. The sun should be on the rise, but the snow clouds haven't broken yet, and a cold wind still whips down the main road of the abandoned mining town and at the tin roofs and windows. Hosea makes himself comfortable next to the fire, bringing up a chair. "Coffee?" He offers a cup to Lilian, and she takes it with a nod, glad to have the warmth in her hands if nothing else.

    She takes a sip, the bitterness catching her off guard —twisting her nose and lips when her face scrunches up. Hosea chuckles, though it turns to a fit of coughing. The cold air only made his lungs ache and cough worse. Arthur appears from one of the side rooms and claps him on the back, the fit subsides, and his smile returns. "Used to cream and sugar?" He asks, remembering how sweet and watered down some rich folk took their tea and coffee.

    "Two sugars and a splash of milk," Lilian answers —the same way her father took his coffee, just enough to dull the bitter taste, but not so much you forgot it was a cup of coffee. There's little to speak of, but Hosea is decent company, offering to play a game of cribbage or war if only to take her mind off the circumstances, especially given Arthur's absence.

    The next morning, there's a break in the snow and the first glimpse of blue skies anyone has seen in weeks. It's time to make a move and get out of Grizzlies, though instead of pushing west, the only way left to go is east, into New Hanover. Lilian wakes to a ruckus of creaking wagon wheels, shouts, and nickering horses. Arthur and Hosea mentioned heading out soon last night, but neither thought the weather would clear so quickly.

    Sitting up, she runs a hand over her face, lingering by the dying embers of the fire for a while longer. Folding the quilt, she drapes it around her shoulders, stepping out into the brisk air, watching as the Van der Linde gang work with practiced haste —breaking camp and packing it away into a line of wagons on the main road. For now, she's invisible, likely for the best.

    Arthur Morgan is standing off to the side of the wagon line, brushing the mane of a silver Turkoman. He doesn't notice Lilian until she stretches out a hand, stroking Silver Dollar's neck, up to his withers, admiring the fine beast. Arthur hides his surprise under the brim of his hat —most of the gang's horses didn't take kindly to others in the camp, let alone a stranger. "Where are we going?"

    Given her position, she doesn't expect a response, at least not an honest one, but his lips twitch upward, and his gaze darts to her. "Warmer weather, I hope," Arthur remarks —not quite remembering what Hosea called the place in New Hanover. He leads the Turkoman to one of the wagons, securing him to the tongue next to a bay roan Ardennes.

    Hosea lays a hand on Lilian's shoulder, gesturing to the last wagon of the caravan. It's time to clear out of Colter and leave the frozen hellscape of the West Grizzlies behind. "Why don't you ride with Arthur and I, Miss Cornwall?" He suggests, leading her to the rear of the wagon where Arthur is loading the last of the crates. "Think you'll find us to be better company than most of this lot."

    Arthur shakes his head to keep from laughing, he knows when Hosea is making jokes at his own chagrin. "Didn't know you thought so highly of me, Hosea." The old man laughs, patting Arthur on the shoulder —their smiles and mirth contagious. Lilian hides a fleeting smile behind the quilt's edge, noting something oddly endearing about these two outlaws. Hosea secures the last crate, circling the wagon to clamber up into the seat. Arthur offers his hand, helping Lilian up and over some of the crates and rolls of canvas to a space nestled behind the seat. "Good?" He asks, and she nods, knowing she'll at least be a little better once they're out of the mountains.

    The wagon lurches forward when Arthur snaps the reins to the two draft horses, and with a cautious pace, they clear Colter and turn southward, trudging through knee-deep snow down the mountain and past frozen lakes. Then the snow begins to clear down path, and the sun feels warmer than it had before. Hosea shifts in the wagon seat, looking back where a forlorn young lady sits, watching the trees pass with a distant, empty look in her eyes. He knows it's only a rouse —he'd seen the fear in her eyes and the tearstains on her cheeks. If Dutch had only listened, maybe they could be heading west. Instead, the Van der Linde gang is eastbound with only a handful of rail bonds and the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the country. "I'm sorry, my dear" —he reaches for her hand with a sad smile— "I really am."

[mistaeq]

Bucciarati Gang: What if they had a Pokémon Team? + Pokédex entries

I always have bad ideas. Enjoy.

GIORNO GIOVANNA

Solrock: It absorbs solar energy during the day. Always expressionless, it can sense what its foe is thinking.

Musharna: The dream mist coming from its forehead changes into many different colors depending on the dream that was eaten.

Raichu: It uses psychokinesis to control electricity. It hops aboard its own tail, using psychic power to lift the tail and move about while riding it.

Ledyba: When the weather turns cold, lots of ladybugs gather from everywhere to cluster and keep each other warm.

Golduck: It is said that the red part of its forehead grants supernatural powers to those who possess one, so it was over-hunted in the past.

Florges: It controls the flowers it grows. The petal blizzards that Florges triggers are overwhelming in their beauty and power.

BRUNO BUCCIARATI

Banette: Mega Evolution increases its vindictiveness, and the cursing power that was held back by its zipper comes spilling out.

Lickitung: Whenever Lickitung comes across something new, it will unfailingly give it a lick. It does so because it memorizes things by texture and by taste. It is somewhat put off by sour things.

Lunatone: It was discovered at the site of a meteor strike 40 years ago. Its stare can lull its foes to sleep.

Absol: Although it's said to bring disaster, in actuality, this Pokémon possesses a calm disposition and warns people of any crises that loom.

Froslass: The soul of a woman lost on a snowy mountain possessed an icicle, becoming this Pokémon. The food it most relishes is the souls of men.

Cloyster: Once it slams its shell shut, it is impossible to open, even by those with superior strength.

LEONE ABBACCHIO

Polteageist: When angered, it launches tea from its body at the offender's mouth. The tea causes strong chills if swallowed.

Mismagius: It appears as if from nowhere, muttering incantations, placing curses, and giving people terrifying visions.

Liepard: Don't be fooled by its gorgeous fur and elegant figure. This is a moody and vicious Pokémon.

Gothitelle: A criminal who was shown his fate by a Gothitelle went missing that same day and was never seen again.

Chandelure: Being consumed in Chandelure's flame burns up the spirit, leaving the body behind.

Mienshao: They use the long fur on their arms as a whip to strike their opponents.

GUIDO MISTA

Octillery: It loves to lurk inside holes in rocks. It sometimes sprays ink on prey by sticking out only its mouth.

Kangaskhan: You shouldn't get close to the children when they're playing outside its mother's pouch. Its mother is always nearby watching over it.

Skarmory: A Pokémon that has a body and wings of steel. People in the past used feathers fallen from Skarmory to make swords and knives.

Kingdra: It sleeps quietly, deep on the seafloor. When it comes up to the surface, it creates a huge whirlpool that can swallow even ships.

Perrserker: What appears to be an iron helmet is actually hardened hair. This Pokémon lives for the thrill of battle.

Dragapult: When it isn't battling, it keeps Dreepy in the holes on its horns. Once a fight starts, it launches the Dreepy like supersonic missiles.

NARANCIA GHIRGA

Volcarona: A sea of fire engulfs the surroundings of their battles, since they use their six wings to scatter their ember scales.

Hawlucha: It always strikes a pose before going for its finishing move. Sometimes opponents take advantage of that time to counterattack.

Oricorio: This Oricorio has sipped red nectar. Its passionate dance moves cause its enemies to combust in both body and mind.

Corviknight: This Pokémon reigns supreme in the skies of the region. The black luster of its steel body could drive terror into the heart of any foe

Togekiss: As everyone knows, it visits peaceful regions, bringing them gifts of kindness and sweet blessings.

Mothim: While it loves floral honey, it won't gather any itself. Instead, it plots to steal some from Combee.

FUGO PANNACOTTA

Toxicroak: It has a poison sac at its throat. When it croaks, the stored poison is churned for greater potency.

Carnivine: It attracts prey with its sweet-smelling saliva, then chomps down. It takes a whole day to eat prey.

Scolipede: Scolipede latches on to its prey with the claws on its neck before slamming them into the ground and jabbing them with its claw's toxic spikes.

Alcremie: When Alcremie is content, the cream it secretes from its hands becomes sweeter and richer.

Leavanny: Upon finding a small Pokémon, it weaves clothing for it from leaves, using the cutters on its arms and sticky silk.

Toxapex: Those attacked by Toxapex's poison will suffer intense pain for three days and three nights. Post-recovery, there will be some aftereffects.

TRISH UNA

Milotic: Milotic is said to be the most beautiful of all the Pokémon. It has the power to becalm such emotions as anger and hostility to quell bitter feuding.

Jellicent: These Pokémon have body compositions that are mostly identical to seawater. They make their lairs from sunken ships.

Bronzong: It brought rains by opening portals to another world. It was revered as a bringer of plentiful harvests.

Ribombee: It can predict the weather from moisture levels and wind direction. Ribombee only reveals itself when there are a few clear days in a row.

Lurantis: This Pokémon resembles a beautiful flower. A properly raised Lurantis will have gorgeous, brilliant colors.

Hatterene: This Pokémon can read the emotions of creatures over 30 miles away. The minute it senses hostility, it goes on the attack.

[the-starsabove-you]

The Spotlight

A/N: I’m back!  After a break, I’m back to writing! Kinda needed it but I’m super excited to be back and writing! I’m redoing a series and I’m still working on this series! I also planning some one shots, but overall am ready to be back and write! I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 34 - Love Me Harder. 

Jumping off a bridge was pretty fun and Mat had tons of fun with bungee jumping with Michelle. It was truly one of the best birthday presents he had. To have such a fun time with Michelle and look at the scenery in front of him, the beautiful fields and a few cottages around and the skies were clear. After an hour of bungee jumping, Michelle held his hand and led him back to their hotel, ignoring the multiple taking their pictures and since the hotel had guards nearby, they tried to shield the young couple from the many people forming. After getting into the lobby and soon their private elevator, Michelle let out a sigh as she looked over at the paparazzi snapping pictures of them as the door was closing and Mat took her hand and squeezed it and she looked back at him “I’m sorry, seems like everywhere I go, they’re always around. I just wanted to make sure you had a good birthday” She muttered and Mat lifted her chin with his finger and he leaned forward to kiss her and she melted into the kiss. Mat broke the kiss as he leaned his forehead on hers and chuckled “What man can say they had the love of their life throw them off a bridge after blindfolding them for an hour” Michelle shrugged “I didn’t want to settle for something simple and I know you’ve been wanting to do something crazy for a bit and I thought this would be fun instead of doing something like golfing.” Mat raised his eyebrow in amusement “You don’t like watching me golf?” He teased and she narrowed her eyes playfully at him “It’s sexy watching you play golf, that’s why I really only join when you ask” Mat pretended to be offended “So I’m just eye-candy for you?” He said and she laughed “Don’t worry, I enjoy you having a good time too” Once the doors opened, Mat’s eyes widened at the scene, how the living kitchen and dining room around of the penthouse had candles surrounding and Michelle grinned “I know you claimed you just wanted to stay inside for your birthday, so over in the kitchen is a private chef cooking us dinner and we’re having dinner near the balcony” She said and Mat was in shock as he smiled and shook his head “You really have surprised me today babe” He muttered before she grinned and nudged him “Go get ready for dinner, I’m gonna make sure everything is good for dinner” Mat grinned as he leaned forward and kissed her temple before going to the bedroom to shower and later on get dressed, dressing in slacks and a dress shirt. Michelle had grabbed a dress in the bedroom while Mat was in the bathroom and went to one of the extra bedrooms and changed and did her hair from there. She quickly rushed out and made sure the lights were dimmed enough and the chief got dinner done, Mat’s favorites before he made a birthday cake. Michelle put her heels on and looked at herself in the mirror as she admired herself in a dark navy dress and her hair was curled on the bottom. She made her way to the table and poured the wine in the glasses, she asked Tito which wine would be good for Mat’s birthday and Tito literally ordered one of the best wines he could think of for Italy and shipped it to her room.. The perks of having your best friend’s boyfriend being a huge fan of wine. Michelle heard the water stop from the shower and she looked back and saw that the chief was done frosting the cake and decorating, she grinned in happiness as the chief was finally finished and he was grabbing his jacket and stuff getting ready to leave and she looked over at the dinner and the cake and she sighed in relief that it got done in time, she was gonna leave a very good tip for him. 

Michelle was in the kitchen when she heard Mat calling “Babe? Where are you?” He asked and she called “In the kitchen! Sit down and I’ll be there” She called back and she heard Mat pulling out the seat and she waited a couple of moments before taking the dishes of spaghetti carbonara and walking out of the kitchen and towards him and Mat had the biggest smile on his face “My favorite” Mat said with a huge smile on his face and she chuckled as she placed the plate in front of him and put her plate down “I know it’s your go-to when we go out” She said and he smiled, happy that she noticed the little things and it made him happy that she did all of this.. The trip to Italy, the bungee jumping and now this.. It meant the world to him. Mat hummed as he took a spite of the spaghetti carbonara “It tastes like heaven” He muttered and she chuckled and took a bite “Hired one of best chefs in Italy, had to make sure that you got the best for today” Mat watched Michelle for a second before he spoke “Do you get used to this..?” He asked and she looked up from eating and she raised her eyebrow and looked confused “Huh?” She said and Mat looked outside the huge window of the Italy nightlife before looking at her “Living this celebrity life.. People following you around with cameras, going to gig after gig, reading weird stories about you on the internet.. That stuff” He asked. Michelle opened her mouth for a second for a moment before closing it, thinking about the question and she shrugged in the end “I’ve been given this amazing opportunity, to travel the world and meet so many people.. I love doing my job.. Its just sometimes..” 

Mat waited for her answer and she chuckled and shook her head “I would love for just one day that I could walk through the streets with no one chasing me, that I don’t have to live up to any standards that Marie or anyone else makes for me.. That I can just sit somewhere publicly and I won’t stand out to anyone” She said and Mat watched her and he nodded “I sometimes wish that too, that I don’t have to be Mathew Barzal, the hockey player.. I can just be Mat Barzal, a regular guy” “Well I love both Mathew Barzal and Mat Barzal, both of you have been an important part of my life and I’m so madly in love with you, if don’t know by now” She laughed and he laughed along with her and she got quiet and shook her head “I’m sorry that I dragged you into this lifestyle, you probably wanted to keep your life as private as possible but it’s not really possible with me..” She said and Mat shook his head “I’ve gotten used to it, I know I won’t have a normal life with you.. It’s kinda a crazy lifestyle but it’s worth it because I have you in the end, but I wanna ask one thing” He said and she looked over at him and he smiled, blushing a bit “If we ever got married and had kids, would you take a break from being a model?” He asked and her mouth dropped open as she was very shocked and caught off guard.. Mat and Michelle never discussed marriage or kids, they were still very young and both of them were still in the prime of their careers. But Michelle did dream of having children and getting married, she wanted to be a better parent than her father and have a happier marriage than her parents ever had.. She wanted to have her own life. Michelle smiled softly as her eyes softened “Do you see yourself marrying me?” She asked and he looked at her for a moment and he smiled “I actually do, I know we’re young and we still have a lot of things to do, but I see myself settling down with you” He said and she smiled at that and she reached out and took his hand and squeezed it “Then yes, I would take a very long break if we had kids” She said and he smiled and squeezed her hand “Of course and when you were ready.. We would figure out what to do from there” Michelle smiled at that and she shook her head “God.. We need to find a house, if you sign with the Isles long term,  then we can build a house.. Or buy one. I could care less” Mat chuckled and shook his head “We’ll think of a long term house when we get there.. I know Marie would prefer you to stay in New York but if I sign somewhere else or get traded.. Would you come with me?” Michelle looked at Mat and smiled “Where you go, I go.. I’ll always be with you, I promise” Mat smiled at that answer, it was the one he was expecting. The two having this conversation about what the future held for them, it was refreshing and Mat was glad that they were both agreeing with everything and he poured themselves another glass of wine before looking at her “Speaking of houses, Marie’s real estate agent called and she found another place that’s a good place.. It’s an hour from the city and half an hour away from Nassau Coliseum. I think this may be the one” Michelle grinned at that, both Mat and Michelle had bickered about where they would move too.. Of course they both agreed that Michelle would keep her apartment too in case one of them needed to stay in the city for something but would spend most of their time at the house. “Alright, we’ll make a date to go see the house and we’ll see if it’s the one” Mat raised a glass and she raised it too and Mat was grinning “Oh god I cannot wait to see what you have in store for later” Michelle grinned “It involves whipped cream if it helps” She said and Mat chuckled “I thought I would excited for the cake but I think I’m more excited for what’s coming after” Suddenly Mat stood up and went towards her and he took her hand and was leading her to the bedroom and Michelle looked back “What about the cake?” She asked “We’ll eat it after we’re done”

[professor-fanalia]

Call Of The Wild Charity - Event 1 part 1

The vibrant rays from the sun, warmed Rejuven island with its Mediterranean heat. Its rays shone brightly, glinting off the shimmering water and reflecting like crystals on the coastal seas. The beams cascaded over the luscious green grass and penetrated even the darkest of shadows around the facility. Heat rose from the ground in waves, creating the illusion of water. The only escape from the sunlight was beneath the trees that lined parts of the facility path, or the shaded porches of some of the buildings.

The heat kissed the Neverland team’s skin as they walked towards the left side of the facility, however; it was tolerable thanks to the cooling draught of air that whipped over from the waves, bringing a taste of the ocean with it. Placing salty kisses on their cheeks and tousling Fanalia’s long garnet hair and Romaine’s wavy teal hair. The neatly kept dirt path, created small swirls of dust as their shoes scuffed the ground, approaching the two-story log guest lodge where they laid eyes upon the group of you that sat under the shade or in the sun on the porch. “Good morning! I hope your all settled in?” Kryspyn greeted with a beaming smile, as the four of them stepped up the small set of stairs onto the porch.

The team wasn’t alone either, each of them seemed to be paired up with a Pokémon as well. The very same Pokémon that were with them when each of you had arrived. A three-legged Mudkip huddle in Kryspyn’s arms, a white flower Florges stood next to Romaine, a Lucario with Fanalia, and a Gallade with Elias. “I thank you for your patience, I am sure all of you are hungry from your long trip and wish to have something to eat so we won’t keep you from waiting any longer,” Fanalia spoke this time, a lot more calmer then the main professor who was beaming and excitable as he gestured merrily to follow him inside, only for him to smack his nose on the post for not looking where he was going.

This action caused multiple reactions from his co-workers. Firstly, Fanalia shook her head with a sigh as she walked over to catch over her fellow professor, while Romaine laughed nervously, and Elias pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. Seeing your expressions Romaine reassures all of you, “This happens a lot when he gets excited, he tends to end up being clumsy, he’ll be okay.”

With a chuckle Kryspyn waved a dismissive hand at Fanalia, rubbing the back of his neck earning a concern chirrup from the Mudkip held in his other arm.

“Ges~” The Florges released a sigh as she rested a hand on her cheek, while Gallade only folded his arms.

“It might be wise to relax a bit Sir Kry,” Lucario’s calm voice suggested telepathically. 

“Try as we might, he never changes no matter his age.” Elias huffed amusedly. 

“I can’t help it.” Krypsyn retorted, earning amused smiles from all of them. “Follow me.”

Calming down finally, Kryspyn lead you all back into the house and through the left door opening it up to the dining room and kitchen as the rest of the team followed from behind. It was a grand space, to say the least. As soon as you entered you could see the buffet table right next to your right, lined up against the wall, with large and small plates at the side of the table that guests would be able to go to first. And Bundle utensils within a folded napkin so that they will be easy to grab and carry. While next to that, were serving dishes and baskets of cold items first, such as fresh fruit, bagels and pastries. Chafing dishes and other warming plates with main hot dishes, were steaming and wafting at the other side of the buffet table, Starting with meats, then egg dishes and then other hot meals such as pancakes, waffles or French toast. Next to those were hot side dishes, such as potato harsh browns as well.

“The drink station is at the end of the counter next to some food for you Pokémon companions,” Romaine stated, gesturing to the back of the room. At the back of the room was a wooden and granite counter that took most of the space with the kitchen behind it, where Pokémon food formulas, berry slices, Moo Moo milk, Nectar, and more with bowls and plates. But at the end of the counter was coffee, teas and juices available, along with glasses, cups, saucers, spoons, sugar, milk and cream, but behind the counter was Slurpuff wearing an apron.

Off to the other side of the room across from the buffet were two decent sized mahogany tables, which ran horizontally from the wall with four seats on either side of the two tables. “Please have a seat everyone,” Romaine kindly gestured as Elias and Fanalia went to open the glass French doors to the left of the door archway, which opened out to the porch.

Once all of you took a seat at the table, the Neverland team stood together in front of the buffet table looking towards you all. “First of all, we all want to say thank you for accepting and coming to this Charity event, especially when you all have made time within your important work of your own.” Romaine thanked with a smile as she cupped her hands together in front of her, rubbing her thumbs together as Florges rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“This Charity means a lot, as we can help as many Pokémon as we can, by providing support for Pokémon who have disability,” Fanalia added on. “And that is why we are thankful that you have joined us for this event.”

“so, from all of us.” Kryspyn began. “Welcome to Rejuven Island!” All four of them said together.

“So, with this feast, we shall introduce ourselves and answer any questions you inquire.” Elias stated. “Whether it be about the facility, the event or about us, so don’t hold back. This is the time of Meet n’ Greet. My name is Elias MacMilan, I am the Doctor of Rejuven Island.” Elias introduced himself, before gesturing with a hand to the Gallade who bowed, “And this is my partner Gallade.”

“I’m Romaine Beauregard, and I’m the Groundskeeper of Rejuven Island. It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Romaine smiled sweetly before gesturing to the White flower Florges who curtsied, “And this is my Partner Florges.”

“I am Fanalia Hydrena, I am the Co-Professor of Rejuven Island.” Fanalia greeted with a polite nod and calm smile, as Lucario stepped up beside her and rested a paw under his chest spike.

“And I am Lucario, I help my partner Lady Fanalia.” Lucario greeted with a bow.

“And I am Kryspyn, the Professor and Manager of Rejuven Island! And this is my friend and companion Skipper,” Kryspyn greeted, as the shy Mudkip tried to huddle more into Kryspyn’s arm as he gave a happy chirp, as he waved is little right legless stump. “I hope you enjoy your meal!” 

The Late breakfast was quite an enjoyable affair, as the neverland team sat with their guests. Answering questions and chatting amongst their fellow Pokémon. With the clear skies and sun providing a natural light, and the scent of the sea from the open porch doors, it added to the pleasant atmosphere.

“Thank you for the meal Slurpuff, it was tasty as always!” Kryspyn, waved his free hand at the Meringue Pokémon from the below the steps from the porch as they awaited their guests to join them, for the first event of the morning. With its reddish pink eyes with white pupils and its tongue poking out of the corner of its mouth, the apron wearing Fairy-type cheered happily waving back with a bark, earning a happy chirrup from Skipper.

Fanalia merely smiled with her arms crossed under her chest standing by Elias as Romaine had gone up ahead, before glancing over every one of their guests – @ask-pokemonranger-rai, @prof-bramble, @prof-peach, @themadprxfessor, @professor-hemlock-headcanons, @a-pokemon-daycare, @breederpatmos​

“Everyone ready? Then let us head to the amphitheatre.” With purpose Fanalia led the way with Lucario.

The amphitheatre was quite a rather decent sized building, that seemed to be split into two areas by the docks. The larger part of the amphitheatre was an open concept, providing shade over the ‘U’ shaped sitting area but a partial shade covered the stone, open air stage. At certain parts of the seats there was railings with padded covering as everyone picked a spot among the many seats.

Soft cheery music played from the speakers in the corners of the shelters over the seats and stage, while Fanalia, Elias and Kryspyn stood next to the padded railing with their Pokémon who stood next  to them – obviously Skipper the Mudkip remained happily snuggled under Krsypyn’s beanie, heading poking out. Despite the music being faint, it was nice with the company of the sound of the water nearby and breeze.  

Coming from the back of the stage Romaine appeared with a smile on her face, no longer wearing her black gardening apron. Leaving her in her buttoned up dark green cardigan over her white button shirt and dark brown riding pants much like the thick leather glove she had on her right hand. Black ankle high laced up boots tapped against the stone, as she began speaking to into a black ear mic.

“Welcome to the show, this morning where we are here to learn and talk about one of the many types. So, give them an applause as we welcome the Flying-Types to the stage!” The music continued to play in the background as her voice came from the speakers, gesturing her hands to the sky as multiple Flying-types flew from the sides diving the from the open-air twirling and swirling amongst the many. Ranging from Taillows, Swellows, Pidgeys to Spearrow, Chatot and Ducklettes doing aerial acrobatics. “Flying-Types are all around us no matter where were from or where you live – every day is an opportunity to be able to connect and see these remarkable Pokémon. All we ask of you is to look, sit back and enjoy the show by looking up!” With the end of her speech most of the bird fly off stage, vanishing off where they came.

“While we are looking up for these beautiful Pokémon, these flying types are always looking down. Always searching for an opportunity to feed – A sunflower seed is the perfect food item for a Taillow.” At her words a small bird Pokémon with dark blue feathers. A red marking with pointed tips stretches from its chest to its forehead, and it had a white underside. Narrow brown eyes browsed over the many guests as it soared over your heads, opening a short yellow beak as it let out a chirp cry. Its elongated wingtips glided through the air with ease.

“Now this is Icarus, he came to us when he was rescued from a bird poacher and had injured wing. Despite for his small stature, Icarus’s kind are gutsy by nature and will stand up against foes larger or stronger than themselves to protect their nest, mate, eggs, and/or their trainer by mobbing their intruders in the Hoenn region. During the cold season, this Pokémon will fly over 180 miles (300 kilometers) per day to search for areas that have warm climates. they prefer habitats that are open country with low vegetation, such as pastures, meadows and farmland. Preferably with nearby water. Taillows avoid heavily wooded or precipitous areas and densely built-up locations. The presence of accessible open structures such as barns, stables, or culverts to provide nesting sites, and exposed locations such as wires, roof ridges or bare branches for perching, are also important in the bird's selection of its breeding range.” Romaine explain as she gestured out her gloved arm and lightly clicked her fingers twice with her other hand above her arm, gaining the attention of Icarus who dove for her as he landed his black feet with yellow talons, perching on the leather glove. Perch on the glove she pulled out a sunflower seed from her pouch and held it for Icarus, who happily took it with his beak and then lifting his yellow talon he held the seed as he began to eat.

“They have graceful shape and flight, moreover they often fly singly, in couples or in clusters. Which is perfect for when its time to find a loving mate, males advertised to females with a circling flight and song, however; the breeding success of the male is related to the length of the tail streamers that Taillow’s have, with longer streamers being more attractive to the female. It’s believed for Male Taillows who have longer tail feathers are generally longer-lived and more disease resistant, females thus gaining an indirect fitness benefit from this form of selection, since longer tail feathers indicate a genetically stronger individual which will produce offspring with enhanced vitality.” Nodding her head toward Elias, the lab dressed doctor with his Gallade, who stood to the right padded railing clicked his fingers just above the railing gaining Icarus’s attention who chirped happily, taking off into the air from Romaine’s bird glove and landed upon the padded perch railing that was in front of Professor Bramble giving a curious chirp as he looked over Bramble and her Pokémon companion.

“Go ahead don’t be shy, Icarus here enjoys some scratches just behind his head.” Romaine encouraged.

After the first railing by earning from scratches, Icarus flew to the next set of railing front of the next set of guests. Preening under their attention and touch, if any reached out to pat him. “Why don’t you show them your song and dance Icarus, you’ve been doing a lot of practice on it.” Romaine suggested warmly.

Perched on the final railing the Taillow turned his head to Romaine, giving a proud puff up of his chest as he chirped and took off to the air once more, circling the arena as he began to sing. “Both male and female Taillows. They sing a “twitter-warble” song during courtship and egg-laying, with a long series of continuous warbling sounds followed by up to a dozen rapid, mechanical-sounding whirrs. The song can last 4–20 seconds and is often introduced and followed by a chirp.”

With sharp turns and circling as Icarus sung, a white aura surrounded him as he began picking up speed as he used the move agility to pick up more wind speeds on the air current that flowed through the open amphitheatre.

“Give a round of applause for Icarus!”

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[artificialqueens]

Washed in the Tide of Her Breathing 1/4 (Branjie)--athena2

A/N: Brooke is a lonely lighthouse keeper and Vanessa washes up on her shore. This started off as a tumblr post I sent to Writ, turned into a one-shot idea, and became this mini multi-chaptered fic. I have so enjoyed writing it so far, and I hope you all enjoy reading it! I appreciate any feedback you have! Thank you to Writ for brainstorming this with me, betaing, and for all your encouragement. Title from Cherry Wine by Hozier.

*I do want to add that there will be mentions of past death, anxiety, and depression throughout, so please be cautious.*

On the day Brooke Lynn Hytes was born, the skies opened up and rain screamed down with her. The rain pounded on the roof and rattled the windows as she was wrapped in a white hospital blanket. Wind tore branches from the trees as her legs kicked around. The streets rose with water as she slept in her mother’s arms.

From then on, it seemed significant events in her life always came with a storm.

She was six when her parents didn’t come pick her up from kindergarten. Brooke had stood on the steps, Little Mermaid lunch box in hand, craning her neck to find her parents in the crowd. She stood there as the swarm of kids and parents thinned out, leaving Brooke all alone on the steps. Breathless empty space stretched as vast as the sea in front of her, sun reflecting the bare pavement. She stood there so long one of the teachers took her inside, and Brooke sat in an empty classroom, trembling with fear, until a police officer came to the school and said there had been an accident.

An accident. It was all Brooke heard when anyone tried to talk to her. An accident. An accident was when another girl bumped into her at recess and Brooke scraped her knee. An accident was when she hit into her mother’s vase and the blue glass shards rippled on the floor.

How could her parents not being there anymore be an accident too?

The town flooded for a week after they died, raindrops falling in time with the tears of a confused young girl, struggling to understand why she had to live in a scary old lighthouse with her grandfather, why her mom and dad couldn’t take her to the park or the library anymore.

The day her grandfather picked her up in his green truck, lightning flashed and thunder tore the sky apart but no rain fell as Brooke sat in the backseat, fearfully clutching her stuffed turtle and not saying a word.

When her grandfather died and she inherited the lighthouse, soft raindrops drizzled to the pavement, trickling down windows like silken threads.

When the storm smashes into the windows as Brooke is wrapped in her quilts one night, waves swelling so fierce they’ll throw ships around like toy boats, ocean lapping up against the rocks like a hungry dog, Brooke wonders what’s awaiting her the next day.

—

The rain is still drizzling down when Brooke wakes, the sky a soft pink, like a paintbrush swept across the world, interrupted with streaks of red like broken blood vessels.

Red sky in morning, sailor’s warning.

They’re her grandfather’s words, words that were passed down to Brooke. According to old sailor legends, a morning red sky means a bad storm is coming. A storm worse than the one last night, that howled and splattered outside her window?

Brooke isn’t sure she wants to meet a storm worse than that.

Brooke has a certain routine, and today is no exception. It’s Wednesday, which means breakfast at Nina and Shuga’s diner and therapy with Dr. Ganache. She lays out food and water for her cats, scratching Henry’s ears and rubbing Apollo’s back while they eat. She washes down her medications with ice water and pulls on jeans and a green wool sweater.

Her dark blue pickup truck makes the quick journey down the main street of Cape Charles, the smell of salt and ocean calming her, reminding her that it’s okay to be outside, that nothing bad will happen just because she left the house.

The diner stands beside the three-screen movie theatre, its plush velvet seats like home to Brooke. She’d been sitting in the dark and watching stories unfold on the big screen, salty popcorn stuck to her lips, since she was a kid who couldn’t even reach the counter to take her favorite Reese’s Pieces. The damp cobblestone sidewalk is solid beneath her. She used to run down these streets with her grandfather trailing behind her when her feet were much smaller. When everything was much smaller.

The diner door jingles happily. Shuga, in position behind the counter, greets Brooke with a smile and motions for her to take her usual booth in the back corner. Brooke breathes in the rich smell of sweet syrup and sizzling bacon, the safety of those scents and the warmth of the diner’s pale blue decor filling her.

“Sky sure is red this morning,” Nina comments as she pours Brooke’s coffee. “What’s that thing the sailors say? Red sky in morning–”

“Sailor’s warning.” Brooke’s answer is rough and scratches at her throat like gravel. It’s been a few days since she last talked, and her voice is hoarse from disuse as she speaks now, sipping carefully from her steaming coffee.

“Those sailors were so somber,” Nina says, pursing her lips. “Maybe the warning could be a good warning. Maybe something good is gonna happen.”

Brooke disagrees, but she won’t take that hope from Nina. Nina and Shuga are two of the only people in town who don’t whisper about Brooke being crazy, or share in the more outlandish theories that Brooke is a ghost haunting the lighthouse.

Though sometimes Brooke does feel like a ghost, like there’s not even enough of her to hold down a solid human form. Like she might look at herself in the mirror one day and find nothing there. No sign there ever had been something there.

“Maybe,” Brooke tries.

“You having your usual today?” Nina asks. Brooke always gets the same thing, but Nina likes to check with her just in case.

“Yeah.”

Nina smiles. “I’ll have it right out for you, hon.”

Brooke flicks through what their small town dares to call a newspaper, today’s news-worthy feature being seagulls stealing French fries on the beach. A few minutes later Nina sets the glorious stack of apple-cinnamon pancakes and crispy bacon in front of Brooke, with the extra homemade whipped cream Nina started bringing when she noticed how much Brooke liked it.

“Thanks, Nina,” Brooke says, a wave of affection hitting her.

“Of course.”

Brooke eats slowly, savoring each bite of fluffy pancake, each sip of rich coffee. It’s nice to be able to taste it all, to notice the soft patter of rain on the roof, to be comforted by the booth’s cushion. She focuses on each sensation, like Dr. Ganache encourages, and Brooke appreciates it, a far cry from her bad months when she couldn’t feel or notice anything, the world just a mass of gray around her.

Brooke goes to her therapy appointment and regains her voice with what is the most talking she’ll do all week. It had been uncomfortable to her at first, having to talk so much about herself, her parents, her grandfather. Now, it’s almost a relief to let the words spill out, to get all the thoughts out of her head, like releasing a dam bursting with poisoned water.

Brooke busies herself during her afternoon routine, making sure everything is set for tonight. Her mind calms as her hands come alive, wiping down the windows in the lighthouse tower, cleaning the lenses on the light, and checking the ship schedules. A lot of the ships have already canceled their routes. Sailors are a superstitious bunch, and they’d taken the red sky to heart. The light is scheduled to turn on at 4, but she turns it on now because the rain has grown too thick to see around.

Her grandfather said in the old days they would change the oil of the light and trim the wicks down, but it’s electric now. Brooke spent hours each day following him around, watching his rough, callused fingers tidy the tower and study weather reports, keeping logs of ships scheduled to pull in to Cape Charles that night. Everything she knows about keeping the lighthouse is from him, a former sailor.

He would speak in a soft voice about the sea, his time sailing, how it was important to keep the lighthouse because even with navigation services, that light would outshine everything. Each word was soaked with the salt and brine of the sea, waves roaring in Brooke’s ears as he spoke, and Brooke would just listen, her grandfather never making her talk if she didn’t want to. His voice still clings to the brick of the tower walls as ocean clings to sand. Sometimes Brooke can hear it loud and clear and sometimes it’s just a faint whisper, tinged with the fear of forgetting.

The rest of the day is quiet, just the way she likes it. She exchanges her jeans for soft leggings, heats up milk for hot chocolate, and curls up on the couch with a bowl of mac and cheese, the cats, and Jane Austen movies (she’ll fight anyone who says there’s a better adaptation than the 2005 Pride and Prejudice).The storm rains down in a heavenly wrath with no sign of stopping. The wind wails like a woman in fear of the booming thunder.

An alert comes in that the town streets have flooded and all roads are closed until further notice. The sea should be empty tonight, but Brooke leaves the light on anyway. She always does, just in case someone out there needs the light. Just in case someone needs to get home, wherever they are.

She curls up beneath a pile of blankets with the cats at her feet. It’s cozy and warm and yet sleep takes hours to come, the cats whining with each toss and turn. Brooke swears she can hear her name in the howl of the wind and patter of the rain, like the storm is calling to her, but she doesn’t know why.

—

Gray blots out the sun when Brooke wakes, a typical morning in Cape Charles. She takes her meds and is checking on the light when she sees it.

There’s something down by the water, flapping in the wind.

Breath halts in her throat. Just visible through the rain is a fishing net with something–no, someone–tangled in it.

Heart pounding, Brooke throws on her rain boots and coat and enters the cold rain, water bobbing at her ankles, tall frame shivering as the chill seeps through her clothes. The familiarity of the stone path calms her racing heart, laughter of the young Brooke that used to run down this path–another ghost–carried on the winds of memory.

The land beneath her lighthouse isn’t a beach, just a small piece of rocky sand jutting out at the ocean. She used to spend hours by the water, sand sticking to her legs as she built castles that in her mind were stone, not sand, searching for seashells that her grandfather always praised her for finding, and gazing out at the water and pretending to be a sailor like him, commanding her own ship and fighting off pirates.

Brooke lets the memory fight away her fears as she reaches a woman, net tangled around her like tendrils. Brown hair hangs in soaked curtains around her face, torn clothes black with the water weighing them down.

“Fuck,” Brooke mutters, a million questions running through her mind. How the hell did this woman get here? What happened to her?

Brooke scoops up the woman, net and all. She’s tiny nestled in Brooke’s arms, and something tugs in Brooke’s chest, some need to protect this woman, keep her safe. The feeling only grows as she cuts through the net and lays the woman on her couch before standing blankly, helplessly, in the living room.

What the hell is she supposed to do now? She can’t just leave an unconscious woman in her house. If it’s not outright illegal, it’s certainly wrong, but what choice does Brooke have? The roads are flooded and blocked off; no one can get in or out of the town. They’re both stuck here, stuck like a sinking ship.

Brooke’s breath is speeding into erratic hiccups over having someone here. No one has been inside except Brooke and the cats since her grandfather died seven years ago. When Brooke is inside, all the bad things that happen outside, like parents getting in car accidents and grandfathers having heart attacks, can’t happen. Nothing bad happens in the lighthouse. Nothing can hurt her.

It’s why Brooke never returned the voicemail a woman from the local historical society left years ago, asking if she wanted to open the lighthouse for tours a few days a week during summer tourist season. She told herself it was because she doesn’t need the money and because talking on the phone makes her want to throw up (both of which are true), but the real reason was that she didn’t want people in her lighthouse, didn’t want her safety at risk. She doesn’t want intruders, and it’s hard to think of this woman as anything but that, especially when Brooke’s hands start to tremble and sweat runs down her neck as her vision blurs.

Breathe. She practices the counted breathing from therapy, willing her lungs to accept air. In and out, in and out. She reaches for a piece of rope, one of hundreds all over the house, shaky hands rhythmically tying and untying knots until her mind clears and she focuses on what to do next.

There’s a thin cut on the woman’s forehead and bruises dotting her arms. It makes the woman seem oddly fragile, like a teacup, the bruises and cut like chips in her otherwise perfect appearance. Brooke’s stomach clenches as she looks at the injuries. She’s always been squeamish about blood and medical stuff (she still has to close her eyes when she gets a flu shot), but she finds herself not queasy but saddened as she absorbs the rips in the woman’s clothing. What happened to this woman? Are the marks from waves tossing her about, or are they from a human, a cruelty worse than the randomness of nature? Waves have no control, but a person does, and Brooke’s fists tense at the thought of someone deliberately hurting this woman.

She takes a breath. Whatever happened isn’t important now. She needs to help.

Brooke removes the woman’s soaked clothes and dresses her in flannel pajama pants, wool socks, and a soft gray sweatshirt, taking care in being gentle, in causing this woman as little pain as possible, even if she’s unconscious. Brooke can’t do much for the bruises, but she carefully dabs antiseptic on the cut and tapes a square of gauze over it. She breathes a sigh of relief that there’s no other injuries and piles blankets on top of the woman’s small form.

Only when she’s bandaged up, the clean white making things seem a little less scary, does Brooke realize how lucky this woman actually is. She’s been through who knows what, left on rocky sand in a downpour, and there’s barely a mark on her. There should be scrapes and a lot more bruises; a few broken bones would be expected. Hell, if she was carried by the sea, she’s lucky to be alive, and yet the slice on her forehead is little more than a papercut.

The squashy armchair hugs her like a friend, and Brooke is too tired to answer the questions swirling in her mind, too tired to change out of her cold, damp clothes. The woman’s breathing is steady, hypnotic, and sleep tugs Brooke under like a tide.

—

“Where the fuck am I?” a gruff voice shoots Brooke out of sleep.

The woman is sitting up on the couch, wrestling with the mountain of blankets and whipping her head around in confusion.

“Why is this so heavy?” The woman demands, sending Brooke’s weighted blanket to the floor. “And who the hell are you?”

Brooke’s stomach flip-flops, words speeding through her mind but not leaving her mouth. Things were easier when the woman was unconscious, when Brooke knew to bandage her and warm her up, when there was no talking involved. Now, Brooke has no idea what to do. There might be a first aid manual, but there isn’t one on talking to people, much less people who washed up on the shore in a fishing net.

“Um, I’m Brooke,” she says, inching toward the couch. Her fingers twitch for her rope but she resists. “I–I found you. On the shoreline. It’s okay,” she offers weakly, just because it seems like something she should say.

The woman’s dark brows wrinkle in confusion. “Where am I?” She asks, and some of the harshness leaves her voice, replaced with a fear that Brooke wants to soothe. This woman has obviously been through enough already, and Brooke’s heart aches for her. She remembers how scared she was moving in here the first time, how calm and kind her grandfather had been, and steadies her voice to comfort the woman.

“Cape Charles. It’s a tiny town by the ocean. This is my lighthouse. I found you in…in a net.”

The woman lowers her head. “Yeah. I was on a boat across the cape. I went overboard in the storm. I grabbed a life vest and followed the lighthouse. The net musta stuck to me.”

Brooke is silent. The net wasn’t stuck to her, she was trapped in it. There’s other glaring holes in the story–where’s the vest? Why was she sailing in a storm?–and from the way the woman keeps avoiding her eyes, Brooke is sure she knows it. Brooke decides to just let her be. She’s always shied away from confrontation.

“Uh, is there anyone you need to call?”

The woman just shakes her head and Brooke doesn’t want to pry.

“Right, um, the storm’s still going on, and the roads are closed, so–”

“I’m stuck here,” the woman interjects.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. B-but once the roads are okay, you can go back home.”

“What if I don’t want to go back?” she asks.

Brooke pauses. There’s a storm in the woman’s eyes at the question, brown flashing like lightning. She wonders what might have happened to account for the disgust in her eyes, but it’s not her business.

“Then I’ll help you get wherever you want to go.”

A small smile of approval runs across the woman’s face, her features glowing, like Brooke passed some sort of test. Brooke finds herself smiling in return as the woman speaks. “I guess if I’m gonna be in your house you should know my name. I’m Vanessa.”

“Brooke.”

“Yeah, you told me.”

Brooke’s face burns. “Right.”

Vanessa huffs a small laugh. “You think I could shower?”

“Oh, of course.” Brooke leads her down the hall, and it’s nice to have control again, to focus on a task, even one as simple as walking to the bathroom. She points out where to find towels and changes out of her still-cold clothes before getting some for Vanessa.

“Damn, you rob Lush or somethin’?” Vanessa asks when Brooke returns.

Brooke sheepishly looks at the rainbow mountain of bath bombs beside her towels. She buys one every week from A’keria’s boutique in town, partly because A’keria is always nice to her but mostly because Brooke likes sinking into the tub and watching the colors ripple around her.

“You-you can use one if you want,” she offers, setting the clothes by the sink. “There’s an extra toothbrush under the sink too. Here’s the clothes. Sorry, they’ll be a little big.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Vanessa says reassuringly. “Thanks, Brooke.”

“Of course,” Brooke manages, mouth suddenly dry as Vanessa runs a hand through her flowy curls.

Brooke listens to the rain outside with a growing dread. What is she supposed to do with Vanessa in her house until the streets clear? She’s not used to people being there. Even when her grandfather was alive, Brooke would go for walks on the beach or to the movies alone. No one made her feel freer than she did herself.

But then her grandfather died, and Brooke hasn’t had anyone since. Now, it’s almost like her solitude is something she’s stuck in, rather than her choice, and she doesn’t know how to get out of it, doesn’t know how to let someone in. It’s been seven years since she started seeing Dr. Ganache, since she got herself out of that dark place and back into the light, but it still feels like Brooke hasn’t rediscovered her old self or fully formed her new self yet, her edges blurry as she flickers in and out of being.

Her eyes drift the the picture of her grandfather, smiling at her in his big navy coat. He had made her feel safe and comfortable when no one else could, and Brooke vows to try and follow his example with Vanessa.

“Shouldn’t the walls be round if we in a lighthouse?” Vanessa’s booming voice enters the kitchen.

Brooke sees immediately that ‘a little big’ was an understatement. The hem of Brooke’s gray wool sweater brushes Vanessa’s knees, and she’s rolled the sleeves back three or four times to free her hands. It makes her seem smaller, softer, and Brooke’s heart tugs as she’s hit with a sudden image of Vanessa curling into her side, wrapping her arms around Vanessa’s waist, as they cuddle and watch movies. She blinks the thought away.

“This is a cottage attached to the lighthouse,” Brooke explains. “The entrance to the tower is down the hall.”

Vanessa nods and seats herself at the kitchen table. Brooke follows, legs bouncing. She bites her lip, trying to think of absolutely anything to talk about and failing as the silence grows longer.

“I’m kinda hungry,” Vanessa says with a shy grin.

Right. Food. That’s something you offer guests in your house.

It’s almost noon; they might as well have lunch, even if Brooke never had breakfast. “Um, do you like grilled cheese?” It seems a safe enough option. It was what Brooke’s grandfather had made on her first night in the lighthouse, so crispy and gooey that Brooke ate the whole thing even though she hadn’t been hungry all week.

“Hell yeah!”

Brooke smiles as she gets to work, the sizzling of the sandwiches on the griddle filling the kitchen. There’s something about Vanessa, how she’s so unashamedly loud and excited, that puts Brooke at ease, stops her fears over having an intruder.

Vanessa’s grin almost overtakes her face as Brooke sets the plates down.

“So,” Vanessa begins eagerly, “is this place haunted? I thought all lighthouses were haunted.”

“I don’t think so,” Brooke says. “I’m pretty sure my great-great-grandfather died here though.”

Vanessa clicks her tongue in approval. “See? Haunted. He’s probably just waitin’ to pop out of a mirror.”

“It’s not haunted.”

“But it could be.” There’s a mischievous glint in Vanessa’s eyes as she eats her sandwich.

“Well, any place could be haunted,” Brooke argues.

“Yeah, but when you think of haunted, it’s an old house, an old hospital, or an old, scary-ass lighthouse.” Vanessa nods to herself, chin jutting out toward Brooke. Brooke has to admit her argument is pretty solid.

“Do you want this place to be haunted?” Brooke asks.

“Oh, hell no! I don’t want that spooky shit near me!”

Brooke laughs and Vanessa laughs too, and Brooke is wondering if maybe this won’t be so bad. If maybe they’ll be okay for a few days like this. But then the moment ends and Brooke studies the cheese dangling from her bread as the silence fills the kitchen once more, and she thinks she was wrong.

“How long do you think the roads will be closed?” Vanessa asks.

Brooke shrugs. “Depends on the storm. It’s supposed to stop Friday night. If it does, things should be clear by Monday or Tuesday.”

Four days, Brooke thinks. She has to get through at least four days of eating with someone, sharing her TV, having Vanessa wear her clothes. Four days of sharing her space, of someone being there. Four days of Vanessa breathing in the same salty air as her, looking out at the same deep blue water. Would she search the waves for answers, like Brooke did? What kind of questions did Vanessa want the swirling blue to answer?

Brooke is thinking too much. It’s just a few days. A few days, and her life goes back to normal. Vanessa is just some stranded stranger, nothing more.

“Sorry, what?” Brooke asks, heat spreading through her when she notices Vanessa’s lips moving.

Vanessa looks down at her empty plate. “I just–thanks for helping me. For letting me stay here and everything.”

Her words ring with sincerity, and Brooke finds herself trusting Vanessa despite the obvious lie about how she got here. “It’s no problem.”

“Well, thank you.” Vanessa whips her head up, eyes sparkling. “So, can I see the tower?”

—

“This is some real spooky shit.”

Brooke snorts as Vanessa looks up into the tower, old red brick mixed with black metal stairs circling the walls to the top. When Brooke was younger, she used to think looking up into the tower was like looking up from a giant’s mouth, rickety metal steps turning into the giant’s teeth, which she had to climb to get to the light and save the town.

“We can’t both fit on the stairs, so I’ll go first to lead you,” Brooke offers. She always went first with her grandfather, knowing that he was behind her if she fell or got scared. She wonders if she’ll ever have that same trust in someone.

They curve up the walls, steps narrowing as they get higher. Finally, they approach the opening that leads to the observation deck. Brooke pulls herself through, muscles rippling with familiarity. She turns and grabs Vanessa’s hands to help her up.

Brooke stands on the deck, calm at once, the floor-to-ceiling windows circling her and showing off the rainy landscape and deep sea. She turns to show Vanessa and finds her sticking her head through the opening to gaze down into the tower.

“Whoa,” Vanessa breathes. “It’s like one of those collider-scope things.”

“Kaleidoscope?” Brooke asks around a smile.

“Yeah! Come look!”

Brooke shakes her head. “I-I’m afraid of heights.”

“But you’re up here,” Vanessa says in confusion, pulling herself up.

“I can be up here, I can look at the water, but I can’t look down. When I look down, I feel like I’m falling,” Brooke explains.

“I guess that makes sense,” Vanessa agrees. Then she notices the windows and what lies beyond them, and Brooke’s face warms as she watches Vanessa’s eyes light up. “Holy shit, Brooke.”

It’s a view Brooke herself saw for the first time at age six and hasn’t tired of since. A view that makes her fears seem smaller. A view that calms her, makes her feel less alone without her parents by showing her the ocean and the world and all the life inside it. A view that made her cry the first time she came up after her grandfather died, and knew that the view was hers alone now, that she would never share it with him again.

Vanessa is here with her now, and Brooke can’t fight the burst of affection, the gratitude of having her here. Of knowing that she isn’t alone, that someone exists to see this ocean with her.

“It’s beautiful up here,” Vanessa declares, crossing to the windows and staring out at the water.

“Yeah, it is.” Brooke works through her routine as Vanessa stares out the rain-splattered windows, and she can’t help but notice that Vanessa’s face is just as radiant as the sea.

—

Vanessa almost trips over Henry and Apollo when she climbs down the stairs, the cats in their usual spot below the first step. Neither cared to climb the 97 steps to the light, but they waited every afternoon for Brooke to come back down and see them.

“You have cats!” Vanessa squeals, gripping Brooke’s arm to steady herself, her hand warm through the thick wool Brooke’s wearing.

“Yeah. Apollo is the gray and Henry is the brown,” Brooke explains as Vanessa crouches to pet them. “Don’t feel bad if they don’t like you at first. They’re kind of only used to me.”

Yet Apollo nestles his nose right up against Vanessa’s palm without hesitation, and it somehow seems fitting.

—-

Vanessa insists on helping Brooke with dinner, boiling the pasta and sneaking samples of the lemon-garlic sauce Brooke is making, eagerly mixing shrimp and linguine together with the biggest spoon she could find.

“So, um, where are you from?” Brooke asks Vanessa, almost losing her fork in her sweaty grasp. She wishes she had a piece of rope to calm her. Before dinner, Brooke had reviewed some of the topics Dr. Ganache had told her were good starting points for meeting new people, and she’s hoping they’ll be okay for this.

But the look that flits across Vanessa’s face is anything but okay.

“I live about an hour away, in the city. I used to live in Florida, though. Moved up about 10 years ago, after my parents died.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Brooke says quietly. “You’re probably sick of hearing that, though,” she adds. Brooke remembers how it was all she heard for weeks after her parents died, all from somber-faced grown-ups she didn’t know.

“Yeah. After a while, you know it’s all people are gonna say, and you kinda stop hearing it.” Vanessa shrugs, then looks into Brooke’s eyes. “Thank you, though. It’s nice of you to say.” She scoops up a piece of shrimp. “How about you? You always live here?”

“In Cape Charles, yeah. Moved into the lighthouse with my grandfather when I was six. My…my parents died too.” Brooke wasn’t planning to tell Vanessa–she’s just here for a few days, and practically a stranger–but something about her has earned Brooke’s trust. Some sort of understanding that Vanessa knows how it feels and won’t pity her.

Vanessa’s face falls. “You’re probably sick of it too, but I am sorry.”

It’s sincere, just like everything Vanessa says, and Brooke doesn’t care what secret she’s hiding, why Vanessa shuts down and abruptly changes the subject when Brooke asks if she sails a lot, in an effort to find out why she was on a boat in a storm. Whatever got her here is clearly a sore subject and Brooke vows not to ask again.

“Do you like hot chocolate? I could make some,” Brooke offers after dinner. It’s another safe option, she’s hoping. Her grandfather’s weapon of choice whenever Brooke was upset. She knows he had been shaken to his core when he would put the mug on her bedside table only for it to go untouched, whipped cream melting into hot liquid before the whole thing went ice-cold, the effort of sitting up, grabbing the mug, and drinking it just too much for Brooke during her bad months.

“Of course I do! Is there a show or somethin’ we could watch, since we’re here for a few days?” Vanessa asks.

Brooke pauses to think. Vanessa seems like someone that likes action, something exciting. “Game of Thrones will take us a few days. I might punch my pillows when we hit the final season, though.”

“Why?”

Brooke grins wickedly. “You’ll see.”

—

It’s not until later that night, after putting fresh sheets on the spare bed (Vanessa throwing herself across the mattress to reach), when Vanessa is in Brooke’s plaid pajamas that she keeps tripping on, sleeves rolled back to her elbows, slurping hot chocolate from a lobster mug, that Brooke sees it. Or, rather, the lack of it.

All Brooke sees are Vanessa’s smooth, unblemished wrists, where there had been mottled blue and purple just this morning.

This can’t be right. Had she imagined the bruises? No, she knows she saw them, can still feel the anger pulsing under her skin at the thought of Vanessa being hurt. But how could they be gone already? Brooke glances at the fresh gauze Vanessa put on her forehead after showering. If Brooke takes it off, will she find perfect, unbroken skin there too?

Her grandfather told her there were all kinds of creatures in the ocean. Most people regarded them as legends, but sitting by the fire, hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate, Brooke had believed him.

Is it possible Vanessa is something…more? Not a mermaid; in the stories, they can only walk on earth for a short time. A siren? But sirens are nasty creatures in the legends, luring people to their island for the joy of watching them drown, and Vanessa has been nothing but kind. Maybe Brooke is just trying too hard to make something of nothing, to keep hold of her grandfather’s stories. Maybe she’s trying to find some reason, some excuse, for why she likes Vanessa, actually enjoyed the day with her.

It would be easier if Vanessa has some kind of magic, because at least that would explain why Brooke falls asleep with a smile on her face and Vanessa’s laugh looping in her mind.

[girls-scenarios]

As The Snowflakes Fall

Idol: Rosé (BlackPink)

Prompt: ski trip with blackpink!!! reader gets hurt while snowboarding and has to stay at the cabin. rosé being the lovely lil angel she is, she decides to stay with reader while the rest go skiing and snowboarding. then, there's a snowstorm and reader and rosé are stuck in the cabin for a bit. rosé confesses her love to reader and there's a lot of hot chocolate, cuddles, and fluff!!!! tysm i love all of your writing! <3

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: It’s actually snowing where I live now (and I’m very over it but that’s not the point) so I thought I'd go ahead and write this now while I had the inspiration right outside my window. I hope you all enjoy! 

Snowboarding was fun. You loved flying down the snow covered mountain and feeling the wind whipping against your scarf as you took in the landscape below. Even when you fell, it was fun, because it didn’t hurt as much as it did on skis and you could usually get right back up and keep going.

Usually was the key word, because there you were, stuck in the cabin watching the other girls get ready to go as you elevated your foot, because you’d managed to hurt yourself while trying to do a trick.

“Do you guys have everything you need?” Rosé asked as she handed Jisoo her bag. “Foot and hand warmers, goggles, water?”

“Yes, mom,” Lisa called, and the other girl shot her a look.

“Excuse me for not wanting you guys to die when I’m not there.”

“Opposed to when you are there?” You watched their playful banter unfold, eyes moving back to Rosé. She’d taken off her snow gear from earlier and was now dressed in an oversize sweater and leggings, and even though she looked cute, you felt a little guilty.

“You don’t have to stay here with me, Rosé,” you said, looking over at her hung skis. “It’s my fault I got hurt anyway.”

“I’m not just gonna leave you here,” she said, shaking her head and giving you a smile. “What if you needed something and I wasn’t here? And anyway, it looks like there’s a storm coming so I don’t mind staying nice and warm with you.” You smiled back at her.

“Well, I guess I can’t argue with that. Be careful girls.” Lisa nodded, hoisting her snowboard up into her arms and giving you a thumbs-up.

“Don’t worry, if it starts to storm we’ll be near the resort so we can just take shelter there until it’s over.”

“We’ll be careful,” Jisoo said, smiling. “You two be careful and stay warm as well. We’ll be back soon.”

“Bye guys!” Jennie waved as she opened the door and the two of you waved back, watching as they filed out the door. Once they were gone, Rosé turned to you and grinned.

“What do you say I make us some hot chocolate and we turn on the fireplace and watch some movies?” Just the thought of it made you feel cozy, and you grinned back, reaching over to grab the remote.

“I’ll find the movies if you promise to give me whipped cream on my hot chocolate.”

“It’s a deal.”

-

It only took an hour for the storm to hit. The snow began to pick up and the wind whistled so loudly that it drew both of your attention from the movie on the tv. Just like the news had said, a storm had blown in, coating the windows with thick snowdrifts. Biting her lip, Rosé stood up and walked over to look out the window. Or, at least she tried to, since most of it was covered.

“I hope they got back to the resort in time to get out of this storm. It’s bad out there.”

“Let’s see if our phones work,” you said, pulling out your cell. The service was bad, but still there, and you typed out a text to the group chat.

(Y/N)-Are you guys inside?

It look a little while for anyone to respond.

Jisoo-We are. They had a warning go off so we all got inside before it got too bad. You’re both okay too, right?

Both of you let out a sigh of relief and Rosé rested her head against your shoulder, making your heart jump. “Good. Now I don’t have to worry.”

At that moment, the tv died, cutting off in the middle of the movie as the lights turned off. You blinked. “Well, I’m very glad this isn't an electric fireplace.”

After a few minutes of searching and some fumbling around, the two of you were back on the couch in front of the blazing fireplace, bundling up in blankets with bottles of water and flashlights on the coffee table. It was already cold in the other parts of the cabin, but you couldn’t complain too much. Not when Rosé was cuddled up next to you, shoulder pressed against yours.

“Well. Now that we’re warm, what are we gonna do for entertainment? It’s not like we can use our phones, we need to conserve battery,” she said, a slight whine in her voice as she rested her head on your shoulder. You chuckled softly.

“I mean, we could talk.”

“I know, but I’d still like to finish our movie.”

“Am I that boring to you?” Your tone was joking, and you obviously weren’t serious, but she sat up and looked at you anyway.

“You aren’t boring at all! Don’t say that! I love talking to you.” You could feel your face heating up, and you were glad that the light was dim enough to hide it.

“Oh. I’m glad to hear that, I love talking to you too.” For a moment, both of you were silent, faces flushed and warm in the cold of the storm. And then she cleared her throat and shuffled even closer to you, looking at the fire.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you something. And I guess there’s no better time than now.” You raised your eyebrows, and hope swelled inside your chest, but you pushed it down, not wanting it to show.

“What is it?”

She bit her lip before looking over at you and giving you that soft, sweet smile that you’d come to like so much. “I like you, (Y/N). More than as a friend. And I feel like we’ve been getting closer recently, so I wanted to let you know.” A smile that you couldn't stop spread across your face and you held her hand under the blankets. Even the cold air tickling your neck seemed to be chased away for a moment.

“That’s good to hear, because I like you too.”

“Oh,” she breathed, and she was so close that you could see the sparkle in her eyes. “Good. Does this mean we’re dating?”

“If you want to, yeah.” The space had suddenly gotten smaller, like it was just the two of you in the world.

“I want to. I also want to kiss you, if that’s okay.” You let out a laugh and she giggled as well, dissolving the tension that had built up in the air.

“That’s okay with me.” She leaned in the short distance and your eyes fluttered closed as your lips met hers. Despite the chilly air, she was warm, and tasted of hot chocolate and whipped cream.

As she pulled away, the lights flickered back on and the silence was replaced by the whir of the heater turning on and the tv blinking back to life. The two of you looked around, and she glanced back out the window. The snow had stopped blowing sideways, and at some point the wind had settled down, leaving in quiet and peaceful once again.

“What just happened?” She asked, looking back at you with wide eyes. You shrugged your shoulders, letting the blanket fall away as the room began to warm once again. The fire still danced in the fire place, a little dimmer now, casting a small shadow across the hardwood floor. The movie the two of you had been watching continued from where it had left of, a distracting backdrop to the room, but your eyes were still focused on her.

“I don’t know. But I’m glad it did.” There was no need to huddle together for warmth anymore, but neither of you moved away, content to stay just like you were. Rosé glanced at the clock on her phone before putting it away and turning all of her attention back to you.

“They might be home soon, but let’s just stay like this until they do.”

“No cooking dinner for them to eat when they come back?”

“We can do that later. Right now I just want to cuddle and kiss you.” She gave you that sweet smile and you found yourself falling back into her, forgetting everything that existed outside that cabin. It was just you and her in that moment, and you were happy to keep it that way for a while. Smiling, you leaned in, all too happy to kiss her again.

“I can’t argue with that logic.”

Dinner could wait for a while.

[avengerofyourheart]

Flour Girl {14} (Bucky x reader AU)

Characters: reader, Bucky.

Summary: Discovering the cute guy you just flirted with is the heir of a rival bakery, you suddenly find yourself running into him all over the city. Can your small boutique bakery compete? And how do you deal with the guy who seems determined to make your life a living hell? Luckily you’re distracted by a secret admirer…But who is he? (Inspired by “You’ve Got Mail”, Enemies to Lovers)

Warnings: none! Mild swearing?

Word Count:  3.3k

A/N: Heyooooo. Let’s go to the Farmer’s Market!!! :D Honestly, Central Park in the Autumn is something I’ve actually experienced and I loved it, so even just writing about it and imagining a Farmer’s Market there.... *swoon* :) Add in Bucky, and I would probably die. ha! I hope you’re ready for this! I’m excited to hear your thoughts, any feedback is appreciated! <3

<<Part 13    Part 14     Part 15>>  

Flour Girl Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

____________________________________________________

Sunday morning broke with clear skies and unusually high temperatures predicted; the makings of a gorgeous day. Since Thursday when Bucky proposed joining you at the Farmer’s Market, you’d continued to find each encounter you had with him more pleasant than the last. After the grocery store, you, of course, saw him at the Nest each morning, but he also happened to be at the bookstore where you went to browse and unwind Friday evening.

It turned out that you shared similar tastes in books and even had a lively discussion about who your favorite authors were. You each challenged the other to read something they normally wouldn’t and then planned to report back with thoughts on the books. That night as you tucked into bed with the book, you found yourself excited about the prospect of more time spent together. It all seemed to come out of nowhere, but you couldn’t deny the light flutterings of butterflies in your stomach at the thought of Bucky.

During those few days, you continued to hear from B, you both still maintaining that air of mystery. He was still as sweet as ever, confusing your heart and head along with the added newness of whatever was happening with Bucky. Both were mostly pushed out of your head on Saturday, since it was your busiest day of the week. You spent the early hours baking double what you did during the week so you could spend more time helping Wanda with customers.

That night after work, you were exhausted, so catching up on some TV followed by some reading before bed was all that was in the plans.

Sunday, you woke up surprisingly early, for a day that you actually had the option to sleep in. You made some breakfast and drank your coffee, then changing your outfit three times before you were satisfied. There really wasn’t any need for you to dress up, since Bucky had already seen you in your worst, sickest state, but part of you just wanted to gussy up a little, even more for yourself than for him.

Just before 9am, you decided to head out early and enjoy a leisurely walk to the park to spend time there until Bucky arrived. The weather was perfect as predicted, sun shining with a light breeze, and your sweater was just perfect for warmth. Settling on a bench, you pulled out your phone and replied to a ‘Good morning’ text you had received from B earlier.

FG: Good morning, Bernard! Happy Sunday. Plans for today? I’m enjoying a leisurely morning out in the sunshine.

B: I’m happy you’re taking the morning off! You work too hard. I’m enjoying  quiet Sunday morning as well.

He followed that message shortly with a picture of a Belgian waffle with strawberries and whipped cream, probably purchased from a food truck that traveled around to different locations in the city. “Mmmm waffles” was his caption and you replied in turn with heart eyes and drooling emojis. Minutes later, he sent a link to a youtube video with the caption “Made me think of you.:)”, which caused your heart to skip a beat.

Plugging in your headphones, you slipped a bud in one ear and pressed play. The video was a clip of a stand-up comedian you had heard about, John Mulaney. He opened his monologue with a mention of how he ‘zones out’ often, which you had to admit was relatable, but he then shared an anecdote about the Beatles, how none of them had mustaches and then suddenly they all had mustaches. At that point, you were laughing near the point of hysterics. For the sake of strangers nearby, you tried your best to laugh quietly with a hand over your mouth.

Eventually, you began to calm down and the video ended, so you returned to the message and typed out a reply.

FG: Oh my god, I should not have watched that in public. I think I hurt myself from holding in the laughter.

You hit send with a crying/laughing emoji. Those three dots popped up and you waited for a reply, but when you saw it arrive, your breath caught in your throat.

B: I’d give anything to hear you laugh.

Frozen in shock, you blinked, noticing the three bouncing dots as he continued to type. What the hell did that mean? He wanted to hear you laugh…as in…what? The anticipation was fraying your nerves so when the message popped up, you read it eagerly.

B: FG…could we meet? I know what happened last time was awful and I had no intention of hurting you, then or now. I swear to you that if you give me another chance, I will move mountains to be there. I’d like to explain everything and I would prefer to do it in person. What do you say?

Staring at the open message, you read it over and over again until the words began to blur before your vision. Was he serious? After all this time, suddenly he was making promises again? Part of you wanted to instantly say yes and take the leap, but reason and previous rejection held you back. Why now? What had changed? You had believed him last time when he said he wanted to meet, so you weren’t so quick to trust this time.

Unsure of how long you had been staring at the message, you must have been lost in your thoughts because suddenly a hand was waving in front of your face to gain your attention.

“Y/N?”

Jolting to the present, you followed the hand and looked up to see Bucky standing before you with a mildly concerned smile upon his face. He looked really good, you noticed right away. Dressed casually in well-fitting jeans and boots matched with a t-shirt and button-up plaid, then topped with a leather jacket, you gawked for a moment too long before answering.

“Hi! Sorry, I, uh…sorry,” you apologized profusely while locking your phone, shaking off the message still imprinted behind your eyes. “Just got caught up in something. How are you?”

Bucky laughed lightly as you stood up from the bench. “I’m good, how’ve you been?”

“Not bad,” you replied reflexively. “It’s a gorgeous day to be in the park. Shall we?”

“Absolutely,” he said, gesturing for you to lead the way. “This weather is insane. It almost feels like Spring in October.”

“Right?” you exclaimed, smiling brightly. “I’m not complaining.”

Small talk continued for a few minutes as you walked, then touching on work and how both bakeries were busy and doing well. Bucky then asked about how and why you decided to open City Sweets. You opened up more about baking with your mom before she passed and you feeling at home and closer to her in the kitchen. You went to college for a few semesters, but couldn’t settle on a major that interested you. Always returning to the idea of baking, you ended up taking a culinary course for some professional lessons and then worked wherever you could to gain experience.

The wish of opening your own bakery kept drifting to the forefront of your mind, so after taking a few business classes and coming up with a business plan, you made the leap using the money your mom had gifted you upon her death. It was one of the hardest, most stressful things you had ever done, but also the most rewarding. City Sweets was almost a year old. You were finally starting to make a profit and you hoped that it would continue to grow and blossom in the future.

Realizing how long you had been talking, you shifted the subject to Bucky. “What about you? What made you want to major in business?” you asked as you kept walking, the Farmer’s Market a few hundred yards ahead.

Bucky was silent a moment, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Um…I don’t know, really. I mean, I grew up helping my dad at the bakery and he always wished he’d had more business experience before he started. Most of the time it was just trial and error for him. So, I kind of just fell into it. I didn’t have a strong desire to major in something, so business seemed as good as any. I think that might be why I was so jealous of you when we first met,” he admitted, catching your eye.

Reeling toward him in shock, your jaw dropped. “What? You were jealous of…me? Why?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Because…you found your passion and you went after it. I think you’re doing an amazing job, too. Even from a business perspective, I mean, you’re in a good location with foot traffic, the bakery is cozy but not too small, you’ve branched out to wholesale deliveries, and from what I can tell, your ingredients quality to food cost ratio seems ideal. All within the first year, that’s impressive,” Bucky beamed at you, his gaze then moving toward the market as you two approached.

You took in his words, nearly speechless a moment from his kindness and positive overview of the bakery. “I, um….thank you. That means a lot to me, Bucky,” you quietly replied, almost overcome with emotion.

He just nodded. “Well deserved. I’m just sorry that I made you doubt that because of my own insecurities. I can’t apologize enough, Y/N,” Bucky said sincerely, pausing just before you reached the displays of fresh vegetables.

Pausing as well, you turned toward him and held his gaze a moment longer than usual. “I forgive you, Bucky,” you told him, knowing in your heart that you meant it.

Hearing the explanation of his previous behavior and seeing how much your interactions together had changed over the past few weeks, you held no more resentment for him. It took too much energy to hold a grudge, anyway.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he replied gently, feeling a spark of something between you as you held his gaze.

The moment passed, though, as he glanced at the first produce stand, breaking eye contact. You finally took a look around as the gentle breeze rustled through the treetops. The sound mixed with music that you previously hadn’t noticed and as it registered, you thought back at the video that B had sent the other day. He hadn’t been far from where you currently stood that day. Lost in your thoughts, Bucky’s voice broke through them.

“Y/N?” he prompted, apparently not for the first time because he had an amused, patient smile on his face. “Are you okay?” Bucky asked, noticing your distracted nature.

“Yeah!” you replied, a little too loudly. “Um…yeah, I’m good. Sorry.”

Shaking your head, you walked to the table of produce and marveled at the colors and freshness.

“Oooh, beets,” you cooed, picking up a bunch of the red root vegetable with green stalks still attached. “I’ve been thinking about using more natural forms of food coloring at the bakery and I’ve heard beets are good for that. What do you think?” you asked in anticipation, glancing Bucky’s way.

He smiled at your enthusiasm. “Yeah, I’ve heard that too. I think it’s a great idea,” Bucky agreed, picking up a head of lettuce.

The morning passed, finding yourself enjoying Bucky’s company as you perused the table of each vendor selling their wares. You felt the happiest you had in a long time, finding a lightness and comfort as you talked and laughed with Bucky. Sometime later, you turned down the street toward the area where crafts were sold when you spotted a familiar food truck. Stopping mid sentence, you wandered forward and confirmed that yes, this was indeed where he had been according to the sign.

B had been here in this very spot, holding a waffle. It had been over an hour since his message, but you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing around at the people, wondering if perhaps he was still there. You had no way of knowing, but still…

“Y/N? Did you hear me?”

“Hm?” you quickly replied, blinking.

“I asked if you wanted a waffle. Where did you go just then?” he asked with more concern this time. “What’s going on with you? If you want to cut the morning short, that’s okay, but—“

“No!” you nearly shouted, then feeling terrible about your behavior. You didn’t want to say goodbye, but your attention seemed to be split despite efforts to remain in the moment. “I mean… it’s not that. It’s not you, I’m so—“

“Don’t apologize again,” Bucky kindly interrupted. “You don’t have to, it’s just…you can talk to me if you want to,” he offered sweetly.

You felt your resolve crumbling, wondering if Bucky would mind if you mentioned another guy or if he would just find it odd for you to be corresponding with a stranger. Biting your lip, you rolled it around in your head and came to the conclusion that you might as well get a second opinion on this mess. If he wasn’t as understanding as you expected, then at least you would know his character a little better. Taking a few steps, you settled in a chair at a small table outside the Belgian waffle food truck and gestured for Bucky to do the same.

Taking a deep breath, you began. “It’s kind of a long, weird story…”

_________

You sat in silence a moment, allowing Bucky to process what you had just finished sharing. It sounded crazy, even to your own ears, but Bucky had become a friend somehow over the past few weeks and it seemed like he truly wanted to know what was on your mind. Fiddling with the bag of vegetables resting on the table, you waited until he was ready to respond.

“Wow,” Bucky finally spoke, his gaze off in the distance. “That’s quite a unique way to meet someone.”

You scoffed at that with a shrug. No point in denying it.

“So…you like this guy? Even though you don’t know anything about him?” he asked gingerly, brow furrowed.

Letting out a sigh, you thought about it for the hundredth time and came up with the same answer. “Yeah. I think I do. Is that crazy?”

He shrugged this time. “I don’t know. Crazier things have happened. I can’t think of any at the moment, but…”

You chuckled at that and gave him a playful shove.

“Sorry, sorry,” he replied with a laugh. “But you’re willing to give him another chance, even after he stood you up? No wonder you blew up at me that day at the Nest, by the way. I’m sure I just made a bad situation worse.”

Feeling a warmth in your face, you spoke up. “I really shouldn’t have, I—“

“No, no,” he gently interrupted. “No need to apologize, I needed that wakeup call.”

Smiling gratefully, you thought about his previous question. “I know it might seem naive of me, but…I don’t know. I guess I just want to find out for sure if he is who I imagine him to be. If somehow I’m disappointed once again, then at least I’m not left wondering. I just don’t want to go through life with regrets, you know?”

Bucky was silent again, the corners of his mouth curving upward. “Yeah. That’s a good point. I don’t think it’s naive of you to think the best in other people. It’s a great quality, actually,” he complimented as he placed a hand on top of yours resting on the table.

You felt that electricity again, meeting his gaze for a lingering moment. Opening your mouth to speak, you were interrupted by an alert from your phone. Reluctantly, you retrieved your hand and searched through your bag for the device. A previously set alarm had gone off and suddenly you noticed the time.

“Oh, no. I have to get back to the bakery,” you told him regretfully as you stood and gathered your bags.

“Of course,” Bucky replied, getting to his feet. “I’ll walk with you.”

Grateful that your revelation hadn’t ruined your morning outing or time with Bucky, you nodded with a smile.

“Okay.”

__________________

Stepping off the subway at your intended stop, you climbed the stairs up to street level. This wasn’t a part of the city that you visited often, but it was a nice change of scenery. Nervously wiping damp hands on your jeans, you crossed the street and headed for your destination.

After your lovely and unexpected morning with Bucky in the park on Sunday, he walked you home and you unlocked the bakery after saying goodbye. Your mind was a mess of thoughts as you went about your usual tasks of setting up chairs, brewing coffee, and baking fresh pastries to sell for the day. No deliveries on Sundays, so it was less of a rush to get everything ready. By 11am, you turned over the sign to read “Open” and the work day officially began.

You didn’t mind manning the shop on your own on Sundays. The atmosphere was much more relaxed and the weekend crowd seemed to enjoy lingering with their coffees and croissants. There was a lull in business for half an hour and during that time, you nearly drove yourself crazy trying to decide how to respond to B. Your talk with Bucky had helped, but there was still a lot to consider.

Finally, you pecked out a reply and quickly hit send before you could rethink it.

FG: One more chance. I’m trusting you. Please don’t make me regret it.

He replied quickly, which you were grateful for. The wait was always the worst.

B: I won’t, I promise. I hope I can make it up to you. Tell me when. But would you mind if I chose the where?

Puzzled, you thought it over and settled on Tuesday afternoon. The bakery usually wasn’t terribly busy and it gave you some time to prepare to be gone later that day. When B told you where he wanted to meet, you were surprised, but also intrigued. As far as recognizing one another, the same rule applied, so you dug out the crumpled Beatles t-shirt you had thrown in the closet after the previous incident and put it in the wash.

Now, as you wore the shirt with jeans and a jacket, you felt the butterflies in your stomach with each step. Approaching the notable area where B had asked you to meet him, your eyes grew wide at the beautiful buildings that housed some of the greatest artists and performers in the city. The Square was enclosed on three sides by beautiful, glass-covered and columned buildings that offered an air of sophistication. Per his instructions, you headed for the center of the square where a fountain resided.

Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts was the home to the New York Philharmonic, the Metropolitan Opera, the New York City Ballet, and the New York City Opera. It was also adjacent to the Juilliard School where many of the greatest musicians and artists were taught. This area of the city was incredible and awe-inspiring, especially if one was lucky enough to get tickets to such an event. However, in the afternoon, it was mostly filled with tourists, which is why you were all the more curious about why B chose this spot.

People were milling about and taking pictures as you heard a string quartet playing a classical music piece. The group of young musicians were loosely surrounded by a crowd and a cello case was open with bills and coins dropped inside. Starving artists and all that. Just as you were about to sit down beside the fountain, the song changed and you froze. You knew that tune. You’d know it anywhere.

Ah, look at all the lonely people…

You heard the lyrics in your head, recognizing it as “Eleanor Rigby” by The Beatles. Stunned, you turned toward the sound and slowly began to approach the quartet. You watched them, mesmerized, until you heard your name being called. It was the last thing you expected to hear, so it took a moment for it to register. Turning around, you followed the voice and saw…him.

Confused, you took a step forward and opened your mouth to speak before you looked down and saw the t-shirt he was wearing. The Rolling Stones.

In that moment, it all came together in your head and the blood drained from your face.

“You?”

_____________________

Part 15>> 

________________________________________________________

Ahhh!!! Cliffhanger!!! I know, I know, I’m sorry. I think we all know who B is, but a little more waiting until we find out her reaction. What would you think if he brought you all the way out to Lincoln Square with a stringed quartet and everything?? Hmmm. It’s about to go down, you guys. :D Wasn’t that walk through the Farmer’s Market lovely? That conversation about “B” was kinda meta, though. heh. At least Bucky didn’t confirm or deny anything! I think he really did want to hear straight from her mouth that she was falling for him. Kinda. ;) Please let me know your thoughts!! Any and all feedback is appreciated! I adore you guys. Thank you. <3

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[ardett]

Saturate

Description: Color is a hard thing to describe to a child. Absence is always hard to explain. 

Or that soulmate AU where you only see one color until you meet your soulmate.

Author’s Note: Bringing back one more fic for the voltron fandom for the commission of the lovely @lolipopsandrazorblades

And of course, everything is available on Ao3!

Color is a hard thing to describe to a child. Absence is always hard to explain. It’s known to take a couple of years before a child can even identify their soul color.

Still, Lance’s parents really should have been tipped off when he kept crawling about to steal his ma’s lipstick.

X

Keith’s cradle is under a skylight. From day one, he wakes up to the blue of his soul color. Keith spends hours just watching the endless expanse of baby blue. Maybe that's why he grows to love the sky.

X

Lance is three when he finally understands. The world comes in three shades: black like an unlit room, white like a lazy cloud, and red.

Red like pairs of cherries and ripe apples and his ma’s fancy dress.

“Red is the color of love,” his pa whispers to Lance as he settles him down for a nap. “You must have a soulmate full of love.”

A person’s soul color, the only color they see besides black and white, is more than just their soulmates favorite color. It’s a little bit of their soulmate’s essence too, captured in that stark hue.

Lance hopes his soulmate really is made of love. He hopes his soulmates loves him back.

X

“Look, Lance! Do you see the rainbow?” Pa points out the car window. A five-year old Lance peeks out from the back seat but he can’t make out any distinctions between the white and gray of the sky.

“Oh, it’s a double rainbow!” his ma exclaims. “It’s very faint. Do you see it over there?”

“I can’t see anything,” Lance pouts.

“Don’t worry, Lance. One day you’ll meet your soulmate,” his ma takes his pa’s hand. “I remember when I met your pa’s eyes for the first time. It was indescribable. Some many colors I didn’t know existed. So many things I had missed.”

Lance wiggles in his car seat to lean closer. “Like double rainbows?” he asks.

“Yes, like rainbows, but other things too.” His ma reaches back to boop his nose and Lance squeals. “Did you know your eyes are the most beautiful shade of blue?”

Lance glances up at his reflection in the rearview mirror. They don’t look very beautiful, not like his ma’s ruby earrings. Still, as he watches, his cheeks start to tinge with color. His parents laugh at his abashed face, which only makes him blush harder.

X

When Keith is five, he’s finally beginning to understand soul colors. It’s later than most children but his dad had never explained it to him, explained that his world of black and white and blue was not everyone’s world.

“What’s your soul color, dad?” Keith asks as the two of them are packing up boxes. They’ve always moved around a lot. This time, the arid Arizona desert will be their home.

His dad grunts as he lifts a box. “I don’t have a soul color, son.”

“Why not?” Keith pads behind him as he moves towards their truck.

“Some people don’t have soulmates in the traditional sense. I don’t really know for sure and I doubt I ever will.” His dad shrugs. “It’s just the way it is.”

“But what about mom?”

His dad gives a sad smile and leans down to hoist Keith into the bed of the truck. He sits Keith on the edge so their eyes meet. “I loved your mom, Keith. Whether she was my soulmate or not, I loved her. I miss her every day. If she could have stayed, she would have. Yes, a soulmate is a wonderful thing to have but don’t let it stop you from loving someone. You know yourself better than the universe.” Keith nods and his dad helps him back to the ground.

His dad asserts, “I think that’s enough packing for today. Let’s go get some dessert.”

Keith follows his dad as they start to walk into town but he can’t help asking, “So do you only see black and white?”

His dad shakes his head. “That’s the weird thing. I’ve always seen the world in full color.”

X

When Lance is seven, he decides his favorite holiday is Valentine’s Day. It’s the most colorful day of the year. Everything is painted in shades of pink and cherry and scarlet. It’s a day made for soulmates and Lance can’t help but feel that it means something that red is his soul color, that red is the color of his soulmate, that red is the color of the day of love. Maybe it means him and his soulmate will be something special.

X

Keith’s seventh birthday present is a trip to the beach. They drive all the way to sunny California, where the sand is hotter than the pavement and the air tastes like salt. The sparkling ocean comes in the most captivating shades of blue: navy where it meets the horizon, sapphire where boats speed over its surface, cerulean where it meets the coast.

He watches another family of tourists run into the waves, screaming with glee. There’s a boy who looks about Keith’s age that’s learning to surf. Keith laughs the second time he falls off the board and the boy turns at the sound. Keith whips around and yells at his dad that he’s going to buy some ice cream.

When he comes back with the ice pops, the boy and his family are gone.

Keith and his dad stay until they’re kicked off the beach. It’s the best birthday of Keith’s life.

It’s also the last one he spends with his dad.

X

Keith’s dad dies when he’s eight. The fire that kills him is a freak accident and for some reason, that’s what sticks with Keith. No one even knows what started the fire or why the fire trucks took so long to come or how it spread so fast. It’s just an accident. An accident that killed his father.

Keith hates that all he can see is the bright white dancing flames on the footage of the accident while his dad died watching everything around him burn yellow and orange and red. That’s when Keith starts becoming angrier.

(And as much as he pretends not to, he mourns too, a deep and bottomless blue sadness. He hopes his soulmate understands.)

X

Lance is nine when someone tells him that his soul color is a bad thing.

It’s not red like love. It’s fire red, blood red, an angry and ferocious red. Red like the color of war.

“Maybe your soulmate will hate you,” Michael sneers.

“Your soulmate can’t hate you. They’re your soulmate.” Lance tries to be loud, confident, but his bottom lip trembles.

Michael takes a step towards Lance. “Then maybe they’ll be really mean and they’ll hit you when they’re angry and you won’t be able to do anything about it.”

“Don’t say that!” Lance shrieks. His hands ball into fists and Michael’s gaze flickers downwards. Then he tackles Lance to the ground.

The teachers separate them in a matter of moments, one leading Michael away and the other crouching down to Lance’s level, asking if he’s okay. Lance can’t really answer. He just keeps staring at his scraped knee, oozing red red red blood.

X

The next year, Michael changes school districts.

Lance spends the same year wavering between loving and hating his soul color.

X

In the foster care system, kids get moved around a lot. Keith has moved five times in the last two years. He likes it best when he lives in the desert, with its painfully clear skies in crystal blue.

He tries not to get attached but something about this family feels… good. Something about Allura and Shiro, the couple that took him in, feels good. He won’t say it feels right yet, but maybe someday it will. Someday. It’s been a long time since Keith thought past today, since he thought about a future with a family.

He thinks about the future until he gets into a fight with a new kid at school. Then the future stops existing.

He doesn’t want to face his foster family when they come to pick him up. He would rather wait in the principal’s office with his bloody nose and bruised knuckles until the foster care agency comes to get him. They’ll be coming to get him eventually, now that he’s proved again that he’s an unruly, aggressive child.

(It’s getting harder for them to place him with families, he knows. He’s heard them talking when they thought he wasn’t listening.)

Despite his wishings, it’s the foster family that comes to pick him up. The car ride home is terribly silent. When they reach the house, Shiro and Allura sit him down on the couch.

Shiro goes to grab some wipes for the dried blood on his face while Allura perches next to him.

“Keith,” she says. “What happened?”

“The principal already told you,” Keith mutters.

“But we want to hear it from you.”

Keith scowls and looks away. No one says anything. Shiro hands Keith a wipe and Keith swipes it angrily across his face. Even though he knows it’s red, it looks like it comes away covered in charcoal.

“I got into a fight,” he finally says.

“And why did you get into a fight?” Shiro asks.

“Because…” Keith balls up the wipe. “Because… Michael said I should be happy my dad is dead! But I’m not! I’m really- I’m really s-sad,” Keith chokes out. “And he said he wishes his dad were dead. Why would he say that? Only Zach used to say that.”

“Who’s Zach?” Allura questions.

Keith rubs at his nose. His fingers are smudged with black. “This kid who I knew in the foster care system. His dad used to hit him. That’s why they took him away.” Keith sniffles and misses the look Shiro and Allura exchange. “Are you gonna give me back?” he mumbles.

“No, no!” Allura grabs his hand and Keith stares at where they’re linked. Her nails are painted baby blue. “Keith, we want you as long as you want to be here.”

Shiro puts a hand on his shoulder and says, “We’re not saying it’s okay for you to get into fights but it’s going to take more than that for us to give you up.”

A few weeks later, Michael’s parents get divorced. Michael lives with his mom now. He even apologizes to Keith.

Keith starts thinking about the future again.

X

The day Lance turns eleven, he’s out shopping with his ma. She keeps picking out red things for him to wear and he keeps putting them back when she’s not looking.

“What about this?” his ma asks, holding up a red leather jacket. Lance wrinkles his nose.

“No way. What even is that?”

His ma takes another look at it before shrugging and putting it back on the rack. “This one is a bit much, I suppose. That doesn’t explain why you keep taking out all the clothes I’m putting in for you. I thought you liked the red clothes.”

“I… I do.” Lance scuffs his feet.

“Then why do you keep putting them back, sweetie?” His ma leans down at bit, eyes wide and soft.

“What if my soulmate doesn’t like me?” Lance asks, not meeting her gaze.

“Of course your soulmate will like you.” She runs a hand down his cheek. “And not just because they’re your soulmate. They’ll love you because you’re a kind, beautiful, thoughtful boy.”

“But is red a bad soul color?”

“Is this about what happened with Michael? Lance, no soul color is a bad one. Red is a beautiful color. It’s the color of passion. It’s the color of the heart. There will always be people who try to put you down but you have to hold out. You have be strong and courageous because your soulmate is out there and they’re waiting for you. Right?” She tweaks his nose and Lance giggles.

“Tell me again about how you and pa met?” Lance grabs her hand as she leads them towards the shirt section, adding things back into the shopping cart as they go along.

“Well, it was a dark and stormy night-”

“That’s not what you said last time! You’re changing the story!”

“Hush, you.” She ruffles his hair. “As I was saying, it was one of those really hot June days and…”

Lance’s ma is just wrapping up the story as they check out. Lance stands on his toes to grab the bagged clothes off the counter. Two lanes down, he sees someone buying the red leather jacket, a boy with mangy black hair and his dad. Lance smiles, thinking maybe it’s not such a bad look after all. He turns back to his ma as she finishes the purchase and they head back home.

X

For the start of sixth grade, Shiro takes Keith shopping for new clothes.

“Are you going through your emo phase?” Shiro teases, poking at the pile of jeans Keith picked out. “All of these are black. What happened to good old blue jeans?”

“Blue is distracting,” Keith snaps, then freezes. He whips around. “Don’t say anything!”

“Oh, I remember those days, when all I saw was my pink soul color. All I could think about was my soulmate and who they would be.”

“Stop,” Keith groans. “You’re so embarrassing.”

“One day, Keith, one day you’ll meet your soulmate and you’ll understand,” Shiro grins.

“Is this all because I chose a lot of black stuff? Fine, what about this?” Keith yanks a leather jacket off the rack. “This is red, right? Not even a dark color.”

Shiro looks like he’s holding in a laugh but he throws it in the cart anyway. “A great style choice. Definitely not black.”

Shiro laughs even harder, out loud this time, when Keith starts wearing the jacket all the time.

X

Lance is fifteen and fresh out of middle school when he attends his first high school party. The bass is deafening and there’s alcohol everywhere he looks. Every red solo cup stands out in stark relief.

He stays for a while, messing around with the soccer teammates that invited him, taking a few shots. It’s not terrible, really. He even meets some soulmate couples. He asks them what it was like to meet each other, to finally see the whole color spectrum. Most of them are too wasted to give a good explanation but hearing them try is funny enough.

Lance leaves early. (Look, he has a test tomorrow and he’s trying to make a good impression as a freshman.) By the time he leaves, there are already some kids passed out on the couch. One of them, a boy with tangled black hair and these terrible boots, has red cheeks ruddy with intoxication. Lance throws a blanket over him on his way out.

X

Keith doesn’t even know why he goes to parties like these. He barely knows anyone but some of his friends dragged him here. None of these people even go to his school.

Just to pass the time, he ends up playing some drinking games. By the third round, he’s already a little past tipsy and from the back he sees this boy who’s all leg with blue skinny jeans that hug every inch. The boy shakes his hips and Keith loses the game. He drinks the losers cup, chokes down the vodka that was definitely mixed in, and ends up passed out on the couch.

When his friends wake him up an hour later, he realizes someone laid a blanket on him.

X

When Lance is sixteen, he’s in a bad place. Everything is just… hard. No, impossible. He never wants to get out of bed. He never wants to sleep. He never wants to wake up. Ever.

He can't shake this dead feeling in his chest as his grades fall off, and he stops eating, and he stops hanging out with friends, and he stops trying to wake up.

Lance has wished his soul color wasn’t red before but it's for a different reason now. The red is too tempting.

He knicks himself with a knife while cutting vegetables and doesn't flinch. He decides to go to his parents for help after that.

After a few weeks on depression medication, the fog begins to lift. Things start to get better.

Lance finally works up the energy and courage to apply to the Garrison.

He gets in.

X

Keith is sixteen when he wakes up one morning and the sky isn’t blue. It’s gray. Everything is gray. His soul color is gone.

“Shiro! Allura!”

His parents come rushing into his bedroom. Keith doesn’t turn to face them. His hands are tangled in his bedsheets and he can’t stop looking out his window at the gray sky. He feels like he’s going to pass out.

“Keith,” Allura guides his face towards her. “Keith, I need you to breath.”

He’s trying. He’s trying, but then he meets her eyes and he starts hyperventilating all over again.

“Your eyes aren’t blue,” he wheezes. “Your eyes aren’t blue anymore. What’s happening to me?”

“You’re going to be okay, Keith.” Shiro’s voice is calm. Keith watches distantly as Shiro exaggerates his breathing. “Breath with me.”

It takes Keith a few terrifying tries to get his lungs to agree with him but he finally copies Shiro. He nods as he begins to settle back into his skin.

Shiro sits down on the bed. “Alright, I don’t want you to panic. This could mean a few things. I know you’re thinking something happened to your soulmate. We can’t know for sure. But sometimes it’s something that’s affecting the emotional link between you two. It doesn’t have to mean the worst.”

“But how do I know?” Keith’s voice is still ragged.

Shiro takes Allura’s hand. Keith can’t see what color her nails are painted. “We just have to wait it out.”

Months pass.

It’s a cloudy day, not a streak of sun dappling the ground. The rain finally seems to be letting up, fading to a drizzle. Keith’s almost done walking home when he closes up his umbrella, shaking off the raindrops. He glances up at where the clouds are breaking and sees the palest hint of blue.

He runs the rest of the way home and shouts for his parents as soon as he’s in the door.

X

Keith is newly seventeen and slumped in the back of his math class at the Garrison. All he wants to do is get to the actual flying, racing past clouds and throwing himself into the stars’ orbits. Understanding the fundamentals of calculus isn’t helping him get there.

He watches over the shoulder of some boy in the front who’s frantically copying down examples. The boy’s got this glittery blue pen and it’s much more interesting to watch the ink slide from the tip than see what the professor is putting on the board.

That distracts Keith for about another five minutes before he grows bored again. He resists the temptation to slam his head against the desk.

As soon as class lets out, Keith leaps from his seat and races out to the flight simulator.

X

Lance is one semester into his first year at the Garrison and he loves it. He loves his classes, he loves the people here, he loves looking out the window and seeing rockets launch.

But love, of course, isn’t enough. Lance knew that. He was willing to work hard.

Still, it hurts when he sees his name at the very bottom of the flight test rankings. It hurts even more when he sees the name at the top. Keith Kogane, the boy renown for skipping class and sleeping through the ones he actually makes it to. His flight scores though… They’re amazing.

Lance looks back his name. It glows red with the other people who will be reassigned to cargo pilot if they stay in the bottom of the class.

He’s not going to let that happen.

X

“Keith! Keith!” Keith turns around just in time to see Pidge tackled by someone. It’s the boy from his math class, now wearing an obnoxious blue snapback and sunglasses. His hand is over Pidge’s mouth.

Keith raises an eyebrow as Pidge wrestles an arm free and gestures him over. He knows Pidge from the physics class they share and Pidge has been saying they wanted to introduce him to their friends. This isn’t quite how Keith imagined it going down though.

Keith starts making his way over and the boy lets go of Pidge, hissing something in their ear, before throwing a blinding smile Keith’s way.

“Keith,” Pidge pants, pushing their glasses back up the bridge of their nose. “This is my friend, Lance.”

Keith glances over at Lance. “Hey.” He means to be polite but it comes off as curt.

“So nice to meet you, Keith. Don’t worry about what you just saw, I promise I’m usually much more charming.” The sunglasses obscure Lance’s eyes. It makes it hard to tell whether he’s joking or not.

“Cool,” Keith says awkwardly.

Pidge lets the silence drag on before finally clapping their hands together. “Well, now you know each other! Great, me and Lance have some flight practice to do so we’ll catch you later, Keith.”

They rush off and by the time Keith answers, “Sure,” they’re already gone.

X

Lance doesn’t like Keith and everyone knows it. Well, everyone as in Hunk and Pidge. And maybe most of the class. And everyone who’s walked past him while he’s ranted. Everyone except Keith.

Here’s the thing: Keith is just so talented. And as far as Lance can tell, that’s all it is. Pure talent. No hard work. No drive. It doesn’t matter though because Keith has raw, natural skill and it frustrates Lance beyond belief.

The first time they met, Keith was so… abrupt. So clearly disinterested in Lance.

Lance hasn’t tried to approach Keith since but the crazy thing is, he kind of wants to try again and he’s 99% sure it’s because of Keith’s red jacket. It’s just the brightest thing in the room, always drawing Lance’s eye, and Lance has spent class periods staring at that jacket and letting his gaze wander up to Keith, and ripping his eyes away as soon as Keith shows any hint of noticing.

It’s impossible not to find Keith fascinating, the way he slouches in his chair all through math and his whip-fase reflexes as soon as he’s put in a flight simulator. There’s a difference in his eyes too. Normally they’re dead with boredom but Lance has seen them blaze in the past, sometimes when Keith is concentrating, other times when he yells.

Lance has very carefully avoided eye contact over the past few months, though Pidge tells him he’s obsessed. That’s why they introduced him to Keith. Lance still can’t believe that happened and that it went down so, so awkwardly. Lance is gonna kill them.

Lance groans as he walks down the hallway and thinks back on the incident. He scrunches his eyes shut, trying to dispel the memory, and collides with someone.

“Oh my god.” They both stumble backwards. “I’m so sor-” Lance starts apologizing and looks up.

His world explodes.

Everything is bright and vibrant and blinding. Lance inhales sharply and the… the… colors intensify. How could he have missed this, this beauty, this effervescence? He’s seen red breathe life through everything with blood but there’s so much more brilliant life in all these colors.

So much brilliant life in Keith’s eyes, the shade of gray Lance had called purple for so long, but they look completely different now. Deeper, like the swirl of the galaxies. Luminous.

And shocked. Utterly shocked.

“We’re…” Lance takes a step forward. “You see it too, right? Everything?” His voice is tinged with amazement.

There’s a quiet before Keith finally breathes, ���Everything.”

X

Things start out slow. It’s dinner and dessert and the movies and getting to know each other. It’s walks in the park and looking at the stars and driving in the rain just to see rainbows, to see all the colors that suddenly saturate.

Their first date is all talking.

“Soulmates. I can’t believe we’re soulmates,” Lance says over his steaming coffee mug. “I guess Pidge tried to tell me, imagine if I listened sooner.”

“Listened to what?” Keith pops a cube of raw sugar in his mouth and Lance wrinkles his nose.

“Heathen, that’s supposed to go in- You know what, never mind. But yeah, they always said that the whole rivalry thing was less a rivalry thing and more a sexual tension thing.” Lance takes a sip of his coffee. He hisses at its heat and adds more milk.

“We had a rivalry? When?”

Lance gives Keith a flat look. “Come on, you know! Oh my god, do you- Oh no, no-” Lance groans. “I know you’re the prodigy pilot of the generation but come on, man. Did you even know I existed?”

“I knew,” Keith protested. “You- You alway had the blue pens! The glittery ones.”

Lance blinks at him for a long moment. “The pens… I guess I do have those, don’t I?” He takes another gulp of coffee. “Take what I can get, I guess.”

“I can, um… I can…” Keith picks at the scone in front of him before his gaze darts back up to Lance. “I can help you out sometime in the flight simulator. If you want.”

“You’d do that for me?” Lance’s voice goes soft.

Keith’s heart goes a little mushy and he nods and smiles. Lance glows as he smiles back.

X

Their fourth date, they talk about soul colors.

“So why do you think my soul color was red?” Lance asks innocently, but the stare he fixes on Keith is anything but casual.

“Red?” Keith scuffs his feet. “Maybe the jacket?”

“Come on, be serious!” Lance gives a playful shove to Keith’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah.” Keith rubs at the back of his neck. “There was a little bit where I was a really angry kid. Dad died when I was eight. I got shuffled around foster care for a couple of years before Shiro and Allura picked me up. It just felt like life wasn’t fair to me, you know? And I always miss my dad. Being happy felt like replacing him sometimes, so I was angry instead.”

Lance takes his hand and Keith stares. “Thank you for telling me. If you ever wanna talk…”

“Thanks.” Keith shifts, grips Lance’s hand a bit tighter. “What about you? The blue?”

“I grew up in Cuba, so there’s that. Loved the ocean. Still do, obviously. It’s crazy how different it is now. Now that I’ve met you, that is. I loved to swim and surf but I didn’t even know the water was so beautiful. Never got to see it the way I do now.” There’s more that Lance isn’t saying but Keith doesn’t push. They’ll get there.

X

“Hey, Lance? Can I ask you something?” They’re under the stars for their tenth date. It’s peaceful. And Keith, Keith desperately wants to know.

Lance hums and so Keith continues, “A couple of years ago, my soul color disappeared. Everything was black or white. No more blue. Was… Was that you? Did something happen?”

He can feel the way Lance stiffens next to him.

“I… I don’t want to hide this from you,” Lance starts. “Just… try not to judge me?” He barrels on, not even giving Keith the chance to reassure him. “When I was sixteen, I got diagnosed with depression. Everything was dark. I didn’t see the point in anything. It took me a while to talk to people about it and get help. I’m on meds now for it. Still.”

“Oh…” Keith props himself up to look at Lance. “I didn’t know.”

Lance finally meets his eyes. “Not a lot of people do. I’m a lot better now but it’s still a part of my story, yeah? And now I know I can get help.”

“You can always come to me for help too. If you want.”

“Thanks, Keith. And thanks for listening.”

Lance leans up to kiss him and that’s how their first kiss happens, on the dusty lawn outside of the Garrison, past midnight, under flickering stars. It’s perfect. It’s the first of many more.

Fin.

[itsallwearecalledtodo]

I never posted my short story! It features two of my beloved OCs from something longer I’m working on. It’s kinda long, so it’s all under the cut.

Dez was waiting impatiently at the bus stop on a hot afternoon, her stomach rumbling. She glanced at her phone. The bus should have been here fifteen minutes ago. She had already been waiting for half an hour, and the Starbucks across the street with its promise of air conditioning and food was taunting her. After another five minutes, she gave in and begrudgingly crossed the street.

As Dez stood in line, scrolling through her phone, she noticed her friend, Henry, sitting nearby. She was just about to walk over and say hi when she noticed something out of the ordinary–a white mocha frap. A grande. With whipped cream. On the table at which Henry was sitting. Alone.

Dez’s eyes widened and a small smirk curled across her face. I knew it. She paid for her granola bar and left without saying hello.

***

The next day, Dez sat across the table from Henry at lunch, dropping her backpack irreverently onto the floor. Henry was drinking the same thing as always: black coffee. No sugar. No milk. It wasn’t good coffee either. Even though Henry was, in Dez’s mind, a coffee elitist, he never drank real, good-quality coffee. It was always some nasty generic brand shit that smelled like dirt. Whenever they went stargazing, he always brought a thermos, a pot of hot water, and Great Value™ instant (Instant?? Really???) coffee granules. Dez didn’t understand why, other than the fact that Henry was just dumb about stuff like that–the coffee he drank, the books he read, the camera he used, the movies he liked, the flannels and jean jackets he wore (even on a winter desert night when Dez would be wearing several layers of jackets and scarves). To her, it was just stupid and made absolutely no sense.

It took Henry a moment to look up from his book, an old sci-fi book with a battered 80’s style cover that no one reads anymore. Dez tapped her fingers on the table, impatient, waiting to get to the bottom of her new knowledge about her friend.

“Lots of homework so far?” He asked.

“Nah, thankfully. How’s AP lit going?”

“It’s not really going. None of the books are good. They’re all from like a hundred years ago about stuff no one cares about anymore.”

“So, I take it you’re reading Moby Dick?”

“Yeah…” Henry grimaced and took a gulp of his nasty coffee. “How was soccer practice yesterday?”

“Oh it ended way early. The bus was late. And I forgot my snack so I had to buy one. So . . . I guess not great? I dunno.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Henry continued reading, thinking their conversation was over.

Dez completely ignored Henry’s please stop talking to me I’m reading attitude and kept rambling, “Yeah I had to go to a Starbucks for like the first time in my life to get it, too. The vending machine near the soccer field was completely out of clif bars.”

“You? In a Starbucks?” Henry jerked up from his book and stared, his mouth agape. He knew that Dez thought all chain restaurants were just another form of colonialism and generally avoided them. To hear that she had even stepped foot in Starbucks, let alone had bought something from one, was as if he was hearing that

“I know it’s completely against principle,” Dez laughed (even though her face was stone cold at the mention of one of her least favorite coffee shops) and pulled out her phone. “I saw something weird, though.” A playful grin developed on her face as she squinted and searched for the incriminating photo. Henry stiffened and looked puzzled. Her smile grew even larger as she showed the picture to him.

“That’s not me.” He said after a quick glance, then returned his attention to his book as if he didn’t even see the picture.

Dez was persistent. “Yes, it is. You’re wearing the exact same flannel right now. That’s your face. Your computer. Your backpack. It’s you. Don’t deny it.”

“I’d never drink that, and you know it.”

“Sure…” Dez rolled her eyes, her playful grin starting to fade as her frustration grew. “I know you hate black coffee, Henry. Literally everyone hates it.”

“The only correct way to drink coffee is black. You know that’s my hard and fast opinion.”

“I think you’re lying to yourself. That is you, drinking something that actually tastes good. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“You don’t even like coffee, what would you know?”

Dez sighed. “I know that whatever the hell you drink everyday smells like dirt. I know the stuff my little sister drinks smells delicious. Smell is a good indicator of taste.”

“Not all the time—”

“Stop it. Stop. Just admit that’s you and that you really do hate black coffee and prefer to drink basically anything else.”

Henry sighed, defeated. “Do you know what would happen if I showed up to school with a white mocha frappuccino?”

“Literally nothing would happen.” Dez laughed again, rather annoyed.

“My whole aesthetic, my reputation, all would be lost.” Henry slumped back in his chair. They sat in silence for a few moments. “I’ll admit that’s me, but you can’t tell anyone, okay? This stays between you and me.”

“Sorry, can’t do that.”

Henry’s eyes widened in fear. “Who did you tell? I need to know.”

“Uhhh well I sent this to Emma as soon as I took it so…”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s just Emma. She’s your friend.”

“Yeah and she’ll have told everyone by now. Thanks for that.” Henry picked up his coffee and backpack. “If I hear anything about this…”

Dez scoffed. “Emma would never betray you like that! You’re just mad I wounded your dumb aesthetic pride. Come on.”

“This is serious.” Henry looked hurt. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.” He grabbed his backpack and thermos of disgusting black sludge, heading off to yearbook.

***

Several days passed until Dez ran into Henry again. It almost seemed like he was avoiding her. Finally, she cornered him in the hallway between classes. “Listen, Henry, it’s a new moon tonight and there’s supposed to be clear skies. Wanna go for a drive?”

She knew this was a perfect way to get Henry to talk to her. He didn’t have plans for the night and he wouldn’t say no to stargazing, especially with such perfect conditions. This would be the perfect way to get him to talk to her and for her to apologize (but only if he apologized for being a dick first).

“Uhh I guess so . . .” Henry looked up at the wall clock, trying to avoid Dez’s somewhat devious expression. “Um I gotta get to class. I’ll uh see you tonight.” Then he started hurrying down the hallway.

“I’ll pick you up at eight!” Dez yelled after him. I hope this works . . .

***

It was well past eight by the time Dez’s old station wagon pulled into Henry’s driveway. The sky was already speckled with millions of bright stars. The air was beginning to feel chilly, even though it was only late August. Henry began loading his photography equipment into the trunk while Dez figured out the quickest way to get to the middle of nowhere. Finally, all the gear was stowed haphazardly in the back. Henry swung himself into the front seat, carrying his typical grimy thermos.

But something wasn’t right. Dez leaned over the thermos and took in the wafting scent of–hazelnut? She cast an inquisitive look over at Henry, eyebrows raised. “What’s in the mug, Henry?”

“I put some . . . uhh . . . creamer in there. I think it’s hazelnut but I really just grabbed what my mom had in the fridge. It might be almond for all I care.”

Dez chuckled. “So is this an apology? Are you finally admitting that you don’t like black coffee? For real?”

“I mean, I guess?” Henry sputtered. “It’s okay? I mean I still like it but this,” he took a long drink from his thermos and let out a content sigh, “this is so much better.”

“I knew it.”

“You really can’t tell anyone though. This stays between us. We’re just that good of friends that I’m trusting you with this deep, dark, secret.”

“I won’t tell anyone. And I’m sorry for being rude earlier. It’s really none of my business what type of coffee you drink.”

“Nah it’s okay. You were just fooling around with me anyways. So, where are we going?”

“Oh there’s this small highway like, a half hour away maybe? Kinda in between our town and the next. Not a lot of traffic. There’s a couple spots we can pull over and you can set up your stuff.”

“Cool. Let’s get going then.”

They drove off into the crisp night, joking and laughing among the rich smell of creamy hazelnut coffee.

[17-imagines]

[request] [scenario] hold my hand

1: “Come over here and make me.”  13: “Kiss me.” 

(i love u too hehe) 

Title: hold my hand

Member: mingyu 

Genre: fluff so much fluff this rivals a cloud 

Word Count: 2200

“Get up, sleepyhead.”

The bed dips beneath the weight of another person, and you feel a hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you awake from your jetlagged nap. Annoyed, you swat away the hand, turning to face the opposite direction, snuggling further into your pillow.

“Fine. Guess we’re all going to leave you to whine by yourself while Jisoo takes us out to get ice cream.”

You flip onto your back, opening your heavy eyes, rubbing them awake. “You’re not messing with me, are you?”

Mingyu grins, and you’d be even more annoyed if he weren’t all smiles and rainbows this morning, but he is, so you aren’t.

“Why would I do that? Come on, get up. Even Jihoon-hyung’s excited to leave.” He gets up, the bed rising again, and holds out a hand for you to take. You take it and sit up, yawning. 

“Wow, and I thought Wonwoo’s bedhead was bad.” You drop your head into your hands, sleep still looming over you.

“Is it that bad?”

He shakes his head and reaches over to come out a few fly-aways, patting your hair down smoothly. “It’s cute,” he says, slapping a hand over his mouth in realization. “I mean. You should get changed.”

He furrows his brows and scratches his head, striding towards the door. “We’ll be in the hall, ‘kay?” You nod sleepily, pushing the sheets back and stretching.

He leaves the room with a fond smile on his face, catching the eyes of the waiting members, glancing him over.

“You’re whipped,” Jihoon says.

“Just kiss already,” Hansol sighs, stepping a few steps back when the others shoot him concerned glances. “What? It’s a win-win for them.”

Mingyu stays quiet, because it’s true, he is whipped, and yes, the both of you need to kiss. Soon. Maybe. If he doesn’t die from the thought of it alone.

“Wait, no. The real question here is,” Seungcheol starts, arms crossed, “How do you have her room key?”

Various gasps resound, and Seungkwan’s eyes widen so large, Mingyu is concerned. The boys begin to ask questions in rapid succession, and the chaos is so loud it attracts the attention of the cleaner in Jeonghan’s room.

They’re lucky that they take up an entire floor, or they would’ve been scolded by some stranger by now.

Your door beeps open, and out you go, in a pair of shorts and t-shirt, paired with a baseball cap. The boys are too loud to notice you, the uproar caused by the roomkey still driving them insane.

“…What’s going on?” You ask, and a hush falls over the bunch of boys, frozen stiff.

“N-nothing,” Mingyu stammers, taking you by the shoulders, guiding you towards the elevator, “Let’s go?”

The weather is perfect, as per usual, and the sun is warm on your skin, the traces of your jetlag wiped away.

The warm LA sun and blue skies would be much better if you didn’t feel like you were playing a game of dodgeball with people instead of balls. You narrowly miss getting barrelled over by a sugar-hyped six year old, followed by his frantic mother, apologizing as she trailed after him.

Reaching a crosswalk, you catch up to the crowd of hat-wearing, mask adorning males chattering in a language unfamiliar to the others nearby, who speak in fluent English and Californian accents.

Sighing, you step closer towards the tallest of the group, Mingyu, who’s busy fiddling with Bongbong in his hands, gently brushing off any traces of lint and dirt. He glances at you, a soft smile gracing his features when you make a face at him, exhaustion evident in your expression.

“Can’t keep up?” He asks, watching the cars zoom by, traffic light still green. He takes Bongbong and stuffs it into the front pocket of his jeans, head poking out.

He chuckles when you groan, crossing your arms.

“Well sorry, some of us aren’t blessed with giraffe legs.”

“Hey. Rude.”

The traffic light blinks from green, to orange, to red, and the crosswalk’s timer begins its countdown from 30, the crowd of never ending people moving forward again. You take a step forward, prepared for the onslaught of shoulder shoves and children-dodging, but instead you feel a hand wrap around your wrist.

“Walk beside me,” Mingyu says, his hand leaving your wrist momentarily, only to intertwine his fingers with yours, “Wouldn’t want to lose you in the crowd.”

He grins, eyes crinkling at the corners and cheekbones raised beneath the black mask he’s wearing. He catches your gaze and squeezes your hand, prompting you to turn away, bashful.

Jihoon’s brows furrow at the sight, giving up on speed-walking beside the group of foreigners and walking at his own slow pace, Soonyoung beside him. He gives the sightseeing male a nudge and points at your intertwined hands.

“That’s a little bold,” Jihoon inquires, glancing around at the unphased crowd of Californians. It wasn’t Seoul, where flashing cameras lined the streets and fans squealed at the sight of them.

All of that was thousands of miles away, and a degree of privacy was granted as they blended into the hundreds of other tourists.

“It is,” Soonyoung shrugs, snapping a photo of Jihoon, who grabs at the phone in Soonyoung’s hand, only for it to be raised upward, out of his reach. “Why? Jealous? We can hold hands too, Hoonie.”

Jihoon scrunches his nose in disgust, quickening his pace, distancing himself from the cheeky Soonyoung, who has a wide grin on his face. “Don’t call me that.” Soonyoung only giggles and jogs towards him, throwing an arm around an obviously annoyed Jihoon.

There’s a small ice cream shop that Jisoo used to frequent before he flew to Korea to become a Pledis trainee. It’s near the beach, so the sound of seagulls and crashing waves is audible, therapeutic, even.

The shop is small and run-down, and the crowd of 14 creates a line that goes out the door.

Seungkwan glances at the menu, helpless, Hansol and Jisoo too far ahead to ask. He turns on his heel and opens his mouth to ask for help translating, and his eyes flicker to your intertwined hands, squinting in confusion between the both of you.

Mingyu’s fiddling with Bongbong in the pocket of his jeans, unaware of the younger’s confused gaze.

“PDA is… Ew,” he says in clear, over-exaggerated English, shaking his head furiously. Mingyu glances up from Bongbong to the blonde, who points at your hands.

Mingyu flushes, tugging at his mask, Bongbong tucked back into his spot safely. “Sorry. I forgot,” he mumbles, fingers wriggling out of your grasp, lingering for a few seconds longer before pulling his hand away completely.

Seungkwan clears his throat, satisfied, and begins to point at various flavors on the menu, asking for translations. He discovers there’s a thing called samples, and ends up sampling every flavor before picking one.

After Seungkwan’s taste testing fiasco, you and Mingyu reach the front of the line. Surprisingly, Mingyu says your order perfectly, and the shock on your face causes a grin to form on his. You never told him your order, and he never asked. He sticks two spoons into the cup and hands it to you.

“You won’t finish it all anyway, right? It’s better like this.” He scoops a glob of ice cream onto his spoon and offers it to you, mouth partially open from your episode of shock. You accept the offering, closing your eyes at the creamy goodness.

Mingyu scoops another spoonful into his mouth, and you hear ‘indirect kiss’ fall from an onlooking member’s lips, prompting your cheeks to fill with heat.

Seungcheol suggests taking a walk on the beach after the last cup of ice cream is finished, and you are once more thrown into a moshpit of skaters, surfers, and beach-goers. Mingyu’s hand finds yours, this time not saying anything.

Seungkwan attacks Hansol, clinging onto the younger’s back, setting off a wave of members jumping onto each other’s backs. It somehow turns into a race, and you stand beside Mingyu, watching the crowd of boys rush towards the shoreline, tripping over sand and dodging seaweed.

He squats, glancing over his shoulder, his mask pulled below his chin, revealing his bright grin. “We already lost, but let’s go?”

You wrap your arms around his neck, and he walks leisurely towards the crashing waves, only stopping to snap a picture of Bongbong in the sand, posting it to the group’s Instagram.

He finds a secluded area, away from the beach volleyball players and sandcastle builders, and places you down onto the wet sand. You take your shoes and socks off, placing them nearby, but far enough so that the water can’t reach them.

The water greets you first, warmth washing over your toes, heels digging into the sand. Mingyu pauses behind you to remove his shoes and socks, tucking Bongbong into the safety of his left shoe, where it can watch safely without getting wet.

You hear his approach, his feet slapping against the wet sand, and feel his palm envelop yours.

“What are you doing?”

He looks taken aback at your question, expression tense. “My bad,” he sighs, loosening his hold, prepared to slip his hand back into the pocket of his hoodie.

You don’t let go, though. “No, it’s fine, I was just wondering…”

The smile returns to his face and he re-grips your hand. “Oh. Um… To tell you the truth? Not wanting to lose you was an excuse. I guess I forgot that excuse isn’t really valid when it’s just us.” He glances down at the retreating ocean, stepping out from the hole his feet have dug.

“You know you could’ve just asked, right? I would’ve said ‘yes’ either way.”

“Oh. Right. I’ll do that next time,” he says, kicking at the incoming wave, sending water droplets flying, plopping back into the wave audibly.

“Well, you’re already used to just taking my hand, so you don’t need to anymore…” You trail off, yelping when you feel something brush over your foot, a piece of seaweed remaining. You kick it off, frantic, and he chuckles.

“Good then! Because I don’t feel like asking all the time, anyway.” He grins, swinging your hand playfully between the both of you, letting out a deep breath when the warm water runs through his toes.

“Also…” He starts, shutting his eyes, biting his lower lip. “I wouldn’t really hold your hand as a joke. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t… Like you?”

“You… Like me?”

“Well, yeah, I wouldn’t necessarily hold hands with someone I don’t have feelings for,” he points out, squeezing your hand to reiterate his point.

You think to yourself, then say, “You hold hands with Seungkwan though.”

He slaps his forehead with an audible ‘clap’ resounding, the hand moving from his forehead to rubbing his face. “T-THAT’S COMPLETELY DIFFERENT!” He groans, “I’m trying to tell you I like you and you’re making this a lot more difficult by teasing me, (F/N).”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry! I like you too, Mingyu-ah.”

His heart begins to race in his chest, his stomach warm and fuzzy, cheeks flushed pink. He can’t hold in the happy whine he makes, pulling you towards him in a tight embrace. He pecks you quickly on the forehead and spins around, unable to face you knowing how red his face is.

“We should find the others,” he says, clearing his throat, walking towards the spot where your shoes are laid. You grab his wrist, tugging on his sleeve. “…What are you doing?”  

“I want to kiss you, but I’m kind of at a disadvantage here.” You use your hands to emphasize the height difference, eliciting a laugh from his throat.

“Come over here,” he holds his hand a few inches above your head, “And make me.”

He doesn’t expect to feel the strings of his hoodie to be tugged down with such strength, especially coming from you, but hey - you gotta do what you gotta do.

He feels soft lips brush against his cheek, and the pressure from his hoodie being pulled down is released. “Huh? That’s it?”

“That’s what you get for teasing me,” you shrug, walking towards your shoes, bending to pick them up. He remains in the same spot, still crouching at your height, hand against his cheek.

“If I apologize a hundred million times, will you kiss me properly?”

You shrug.

“I’m sorry, super sorry, suuuuuuuuper duuuuuper sorry, extremely sorry, extraordinarily sorry, super duper extremely extraordinarily  -”

He feels the same pair of soft lips on his, and in a split-second, they’re gone again.

“Apology accepted,” you mumble, heat flooding your cheeks, embarrassment washing over you. You drop to the sandy floor below, hands covering your flushed face.

“Wait, why are you embarrassed?!” He asks, dropping to the floor as well, hand over his lips, a shy smile on his face.

“Someone go get them,” Seungcheol muses from their position a few metres away, arms crossed over his chest as he watches the both of you melt into a puddle of embarrassment.

“I’ve seen enough today.”

“Rock-paper-scissors?”

“Someone help Chan, I think he’s crying from PDA overexposure.”

[katdvs]

Lucas Friar moved back to Texas at 17, now he’s running for Mayor of Rosewood Springs so best friend Zay and little sister Gigi decide he needs a little help from a political consultant.

Riley Matthews found her calling, she found a fiancé, but she never expected to find herself here, of all places.

Cross-posted to FF.net

Author Note: Yay a new fanfic for my Rucas loving friends. This fic is rated M, for adult situations such as drinking, language, and activities. Don’t forget to check out the soundtrack here.

-the moon that moves your tides-

The hot water pelted down on his body, the steam surrounded him as washed away the morning grime from his house calls and work on the ranch. He couldn’t help but think about his most recent trip to Dallas, the lipstick marks that had been left on his body after a night of passion. The latest blonde he added to his collection of memories had clawed his body, treated him like a piece of meat.

He had no problem with that, if all she wanted was a physical release and none of the commitment stuff that went with it he was down. Lucas Friar had no need for a relationship, he hadn’t been in once since he was seventeen years old, and then they had never gotten truly physical. Maybe if he’d stayed in New York and hadn’t moved back to Texas he probably would’ve married her, they’d probably have a kid or two by now, that wasn’t the cards he’d been dealt.

That was just the fantasy of a school boy in love.

Lucas was no school boy, at least he hadn’t been for years.

He was the most popular veterinarian in the county, though he knew at least part of it had to do with him being good looking and single, giving plenty of ladies the idea that he was free for the taking.

He wasn’t.

Lucas had no desire to be in a full-on relationship. He didn’t mind having a one night stand here and there, but in college he realized not to get messy at home. Too many voices whispering, too many old men passing stories down at the McDonalds where they would meet for coffee every morning.

The women in town tried, at least once a week he would arrive at his office to a platter of sweets from someone looking to become Mrs. Friar.

The only Mrs. Friar he intended to have in his life was his mother, and she was off in London with his father.

He turned off the water, wrapped the baby blue towel around his waist before stepping out of the shower, wiping down the mirror, studying his reflection before smearing on the shaving cream and making his beard disappear.

He had to be baby face Friar today, as Zay had said it would be one less thing for the political consultant they were meeting with in a few hours to nitpick about. He had to look like a man who wanted to be the Mayor of his small town, with some ideas towards future service, he couldn’t look like a cad that would sneak off every so often on the weekend to fuck a woman whose name he couldn’t recall in a hotel room in Dallas.

He knew what Zay was really saying, be the man you would’ve been for Riley, not the jackass you are right now.

Riley.

Riley Matthews, his first and honestly only girlfriend.

Lucas had lots of one night stands, short hookups that might last a week at the most if he was on a vacation.

No one who got a hold of his heart.

No one he ever considered for more than a few hours.

Did that make him an asshole? Maybe he’d been called a list of awful names like bastard, cocksucker, dick-week, and more colorful ones than he cared to remember when he’d broken some woman’s illusion of what was going on with them. He tried to always be upfront with them about whatever happened between them being a short little stop on the road of life.

He gripped the counter top, trying to think about anything, anyone other than Riley as his body reacted to just thinking her name.

Those brown eyes of hers that always drew him in, the pouty lips he loved to make smile, the finger tips that had cautiously explore his young body, never going south.

He could almost feel her electric touch. Part of him still wanted her, needed her. He could picture it clearly in his mind, her in front of him, removing her towel after a shower, getting lost in her body for hours, days, weeks, no if he had her, she wouldn’t be a one night stand.

She would be it.

She would be his wife.

That terrified him.

He was seventeen years old the last time he saw her.

Why did he still think of her like this?

Why was his body still swelling at the memory, fantasy, whatever it was of her in the summer sun eating a strawberry, the wind blowing in her hair, her eyes casting down playfully before he would kiss her.

He dropped his towel hoping back into the shower, blasting the water on cold.

Each pinprick stimulated his racing heartbeat and in his mind he was still kissing her, pushing her up against the shower wall, wondering what it would feel like to explore her folds, to knead her breasts, to suckle and taste every inch of her.

Lucas leaned back against the shower wall, his hand stroking his throbbing manhood as his fantasies took over.

This was a sick torture that deep down he must’ve enjoyed or he wouldn’t let it happen as often as it did.

Her name escaped his lips as he released.

He turned the water off as he leaned against the shower wall.

How long had it been? How long would this go on? Why did he still crave her sweet, innocent lips against his? Why did he want more? Why did he have this insatiable need to discover what she sounded like when he touched her, or how her body would react.

A shiver slipped through his body before he grabbed another towel wrapping it around his body, hoping the warm summer air from the open window would remove the torturous chill that coated his body and revive his senses.

As he looked at his reflection he slapped his face, “Okay Friar, no more of that. No more fantasies about her. She’s probably married, knocked up, and absolutely still gorgeous, more so probably.”

“Lucas what are you doing in their man?” His best friends voice called out from the other side of the door.

“Just finishing up Zay, I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Well hurry up, this consultant is going to be here in like half an hour.”

Lucas rolled his eyes, this all seemed so ridiculous to him. Why did they need a consultant? Why couldn’t he just be himself, speak from the heart, hadn’t that worked for Senator Eric Matthews when they were younger?

Riley whipped her sunglasses from her tote, pushing them on as she made her way across the parking lot to her the convertible she had rented. Whenever she was somewhere hot and sunny she made sure to rent one. After she popped the trunk and put her bags in she pulled her phone out to check her messages, playing the one from her business partner first, “Hey Riley, I emailed you the address. You’re meeting with Isaiah and he’ll bring you up to date on everything. I know this is a small-town campaign, but this candidate very much needs the Riley Matthews touch, or should I say Riley Lawrence. You’ll have the dossier on our client later today, oh and you’ll be staying at his home. Like I said he needs your magic.”

She rolled her eyes at Isadora’s message, it was times like this she wished someone else had discovered a passion for political polling to go along with Riley’s gift of helping people bring out their confidence and get their message across effectively.

As she climbed into the driver seat she realized that her skirt was probably too short to be meeting a small town mayoral candidate, but all her others in her suitcase needed to be washed. She hoped that whoever this new client was they weren’t judgmental over her fashion choices.

She pulled the address up from the email importing it into her navigation app before making it to the road. When she got off the highway she felt a knot in her stomach as she realized exactly where she was and where she was going as she pulled off on the exit for Rosewood Springs. She slowed down pulling to the side of the road, taking a minute to collect herself.

She could do this, she could hang around Rosewood Springs for a few weeks, maybe a couple of months. She twisted her engagement ring around her finger trying to ignore the itch she was feeling.

That didn’t mean she would have to see Lucas, no he probably moved to a city by now, running a practice and married to one of the many blonde girls she’d seen draped all over him on Instagram when they were in high school.

She closed her eyes feeling that rush of emotions, the rush of memories.

Lucas.

Lucas Friar.

How long had it been that he could still bring this on?

She slipped her ring on and off several times trying to get herself to calm down and focus before if slipped from her fingers all together, falling under her seat.

“Shit” she muttered leaning back, covering her face in her hands. It could wait, what was the rush, she didn’t need to flaunt her future marriage in front of a client or anyone. She could look for it later when she wasn’t wearing a skirt that would most likely reveal her lace clad butt cheeks. No, she would need to change into her yoga pants first.

She ran her hands through her chestnut hair before putting the top down, the sun was shining, the skies were clear and she had a new client waiting to meet her.

She pulled out back onto the road, ignoring the butterflies over a slim possibility, no she had to focus on getting this ranger ready to get his message across so that he could help the people of his community.

Riley followed the navigation app directions, feeling her stomach drop as she pulled into the long dirt driveway, watching the dust in her rearview mirror as she navigated her way up to the house.

She parked behind the two pick-up trucks and the SUV. She checked her hair in the mirror, windswept of course and adjusted it with her fingers just a little to get it in place.

As she stepped out of the car she heard the screen door slammed shut, and she wished her skirt wasn’t as short as it was, why did she not think to wear her slacks? She grabbed her tote and stopped in her tracks when she saw who was on the porch waiting for her.

Time stopped, it had to have.

Why wasn’t he breathing?

Why wasn’t anyone moving?

Why was no one speaking?

Lucas had seen the convertible coming up the driveway from his bedroom window as he threw his blue plaid shirt on over his white V-neck t-shirt. He could tell that whoever was driving was female, and when they parked he and Zay went out to greet her, unsure if he was really going to take her advice.

He smirked when he saw her high heeled foot slip out of the car, her legs that went on for days, and he wasn’t going to lie he was already envisioning spreading them—he was sure he could fantasize about her. Not that he would do that, not with a brunette, he never hooked up with brunettes.

Her hair was long, wavy, carefree from driving with the top down, naturally sun kissed. He could see she had kissable, pout lips that probably knew just how to drive a man wild.

Her skirt was short as she tugged it down before she removed her sunglasses and stopped in her tracks.

Those brown eyes.

Lucas’ mouth dropped.

His stomach sank.

His heart twisted.

His Brain felt like it was floating.

No.

No.

What was she doing here?

They were send in someone named R. Lawrence.

Was that her married name?

He couldn’t move.

His feet would not move forward. Any and all manners his parents, grandparents, Riley herself had instilled in him were gone.

Was no one speaking, were they all stunned and silent?

“Zay it’s good to see you” her voice was bubbly, song like the birds first thing in the morning, God he’d missed her voice.

She moved up the stairs, “Lucas is that you?”

“Yeah” He stuttered, he had forgotten everything and nothing.

She looked to them each, “So, who’s running for mayor, I can’t imagine either of you need my help.”

“Riley, Riley, Riley” Zay put an arm around her when she reached the top of the porch, “My man Lucas here is in desperate need of your help.”

Riley’s eyes wandered over Lucas, he could feel her stare, God he’d missed that sensation. Oh crap he needed her to leave, she couldn’t be here, she couldn’t help him, and she sure as hell couldn’t stay in his house. “Is this how you always dress?”

She studied him, “Are you building a fence or are you running for a government position?”

He couldn’t help but notice she blinked more than he remembered, maybe he did look awful. But this wasn’t that different then what he’d worn in New York, “Well today, I’m meeting with you Mrs. Lawrence, and then yeah I’m repairing a fence down on the south-east end of the property.”

“It’s still Matthews actually,” she put her sunglasses in her bag, “I use Lawrence professionally so that people don’t connect me with my Uncle Eric, they get a little weird when they realize that he’s the Speaker of the House.”

Lucas nodded, “Um please come in, I think we have lemonade or sweet tea.”

“Water would be nice” Riley stepped into the house, he’d renovated it, she didn’t mention the new bay window in the living room, as she studied the way the furniture was arranged to face the fireplace where the television was now mounted.

“I’ll go get us some waters.” Lucas ducked into the kitchen, he leaned against the refrigerator for a moment, trying to wonder what kind of torture he was being sent. Of all the women in the world who could be a political consultant he was sent Riley Matthews. He could only hope and pray that she would realize he didn’t need her and get out of Texas as soon as possible.

One problem.

Lucas did need Riley.

He knew it.

He’d felt it for so long.

She was the missing piece of him.

No matter what he did to pretend that void didn’t exist, it did.

[the-queen-unitato]

Heyo I was tagged by the bae @casandsip because let’s be real who else tags me in things? Thank you dear! <3

Edit: And @theowletqueen so I shall add thier question and answer it too sorry dear just saw it

Rules: Answer all questions, add one question of your own and tag as many people as there are questions.

1. Coke or Pepsi: I do not like soda and they? Taste? The? Same?

2. Disney or Dreamworks: Disney because Alice in Wonderland 

3. Coffee or Tea: Depends I require coffee to live but I prefer the taste of tea so???? 

4. Books or Movies: I mean... Manga???? Does that count as books???? Cause Tokyo Ghoul is currently my shit and I would like to have time to sit down and read all of them kthx but I’m only on 10 I think :(

5. Windows or Mac: windows

6. DC or Marvel: neither

7. Xbox or Playstation: Neither I’m boring

8. Dragon Age or Mass Effect: see above but i have a friend who loves dragon age for Gay Reasons and i always vote with my gay <- I’m gonna leave this cause I have no idea what either of those are

9. Night Owl or Early Rise: n i g h t o w l my favorite thing in the world is to go on a jog at like 3 in the morning when everything is quiet and everyone’s asleep and it’s quiet and pretty and stars and yes a++++++++++++

10. Cards or Chess: cards I haven’t played chess in approximately 11 years and I don’t remember how to play

11. Chocolate or Vanilla: vanilla

12. Vans or Converse: converse but I have a pair of vans I love so? But converse

13. Lavellan, Trevelyan, Cadash or Adaar: I have no idea what this si

14. Fluff or Angst: angsttttttttttt

15. Beach or Forest: forest I hate sand bye

16. Dogs or Cats: CATS but I love my doggo a lot but... Cats. Especially my kitty Loki she a precious baby I love her

17. Clear Skies or Rain: I don’t mind, no I don’t mind, I don’t mind the rain ... I hate myself... but ye rain 

18. Cooking or Eating Out: cooking I love cooking

19. Spicy Food or Mild Food: I love spicy but? I? Can’t? Eat? It?

20. Halloween/Samhain or Solstice/Yule/Christmas: THIS IS HALLOWEEN THIS IS HALLOWEEN HALLOWEEN HALLOWEEN HALLOWEEN HALLOWEEN 

21. Would you rather forever be a little too cold or a little too hot : A little to cold I hate being hot then there’s sweat and everything is terrible and no. I’m like always cold anyway so it w o r k s 

22. If you could have a superpower, what would it be? Mind reading cause tests and anxiety and like.... mind reading.

23. Animation or Live Action: Animation I would never be able to give up anime like I cannot Haji means too much to me

24. Paragon or Renegade: i don’t know what these are in reference to but renegade is a good styx song <---- leaving this yes Rose I am proud of you

25. Baths or Showers: showers

26. Team Cap or Team Iron Man: Nope 

27. Fantasy or Sci-Fi: fantasyyyyyyyyy

28. Do you have three or four favourite quotes? If so, what are they: "THERE WILL ALWAYS BE PEOPLE WHO DON’T UNDERSTAND YOU, IN THIS CRAZY WORLD. THERE WILL ALWAYS BE FOOLISH PEOPLE FILLED WITH HATE THAT WON’T ACCEPT OTHERS, BUT I’LL MAKE THEM UNDERSTAND AND I WILL A L W A Y S PROTECT YOU” BLOOD FUCKING PLUS MY FUCKING SON KAI EPISODE 50 NAN-KURU-NAI-SAH (it might be  the end of 49 I don’t remember but I like nankurunaisah more so I’m sticking with it)

29. YouTube or Netflix: Youtube I would literally die if I had to give up watching the Queen she is too important I’d rather never see Ty again than stop watching her you can’t make me

30. Harry Potter or Percy Jackson: harry potter

31. When You Feel Accomplished: When I can help a Friend feel better about something they’re stressed about

32. Star Wars or Star Trek: ....................................I’veneverseeneither

33. Paperback Books or Hardback Books: paper backs cause I’m a piece of shit and fold them over also most manga is paper

34. Handwriting or Typing: typing my handwriting is atrocious also I cannot spell

35. Velvet or Satin: saaaaaaaaaaaatttttttttiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnn

36. Video Games or Movies: movies

37. Would you rather be the dragon or own the dragon? BE THE DRAGON ONLY IF I CAN BREATHE FIRE otherwise own cause I wanna ride her around like a BAMF

38. Sunrise or sunset: Sunseeeeeeeetttttttt

39. What’s your favourite song? .......Unravel but also Skillets new album like???? That’s all I’ve listened to for???? Weeks????? 

40. Horror Movies yes or no: Y E S VIOLENTLY YES

41. Long hair or short hair: I plead the fifth 

42. Opera or Theatre: Theatre I suppose

43. Assuming the multiverse theory is true and every story ever told has really happened somewhere, which one of the movie/book/tv show/game/etc worlds would you pick to travel to first? ......Do I haaaave to? Can I just say Supernatural so I can go to purgatory and snuggle a vampire? ........ SoulEaterIwannapunchMakaintheFace

44: If you had to eat only one thing for the rest of your life what would it be?  Green peppers 

44: Are you scared of thunderstorms? Why? I am not I love thunderstorms more than anything cause they’re perfect and comforting and I like curling up with a book and tea and listening to the storm and hi I’m a stereotype 

45:  What instrument would you like to learn? Viola, I used to play but I quit and when I was trying to relearn my shitty ex-friend made fun of me and I stopped and yeah I want to get super good out of spite cause he was a super shitty friend and made me feel terrible about every relationship I was in because he was a typical fuckboi and just generally making me feel Bad all the time and I really regret wasting so much of my life trying to be a good friend to him (there were some good times I’m not that stupid I didn’t stick with his bitchass for 15 years for no reason we had fun and I miss the fun but f u c k him)

46: If you had to be an animal for the rest of your life, what would you be? Does it have to be a R E A L animal? Cause sloth because me but like .............. Hainu 

47: What toppings do you put on pancakes? I don’t actually like plain pancakes that much but???? I like banana pancakes with whipped cream???? *insert dick joke and Gabriel eyebrow waggle here* 

NEW QUESTION 48: How do you take your coffee?

Idk I’m not tagging 47 people like no fuck off but obviously the usuals @blueeyedcastiel and @yesmyqueen of course my princess @thesongsmithtumbles <3 uhh.... @thinkdouble-pink @your-ebil-twin @lafitte @lili288 (hi yes I saw that note spam hello we should be friends) @dat-targaryen-tho @thegrimmwolfhufflepuff @destielisjohnlocked (saw your spam too we should be f r i e n d s) @samgirl2552 ... idk who am I missing uhh @wonder2neverland and @meomeiko 

[doctorwhodunit]

Bloody Venus

Gajevy Week Bonus Prompt: Alternate Universe

Summary:  Gajeel Redfox studies to one day become the leader of the Second Division of the Police Department, the one that deals with cases of thefts and robberies. A particular thief piqued his interest, a quirky and arrogant one that managed to outsmart the police force too many times already. Cunning as he is, Gajeel decides to join in on the fun.

You can also read it on FFnet.

"Impenetrable fortress," Macao Conbolt, the head of the police squad, said with a smirk as he looked around the room.

"The walls are made of glass," Wakaba Mine, his best friend and right-hand man, retorted beside him. "I repeat," he quipped, miming a megaphone, "we're on the building's top floor at night and the walls are made of glass for 'fanciness reasons' according to the person in charge of the exhibition. There's nothing 'impenetrable' about this place."

The dozen police officers surrounding them sighed silently. 'Here we go again' and 'Always bickering' could be heard from some of them as they faked checking some of their equipment. "Bulletproof vest, okay," one of them coughed.

Macao rolled his eyes and glared back at Wakaba. "I know they're made of glass," he snapped, "but we," he yelled proudly, opening his arms wide, "the agents of Justice with a capital J, are what make this glass room impenetrable! We are the backbone of this nation! Bearing pride in our hearts, we have one and only goal! Protect the jewels from the filthy hands of this serial thief!"

A moment of silence passed and the police officers glanced at each other with a hint of a lopsided smile on their face. They all straightened their stance and looked intensely back at their leader.

"Yes, sir!"

Macao grinned a toothy grin, proud of his men's resolve. Beside him, Wakaba snorted. "You might sound cheesy but you sure know how to boost your squad's determination," he commented earnestly. However, he didn't let him have time to smile and promptly added, "she managed to escape from us twice already though."

Macao coughed as he unintentionally choked on a ball of bitterness thinking about how easily she outsmarted them without any bloodshed. If he were to be honest with himself, he would admit verbally that her thieving skills were out of this world. Stealing gems from right under their noses without using any lethal weapon against the police to do so was not an easy feat, and yet, she achieved her deeds with utmost brilliance. And arrogance. So much arrogance. Macao seethed inwardly just thinking about it.

"This time," he replied after regaining his composure, "she won't be able to steal anything." He considered the pedestal in front of him and smirked as he regarded the jewels in the glass case. "If you touch the glass, an alarm will ring and the trap door inside will open and close fast to protect the jewels." He glanced at Wakaba who clearly had his 'I already know about the security systems, stop repeating yourself' face on. Macao reached in his back pocket and whipped out with slight arrogance his ultimate weapon. "And I've got this!"

Jealousy could be read on Wakaba's eyebrows when he contemplated what looked like sunglasses from the future in Macao's hand.

"Glasses with Iris Recognition System!" he boasted. "When I put these on, they scan my irises and it activates a mechanism inside the pedestal that allows the glass case to open automatically!" He wished he could have wiggled his eyebrows at the annoyed and jealous Wakaba who clearly had enough of him repeating himself. "This means that only I, Macao Conbolt, can open the glass case to get the jewels!"

Wakaba clenched clenched his teeth and fist and rolled his eyes. He sounded even more arrogant than the thief itself, which had the tendency to piss him off more than anything. However, a quick look at his wristwatch made him realise that he had no time to deal with this prick.

“Anyway, Supreme Leader Macao Conballs, it's almost time.”

Macao ignored the tasteless nickname he gave him, put away the sunglasses in his front pocket, and cleared his throat. “Alright! She said she'll come to steal the jewels at 10:00 PM. Only two minutes left, get ready.”

His tone of voice sounded more serious, almost grave. He was determined to capture her this time. Close to the glass case containing the jewels, Macao and Wakaba regarded their men with confidence, knowing that their presence around them and the jewels would be more than enough to take the thief down. After all, they were the elite handpicked cautiously by the head of the police departm-

“From above!” a voice cried out.

Everyone's heart skipped a beat as they all instinctively shot their head upwards in order to neutralise their oncoming threat. Their eyebrows furrowed in confusion when not even the shadow of the thief could be seen.

“What's this?” one of the men said hastily, pointing at something falling under the moonlight.

Macao squinted to see that a small metallic object was falling, and it was only when it reached eye-level that his jaw dropped as he recognised what it was. Unfortunately, it had already reached the ground right in front of him before he could say anything.

“Flash grenade?!”

Like lightning descending from the skies in the middle of a storm, a blinding light suddenly illuminated the whole room, making it impossible to see anything. Their eyes couldn't handle the glow of the powerful light, and they instantly shut close in pain. The thudding sound of the explosion had Wakaba and the other men cover their ears, and they understood quickly that for a few seconds, they wouldn't be able to move as they pleased.

“I can't see shit! Damn thief!” Macao seethed.

“Conbolt-san! Here, the sunglasses!” a voice hurried.

Macao felt one of his men's fingers on his hands as he was handed the sunglasses. A sigh of relief in this confusing situation escaped his mouth.

“Thank you!” he yelled as he put them on.

He managed to open his eyes and his forehead grew a size when he saw what was happening. A blue light passed over his eyes and he could distinctly hear a sort of gas sound near him. He recognised the sound of the mechanism right away as he was the only one to have heard it in this room.

The glass case opened.

“Damn thief used the glasses with Iris Recognition System against me!” Macao cried out in horror. “Keep calm and get closer to me, the thief can't have escaped this quickly!”

Without ease and with their eyes still blinded, his men walked towards him. However, as seconds went by, their eyesight was slowly coming back to normal. They could spot Macao throwing his glasses and Wakaba rubbing his eyes. When all the officers reached their squad leader, their jaw dropped.

“The jewels disappeared,” Wakaba gasped at the open glass case.

Macao quickly examined the room, but there was no thief to be found. “Goddammit!” he cursed with gritted teeth.

“Look!” Wakaba exclaimed, snapping Macao out of his self-deprecating thoughts, pointing at the top of the pedestal.

A neat, laminated piece of paper was placed on the cushion that supported the jewels on the pedestal. Considering the neat penmanship, it was most likely a note written by a woman. Macao took a closer look at it and gritted his teeth, always so overwhelmed by this thief's arrogance.

How about a good ol' race, Conbolt-san?

The loser owes the winner Kinder Chocolate ice cream.

“This pretentious bastard,” he hissed. “Why would you choose Kinder Chocolate when you can have Oreo Cream?”

Before Wakaba could add a snide remark to his tasteless remark – and comment on his malfunctioning taste buds – they heard a screeching car noise coming from outside.

“Must be her,” Macao said curtly. “Oh, she wants a race, we're gonna give it to her. Guys! Let's get outta here, we're taking her down tonight!”

“Yes, sir!” they yelled back.

And in no time, they all rushed down the stairs to go after their enemy.

All except one.

Because of all this ruckus, none of the so-called elite of the police department realised that one of them had stayed behind. A whistle escaped the mouth of the member of the police force, only to be followed by a rather high-pitched chuckle. A smirk tugged at the corner of the officer's mouth as he brought his hands from behind his back up to his face – said hands holding what the elite of the police department was supposed to protect.

The object was round, and there wasn't anything much special about it. Cherry blossoms of different warm colours adorned the object, all seeming to converge to one point on the round-shaped jewel. It had all the characteristics of a… button. The officer raised an eyebrow, and his thumb naturally went over the button and pressed it. He almost made the ball-like object fall when it opened, as if it were a compartment someone would put a wedding ring into. But instead of a wedding ring, the eyes of the jewel bearer lit up, reflecting a magnificent display of shine and artistry.

Beauty was truly in the eyes of the beholder.

Falkor's Ashes. Peculiar name for this dragon-shaped diamond. As if frozen, the dragon stood tall on his tail, its nest appearing bigger on the inside. The craftsmanship of this masterpiece made the officer's hazel eyes glitter in awe.

His eyebrows furrowed suddenly, and he considered the dragon's nest once more. Ashes… Ash...

“Oooooh,” the officer exhaled, “it opens like a Poké Ball.”

“That's yer first comment, really? What a weirdo.”

Startled, the 'Poké Ball' almost dropped to the ground as the officer snapped his head in the direction of the foreign voice. It came from the staircase the other policemen had gotten out from. An ominous shadow was calmly making its way up, and step by step, it felt like its confidence was growing bigger, sharper.

A hand slowly dragged itself up the banister. The officer's heart beat faster and his blood started boiling as a long mane of hair appeared across the bars of the banister. He could feel the mischievous smile of an unexpected opponent.

How exciting.

“Yo,” the deep voice said, done walking up the stairs, “havin' a nice stroll?”

From where he was and because of the moonlight, all the officer could see was a tall figure with wild, long hair. At least, he could tell he was a man, judging by his deep and raspy voice.

“Who are you? How did you get here, kid?” the officer asked in an astonishingly deep voice.

A laugh that resembled a grunt escaped the tall figure's mouth. “Well, that clearly ain't yer real voice,” he snorted. “Let's get down to business,” he grunted then, “don't waste my time, thief.”

His last word echoed around the room with thunderous strength. The weight of the word as it burst out of his mouth was like no other, for some reason it felt like he deemed his enemy worthy of this battle, even though he had already won.

A long silence lingered in the air, both of them waiting for the other to whip out his next move, but the tall figure had already lost patience.

“This ain't no silent movie so how about I do the talk for ya?” he suggested. “First off,” he exclaimed, pointing his index finger upwards, “you've got the jewel in yer hands, that's already pretty suspicious if ya ask me.”

“Th-”

“Nah-uh, you had your chance, you wasted it,” he sniped. “Second off, give a close look at the bottom of the pedestal.”

The officer looked down carefully, still confused by the sudden turn of events. He blinked once or twice before seeing a white square stuck to the bottom of the pedestal.

“It's a wireless transmitter, also commonly known as a bug,” he bragged. “I've been listening to everything that was happening since the beginning.” A smirk tugged at his lips, foreseeing what the next question would be. “Why does it even matter that you listened to what was happening? Good question!” he blurted joyfully. “When Macao and Wakaba started bickering, one of the officers faked checking their equipment and referred to it as a bulletproof vest. What a newbie mistake,” he snorted, “the police force in this country mostly use stab vests, especially when they're up against someone who's known for not using firearms, like you.”

Who on Earth are you? the suspicious officer thought through gritted teeth. By the looks of it, he wasn't one of the policemen who had left. He wasn't a policeman, period. The wireless transmitter wasn't Macao's idea or else he would already have made a move. Whoever he is, he works alone, and he's good at it.

“Thief,” the tall figure spoke, “dunno how long yer gonna stay silent but I think there's something that'd make yer mouth work a little.” His mischievous smirk reeked of confidence, and he made it seem like his eyes could see right through the suspect's every move. “Whatcha have in your hands… it's a fake.”

The suspect's hands started trembling at once, and hazel eyes shivered over what was supposed to Falkor's Ashes. Fake?! The 'elite' of the police department wouldn't protect fake jewels, this didn't make sense. How could it be a fake? No matter how you looked at it, there was no way it could be a f-

“Eh?” came the culprit's confused inquiry.

“Finally seein' it?” he snorted. “Ya've been breathing on it this whole time, right? Diamonds have high thermal conductivity, which means condensation never stays on it, it vanishes immediately. But you can see it now, can't ya?” he asked provocatively. “The condensation from yer breath is still lingering.”

A blurry reflection of a lost-for-words culprit appeared on the fake diamond. Falkor's Ashes turned out to be an omen of bad luck in the end. The wrongdoer's lips started being bitten by short and sharp teeth. Frustration was building up inside. Should have come more prepared… oh well, makes my escape more exciting. A deep breath was taken then, and a shrill, almost snobbish laugh escaped her mouth.

“I guess I reached my limit,” she muttered wistfully.

The brilliant mind who found her out watched in confusion what followed. The fake officer started to undress, one piece of equipment after another. The fake bulletproof vest came off first, and as it reached the ground, it sounded like polystyrene covered the inside of the vest. It was probably to make her look chubbier because at first glance, even though from afar and without much light, he noticed that she instantly became much slimmer. Then, she unbuckled her helmet, from which puffed out a good amount of wild hair going more upwards and sideways than downwards. What struck him the most was when she took the shoes off, it looked as if she had dropped down from the first step of a ladder. Did she just lose 10 centimeters or what?

After she finished taking off the rest of her fake police equipment, she gently put the fake jewel on the floor, and promptly kicked it aside. He snorted at the angry-looking gesture, and the fact that she was ten centimeters now only added to the comedic effect.

“Finally turning yourself in, huh?” he boasted. “The only way out is the staircase right behind me,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “so ya'd have to go through me if ya wanna escape, but I don't think starting a fight with me would be a good idea, shorty.”

As though deliberately answering his threat, the thief started walking straight to him. There was a sluggish pattern to her pace, it was slow, but it felt like she was sauntering her way to him. The effortlessness – or the smugness – of her walk made him snort.

“I like your guts,” he grunted, “what's yer name?”

“What are you going to do with it, add me on Facebook?” she sniped in a rather haughty voice.

He rolled his eyes at her boldness. “No, smartass,” he retorted sharply. “I just wanna get the name of the person who's managed to outsmart the police force way too many times already.”

Still slowly sauntering her way to him, her lips drew a lopsided smile. “You're a stranger and we've only just met,” she said with disdain, “I'm not giving you my name like that.”

With that, there was one thing he understood. Nobody could have such a haughty, nasal voice, which meant that, yet again, it wasn't her real voice. Only one reason would make her act this way: she didn't plan on being arrested tonight. However, judging by the fact that she didn't use weapons and that he was fairly confident in his combat skills, the last slither of doubt that ghosted over his mind flew away.

“C'mon, gimme at least yer nickname,” he snickered.

She raised an eyebrow. “Nickname?”

“Nickname, code name, alias, whatever,” he groaned. “Every good story needs a good old-fashioned villain, right?” He brushed his nose with his thumb and grunted. “And this story ends tonight as I, Gajeel Redfox, am the man who will arrest you.”

“What a presumptuous man we've got here,” she promptly answered, “if you want me to have a nickname, find it yourself.”

And as she uttered her answer, three meters away from reaching him and with finally enough light for them to see one another, Gajeel Redfox waved his hands in horror in front of him, stopping her in her track.

“W-wait!” he startled, clearly trying to repress a laugh. “There are way too many things to make fun of here! Where do I even start?! The fact that ya have double roller skates instead of shoes?! That you're in yer pink pajamas?! That yer backpack makes ya look like yer going on a school trip?! Or that yer mask looks like what a brat would wear at Halloween?!”

“H-how rude!” she spluttered. Her cheeks suddenly became hotter, mimicking the apparent colour of Gajeel's eyes by the moonlight. She waited a few seconds to regain her composure, trying not to fumble over her words. “It's not my fault, okay?” How embarrassing. “I didn't have enough time to put on a decent outfit because I was in a hurry! I had decided to take a nap in the afternoon and I woke up late because… my alarm clock didn't ring.”

Gajeel blinked. And he blinked again. …One more time for good measure.

“You in middle school or sumthin'?”

“I'm telling the truth!”

“Right,” he quipped. He cleared his throat then, and took a voice even deeper than his normal one. An official voice. “If you had read the School Rules & Regulations, young Miss, you would have noticed that 'my alarm clock didn't ring' isn't an accepted excuse to miss class anymore.”

What a shithead, she thought vehemently through gritted teeth. She wanted to punch him in the face for this one, though she couldn't but think that she would have laughed if the context had been different. She would probably have hurt herself doing it though, there were quite a handful of piercings on his face.

A deep breath and an eye-roll later, Levy brushed off her violent needs. “How did you manage to replace the original with a fake?”

Again. This toothy smirk of his. Not many things could rile her up easily, but this, this was infuriating. His mouth was quality punching-ball material. She had never felt that drawn to a mouth before.

“Let's say I know a guy.”

His tone of voice was surprisingly curt, as sharp as his physical features. She considered him for a moment. His features were sharp indeed, she wanted to punch him earlier but she could cut herself hitting this jawline; it was tantalizing in a away. Even the sand colour of his skin reminded her of giant rocks in the middle of a desert – jagged, perilous and rough. The worn, black – with khaki undertones – leather jacket that hung from his broad and well-defined shoulders added to the feeling that he was towering over her. And the shallow curve to his spine as he looked down at her did not help.

Her face twitched as his hand brushed his belt and reached the full pocket of his blue jeans.

“Anyway,” Gajeel Redfox muttered, whipping a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket, “turn around, I'm draggin' ya to the police station.”

She gave a quick look at her wristwatch and bit her lip. “W-wait a minute,” she stammered.

Gajeel rolled his eyes. “What now?”

“Are you sure you don't want to let me go?” she asked vainly. “It's simple, I just have to walk past you and go down the stairs, and we'll have another showdown later,” she suggested cheerfully. “Don't you like a good challenge? The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, this sensational feeling of achievement you get when you explain how you managed to outsmart me. Don't you want to feel that again?”

“Nah I'm good,” he casually answered, “pajama girl.”

His bad habit of giving her nicknames was really getting on her nerves. Maybe she wouldn't mind cutting herself slapping his jawline after all. But she managed to put away her killing intent far, far away in the back of her mind, glanced at her wristwatch again, and breathed heavily.

“No choice then,” she muttered as she whirled around, holding her own hands behind her back.

Gajeel Redfox smirked. “There's a good girl.”

From behind, he couldn't help but think that she really did look like a grade school girl with her backpack and roller skates. And the freaking pajamas. He took a few steady steps forward and readied the handcuffs.

His eyes shot open wide in surprise when her small figure jumped up and hit the heels of her roller skates against one another.

“What th-”

BOOM!

A bright flash of light and the cracking of glass shattering snapped his head up in direction of the explosion. Right in front of him, a part of the glass wall was no more. Shards of glass bounced and scattered on the floor.

“What did y-”

Gajeel Redfox gritted his teeth in fear and backed a shivering step away from her. From underneath her double roller skates, two mini jet engines seemed to have popped out on both sides in-between the rear and front wheels.

“See you later, alligator!”

She swiftly reached down her roller skates and pressed a button, and before Gajeel could even think about getting a hold of her, a burst of fire shot out of her jet engines. It was so abrupt that she almost lost balance as she thrust herself forward.

Gajeel's mouth and eyes opened wide, and his heart skipped a beat as understanding dawned on him. “Are ya gonna jump off the window through the crack in the glass wall?! The roof of the building in front of ya is twenty meters away from here!”

I know, she thought tensely, and this building is ten meters taller than the one in front of me.

“Fucking stop!” he yelled, now desperately running after her. “Yer not gonna make it!”

She couldn't hear him. She couldn't hear his irregular and hasty footsteps behind her. She was too focused to pay attention to her surroundings, she even glossed over the fact that shards of glass could bounce off the ground as she wheeled at high speed and land anywhere on her body.

Given the size of the room, she speculated inwardly, I'll be around 40 km/h by the time I jump off the window. She bit her bottom lip nervously as she, lightning fast, thought things through. Damn, including gravity and the fact that there's a ten meter height difference between the two buildings, I'd need to go at 14 meters per second, so 50 km/h.

I need a 10km/h boost!

Without a moment's hesitation, she opened her backpack side pocket and managed to grab what she was looking for. A quick with low-medium power will do. I've got 1.42 seconds in mid-air, I can do this.

Gajeel - who tried as hard he could to keep up with her alarming speed towards her impending fall – couldn't look away from what was happening. He hated the idea that he could lose someone this way again. He tried his hardest, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stop her.

“Yer just being arrested! Don't do this! It's not worth it!” he implored in vain. “You suicidal or what?!”

She flinched, but as she almost reached the huge crack in the glass wall, she pulled the ring off of what she was grabbing onto and smiled wistfully.

“Who knows…”

And after wheeling on a few other shards of glass, she jumped over the edge. For a tiny moment, she was distracted by the weightlessness of the experience, but she snapped out of it quickly enough. There was no time for awe.

Before Gajeel saw her leaving his line of sight as she was falling, she threw what was in her hand behind her. Gajeel wasn't good in maths but his instinct was as sharp as his jawline; at the speed she went, there was no way she could reach the next roo-

BOOM!

The shards of glass on the floor shook and the earth trembled under the weight of this other explosion. Gajeel noticed it was less powerful, but he decided to walk carefully towards the shattered glass window. Glass cracked under each one of his shaky footsteps. His eyebrows furrowed as he peered down at the other building.

His mouth opened slightly and, for a moment, he stopped breathing. He brought his fingers to his eyes and rubbed them. Hard. He blinked multiple times as the knowledge of the notion of breathing to stay alive kicked in again.

“Unscathed…”

A handful of seconds after her jump, twenty meters away and ten meters below him, the thief – with her roller skates off and backpack gone – stood proudly at the edge of the roof with a defying grin tugging at her lips.

He swallowed thickly at the impossible sight.

On the other roof, the impossible thief seemed to shiver, but after she revealed what was behind her back, Gajeel Redfox's face turned green as she burst into a manic laughter.

Sitting gloriously on the palm of her hand, the Poké Ball shaped object opened, revealing a diamond dragon sitting on its tail. Falkor's Ashes.

Gajeel frantically checked his pockets, and as he looked down at her again, he shut his eyes and ran a hand through his hair in defeat.

“I started as a pickpocket,” she explained from the other side, “and you reeked of arrogance, so you must have had the jewel on you. I'll let you connect the dots!”

Gajeel bit his lip. “You stole it when I was distracted by the first explosion,” he muttered.

She didn't hear him, but she guessed he understood how he was defeated. It was good enough for her. Without giving him time to react, with a quick bow, she stepped off the edge of the roof and ran to the staircase, leaving Gajeel Redfox alone with his thoughts.

His voice got caught in his throat. He wanted to say something – anything – before she left, but she was already gone. He scratched the pocket that was supposed to keep Falkor's Ashes safe, and he clenched his fists and teeth in frustration. This damn suicidal thief! H-how –

He thought back to what happened, and a tiny moment was enough for understanding to dawn on him. He remembered she had thrown something behind her back, and a second later, the explosion happened.

“A hand grenade… no way…” He shook his head hard with scared eyes, as though trying to shake off this impossible truth. “She used the power of the detonation as a boost to make up for the lack of enough speed she needed to jump from this roof to the other…”

He froze. He unconsciously tried to imagine what was going on in her mind when she thought about this escape route. She must have thought about it the moment she took off her fake police equipment, since it was the only time where she could have set whatever she set for the first explosion. The thought of it alone made him dizzy.

A nervous laugh escaped his mouth. “What the hell…”

When he looked down at the floor, trying to find some sense of balance, something caught his eye. He decided to sit down after kicking away all the shards of glass that could have bitten him in the ass. He picked up what caught his attention.

A note.

Until we meet again, Gajeel Redfox.

- * insert nickname here *

He frowned. “Nickname?”

“C'mon, gimme at least yer nickname. Every good story needs a good old-fashioned villain, right?”

“If you want me to have a nickname, find it yourself.”

With a shy lopsided smile, he remembered. They did talk about this, didn't they?

A nickname for this woman thief, huh? A woman way too flashy for her own good. She outsmarted the elite of the police force three times tonight, and at the third time, she outsmarted him, too. She disguised herself as a policeman and used a flash grenade to make her appearance; she sure knew how to put on a show.

She was also dangerous. She took a lot of risks tonight just not to be arrested. She risked her own life for this dragon. No way in hell would someone be willing to throw their life away for the sake of an expensive jewel. She was dangerous… and it was ridiculously tantalizing. Gajeel wanted to reach out and touch her, even though he knew he could burn himself doing so.

Her light was already blinding enough as it was, she also had to be dangerous. She was dangerous to him, but she was even more dangerous to herself. He couldn't explain it, but his instinct told him that she, too, was unconsciously reaching for something that could burn her. A sun more powerful than the light she emitted.

One day, blood would splash her hands, and it wouldn't be someone else's. It would be hers.

She was a flashy woman who tried her hardest not to reach for something greater and eventually deadlier than herself.

Gajeel snorted. It wasn't like him to think this much about something, but this time was special. He reached in the back pocket of his jeans and whisked out a pen. Finally, he placed the note on the palm of his hand, brought it closer to him, and scribbled over some words.

Until we meet again, Gajeel Redfox.

- BLOODY VENUS

He left the note on the floor and stood up, deep in thought. He heard the sound of police cars outside the building, which meant they heard about the explosion. Under the weight of his footsteps heading out of the building, shards of glass – reminding him of his most exciting showdown – bent and shattered, making the soundtrack of his exit more… metal, the way he liked it.

“Don't you like a good challenge? The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, this sensational feeling of achievement you get when you explain how you managed to outsmart me. Don't you want to feel that again?”

His devilish smirk came back.

“I can't wait.”