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heygerald · 1 year

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HEART MECHANICS - PART 7/9

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x oc

Matty doesn’t like change.

Like, at all.

But when things in her life start changing faster than she wants them to with no room to argue, she realizes that sometimes change isn’t so bad. Sometimes, it’s better to finally accept that her old habits aren’t always the best habits, and that maybe, just maybe, some rules are meant to be broken.

Read the story here: part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / ... / part 8 / part 9

The parking lot was empty when Matty pulled in.

Not late, for once, not that there was anyone around to see it though.

She pulled her keys from the ignition while attempting to smooth down her flyaway hairs. A glance in the mirror proved that it was a fruitless mission—nothing less than she deserved for driving too fast down the highway with her top down—and for no real reason at all she made sure to glare at her rearview mirror sourly just to feel a little bit better.

“At least a hot mess is still hot,” she muttered, popped some strawberry gum into her mouth, and swung out of the vehicle. Her uniform boots had been traded off for a pair of red converse that she had taken the laces out of (lost, actually), and her oil stained overalls had been replaced with a pair of jeans that were more gaping holes than fabric, as well as what had to have been a t-shirt bought in the child’s section at Good Will.

She didn’t remember ever buying it, but one day it showed up in her laundry basket. It was a little too short on the midriff and faded with bleach in some areas, yeah, but it also had a picture of Optimus Prime with large, neon 90’s style lettering splattered across the front. And, well, Transformers fucking rocked so she gladly accepted whatever stroke of luck had placed it in her possession without asking any hard hitting questions as to its existence. Karma rarely worked on her behalf, anyways; she would take whatever gifts she could get.

A passing parade of elderly women out on an afternoon stroll clearly didn’t agree if the looks they shot her were anything to go by. One even made a subdued comment about the recent downfall of women’s pride in the twenty-first century to her chubby walking partner.

“Oh, it’s not mine,” she lied, a little too miffed to do anything else. “It’s, uh, a charity... thing. You know, like, I love boobies? But, um... for children. Raising awareness one conversation at a time. Pride has absolutely nothing to do with how I dress.”

The tallest woman, the leader at the front of the pack, stuck her nose up in the air at the comment and stormed off—an impressive feat given the size of her ankle weights—and without hesitation the others went as well. They reminded Matty of a flock of flamingoes strutting past something unsavory.

Which...

Rude.

“It’s laundry day!” she shouted at their retreating figures, somehow feeling equal parts mortified and offended. They gave no response though; just sent her disgruntled looks over their shoulders before disappearing past the parking lot. She watched them go for a moment before letting her arms clap against her legs in defeat. “Note to self: die before ever reaching… whatever age that is.”

Mind made up on the matter and feeling slightly better about her life, she turned around, hopped up the deck stairs, and walked inside the empty bar with a snap of her chewing gum.

“We’re closed until five.”

Well. Mostly empty. Amelia Benjamin, daughter extraordinaire, sat at the bar.

Matty shot her a too-bright grin and strode closer with another snap of her gum; eyes sweeping the empty restaurant for any sign of Penny. The girl took one look at her conniving grin, however, before promptly returning her attention to the textbook spread out before her.

“What?” Matty drawled whilst snagging the empty stool at her right. “No hello, Matty, dear friend and role model, how are you? And here I thought the local diner had bad customer service.”

Amelia sighed out through her nose. Still, Matty caught the way that her lips curled up at the side, even if she tried to hide it behind a flip of her hair.

“I don’t work here,” she said. “And you’re not my role model.”

“Wow,” Matty deadpanned, clutching at her heart in mock pain. “That hurts, kid. I thought we were past this, but apparently puberty can turn even the best of friends against each other.”

The only response Amelia gave was the scrunching of her nose. “Ew.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me. Just wait a couple of years until you’re a senior in high school, every boy you meet shares exactly one brain cell, you have to deal with both zits and college applications, and the only good beer you can get is Bud Light.”

Amelia paused in her writing to glance at Matty. “The drinking age is twenty-one.”

“Eh, pretty sure that’s just a recommendation,” Matty said with a shrug. Amelia clearly wasn’t convinced, however, and the blonde completely ignored the look that she was getting to bend over into the younger girl’s space. “Homework?”

“Duh.”

“Subject?”

“Math.”

“Gross.”

“Yup.”

Matty abandoned the elaborate equations written out in neat, swirly lettering to glance around the bar. Math had never been her thing, let alone something she was interested in having to relieve just in hopes of extending a conversation. The kitchen seemed empty, as did the Adirondacks out back, but Penny rarely left her daughter unattended at The Hard Deck. Curious, she asked, “where’s your mom?”

To that, Amelia finally leaned away from her homework. “Out with Pete,” she said, nose scrunching up once more.

This time, however, it wasn’t directed at Matty, and she couldn’t help but wiggle her eyebrows suggestively. “Ooh la la. Are we expecting her back anytime soon or is this more of a ‘they’re in the middle of playing hide zucchini’ type situation?”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Amelia said.

“Oh, well, just imagine that Pete is the zucchini, you know, because he’s got a—”

“Ugh!” Amelia clapped her hands onto her ears with a terrified shriek. Matty grinned at the reaction, and in response the girl’s terror filled eyes narrowed into slits. “That’s disgusting, Matty! God! Don’t say stuff like that; that’s my mom we’re talking about here.”

“You do understand the physics of how you got here, right?” Matty poked fun.

Amelia, if possible, turned an even brighter shade of red that was impossible to hide behind her sheet of hair. “I—shut up! That was forever ago and it was with my dad and it definitely wasn’t with—with Pete!”

“Hey,” Matty drawled, eyebrows arching up towards her hairline as she spotted a nearby jar of cherries. Popping one into her mouth distractedly, she pondered, “what’s so wrong with Mav? He’s a good looking dude. Objectively, anyways. His personality is definitely off putting.”

“He’s, like, fifty,” Amelia said, as if that explained everything.

“And you’re, like, fifteen. Give it time, kiddo. Right now you’re probably obsessed with an age appropriate heart throb like, I don’t know, the youth’s equivalent of Mario Lopez or whatever—”

“Don’t say the youths,” Amelia interrupted her, only to be promptly ignored as Matty chomped on another cherry with her hand waving in the air in a vague gesture even she couldn’t make out.

“And then the next thing you know you’re going to sit down to rewatch The Lord of the Rings and suddenly—wham! The old fucker who plays Elrond is all you can think about at volleyball practice. It becomes this weird obsession thing and now you can’t watch those movies again without mentally asking yourself how much of an age gap you could put up with, which, trust me, can be an upsetting question to answer. Before you know it, decades have passed and you’re no closer to meeting the man of your dreams that you were when you were fifteen, only the man of your dreams is a lot less… dreamy.”

Amelia blinked at Matty slowly, taking that in. “I honestly didn’t get any of that,” she said.

Matty, in turn, blinked right back at her. “...so… when did you say your mom would be back?”

“I’m not sure. Definitely by five, but that’s all I know,” she said, shrugging, sighing, staring at her homework with a forlorn expression. A wince crossed her features as she settled her chin onto her left hand despondently. “Hopefully soon. I’m hungry.”

“Isn’t there a kitchen right back there?”

“No cook.”

“Damn.”

“Yup.”

The two girls—one a slowly growing pre-teen, one an adult who still acted like a pre-teen—both leaned onto the bar with matching sighs of disappointment. Amelia tapped her pencil against her notebook. Matty watched as the clock ticked by, counting the seconds.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four—

“So, do you want to blow off your homework and go get food or…?” Matty blurted out, self-control a record low. Amelia’s pencil paused mid-air as she gave her a surprised look. “I mean, not, like, blow off your homework because it’s still gonna be here when we get back. You know. It can’t walk on its own or anything.”

Amelia’s gaze narrowed. “Can I pick?”

“I suppose.”

“And you’ll pay?”

“What am I, Make a Wish?” she scoffed.

To that, the girl gave a nonchalant shrug and slowly swiveled back to her homework. “Well, if you’re not going to pay, then I suppose I can wait until Mom gets back. But it’ll probably be awhile. You know how Pete can get when he has his motorcycle. I think he took her to some little café up the coast; said they’d be lucky to get back before —”

“Okay, Jesus,” Matty gave in, arms thrown up in the air. “I’ll pay. If I don’t die of boredom, first. But we’re not going anywhere expensive. I’m not made of money, you know. And there’s, like, a recession going on. Pretty sure, anyways.”

“Trust me, I know,” Amelia said, sliding off of her stool to give Matty a pat on the shoulder. Then, as if that wasn’t dramatic enough, she gave Matty’s outfit a look full of pity and commented, “I’ve seen your phone, Matts. Maybe you should consider writing to Make a Wish.”

Matty’s jaw was on the floor when the pre-teen sashayed towards the front door.

She paused only to shoot the blonde an impish smirk. “Are you coming? I’m starving.”

Then, she promptly stepped out of the bar and made her way towards Matty’s jeep. Another relic that she eyed with a pitying look. In response, Matty took a moment to pick her jaw off the floor before she was exploding out of the building like a bat out of hell.

“There’s nothing wrong with my phone! ” she shouted. “It’s a classic!”

Amelia, already sitting in the passenger seat of her jeep, glanced up from what she was holding in her lap—unfortunately for Matty what she was holding in her lap was the ten year old sleeve of CD’s that was typically clung to the visor. “NSYNC? Seriously? Talk about old.”

“Alright kid, new rule,” she chirped, snatching the CD out of Amelia’s hands. With a glare, she shoved it into the CD player, swung her sunglasses low onto the bridge of her nose, and turned the volume dial to max. “Driver picks the music; passenger shuts her pie hole. Yeah? Now, stop talking, and let me teach you everything there is to know about teenage hormones.”

Amelia shook her head with a laugh; from the stack of junk that was scattered through Matty’s car, she managed to find a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses that she settled onto her own face. “Just don’t get a speeding ticket, okay? Technically, Mom told me that I’m not allowed to ride with you after the last time.”

“That was a total fluke,” Matty argued as she pulled out of her parking space. NSYNC was just starting to bump her stereo and, when Amelia glanced down at her phone, Matty took the opportunity to crumple up the stash of parking tickets that were currently stuffed into the cupholder. When Amelia looked back over at her she just gave an innocent smile. “Besides, if anyone is upset about that it’s me. Everyone goes fifty in a twenty-five.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Amelia said as they peeled out onto the road. “But I think you should spend less time with Pete.”

Matty just laughed. And, when Amelia started singing along to the third song on her CD, she was in a good enough mood to even buy Amelia an extra-large milkshake along with her dinner.

---

Turns out, music and food was the key to any angsty child’s heart. By the time they made it to In N’ Out down the coast, Amelia was singing along to the catchy, timeless tunes of the quintessential boyband. And after they got their too-large orders of fries, burgers, and milkshakes, Amelia had even insisted on taking a couple selfies with Matty in what she dubbed “golden hour” lighting of the afternoon. One of the pictures even made it onto her Instagram account—not that Matty had been paying attention—while the others just cluttered up her phone.

More than that, but once she had been fed, she had been in a good enough mood to let Matty take a quick detour to the nearby surf shop so she could peruse some boards that she definitely couldn’t afford. The downside of that interaction was that even when well fed, Amelia made sure to point out the issue she took with Matty spending money on hobbies when she couldn’t even be bothered to upgrade to a smartphone.

“I don’t need a smartphone,” Matty told her primly. “When you’re as stunningly hot as I am, Amelia, you have to learn to live in the moment. This body isn’t going to last forever.”

“You’re not even thirty yet,” Amelia shot back incredulously.

“And I’ll be lucky to make it to then with how stupid the mechanics are on base. Total morons. All of them.”

Amelia cocked a hip, heart-shaped sunglasses low on her nose, and gave Matty her best impression of Regina George. “You are a mechanic on base.”

“No duh,” Matty had shot back just as quickly while running her hand over a neon green surfboard that matched the writing on her t-shirt a little too well. Karma who? “The problem here is that, while I’m not an idiot, I’m in charge of a fuck-ton of idiots. Idiots who don’t like to be yelled at or called teenie-weenies when they need to be knocked down a peg. How long do you think that shit is gonna last before one of them murders me?”

“You could just try to be nicer,” Amelia said with such innocence that Matty couldn’t help but throw her head back and laugh. Glen, the owner of the store who—on more than one occasion—had watched Matty verbally berate local gym bros that tried to mansplain what surfboard wax was used for laughed as well.

And he was all the way on the other side of the store.

Amelia frowned, not understanding how what she said was wrong. Matty, now wiping tears from beneath her eyes, didn’t bother to explain it. Just simply pat the girl on the back before ushering her down the next aisle. “Come on, kid. Let’s be realistic here. Now, do you like the blue wetsuit better or the white? I accidentally shrunk my last one in the dryer.”

Their aimless wandering lasted long enough for Matty to buy a new bikini that definitely wouldn’t be practical to surf in. It was cute though; not to mention half-off. At that point Amelia had ended up corralling them back outside before it got too late. Matty wouldn’t have minded spending a little bit longer talking with Glen about his latest shipment of boards, but Amelia was stronger than she looked and Matty hadn’t wanted to risk her arm being pulled out of socket.

Fine enough; they made it back before traffic could get too horrible. Unfortunately, the bar was already open by then. Not full, though, and Matty managed to pull into the same parking space as before with a satisfied smile. Amelia didn’t seem to care any which way.

“Can I keep these?” she asked as they made their way inside, poking the sunglasses in question back and forth on her face.

“They’re not mine,” Matty shrugged while surveying the faces in the bar. A few frequents stood out to her. None that were Penny. “Keep ‘em.”

Amelia, not even bothered about her mom’s presence (or lack of), frowned over at Matty from beneath said glasses. “What do you mean they’re not yours? I found them in your back seat. Did you steal them or something?”

“What? No! Of course not. Why is theft the first thing you think of?”

“Well if you didn’t steal them then...?”

Matty paused. She remembered the sunglasses vaguely from a night out with Claire a couple months back. The girls started drinking mimosas early that particular Saturday morning saying that they were going to go easy and relax after a long week. However, one mimosa turned into two, and ten hours later they found themselves in downtown San Diego at a drag bar with a bachelorette party that they had somehow been invited to. The women were nice, more than happy to bring two new girls into the mix, and they all had matching outfits of pink and red and white. Actually, if Matty squinted hard enough she could envision a blurry bride in a red sparkly dress with a pair of equally red sunglasses that looked sorta like—

“You know what? Keep them! They were a... gift.”

“You sure?”

“Yup,” she popped her ‘p’ with a poignant smack of the lips. “They look better on you, anyways.”

Amelia grinned. Matty, not wanting to even consider the circumstances in which she had obtained such glasses, just patted the girl awkwardly on the head before catching sight of Penny over her shoulder. Relieved, she pulled Amelia towards the other end of the bar.

“Penny, there you are,” she started. “Have you seen—?”

“Where on Earth have you been, Amelia?” she cut Matty off with a cocked hip and the most motherly glare the woman could possibly produce. Matty froze in her shoes at being on the receiving end of it. This was the look that drunks typically got before being booted from The Hard Deck.

Matty promptly cleared her throat before shoving Amelia to the battlefront with a fake cough. She couldn’t see the glare—you know, because of the sunglasses—but boy could she feel it.

“We, um, went to get food,” Amelia started, now feeling her mother’s ire a little bit more.

“Food?” Penny deadpanned.

“Yeah. Didn’t Matty text you?”

Penny pulled her phone out of her back packet with a pointed look, before reading, “Stole your daughter, be back by…” she trailed off. Then, as if to punctuate the point she was making, she shoved her phone towards the pair to show that the text was exactly as she read it. “You didn’t even finish the text.”

Matty rubbed the back of her neck with a wince. “Right. I was going to, and then… um. I got distracted. Guess I sent it without spell checking.”

Penny arched her brow. “I called you twice since then. I thought the rule was to always answer the phone, Amelia,” she told her daughter. Her facade of anger was cracking a bit as it gave way to acceptance.

“Oh,” Amelia faltered. “Our music was kind of... loud.”

“Your music?”

“It was NSYNC if that makes it any better,” Matty added. Penny said nothing. Just shot Matty a dry look. “Yup, nope, the band wouldn’t really matter. Got it.”

The stare off continued for another moment before Penny finally relented. Probably more to do with the fact that they hadn’t been doing anything wrong per say, and less to do with the fact that Matty was trying to offer up her saddest wounded dog impression.

Actually, yeah, it had nothing to do with that. Matty was never very good at looking innocent.

Whatever.

What was important was that Penny wasn’t too mad. Sighing, she just tossed her dish towel over her shoulder before waving her hands at them. “Alright, fine. Just go finish your homework please, Amelia? Sarah is coming in at seven and I can drive us home then.”

Amelia’s shoulders sagged with relief. Then she grinned. “Great. Thanks!”

She moved to walk away without saying anything else, and Matty, not being able to help herself, cleared her throat as pointedly as she could. In turn, the pre-teen paused.

“Okay, fine. NSYNC isn’t that bad I guess,” she said as if that was the most important thing. Then she disappeared down to where her homework still sat. Matty watched in disbelief as the girl gathered everything up and promptly moved to the back deck where it wasn’t nearly as loud.

Scoffing as dramatically as she could manage, she turned to Penny, and told her, “I bought her, like, twenty dollars worth of food! I mean seriously, Pen, she just wouldn’t stop eating! And gave her a pair of sunglasses for free.”

It seemed that she was complaining to the wrong audience. Penny had no sympathy to give.

“Ugh, whatever,” she muttered. “I guess it’s a thankless job or whatever.”

“Kidnapping my daughter?”

“Ministering to the youths.”

Despite her earlier mood, the absurdity of the statement cracked a laugh out of Penny. It almost always did—the woman could hardly ever stay mad at Matty. She liked to think it’s because Penny understood who Matty was on a spiritual level. In reality, it was just because Penny couldn’t believe someone with a trainwreck of a life like the Neven’s could still manage to function.

It was pretty much free entertainment.

“I think the idea of you ministering anything to my daughter is more concerning than the kidnapping.”

“It was hardly a kidnapping,” she joked, sliding onto an empty stool. “Other than teaching her about NSYNC, Amelia did most of the talking. Did you know that Abby told Kasey that she was only allowed to invite two girls to her birthday party but then Mary G. found out that she was actually just lying because she was still mad at Kasey for kissing Aidan when she knows that Abby still had feelings for him after they danced together at the Spring Fling?”

Penny, both impressed that Matty had been able to retain that sort of information, and bewildered by everything she had just said, asked, “do you know who any of those people are?”

“Not a clue,” she admitted. Shrugged. Snuck another cherry off the bar before Penny could swat her with the dish towel. “I think that milkshake had too much sugar in it. Lesson learned.”

“Well, I’m glad that you two had fun. Is there a reason that you decided to take her out to dinner?”

“Actually, yes, thank you for asking. I came looking for something. When we were here the other night I think I forgot my—” before she could explain herself, Penny withdrew a pair of shoes from a shelf beneath the bar with an amused smile. “Shoes. What a wonderful surprise. Thank you, these cost me twenty bucks.”

“I’m more worried that you went home without shoes than the fact you paid twenty dollars on those shoes,” Penny snickered.

Matty blew a raspberry. “Mock all you want. These babies have seen a lot. They were worth the money.”

Penny raised her hands and leaned back onto the bar. “I don’t even want to know.”

“That’s probably for the best,” she agreed, grinning. “Not that I would tell you half of the stories. State secrets and all that,” she exaggerated while setting the shoes aside with a loving look. The look shifted a bit when she glanced back up at Penny; this time, she was the curious one. “Speaking of state secrets, where have you been all evening? I heard that you were out on a date.”

She didn’t even flinch. “It wasn’t a date.”

“Rendezvous, an afternoon romp, a tryst, whatever you want to call it,” she supplemented without missing a beat. Penny grew more exasperated with each word, much to her amusement, and as she stuffed another cherry into her mouth she raised both brows. “How’s Mav?”

“None of your business.”

“Ooh, that good huh?”

Penny hit Matty with her towel, forcing the blonde to lean back off the counter and away with the cherries. She laughed as she did so, however. “We had fun. But, maybe you should talk to him.”

“About his sex life?” she deadpanned, making a face. “No thanks.”

“About his work life,” Penny said with a pointed, if not, amused look. To this, Matty settled down a bit. She hadn’t been expecting the change in conversation, but any gossip was good gossip when it came to the life of Maverick. “Cyclone is pulling him out of Top Gun.”

“What?” she cried. “That’s ridiculous. Why?”

“Ice isn’t here anymore,” Penny told her, serious for the first time since they started talking. And, fuck, if that wasn’t a bitch of a sentence to hear even if it was true. Matty just hadn’t thought that things would change so quickly since the funeral. Hadn’t wanted to think about it, maybe. “Yeah. Cyclone doesn’t think he’s right for it anymore.”

“And what does Mav think?”

Penny was quiet for a long moment. Matty didn’t really need an answer.

“Where is he?” she asked. And, when she got an answer, she didn’t hesitate to go looking for him. Even if they weren’t best friends, even if he wasn’t her godfather, she still owed him a conversation at the very least. Penny appreciated that; was happy to see it too.

And when Matty had pulled out of the parking lot with intent and Penny saw that she had left her boots on their stool, she could only shake her head with a sigh.

“Note to self,” she muttered, stuffing the shoes back to their hiding spot beneath the counter, “don’t ever buy that girl anything expensive.”

---

The traffic on base was relatively nonexistent as Matty cruised through. Most people had gone home for the day, and the ones that hadn’t were slowly easing themselves along the roads without much hurry. It made her lift her foot from the gas pedal a little bit. It worked out well in the end; driving slowly kept away the MP, and it also gave her the opportunity to spot Mav on the opposite side of one of the training fields doing sprints.

She parked, took the keys out, but didn’t approach just yet. Instead, Matty propped her shoes up on the dashboard, threw a stick of gum in her mouth, and started twiddling with the Etch N’ Sketch that she kept in her car for moments like this.

Okay, well, really it was in her car because she never cleaned, but whatever.

By the time that Maverick finally took a break from his self-imposed torture, the sun was low on the horizon, the air had a bit of a stickiness to it, and Matty was halfway through doodling a two headed dragon. Well, if you squinted. She wasn’t all that much of an artist. Still.

“Did Penny send you after me?” he asked her, slowly making his way in her direction. Sweat was dripping down his forehead, his back, his legs. She grimaced at the sight before tossing him a half empty water bottle. He gave it a glance over before sipping on the lukewarm water tentatively.

“No. I was just on base, saw you running. Thought that you might throw out your back before the night was over. Didn’t want to miss the spectacle of you being shoved into an ambulance,” she lied seamlessly. Mav chuckled; she wasn’t sure if he believed her, but he didn’t call her out on it anyways. “Why would Penny send me after you?”

He squinted into the sunset. “They’re kicking me out of the program.”

“They can’t do that.”

“They can,” he said, blinked in a moment of thought, and then added, “I’m a little surprised that it took them this long, actually. I don’t think teaching is really my thing.”

Matty rolled her eyes. “That’s a load of bullshit.”

Mav, not quite expecting such bluntless, glanced at her. “Come on, Matts. You don’t need to coddle me. I’m a disaster in the classroom; I knew that twenty-five years ago when I tried this the first time around.”

“No shit,” she deadpanned. His lips drifted down into a frown, eyebrows furrowing into a tense line in the middle, and she tossed her Etch N’ Sketch into the backseat with a sigh. “Mav, obviously you’re bad at teaching in a classroom. You’ve never exactly been the sort of guy to sit down and read a textbook.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, shut up, I’m not done,” she told him. The conviction in her voice was purposeful, the eye roll wasn’t. “Just because you can’t lecture well doesn’t mean you can’t teach. You have, like, decades of experience. Good experience doing things that no sane person would ever do. Bradley told me that he had never seen someone fly like you did during training exercises.”

The light moved on Maverick’s face as he shifted on his feet, glancing at her in abate curiosity. “He said that?” he asked. Her mouth tightened into a scowl, however, and the conversation moved on with a cough. “Cyclone knows that I have experience. It was one of the reasons that he didn’t want me here in the first place. My file isn’t exactly…”

“Short?”

He scoffed. “You could say that.”

Matty shrugged, waving a hand around vaguely as she tucked her sneakers under herself. “What does Cyclone know anyways?”

“A lot,” Maverick said. “Being a Vice Admiral and all.”

“Vice Admiral or not he doesn’t know everything.”

Maverick finished the last of her water thoughtfully. As he glanced around, down at his foot, out into the sunset, Matty could see the age lines deepening on his face. It was a bittersweet thing; oftentimes, she liked to think of her Dad and Maverick and all the other pilots as relics, sure, but also as untouched by time. They were so lively, so fun, so young and bold that it could be difficult to acknowledge that they aged like real people. Changed.

Got sick.

Died.

She cleared the weight in her throat awkwardly. “Look, believe it or not, I didn’t come out here to give you a pep talk. You know what you’re capable of, and you know what this job requires. But…”

He lifted a brow. “But?” he asked pointedly.

“I’ve never known you to walk away from something.”

The lines on his face tightened, the age deepening by a decade. Maverick tossed her empty water bottle into a nearby trash can with a beleaguered sigh. “Penny said the same thing, but some things are out of my control.”

“Since when?” she scoffed. “Ice told me that you ended up here because you crashed going Mach 10 over the desert.”

“Crashing wasn’t exactly my goal,” he told her dryly.

“Yeah, well, there’s consequences to everything. You know what you’re capable of. I guess you just need to figure out what consequences you can live with and which you can’t,” she said. It was oddly poetic, and maybe one of the most sensible things she had ever told anybody in her life. Maverick seemed aware of this as his mouth lifted into a smile. Cheeks reddening, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “now seriously are you going to put a shirt on or what?”

To that, he laughed. Glanced down at his bare chest, then to her, and then laughed again.

“You know,” he told her while stooping down to pull his shirt out of the discarded bag on the ground. When she caught his gaze over the crook of his shoulder, his eyes were sparkling. “I bet if I was Rooster you wouldn’t mind so much.”

“That’s—that’s not even—” she spluttered, mortified, horrified, and a little bit scandalized. “Shut up!”

He made no promise, and by the time that he was climbing onto his motorcycle, Matty made sure that her volume dial was turned back to max so that she wouldn’t have to hear him if he didn’t.

---

“I think I’m going to quit,” Matty declared suddenly as she flopped back onto the damp sand. It’s a declarative statement spoken loud enough to garner her friend’s attention, but oddly enough, not a single person believes the statement itself. To that, she stuck her nose up into the air. “I am! I’ve had it with this life. My back hurts like a bitch and I’m tired of never having a manicure last. Plus, I’d rather spend all my time at the beach like this.”

“Sure, Sheila,” Boomer deadpanned, rolling his eyes as he catches a bright orange football that he and George have been tossing around to pass the time. Earlier, the group had indulged in a short game of flag football that had resulted in Matty getting knocked on her ass one too many times to count, but now it was just the pair entertaining themselves as they waited for sunset. Though the group had gotten to the beach around dinner to find themselves a little piece of sand, the rest of the beach had slowly but surely gotten fuller as night set out. It was the first annual night surfing event of the year—with the weather deemed good enough and the midnight swells tall enough—and the air crackled with anticipation as locals showed up. “I’d reckon you’d last all of two days before you come back to work.”

“Don’t think I can be a lazy body?”

“Think you’d run out of money,” he snorted.

The others laughed and, as Matty considered it, she figured that he was probably right. Matty had a history of being bad with money. Not so bad that she was always paying off gambling debts like Boomer, mind you, but bad enough that she liked to treat herself when the moment struck.

“I’ll just marry rich then,” she said after a moment of consideration. Upon reaching that conclusion, Matty threw her head back into Claire’s lap—smiling when the brunette arches a brow down at her in challenge—and gave a wistful hum. “I don’t think I’d mind being a trophy wife.”

“You’d have to be a trophy to be a trophy wife,” Claire chirped.

“Please. Men practically drool when they see me.”

“And you’re so humble too,” Nick snarked from her side. He had busied himself with setting up a campfire before the night got too dark. Typically, that was Frank’s expertise, but he had elected to go out of town that weekend for a camping trip with some buddies, and so it was up to the young blood to do what no one else wanted to do. “Might have to work on that if you want to keep a guy around.”

Matty blew a raspberry. “I’d rather work for the rest of my life than dumb myself down for some richie-rich loser.”

“Two minutes,” Claire announced. “It took you two minutes to come full circle.”

Matty rolled her eyes up at her friend as Nick laughed under his breath while adjusting the logs just the right way. She knows it’s all in good humor, though, and doesn’t feel particularly aggressive any which way so she just lets them get away with it all.

“Do you need some help?” she asked him after a few minutes of watching.

Nick arched a brow at her. “Do you know how to build a fire?”

“Well, no, but I’ve seen Frank do it before. It can’t be that hard.”

Nick and Claire shared a look. She shook her head first, deciding that she was too close to Matty to say anything, which left him to think up some sort of bullshit excuse as to why no one wants Matty to get her hands on a pack of matches. He’s too nice, however, and maybe takes too long because soon enough George rather boldly told her, “I’d rather be cold tonight than have you attempt to build a fire.”

“Um, excuse me. Rude much?”

“I’ve seen what you can do with a wrench and a can of oil, Mats,” George deadpanned.

To that, she flapped her hand around at him, vaguely annoyed that he was involved in the conversation at all. “That was one time, and I apologized already. Plus, Cap made me sit through that stupid fire safety course afterwards. I think I’m probably the most qualified here to start a campfire if we want to get all technical about it.”

The entire group shared a look.

“Listen, I’d love nothin’ more than to watch you bend over the campfire,” Boomer started. She immediately huffed at it, rolled her eyes, already considering smacking him for whatever bullshit he was about to spew, but he steamrolled on without even noticing. Nothing ever seemed to shut him up, really. “But you were just talkin’ about wantin’ to be a trophy wife, yeah? Let little Nicky handle the fire and you can just keep lying there lookin’ pretty for us all.”

Matty feels mildly offended at everyone’s distrust in her skills, but does realize that Boomer has a point. She would have to get up off the ground and actually try if she wanted to follow through on her proposition. Lying prone in the sand sounded like a much better option. Still, Matty hated admitting defeat.

“Sexists.”

“Don’t loop me in with them,” Claire said as she nudged Matty’s head with her knee. “I’d like to see a woman show up a man any day. Just, you know, not you with a campfire.”

Matty’s pout deepened. “I hate all of you.”

“Yeah, well, the feeling is mutual,” Claire shot right back. It takes nothing more than for Matty to arch a brow in prompting to get an explanation. “I still can’t believe you invited some of the Top Gun idiots out with us tonight. Talk about a betrayal.”

“I didn’t invite them all,” Matty argued. It was true. She had invited Bradley earlier that day when they had run into each other at the mess hall. And by extension she had also invited Natasha and Bob because they were standing right there with him eavesdropping on the entire conversation. She hadn’t intended for anyone else to hear about the shindig, but he had shot her a text about an hour earlier warning her that a few more of the knucklehead pilots might be tagging along. “It’s hardly my fault that Bradley can’t keep a secret to save his life. Besides, it’s not just us here. It’s a community thing.”

“Sure, but since when are the pilots part of our community?”

Matty doesn’t let her interrogation go very far. Pointedly, she reminded Claire, “last I recall, you got along with the pilots just fine. I’m pretty sure you would have spent the entire night with Natasha if you hadn’t been dragged away. It was almost adorable how cute you two were together, all huddled up in the corner booth, drinking your beer.”

Claire is unamused at Matty’s point, but doesn’t argue it. Although no one outrightly said anything about it, the motor pool had their suspicions that Claire might have heart eyes for Phoenix.

“Whatever. It’s the fact of the matter. Just because you want to bang Bradshaw doesn’t mean we should be stuck with the others as babysitters.”

“I don’t want to bang him.”

“Fine, marry, whatever.”

Matty shoved off of Claire with a glare to which the brunette grinned, pleased to have won the argument. She doesn’t get to say anything else about it though. Before she can, a crying whoop catches the group’s attention, and they turn to watch as a group approaches them from the parking lot.

Fanboy and Payback are at the front; barreling across the sand, shoving one another on the shoulders, as they race to see who can make it into the water first. They spray sand over Matty and Claire, but are gone before they can be reprimanded. She doesn’t care to see who wins—though, if the way they are wrestling one another, she suspects that neither wants to admit to a loss. Behind them the others trail at a slower pace. Natasha ambles along with Bob, a cooler dangling between their hands. Bradley has a surfboard tucked beneath each arm, jean shorts this time traded for a more appropriate pair of low hanging swim trunks. Behind him, Hangman saunters forward with a beer already cracked in hand, looking much too smug for her liking. Coyote lingers in the far back as he struggles to pull his sweatshirt over head.

“This isn’t much of a party,” Jake chirped smugly at them.

“Well it was before you showed up,” Matty shot right back. She catches Bradley’s eye next, and he has the smarts to at least offer a shrug in apology for the blonde having somehow wormed his way into the invitation. She finds that she doesn’t mind all that much though. So long as Seresin watched his attitude. “Ever heard of being a party crasher?”

“Nah.”

“Course not.”

“Every party wants me. I’m part of the experience.”

Matty can’t help but roll her eyes as the others join the group. Claire and Natasha share warm smiles. Bob seems timid as always, but he still offers the pair of women cold beer from his cooler that they accept with appreciative smiles. “Whatever. Maybe you can keep Booms’ attention, huh? The pair of you two are so cute together. Like little best friend puppies or whatever creepy box you came out of.”

This time it’s Jake who is rolling his eyes. But…

Well, when he catches Boomer’s eye and realizes that the man has a football in hand, he’s instantly more interested in whatever that might entail than he is in trading barbs with Matty. He splits from the group without saying anything else, and somehow he manages to round Payback and Fanboy out of the water without much prompting. Coyote trails after them as well as Bradley takes a seat beside Matty.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi.”

“Long time no see.”

“Oh, sure. It’s been a whole, what, four hours now? I can’t imagine how you could have survived going that long without seeing me. The withdrawal must be getting pretty bad by now.”

“It’s been hard, not gonna lie,” he teased. Smiled when she pokes her tongue out at him. “Pretty excited to see how bad you are at surfing if I’m being honest.”

“I’m amazing,” she told him.

He clearly doesn’t believe her touting. “Really?”

“You better believe it, Bradshaw. You’re going to see some real talent tonight out on those waves. If you can even keep up.”

His gaze brightens at the challenge, but also at the way that her voice has adopted something—dare she admit—flirtatious to it in all of five sentences. She’s almost surprised at herself, really; even more surprised that she really doesn’t mind. In fact, Matty is simply happy to sit there talking with Bradley about anything at all. She’s starting to worry that it’s his attention that she can’t get enough of and not the other way around.

“Yeah, yeah, well I think I’m finally getting used to your smack talk, Neven. It’s not nearly as scary as you think it is.”

“God, say it ain’t so. I must be going soft around you, Bradshaw.”

“The horror,” he joked.

She smiled, he grins, and in response something happy and soft opened his features up even further. She has caught glimpses of the expression before—in the parking lot when he brought her coffee, at her house when she finally talked to him about her past, on the beach when they were eating tacos in their own little world—and she marks it down as something that she likes seeing. Likes being the cause of. Likes knowing, at least a little, that it’s for her.

Matty opened her mouth to say something back, to try and tease the expression for a little bit longer, when she came to the horrifying realization that she is surrounded by her friends while falling into some sort of mystified trance. It’s all so high school, really. The way that she seems to forget everything else when Bradley smiles at her.

Clearing her throat, she turned to find that Claire is already watching her with an all too smug look. Matty arched a brow at her friend sharply. “Don’t you want to play football with the boys?” she prompts.

It does nothing to scare her off.

“Nope,” Claire tuts, popping the ‘p’ for extra emphasis. The smugness has gone and grown a head of its own as she slides her gaze towards Bradley. She even makes a show of stretching her legs out in the sand. “I’m plenty comfortable right here. What about you, Nat?”

Natasha, having now joined the group on the ground, seems to understand that she’s in the middle of something. She doesn’t seem to mind though. “All comfy, cozy,” she chirped as well. Her own gaze darts to Bradley. He rolls his eyes at her from behind his beer, but says nothing at all.

It’s Nick who—once he finally gets the fire going—provokes the group of four from their silent standoff.

“Anybody feel like playing cards?” he asked them.

They all peer at one another for a moment. Matty at Claire, Claire at Natasha, Natasha at Bradley, then Bradley over at Mats, before coming to the same conclusion.

“Yup,” Matty chirps as Claire says, “why not?”

Nick knows nothing of the war that he’s just stepped into. Neither does Bob who somehow manages to plop himself down right between Claire and Matty. When he catches the looks that both women are shooting him—as well as Natasha’s mute look of disbelief—he frowns.

“Did I miss something?”

----

The water is cool against Matty’s skin as she dangles her legs on either side of her surfboard. She’s sitting far enough out from the shore that she’s no longer in anyone’s way but not so far that she’s at risk of being swept out. It helps as well that someone had been smart enough to pass out glow sticks in mass. There’s a bright pink one wrapped around her neck, as well as a dainty blue one on each wrist. She likes to watch as they leave behind luminescent trails in the dark with each movement of her arm.

Mesmerizing, like the ocean that gently sways her.

“Given up?” Bradley calls towards her. She has to squint her eyes to see him. The pilots only brought two surfboards and had been taking turns; it seems that he had handed his off to Coyote and instead was swimming out to hers.

“Just watching the show.”

He treads closer until his movements set her board swaying a bit. Matty narrowed her gaze at him, but she doubts he can see it in the dark. She can see only a swath of his features from the moonlight and the orange necklace he’s wearing as is.

“You shouldn’t have swam out here without a board,” she chides when he’s close enough that she doesn’t have to shout.

“Why?”

“Pretty sure it’s unsafe.”

“It’s plenty safe,” he chirps. She knows there’s something else coming before he moves, and Matty barely manages to keep her balance as he climbs onto her own surfboard with a grin. It shifts beneath them—threatening to throw them both over—before they manage to find their balance. He sits as a mirror image to her on the other end. Close enough to touch, though, if she tried. “See? We can share. It’s not like you’re using it, anyways.”

“How presumptuous of you.”

“That I thought you’d share?”

“That you don’t think I’ll drown you for touching my board,” she says.

He shakes his head with a laugh. She wonders how he would have reacted to something like that a few weeks ago. After they had met at the bar but before they had come to any sort of reconciliation. If he was smart, she supposes that he wouldn’t have even approached her in the dark. But Bradly Bradshaw never struck her as a coward.

“Come on, Mats, we both know you like me,” he teases.

To this, she arches a brow. “Oh, I do, do I?”

“Definitely.”

Matty hums as if the whole thing is a conspiracy, but she also flounders a bit. She’s hardly ever spent time in a relationship. Usually, she was more of a fuck-em and dump-em kinda girl. When that was the case, she didn’t have to worry about what sort of thing she might say. She just needed to be confident enough to win their attention. Then, the next morning, she would sneak home and never have to worry about it again.

But with Bradley…

Well, she found that she didn’t necessarily want that sort of thing. She liked having inside jokes with him, liked having him come back to her, liked the attention. More than that, she wanted it to continue.

It left her stranded in unfamiliar waters.

Literally.

“Whatever, Bradshaw,” she says, sticking her nose up in the air with as much feigned disinterest as she can manage. It was neither convincing nor mean. Awkward in her own skin, she throws her wet hair over her shoulder with a huff. “Okay, so I guess you’re not as horrible as I thought.”

He clutched a hand to his chest. “That might have been the nicest thing you ever said to me.”

“I could still drown you,” she points out, narrowing her eyes at him. There’s a glimmer of something amused in her gaze that she can’t manage to shake, though. “Besides, that hardly means what you think it means.”

“You know, despite what I first thought, you’re a pretty horrible liar.”

“Um, I am not!”

“And you get offended at the weirdest stuff too,” he added. She scoffs, rolled her eyes, twisted on the board a little too quickly and then went ramrod stiff when it threatened to topple them both over. He seemed amused at all of this. Flustered, Matty glares at him until he gets on with the conversation. “Alright, fine, fair enough. You’re the most brutally honest person I met. Is that better? A compliment for a compliment.”

She considers it, then nods. “I’ll take it.”

“Good,” he said, nodding. She nodded back once more, feeling pleased, until the moment that he opened his mouth again to speak. “Then I want you to be brutally honest right now and tell me that I’m imagining things and that you aren't interested in me. At least a little bit.”

Well. Fuck. That backfired spectacularly.

How had she let that happen?

“What are you drunk?” she blurts, not really sure what else to ask after hearing a declaration like that.

“I’m not drunk. I’m being totally serious here, Mats. Look, I know how you felt about pilots and all of that, and I get it, I do, but I’m leaving soon and I’m tired of ignoring this thing between us—whatever it is. I want you to be honest with me. Alright? Just once, right now.”

“I—” she hesitated. It was dark, but the longer they sat there together, the more details on his face she could make out. Like the way he arched a brow at her in challenge, or the way that his eyes were wide and earnest, or the way that there was a little dent between his eyebrows like he was nervous to hear what she had to say. “I don’t—I don’t date pilots.”

The earnest expression gave way to something exasperated. “I didn’t ask if you would date me, I asked you to be honest about how you felt about me. Because I’ll be honest with you, Mats, alright? I like you. A lot. I like that you’re honest and open and not ashamed of who you are.”

“Bradley—”

“And I like that you are hard-working, that you don’t let people push you around,” he continued. She licked her lips as he didn’t show a sign of stopping, eyes darting around as if looking for some way out, but it seemed that he was smarter than she gave him credit for. Cornering her on a surfboard with no way back to shore but an embarrassing swim as one way to go at it. She would have commended such a bold strategy if, you know, she wasn’t on the defensive side of it. “And I like that you understand me.”

Matty latched onto that as quick as she could, not sure what else she could do. “See, okay, that’s the thing. You don’t like me, Bradley. You just like that I know about your past, that I went through something similar, alright? What’s the saying—misery loves company or whatever.”

“That’s not it and you know it.”

“It is,” she said, but, if she’s being honest, she’s not really sure anymore.

He fixed her with a look. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel, Matts.”

“Come on, be serious,” she pleaded with him, slapping her hands in the water. His shoulders tightened a little bit at it. Her eyes drifted, unwillingly, to his bare chest, before she reminded herself that there were more important things to worry about. “I’m a horrible person. Okay? I am.”

“You’re not.”

“You just think that I’m fun. It’s happened before. I’m quirky and honest and whatever but pretty soon you’re going to hate that about me. Pretty soon you’re going to leave and you’re going to forget me and that’s—that’s okay. That’s how these things go,” she said.

But once she said it she came to the startling realization that it’s not okay and it shouldn’t be how things go. Matty realized, stuck out on that board with him, that she didn’t want him to forget about her. She liked the idea of being known to the core by someone—known for all her misdeeds and deeds, for her history and her family name—yet not judged for it. She liked not having to worry that someone might be into her because of the ties of her Dad or Iceman brought with them.

Fuck it.

She fucking liked Bradley Goddamn Bradshaw.

“Come on, Neven,” he prompts. “Talk to me about this. Don’t shut me out.”

“God, you’re such an asshole,” she said without thinking.

That surely caught his attention, though, and this time when he sat back even further, she could make out the hurt that flashed across his features. Somehow, it spurs her on. Frustration tints her voice as she finally, at long last, is exactly what he wants her to be.

Honest.

“I have a rule about this kind of stuff, okay? Everyone jokes about it all the time, makes fun of me for it, but I’m serious. You think that I made the rule because it was funny? Or that I just didn’t want to follow in my mom’s footsteps? I don’t want to like someone that’s just going to leave, okay? That’s it. That’s the truth. You wanted me to be honest so I will. I don’t want to feel like I do about someone like you because you’re just going to leave me behind.”

He blinked at her, silent.

“Well?” she asked. “Are you happy? Yes, I like you. Yes, I feel something here too. But…”

“What?” he prompted her. “But what?”

“When you leave, I’m still going to be here. So what’s the point? Why even bother at all? So we can go out on one date, fuck, and then never talk to each other again? I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s worth it.”

“You think that I would do that to you?”

Matty hadn’t expected that question. When she caught him staring, bewildered almost, she gave a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t know, yeah, I guess. We barely know each other. I’m not saying that you’re a bad person or anything for it. I just think it’s normal.”

Bradley was silent for a long moment that felt like an eternity. She didn’t like pensive silences, didn’t like stewing in her own thoughts. It was one of the reasons that she talked so much. Matty felt powerful when she had attention on her because it meant that people weren’t sitting there thinking about all of the reasons that they didn’t like her. Okay, so what if she wasn’t the super confident person she pretended to be all the time? Is that a crime? Everyone had things that they weren’t proud of or things that they wanted to pretend didn’t exist.

Matty Neven was a lot of things. Constantly striving for approval was one of them. Struck with the fear of being abandoned was another. Big fucking whoop. It wasn’t the secret of the century. Hardly a secret at all for anyone who had an inkling of training in psychology.

Bradley didn’t have that sort of training. That’s why, just as she was considering drowning herself in the ocean, he was stuck on one single thing when she had already gone on three different downward spirals. “You really think that you’re so forgettable?” he asked her, dumbstruck.

“Um... what?”

“You said that I would just forget you,” he pointed out. It seemed that her own lack of awareness astounded him. But, like, sue her. There was a lot going on right now. “Do you really think that?”

“I don’t know, maybe... Yes? Look, I’m just going to swim back to shore—”

“Matty,” he interrupted her with such exasperation that she snapped her mouth shut before she could say anything else. Probably a good thing too because if she got back to her car she most certainly was going to break several different speeding laws that night in her desire to run away. “You are probably the most unforgettable person I’ve ever met.”

“Right, stunningly gorgeous and all that,” she muttered in a poor excuse of a joke.

He didn’t seem to hear it. Just steamrolled on ahead. “I’m sorry that there’s been people who make you feel like you’re not worth remembering before, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get you out of my mind even if I wanted to. Which, to be clear, I don’t.”

“You… don’t?” she hedged nervously, almost scared of the answer either way.

He shook his head so violently that it shook the board they were sitting on. “Fuck no, I don’t want to forget you. What I want is to take you out on a date, and then another, and then another one.”

She had never considered that option. The one where he didn’t forget about her or get bored of her. That’s why her response was nothing but a dumb, “oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he reiterated. She blinked at him, then at the water beneath them in thought. The ocean rippled around them as their board twirled listlessly in the ocean. She had never been so bewildered before. “I like you. Okay? That’s that. You can tell me to get lost if you don’t like me, and I’ll respect that. But I don’t think you want me to leave you alone. So... let me take you out on a date. A real one. Not just coffee in the parking lot or tacos outside The Hard Deck.”

“That’s different. We were just hanging out.”

He gave her a weird look. “Do you think I woke up at six am because I just wanted to talk to you for five minutes in a parking lot?”

“Well, I mean…” she trailed off, not even sure what she had thought. And as he watched her beneath the moonlight it was obvious to them both that she wasn’t any good at this sort of thing.

“Just say yes,” he instructed her, a proverbial life raft in the waters.

She swallowed. Cleared her throat. Tossed her hair to the left and then to the right. “...okay.” Bradley had a look pinched halfway between excitement and annoyance that she couldn’t even do that right. “I mean, yes. Yes, I will go out on a date with you. A real one. One where you can pay and hold the door or whatever guys do.”

He grinned. Sighed. Then bent closer. “Good. I’m going to kiss you now.”

“You’re what—?”

Bradley stifled whatever pot of emotions that threatened to boil over with a warm, sound kiss. It had all thoughts evaporating from her mind like drops of water beneath the sun. And, oh, if it didn’t make everything better to have his hands shift around her bare waist as his mouth slanted against her mouth. It silenced everything she had going on inside her rat’s nest of a head—she could admit that her mind was more like the scene of Spongebob where his mind workers caught everything on fire and then started running around with sirens blaring than anything organized—but Bradley Bradshaw seemed to bring order to the chaos with nothing more than his touch. Goosebumps pricked up along her bare legs as she kissed him back, and when their teeth clacked against one another, they weren’t above it all to laugh.

She giggled into his lips. He smirked against her mouth.

And then, in a swift movement, something tipped their board over from underneath and the pair was promptly dunked under the water. She swallowed salt water as she blubbered, confused, and half afraid that a shark was about to eat her right when her life was starting to get interesting.

When she surfaced, spluttered like a drowning fish, and push the wet streaks of blonde hair out of her eyes, however, she realized that the reality was much less exciting as she spied two heads with neon necklaces in the near distance. It was dark, but not so dark that she couldn’t make out the matching grins that Claire and Natasha wore as they howled with laughter.

Nat paused when she met Matty’s eyes. “Oh, shit, she looks pissed!”

The girls turned tail and paddled as fast as they could towards Claire’s surfboard that had been abandoned in the water not too far from Matty’s. They giggled as they went, though, and she figured it wouldn’t be all that hard to frame their drownings as accidents.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” she shrieked after them.

“You have to catch us first!” Claire shouted back.

She would. She wasn’t even that fast of a swimmer, but she would. Before she got the chance to take off after them, however, something latched onto her wrist and tugged her in the opposite direction of the shore.

A few soaked curls flopped on Bradley’s forehead as he smiled over at her.

“Um, excuse me, they’re getting away!”

“You can kill them later,” he said.

“But—”

He kissed her again. It was sloppier as they were now both treading water, and she was pretty sure that she swallowed even more salt water in the mess of it all. This time she didn’t care nearly as much.

*** taglist (thanks for asking!) @callsignbarb @coyotesamachado @shanimallina87 @luckyladycreator2 @olivethenerd16 @the-winter-marvel33 @hiddleless @momc95 @alanadetigy @obsessedasusual

Okay, i kinda can’t believe how this story basically ran so far off course my my original idea, but i love where it’s ending up. i’ve been feeling less enthusiastic about writing just bc it’s taking me so much longer to update this story than it did to update old habits die hard but then i realized that this story is so much longer, with so many more scenes, and i’m very proud of that. hope you enjoy!

one more chapter to go xoxo

#top gun maverick #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick fanfic #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #rooster x oc #heart mechanics #rooster fanfic

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fwl22 · 4 months

Text

A Storm and a Flood, pt. 2

Continued, 8 November, 2023

So, given that the power was down, I decided to take advantage of the moment and run to the garden to get the salad to surprise my wife. I put on my hiking boots and realized immediately that I should have gotten my Wellingtons because outside in the piazzale things were already flooding. The walkway above the swimming pool had a large puddle and the water was running off down to the gravel, and the pool deck was already filling on the wall side, and with no drain it was going to build and then go under the door into the in-law's garden. The drain on the upper side of the piazza where the older brother in law normally parks was blocked with debris and the water was, as happens often enough, running like a river down the whole of the piazzale under the tress to the small wall at the lower end. I waded through the puddles with my plastic bag and knife for collecting the goods, grateful that it wasn’t raining to hard, in addition to all the water on the ground. Through the gate and down the road by the parking area, the water was draining well and the channel next to the Appassitoio was flowing strong with water.

Turning left again at the end of the Appassitoio's lower corner, I was confronted by the water that was draining off of the piazzale under the trees and pouring like waterfalls from the drainage openings and splattering on the road below the house. The streetlights were already on in the falling light, and looking up I could see the rain drops falling and catching the light. It was just a bit more than a drizzle, but the sky remained dark, and the storm clouds were swirling in the wind.

The road was flooded, but was draining quickly enough, and cars were parked as usual during the olive oil season by the clients of the frantoio. A group of men were milling around the doors waiting for the power to come back on so that the work could go on. In the meantime the olives sitting in the intake bin and the already ground up olives in the mixing and separating chambers were going nowhere. I went down the stairs to the garden, and in the still fading light I cut a couple of heads of lettuce from the mud, put them in my bag and retreated back the way I came. The ground was wet and spongey, but I managed to get back to the road without taking too much earth with me. As I walked back to the house, the rain began to fall again.

Back in the kitchen, as I began to wash the salad, the skies opened up and it started to pour again. There was only a bit of wind it seemed, as the weight of the rain seemed to drive down with not a lot of water hitting the windows. Given that the lights had been off before, I lit a few more candles. I love the glow of the candlelight, and I had two candles in cups in the bathroom as well as the four in the kitchen. Working by candlelight gives me a nice feeling, and even though I was sure I couldn’t properly see if I was getting all the dirt off the lettuce, I performed the ritual according to Giovanna’s rule of three thorough rinses and then a double spin in the salad spinner.

By this point it was night outside, and as I sat to work at the computer I noticed how I could hear the rain, falling hard on the ground. And as is my particular habit, I concentrated on what I was writing and reading and didn’t think much more about it, letting the sound of rain act as a replacement for the hum of the frantoio. Ignoring the storm outside, there was a comfy sense of home and hearth on the inside of the house.

In the big, old house, time passes like this, and one is lulled to a peace that comes from sitting behind the heavy stone walls that have stood for 500 years. An hour later, my wife's oldest brother stopped in the kitchen with a flashlight and saw me by candlelight. He invited me to come up to his house and gave me an extra headlamp to use. He mentioned that he couldn’t remember having seen it rain this hard for this long in his entire life (He’d be 68 in a couple of weeks). In fact, outside it continued to pour with a ceaseless abandon. Downstairs I put some towels and rags against the metal door to front garden where, at this point, around 7:30 - 8:00 pm, water was coming around the door, top and bottom, and trying to run down the stairs into the back hallway. At the other end of the connecting corridor between the former tower and the 15th century house, on the angle of the L, where there is a small atrium skylight with a window on the landing of the stairs going up, the water was beginning to run down the wall around the window, and more extreme, the water was soaking through the wall and sweating out through the plaster and whitewash. I put more towels on the ground there to keep the puddles from getting too big.

I was calm about all of this. I had seen the rain push through cracks around windows and doors many times at Canneto, and especially during the intense summer thunderstorms that would thrash the southern facade of the building. And I had seen the water running down the corridor behind the work rooms on the ground floor of the 14th century house, moving gently down the mud floor. It was really coming down, but I just had to try to keep things dry on the inside.

Meanwhile, there were paying guests in the house. My sister in law had set out lit candles in the entry hall, the living room, and in the hall and stairways leading up to the guest rooms. We probably weren't going to get the power back tonight. Thank goodness it wasn’t actually cold outside.

My first visit to the Villa Rucellai di Canneto in April of 1997 was all the things that most people experience on their first visit. Coming from spring in southern California, however, I was greeted by winter in Tuscany. There was fresh snow on the ground and the skies were grey. My fiancé and I stayed in the tower room of the 14th century house which was still, nominally, her apartment. The house seemed empty and cold, but the spaces were so unfamiliar and old that the inexperienced couldn’t help but find the atmosphere to be “magical”. Over the years I found that the overall dark and the irregularity of the electrical power in the old building was such that my mother-in-law had flashlights and candles ready in strategic places all around. During this storm I was reminded of Giovanna’s presence, and the omniscient sense that the building itself would continue to be there long after we were all gone.

#Villa Rucellai #Prato #Tuscany #olive oil

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larkace · 3 years

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Robber Claws

hi guys! i've read a bunch of your fics and got inspired so i wrote a thing! enjoy ;) also, it's pretty long so...buckle up! love yall <3

The criminals lurk in the mist, invisible, but Sofiya Pavlichenkov knows they’re there.

She’s perched in the Lookout’s nest of her Warship in Fourth Harbour, pretending to read the documents her first mate, Kastor, has just handed to her. But her blue coat is flapping in the wind and her papers keep jostling and she’s being watched, all of which is rather uncomfortable.

Idly, Sofiya wonders what the criminals might want. A smuggling, perhaps? Out and away from stinking, crawling, loathsome Ketterdam?

Sofiya hates this city. His city. She misses Ravka, her homeland- the Little Palace.

I miss my bloody Kefta, Sofiya thinks darkly as another bought of wind spirals harshly through the Harbour. The blue coat she wears is a subtle nod to her Tidemaker status, but it’s a sad, thin piece of cloth compared to the grandeur of the Fabrikator-made Keftas. But Sofiya can’t wear her Kefta, not if she wants to blend in in Kerch- a lesson she learned long ago…

Old enemies, Sofiya. Old enemies, but not withered grudges.

Huffing out a sigh that would make Zoya Nazyalensky proud, Sofiya rises gracefully to her feet.

They’re coming. She can feel it; they’re making their way towards the ship. They don’t have to be rowdy to intimidate, that’s for sure - or to make a crowd of Merchants and Thieves part like the sea almost immediately.

Sofiya reaches up behind her head and loops her hand around a piece of knotted rope; takes a deep, steadying breath.

And she steps off the platform into the open air.

For a moment, she catches on the air as if a Squaller has caught her on a buffering breeze, but sure enough, gravity kicks in.

Sofiya welcomes the feeling of her stomach in her throat as the fall takes hold, zipping her past the sails. It's good preparation, anyway, for the three dark figures moving up the docks towards her.

As they near and Sofiya lands lightly on the deck, she confirms what she already knew: these were criminals. Her criminals.

The trio stops in front of her. They're all wearing black and gold - not a uniform exactly, but it’s a solid way to show your allegiance. None of their hands were visible, but if they were, Sofiya would find the Robber Claws emblem branded cleanly onto the backs of their knuckles. Their hoods are drawn up over their faces, but Sofiya can tell from their posture who she’s dealing with.

"Ah, Iseut," Sofiya says serenely, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

The girl in the middle pulls down her hood, revealing shining blond hair, dark eyes, full lips. She doesn’t smile.

"Where have you been, Sofiya?" Iseut asks coolly.

"The Wandering Isle," Sofiya answers immediately, "I stopped at Os Kervo on my return to pick up some supplies. I'm only three days late, Is. Cut me some slack."

Iseut sighs, and suddenly looks less the badass, fake-waitress man-killer, and more the tired mother of a delinquent child. Sofiya feels a flicker of guilt.

She had stopped at Os Kervo for more than one reason. The "supplies" were crates upon crates of commandeered Fjerdan weapons and traps, intercepted by the First Army on their way to the Front Line. Sofiya had paid nothing to take them off the hands of the Ravkan soldiers, who honestly had no clue where to send them. What good were jerky Fjerdan guns to a sophisticated, well-oiled Second Army legion?

Sofiya could picture Zoya's face at the sight of the sad little weapons. Disgust and disdain, unshakable beauty - and perhaps just a little bit of pride that her friend had been the one to collect the Fjerdan cargo. Sofiya would work on selling it all later. She'd dump the Grisha traps in the ocean, though. Drown them like they deserved to be drowned.

"I am sorry, Iseut," Sofiya says, and her words aren’t mistruths.

"Don't apologise to me," Iseut says dismissively, "It’s your friends that were barely able to sleep the past few nights. You should talk to -"

"Destry," Sofiya's words mist the air like a fine rain, "I know."

One of the tall figures stood behind Iseut lowers her own hood. Lyra. Ly.

It made sense that the Robber Claws would send their best Bruisers to Fourth Harbour. Sofiya knew by the other Robber's posture that beneath the hood, she would find the face of Winter. But Winter wouldn't lower her hood in front of so many people, so Sofiya was content with what she could get.

"You really had Destry worried, Sof," Ly says, chastising.

"Destry can handle me being gone for weeks on end," Sofiya crosses her arms. She will not be guilt-tripped, "This job was half a week, and I was only a few days off schedule. I did tell Cherry that I'd be late." The words come out as a question.

None of them say anything.

Another flash of worry courses through Sofiya. Cherry Vlasova is a Heartrender, and one of Sofiya's closest friends. The message that Sofiya had forwarded was simple and concise: I'll be a few days late. Stopping at Os Kervo. Don't worry, no Fjerdans. Tell Destry -S.P

Had something happened to Cherry? She was an avid gossiper; her post box was always full of tip-offs (a useful source of information for the Robber Claws) but Sofiya was reliably informed that her letters were always placed on the top of the pile. Marked "URGENT."

"What happened? Is Cherry alright?" Sofiya demands.

Iseut holds up her palms, and they are callused and grease-marked. Sometimes Iseut is so well put together that Sofiya forgets she's a barmaid.

"Cherry is fine. But all our Grisha are shaken. Whilst you were away, there was an attack on the East Stave."

Sofiya's heart stops and restarts and stops again.

An attack. On the Grisha. And she wasn’t there to - to help, to defend-

"Destry," Sofiya breathes, "And Cherry - and Adali, Roza, Linnea, Yan, Anya- oh, Saints, was it the Fjerdans?"

There are many Grisha members of the Robber Claws. It was one of the reasons that Sofiya wanted to join them in the first place. If the Fjerdans had attacked -

"Everybody is fine," Ly says lowly, "We had Freya and May fixing people up as soon as we heard- and Lita, of course, but behind the scenes."

Freya and May- and even Lita, whose powers most of the gang didn't even know of. Grisha Healers. So people had been hurt.

"What. Happened." Sofiya growls, and Ly glares at her challengingly, fists clenching. The water beneath the decking froths and bubbles as Sofiya brings her own fists together, power surging pleasantly up her arms. If Ly wants a fight, she can have one.

"Calm down, both of you," Winter's smooth voice projects from under her hood. Despite the heavy fabric, her voice is clear and commanding. Sofiya takes a breath to compose herself.

"To answer your previous question: no. It wasn't the Fjerdans." Iseut says, "We don’t know what they were."

Sofiya's brow creases at the chime of fear in Iseut's voice. She's never seen the golden-haired barmaid afraid before.

It begins to rain softly, the pattering of droplets quiet against the wooden decking of the docks.

"We should go back to the Queen’s Head, Iseut," Ly suggests, referencing Iseut’s place of work. Iseut nods once, swiftly, and glances over Sofiya's shoulder at her warship.

"Do you need to...?"

"Yes."

"Go on, then."

"KASTOR! IM GOING FOR A ROUND OF DAY-DRINKING!" Sofiya yells over the shoulder of her rain-splattered coat. She hears Ly chuckle as Kastor's scruffy head pokes out from a window.

He nods at Sofiya when he spots her, and she waves, assenting. Kastor would keep everything safe whilst she was gone. It was their unspoken agreement, unchanging and unwavering since the day they'd become crewmates.

Sofiya turns back to Iseut, Ly and Winter.

"Let's be on our way," she says, and lets her fellow criminals lead the way along the Harbour, her warship disappearing into the mist behind her.

~~~~

The mid-day slump of customers meant that the Robber Claws had the Queen’s Head pub all to themselves.

Iseut- who did not own the pub, but had put more work into it than the real owners ever did- had immediately trekked behind the bar and poured herself a whisky.

"Want anything?" She asks, directing the question directly at Sofiya despite the equal presence of Ly- and Winter (who had lowered her hood slightly now that she was back on familiar ground, with familiar faces.) Bruisers didn’t drink on the job. It slowed reflexes.

"The story," says Sofiya firmly, "It a joke about the day-drinking. What happened?"

Iseut pours herself another whiskey and the quartet take a seat at a shady little circular table in a quiet corner. The murmurs of other Robber Claws members is enough to shelter their conversation from the group- despite Sofiya being sure she was the only one unaware of what had transpired the days she’d been gone.

As Iseut begins her story, with Winter and Ly regularly interjecting with additions, Sofiya feels horror and fear clamp down on her heart like a Fjerdan Grisha trap.

Iseut’s alluring voice weaves a tale of Komedie Brute actors in bloody masks, rose-painted rubble from an impossible explosion, and worst of all: Grisha. Dead Grisha, killed by creatures with screeching metal wings.

“Only a few of our Grisha were hurt,” Iseut sips her drink solemnly, “We took your advice of keeping them anonymous and undercover. We have Erin and our other spies out searching for answers at the embassies. I’m sure you’re just as eager to find out about the winged creatures as we are.”

Sofiya nods, “I am. Thank you for filling me in, Is, really. And to you, Ly, Winter. I know you don’t like going to far from the West Stave.”

The last comment was directed purely at Winter. It’s not a lie. Winter runs a dojo for training Kerch’s women to protect themselves from Barrel bosses and scum alike; she didn’t want her clients finding out about her… Robber side. Being a criminal wasn’t the most unintimidating, friendly persona to have when speaking with vulnerable women.

Sofiya respected Winter and her clean profession. It was hard to be so kind in the Barrel. And men were rarely kind to women at all.

Sofiya knew that first hand.

Shoving away the memories- blue eyes, dark hair, gorgeous smile, charming words and sharper wounds- Sofiya stands in one fluid movement.

“I’m going to find Destry,” she says. Iseut stands, Ly and Winter falling back to flank her again, and smiles. She’s beautiful, that is undoubtful, but the attacks- the sleazy men at the Queen’s Head, the strain of the city- it’s all gotten to her. Sofiya can see it.

This city is poison, thinks Sofiya as Iseut takes her hand and shakes it. Poison and rot.

“Destry will be in her rooms,” Ly supplies, and Sofiya nods at her once.

Sofiya grins brightly, hoping it covers her own weariness, and recites, “Fair winds.”

“Bright stars,” chorus her friends. Sofiya waves over her shoulder as she slips out of the bar and down an alley. Above her, a storm brews in the clouds.

Perhaps the stars would be out that night. It didn’t matter. Nobody in Kerch saw the stars anymore.

~~~~

On her way to Destry’s apartments, Sofiya ran into more members of the Robber Claws.

Malcolm and Firefly, who lived together in shared housing in the Anvil, were shopping for new blacksmiths’ equipment. They each provided invaluable services to the Robber Claws, crafting flawless weapons second only to that of Fabrikators. They greeted her with a wink each. Sofiya moved on swiftly after trading them a Wandering Isle-crafted staff for twenty Kruge.

She picked up some baked goods on the way. She would need them. Destry- who had been her closest friend since she arrived in Kerch- was an Inferni. Fire-bringer; with an even fierier temperament. Rumour had it- and Sofiya knew the rumours were true- that Destry had been attending the University of Ketterdam when she’d heard a boy make a lude comment during an exam and lit the paper on fire with her mind. And that paper had been thrown. At the boy’s face. Ouch.

Sofiya had been nursing a whiskey in a tavern when she’d first heard the story recounted. She’d leapt up from her seat, slithered into an alley and held the recounter at knifepoint until he’d told her Destry’s name.

They’d become fast friends upon meeting. Sofiya had been in awe of someone so rebellious, so brave as to set fire to an exam paper, and Destry- well. Destry had laughed for hours when Sofiya had told her how she’d first come across her name.

But now, staring up at the ornate windows of Destry’s apartment, Sofiya feels unsure. She didn’t mean to worry her friend. Iseut had explained that her letter must have gotten lost during the riots. Sofiya cursed the post offices. So there was a deadly storm- your motto is still “We always deliver.”

Despite her trepidation, Sofiya’s feet were swift on the stairs. She had a key to the apartment, and didn’t hesitate to unlock the door and slip inside without a sound, content to watch Destry whilst she worked; even if only for a moment.

Leaning against the wall, Sofiya’s brow creases as she surveys her friend. Destry’s hair is plaited carefully into two loops at the nape of her neck, hazel strands freeing themselves gently against her light brown skin. She’s stood facing away from Sofiya, arms circled in rings of fire. The shirt she wears is Fabrikator-made; the flames don’t take to the papery material.

Sofiya takes a step forward, and pointedly drops her bag of confectionary on the floor. It lands with an audible thump.

Destry whirls, the fire at her wrists whirling into an inferno ready to strike- until Destry sees who is at her door.

“Shouldn’t have hesitated, Des,” Sofiya said weakly, “I could have put a knife in your back.”

The shock on Destry’s face dissolves. Her face splinters down the middle. Licks of fire at her fingertips wilt into ash in a pile at her boot-clad feet.

“You would have put out the flames with your water, I’m sure,” Destry says, and then flies across the room towards Sofiya, wrapping her in a tight, smoke-smelling embrace.

Sofiya would normally pull back. “Don’t be too open with your heart, Des,” she’d say, “People use your loves against you here.” But Sofiya couldn’t bring herself to say those things. The weight of the week comes crashing down on her head like a tsunami.

Fjerdan traps on my boat, attacks on my gang, tensions in Ravka boiling over… where’s safe anymore, except here?

Destry pulls back slightly to scan Sofiya’s face. She has a smear of oil on her cheek. Destry’s eyes are filled with fire, burning like an ember beneath onyx waters.

“Where. Have. You. Been.”

“Destry-”

“Don’t you make excuses with me, Pavlichenkov,” Destry snarls, “You didn’t warn us you were late! I couldn’t sleep- neither could Cherry!”

“I-”

“We thought you’d been caught, Sofi,” Destry cries, “We thought the Fjerdans had got you! I thought you died.”

The word is ugly and big in the room, choking Sofiya’s response. Death. Dying. Dead. And by Fjerdan hands. It wasn’t so rare for travelling Grisha to be caught and sent to the pyres.

“I’m sorry,” Sofiya says, because it’s the only thing there is, “I wrote- I really did, don’t look at me like that- according to Lyra, there was a storm in the True Sea. The letter sunk with the ship.”

“You’re a Tidemaker,” Destry huffs.

“Yes, which means I manipulate water,” Sofiya says, “Not stop it from overturning ships with important letters on them. Destry, I’m sorry. I brought waffles.” She offers the last sentence like a defendant on trial with the Stadwatch; one final piece of evidence to prove her innocence.

Destry brightens immediately, “Well, in that case.”

The pair of them set to work, shoulders just brushing in the cramped kitchenette. Sofiya’s array of pasties are laid out over two plates, which they lay on their laps. Destry’s job for the Robber Claws is, in few words, that of the logician. Papers are scattered all over her apartment, covered in detailed blueprints and scale drawings of buildings all over Ketterdam, Fjerda and even- rarely- Shu Han. There were no drawings of Ravka.

If Iseut had ever commissioned a robbery in Ravka, Sofiya didn’t know about it. It would be…unwise to hit out at the Ravkans, with so many Grisha in the gang.

But Destry’s job was essential, so Sofiya couldn’t complain about the lack of trays to put their plates on. Such things were useless for such an incredible mind as Destry’s.

“So,” says Destry conversationally as she lights the fireplace with a casual flick of her wrist, “How were the Wandering Isles?”

Sofiya says nothing, massaging her temples lightly. Destry manages a laugh.

“Your silence is telling, Sofi,” she warns.

Sighing quietly, suddenly feeling very tired, Sofiya says, “It was crawling with our Fjerdan friends from the North. ‘Peaceful’ Fjerdans.”

Destry spins, and she is outlined with the fire. We’re opposites, Sofiya thinks. Fire and Water.

“You didn’t-” Destry begins, horrified.

Silently, solemnly, Sofiya raised her palms to face the ceiling. Destry reaches out.

Her gentle fingers trace the scars there. Deep and painful and barely healed, the scars run red against Sofiya’s pale flesh.

“Sofiya…” Destry breathes.

“It was the only way to push my power down,” Sofiya whispers. She’s rarely so emotive, but Destry is someone she trusts with everything. It was a weakness, some would say, but they were each powerful Grisha. They were Gods in a world of men. And they would not kneel “If I hadn’t, I would’ve been caught. It was a price to pay.”

Grisha shone like lighthouses around people. In Kerch, in Ketterdam, it was safer for them- especially ones loyal to a gang, as Destry and Sofiya were. But in the Wandering Isles; where Fjerdans passed through on their way to Novyi Zem, where gang affiliations mattered less than the colour of your eyes… Sofiya tells herself she had no choice.

“Sofiya, you’ve opened up old wounds here,” Destry says, tracing the marred skin of her palms again, “You need a healer. Freya, Lita, May-”

“Wouldn’t understand,” Sofiya finished, pulling her hands out of Destry’s and placing them carefully in her lap, obscuring them with her coat, “They’re healers, Des, not warriors- they’d go to Iseut.”

Iseut. Their unofficial leader, the founder, the lighthouse in raging seas. All of the Robber Claws seemed to be caught in her gravity. She was their sun. And Sofiya… well, Sofiya was the moon. Iseut would send her to a healer, one who would stop her travels. One who would commandeer her Warship, and Kastor… health of the mind was important to Iseut.

But Sofiya was not damaged, as they would tell her. She was not broken. Her mind was sound.

I did what I had to do, to survive.

But Destry can see through it all. Through the mask, through her eyes, right to her bones. Through to her lying, treacherous heart. We’re all broken in the end.

But.

Oh, Destry, Destry, please…

“I won’t tell her,” Destry promises, “But I’d like you to know that I think you should. Tell her, that is- Iseut. She might help.”

“She might ship me back to Ravka,” Sofiya grumbles, biting into a toasty croissant.

“Oh, she wouldn’t.”

“You never know.”

“She’ll want you to heal, that’s all.”

“Yes,” Sofiya rolls her eyes, “But these wounds are of the flesh. The scars on my heart will never heal, not in this life Perhaps there will be mercy in the next, even for my rotten soul.”

“You sound like you’re auditioning for the Komedie Brute,” Destry laughs.

“Mother, Father, pay the rent!” Sofiya crows.

“I can’t my dear, the money’s spent,” Destry choruses instinctively.

Sofiya wipes away an invisible tear, “Gorgeous! We’ll make an actress out of you, yet, Destry Clements.”

“Oh, you most certainly will not,” Destry huffs.

Their laughter fills the air, and Sofiya thinks that maybe there is hope for her rotten soul, after all.

~~~~

The man returns late from the pub wearing only one shoe.

A bottle drained halfway of mauve liquid dangles limply from his pale fingers. The veins in his foot are blue in the half-moon’s light.

He slurs a broken melody. She catches a few words as he passes below her on the street.

“Hmm… perish… light… air… fire… hell… hmmm…”

The man’s name is Danyl Harrop. And he is going to die tonight.

“Hmm… shadow… devil… rot… earth… sun… burn… lose….”

Harrop continues down the road, heedless of the mud on his bare foot. He'd be blackout drunk in the morning if he survived.

He wouldn’t.

Silent as a breeze, steps as soft as downy feathers, she leaps from the streetlight where she was perched.

She strikes.

She is ash and shadow. She is a storm of fire. She is vengeance.

She is death.

Harrop yelps as she pins him against the tree. His face is as white as the moon, with eyes like black craters.

“What’re you doi-” he slurs dazedly, but she silences him with a wave of her hand. He blubbers like a fish on land as he tries to shout for help.

“For King and Country,” says the girl. Stepping away from Harrop, she lets her power hold him against the tree, keeping his muscles upright. She surveys him like an artist would their unfinished masterpiece.

The girl whispers, “Sleep tight, Danyl.”

Flicking her wrist, she snaps his neck. He’s still alive, barely, so she latches on to what little of his mind there is left and strips it like an onion. For a man who is out so late, so drunk, on what the girl remembers as a work-day, he knows too much.

Secrets. They feed this girl, nourish her. There is a skip in her step as she turns away from Harrop; without her supporting his muscles, he collapses against the tree. She leaves his mind just as it goes dark.

There is no need to hide in the treetops upon her return to the city. It gleams just half a mile away, most of which is roiling seawater. As the girl wanders along the road back to Ketterdam, she finds Danyl Harrop’s shoe in a puddle of mud. The girl laughs at the sky. She flips a coin into the shoe, whispers a heartless prayer to her Saints, and moves on.

Back to Ketterdam. Back home.

~~~~

Ok, so that's that! I left it on a bit of a cliffhanger... I may have created a whole plot... so there might be some more coming soon!

all these excellent characters (save Sofiya, Danyl, Kastor and the girl at the end who kills Danyl- who has no name... yet *wink*) belong to the following:

Iseut is @littlegirldorothea's

Destry is @finnick-annie's (I may have made them besties👀👀)

Cherry is @brekkercookie's (they are ALSO besties👀👀 we have a trio omg)

Winter is @cressjacquine's

Lyra is @no-mourners-at-my-funeral's

Malcom is @blackpheonix’s

Firefly is @ask-shadowbon’s

Erin is @lightningboytytonjesper’s

Adali is @apple-bottom-jeansx’s

Roza is @vampire-rights’s

Linnea is @alonlyfangirl's

Yan is @lucentcorrigan’s

Anya is @queenlilith43’s

Freya is @smol-evil-gremlin’s

Lita is @the-whispers-of-moonlight’s

May is @saltyfortunes

and the "Fair winds, bright stars" motto as created by @spicy-tomato-sauce's

oh and the whole Grishaverse is the wonderful @lbardugo's <3

if I missed anyone or you want to tag anyone go ahead!

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ecstasyfumbling · 3 years

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Into the West, By EcstasyFumbling,

Suptober Day 18: Inferno

Link to ao3

The world is saved.

The world is saved. Sam is dead.

The world is saved. Jack is dead never knowing he was Dean's son.

The world is saved. Cas is dead never knowing what he had.

The word is saved. Death is swallowed up, and renounced her claim to Dean's death. There came no one in her place to take him.

The world is saved. Dean, alone, survived.

So Dean does whay he always does. He works the case. Sets out of a mission: find god. It's easier than he expects. He finds Chuck in the middle of America stooped against a red brick wall trying to find the bottom of a bottle. Dean instructs Chuck to bring them back. Chuck responds saying he doesn't have that power anymore.

"Your little boy stripped the power of revivification from me, remember? What's dead stays that way these days," Chuck says idly.

"Then kill me," Dean commands.

Chuck does not respond.

Dean grabs the writer up from the pavement, throwing him against the wall.

The Writer does not respond.

"Kill me," he growls with malice, begging for mercy, just one last break. Beseaching a final kindness from the empty vesself of a dead god. "Kill me," he cries, holding tight to the white cotton undershirt around Chuck's neck. "Please."

God looks upon his creation, cups his cheek, and smiles softly, "No."

A gunshot rings out. Red blood splatters against the bricks, against the hands, against the army green canvas jacket already stained. Stained Cas. Stained with Sam. Stained with Jack. Another futile stain.

Dean always knew he was going to die young and bloody. But, he was always stupid. It didn't matter what he thought he knew. God never did give one shit about what he wanted.

From infancy, he was ordered into protecting Sammy. He grew into a man falling into step alongside Cas. He chose, after stumbling, to raise their son. Their blue eyed boy. The moonfaced child he never got a chance to bury. Jack left without leaving a body. None of them, not one, gave him a body to burn, gave him a week to mourn, gave him a chance to say... To say anything.

He chose to save the world. He did. He chose. They all did. They all traded their lives for everyone else's. But Dean was the only one who keeps having to give it. The only one who never got his rest, never got his reward, never got his silver shores away from the battlefield. God had used his final moment to ensure Dean never met his destiny. Cursed never to sleep, never to dream, never to rest. There was never supposed to be a place for him in the world he fought so hard to keep. In the end, there wasn't.

Dean always knew he wasn't going to get a happy ending. But at least, he had held on hope, that he'd at least get one. Get a chance to end.

Still, his heart kept beating, his legs kept moving. Years melted into decades, the ship of Theseus that had been his father's car no longer held any atom of its former chassis. An echo of a vessel crafted from replacement parts. The army man melted by the sun, the leather cracked and mended and cracked again. The old speakers and tape deck replaced with some bluetooth monstrosity. After so much time, for love or money, there were no original pieces left in circulation. All the old parts succumbed to entropy. The clean straight highways of his youth ceded to weeds and soft grasses. The tapes worn to ribbons. The passenger seat, pristine.

So, when one forgettable Thursday, the car's engines starts to sputter and smoke. He pulls over to an anonymous shoulder on a nameless highway. He gets out of the car from years of repairing from habit. This time, however, he never circles around the front hood. Instead he keeps moving on past. He never turns back, only smells the smoke grow thicker with rubber and oil. He breathes in deep. He lets the tension out from his bones. His hands relax and the set of keys slip from his fingers onto the cracking asphalt. He keeps walking. He walks onward into the west and the blazing sun. Blinded, he walks. He walkes off into the sunset to live in the world they saved. Dean Winchester walks off into the sunset, the only survivor of the world they saved.

#suptober #suptober21 #day 18: inferno #spn ficlet #what if dean survived the finale #finale rewrite #if you thought this story has a happy ending you havent been paying attention #what if dean didnt survive #what if Dean's in hell?#destiel but its sadder than canon #dean winchester is canon fodder #i dont like the way the show portrays death as the worst thing that ever happens. its not. this is much worse.#spn fic #fix it fic #widower arc #but much much worse #i will go down with this ship #me #supernatural

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sinkix · 4 years

Text

Haikyuu!!│Boys going grocery shopping w/ you! HC’s│Ft. Bokuto, Nishinoya, Terushima, Kuroo & Kunimi

I had this late night idea and just HAD to follow through, the chaos would be O F F T H E C H A R T S. Thank you to @deathcab4daddy for helping me brainstorm some good characters for this post lmao I love you bby and can’t wait to do a collab. <3

E N J O Y ~

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

BOKUTO:

WHEN I TELL YOU THIS BOI PICKS UP EVERYTHING IN SIGHT LIKE A 6 YEAR OLD

I FUCKING MEAN IT.

“(Y/N) we need this”

“Bokuto we do not need a 7th jar of peanut butter.”

“But (Y/N) it has a squirrel on the front-”

“BOKUTO I SWEAR TO GOD”

Tries to drift on the edge of the cart like something straight outta CSGO and the cart nearly obliterates under his weight.

V e r y l o u d u n e c c e s s a r i l y.

Everyone always stares at y’all when you’re going through the isles bc ur literally escorting a man-child sprawled in a shopping cart who’s going “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” at everything he sees like he’s a toddler at the zoo who’s never encountered a chimpanzee before.

Unless you have a bottomless bank account do NOT take him shopping of any kind he is LETHAL.

When you’re at the check-out he turns it into a basketball competition and tries to launch everything perfectly on to the conveyor belt.

Volleyball player? Nah this sis with the NBA now.

Do not ask him to go get something, he will return with at least 9 items you didn’t need and everything BUT the item you requested

He turned up with a whole ass pineapple, a jar of jam, a stick of butter and a bottle of olive oil.

Like,,,where is the correlation in those items???

Once made the mistake of asking him to grab some pads from the hygiene section and specified it HAD to be with wings

Boy showed up ten minutes later and looking very confuzzled.

You questioned why he has a pack of wingless pads in one hand and a can of red bull in the other.

He said it’s because they didn’t have any with wings so he figured the Redbull would suffice and do the job for you.

NISHINOYA:

Can literally fit him in the little cart seat made for kids and he LOVES it lmaoooo IT’S SO CUTE MY HEART.

HE JUST SWINGS HIS LEGS EXCITABLY WHILE YOUR GETTING STUFF AAAAAAA

Ppl give you such weird looks though bc you have a guy who’s at least 14 years older than the intended demographic sitting there and raising his hands in elation over you copping a cookie dough pie and chucking it in.

Again, another who is VERY LOUD FOR NO REASON AT ALL.

Get’s out of the cart after a while bc his legs be growing numb and begins roaming around.

Someone came back with a feral Noya in hand stating “Is this your child” WNDKJWEFNWJEF.

M’AM HE’S LIKE 18 EXCUSE YOU.

Was salty about it for the rest of the day.

Just ruffle his hair and call him Senpai

Problem solved.

Picks up tons of exotic fruit that look more like plastic or fuzzy poisonous plants and begs you to get them.

“Noya what the fuck is that.”

“...a Pitaya.”

“...”

“Can we get it-”

“no.”

“(Y/N)-”

“I SAID NO DAMMIT”

Last time you bought some strange fruit he took it to practise and got Tanaka to spike it LMAOOO

IT SPLATTERED E V E R Y W H E R E

AND OVER DAICHI’S SHIRT.

He begged you to no longer allow Noya to purchase weird fruits from then on since he is like a child with a nerf gun.

He once picked up a phat wrinkly purple fruit and turned to you asking if it was an overgrown raisin.

“Noya sweetie that’s a Date.”

HE FULLY TSK’ED AND THREW IT BACK SINCE IT REMINDED HIM OF DATE TECH I CAN’T.

My boy out here defending Asahi even in the Grocery Isles.

We stan a loyal king.

TERUSHIMA:

Another one who tries to stand on the ledge and the cart wheels almost collapse because it wasn’t designed to hold the weight of a young adult.

Oh young adult??? Sorry I mean’t MAN CHILD.

He treats a shopping experience as a time to practise his aim apparently because he ALWAYS THROWS SHIT AT YOU TO THE POINT YOU’RE THREATENED TO BE KICKED OUT.

Definitely picks up phallic looking objects and places them against his crotch, snorting and saying “Like what you see (Y/N)?”

Homeboy is stood there in front of a wife and child presenting his cucumber appendage for the world to see.

He once grabbed a pair of fat ass melons and pressed them against his chest, shaking them and belting the lyrics to ‘My Milkshake’ while begging you to SQUEEZE HIS MELONS.

“Look (Y/N) they’re bigger than yours!”

I just-

I give up.

Constantly tries to sneak mutli-packs of energy drinks into the cart to the point you’re convinced he is going to keel over from heart failure and kidney stones by the age of 20.

Has his airpods in 90% of the time and treats the isles as his personal dance floor.

He busting them MOVES and performing the MJ moonwalk while in the dairy section.

ONCE HE SLID TOO FAST AND SLIPPED ON HIS REAR IN FRONT OF LIKE 12 PEOPLE LMAOO

He was DEAD silent the rest of the trip.

Probably the most serene shopping experience you’ve had to date.

The checkout clerks occasionally hit on Mr. Sore-Ass over here.

Until he opens his mouth and they realise he’s a total dolt and question how you have the patience for him.

You don’t know either honestly.

The whole bagging experience is spent with them shooting you sympathetic glances as if to say ‘sis you shoulda’ left him at home’.

Yes, yes you should have.

Never a dull moment with Teru as your shopping partner.

KUROO:

LITERALLY LIKE A MIDDLE-AGED MAN OR A TODDLER WHEN Y’ALL GO SHOPPING THERE IS NEVER AN EVEN MIDDLE-GROUND.

Frequently cracks lame-ass food puns or dad jokes that make you want to crawl into a hole and die.

You have competitions on who can come up with the most and the loser always faces a penalty.

Kuroo and creating penalties do NOT mix safely so you better hope you win.

“I love you a waffle lot.”

Proceeds to hold up a wrapped waffle.

Ok that one was kinda cute you’ll let it slide.

“I ap-peach-iate you Kuroo.”

Cue HyenaLaugh.mp3

“Want a pizza me baby? Bitch peas, doughnut take me lightly.”

You changed your mind.

You didn’t talk to him the duration of that shopping experience, no penalty could be as horrifying as what just came out of his mouth.

“(Y/N)... sometimes I feel like you don’t carrot all.”

You slapped him with said carrot and obviously had to pay for it after.

You forced him to eat it raw.

He is the definition of Neutral disaster when you go shopping.

Shitty food puns aside, he is actually very responsible when making sure you both get what you need.

Not without tons of poking, prodding, and blowing into your ear while you’re trying to decide what ingredients to buy for dinner.

You contemplated serving him a plate of bubbling snot and moulded broccoli seasoned with rosemary.

Bone apple teeth, bitch.

Ofc you didn’t because he always pulls out the puppy eyes and cuddles card after since he knows he’s well and truly rattled your patience lmao.

Actually picks really healthy food options?? Being the captain of a team he has the responsibility of keeping his health in top condition and leading by example so at least he knows the right ingredients to make a bomb-ass and nutritious meal ig.

Y’all always bicker and tease each other at the checkout which is usually great amusement for the clerk serving you as they often smirk and perceive you as an old married couple.

Which tbh you kinda are, it feels like it at least.

Still such a big asshole though lmao you never leave the store without your sanity being scathed.

KUNIMI:

Honestly just wanted an excuse to make jokes at the expense of the Aoba Johsai teammates.

and what better candidate for cracking these than Kunimi.

He’s a very chill partner to have tag along with you on your endeavours.

Not without some grumbling and groaning on his part though, lazy bitch.

You always finish shopping trips with a busted lung at how much you have been laughing though with some of the SHADY ASS REMARKS HE MAKES ABOUT THE OTHER TEAM MATES.

You were outside the store when you both spotted an angry looking Doberman tied to a nearby post.

“Smh who let Kyotani outside again.”

You hadn’t even set foot in the store yet and he was already spitting flaming insults.

[Walking up to the automatic double doors]

“Damn Oikawa move out of my way.”

Oikawa just tryna live and he keeps getting roasted for his flat cheeks

#StopOikawaAssShaming

Ten minutes of scouring the store later he picks up a spikey Kiwano and compares it to Iwaizumi’s hair.

Proceeds to beg you not to tell my boy Iwa because he KNOWS he will get decked to the gym floor.

Passers by often wonder why you’re wheezing and producing noises like a boiling kettle.

When I tell you no one is safe, I mean N O O N E.

“These Yule logs really out here looking like Matsukawa’s brows.”

The finisher was when Kunimi picked up a turnip and said

“Huh, kinda looks like Kindaichi.”

I just-

He could roast a whole chicken in minutes from the burn of these comments I stg.

You can now never look at the Seijou team without various foods or inanimate objects plaguing your thoughts.

Thanks, Kunimi.

#hq #haikyuu #kuroo tetsurō #nishinoya yuu #bokuto kotaro #terushima yūji #karasuno #johzenji #nekoma #fukurodani #haikyuu headcanons #hq headcanons #haikyuu x reader #aoba johsai #kunimi akira #seijou #seijoh

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 3 years

Text

Crimson Shadows: Prologue

Jercy Vampire AU: Prologue

Masterlist for other parts, bad headcanons, and an abundance of crackships.

Information guide to this fic

Ahhh it’s finally here. Today I've been alive 21 years and one of my greatest accomplishments was building this community who read all my terrible headcanons, and weird fanfics and the crack-ships I insist on writing for. Thank you for being here and supporting me. This blog would literally be nothing without you. And I hope you enjoy this fic. I have a feeling it’s going to be quite the journey!

The evening air is ripe with the poison of the city. Vendors pack up their carts of hotdogs and sweet packets and the flying pages of magazines, more than ready to go home after another long, tiresome, blistering hot day. People shuffle along, scuffing the pavement in that way that says they’re already sick and tired of the week and it’s only Aquila, the first day. The smell of unclean air- tobacco and candyfloss, a vape of course- drifts between people’s fisted fingers like a vile wind made just to kill you. The sun has passed the tallest building in Masina, and sinks steadily towards the Zafir river. A small almost unnoticeable breeze hurries over the shorter concrete slabs of home and office, trying as hard as it might to land somewhere that loves it; the trees, or the grass, it’ll even settle for a window flower pot. But no luck, for it is slapped again and again with hard, cold, grey slabs before dying against them in a soft sigh.

A person steps out of the backdoor of a restaurant, tightening a stained apron and scowling as they throw a box in the dumpster across the alley. They feel the lost breeze like a caress on their cheek, but they don’t do anything about it, uncaring of wind, and water, and flowers, and life. Or at least that is the fate of humans, to not care for anything but themselves, and this one does not seem any different. There are much more pressing matters at hand. It is a delight, sinful delicious delight, then when a shadow moves past that reeking, green dump and slips in behind a scowling person and swinging door.

The kitchen they enter is hot. So hot it feels like the inside of an oven. And there is noise coming from everything. Dirty cutlery being shoved into a large plastic bin for washing. Sizzling pans at every stove. The smooth cut of vegetables on the metal table. The hiss of gas as it opens and a flame sputters to life. The bang of the pot as it hits the stove. The splash of plates as they fall into soapy water. And the shouting is a surround sound speaker, directly into your eardrums. ‘To your left.’ ‘The bechamel.’ ‘Behind you.’ ‘Watch the plate.’ ‘Onions chopped.’ ‘Make way for the soup.’ Someone check this! The large silver doors on the far end slam open and a flustered waiter stumbles in. “I need the gnocchi at table nine or I need hard drugs.” They say, voice loud, rushed, but not annoyed.

Someone laughs, and the sound disappears under splattering oil. “I have coke in the car but you have to wait till after my shift.”

The waiter, the cooks, the cleaners, huff a laugh and for one brief moment it is the loudest sound in the kitchen and then an over-boiling pot makes the flames burst and everyone is back to that familiar chaos. Someone hands the waiter a gleaming white bowl with steaming, tomatoey gnocchi pooled perfectly in it; a small leaf of basil decorates the top like a ridiculous green hat. The waiter gives a relieved smile and rushes out with breathless concern. Must get it to table nine, now!

A shadow moves away from the huge refrigerator and slips into the pantry. A chef, decked in a black buttoned apron and flushed red cheeks lunges into the pantry, already reaching for a new packet of something. It’s too far, they have to go further in, step on the sliding ladder. They climb up a rung, two, and reach, reach, reach, Their hand closes around a crinkling bag of long-grain rice and they smile in satisfaction. With misplaced efficiency they hop down from the ladder, and land on a bag of potatoes, falling before they can help it. Someone catches them.

The first thing they see is green eyes, as bright and unnerving as shining emeralds at the bottom of a cursed sea. And then a face, beautiful, so unbelievably, unnaturally beautiful with sharp angles and full lips and rich copper brown skin. And then finally a wide, bright smile, full of gleaming teeth and sharp fangs.

“What is your name darling?” The lush, pink mouth moves, giving them flashes of those pretty teeth. And that voice is deep, and rolling, and promises seduction of the richest kind.

“Agreya,” They mutter, blinking, shocked, hypnotised.

“Thank you for this meal.” He smiles, and the chef knows they'll follow those sparkling green eyes to the middle of the desert.

He leans down, kisses their neck. There’s a sharp sting like being splashed with hot oil, or discovering a tiny cut when you squeeze a lemon. And then there is nothing. Inky blackness and swirls of red and heat and desire, but there is no feeling.

He lifts his head up, running his tongue over red-stained teeth. “You should eat more protein.” His mouth lifts at the corner as his face hides a laugh.

He kisses their forehead ever so softly, and they fall apart at the seams. “Goodbye Agreya.”

There are only shadows and food and looming ladders. Agreya steps over the bag of potatoes, rice still clutched in their hand, and staggers into the ever bustling kitchen.

“There you are!” Someone exclaims, grabbing the packet from their hand and racing to another station.

“Agreya, what the hell is on your neck, it looks like you stabbed yourself with a fork. Jesus, get yourself cleaned up and help with the lentil soup. We’ve got a full house tonight.”

Agreya blinks, rubs their eyes, wipes the crimson stain on their neck and just like that the world comes back into focus. They are shocked out of the daze, brought on by… by… by…

“Agreya you good?”

“Yea,” They smile, and start washing lentils.

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

Tags (if you want to be added to/taken off the tag list all my channels of communication are open):

@msdrpreist

@sparkythunderstorm

@aalikun

@crazy-stupid-bean

@queen-of-demons-and-hell

@pjo-hp-things

@nishlicious-01

@spoopylucy

@larrikin-is-a-himbo

@cyra04

@leydiangelo

#jercy vampire au #jercy #Jason grace #Percy jackson #prologue #percy #jackson #jason #grace #pjjg fanfic #pjjg series #baby fanfic #baby fanfic series

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tagsecretsanta · 3 years

Text

From @Thundergeek59

to @little-old-rachel

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author mentioned above!

AN: This is only my second fic and I thought it was only going to be a couple of paragraphs, however, Jeff decided to take this over totally and ran away with it. I now know what you writers mean when you say your characters take over! I hope you like it, I had fun writing it

Rating: Gen/Family fun

Wordcount: 2900 ish

Jeff sat up and swing his legs over the side of the bed, toeing on his slippers. It was still dark as he reached for his cane and shrugged his dressing gown round his shoulders. “May as well get up as toss and turn in bed”. Stuffing his communicator cuff in his pocket, he padded out his door and headed to the kitchen.

Grabbing a small bottle of juice and a couple of biscuits he headed out towards the pool deck and sat on one of the loungers. Idly munching the biscuit he gazed at the pool, lit up by the underwater lights, and his mind wandering back to Gordon’s pre-Olympic training when he used to time him with his stopwatch, then chuckling as he remembered having to dive-bomb his little fishie in a vain effort to get him out of the pool, several hours later.

“Oh Lucy, our little fish is all grown and you’d be so proud of him – of all of them”

With a sigh, he pulled himself up on his cane and continued walking down the path to the beach where Virgil had thoughtfully built a bench for him so he didn’t have to sit on the sand, which only thinly covered the sharp volcanic rock. From here he could look out to the bird colony on Mateo. He remembered his first few weeks back home, when easily overwhelmed by boys and noise, he had sought the solitude by the beach. Just listening to the waves ebb and flow calmed his mind.

He looked to the red glint just gracing the edges of the horizon and realised Gordon would be up soon to power though his pool routine while Scott would be just behind, setting off round the island on his daily run. Eight years and some things never changed while others were irredeemably different.

It was Virgil who caught him by surprise with a hand gently placed on his shoulder. “Hey dad, we’re going to get the tree now, do you want to come along?” “Thanks for the offer but I think I better stay and help your Grandma with dinner preparations.” He declined. “You sure? We’d love you to join us and anyway, Max is there to help in the kitchen and Ridley and Kayo will be available to fix any potential culinary catastrophes”.

“I’d only be a hindrance with this” he replied, waving his stick. “Actually dad, I have an idea I think you might like”. Intrigued, Jeff let himself be persuaded, hoping he wouldn’t regret it.

As soon as Virgil had set down Two at the edge of the forest, Scott and John set about configuring a suitable pod. With Gordon awaiting the arrival of Lady Penelope and Alan still in bed, the party consisted of Jeff and his three eldest and he was looking forward to just doing something social with his boys, a nice change from being ferried to hospital appointments. He was, however, starting to wonder what form Virgil’s surprise idea would take when he heard a soft cough behind him, announcing said son’s arrival.

The sight that greeted him as he turned around was not what he was expecting. In front of Virgil was a fully functioning hoversleigh, complete with T2’s green livery with the addition of red flames down the side, a red padded seat with a matching throw. Words failed him, causing a worried frown to appear between Virgil’s brows, until a deep chuckle rose from Jeff, and a smile twitched at the corner of Virgil’s mouth, pleased that his dad had felt comfortable enough to let his lighter side out. “Certainly is different” laughed Jeff as Virgil helped him into the sleigh.

Scott and John’s faces were a picture as the hatch descended with Virgil and their father. “Oh my word, you really did it!” John exclaimed as both brothers tried to stifle their guffaws when they saw their father with a green bobble hat and gloves, looking like one of Santa’s helpers sitting in the sleigh.

“Well, I’d been tinkering with the old hover bikes back at the ranch and decided to see how far I could take the modifications and, well, here she is...”

“Well, let’s see what this baby can do” said Jeff as he pushed the controller forward and... nothing. A quizzical look at Virgil “Safety feature. You gotta push the red button first but be careful, I haven’t fully tested.....” He couldn’t finish the sentence due to the cloud of snow covering him.

“WooHooooo” Jeff whooped as he surged forward down the track, leaving them all brushing snow off themselves.

“You do remember that he likes to go very, very fast” Scott said

“Yep, better jump in the pod and catch him before he heads out of sight” added John. ‘C’mon Virg, hop on”.

Scott steered the pod at speed, following the trail of snow kicked up by the sleigh. After several hair-raising twists and turns Jeff had managed to turn the sleigh into a clearing and was doing doughnut spins, thoroughly enjoying himself. Finally he came screeching to a halt mere inches from his sons, who were once more coated with a dusting of snow. “Gee Virgil, that’s gotta be the best fun I’ve had in years! Reminds me of that time Lee and I tested out the moon rover on Alfie.”

“I’m pleased you had fun, but I hadn’t got around to telling giving you the low-down on all it’s features”.

“Well, as an Airforce pilot you kinda just learn on the job, part of the fun really, isn’t that right Scott”. “Sure dad, but you just about gave me a heart attack back there.” “Ah sorry, Scotty, but you gotta admit, if it had been you trying her out, you’d have done the exact same thing”. “I guess so” Scott conceded.

While Jeff and Scott had been talking, John had been surveying area, seeking out the perfect tree. “That one, over there, what do you think Vigil”. “Looks good to me, lemme bring the pod into position” Virgil replied as he hopped up onto the pod and drove it over to the tree, Scott and Jeff following in it’s wake.

“Ok guys let’s do this. John, you take that side. Virgil, get into position with the saw and dad and I will be over here to tell you when to stop cutting and get the pod grapples ready” Pure IR commander front and centre. “Yes, and I’ll be shouting encouragement from the sidelines” chuckled Jeff. He’d had time to see his boys work together over the past few months and marvelled at how seamlessly they all fitted together, deferring to each other’s greater expertise. He’d learnt from bitter experience that his opinions on the best way for them to do something, more often than not screwed with their well oil system and got them second-guessing themselves, which was not what was needed in the field.

He was fortunate, so fortunate that his boys had developed the way they had, working in the way they did and in the process, turning IR into something more than what he had originally envisaged. He’d been away from it all for too long to be able to step back in and run it the way he had and he was coming to terms with that, despite how much his pride and sense of usefulness had been hurt.

“You’d have loved this Lucy – just look at our boys working so well together, just like they did when they were little”.

“You ok dad?” John was first to notice the faraway look in his fathers’ eyes. “Yes, I’m fine, just telling your mother about you all”. John gave Scott a look, who in turn quirked an eyebrow at Virgil. Virgil imperceptibly shook is head. Jeff, watching the exchange and remembering how they had been doing this since they were children – saying so much without uttering a word. “I know those looks, and no, I’m not crazy, you gotta remember that for 8 years I only had your mother to talk to, so it’s got to be a bit of a habit.”

The boys looked anywhere but at their father, feeling caught out with muffled apologies. “C’mon lets get this tree strapped onto the pod and back home” Virgil successfully diverted the conversation to the matter in hand.

It didn’t take too long to get back to Thunderbird 2, Jeff taking a slightly more sedate pace on the return journey. What the boys didn’t know was that the reason for the slower pace would make itself apparent as soon as they exited the pod.

Whooooosh...... splat! A perfect hit and a whoop of joy from the elf in the sleigh. Scott looked down at the remains of the snowball that was gracing his uniform. “You did not just snowball me, did you? Scott scooped up a handful himself “You know what that means.....” “You wouldn’t hit an old man in a sleigh?” Words were barely out of his mouth when Whumph... direct shot to the sleigh, there followed a rapid volley from the sleigh to the other two sons. Virgil and John only had time to cast a quick glance at each other when they realised what was going on before Boooooffffff..... fluuuuufffff.......Thwaaaak!

In the meantime, Scott was building a small cache of snowballs, ever prepared, ready to dive into the fray. He decided that his chances were better if he and Jeff teamed up against Virgil and John. Whilst Jeff could quickly manoeuvre the sleigh out of some of the shots, not all could be avoided. Virgil had the strength and John had the trajectory calculations going on in his head, weighing up the best type of snowball for the distances involved – enough to make a good splatter but not hard enough to cause damage to sleigh or person. The were quite a formidable team against age and experience.

“Okay, okay, I concede defeat” Jeff laughed as one final snowball splattered against his gloved hands raised in mock surrender. It had been a long time since he’d seen them rosy cheeked in the cold air, just enjoying themselves, “Well, I think it’s definitely time to head back to the Island” John shivered as they loaded pod, Christmas tree and sleigh onto Two’s elevator. “But we need to make a quick stop off en-route” added Virgil. “What could we possibly need on Christmas eve that we haven’t already got” Jeff queried. “Wait and see” was his reply.

Thunderbird Two took off as soon as everyone was strapped in. Virgil and Scott in the pilot and co-pilot seats with Jeff and John behind in the passenger seats. Jeff regarded his middle son who was staring out of the window “Penny for your thoughts” he said. “Hmm? Oh it’s nothing, just daydreaming really”. “Uh huh, and would that daydream have anything to do with a lovely young astronaut that’s waiting for you back home?” asked Jeff.

John could feel the heat creeping up to his cheeks “Maybe, just idly looking forward to having a few days downtime together. Our schedules rarely coincide, so it’ll be nice to spend a few days dirtside with her”. “You thinking of bringing her into the family business?” Jeff asked. John had not seen that one coming and, clearly agitated, tried to steer the conversation away. Truth be told, he had thought about it but that would imply a whole load of commitment he wasn’t sure either of them could give right now.

“Not really thought about it to be honest” was all he offered. “You sure could do with some additional help up there on Five and she is a fully trained astronaut ....and... well, I like her” You could have knocked John down with a feather. What the heck had happened to his father and who was this amiable alien who had taken over his body!

Vigil raised and eyebrow at Scott while all this conversation was going on, realising it was touching on a subject neither of them had even dared ask John about. Scott quirked an eyebrow back, a small smile dancing at the corner of his mouth. He’d love to stay and listen in but felt it was getting into personal territory that neither of them had a right to enter without invitation.

“Just stopping off here for a few minutes guys. Scott, wanna come with?” Virgil asked, the please remained unsaid but was clear from his expression. “Sure, we’ll be back in no time, no need to get up you two.” Scott replied as they both exited the cockpit.

“Ok, I know, it’s not my place to interfere” Jeff continued “but take it from someone who’s been there, when you find someone you just feel totally comfortable with, you don’t just let it slip away. I’ve seen you two together John, the way you interact, believe me, I’ve never seen you look so comfortable with anybody outside this family, with the exception perhaps of Penny.”

Clearly blindsided, John being John, wanted a bit more clarification “Dad, when you said family business, you didn’t just mean International Rescue, did you?” “Well son, that would be up to you” Jeff left the ball in John’s court.

“This thing we have, it’s quite new and we’re having to work round rotas, so we haven’t actually had a great deal of time together. Certainly not enough to make as big a decision as I think you’re suggesting”. “Son, sometimes you just gotta trust your gut and leave your head and logic to one side. That’s all I’m saying”.

Their conversation was interrupted by Scott and Virgil entering the cockpit with several boxes carrying the logo of a well known Swiss chocolatier and four steaming takeaway cups. “Thought we could all use some hot chocolate” Virgil passed out the cups to welcoming hands. “Just what we needed. Got anything in these boxes to go with the cocoa?” Jeff asked. “Sadly, these are for home. I promised Kayo we’d pick up some goodies for everyone to enjoy with our Christmas mimosas and I’d hate to be the one to tell her they didn’t make it home.” Replied Virgil. “Well it’s a good job I popped into the patisserie down the road while you were busy getting the drinks and got these” Scott beamed, clearly collecting extra brownie points as he carefully opened the smaller box, revealing the most wonderful choux pastry creations liberally topped with dark and white chocolate ganache, lightly dusted with edible glitter and gold leaf. “Wondered where you’d wandered off to” mumbled Virgil mid-chew, trying not to spray glitter everywhere. “You’re not the only one who knows the little out of the way places”

“Neither of you would know about either of those places if Eos and I hadn’t scoped them out first” John huffed. He was pleased the conversation had moved on from the rather uncomfortable personal probing of earlier and was quite happy to keep it that way.

“Call it teamwork” Virgil added as he slipped into the pilot’s chair. “Well, from what I see, teamwork is certainly something you boys excel at and I couldn’t be prouder” Jeff added as he raised his hot chocolate in salute to his eldest three.

Waiting to meet them in the hangar were the two youngest, Alan bouncing on the balls of his feet, Gordon trying unsuccessfully to hide his delight at the size of the tree that was appearing from Two. What they hadn’t expected to see was hidden behind the tree. “Oh my God!” Gordon exclaimed as he caught a glimpse of green and red. He and Alan ran over to check out what had caught his eye and of course, check out the tree.

Wow, it’s a beaut” enthused Gordon, gently stroking the machine. “I thought you were all talk when you were going on about fixing up one of the old hover bikes”. Virgil just shrugged, enjoying the youngster’s reaction to his handiwork. “You even painted on the flames!” Alan shrieked in delight.

“Well, hello to you too” said Jeff, slightly miffed but totally understanding of their enthusiasm for the new piece of kit rather than welcoming him back.

“Oh, hi dad” Alan finally waved, not taking his eyes off the machine. “You know, I was the one your brother allowed to test drive that thing” Jeff added. That got their attention. “Aw Virgil, I thought I was your favourite brother” whined Gordon “You know it’s always been me” replied Alan as they both turned towards there father, their interest piqued. Virgil just rolled his eyes. “So, how was she? Was she fast? Did you fall out? Did you test it to it’s limits?” so many questions tumbled from Alan who was now more interested in what his father had to say. “Walk me to the elevator and I’ll tell you all about it” said Jeff putting an arm around Alan’s shoulder. “C’mon Gordon” Alan gestured for his brother to join him. Gordon ran over, slipping quietly under Jeff’s other arm. Jeff positively beamed as he finally had their full attention and a new tale to enthral them.

The three older brothers looked at each other and smiled. It’d been a long time since they’d seen their dad so relaxed and happy.

Definitely the best day he’d had since returning from the Oort cloud and perhaps a new Christmas precedent had been set with the hoversleigh for future tree collecting.

End

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #tag team secret santa #secret santa 2020 #jeff tracy #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #alan tracy #grandma tracy #kayo kyrano #Lady Penelope #Ridley O'Bannon

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higuchimon · 3 years

Text

[fanfic] Savor The Display: Chapter 1

Mizael quite liked the fact that his human clothes – wherever did those come from, anyway? - covered up his arms. He didn’t have to see the names written in elegant markings there. He knew what they said, of course. He’d been able to read them as far back as he could remember.

On one arm, the name was that of his soulmate. On the other, the name of his mortal enemy. Not everyone was blessed with such clear knowledge of their love or their enemy. He knew well that Durbe and Nasch were soulmates – they shared marks that glowed when they stood close to one another.

Or so they had. Mizael didn’t know if they still did, with Nasch being missing. But they were soulmates.

Mizael didn’t know if Alit had a soulmate or not. He’d never said anything, and even when he did talk about something, Mizael seldom listened to him in the first place. He remembered Merag having mentioned once that she saw no color and likely wouldn’t until she met her soulmate. He didn’t envy her that.

He knew very well about Vector’s soulmate.

Humans, and apparently Barians, had an infinite number of ways in which one’s soulmate could be detected or observed or discovered. Mizael’s names were just one of them. For the longest time he’d wondered what the name on the left arm had meant…

He did wonder exactly what humans thought about marks like his, and decided that it wouldn’t do any harm to do some research. Humans were inferior to Barians in every possible way, but they did have a long history of soul-marks, so perhaps someone had written something about that.

Thusly, Mizael made his way to a place he’d heard about – the local library. The unfortunate part of that was that he didn’t know where the library was in the first place. His avenues for information about the human world were few and far between, unless he wanted to grab a random human and demand information.

I think I’ll have to. He had a suspicion that Vector might know, but he didn’t really want to ask Vector, for a multitude of reasons. Amongst those being that he didn’t know where Vector was right now. Probably still in his ‘Shingetsu Rei’ disguise, which Mizael didn’t really approve of to start with.

He cast a few glances around, trying to determine who he could ask. There weren’t many humans around who looked his apparent age and the adults all seemed too busy. Not that such would stop him if he couldn’t find anyone else, but he presumed someone who would be of ‘school age’ would be more likely to have the information he wanted.

A noise caught his attention and he followed where it came from until he stood in a tight, dirty alleyway. His lip curled at the stench that slunk through the air. He’d never seen a place so foul before. Empty boxes had been tossed here, subject to the whims of the weather, and from the lack of light, only one exit led in or out. Tiny puddles of oil-streaked water splattered here and there, gleaming faintly in what little light managed to work its way down there.

That little light also revealed those who lurked here. A half dozen burly humans – the largest of them wasn’t even half the size of Gilag – lounged on piles of boxes, chatting amongst themselves. Mizael regarded them with a definite air of turning around to leave, when one of them glanced up and saw him there.

“Hey, who invited the pretty boy?” That one half-shouted. “I mean, we could use a few more decorations around this place!” He seemed to think he’d made some sort of amazing joke, throwing his head back and guffawing.

Mizael wasn’t impressed. He didn’t know a great deal about humans but he had a suspicion that these people weren’t going to be able to tell him where the library was. That was just his luck.

“Well, pretty boy?” The one who’d spoken leered at him. “Come on over here. I want a better look at you.”

“No.” Mizael didn’t move for a second. Nothing else needed to be said, and he turned around. He stopped a breath later; had he seen someone lurking over there, just out of sight? It seemed nothing more than a flicker of something, but he couldn’t be certain.

He hadn’t really taken a full step before the idiot human spoke again.

“He really is pretty, isn’t he? Bet all he’s good for is -”

Hearing what the human thought brought Mizael back around, hand dropping down to his deck at once. Dueling humans wasn’t really fair; these weren't Kaito, they couldn’t give him anything close to a fair fight, but right now, he didn’t care. For what he’d said, Galaxy Eyes would feed very well. “What did you say?” Mizael refused to yell. He didn’t need to. The earth under his feet shook with the force of his rage. How dare these humans say something so vile about him? Who had given them the impression they could get away with such filth? The human grinned at him. “Oh, didn’t you hear me? Let me repeat it.” “That won’t be necessary.” Mizael bit the words off. “If you think you can speak of me like that, you will regret it. Do you duel?”

“Sure do!” The thug laughed. “I’ve got a perfect win record, too! You want a duel, you got one!” He started to lever himself to his feet.

Mizael looked forward to tearing this idiot apart. He hadn’t yet pulled out his deck before a very familiar arm slid around his waist and he was pulled back against Vector, who dropped a small kiss on his neck.

“You’re not going to have fun without me, are you?” Vector purred. Mizael suspected Tskumo Yuuma wouldn’t even recognize his ‘friend’ Shingetsu Rei right now. “That’s very cruel of you. You should at least let me get some popcorn first.” He laughed softly, breath puffing against the side of Mizael’s neck. “You know how I love a good show.”

The humans muttered among themselves, then the leader laughed even louder than before. “Look at that! He’s got a boyfriend! One of those prissy schoolkids!”

Vector’s eyes glinted softly. Mizael doubted the humans would have seen that, but he did, and he knew what it meant. How much pain these fools were in now depended on which one of them dealt with them.

“Are you my boyfriend?” Vector murmured. His right hand brushed against Mizael’s right forearm. A great rush of warmth swept through Mizael at the contact, even though his clothes. The touch of his soulmate on him – Mizael hated the direction his thoughts turned after that.

“We are soulmates,” he growled the words out. Vector’s name on his right arm, Tenjo Kaito, his mortal enemy, on his left arm. He’d known for ages, but that didn’t make it any easier.

The humans howled even more at that.

“A soulmate?” The leader shook his head, snorting. “What a joke. So, you gonna duel or not, pretty boy?”

Vector stepped back, not even gracing the thugs with a look, regarding Mizael in anticipation. “You take care of this and I’ve got a couple of things to teach you afterwards. Have you ever had a chocolate milkshake?”

“Never heard of it.” Mizael wasn’t afraid to admit that. Humans treats had never appealed to him, but he’d also never spent much time in human form. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to see what pleasures this place had to offer.

“The sooner you’re done with them, the better, then,” Vector promised. Mizael glanced over to the humans, who had no idea of what was about to happen to them.

He wouldn’t make it hurt as much as he could. He wanted this to be quick and clean. It would probably be the only clean thing in this disgusting alleyway.

“Duel!” He snapped the word out, and waded into battle.

Chocolate milkshakes were, Mizael decided, quite a worthy reward for the effort that he’d put in. The thug hadn’t really given him many issues, nor had the two who’d demanded to duel him afterwards. When he’d finished them both off in a two on one duel, Mizael decided that was all he felt like doing. It probably helped that the rest of their gang ran screaming in fear.

Vector took the time to search the pockets of those Mizael defeated, and used that to pay for their treat. Mizael might have cared, if those idiots hadn’t been human and hadn’t insulted him the way that they had. Besides, something useful should be done with their funds. They weren’t using it on hygiene, obviously.

“What are you doing around here anyway?” Vector wanted to know. His eyes narrowed briefly. “You’re not trying to find Kaito again, are you?”

“What if I was?” Mizael snapped back. “He’s the enemy of my soul.” He rested one hand on his left arm. “It is our fate to fight one another.”

Vector made an unpleasant noise before he returned to his own milkshake. “You didn’t answer the question.

“I was looking for the library,” Mizael admitted. “I have something I want to look up.”

That got a very suspicious look from Vector. “What?”

Mizael regarded the depths of what had been his milkshake. Being in possession of a mouth and throat was much more interesting than he’d first imagined it might be. Was this one reason Vector seemed to enjoy spending so much time as a human? He could taste things? Eat things?

It was a much messier form of intake than absorbing energy through one’s gems, of course. But perhaps it did have something to recommend it.

“Mizael?” Vector prodded at him with the tip of one foot. “What did you want to look up?”

He turned a bright blazing glare on Vector, who basked in it briefly, then shrugged. “I wanted to research how humans view soulmate marks. Especially like ours.”

Vector glowered at him. “Why? What else would you need to know? Right arm, we’re made for each other. Left arm, mortal enemies destined to slay one another.” He snickered softly at that.

Mizael didn’t know if Vector had a name on his left arm. He’d never seen it, which he knew wasn’t usual, given their existences in Barian World. But more than once he’d seen the way Vector snickered over the thought of a mortal enemy. Perhaps it was Tskumo Yuuma? It would certainly explain Vector’s long-term disguise of ‘Shingetsu Rei’.

“When are you planning to drop that facade?” Mizael wanted to know. “It doesn’t really get you anything.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised about that,” Vector replied, laughing softly. “But you’ll see what I have planned soon enough. I might even need your help before it’s all over with. You and Durbe both.”

Mizael wasn’t so sure about that. Though if it meant he had a chance to come up against Kaito again, he might go along with it. Power sang through his veins at the thought of Galaxy Eyes Tachyon chewing through Galaxy Eyes Photon once and for all. It would happen, sooner or later. He knew that for a fact.

Vector toyed with a napkin. “You know, there’s a chance that he could see us here.”

“What?” Mizael stiffened a trifle. He cared very little for Vector’s actual plans, but the overall goal to destroy the Astral Messenger and save their world meant more than anything, no matter how little he liked it. He started to get up, but Vector shook his head.

“He’s not here right now.” Vector waved Mizael back down to his seat. “He’s running some after-school errands on the other side of town for his grandma.” Vector’s lips twitched. “Apparently he does this a lot.”

Mizael wasn’t even certain of what a grandma was. Perhaps he would look that up if he ever got to the library. For now he just shrugged. “If you say so.” He was more interested in finding Kaito and finding the information he wanted than anything else. Yuuma was a respectable duelist, but not nearly on his own level. Though he wouldn’t turn down the thought of Yuuma calling Kaito to him.

Vector finished the last of his milkshake, then met Mizael’s eyes. “Are you done?”

Mizael knew that look very well. He pushed his own glass away and stood up. Vector joined him, the two strolling out of the shop and heading away.

Vector knew the city better than Mizael did, and guided him carefully through it, making a point to avoid any gatherings of younger humans. Once or twice he darted down alleyways and less populated thoroughfares, tugging Mizael after him, until Mizael had no idea whatsoever where they were.

They didn’t stop until they reached a long alleyway, more brightly lit than the one they’d crossed paths with those ignorant thugs in. Vector gestured to the far end of it.

“Alit and Gilag’s place is down that way. Are you staying there?”

Once again Mizael’s lip curled upward. “Why would I stay with them?” He would if he had no choice, but his first preference would always be to return to Barian World. Technically speaking he wasn’t supposed to do that until the mission had been finished. Being able to control feeble human minds meant he could acquire lodgings wherever he chose.

Vector’s lips twitched the tiniest fraction. Something pleased him a great deal. Then, without warning, he grabbed hold of Mizael’s collar and slammed him against the nearest wall. He crushed his lips hard against Mizael’s.

Truth to tell, this was the first time in his entire life that Mizael had ever kissed anyone. He’d never had lips before. Feeling Vector’s against his wasn’t something he’d ever thought about. It sparked a rush of heat to flow through him, and he started to lean into the kiss, as something began to intrude against his lips.

Tongue? He’d managed to get used to having a tongue. It was useful to speak with in this form. But he’d never thought about using it in kissing.

He wasn’t sure if Vector had that much experience in kissing, but he clearly knew what he was doing, and as far as Mizael could tell, they were both enjoying the situation a great deal.

Mizael focused so much on Vector’s lips on him, on the way that his hands traced against Mizael’s own skin, that he almost didn’t hear the quick footsteps, or the sudden sharp gasp of breath. He only noticed something as off when Vector broke the kiss and stepped back, turning towards the end of the alleyway that they hadn’t entered by.

“Yuuma-kun?” Vector sounded different, a little higher and quivering. Mizael turned to see Tskumo Yuuma standing there, packages dropped around his feet, staring in surprise and shock. Astral wasn’t there, which worried Mizael a trifle.

“Shingetsu??”

To Be Continued

Notes: Vector does love a good show – even if he has to arrange for it himself. More than once…

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #ygo zexal #Vector (Zexal)#mizael (zexal)#Vector x Mizael #mizael x vector #chapters: savor the display #au: soulmates #zexal10th

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denbroughbill · 5 years

Text

chapter 1 of “sky so blue”

word count 2.3k

author’s note based on the hc i wrote that recieved positive feedback! the medieval times written are not completely accurate just to be a little humorous and have fun with this story :) the lowercase letters are intended. also please let me know if the paragraph spacing is awkward! i’m working from tumblr mobile

there was a crooked, tiny, wooden cottage on the outskirts of the town of derry. the ivies outside had overgrown, wrapped around themselves and found comfort in the cracks of the house’s walls, making it an unruly sight to by-passers, but the owners enjoyed it that way. inside, there were shelves upon shelves lining the walls. they had books that were not in order and glass bottles of different shapes and sizes, filled with adder’s tongue, baby’s breath, and dragon’s blood.

this is where beverly lived.

beverly was a young woman, fair skin and face splattered with freckles, who was shunned when she cut her own hair with the blade of a sharp sword, offering her auburn locks wrapped in a tight braid to the norse goddess, frigg, ruler of marriage and love.

and it worked.

beverly’s partner ben was a blacksmith, who worked closely with the kingdom — their go-to man when armor and weapons required repair, which spared beverly from being burned at the stake for her witchcraft. he worked outside in their shed behind the cottage which held his swage block and hammers and bellows and drifts.

in the afternoons, there was a man in a hooded cloak. he would bring gifts of fresh bread and candles for ben and beverly, and ben would allow him inside.

his name was prince edward.

prince edward walked from his castle to visit beverly and ben, walked for hours starting at night until he could begin to see the sun rise on the horizon. at one point before, his feet would ache with every step he took, but he was used to this now. he had no fear in his mind or heart when he would look towards the village and see the dim lights from the houses, and he would set off on his trek to the village.

sometimes he would look back, though. he would look back at this fantastic castle, towering over the meek rest of the village. his grey eyes narrowed in anger, he looked back in disgust.

he did not have to duck under the ivy leaves that reached out to touch him or the herb plants in hanging pots. he was a smaller man, and looking up at the dangling plants was similar to looking at the chandeliers that adorned the castle.

candles were lit for edward’s arrival, and beverly smiled her all-knowing smile, beckoning him closer.

“so we meet again, edward.”

edward rolled his eyes in good humor, sitting on the wooden stool across from beverly, her work space separating the two.

“bev, please, i told you to call me eddie.”

eddie liked beverly because they shared the same belief system that the natural riches of the earth and their loved ones were worth more than anything. prince eddie was never one to decorate himself in silver or jewels; to him, every rock was precious, every ray of light golden.

she removed the clear crystal from the top of her deck of cards and began to shuffle. she had eddie shuffle the cards, too, filling them with his energy, thinking about the longing question he wanted beverly to reveal the answer to.

being a prince kept him hopelessly cut off from the rest of the beautiful world, and romance was something he constantly found himself craving. he never let those thoughts disturb him, for he knew that it wouldn't happen anytime soon. sometimes eddie wished that his prince charming would come rescue him from his dismal world of passivity. he would take him traveling all around the world, and he would assist him as he made his kingdom a better place. after one month, he would take his hand in his, kneel on one leg, pull out a wonderful diamond ring, and ask for his hand in marriage.

“this is the queen of swords — reversed,” beverly laid down a card on the table in front of eddie. pictured was the queen of swords, sitting on a stone throne, holding a sword in her right hand. this card was upside down.

“there is a treacherous enemy. a resentful, cold-hearted person blocking your relationships and clouding your vision.”

eddie shook his head, laughing, “that’s just my mom, bev.” she has also been shown as the queen of pentacles and the devil.

beverly pulled other cards. the queen of swords ruled over eddie’s chance of ever reaching the sun, the seven of swords, and the lovers.

he sighed.

“maybe you could try a different question? want a hex spell?” beverly asked with a friendly smile.

eddie thought to himself. there could be glass shards, dead scorpions, vinegar, or garlic in the jar. if he said yes, beverly would probably instruct him to cook his mom’s hair while she slept. or worse, an eyeball.

he politely declined. “hm, maybe some other time, beverly.”

“hey, stick around for a while,” ben placed his heavy hand on eddie’s shoulder. his warm smile brightened his coal-blackened face.

eddie thanked them both but decided it was time to leave.

treading through the grass once more, eddie thought the fortress of kaspbrak itself was a fine castle, built with a panorama of the surrounding land. from the towers once stood medieval watchers, quiver and arrow ready to fly, and moss clung to the ancient walls in the shade, which reminded him of beverly’s cottage.

he made it back before suppertime. the halls were bustling with activity, but the click of the heels of his leather boots on the tile floor stopped them in their tracks. there was complete silence except for the sound of eddie walking through the halls and his personal butler walking towards him.

“good evening, william.”

“you muh-must change for supper.”

the suits of armor and framed oil portraits of elders towered over the both of them.

he liked william a lot. his mother had lined the potential workers in front of him one day and allowed him to chose his person butler himself. the rest were picked off to work the courtyard grounds and cook meals.

eddie picked william because he was close to his age. he liked his red hair and blue eyes, and sometimes william visited eddie in his daydreams of marriage. eddie also thought he would look better in the gold lacework and rich embroidery clothes eddie had to wear. william liked how eddie allowed him to spend time in the courtyard when he was not tending to the prince; he thought he was kinder than the queen, and they became good friends.

but neither would allow eddie’s mother to hear the boys call each other out of their formal names or whisper and laugh together, nor would they let her majesty see william pick loose leaves and twigs out of eddie’s blonde hair.

there was no need to question the prince; he was obviously visiting beverly again. there was a long, painstakingly unnecessary spiral staircase that led to where eddie slept.

william ushered him ahead, opening the heavy wooden door to his chambers. he would be back to fetch eddie when he was dressed properly.

prince eddie stood in front of the open window, head perched in his hands as he watched the bright, clear lake shimmer in what was left of the sun. he wondered frequently why he had to dress for the occasion of sitting across the incredibly long table, where food was in such abundance that it looked more like decoration, for just him and his mother to eat. it made him angry, the thought of food going to waste as the queen at the opposite head of the table rubbed her full, plump stomach.

a voice called out from below him and pulled eddie out of his thoughts. “could you help me out?”

“oh, yes. my apologies,” eddie said. reaching outside the window, he grasped the clothed covered hand of a man.

he screamed and jumped backwards, reality setting in now. there was a stranger climbing the cobblestone walls of the castles, how had he not noticed? was this thief foolish enough to climb through the prince’s chambers to steal from the bottlery? was this planned — had he chosen this window, knowing it was the prince’s, to hold him hostage? he hoped william had heard him.

eddie stood with his back against his wardrobe, fist tightening around the door knob. he fought between the thoughts of fighting to the death or flinging the door open and hunkering down small, hiding himself between long silk robes and hidden jewels. he understood now why the thief had chose his chambers.

the man acted quickly. with the boost eddie had given him, he was able to grab hold of the edge of the windowsill and climb through the window.

and before prince eddie could grab the glass candelabra from his bedside table and wield it as a defense weapon, there was a man standing in his room.

eddie did not care how well-dressed this man was — there was an intruder in the castle. and he didn’t care how tall, dark, or handsome he was, either.

he could not cut, thrust, or slash with the candelabra, but he was willing to try. his knuckles were turning white from his tight grip. eddie didn’t have to pretend to be brave; he could call for a servant or guard immediately, but then the mysterious man could attack. he noticed the actual sword in the man’s bronze scabbard, and his eyes widened.

the man firmly placed his hand on eddie’s mouth before he could call out and wrapped an arm around his waist. eddie clawed at the gloved hand for his life as fear and dread swirled in his stomach. he’s watched his mother force two townsfolk to fight to the death for entertainment rather than call for the jester. the sight was evil, twisted, and bloody, and eddie did not want stains like those on the finest silk of the land. he tried his best to fight back and squirm, but his grasp was too tight.

“i don’t want to hurt you.” eddie stopped struggling when he loosened his grasp, but still trembled in fear. the man let out a soft laugh, and his voice was smooth and soft spoken, but strong somehow, like he wanted eddie to believe him. he removed the hand from eddie’s mouth, and placed it on firmly on his shoulder, other hand on his waist now.

he was taller than eddie, with dark skin, strong shoulders, and brown cassiterite eyes – heart-stopping eyes that flickered when he said, “i want to marry you.”

“oh,” eddie laughed, slapping the man’s chest in a manner that said, ‘how foolish of me.’ “why didn’t you just say so?”

they leaned closer, a faint smile on the man’s lips and eddie giggled under his breath. when he thought of his moment before, he thought he would be in a horse drawn carriage, or whisked away on the back of a white, noble steed. he didn’t even know this man’s name, but butterflies in his stomach told him there was no time for introductions now.

as their lips drew closer, there was a knock on the door.

“the queen is wuh-waiting for you to accompany her.”

“okay, you hide in here,” eddie whispered, grabbing the man by his lapel. he forced him inside his wardrobe. “what’s your name?”

“michael, prince edward.” michael responded, silk hanging over his face now.

“okay, mike, i’ll be right back.”

eddie plastered his most charming smile onto his face, forcing himself to enjoy eating in the grand dining hall with his mother. at least stanley’s performance was enjoyable.

eddie called him stan for short, and he had sunken eyes and curly hair and what eddie thought to be a rather lovely nose. the entertainment consisted of satire and self-deprecating humor, but he was nice. eddie also thought it was silly when he danced with his scepter and the bells from his hat jingled. stan was loyal and friendly, and even the queen enjoyed his company. she even consulted with him once to make strategies for battle— stan had agreed with everything she said because he believed she just wanted to hear herself talk.

supper ended, and eddie did not protest about all the food that had gone to waste, partly because mike was waiting in his wardrobe, and partly because he knew what his mother would say; “that's how hierarchy works.”

the halls were nearly deserted, and only their shadows followed as eddie strolled with mike, hand-in-hand, showing him every inch of the castle. he learned that michael hanlon was a farmer who worked in the fields under the blistering sun from dawn until dusk. he assured him he wouldn’t have to do that anymore, his smile as warm as the candles and lanterns illuminated around them.

“and this is our oubliette. this is where my mother leaves prisoners to die.”

mike gasped. “that’s kind of cool.”

“what does that mean?”

“i don’t know.” they both laugh.

eddie sighed, heartfelt and knees weak. “oh, mike, i’ve had so much fun getting to know you. i can’t wait until we marry,” he said, bringing mike’s hands to his chest. then he exclaimed with a brilliant idea, like if the light bulb had been invented then and it was dangling over his head.

“let’s marry tomorrow! at sunset!”

the excited gasp brought attention to the pair, alerting the guards that there a intruders afoot. eddie thought fast, and pulled the two into a small, dark corridor. he wasn’t afraid of his guards by any means, it was his mother he feared. and he did not particularly need to sneak mike around, but it was kind of fun.

they were pressed together, breathing heavily from the anticipation of being caught. their faces drew closer, laughing softly, and the image of doves flying crossed eddie’s mind as they kissed.

prince edward had always seen beverly and ben kiss, but he never knew what it felt like. a surge of energy and passion from being engulfed in this kiss made him think he should’ve asked beverly for a love potion years ago. he never wanted this moment to end.

and it wouldn’t, as they would be married at sunset tomorrow. eddie could not think of a single thing that would ruin their nuptials. taglist: @reddiesetrichie, @veganmikehanlon, @bumblerea, @eddiessecondfannypack, @tinyarmedtrex, @jwilliambyers, @edstozler, @eddiecare, @stephenskings, @constantreaderfool, @imeddie, @kaymcgivemeacall, let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

#mike hanlon #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #bill denbrough #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #stan uris #it fanfiction #my writing

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lundsandbyerlys · 5 years

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Slow Cooker Meatball Tortellini Soup

This simple soup recipe from Twin Cities food blogger greens & chocolate is perfect for busy families!

We recently welcomed our second son into our family, and can I just say that everyone who told us that it’s a big adjustment going from one to two kids was ONE HUNDRED PERCENT CORRECT?! I can’t believe we ever thought having one kid, especially a newborn, was difficult. I mean yes – hello, sleep deprivation. But instead of having two adults and one little human, it’s two versus two. All hands on deck.

I’d say the most challenging time of day for us is the evening. The baby gets a little fussy, and since it gets dark so early, the toddler needs to be entertained inside.

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So far it works out best for my husband to manage our two-year-old and for me to keep the baby happy, typically wearing him in a baby carrier. So when it comes to dinners, I pretty much have three requirements. For one, it needs to take less than 30 minutes MAX. Second, not a lot of chopping or standing over the stove. Grease splatters and leaning over just isn’t going to work. Third, if it’s a slow cooker recipe, I am in.

A slow cooker recipe means that I can throw it together in the morning when I get a chance. It’s not as time-sensitive as “oh my gosh it’s 6:00 and we need to figure out dinner.” That’s where this soup comes in.

This Slow Cooker Meatball Tortellini Soup is absolutely perfect for busy weeknights. Aside from a little chopping of onion and carrots, you simply add it all to the slow cooker and let it cook all day. Since we love this recipe so much, I typically make a double batch and put one in the freezer. Then all I have to do the day before I want to make it is take it out of the freezer and let it thaw in my refrigerator until the next morning.

Also, can I let you in on a little secret? This soup can easily be made on the stovetop as well. Just sauté the veggies in a little bit of olive oil, then add the rest of the ingredients and let it simmer for 20 minutes. So just in case you didn’t have time in the morning to throw it all in the slow cooker or you just didn’t think that far ahead, this soup will still save you.

We serve this with a side of garlic bread and a salad, and we personally love it topped with Parmesan cheese and fresh parsley. Enjoy!

Slow Cooker Meatball Tortellini Soup

6 servings Preparation time: 6-8 hours

Ingredients 1 onion, diced 2 carrots, peeled and finely chopped 1 (28-ounce) can crushed tomatoes 1 (14-ounce) can diced tomatoes 1 (16-ounce) package frozen Italian meatballs 1 (8-ounce) package frozen chopped spinach 2 teaspoons Italian seasoning ½ teaspoon garlic powder ½ teaspoon salt 8 cups beef broth 1 (16 ounce) package cheese tortellini Shredded Parmesan cheese and chopped fresh parsley, for topping

Directions

Place all ingredients except tortellini in 6 quart slow cooker.

Cook on low for 6-8 hours or high for 3-4 hours.

Add tortellini for the last 30 minutes.

Top with Parmesan cheese and parsley. Enjoy!

#slow cooker #meatballs #tortellini #soup #slow cooker soup #dinner #soup recipes #greens & chocolate #fall soups #easy slow cooker #comfort soup

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pops-and-kids · 5 years

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Hello! Below is a little something I wrote for Lil Red! It’s angst filled, so be warned of that! I plan to do one of these a month, but they wont always be this long or heavy as this one. If you’d like to see more of these please tell me! These will be tagged Redfics, with Lil’ Red either being the main character or the main topic. Please enjoy! (^-^)/

Red scuttled around the halls quickly, her blue and gold eyes blown wide in fear. A bunch of bad men attack the ship again today, but this time they brought friends. Haruta was supposed to take her and hide, but they suddenly lurched forward and tossed her, sending her tumble all over the floor. When she looked back up at them they were clutching their shoulder and told her to run for the bedrooms. The sound of yelling and boomsticks frightened her to her very core. Even Pop-pop was yelling! He never yelled! Red whimpered as she ran down the long hall, now lost on the ship. To her everything looked the same, and her nose was just filled with that icky smell of iron, sea salt, and the grey powder Izou and Curiel stuffed in their boomsticks. Her ears were full of the sounds of everyones yells of anger and pain, sending chills down her tricolour patched coat. She was scared, she wanted Fossa or Pop-pop to hold her! The rocking of the ship under her paws didn’t help, the sea and sky were just as upset as her as storm clouds started swirling above and harsh waves started snapping at the sides of the whale boat.

Her small paws barely made any sound over the fighting, but her heart sounded like it had gotten into her head and was thumping loud in her already straining ears. She looked at the doors next to her, but none of them had the bedroom plates on them. She only recognized Haruta and Kingdews big boy room, where all the weird whirring and beeping machines were with the talking snails. She skidded to a halt and made a helpless jump for the door lever, though it was in vain. All the door levers on the ship were too high for her small body, even if she jumped with her just jump! Red slid down the door, her claws leaving marks on the wood as her eyes filled with tears. Haruta and Kingdew were back on the deck, and she’d get yelled at if she went out there while the adults all yelled at one another. A strong wind crashed into the ship, making it lean to the side and filling her nose with more of that awful iron smell. She didn’t like it at all, but the all-better room and Jirus rooms always smelled of it. The deck did too days after a fight, but today it was really strong.

Suddenly a loud boom shook her entire body and knocked the air out of her, leaving her gasping. Screams were all she heard over the ringing in her ears, the wailing of the wind going through her. Her eyes were full of little stars as she opened them, but all that she was greeted with was splintered wood of the once intact hallway and the fire eating at the whale boat. The whale boat wasn’t supposed to be on fire! Ace wouldn’t set the whale boat on fire! Red fall back onto the floor, jumping up onto her six paws as the ship rocked scarily again. The ocean was really upset now, banging into all the ships around into the whale boat. The wind was howling and tearing at the big sails too, threatening to jab holes in them. She gulped and started running down the hall again, away from the yelling and fire, far away.

“Unf!” While she was looking back at the massive hole in the side of the whale boat she had bumped into something! Or someone.

Suddenly large hands grabs her hard, causing her to yelp in pain as she was yanked up off the ground so quickly and with her legs crushed together painfully. She blinked and looked forward, meeting green eyes. They weren’t happy eyes like Thatchs, but deep and scary. They didn’t have the love and affection he did, but more like a Shaleback eyeing a new meal: her.

“And what the fuck are you?” The man asked, a creepy smile twisted on his face. She didn’t like that smile. Red shrunk back a bit, a whimper escaping her mouth.

The man gripped her even tighter, tears of pain and fear stinging at the corners of her eyes as he looked her over. Red felt a rush of peircing ice go through her veins, and her eyes widened in shock as she remembered what Auntie Ta’Vari had told her.

“If a human corners you, kick them as hard as you can! In the stomach, in the knees, in the throat, anywhere you reach!”

“Aren’t you that thing the marines were freaking out about some time back? Some sort of beast?” The man continued talking, ignoring the glossed over look in the faerie dragons eyes.

With a few deep breaths Red gathered all her strength and raised her hind paws, sending them jabbing into his chest! He gasped and hunched over a bit, but his hands gripped even tighter to Reds horror, making her screech in pain.

“Heheh...feisty little shit...” His one hand let her go for just a second--only to regain grip. Around her neck. “Aint ya?” Red’s eyes went wide as she began to squirm in earnest now.

The man laughed as he slowly crushed her throat his his hand, her thrashing becoming more and more panicked as she got less and less air. All she got loose was one of her front legs, but at the cost of being able to breathe freely. She craned her neck and made eye contact with him, stopping the fighting and merely trembling in his hands.

“I wonder how much your pelt would sell for.” The man smirked.

What did he mean? Did he want her fur? Why did he want it? He couldn’t have it! Izou loved to brush it! Fossa spent a lot of time washing oil out of it! Everyone loved how soft it was, especially Pop-pop! HE COULDN’T HAVE IT!!!

Red bared her teeth like Papa taught her, eyes focusing on nothing but the bad man in front of her. In a split second her one free paw flexed, curved claws unsheathing from their cute and furry toes. She opened her mouth and her paw shot forward.

“NO!!” Her paw went towards his face. Directly into his eye.

His face was blank as her claws went into his open eye, red splattered out and over her paw as they dug in deep. In a single second he roared in pain and let go of Red, letting her fall to the floor. Red gasped for air as she stumbled to her paws and looked at the man. He stumbled back, screaming curse words not even fossa had used before, red iron oozing from between his fingers as he clutched at his eye. The little faerie dragon was frozen on the spot, fear and horror gluing her to the floor.

The bad man looked at her, his other eye filled with rage. That scared her even more.

“YOU LITTLE RAT!!! I’LL SKIN YOU ALIVE!!!” He screamed and yanked out his sword, charging at her.

Red could only stare with wide eyes as the glint of his sword caught the light, it’s aura filled with spite and blood lust.

“GET THE FUCK--” Sword met flaming sword, Fossa’s yell of rage filled Red’s ears as she stared at the swords inches away from her face.

The bad man stumbled back and Fossa went forward. He raised his swords and in a quick motion--

“RED!!”

He brought them down just as large hands scooped her up, covering her eyes and ears. But it was too late. She had saw the swords dig into the man’s flesh, she had seen the red iron gushing from his body, she had heard the start of his scream.

“It’s okay! It’s okay! He didn’t hurt you, did he?!” Dewey cuddled her so tenderly, keeping her pressed against his chest protectively as she shook and let out a sob. She loved Pop-pop, and Marco, and Ace, and Thatchy, and Jojo, and Vista, and Menny, and Mossy, and Namur, and Dewey, and Haruta, and Atmos, and Jiru, and Fossa, and Izou. They fed her and kept her safe, gave her lots of love and naps.

But she missed Mommy and Papa.

#Redfic #Lil' Red #OC #angst #Whitebeard pirates #Fossa #Kingdew #((Red has her own nicknames for all the commanders))#((Please let me know if you'd like to see more of these!))

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ecarlaite-blog · 6 years

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FIVE THINGS !

fill in the categories with five things that your character can be identified by. repost, don’t reblog !

TAGGED BY : @sickinesis ! TAGGING : @tesoroquema, @triceis / @messariah, @pyrecrwned / @evoluers, @cothurnal, @swansvng, @soaringheart, @oshikakei, @magicalshe, @angstiism, @f-udo, @absterreo / @snxpkick, @hydrangeaguard, @fckebiitch, @cruciatii, & anyone else who wants to steal this from me !

01 : emotions / feelings.

numbness.

despair.

recklessness.

wrath.

contentment.

02 : greetings.

a slow wave.

an alluring side glance.

a slight smile.

a humble hug.

occasionally shouting obscenities at.

03 : colors.

black ; her glossy tresses & like the night sky, her soul.

red ; the deep hue of her eyes, her vibrant lips, her equal love & wrath.

white ; an innocent facade.

pink ; a supposed girl’s best friend.

gold ; so much more than royal.

04 : scents.

assorted herbs from her craft, most often myrrh.

concentrated citrus from her luxurious soap.

argan oil from her hair.

cherry laced nicotine from her fruity cigarettes.

blood from her prey.

05 : objects.

a pack of cherry cigarettes for her chain smoking.

a modified beretta m9 for self defense when unwilling to feed.

a chain belt.

her assortment of rings, pentagram necklaces, & crystal bullet necklaces.

a tarot deck.

06 : vices / bad habits.

smoking.

reckless hookups.

self - inflicted cutting.

internalizing her emotions.

isolating herself.

07 : body language.

twirling her hair.

crossing her legs.

licking her lips.

furrowing her eyebrows.

narrowing her eyes.

08 : aesthetics.

neon red signs distorted through rain splattered windows.

a large house covered in foliage, as if nature is taking itself back.

blood stained & torn fabric.

cherries in a dirty shirley.

an ash tray almost overflowing.

09 : songs.

BLACK WIDOW by in this moment. ( tbh every song off this album is kinu. sick like me & bloody creature poster girl are close seconds. )

FERRARI by the neighbourhood.

PRETTY GIRL by clairo.

PPP by beach house.

LA DEVOTEE by panic! at the disco.

#･ : * : ･ﾟ ˗ˋ 🎕 ˊ˗ dossier.#this was ... so fun to do ..........

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megabadbunny · 6 years

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Rose x Ten, post GitF-au/fixit; angst, fluff, romance, more angst, and possibly some smut later, but this part (and all parts on ff.net) is sfw (minor exception for brief language). And a huge thank you to everyone who left a comment encouraging me to continue, as well as everyone who didn’t completely lose patience with me--this chapter is dedicated to you lovely peaches!!! <3 <3 <3

(full-size image)

Minuet, Part IV

The next day, the Doctor’s behavior can only be described as jumpy.

“And here we have the great lakes of Therran Vox!” he announces, throwing open the TARDIS doors to reveal a bleach-bright vision of sparkling water and dazzling white sky. “Not to be confused with Academy-Award-winning actress Charlize Theron, mind, nor the lakes of TheronnEx, though much of the plant life is certainly related, evolutionarily speaking.”

The Doctor plucks three umbrellas from their resting-place against the TARDIS wall, tossing one to Rose and Mickey each in turn before stepping out of the TARDIS with an umbrella of his own. “Something like third cousins, maybe third cousins once removed, maybe twice,” he continues. “Bit hard to know for certain, sort of tricky trying to gauge that sort of thing when your generations span centuries and solar systems. Speaking of reproduction, did you know that the Therranian water lily is one of the few angiosperms in the known universe that can reproduce via spores? Well, they don’t technically reproduce via spores, per se, but their pollen has been known to hitch a ride on them a time or two. Sort of like a botanical hitchhiker, only on a semi-mesoscopic scale. And when you’re talking spores and pollen able to withstand the vaccums of space, well, that sort of explains the galaxy-hopping, doesn’t it? Though the waterlilies on TheronnEx have a sort of unfortunate expired meat smell about them…”

Rose stretches and yawns, ignoring the Doctor’s prattling in favor of taking in the sights all around her. She’s surrounded on all sides by an intricate network of perfectly round lakes, connected only by slim strips of grassy land. Reflecting the world above—everything from willowy trees to the pearl-white sky to the metallic towerlike structures reaching high up, up, up into the swollen candyfloss clouds—the lakes glimmer and sparkle like a collection of mirrors, glasslike and silver and still. Stepping closer to one of the lakes, Rose inspects a tree by its banks, whose slender roots creep gently into the water. Her eyes travel over the trunk, which stretches high into the morning air, lifting its canopy of paper-thin roots far above the water surface. It doesn’t take an architect to observe the similarity between the trees and the tower structures, whose engineers clearly looked to the willows for inspiration in constructing both the complex, interwoven-strut foundations of the towers as well as their observation decks spreading up above. Rose jumps as a handful of water droplets fall across her upturned face, just before a light drizzle descends all around, tiny water droplets singing through the air before they land with a series of dainty plops and splashes. Their touch on the grass releases a mild fragrance into the air, something delightfully fruitlike and soft.

It’s absolutely wonderful, a proper exotic alien planet, and Rose lifts her face completely toward the sky, eyes closed as the rain peppers kisses on her cheeks. God, she’s missed this.

Without even thinking about it, Rose reaches for the Doctor’s hand, but he sets off at a brisk pace before her hand can do anything more than brush against his, blathering on about para-symbiotic relationships and rhizomes and apomixis and god knows what else.

(Scratch that earlier thought—he’s ridiculously jumpy.)

“Is this normal?” Mickey asks under his breath.

Rose watches the Doctor as he wanders off, chattering loudly to no one in particular, and she tries to ignore the sick feeling bubbling up in her chest, the hurt aching in her gut. It’s just because she didn’t sleep well last night, she reasons. For all that she had dreamed of being back aboard the TARDIS, snuggling into her bed replete with plush foam and soft blankets and squishy pillows, she slept absolutely dreadfully. Probably she’d just got used to the hard and unforgiving beds back at the palace; certainly the lack of sleep can’t be blamed on anything else. Or anyone, for that matter.

Great fat rain droplets smack against her head like a dozen tiny missiles and Rose wipes water out of her face, deploying her umbrella with a sigh. “No,” she replies. “This is new.”

“Did something happen last night?”

“No. Nothing happened.”

Rose knows Mickey doesn’t believe her, would be able to tell by his suspicious silence even if she couldn’t see the eyebrow arching off his forehead, but mercifully, he doesn’t press for more. Instead, he proffers his arm to Rose, standing ramrod-straight like he’s posing for a school formal photo. He would look a little silly even if his umbrella wasn’t covered in bright yellow smiley faces.

“C’mon, babe,” he says in response to her questioning look. “Let’s go for a stroll and you can tell me all about your adventures back in fancypants France.”

Rose smiles despite herself. “Are you sure you’d rather hear about that than whatever thrilling greenhouse trivia the Doctor’s throwing our way?”

“Nah, we’ll just make sure to toss a few uh-huh’s and oh how fascinating’s his way every once in a while.”

Threading her arm through his, Rose laughs.

“…and here it is!” announces the Doctor, several thousand steps and two grumpy and wet-shoed humans later. The trail stops at an impressive, five-meter tall wall, rainbow-bismuth-colored and extending as far as the eye can see in either direction; the Doctor presents it all with a flourish of his umbrella. “The main attraction, the big to-do, the pièce de résistance—the grand Temple of the High Chauncery, perfect for viewing Therran Vox’s universe-renowned celebration of transient luminous events!”

He turns to Rose and Mickey with a wide grin, only to be met by a pair of identical blank stares. “Oh, come on,” says the Doctor, undeterred. “Mickey, you must have heard me mention the High Chauncery’s luminous wassail at least once!”

“Pretty sure I’ve never heard any of those words in my life,” Mickey replies flatly.

“So what’s a transient luminous event?” asks Rose. “I mean, luminous—that means light, right?”

“Right you are,” the Doctor replies, and is Rose just imagining it, or does he meet her gaze even less than usual? “The term refers to electrical phenomena produced during a thunderstorm.”

“So, lightning,” says Mickey, unimpressed.

“Well, yes, if you want to be reductive,” the Doctor responds, rolling his eyes. “But it’s not just lightning, it’s spectacular lightning. Like I said, phenomenal. Lots of worlds experience it, Earth included, but on most planets the events flash by so quickly, so high in the atmosphere, that you can’t observe them with the naked eye. That’s what makes the storms on Therran Vox so special; the chemical composition of the atmosphere here makes for an event that’s far more visible. You can catch the light show in all its glory, from front-row seats! Nothing quite like it in the universe, but why would I tell you when I can just show you?”

He raps his knuckles against the gate wall and a small round window opens in the metallic surface, a liquid movement like oil springing away from soap. A humanoid face appears on the other side, her eyes a fascinating multicolor, her forehead bedecked in rows of ornamental dots.

“Invitation?” the owner of the face inquires.

The Doctor produces the psychic paper from his jacket-pocket. “Sir Doctor and his traveling companions, Dame Tyler and Majordomo Smith of the Powell Estate,” he says rather grandly, “here to view some of the universe’s finest luminescent theatre!”

“Of course, your Grace,” replies the gatekeeper, peering at the psychic paper through the rain. She turns around and issues a curt nod to her comrade (another humanoid, another set of ornamental dots), and the window in the wall slowly opens up, widening by inches into a round doorway.

“Your timing is most fortuitous, sir—all of the other guests have already arrived, and we’re closing the outer shield any moment now,” the gatekeeper continues. “Per your itinerary, the first ritual doesn’t take place until the morning, but that gives you the evening to settle in and enjoy the first stirrings of the storm. In the meantime, Votary Uruud here will give you a quick tour through the Temple before showing you to your quarters, and we’re happy to take your luggage for you as well—”

“Sorry, sorry,” says the Doctor, his eyebrow arching in confusion. “Our quarters?”

“Our luggage?” asks Mickey under his breath.

“Yes, Sir Doctor, your quarters. For the duration of the event.”

The Doctor blinks. “The duration of the event,” he repeats, his eyebrow arching further.

“For the month, sir.”

The Doctor’s eyebrow has now arched so high it’s in danger of disappearing into his hairline. “Right,” he says. “The month-long ritual. The month-long ritual storm celebration. The month-long ritual storm celebration for which we are totally, completely, and utterly prepared. With luggage and toiletries and things. For a month.” He tugs on one ear. “Except—”

“Oh, silly us!” Rose interrupts, throwing her hands up in mock-surprise. “We left all of our things back at our ship!”

“Yes, quite!” the Doctor agrees. “So we’ll just run back and grab it all, shall we?”

Rose and Mickey nod vigorously.

Glancing at each of them, the gatekeeper’s face wrinkles in concern. “Forgive my impudence, your Graces, but it’s too late to turn back now. You won’t reach your ship before the Allstorm arrives.”

“The Allstorm?” Mickey asks, incredulous even as rain dodges his umbrella to splatter against his cheek. Rose elbows him in the ribs and he clears his throat. “I mean, of course, the Allstorm!” he laughs nervously. “I know what that is. Sure, why not?”

“Thanks for the warning, but we’ll take our chances,” says the Doctor. “Bit of rain will do us more good than harm.”

“Please, your Graces, I must protest—the blessed High Chauncery is a generous man and will supply you with all that you could need. You mustn’t remain outdoors any longer, it’s not safe—”

No sooner has the Doctor turned to leave than a great bolt of lightning splits open the sky, followed by a blast of thunder so violent it shakes the ground beneath everyone’s feet, their ears ringing after. Looking skyward, Rose can’t help but notice that the formerly friendly-looking clouds appear significantly more ominous now, less fluffy-pink and more threatening-red and heavy with rain. They cluster overhead, slowly blocking out the sun, and Rose watches as the world is painted crimson around them. She suddenly thinks of Sunday school, of pharaohs and plagues and endless night, of storms that send blood pouring from the skies and swelling in the rivers. She shudders.

Another barrage of thunder strikes, so loud Rose can feel it in her bones, rattling her teeth. The Doctor heaves an impatient sigh. “Our quarters it is, then,” he says reluctantly.

The gatekeeper beams at him. “Oh, very good, sir. Thank you, sir. Welcome to the High Chauncery’s Temple of the Allstorm!”

While the storm rages overhead, its searing white lightning and murderous clouds all-too-visible through a ceiling that, to all appearances, seems to be made of a thick stained glass, Votary Uruud leads the Doctor, Rose, and Mickey on a tour of the opulent beauty that is the Temple. They show the party through a marble-lined courtyard into a veranda replete with columns and overflowing in ornamental greenery and other Votaries carrying a generous surplus of niblets on trays. Mickey and Rose inspect the food eagerly, sampling things spicy and salty, sugary and sweet; Rose tries not to notice how the Doctor, strangely, avoids all of the niblets altogether. The veranda opens to a garden lush with flora of every color imaginable, vibrant vermillion and stunning cobalt and brilliant fuschia and everything in-between. Some of the flowers bloom as large as dinner plates, others as small as thimbles, and Rose watches in fascination as each of them slowly turn their faces toward the sky, almost as if they’re looking for the storm, like they can sense it.

“They’re lumosynthetic,” the Doctor murmurs to Rose. “They’ve evolved to feed off light from any source, even lightning in a storm. You should see them when the real storm starts.”

She nods in response, and wonders at how he doesn’t lean in nearly as close as usual, how he draws away so much quicker.

The garden leads to a chamber of swimming pools nearly identical to the perfectly round lakes outside, save that their water glows with the otherworldy light of bioluminescent algae. At Uruud’s gentle urging, Rose and Mickey each dip a hand into the water and delight at the glow that dances across their skin, lingering in a smattering of ghostly footprints several moments after leaving the pool.

In addition to the wonders that call the Temple home, Rose, Mickey, and the Doctor also encounter other guests as they dutifully follow Uruud, people of all shapes and shades and sizes, everyone from other Therrans to bird-people with special goggles to fish-people with special suits to upright rhinoceri and even a group of New Earth’s cat folk, though thankfully, Rose notes, none of them appear to be nuns. Almost all of the Therrans bear the same dots on their faces as Uruud and the gatekeeper, all in different numbers and configurations. One such woman, a gorgeous figure clad in a semisheer gold and scarlet gown with facial markings to match, watches them from the safety of her richly-clad party, her eyes lingering on the Doctor long after he walks by.

(Half a year ago, Rose would have threaded her arm through the Doctor’s and shot the woman a dagger-filled glance until she drew back in surprise, would have done it without even thinking. Now she just bites her lip and silently wishes for the woman to slip on a banana-peel.)

As they pass through the menagerie afterward, peering through latticework enclosures at a host of incredible creatures (winged lizards and scaled mammoths and jewel-skinned snakes, oh my), Rose starts to notice the walls around them—wide as they are, and as full as the space is between them, it’s sort of difficult to tell, but she could almost swear they were curved. In fact, she thinks, stepping closer so she can fit her palm to one wall’s smooth surface, she would be willing to bet that all the rooms in the Temple are built this way, round-walled and circular like the lakes outside.

“It’s like a ripple,” she realizes aloud when the party reaches the entertainment library, whose walls are lined with curving shelves that are not packed with books or movies so much as hundreds upon hundreds of glowing white orbs.

“Beg pardon?” asks Votary Uruud with a polite small.

“The Temple. It’s built like a ripple, isn’t it?”

Uruud’s smile brightens into something genuine then. “It is indeed, your Grace!”

“You’re not wrong,” says the Doctor thoughtfully. “The Temple is made up of a series of concentric rings, each split into different chambers for different purposes. The deeper into the Temple you go, the smaller and more important the chambers become—entertainment and feasting and grand ritual gives way to spaces of study, sleep, work, and personal worship.”

He pauses for a moment, musing. “And with the glass ceiling exposing everything to the gods above, I’d imagine you’re right—from a bird’s-eye view, the structure would look just like a ripple. Well-spotted, Rose.”

“Your Graces are most observant,” says Uruud, beaming at each of them in turn. “Although few are as resplendent as the High Chauncery’s Temple, each of the Allstorm Temples is inspired by the form of water in honor of They Who Provide.”

“Who’s that? Like a bunch of gods?” Mickey asks, interest piqued.

“They are one god,” Uruud replies, and then, continuing in much the same fashion as someone reciting an oft-spoken Bible verse, “for just as our gods cannot be tamed by earthly will, neither can man nor woman tame the form of water.”

Confused, Rose and Mickey both turn to the Doctor. “They Who Provide is the genderless water god,” he explains. “Our hosts don’t really adhere to a binary the same way you lot tend to. Gender isn’t assigned at birth, but rather chosen at the coming-of-age. You choose one or the other, or both, or neither, and you can change it at any time.”

“So which one did you choose?” Mickey asks Uruud. “If that’s not a rude question or anything,” he adds hurriedly.

“I follow in the footsteps of They Who Provide,” replies Uruud, bowing their head in deference.

“So, like, do you have a special party for it, or something? Like a bar mitzvah?”

Uruud laughs, quickly sobering after. “Forgive me, your Graces! I’m merely surprised—even though the Temple receives a great many honored guests for each Allstorm, most of them seem to prefer the delights of our leisure chambers and pleasure rituals rather than inquire after our ways. Storm bless them, but…”

“Let me guess,” Rose cuts in with a grin. “They’re all either snooty prigs, entitled prats, or insufferable know-it-alls who love telling you how to do your job?”

“Oh, I would never dare besmirch the name of our honored guests,” replies Uruud, the very picture of politeness even as a spark of mirth twinkles in their eyes. “But I also wouldn’t dare argue with the wise words of such an honored guest, either.”

“Of course not,” Rose replies, tapping the side of her nose.

A chirping sound fills the air then, and Uruud lifts their wrist to check their watch (or at least Rose assumes it’s a watch, though she imagines they probably call it a timekeeper or something fancy like that). “And now, your Graces, I must assume my other duties for the evening,” says Uruud. “However, I would be happy to show you to your quarters first!”

They rap their knuckles on a blank patch of wall, just like the Doctor did earlier, and just like before, a round doorway opens up, widening like a mouth. Uruud steps through, Mickey following after; the Doctor pauses, however, so Rose does as well. She watches him as he stares up through the ceiling, his hands tucked in his pockets, his brow wrinkled in deep consideration.

Rose draws a deep breath. All right. They’re alone, now. Just the two of them. No big deal. They can still be normal. Right?

“Penny for your thoughts?” Rose prompts.

The Doctor’s eyes narrow at a particularly bright arc of lightning dancing overhead. “I’m still mulling over what the gatekeeper said. For the duration of the event, for the month. But I checked and double-checked the TARDIS chronometer before we stepped out, and this is the wrong time of year for the Allstorm, I’m sure of it. I wanted to show you two the sights, to be sure, but this isn’t quite what I had in mind. It’s like trying to buy a dog and receiving a coyote instead. I wouldn’t have brought us here if I’d known…”

Sighing, he shakes his head. “At any rate, why would so many people willingly lock themselves up in one building for an entire month? Spectacular lightning-show or no, that’s a dreadfully long time to be cooped up in the same building.”

“Well, Uruud mentioned other stuff too, pleasure rituals and whatnot,” Rose points out. An unfortunate thought pops into her head and her eyes widen in alarm. “Oh god, that’s not like a fertility ritual or forced-mating thing, is it?”

“What? No!” laughs the Doctor. “It’s just regular ol’ fun, sanctioned by the god of your choice. Feasts and plays and weddings and galas and drinking a little too much of the holy libations, that sort of thing. An Allstorm is always an excuse for celebration.”

“Even if it’s taking place at the wrong time?”

“Even if.” The Doctor quiets then, suddenly thoughtful. “Still, though. An entire month? Granted, it’s been a few decades since my last visit. Not to mention, they don’t call it the Allstorm for nothing—it covers the whole planet, wrapping all of Therran Vox in a brilliant display of water and light. But you’re talking about something that lasts a few days, a week, tops. Certainly not a whole month!”

“Well, I’m sure Uruud would be happy to tell us more about it, if we asked,” Rose suggests. “Maybe it’s a one-off thing, or—I don’t know, maybe things are just different now.”

The Doctor’s gaze shifts to her, and Rose could swear a shadow flickered across his face for just the briefest second. If she didn’t know any better, she would say it looked a little like sadness. Or worse, resignation.

“Yep,” he says, his voice clipped even as he smiles. “You’re probably right.”

Rose frowns. It feels like something just happened, like she just said the wrong word and the Doctor shuttered the gates after, but she can’t put her finger on it, and the Doctor hardly seems in the mood to help. He brushes past her without another word, following after Mickey and Uruud through the round doorway, hands firmly tucked in his pockets.

Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, Rose lingers for a moment after, wondering. Guilt and frustration bubble up in her gut, churning in equal measure. Is this just how it’s going to be between them, now? Awkward and distant and stiff, and forever?

(How the hell is she supposed to fix this?)

“My sincerest apologies,” says Uruud, frowning as they peruse the screen of their wristwatch. The light from the screen bathes their face in a gentle blue, highlighting their dots in stark relief. “I’m so sorry, but I cannot seem to find your names in the database. I can only think the electrical interference from the Allstorm is affecting our information network…”

“Oh, it’s no worries,” replies the Doctor with a breezy wave of the hand. “Just chuck a few rooms our way, any rooms will do.”

“Of course, sir. I have two rooms available; will that suit the needs of your party?”

“If you need additional space,” calls a soft voice behind them, smooth and silken, “I would be delighted to share.”

Rose and the Doctor turn to see the red-and-gold woman from before, her immaculately-painted crimson mouth spread in a beatific smile, and god, she’s even more beautiful up close. Voluminous black hair, eyes as blue as lapis, features that couldn’t be more perfect if they’d been chiseled by a master sculptor; Rose can’t blame the woman for being so beautiful, or showcasing it so well (how can she, when even she can’t tear her eyes away?), but the self-assurance she projects, the confidence in her gait as she strolls up to their party, looking the Doctor up and down, makes something burn in Rose’s chest, twisting and growling like a tiny little green-eyed beast. This, Rose thinks, is a woman who has received everything she has ever wanted, and has no doubts now that anything else she wants will soon be hers as well.

And then there’s the fact that the Doctor hasn’t said anything to rebuff her, and Rose fumes, and worries, and wonders if—

"He’s taken,” she blurts out.

In her periphery, Rose sees the Doctor glance her way, his expression unreadable. The woman, however, offers her an imperious look that she knows all too well. Her gaze travels over Rose, appraising. Rose is suddenly very aware of what she must look like right now, all damp jeans and dripping umbrella and shoes squelching with mud. But she didn’t spend half a year in the French court for nothing; she draws herself up to her full height, chin up, and looks the woman square in the eye, offering a sly smile.

“Thank you for your kind offer, but I’m afraid we can’t accept,” Rose says, the words falling into place like the dials on a slot machine. “See, he’s married—”

“To Mickey!” the Doctor interrupts with a mad grin.

Now it’s Rose’s turn to stare.

What?

The Doctor just beams at the noblewoman, his smile gigawatt-bright. Rose turns to Mickey for help, for a dose of sanity, for anything, but he can’t offer anything useful; he’s too busy looking surprised.

“Ah, it feels like it was just yesterday,” the Doctor says wistfully, looping an arm around Mickey’s shoulders. “Quite possibly because it was just yesterday. It’s all still very new, you see. Bit of a whirlwind affair. Almost completely unexpected. But the heart wants what the heart wants. Isn’t that right, Peaches?”

“Erm,” says Mickey.

“And we thought, what better place to honeymoon than Therran Vox during the Allstorm?” continues the Doctor. “I wanted a trip to Barcelona, personally, but I just can’t say no to this face.” He tenderly pinches Mickey’s chin and Mickey looks very much like he wouldn’t mind being swallowed up by the floor right about now. “He’s a dreadful romantic, my Mickey.”

“Peaches?” Mickey asks, voice faint.

“We’re still figuring out the pet names,” the Doctor whispers conspiratorially to the noblewoman, and Rose fights the urge to roll her eyes, or stomp her foot, or maybe to scream. “Like I said, it’s all very new. But we’re very much in love, isn’t that right?”

Mickey shoots Rose an uncertain look, and the Doctor tightens his arm around Mickey’s shoulders until he yelps in surprise. “So in love, right, darling?”

“So in love it’s almost unbelievable,” Mickey replies through a teeth-gritted smile.

“So in conclusion, my dove and I would be more than happy to share a room,” the Doctor finishes.

“Very good, sir,” replies Uruud, relief washing over their face. “Now, if you’ll just follow me, we’ll get you settled in!”

“Anyway, thanks again for the generous offer!” the Doctor calls back to the red-and-gold woman as he follows Uruud down the corridor. Mickey trails after the two of them in something of a daze, as if he still can’t quite believe what’s going on. Rose can’t say she blames him. She’s having a little trouble processing it all herself.

(So is she just supposed to pretend that everything is normal, then, except when the Doctor starts to feel flighty? Five and a half months she waits for him, she waits, and at the end of it he’ll shout and then fall silent and then act all remorseful, he’ll insult Rose and then apologize and then, out of nowhere, apropos of nothing, grab her and kiss her, not six hours after he was ready to jump through that window and leave her and Mickey stranded, not six hours after he was kissing another woman? And then after all that, the mood swings and the almost-confessions and the bullshit refusal to discuss anything that truly matters, and now he’s the one pushing her away? And what, is Rose just supposed to accept it, roll with the punches, fall in line like a good little tin soldier? She’s just supposed to stand there and take it?)

The guilt from earlier subsides, a tide drawing back to reveal a shore littered in broken shells and bits of glass and something black and sticky, an oil spill slowly staining the sand.

“Rose?” Mickey calls from down the corridor, stopping to wait for her.

Hands balled into fists, Rose follows after them, wondering how her day could possibly get any worse.

***

Next Part (forthcoming)

***

#ficandchips #tenrose #ten/rose #tenxrose #gitf fixit #post-gitf #angst #angst with a happy ending #(ultimately - though it might take them a minute to get there ;)#also sweet baby jesus has it seriously been six months since my last update for this story???#my godddddd #i'm so sorry i hope all my readers are still alive and well and flourishing #<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 #but for reals it feels so good to get this posted #ahhh #relief

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