[fair warning: this piece is 1.2k words. if you're looking for a snippet, this isn't it.] [not super accurate to the prompt, just wanted to write some dialogue.]

“He’s like some neurotic trapped prey animal. Look at him,” Rally says, jerking his head in Voraček’s general direction across the kindergarten classroom. “He deserves a break, at least this time.”

Yen looks up from where he’s directing one of the kids as she builds Legos on the floor. “You don’t even like him,” he replies, expression blank, as he reaches around the girl to grab at another box of bricks. “It’s Tyler. If he wanted a break, he’d ask Hoshi or the admin. He’ll deal.”

Rally looks back at the man in question. He’s got his hands behind his back, legs closely pressed together, and he seems like he’s trying really hard to win a staring contest with the far wall. He’s a freaking statue, really.

Rally stands for a moment, arms crossed tightly over his chest, before turning his gaze to the amalgamation of colored bricks that Yen is attempting to put together. The other man catches him looking, raising an eyebrow.

“Like you could do any better.”

_Huh,_ he thinks, glancing at the camera crew that’s been meandering around the room. _I guess I’m doing this now._

“Scoot,” Rally mutters, tapping his shoe against Yen’s leg to get him to move over so he can sit.

“Have at it, kid,” Yen says, rattling the box of plastic bricks in front of him.

For maybe the next ten minutes, they make random objects. A lot of it is just Rally accidentally putting two half-pieces together and being unable to pry them apart.

Suddenly, the toddler that’s been playing with them pipes up. She says something in Japanese, and Rally turns to look at Yen, who scoffs, shaking his head. 

“Just because I’m Asian and drive a Miata doesn’t mean I speak Japanese,” he says, and Rally knows there’s no heat to it, but he still feels a familiar pang in his chest. He pretends to brush it off, continuing his attempts to use his fingernails to separate the Legos he’s messing with.

Someone clears their throat from behind them. 

“I do. Speak Japanese, I mean.”

Rally looks up to see- oh, whaddya know- Tyler Voraček, standing there. He looks like he’s either about to explode or break down and scream. Or both. Either way, Rally’s never seen him so uncomfortable.

“Hi, Tyler,” Yen says, far too casually, like teleporting is something Mazda drivers just _do_ on the regular.

“Hello, Sato. Korolyov,” Voraček says, nodding at Rally. It’s been a while since he’s heard his last name addressed to him, so he forgets to respond until Yen throws a two-by-one Lego at his ear. It stings, but he has enough restraint in him that he manages not to swear in front of the little girl.

“Uh,” Rally fumbles for words. “What are you doing over here?”

Well. At least he said _something_. 

Voraček tilts his head with narrowed eyes, staring at Rally.

Actually, maybe nothing would have been better. The man doesn’t give him a moment to recover, though, and Rally can’t blame him.

“Hoshi said I need something to do. A disassociating driver isn’t typically what the media is looking for when it comes to promotional content,” He mutters, and Rally notices the slight jitter of his right leg.

_Itching for the pedal and the clutch. I get it, man,_ is what he wants to say, but he’s still got some semblance of situational awareness left to his name, so he stays quiet.

Voraček looks down at the girl sitting before him, and it’s like his whole demeanor shifts. His eyes soften and he says something in Japanese, but all Rally can make out is the word ‘cute.’ The girl beams up at him, returning with a quiet thank-you, before going back to playing with her blocks.

Yen huffs, turning his head to look at his teammate. “You gonna stand there like some sort of gargoyle the whole time, or are you gonna play with this kid so I can go take a piss?”

Voraček makes a _“Tcht!”_ sound with his teeth at the same time Rally baps the back of his head with his palm, so at least they share that common ground. Yen’s got two kids, for God's sake, he should know better. And sure, the girl doesn't even understand anything they're saying, but kids her age still copy mannerisms, right?

Yen waves them off. “Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles, shooting a glance up at his friend- and, after sort-of struggling to stand up, he just. Walks away. 

His shoes leave impressions in the kiddie foam that spans the floor. Rally watches them disappear.

Good grief. This is the second time his friends have abandoned him with Voraček. He looks up at the other man, his own gray eyes meeting sharp brown ones.

The other man doesn't move to sit. He doesn’t blink, either.

“How’s Dallas?”

Uh. What?

“Huh?” Rally says, before realizing that Voraček is asking about his navigator.

“Oh. He’s doing okay, I guess. Less stumbling in the pacenotes.” He turns his attention back to the child in front of him, who’s currently trying to rip apart the toy house he had given her to destroy with her tiny hands.

Voraček hums. “That’s nice.”

It’s- well, it’s not _un_comfortable silence, but it’s definitely a few beats before Rally realizes.

“You ain’t gonna sit?” He asks, before he can really think about it.

Voraček just does that head-tilt thing again, like a dog that doesn’t understand its name just yet. “No.” He pauses, before adding, “Thank you for the offer.” 

Rally nods and makes a noncommittal noise that he thinks should convey ‘suit yourself’ pretty well.

“So, you speak Japanese?” He tries. “That's cool.”

“Yes, and you.. how do I say this. You are Russian, and speak Russian, but have a Southern accent?”

Rally chuckles, clicking a circular piece onto the blue snake he’s building. “Yeah, it throws a lot of people off. Born and raised on a ranch in Texas, but my dad’s from Samsa and my mom’s Puerto Rican.”

Voraček doesn’t reply, but when Rally looks back at him, he looks lost in thought, like he’s trying to remember something that’s told through the scar across his crooked nose and the furrow of his eyebrows.

He taps the ground beside him with his pointer finger until the other man meets his eyes. “Sit,” he says.

And Voraček does.

He postures stiffly, on his knees and shins, his spine ramrod straight. He puts his right hand over his left in his lap, and when he smiles, it almost looks painful. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again.

“I don’t like to feel small,” He whispers.

Rally deliberates for a moment, handing the little girl the snake he’s just finished.

“But you’re still taller than me. You’re never small around me,” Is what he settles on.

Voraček turns his head to look at the cameras. “I don’t want anyone but God looking down on me.”

Rally stands up, a little too quickly if you ask him, because the room is spinning for a moment. The Mazda driver practically leaps up after him, some wild look in his eyes.

“Hold on,” is all Rally says, and he goes to find Voraček a chair.

“My dear sister, could I have an audience with you?” She calls from her room, hoping to summon the aforementioned sister.

“I think you’ve been watching too much Bridgerton,” Greta jokes, appearing in her doorway.

“You must make haste so we can gossip without the eyes of the Ton upon us,” Bell says in her best Lady Whistledown voice. Greta jumps next to her on her bed, causing her to bounce a bit. They fall into a fit of giggles at her poor attempt. No one is Julie Andrews.

Their mother isn’t home, so this is the perfect time to mention her soulmate, Cross, and her powers. It’s just…nerve wracking. Greta loves the idea of soulmates which you would think would make Bell feel better. But somehow it doesn’t.

“Greta, you know how you’re 4 years older than me?”

Bell cringes at her awkwardness with her own sister. They’ve always been close, but the subject is a bit uncomfortable to just bring up.

“Umm…yeah. That’s not hard to remember. Is there something you want to know?” Greta knows her. And it isn’t hard to figure out when Bell wants to say something. She’s crap at hiding things.

It’s pretty surprising how Greta didn’t figure it out already.

“Yes actually.”

“Go on.”

“It’s just that you have to promise not to tell Mom.” The smile on Greta’s face falters. Not because of not telling their mother. But because of the seriousness in which she’ll asks.

“I promise,” Greta matches her tone.

Taking a moment to breathe in and out to calm the high end nerves, she finally blurts it out. “Cross is my soulmate and I have powers.”

As if someone hit pause, Greta is still. Her eyes are wide in disbelief.

“Oh my gosh! Bell! That’s amazing!” She finally unfreezes and hugs Bell.

When she pulls back and sees the uneasiness on her face, her face turns inquisitive again. “Why don’t you look like it’s amazing?”

“Because how come we didn’t know before? No one knew we had powers, Greta,” Bell replies, hoping she will get the context clues without her outright having to accuse their mom.

Good thing Greta is great with implications. She gets it almost immediately. “You think it has to do with Mom.”

Their mom’s telepathic powers never bothered either of them. They never had anything to hide. So their mom rarely used her ability on her kids. At least to their knowledge.

“Do you remember anything?”

Her sister is usually an open book for herc but she can’t read her. “I would have told you, Bells. I don’t recall you ever having powers. Or Cross for that matter.”

“Would you mind my friend, Ria, if she has a look in your head? She thinks that if Mom had a hand in it, that the memories aren’t gone. You were probably old enough to have those memories.”

Greta rests her hand on her shoulder. She could cool hand on her heated skin felt like an instant relief.

“Of course.”

OoOoO

“So how does this work?” Greta asks.

Once Bell texted Ria, she came over immediately, knowing the urgency of the situation. This can only be done when Bell’s mom isn’t home and she doesn’t leave for long periods of time often.

It’s now or never.

“My ability allows me to manipulate dreams or memories in this case. What I do with them can range, but for you, I am trying to locate and unlock a hidden memory. If it’s there,” Ria explains.

Her sister brings up some more inquiries about the process which Ria readily answers.

Amelie, who came with Ria, glances to Bell. “How are you doing with this?”

Bell shoots her a smile. Her friendship with Amelie is something that she has come to truly lean on and cherish. “I’m nervous. I want to know, but at the same time, I don’t. If that makes sense.”

“It does. Trust me. It does.”

Getting more knowledge is Greta’s way of preparing herself. Once she is satisfied, she sits down on the leather couch and closes her eyes. Ria sits next to her with some distance between them. “I would suggest no one sit directly next to her. Sometimes this can get overwhelming.”

Bell and Amelie place themselves on the floor near the couch but scoot back a bit with Ria’s suggestion.

“Ok Greta, take a deep breath and try to clear your mind. Think about your mom and Bell. This will give me a direction to go down.”

Greta does as she’s told, and Bell could see her visibly relax. Her chest rises and falls, almost hypnotic.

They watch as Ria’s eyes close, the space between her eyebrows scrunch up in concentration. Bell could have laughed out loud at the look of adoration on Amelie’s face when watching Ria. She didn’t because that would have interrupted the serene environment needed for this. But she wanted to.

She wonders what this process feels like to Ria. Is it like picking a needle in a haystack? Mental filing cabinets? What does it feel like for Greta. Does she feel Ria in her mind? Can she see the memories that Ria is prodding at?

A bump to her shoulder redirects her attention to Amelie. She gives her a small grin. Bell gratefully takes her hand and squeezes in appreciation.

Sure Amelie could have accompanied Ria because they were already together when Bell texted her, but Bell knows Amelie. She has been so supportive towards Bell ever since she held Bell’s biggest secret—that she and Cross were soulmates.

It is so quiet and calm that both Bell and Amelie are startled when both girls bolt upright, gasping for air. Her sister is heaving, leaving forward with her head in her hands. Ria’s eyes are wide, glowing pink faintly before dimming to their normal grey color.

“What happened?” Amelie questions, eyeing them both in concern.

When her breath goes back to a normal pace, Ria looks to Bell and Bell knows.

It’s the face of apology.

“Greta, with your permission, could I show Bell the memory that I found?”

Her head is downcast, still in her hands, but she nods.

“You ready?”

Bell isn’t sure she would ever be ready, but she needs to know for sure.

“Yes.”

OoOoO

It is such a weird experience. Bell closed her eyes and she felt like she was sucked into a whirlpool. A disorienting motion.

Then she thinks she opens her eyes and she’s not in her living room. It’s their backyard. But greener. The bees are buzzing around the blooming flowers. It’s summer in the memory.

The exterior of her home looks about 10 years newer. Maybe even more than that. The paint isn’t chipped, the old red door is still there, and the driveway is newly paved.

“Look over there,” Ria materializes next to her. She is pointing to the front yard where she now sees a young Bell playing. She is maybe four in a little blue dress and sequined sneakers.

A younger Greta is on their porch. A bunch of crayons are scattered and colorful pages strewn about. Thinking of Greta’s stunning paintings in present time, this is where she got her start.

The younger version of herself prances about, chasing a butterfly. When one of Greta’s coloring pages flies in the wind, young Bell shoots out her hand and the wind redirects, the paper flying back to Greta.

“Thanks, Bellsy!!”

It takes Bell’s breath away at the casual use of her powers. Growing up without the knowledge of her abilities, she never could imagine anything like this. For the first time in her life, she could see her life being different. It could’ve been normal.

She’s so wrapped in her thoughts, she doesn’t see a crucial person stroll up.

“Bell, it’s Cross.” Ria tilts her chin to where a young Cross is walking down the street. He has a coin leviating above his open palm. The Noble family moved around the corner around this time. This would be their first time meeting.

It’s like a rom com, at least the little kid version. When Bell and Cross see one another, her with sunlight surrounding her and him with leaves swirling from his telekinesis, it is magic.

Time slows.

The distance between them shrinks, almost like they are in a trance. Her light grows brighter and more leaves and flower petals twirl around Cross. At the same time, both of them reach out their hands. Their fingertips touch and immediately everything falls away. The proof of their powers vanish. The sunlight dims. Leaves drop.

Bell doesn’t remember this. When she thinks back to meeting Cross, it was normal. It looked a lot like what happened if you exclude the soulmate powers.

Greta, who had seen the whole thing, calls for their mom. “Mom, Bell found her soulmate!”

Her heart aches at the excitement Greta has for her. She was an innocent child. Didn’t know what would happen.

Their mom opens the front door and Bell can see her panicked. Her eyes are searching for her youngest child, her body rigid. The word ‘soulmate’ made her mother scared. And Bell has no idea why.

“Mom?” Greta’s little face bunches up in confusion.

“I can fix this,” her mom whispers. “I can fix this.”

Her irises glow white and all the children freeze, paused in time. But this goes much farther than just the three of them. Her mom becomes pale, her neck veins bulging in effort. Even her hair was floating. Bell has never seen her mom so powerful.

Then she collapses to her knees, gasping for oxygen. Bell wonders if somehow her mom’s telepathy reached every single person that knew of Bell’s powers and erased it. And what about Cross? Did her mom befriend his mom just to make sure she hid the memories of Cross’ powers?

“Mommy? I made a new friend! Cross!” A young Bell exclaims, clamoring up the porch steps to her mom. “Can he stay and play?”

Catching her breath, she is still on her knees, level with the little Bell and looks her in the eye and smiles. “Of course, sweetie. I think I see his parents walking up the street. I’m going to talk with them.”

How did her mom just lie to her like that? And why? Her mom didn’t like soulmates, which doesn’t make sense. Her parents were spulmayes. Why doesn’t her mom like them?

Why is she so afraid?

——— (This became pretty long and so I don’t feel like editing it. Sorry about that 🤪.)

The two old friends sat down at a small table in the corner. Cole crossed her arms and had one leg propped up on the others knee. Vier sat down leaning against the back of that chair, legs spread wide and arms hanging loosely at his side. There was silence for a long while, Vier expected Cole to speak first, but she wasn’t budging.

“Look Cole-“ he started when the bartender brought two pints over. Vier nodded at him in thanks while Cole continued to glair at him. “I get that you’re pissed and all. But like,” Coles body tensed and Vier realized that he would have to choose his next words very carefully. “I…shouldn’t have…lied, to you. It was being-” but at that moment Cole got up and swung her chair around so fast Vier only realized what had happened when it collided with the man behind her. She whipped her head around to face Vier again and whispered “was this you again?” “No I-“ “I swear to god Xavier if you set me up, again” she spat in his face so close he could see the detail in every one of the scars on her face. “Cole” he said in a steady voice “I promise you, this wasn’t me.” She stared into his eyes as if trying to tell if he was lying. Then seeming to decide at he was telling the truth and grabbed his arm, yanking him away from the table. They dartted between people, rushing past cloaks and fancy dresses. Vier grunted as he was dragged along by Cole his body ramming in to people as they past. Apos to Cole, swiftly running by people so fast they couldnt even tell what was happening before she was gone again. “Cole! Cole, slow down!” Vier called after her “You want me to let go?” Vier let out a sigh of anoyance. Finnaly they slowed down in a dark, lonly square. “Cole what th-“ “Shh.” She was looking around like a cat waiting for it’s preditor to reveal it’s self. “Who is it?” “Shut up.”

Then without warning she shoved him to the ground and threw a dagger at the second floor balcony of one of the apartments behind him. There was a grunt and then a loud thud as the body of a man fell to the ground. Vier turned to ask Cole who he was only to find that she had vanished. “Damn it Cole!” He shouted, but only the diying man heard him. “Help me.” The man maneged to grunt, Vier sighed, walked over to the man, pulled the dagger from his chest and slit his throut, sliding the dagger it to his bag and walking out of the square. Unaware of the cat like shadow following him from the roof tops.

“Nice neck.” Hazel mused. She was out of breath from the suddenness of what happened.

Catherine raised her eyebrows. “Yes, thank you. I know my neck is flawless. So do you mind lowering that blade? I should like my neck to remain this way.”

The Empress showed no fear at all. Caramel eyes regarded her with caution, but her posture was straight and relaxed. Despite the blade to her neck, she held her head so straight the golden crown remained on her head.

Hazel hesitated. Why was she not afraid? Hazel outnumbered the Queen’s guards 5 to 1, yet Catherine didn’t seem phased in the slightest. The men surrounded them in a circle, much like the circular garden they stood in. Sunlight reflected off their steel, blinding Hazel as she looked. They squirmed, eager to protect their queens, and to get out of the heat.

She looked at Catherine. Her hands struggled to hold up her blade as the scent of flowers suffocated her. The Empress held her chin high. Her eyes bore into Hazel, watching her, reading her, but somehow… they still seemed gentle. That’s all it took for Hazel to lower her blade and sheathe it. Catherine breathed a sigh of relief. “Sheathe your weapons,” she commanded.

Her guards glanced at each other and then at Hazel’s men. After a moment, they sheathed their weapons one by one. Hazel looked at her right-hand man. Hunter had one eye on her and the other in his enemies. He stood more still than Catherine did, ready for anything. Hazel nodded. He sheathed his weapons. Then the rest of her men did the same in unison.

“Well, then. Now that the weapons are away. Perhaps we can finally introduce ourselves properly.”

A gentle grin sat on her face. Her short, brunette hair paired with her maroon dress suited her. It reminded Hazel of when she wore dresses. Everything about the Empress reminded Hazel of the time she was a gentle queen.

She sighed. “Alright, then. I am-”

“Hazel Montgomery. Warrior Queen of the Dragon People,” Catherine stated.

Hazel frowned. “How do you-”

“Everybody knows that name, Hazel. It’s not every day or every millennium even that a girl from a magicless world arrives.”

“Yes, but how did you know I am Hazel?”

Catherine smiled. “It’s simple, truly. When rumours of you first arrived, people painted a picture of a sweet girl. A pacifist. A peacemaker. But then more tales arose; tales of you facing tragedy and pain, tales of you birthing children and losing them, tales of dead friends and lost homes. You may have held a blade to my throat with the fierceness of a broken mother and the power of a queen, but your eyes held the stolen love of a little girl.”

Catherine spoke with a grace and tenderness that stunned Hazel into silence.

“There are few women in the world that can fit that description,” she concluded.

Hazel froze. Her heart fluttered in her chest. She glanced at Hunter, who stood ready for her command. Every man behind her was ready to die for Hazel. She knew this. So she faced the Empress again, hand on her sword. “The attack you sanctioned-”

“The attack my husband sanctioned.” Catherine interrupted again. “I haven’t seen my husband’s face since we conceived our second son. A boy 20 years of age. I assure you, anything my husband did, I had nothing to do with. I didn’t even know he did it.”

“So you somehow know all the business of a stranger, but are unaware when your own husband slaughters a temple?”

“My husband’s affairs do not interest me. You, though… you do. Very much so. Come.” Catherine turned to the side and gestured to the door leading into the palace. “It is quite warm out here. Let us speak inside. I would like to get to know you.”

Hunter grabbed her arm. He did not want her to risk it. However, Hazel didn’t look at him. She couldn’t help but to be curious. Yes, she was supposed to take the palace. Hazel was going to take the palace, but not before figuring this Catherine out first. Plus… the heavy armour she wore made her pant a little.

“Stay here.”

No man posed a question. They couldn’t pose a question. All they could do was watch as the Queen and the Empress entered the halls, unguarded and together.

(this isn't technically the prompt, I'm just proud of this section I wrote, rough or not, and wanted to share it with people.)

-Mattheo came back to his apartment after his morning coffee with Tess to be greeted by his very kind roommate..-

”Mattheo where's the bloody hover!”

”A hover?”

”Yeah the electric thing that picks up dirt.”

”Ohhhh a vacuum.”

”The hells a vacuum?”

”American hoover.”

”Ahhhh ok.”

“It's in the closet near the bathroom.”

”Cheers.”

”Yup.”

“Also where do ya go every morning,” Sam asks peering in the closet.

”To meet with uh.. Friendddd, yeah. Shes actually coming by today to meet you!”

”Oh a she! You gotta crush on ‘er?”

”Tess? Ha no she would rip me to shreds,” Mattheo states, shivering at the thought.

“Alright how do you use this thing?” Sam says, dragging the vacuum to the kitchen.

-Just then people bursts throught the door.-

”BLOODY HELL!”

”PUT YOUR HANDS DOWN!”

”Its the suit guys- Did he just say hands down?”

”No one cares Mattheo we have guns pointing at our blood heads,” Sam scowls.

”Are you ever gonna not say bloody?”

”Oh shut up and focus on the situation!”

”Maybe their salesman?”

”Uh no!” he scoffs.

“You said focus so im focusing on the positive!”

”You worthless prat!”

-Both men look back at the... Sleeping suit guys?-

”Heh?”

”You must be Samuel Clive. Im Tess Kai,” she hisses, dusting off her hands at the foot of the downed men.

-Tess knows who he is and Sam is in big trouble.-

---

Part 2 of Little Talks

“Genevieve, darling, are you prepared for your dancing?” Her mother questions.

“Yes, Mother,” Vi answers, poised and ready.

“As you know, there will be important people here, so it is imperative to present your best self,” she continues, as she normally does before these betrothal events.

“Of course, Mother.”

Her mother, Queen Narissa of Zerla, appears to be satisfied and she walks into another room with the coordinator, making sure the decor was up to her standards.

Vi walks around aimlessly, twisting and twirling around the giant, empty space.

“So, Vi, are you prepared for your announce-your-betrothal party?” The new occupant in the room didn’t stop her graceful movements.

“Dance with me, Der!” She commands, pulling his arm, swaying to imaginary music.

He twirls her, and she giggles when he spins her out and then brings her close to him.

“Is that an order, Princess Genevieve?” He teases.

“Lord Derrick, I would never use my royal status against my betrothal.”

“Sure, never.”

They pause their dancing and grin ag each other. “I can’t wait to be yours,” he whispers into the quiet space.

“Der, you’re already mine, as I am yours.” She rests her head on his shoulder, his curly hair tickling her face.

“But is it ever official until the kingdom knows?” She laughs when his voice raises a few octaves higher to imitate her mother. A snort echoes in the space, magnifying the unladylike sound. Vi immediately brings her hand to her mouth to contain her laughter.

Der runs his hands up and down her side. It has become a nervous tick, she’s realized. “I think your mom regrets letting you choose your partner,” he confesses.

The tone quickly shifts. He’s being serious and self doubting. A mood that Vi hates with a great deal of passion.

“Well it’s too late to retract it now. I’ve chosen you. I’ll always choose you.” Reassurance was her only way to soothe his worries. Marrying a princess when not a prince or a duke has been hard on him. But he would do anything for her. Vi loves him for it.

She knows that her message is received when he gives her a small smile. Lifting her heels up ever so slightly, their noses brush as she wraps her arms around his neck.

“Lord Derrick! Stop distracting my daughter. You are not wedded yet!” Her mom’s shrill voice interrupts their moment.

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” he separates from Vi and bows his head.

One last glance before he leaves the room.

“Genevieve, no silly business until the announcement!” Her mother chastises, her voice sharp, unforgiving.

“Yes, Mother. I am sorry as well.”

“It’s that Lord Derrick’s doing. Why you chose him is not in my realm of understanding.”

“I understand and that’s all that matters,” Vi answers simply. Her mother never liked Derrick. While he came from status with his father being a high ranking knight, he did not come from wealth. She knows her mother would have rather she pick a man of wealth and status. But that’s too bad because Vi loves Derrick.

“No need for the snark.” Her gaze shooting daggers. Vi shivers under the visual attack. If her desired, she always thought she could bring an army to their knees with just her glare.

“I apologize, Mother.”

“That’s better. Diplomats from all four kingdoms are coming just to hear your betrothal. Since it isn’t anyone of importance, we have to present our best.”

“Derrick is important. To me,” she insists, not wanting his name to be tarnished right in front of her. He is her betrothal and she should respect him! By marriage, he’ll be the prince, for god’s sake!

A pointed look from her mother and she knows when to stop talking. “I meant someone they would have heard of, darling. Anyway, Gregor of Allaver is one of the notable guests.”

“Allaver is the center and most prominent kingdom, so we have to play nice. I know, Mother,” she points out.

“Good. You’ve been listening.”

Zerla stays out of the politics of the kingdoms, choosing to be neutral in almost every conflict. For certain special occasions, they host people from the different kingdoms and act like they care about them when Zerla is sufficient all by itself.

They’ve never had to rely on anyone else. Zerla doesn’t even trade any resources with them.

“Zerla must appear at its best. These kingdoms think some day we will need them,” her mother says, her gaze distant, as if in a different time. The “but we don’t” is left unspoken.

“Derrick and I know. We will do everything you requested.”

“Thank you, Genevieve,” she brings Vi into a hug, a rare instance of affection from the normally stoic queen. “I am glad that you’re happy.”

Maybe she did get it. That Derrick was her person. Maybe things were looking up for her mother’s perception of him.

“Even if I do not necessarily care for your choice.”

Close enough.

——— (Not exactly the prompt. More like Vi is like two opposite people around her mom and Derrick.)

Miles’ clothes are folded neatly, mine aren’t. Miles’ room isn’t messy, mine is. Miles’ car is new and improved, mine has a license plate that still drags against the tailgate of my truck. Miles’ front seats are designated for nights with girls and fancy drive in movies, mine are made to drive me to and from places as I wish Miles and I were alike.

Miles and I have many differences. For one, he’s the hotshot of our school, and you ever leave him alone at a party— he won’t get lost. For two, he has a girlfriend, a blonde named Emily. For three, he’s not me.

My hair’s messy, his isn’t. My eyes are grey, his are green. My eyes are tired, his are lively. My hands are cold, his are warm. My voice is silent, his is loud. My room is messy, his isn’t.

Miles and I are different. Very different.

Miles likes girls with blonde hair and short skirts, I don’t. Miles has a thing for tight clothes and ponytails on girls, I don’t. Miles likes romantic dates with girls, I don’t. Miles loves buying roses and chocolates for the blondes he thinks will last for years, I don’t. Miles enjoys watching movies and cuddling during them, with girls. Miles likes walking the campus of the college, with girls. Miles likes girls.

I like Miles. He doesn’t like me.

Miles and I, we’re different. And he’ll never really understand why, despite wishing he knew. I could tell him a million things, but there is one he will never quite understand, or be told. Miles and I will always be different.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“No.”

“Oh really? Okay guess I’m doing it then!”

“WAIT NO—“

---

eating a packet of Fun-Dip “. . . Should I eat it whole?”

wasn’t listening “What.”

“The Fun-Dip. Should I just like—pour all the powder in my mouth in one go?”

“Hell no! You’ll inhale it or something.”

“…”

“…”

starts pouring it into mouth “I’m afraid that you’ve challenged my abilities. Now I must prove you wrong.”

“NO STOP—“

---

notices Character A holding a handful of grass and staring at it. “Character A.”

“What?”

“You’re not actually thinking of—“

shoves grass into mouth and chews it “Thinking of what?”

“…”

“…”

inhales “SELF CONTROL, CHARACTER A.”

“I DO HAVE SELF CONTROL, CHARACTER B.”

“CLEARLY NOT!!!”

---

“Womp.”

“…”

“…”

“Womp Womp.”

“Womp Womp!”

Character C walks in “What the fuck?”

Character A and B stare at Character C then starts chasing after them

---

pours skittles onto Character B’s head “Taste the rainbow, bitch.”

“Character A, what the actual fuck???”

---

If you couldn’t tell these were based on real-life events lol

As Jazmin leaves her lunch table to the vending machine in the cafeteria, she goes up to the vending machine and sees several kinds of sodas with her brown eyes wandering a lot. She whispers softly to herself as she sees a green sprite soda can “Oooo I want that one…I’m craving that now.” Jazmin takes out her money to put into the vending machine which she does eventually put into the vending machine. As she is pressing the button, she lets out a soft gasp and softly pleads “Come on…please.” She softly pouts her bottom lip as she looks through the vending machine “Please.”

Jazmin was about to leave the vending machine until a rough hand taps her shoulder which she softly turns around to see her English classmate Matt with her sprite can in his hand. He honestly says “I saw you struggling with the vending machine and I have a trick on how to beat the vending machine.” She raises her eyebrow as he gives her sprite can as he leads her back to the vending machine. As Matt leads her back, she can see his tattooed arms and bulging muscles from the back of his body. Then once he leads her back to the vending machine, Matt demonstrates by kicking the side of the vending machine which immediately drops a soda can and he picks it up automatically. 

Her brown eyes widen in shock as she chuckles “Wow that’s it?” Then his hazel eyes look at her as he nods and quietly gestures to her to do the same by placing her small frame in front of the vending machine. Jazmin does kick the side of the vending machine hard and another sprite soda can comes out from the vending machine shich she grabs as she chuckles “I guess I do owe you one Matt. Matt softly looks at her and says as he rubs his buzzed cut “Well we may be classmates in class however do you want to be friends?” Her brown eyes widen in shock as she looks at him “Really?” 

Matt smiles as he nods as him and Jazmin walk back to their lunch table “Yes.” Then Jazmin softly smiles as she looks at him “Well you may intimidate me with your muscles and all that but you are a complete teddy bear underneath that.” Matt laughs as he playfully shushes her as they giggle.

Scott takes a deep breath, pressing his forehead against the door. The freezer cools his skin, which is freckled and heated from annoynce.

He moves away from the door just in time for Ben to slam it open, swaggering inside. He's wearing avaitors and a hollywood smile.

"You're late." Scott growls.

"You're early." Ben remarks breezily, sliding off his jacket.

Scott's black hair is slicked back to his scalp, every strand glaring at Ben's gravity defying dirty blond hair.

"I'm on time." Scott uses the muscles of his bulky build to lift a crate full of vodka bottles.

Ben side-steps him, easily slipping bewteen the crate and the wall with his slender physique. He stays put on the wall, watching Scott move the crates. He's still wearing that Tom-Cruise-Oscar-Award-Winning-smile.

Scott pauses with a crate full of lemons on his shoulder, "Are you gonna' help, or just stand there looking pretty."

Ben presses his tongue to the back of his teeth, wagging his brows, "You think I'm pretty, Scotty?"

Scott scoffs, face like a sheet of freckled stone. He finishes moving their produce, alone. Ben's yellow-green eyes track him, silently studying.

Scott snaps his cool blue eyes to him, that familiar glare of annoyance back in place. It only makes Ben smile wider.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing."

"No, nothin' is what you've been doin' since you got here." Scott pulls out his black dress-shirt, checking for wrinkles, "Get changed."

Ben pushes off the wall, as smooth and graceful as a big jungle cat, "Trying to see me topless, big boy?"

Scott sheds his white tank, quickly buttoning up his work attire. He lumbers over to his backpack, pulling out a comb.

"Just get dressed, Ken doll."

He rakes the cone over his hiar again. Then, without asking, he runs it through Ben's hair. It nearly snags on the gel, but it looks a little more tame.

The silence that follows is defeaning.

Ben's delighted smile breaks the stilness, and Scott's answering red face is an entire conversation on its own.

"Did you just-" "Shut up." "-brush my hair, Scotty?" "I said, shut up." "I know you called me a Ken doll, but-" "Please, for the love of god, shut up." "-its no excuse to play with my hair, darling."

Scott steps away from him, gritting his teeth against mortification. Ben slowly buttons up his shirt, whistling a snazzy little tune.

"I hate you, by the way." Scott offers, moving to open the freezer door.

"Sure, keep telling yourself that, loverboy." Ben whispers in his ear as he passes him.

Scott glares as Ben's greeted with cheers of excitement from their co-workers. Ben laughs as everyone stands up straighter at the sight of Scott.

If he's a Ken Doll, than Scott is a G.I.Joe.