#fruitpoem

[thervnaways]

( ready, set, @fruitpoem! )

it wasn't quite like her to be so distracted but with work and her newfound role with the runaways, katrina couldn't remain focused. it's only when she hears her name called ( possibly for a second or third time already ) that she finally looks up, clearly unaware of what the other just said. "hm? sorry, were you saying something?"

[ofdamnation]

' baby—— you gonna tell me what all of that was about ? what did she want from you ? ' / closed starter for @fruitpoem , based .

[supercutts]

          ❛  actually,  i  hit  them  first.  ❜    it's  like  he's  correcting  himself,  pondering  his  very  own  aggressive  actions  back  at  the  party  the  two  had  just  ditched.  now  grayson  seeks  refuge,  far  away  from  the  chaos  he  had  caused,  fingers  brushing  gently  over  the  dark  bruises  forming  on  his  knuckles.  he  hisses  after  pressing  a  particularly  tender  spot  before  continuing.    ❛  i  don't  regret  it.  your  partner's  an  asshole.  ❜ @fruitpoem

[lcveloop]

@fruitpoem liked for a starter ! ( 2 / 2 ) based on: x

“I just… I don’t get it.” Huffing, Val falls back into her seat, arms crossed in front of her chest. “If they’re bothering you so much why won’t you let me get rid of them?” It’s such a simple solution, so obvious and genuinely tempting, and she can’t believe they’re still stuck discussing it when she could be out there, getting the job done. “Do you think I can’t do it? Is that it? Is that your problem?” The idea they might doubt her lances straight through Val and her cheeks blotch red, in embarrassment or anger or something else entirely she isn’t quite sure. All she knows is that now she’s even more desperate to do it. To prove herself. “Because I absolutely can. It won’t even be a struggle. And I can be so discreet about it. No one’s even going to notice.”

[lcveloop]

@fruitpoem liked for a starter ! ( 1 / 2 ) based on: x

“Hey, darling.” Armed with his most brilliant smile, Elio leans closer, chipping away at their personal space without hesitation. “What a small world, huh? Who would have thought we'd run into each other like this?” Certainly not him; he'd been convinced the last he'd see of them would be their sleeping form while he tiptoed out of the room. In front of his (or, well, their shared one apparently) friend, he'd pretended like they were strangers. But now, in this likely short pocket in time when they're alone together, he finally acknowledges their connection, however brief, freely. “About the other night… I didn't mean to dip on you, things just sorta happened like that. But you're not upset about it, right? We're cool?”

[lovedsick]

               "  i  just  have  to  stop  you  right  there  because  .  .  .  realistically  ,  that  would  never  happen  .  there's  no  way  you're  telling  me  to  do  that  !  "

[ofdamnation]

' well you're wrong—— okay ? i am happy , and i'm in love with him ! what the hell would you know about it anyway !? ' / @fruitpoem liked for a starter , based on this plot !

[justsurvival]

          the ship lurches for the umpteenth time as water buffets the side and the shrike's stomach turns violently.  she gets to her feet in the small quarters she was granted below deck.  it's not a very luxurious boat,  but extravagance would have gotten them killed.  what they needed was stealth to enter the city from it's harbor and their enemies would be none the wiser.  the idea to sequester a fishing vessel from the docks had been very smart when she came up with it,  but it quickly became obvious that she is not the sea faring type.

          not that she intends for anyone else to find that out.

          the shrike grabs one of her daggers for her own comfort rather than a means of safety on her way out of her quarters up to the deck.  the moon,  full and bright,  shines down enough light for the shrike to have a good visual of how utterly lonely their boat is out here.  the water is dark,  inky,  monstrous as it sloshes against the boat.  her grip on the dagger's hilt borders on painful.  assassins and knights do not suffer from sea sickness.  the fucking blood shrike,  the captain of the elite black guard,  the ruler's right hand,  the country's second-in-command does not get ill on a damned fishing boat.  she takes a breath and attempts to ground herself by focusing on only sounds,  not the unstable deck under her boots.  the door creaks a few minutes into this ritual and she spins around,  blade up in a defensive stance.  a figure lurks shrouded by shadow.     "     who goes  ?  show yourself.     "     hyper vigilance should be unnecessary.  she inspected every corner of the vessel herself before they embarked;  only those she vetted should be aboard,  and every one of those should be resting in anticipation for the next days.

[     the deck of a fishing boat at night     —     @fruitpoem     ]