Thinking about the 'teaching Rarity to play fetch with Winona' idea put a funny scene into my head- Applejack is giving Rarity pointers on the perfect throw, and Rares goes "You know, I *have* thrown before, darling." Applejack says "Alright, sugarcube," and steps back. Rarity winds up for a hard overhand throw... and whips it too hard. The stick hits the ground right in front of Winona, who gives Rarity a confused head tilt, while Applejack tries hiding her giggles and snorts under her hat
requested: no. Just wanted to describe Ethan’s moods
You remember the first time he came in here – beanie pulled
over his messy hair, wild curls fighting their way out from under the
constricting fabric, bouncing with each of his steps. His eyes had been tired
and reddened from the cold, dry wind, mouth pulled downwards, skin pale, and
fingers tapping impatiently. It had been your first week at work and you sort of
knew how to make all the fancy drinks the coffee shop offered, but you weren’t
practiced yet. Stressed out customers didn’t help your nerves, to put it mildly.
He hadn’t even ordered anything fancy but his voice
was deep and annoyed and his eyes looked positively terrifying, all dark and
narrowed. Every day there were pissed off people coming into the shop, ordering
their coffee to get on with their apparently annoying lives, but mostly it was nice
friendly people, who weren’t bothered they had to wait for their coffee a
few seconds longer than usual. But that day you’d messed up three simple cappuccinos,
poured a half-made caramel-latte over the counter, and almost started crying in
relief when the next girl witnessing your tiny breakdown ordered a plain black
coffee. This random guy glowering at his phone while huffing his order from
across the counter was really just another addition to a godawful day.
You had handed him his paper cup with only a tiny
tremble which he luckily never noticed as he was still busy glaring at his
phone and tapping away on it furiously.
“Um… Sir?” You’d had to speak up since he wasn’t
reacting. His head snapped up, eyes zeroing in on the cup in your hand.
“Thanks”, he said, grabbed the cup and payed,
seemingly getting more and more impatient with each second he had to spend in
the shop. He practically ran out as soon as you’d handed him the change.
The next guy had given you a sympathetic smile and started
chatting away at you as you made him his coffee. His voice had been soothing,
you remember, but you can’t even recall whether he’d been old or young because
when you turned around to hand him his coffee, there he stood again. You jumped and poured the freshly made (hot) coffee
over your sleeve.
“Would you happen to have a – oh, shit”, his eyes had
widened in horror as he watched the steaming liquid pour over your sleeve.
He hadn’t done much, to be honest, he’d just stared
and stammered out a helpless mixture of apologies and offers for help while
staying rooted to his spot in front of the counter, while your eyes started welling
up in pain (and maybe a bit in humiliation) and your colleague rushed to help you.
Ethan had come back the next day, though, this time accompanied by his twin –
which had been slightly intimidating at first until they started laughing and
smiling and suddenly didn’t seem all that intimidating anymore. And that’s how
Ethan had felt bad enough about you being clumsy and sensitive to start coming
to the shop regularly, sometimes with Gray and sometimes without. He still orders
the same thing and you’ve made it enough times to be able to do it even when he’s
having a bad day and is glaring at nothing in particular.
You texted him to let him know when your shift ends
and when he hasn’t shown by the time you get out of the apron, you carry your
beverages to that table in the corner by the windows where he’d started playing
with your hair last time. There’s cold air seeping through the window, cooling
down your heated skin. It is late
summer so the temperatures could start sinking again now please. You sit down,
sip on your drink and check the time on your phone. Almost half an hour late.
That’s … not unusual for Ethan.
Five minutes later there’s a rush of damp curls, long
arms and a mumbled apology for being late, the seat groans as he plops down on
it, and he takes two long sips before leaning back and half turning around to
face you. “Why’s it lukewarm?”
“Well, it would’ve been better if you knew how
punctuality works”, you reply and shrug at his pout.
“’m not that late, am I?”, Ethan frowns and grimaces
when he sees the time. “Well … I’m sorry?”
You snort and roll your eyes at him. “It’s not like I expected any different.”
He narrows his eyes at you, then rubs his palm over
your head and effectively ruins your hair. You duck and try to escape him, but
you’re too late. Now it’s your time to scowl at him. “Now that. That was
Ethan makes a kissy face at you, smiles angelically,
and sips on his drink. You have almost finished yours by now and as you go to
get the last drop you see his hand creeping up on you out of the corner of your
eye. This time you’re fast enough and manage to grab his hand before he can
poke you and make you snort up your coffee through your nose. He just laughs
and doesn’t pull away when you keep holding onto his hand while you drink in
fear he will try again.
“You’re such a pain”, you mumble when you’re finished.
Trying to keep a straight face is really hard when he’s smiling at you like
that, though, his eyes all crinkly and grinning so wide there is almost
something like a dimple on his cheek.
“Love you, too”, he sing songs and when he smacks you
with a kiss right by your ear, his lips are cold and he smells like summer and sweat
“Shove off.” This time you have to bite your lip to
keep from smiling and he chuckles at you desperately trying to keep you face
blank. His hands are back, fingers digging into your side and making you giggle
as you try to catch his hands and keep him away.
“Say you love me!”, he demands, still laughing and
effortlessly tickling you with the one hand you haven’t managed to catch,
because you have to hold on to the other one with both of your hands. You’re
almost certain people are watching you two being complete idiots, maybe someone
throwing up at how annoying you are, but can’t bring yourself to care. Not when
he is looking at you like this, with bright eyes, smile on full display, curls
bouncing around his head like some out-of-shape halo. He’s so close and warm
and real and here and Ethan.
“You’re tardy and annoying and have no concept of
personal space and you’re fucking loud
and I can’t stand the sight of you”, you insist, still holding onto his one
hand while trying to scoot away from the other. He lifts one eyebrow at you and
starts pulling you in by the two hands wrapped around his, and before you know
it he’s leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours. He is so close,
his curls are tickling your temples and the tip of his nose almost brushes
yours. You feel like you’re going cross-eyed when you meet his eyes, staring
intently at you.
“But”, he says, lips twitching back into a smile from
where they’d gone serious a few seconds before. His hand is impossibly warm
where it wraps around your wrist, not pulling, just holding it in place and anchoring
you where you feel ready to float away any second now. “You love me.”
He says it like it’s a fact, so sure of himself, like
it’s a natural occurrence like the tide or something. And you want to say ‘no’,
just because of that damn self-assured tone, that smirk, those hands locking you
in place. But there’s also those eyes staring at you, open and familiar, that
voice that has trusted you during slow conversations in the dark with things
close to his heart, and this smile that could absolutely thaw that Titanic-ice-berg in seconds. He is
bright, so bright that sometimes you feel like you can’t look at him directly
because your heart is going to hurt if you do. So you push back against him
slightly, just because.
“Can you hear the silence? Can you see the dark? Can you fix the broken? Can you feel… can you feel my heart? Can you help the hopeless? Well, I’m begging on my knees, Can you save my bastard soul? Will you wait for me?” Sleepwalkingby Bring Me The Horizon