Disclaimer: Mitsy: Though I like Kotone, I like Crystal, also : ) I wish we could somehow have both of them. Wetwing: Sure ^^ Crystal: Hahaha, thank you : ) I never played Crystal, either. Lol, I'm very flattered- and yes, I would fall for that. Steven is too amazing not to ; ) Oogabooga: I LOVE checkmateshipping! : D Thanks. Olih: Thank you! ; w ; Tri: Thank you so much! Arthur: That is actually… a really good theory : ) Definitely less depressing than mine. Silver: ; D Penny: I totally agree about the ranger games! And thank you : ) I very much enjoy writing depressing/creepy stuff, so I'm really happy that you like reading them. MortalHeart: First, off your penname is absolutely gorgeous; secondly, thank you very much! Blaze: Thank you! Yes, I'd be delighted to do those requests ^ w ^ Octtipus: Thanks for the alert!
Question: HEY, HEY, HEY EVERYBODY. I HAVE A NEW STORY OUT- VIOLET HILL: A PMD3 STORY. IT IS A DARKER RETELLING OF THE PMD3 STORYLINE. I WOULD LOVE YOU IF YOU CHECKED IT OUT.
My Answer: Please?
Characters: Hollow's request.
Summary: Written while listening to 'How To Save A Life', by the Fray.
How To
If there was a 'Happiness for Dummies' booklet, it might have gone something like this.
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Touko and Alder's love was like an advent calendar: there was a small prize for each day they made it through together, as if to say, Here's a little something for your trouble.
Touko was OCD in the way she would count the days. Alder tried to show her how to let them pass by themselves, and not help them along.
She claimed she counted because she liked to keep track, but he could see the lies stuck between her teeth, souring her breath and festering on her tongue. He could see the unspoken truths trapped behind her eyes, pressing their hands up against the backs of her pupils and leaving smudges on the black.
On her twentieth birthday he found her with her party-hatted head in her hands and her sneakers scuffing the dirt, and it was then that she let the truth free.
"I thought that if I counted the days they would somehow add up to more. But no; you're still thirty years ahead of me, and I won't ever catch up."
He just chuckled, and presented her with an advent calendar as his gift.
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Ever since Skyla saw his first movie, she had been in love with Brycen.
Posters decorated her walls, and fantasies filled up her pillowcases: fantasies of how charming he would be towards her in real life, and thoughts of how to get him to ask her out. He would be wonderful, she decided; gallant and gentlemanly and gentle and all the other lovely words that started with G.
But when he brushed her off at his next movie's premiere, with that brown-haired champion hanging off his arm, only C words could describe him: callous and calm and cold. So cold he was like a slap of cold water, jerking her out of her imaginings and causing her to stumble back into the warm arms of Flint.
When the night was over she ripped all of her Brycen posters down, and put up ones of Flint instead.
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If Palmer was a dance beat then Dawn was a mopey ballad; their personalities clashed like their taste in music did, both trying to outdo the other.
Still, that didn't stop her from kicking his ass at 'Dance Dance Revolution'.
One time, after she had won by an unusually great amount of points, she attempted to demonstrate how to match his steps to those on the screen. He simply flailed at her and walked off in a rage.
Darach found her sitting on the edge of the game's stage, long dark hair pooling around her elbows.
"May I ask what you are doing here, Miss Dawn?" he queried, concerned.
She shrugged. "Palmer got mad at me again," she admitted, one side of her mouth curling in a smile.
"May I ask why?"
"I beat him. Again," she added, sounding as if she was trying not to laugh.
Darach felt his mouth turn down. "Ah. May I ask, then, why you are still sitting here alone?"
At this she started grinning, and Darach blinked in surprise. "Miss, may I ask-"
"No, you may not," she laughed, her somber expression dissolving into giggles. "Darach, may I ask why you always ask if you may ask?"
He felt himself smile at her word choice, and soon enough the two were guffawing as if they were old friends.
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"Mastery of grace will be your biggest asset in battle," Wallace purred, draping a cape around May's shoulders. "It will serve you well to remember that."
The Frontier Brain Noland frowned. "No, commandeering your pokemon strategically will be your best bet for winning."
"I think that learning how to hit hard and fast is the way to go," disagreed the Frontier Brain Brandon, coming to stand with them.
The three men glared at each other, tension charging the air. May gnawed on the corner of her lip, wishing that she could disappear into the floor.
"I do believe that May came to me for advice," said Wallace testily.
"Yeah, but your advice sucks," Noland deadpanned.
"So does yours!" Brandon interjected.
The glaring intensified.
"May, darling, come along back to my gym," Wallace said, gently taking her hand. "These barbarians obviously have no inkling of what true power is."
"No way!" Noland closed his fingers around her wrist. "May, baby, everybody knows that you're way tougher than this pansy- come to my battle station!"
Seeing as there was no other (appropriate) place for him to grab, Brandon settled for pulling on the hem of her shirt. "Yeah, May; why don't you just come to the Battle Frontier? You could totally learn a thing or two from me there!"
Desperately looking around, May looked for a way of escape-
When she saw a familiar face a little ways away.
"Drake!" she screamed, untangling herself from their grasp as she glimpsed the Elite Four member. Booking over to him as if he was T.O in a game of tag, she sprinted, arms pumping like pistons.
The three men sweat-dropped as they saw May launch herself at the white-haired individual, and the two fell in a heap to the ground.
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Marshal's soul was white and Grimsley's was black, and Touko's was a shade stuck somewhere in the middle.
Marshal taught her how to break bones with her fists, and Grimsley showed her the art of breaking hearts with her mind.
She didn't know which skill had proved to be the most useful…until she met Drayden.
Drayden, who didn't care about souls or bone-breaking or hearts cracking- who only cared about what was right in front of him, what was solid and honest and real.
"Not religion?" she asked, trailing after him after she had become champion. "Not love or friendship or anything?"
"Not religion; duty," he confirmed. "Not love or friendship, but loyalty. Not anything, but everything."
"Why?" she questioned.
"Because that's what adults do," he answered, his cloudy eyes staring straight ahead. "They have to buck up and get down to work."
Touko decided that she wanted to only care about everything, too. She wanted to forget about what shade her soul was, and how to break bones and hearts and- and aren't bones and hearts the same thing, really? They can both break. And if they are… is there a heartbone? You know, a part of you that breaks both physically and emotionally?
In the end, Touko broke her own heartbone by trying to grow up.
But in the very end- after the credits and happily-ever-afters and post-game boredom- she decided to play Peter Pan again, and wandered back to the league to find her Lost Boys.
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The coin spun once, twice, and it was so glitter-and-flash that Dawn didn't care if it turned out to be heads or tails.
There was Roark. Roark, with that quirky smile set in his grimy face, and the soil-brown eyes that were framed with lashes like coal. She and Roark skinned their knees and broke their tailbones together, marveling over hidden treasure troves and unidentifiable fossils in the dank underground.
There was Crasher Wake. Crasher Wake, with his pristine mask and spandex shorts, and the voice that sounded like waves crashing down onto the shore. She and Wake explored hidden depths together, learning to surf and finding heart-shaped coral in shards along the seafloor.
There was Prof. Rowan. Prof. Rowan, with his kind eyes and strong face, and who spoke like the gentlemen she always wished she'd meet. She and Prof. Rowan would pour over notes and labs together, their pencils scribbling in tandem as they discussed dark matter and impossible truths.
There was Flint. Flint, with his great humor and bright face, and who never failed to make her laugh. She and Flint would battle fiercely together, their commands mingling together in the air.
And then there was Lucian.
Lucian, who demonstrated how to read the future in the creases of her palms. Lucian, who made her heart flutter-fly out of her chest and spoke like the gentleman she always wished she'd meet and always asked her, "Heads or tails?"
The coin spun once, twice, and it was so glitter-and-flash that Dawn didn't care if it turned out to be heads or tails.
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By Cerulean City, there was a cliff carved out by the sea that was said to be crafted for lovers.
Lyra sat with her legs dangling seaward, the wind combing her hair as she tossed seashells into the water. Saltwater dripped from her eyes, falling to join the ocean below.
A sigh alerted her to someone else's presence. She twisted around to see a young man donning a white and purple suit sitting a little ways away from her, the breeze mussing his light hair.
Wiping at the dampness on her cheeks, she turned, making sure not to drop any of the seashells she had in her lap. "Hi."
No response.
"Hi," she said, more loudly this time.
Still no response.
At a loss for how to get his attention, she lightly threw a shell at his head. He whipped around to face her, wincing.
"Hi," she repeated.
"What was that for?" he asked, indignant.
"Why are you here?" she asked, ignoring his question.
He stared at her, and as he did she couldn't help but notice the tear tracks on his face. "My girlfriend," he muttered, sounding almost bewildered that he was saying the words out loud, "she…left. She left the region. And she didn't want to have a long-distance relationship." He slanted her an irritated look. "What about you? And why do you want to know?"
"My b- Koga…dumped me."
"Hallelujah," the man grumbled. "Now can you let me mope in peace?"
"I'm Lyra," she said in reply, scooting over to sit next to him. "What's your name?"
His frown deepened. "Eusine."
She gave him a small smile, and offered him a shell.
"What am I supposed to do with that?" he asked scornfully.
"I like to think of them as feelings," she answered. "Like little pieces of hate or regret or bad thoughts. Then I chuck them into the ocean, the ocean swallows them up, and I do away with the feeling forever."
One eyebrow lifted. "And does it work?"
Her teeth glimmered in the sun's dying rays. "Try and see."
So he did.