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“O-oh! Oh, no, it’s fine, I -- you’re -- you’re fine.” His speech buckled, suddenly unnerved by the prospect of having to reassure  someone that they had done no wrong, and another royal at that. His muscles, tired from the physical exertion from the number of clubs he joined, groaned in response to the other male’s offer. Although Steven wasn’t the type to turn down gestures of friendship -- much less say no to anyone -- he feared that his body would start to revolt against him if he didn’t find the nearest bed, and so he forced his head to shake.

“Sorry, I -- I’m really tired,” he answered truthfully, smiling as well. It was always good to establish good relations with other blue bloods, and even more so if he played his cards right and got them on his side of the fence when it came to the royal squabble between him and his brother. “I -- I quite enjoyed it, too! But...uhm...you -- you don’t mind if I miss a-a few practice sessions, do you? I...might need to work on fencing...first...” His statement slowly trailed off, and he busied himself by packing up his things, folding the towel and placing it all neatly in his bag. “But -- but if you want me to come! That’s okay! I -- I’ll find time for it, I’m sure!”

{ almost there; sv & js

The odd silence drowned both of them, but he shortly smiled and nodded. “Uh, yeah. Sorry for all that, I didn’t mean to intrude in your family business.” With his cheeks becoming slightly tainted with a red bloom, he bit his bottom lip and shift his attention somewhere before sighing deliberately. “You want to walk somewhere? Or do we just end our journey here today?” 

As much as he would like to hear more about the situation, it was best on where he left it. Meddling in someone else business wasn’t really Jason’s cup of tea anyway. “But, thank you for today. I kinda needed that. Well the dancing anyway.” Shooting Steven a small smile his way.

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With that issue entirely swept under the rug, Steven decided to focus on more important matters -- like his dear sister. “Mm, we’ll see if it’s around. Otherwise I’ll just ask if I can use the ktichens! I’m sure the cooks won’t mind -- they seem to have taken a liking to me!” His hands founds his pockets, and the prince hummed in thought. “Mm. Don’t you mean you wouldn’t want her to hurt herself in an attempt to hurt me?” he joked, before pulling a face. “I’m very sturdy now, you know! Or -- well, sturdy-ish.” He paused, and laughed. “As sturdy as I can get. Here.” He offered his upper arm, patted it as he tensed the muscles there while they walked along. “Try me.”

reunion.

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Steven let out a sigh; in another time, smoke would be flowing from his nostrils and his half-open mouth. His hand kept themselves busy, as they always did, wiping away at the moisture clinging onto his skin with a damp towel. And, in another time, a younger Steven would have told all that could be told, from scraped knees to the first time Royce pointed the tip of a real sword at him. There were wounds time could not heal, and these were the ones that hadn’t been inflicted at all. 

“Mm." One could try swallowing their own tongue. Try swallowing the words that rested upon them -- all the words that could be said, all that one knew -- and choking would be inevitable. There was a pregnant pause between that, breeding a secret history, but he merely shook his head and gave a smile before he had to shove the words down his own throat. "It's -- it's alright. No need to be worried. B-but...uhm...is...is dance practice over?" 

{ almost there; sv & js

The more Steven started to throw vicious words about Royce, Jason was soon piqued with curiosity. Rivalry was one thing, but the sternness behind his tone made it to believe he genuinely couldn’t stand being in the same room with his sibling, loathe would be the word for it. He wanted to know, was there a cause for all of this? But it’s better if Jason kept his lips shut, he didn’t want to meddle in someone else business. For all he know, he might get caught in it.

“Uh.. I mean, does Joyce know about this?” Sure, he shouldn’t have added in the female in the conversation, but he was concerned for her safety and for her emotional state. He doesn’t know much about the White’s, but it seems there was something deeper in the family that not much people know about and what they don’t display in the public.

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Flashback to the first time he swam, all knobbly knees and bony shoulders that were bruised more often than not. Sometimes it would be his fault; sometimes it would be his brother’s. Steven would be all scraped knees and hair always falling over his eyes, black on blue, and sometimes those colours would be hidden under his clothes, too. He had only been meant to sit by the poolside; to this day his parents thought it was eagerness and not his brother's hand that pushed him into the water. 

Fast forward to the present, to Steven with knees weak for girls and creaking from the weight of the world, shoulders wide enough to carry the burden of a throne before he could sit on it. To Steven with soft smiles and steady hands and sure steps, exhuding warmth despite the everlasting winter in his veins. "Bad things would happen if you get stabbed in the eye, Ezra," he replied with a small laugh, ruffling the male's hair affectionately. "And as long as you don't panic in the water, it's not going to pull you down -- something I figured out when I first learned how to swim."

` three wishes for... ; sw & em

“I need all the help I can get, honestly,” he laughed, because embarrassing himself in front of Steven with his lack of ability was better than embarrassing himself in front of the entire team for anything he participated in. The idea excited him– that here, he and Steven were equals, and that they could lead something akin to a normal friendship without a lamp and granting desires getting in the way. Even though freedom never crossed his mind before Steven granted it to him, he was sure this was one of the reasons why other genies desired it so fiercely. 

He only hoped that with his freedom, he could better look after Steven, and not become the opposite– a burden instead of a guardian. It was the last thing he wanted, and another reason he counted among the many to improve at everything surrounding his human form. Free or not, Ezra still felt a duty to Steven, and if anything, the feeling only amplified now that he owed his freedom to the older male too. 

“That’s really encouraging,” he laughed, lightly sarcastic. “Would anything even happen if I got stabbed in the eye? I guess, since I’m stuck in a human form whenever I’m in this town, it would be just like if a human got stabbed in the eye– huh,” he thought aloud, almost morbidly curious, before he looked over at Steven with a grin. “Yeah! I won’t let you drown or get stabbed in the eye either, although I guess that’s a lot less likely with you, since you actually know what you’re doing, and I’ll probably drown on the way to try and prevent you from drowning. Still, though.”

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Already his mind began to wander, to plan for a night he hoped would be memorable for the both of them. Monaco was a nice place, he figured, and they were sure to find something fun to do. Should he take her on a more light-hearted date, or to one that involved fancy dinners and catered to more expensive tastes? Steven hadn't been on a date that wasn't carefully scrutinised by the entire kingdom, so this was a new experience, and for that he might have to seke out the advice of his more...knowledgeable...peers. "Y-yeah! Yeah, uhm..." He nodded, and all of a sudden, felt as if he would melt into a puddle of nervousness and anxiety in front of her, which wouldn't do his image any good at all. He already had a stuttering problem -- what if she thought he was an even bigger loser? He managed a grin and rubbed the back of his neck again. "I...I don't want to keep you from -- from that..." The prince fumbled for his phone, dug into his pocket for it, and held it out with almost too shyly for her to take (he could not hide the way his cheeks felt like they were on fire, anyway). "U-uhm...would you...would you mind if I...get your number...for the d-date?"

Watching the prince turn into a stuttering mess before her made her think of one thing: Had it been this part of him– this oddly, charming yet fascinating way of him fumbling for words that made her fall for him? Or was it the way he was always very generous with smiles without needing a valid reason behind them? Either way, she knew that she had spiralled into a new level of hell the moment she acknowledged her feelings for him. “This weekend’s g-good,” and now it was her turn to lose all sense of fluency. How had it only occurred to her now that she was about to spend time with him – just him – in a sea of strangers? Her heart rate picked up in pace and she found herself staring at the ground instead of his face. Where did that bold lioness from earlier go? How did he manage to reduce her into a timid, little kitten? Oh, he already held so much power over her. “I um… I need to go. I have uh… a drama rehearsal.” The longer she remained here, the more she was made aware of his presence– not that it made any sense whatsoever but she knew that she had to get away or she would spontaneously combust in front of him.

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lukaxradcliffe:

Lukas looks up from his composition sheet as Steven stumbles into the room. Fencing must have been rough because, ouch, haven’t seen the guy like this before (or this roughed up in general). He places his pencil on his desk and silently watches as the latter falls onto his bed with a muffled thud. It must have been really bad. He flinches at the sound of Steven’s voice– tired and drained. Damn, it really was bad. “Uh,” he pushes himself up and looks around the room, opening their fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. “We have… a cold water bottle?” He hands it to the poor boy. “It’s half frozen? That count as ice?”

He rubs the nape of his neck, unsure of what to say or how to coax his roommate. “Er, was today’s practice really that bad?” He kneels to the ground and props his chin on top of the mattress. “You’ve never… really come back this… bad?”

He didn't know which part of him ached the most, but even so, he managed a soft laugh, wincing almost immediately as his chest felt like it would burst from such a simple act. With a small groan, he rolled onto his back -- somehow -- and held his hand out for whatever his roommate could give. "It wasn't -- it wasn't...any kind of practice," he mumbled, having half a mind to push himself up to a sitting position so that he could remove his shirt to assess the damage done there. His jaw still stung to the point that he knew he'd be in a world of pain if anything touched it. Maybe he suffered some kind of concussion, but he almost found it...funny. "I...didn't know you could get beaten up in the laundry room, but..."

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In a way, the prince felt responsible for Ezra. It was something similar to what he felt towards his siblings -- the need to protect them from the world even though he knew that some evils he could not prevent; the want to keep them safe, and to make them feel safe. Steven had always carried a burden on his shoulders that, over time, he no longer knew what to do without. And no, he wasn't willing to let that weight go, either; not if it meant handing it to someone who wouldn't handle it as well as he could.

He let out a small laugh nonetheless at the mental image his friend's words invoked. Steven had to keep in mind that this was a temporary form, so human and vulnerable and fragile, and that some human things required a bit of time and learning. "Yeah -- yeah, you'll be fine. I'll show you the ropes and everything! Ah~ I'm glad we're in the same clubs." He gave another smile, then. Ezra was definitely more than a brother; Steven could rely on him more so than anyone else. There was some value to be had in absolute loyalty and gratitude to the one who freed the genie from his prison, and although he had no wishes left, he hoped there would be some merit to be had from one of his many selfless acts. "I've been fencing and swimming since I was a kid, Ezra. Worry not! I'll teach you everything you have to know. It'll be fun, I promise. I mean -- if you don't drown, or get stabbed in the eye" he joked. "But I will never let that happen!"

` three wishes for... ; sw & em

The instant Ezra realized Steven felt his distress, he was sure to smile wider, because Ezra was good at moving on, both for Steven’s sake and his own. It was the only way he managed to survive so long with his happiness and sanity in tact– selective memory, selective feeling. With every resurfacing thought came the opportunity to ignore it, and Ezra was a pro at deciding which thoughts were worth attention and which only caused more harm. It painted him with the image of someone possessing more innocence than he did, but he didn’t mind it. As someone who experienced both sides, knowing nothing was easier than knowing everything, and maybe those that remained in ignorance by choice were the wisest of all. 

But wisdom was the last thing on Ezra’s mind when Steven mentioned swimming again; instead, he pictured himself splashing about, making a complete and utter fool of himself before he properly learned how to float and propel himself through the water. “I was so bad,” he mused aloud with a bashful chuckle, grin following it up. “I am though! I’m in the swimming club and– I’m on fencing team too! But…I’m bad at everything, so you’ll have to help me! Or at least not get mad at me for being bad at everything. I can at least actually hold things now. I think you people really take solid appendages for granted, you know?” He was joking again, but his smile changed to something more genuinely flattered within seconds. “You really think you’ll have more fun with me around? I hope so. Hopefully I at least won’t be too…annoying, or anything.” If only his intentions for improvement and determination to succeed made up for his lack of skill level.

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so i kept trying

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I met you with my mouth warm and sweet by almond paste, crushed marzipan, sweet neighbor of arsenic. You quiet storm, you wriggling fish, living as a fist for my heart, clench with the oldest questionIsn’t it obvious?

Lisa Hanson, from “Sweet Neighbor” published in Nailed Magazine (via pigmenting)

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"A m-mat -- mattress..." He didn't mind the physical contact, no; it was more the actual issue at hand that had his brow furrowing, and him adjusting the glasses that sat atop his nose. "Er...uhm...uh...I -- I don't think -- I mean, in TV...shows...and movies...they use those big trampoline things, right? I...I think that would be...safest.."

“a landing cushion?” nick snapped his fingers. “that’s it! i knew i was forgetting something…” hoping that’s the only thing he’s forgetting, nick throws his arm around steven’s shoulders. “safe? you don’t change the world by playing it safe. that and i-uh-have no other way to test these. anyway, do you think a mattress is good enough? maybe toss in a few pillows?”

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Start from the beginning, Steven. Love had a script, as all things had; it had a structure, as all things did. Steven could follow that, could fall into the role of a dashing, charming prince too easily, except -- he didn't want to. Maybe having parents who met in such a way as his did fuelled tragically romantic notions, and her affections only set them alight; there truly was something incredibly poetic about falling in love with someone who could ( possibly, hopefully ) ignore the fact that he was a prince, and that he did not need to be coddled or spoiled or treated differently from anyone else. And -- maybe -- snow could finally melt in the presence of spring. Her response made him rub the back of his neck, his gaze diverting from hers once again. The prince's little heart jumped to his throat and he didn't quite know if that was a good thing or not, and looking at her again made him decide that it was the former. "G-great! That's -- that's amazing! I -- ah...I hope you didn't...uhm...mind my forward...ness...is that even a word? Oh, oh dear...uhm...er...that's -- this is really...really good..." Where had his eloquence gone? Had she stolen it from his lips? "S-so...so when are you free? Is the weekend good for you? Have -- have you gotten a chance to see Monaco at night? It's a really nice sight, I...I think..."

For someone who regarded her as just another friend, the kiss surely contradicted that very statement. Though it bloomed with innocence, she felt something else within it– something that so direly resembled desire. A person in the middle of a lip-lock wasn’t supposed to think too much, she assumed, but she was different– she couldn’t stop it even if she tried. She analysed every single thing, every move, every cue. But she adored the kiss nevertheless, and it showed through the way she returned it: almost fervently, almost ardently; as if the moment she would pull away, this spell, this little dream would be broken. She was glad though, when he didn’t run away as lungs screaming for air made them part. His voice held a comforting note and she almost wanted to pull him in for another chaste kiss, telling him that it wasn’t his fault, that everything was alright. And when he uttered that word, a word every girl dreamed to hear, her heart fluttered and she felt her stomach lurch– in a good way. Her cheeks flushed even more ( if that were possible ), corners of her lips tugged by bliss to form a rather coy smile. “I would love that,” she whispered in response. Then she challenged herself, dared herself to be bolder; so she gave him a quick peck on the chin, only to pull away shortly afterwards, a soft chuckle leaving her lips.

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This was a new experience altogether, taking what he wanted with his own hands. Often, he would be placed under scrutiny for it, for every action, for every want. His hands came upon her burning cheeks, drew her closer, and only broke contact in order to kiss her again. There was feverish desperation in it, a desire for something he could not describe. Yet -- his lungs protested, and with hesitance of one who turned away from the path least taken he rested his forehead upon her own. "I'm sorry," he began, eyes closed tight, "for last time." He didn't quite know why she would come to love someone as vile as him, someone with a heart so vast and empty that it sucked in all it could in an attempt to keep itself warm. What Ari told him was right, and Isla didn't deserve that, but...Steven would try. He truly would, to fix a heart he'd broken, and if he would come to love her for it, then -- all the better, right? "I...misunderstood you entirely..." His own cheeks took on a deeper shade of red, and he pulled away in order to meet her gaze again. "Will -- will you...uhm...let us start over? Like...like a...d-date...maybe..." His request tapered off, and ended up as a mumbled mess.

The warm pads of his finger on her chin prompted her to open her eyes only to have every fiber of her being attacked by a myriad of emotions when his face drew close, close, closer, until their lips eventually met. For heaven’s sake, every word, every syllable, every letter vanished, stolen from the vast dictionary of her brain and she was rendered speechless, almost breathless, too stunned to even move. She squeezed her eyes shut once again, feeling the flames of her embarrassment lick her cheeks till she was certain that they were searing red as molten steel. Though her heart rate was erratic, pounding like war drums in her chest, her mind actually managed to find a solitary calm, and she eased into his touch like waves meeting shore. She reciprocated the kiss, and though it felt wrong in some odd way, it also felt very right. It was akin to stroking her lips with delicate rose petals, though her fingers bled, pricked by tiny thorns. She deserved to be here, she argued with herself, no matter where she stood. Shouldn’t love conquer all odds, as she had read in fairy tales? Surely, he would see past her commoner status. Surely, he would learn to love her for who she was.

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[ text : Sylvia ] But he’s not fit to be king!

[ text : Sylvia ] He never has been...

[ text : Sylvia ] You understand, right? Royce is a terrible person. I cannot let him take the throne.

[ text : prince lame ] yeah i know

[ text : prince lame ] you know he’s first born steven, they wouldn’t do that

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He wondered, then, if he was still capable of love. If he was capable of this, of gentleness, and hushed tones, and red cheeks. He wanted to meet her gaze and to drown in it. How could he be capable of love if he had only been betrayed before he could even allow himself to fall completely? Perhaps this was his chance to try again -- and maybe ( hopefully ) such romances wouldn't end in tragedy. If she gave him the chance to fall in love with her, then maybe...maybe he would. ( But he was young, and inexperienced, and such a horrible romantic. ) Instantly he was regretful of his previous actions, and knew now how exactly he had hurt her. The damage was done because he had misunderstood her, then, and now he resolved to fix it. There was little room for misinterpretation here, and even less for error. What if he said the wrong thing, as he was prone to doing? Thus, he allowed his actions to speak for him instead, his free index against her chin, urging her to look at him again so he could press his lips to her own, gentle and shy and soft as melting snow.

A tiny gasp escaped her lips when she realised that he had come after her, unlike in the previous pool incident. A part of her had assumed that he would leave her be, give her the time and space she needed to maybe reflect on her rash actions. But there was also another part of her that rejoiced when he did chase after her, and now here he was, holding her hand in his. His hand felt warm to her touch, and it could be due to the anxiety, but she was fairly certain that her palm had turned clammy. She wondered if it would hinder him somehow– but her train of thoughts, of reveries, of worries were soon interrupted by his voice, his soft, ever-mellifluous voice that seemed to tug on the seams of her heart that was already threatening to burst with all these emotions it contained. “I.. I’m not… sorry,” she finally admitted, eyes elsewhere but on his. She couldn’t face him, not like this, not when she was about to bare her raw emotions. “Maybe,” and her eyes flickered to his for a fleeting second before they squeezed shut, just like how her grip on his hand had tightened, “maybe I wanted to do it… since the very beginning. Maybe.. I’m a little in love with you.” If she had been sending him mixed signals from the very beginning, then that could perhaps explain his obliviousness. But now, there was no turning back, and there was no way he could misinterpret her actions nor her words.

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He didn't like being reminded of his own insignificance. Ezra probably changed more lives than Steven had. Steven, the little, mortal prince -- Ezra probably thought his ambitions silly. He knew better than to wish for immortality, as he had known back then, but he continued to wonder if he would regret it down the line. He didn't want Ezra to be lonely, but he didn't want to be condemned to something so daunting as eternal life. He didn't miss the impact of his words on the boy and only regretted now his choices, wishing that he could punch himself in the mouth if that would make any difference (even though he knew that the only effect it would have would be his own embarrassment). Ezra was precious to the prince, for Ezra was akin to a brother he never had -- hell, Steven thought him more of a brother than Royce.

"Learning to swim, you say?" he asked, turning the subject away from the concept of time and how relatively little he had compared to this boy who seemed so much younger, who had so little experience at being human although he had probably seen more than Steven could ever hope to imagine. "Are you in the swimming club? Ah -- you have to come talk to me at least once! The coach is always grilling me, y'know -- says I have too much going on to focus on swimming...but I have fencing, too...and I'm in my last year of highschool, so..." He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a small, embarrassed laugh. "I mean, he's right -- that I have too much going on -- so...so I'm not complaining...but...I guess with you there, it'll be a lot more fun!"

` three wishes for... ; sw & em

“Well, technically I’m…700 something years old? Maybe? I think I already know everything they can teach me here, too. I think they just put me in year four because that’s where it looked like I belonged,” he explained, and his expression was playful, words laced with a lack of seriousness, but his smile gradually faded. I guess you’ll be here for longer rang in his head longer than he was sure Steven intended for it to. Ezra hadn’t thought beyond the years they’d spend in Elias; the idea of any future was so overwhelmingly daunting now without being bound to anyone or anything. The most terrifying part of it though, was that longer, because yes, Ezra would be anywhere longer than Steven– not just Elias Academy, but the planet itself. 

Maybe you should’ve wished for me to be human instead, he thought as he met Steven’s gaze, but he didn’t voice it, and instead smiled when Steven did too. After all, the future was something far off, not meant to be dealt with a moment earlier than when it came. In the meantime, there was much else to discover and busy himself with.

“Adventurous? Who, me?” he feigned shock and offense, like the question was some kind of accusation instead, and then he laughed. “Other than getting here, not really. Adventurous for me, yeah, but not normal people. Just…figuring out how to walk and hold things without dropping them, and learning to swim and climb and…everything.”

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sylviaxwhite:

[ text : prince lame ] today? oh. [ text : prince lame ] fine, but don't ignore your little sister forever okay~?

[ text : Sylvia ] Ah~ you don’t have to worry about that!

[ text : Sylvia ] I really do apologise -- you know how things get with /him/ around. 

[ text : Sylvia ] I don’t understand why Mother and Father can’t just name me the heir and get this silly little fight over and done with. 

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It was a mistake to pick up a pen -- or anything, really -- as he heard his brother's reply. Disgusting. He couldn't believe he was related to someone so vile. His place was the heir to the throne -- he was sure everyone would agree. Royce was not fit for ruling -- he never would be. He was far from kind and fair and everything else a king should be. As everyone else got settled in the room, he raised his hand to ask another question, swallowing the taste of bile and his own contempt to manage a tight smile. "Will you be our teacher for the rest of this year..." he paused, and smiled even wider, "sir?"

The clock above the door signals that class starts in a couple of minutes, but only half the class is present. Royce blames the crowded hallways. Today he’ll let those who walk in late be excused, but say not to do it again (it’ll give off a nice impression). Sighing, he stands up and adjusts his suit, still not bothering to look at Steven. “When you learn your place in this family.” He adjusts the watch on his wrist, before silently walking towards the whiteboard, writing his name and the class’s schedule for the day.