#also him being 'her estel' has more than just the surface layer of being his name cause its a tolkien reference

[menphinaswhitemage]

Decembhyur2023 | Day 6 | Memory

"I know you must not believe me but I am your son I- I never thought I would see you again-"

Audrey places her hands against his face, looking into his bright red eyes, "Of course I believe you. Any mother would recognize her own son no matter how much he's grown. You may still be an infant in my own world but I see it in your face. Your eyes, your ears, your hair-" she beams, stroking his bright colored locks, "Your are my son. My Estel"

[waterloou]

OC EXTRAVAGANZA SATURDAY

Helloooo all! I’m bringing back oc Saturday for these trying times to showcase some brilliant ocs! If you’d like to nominate your oc or somebody else’s, feel free to shoot me a msg, ask, or tag #ocextravaganzasaturday ! Also, there’s an option to submit a blurb/moodboard!

Some of these ocs I’ve been able to have my own interact with and they are absolutely fantastic!!!!

Below are links to most things they’ve been featured in!

Binx Bolling created by @s-s-southsideserpentine

Question

Stonewall Prep was all Gothic Columns and high ceilings, first-edition books and layers of dust that were older than most of the students and staff that were lucky enough to find themselves at the old school. They were old money, still running thanks to donations from the rich parents who bought their children a full ride. Money was important at Stonewall, almost integral to a student’s survival. Most students had no problem with this aspect, their lawyer mothers and diplomat fathers could pay for their admissions three times over and still have money to pay for a new winter wardrobe to wear on the weekends when they put their school uniforms away in favor of returning back to their parents’ old victorian houses.

Bianca Bolling was different, though. Much to her own dismay. She was one of two scholarship kids offered a full-ride admissions (the second being none other than Jughead Jones himself), and she realized quickly that she didn’t belong there at Stonewall. The scholarship was offered to her at the end of her freshman year of high school, after she won a local film festival for her drunk driving PSA. The short film was a hit, showcasing a group of friends at a typical high school party before they all got back into the car that someone borrowed from their parents. The squealing of brakes and the shattering of glass was loud, with Binx setting her camera down at a skewed angle to try her best to capture the chaos and disarray of a car accident, red and blue lights blinking in the distance. The short film ended with an artistic twist, and her mise-en-scene won her first place. The Stonewall recruiters found her after the festival, a crowd around her forming as onlookers clapped hands on her skinny shoulders and her eyes darted around anxiously, needing a familiar face in a sea of people.

“Don’t let that kind of talent go to waste, young lady,” The school’s recruiter, Mr. Chipping says, handing her his contact information with a wink and a promise that she didn’t really understand. There were many fights with her family, who didn’t have the money to send her to such a prestigious school, especially not one that was across the entire state. But she fought tooth and nail to get to Stonewall and she hadn’t stopped fighting a single day in the nearly three years she’d been in attendance.

Binx was smart and she wasn’t afraid to claim it, but her monetary status quickly became an invitation for her fellow students to sling insults at her left and right. One day, in the middle of her advanced writer’s seminar, she feels the ice-cold eyes of Bret Weston Wallis on her as he turned around in his chair to sneer at her.

“Looks like your blazer’s getting a little dingy there, Bolling, what? The scholarship committee couldn’t give you a few more bucks to replace your uniform?” He reaches a bony hand to pull at a loose string in the lining of her tweed blazer and she smacks it away with a roll of her eyes.

Silently, Binx raises her hand, barely acknowledging the adolescent taunts coming from such a well-regarded student like Bret.

“Miss Boling?” The old professor lilts, his horn-rimmed glasses falling down his bulbous nose as he wiped chalk dust from his pressed slacks.

“Can I switch seats, professor? I can’t seem to see the blackboard around Bret’s fat ego…”

I’m really excited to see where we get to follow binx. Her story is fascinating and I’m very intrigued to see how the plot unfolds with her and the rest of court’s stonewall ocs. Go give her some love!!!

Bronwynn Atwood created by @reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle

About 1

About 2

The bell above the door to Bronwynn’s bakery, lovingly named Risk It for the Biscuit, lets out a loud ding as the door swings open.

“Welcome to Risk It for the Biscuit, how can I help you?” Bronwynn’s deep voice rings out through the small building, but Bronwynn himself is hidden somewhere McKinley can’t see.

“Well, disembodied voice, I need a favor.”

Brownynn pops up from behind the counter with a chuckle, tray of various baked goods in his hands, “Mac! Whassup? What can I do for you?”

“I need your help,” McKinley smiles, tattooed arms crossed over her chest, “I’ve been hired to cater an extravagant mob gala, I need my favorite baker to bake me some decadent goods.”

“I suppose I can do that,” Bronwynn smirks, setting the tray down, “Cupcake?” He offers, taking one in his hand, “New flavor. It’s a vanilla bacon cupcake with ‘pork belly’ caramel. The pork belly is just candied bacon layered with some vanilla and almonds.”

“Sounds ambitious,” McKinley muses, “Gimme.” She reaches her hand out for the cupcake, immediately diving into it as it lands in her hand.

“Fuck.” McKinley moans, mouth full, “That is delicious, dude.”

“You’re damn right it is,” Bronwynn beams, clapping his hands together. “Quinn helped me brainstorm it.”

“You guys make quite the team,” McKinley grins, “It’s a real shame I’m the biggest gay, or I’d snatch you away from her in a heartbeat, if it meant I got baked goods like this every day.”

“You could just come get some anyway,” Brownynn rolls his eyes, “You know I’m not gonna charge you.”

“And that, my friend, is why you are the best bro.” McKinley wipes some excess icing from the corners of her lips, licking it off her fingers.

“Don’t let Apollo hear you say that.”

“Shit, I’d sell Apollo for a dozen of those cupcakes.”

“I’d sell Apollo for a nickel.”

First off, mgk is a v pretty man, second, Bronwynn is a very wonderful oc. He’s a gang member, a great friend, an amazing boyfriend, and a fantastic baker! Go show him some love!

Estelle Ollier created by @humangrumpycat

Intro

Greek Mythology moodboard

Tsp: riot night

Underneath the surface: Riot Night, The Devil’s House

The door opens as sheriff Minetta enters the room, giving Audrey his signature glare.

Audrey jumps up, picking at her nails, waiting for Minetta to start.

‘You're free to go, miss Lincoln,' he sighs.

'I am?' Audrey yelps.

'Someone bailed you out,’ Minetta replies.

'Who?' she asks as she dusts off her skirt on her way to the bars.

'Smile!' a voice calls.

Audrey turns to the voice, followed by a soft gasp.

'Estelle-'

'This will look fun in the yearbook,' Estelle smirks.

'It's not funny!' Audrey whines, stomping her feet for emphasis.

'It's a little bit funny, Abe,' Estelle laughs. 'I mean, what the hell did you do?'

-

'You threw a Molotov cocktail at a car?' Estelle exclaims, covering her mouth to hide her laughing.

'Someone handed me a bottle,' Audrey corrects. 'And I panicked because it was on fire, so I threw it away.'

'You threw a Molotov cocktail,' Estelle squeaks.

'It was on fire!'

'You threw it at a car,' Estelle laughs. 'You couldn't throw it in the bushes, or the river?'

'The Earth is dying, Estelle,' Audrey barks. 'I'm not going to help kill the Earth.'

'I can't wait to tell Jonathan, he's going to die,' Estelle smiles.

'Oh please, don't tell him,' Audrey whines. 'Remember the see-saw incident back in freshman year? He would not shut up about it for weeks.'

'That was before he started dating me,' Estelle mentions. 'I'll make sure he'll be cool about it.'

Audrey sighs in relief.

'But first, we'll laugh at this photo,' Estelle grins, holding up the photo she took earlier.

'You told Minetta you deleted that!' Audrey yells.

'I lied,' Estelle points out.

'Never trust a journalist.'

Estelle is fierce, loyal, and incredibly smart. She’s an amazing journalist and detective(what Betty wishes she could be👀). Go give her some love!

Reyna Lewis created by @daddylorian

Meet Reyna

About

Reyna is loving, and real when she needs to be. She tells it like it is and has a real talent in things she puts her mind to! Go give her some love!

Valentina Fogarty created by @lonely-full-of-secrets

About

Valentina is so good and sweet and hardworking (and the perfect match for my oc Duckie). Once she lets herself be comfortable, she’s the life of the party! Go show her some love!

[rhetoricandlogic]

Everyday Magic: Foundryside by Robert Jackson Bennett

Martin Cahill

Mon Aug 20, 2018 1:00pm

If there’s one thing I’ve learned reading Robert Jackson Bennett, it’s that when you think you know what he’s going to do at any given moment, you’re most likely going to be wrong. You think he’ll go right; he goes left. You think he’s going to climb a fence, and instead he barrels right through. Most often, when he hits a dead end and you suspect this is where you catch him, he grins, steps onto the empty air and begins to walk into the sky.

And in his latest novel, Foundryside, Bennett is firing on all cylinders, taking what at first seems to be something a little standard, a little rote, and infusing exhilarating new life into it through expert writing, complicated and distinct characters, and an intriguing, deadly, wonderful new city called Tevanne, where reality can be shuffled like a deck of cards, provided you can justify it.

See, in Tevanne, there exists a form of magic called scriving. Utilizing a complicated alphabet left behind by ancient, almost mythological figures called the Hierophants, mankind has figured out how to imbue everyday objects with something akin to sentience and convince these objects to do work for them. Some scrivings can convince wheels to move across flat surfaces as though they were rolling downhill. Others tell a sword that it is as sharp as ten blades in one, capable of cutting through nearly anything. Others tell a candle that it can never burn out. And in this world of scrivings, the four major Merchant Houses all vie for dominance in their enormous campuses, while outside of them, people like Sancia Grado cobble together enough to survive.

At least Sancia has a unique skillset: she’s a thief of high regard, and she’s damn good at what she does. Foundryside starts with her breaking into the docks of the Merchant Houses and working to steal something for what seems like a client in one of the rival houses. But what she finds inside is unlike anything she’s ever seen. A golden key of incredible power, and its own unique personality, one could say. Unsure of letting it fall into the hands of a House, even her client, Sancia stumbles into a plot years in the making, which could spell disaster for everybody in the city, if not the world. She’s going to have to use her own special abilities, the key around her neck, and anyone willing to help a thief from Foundryside, to stop it.

While on the surface this seems like a story we’ve seen before, Foundryside is immediately infused with Bennett’s eye for unique systems of magic, what makes people complicated beyond just being good or bad, and a city that has been pushed so far past being a capitalist dystopia, it’s a wonder it’s still functional. Sancia has what is essentially an invisible, chronic illness that only gets worse the more she pushes herself. She steals to make enough money to survive, and this latest operation can maybe get her enough to see if her illness can be treated. She runs through the maze that is Tevanne at a careful speed, never above causing destruction to get what she needs, but also trying very hard not to get anyone killed in the process. She’s a loner by necessity and by choice, though from the minute she finds this golden key, Bennett begins to challenge not only everything she knows, but everything she has come to learn and think about herself. She must ask for help. She must try to do the right thing. She must stay and fight. The success of Foundryside can be found in the slow way Bennett peels back Sancia’s character, revealing hidden layers and a history of pain, oppression, and violence that she tries to hide from everyone, even herself. While saying more would potentially spoil some things, the central message of Sancia’s character arc is one I should’ve seen coming, didn’t, and was devastated to read, finally realizing Bennett’s goals for her. Sancia’s journey is wonderful to watch, and her potential narrative paths for the sequel are fascinating. I can’t wait to see where Bennett takes her.

Bennett’s depth of character doesn’t just begin and end with Sancia, though. Tevanne and the entirety of Foundryside is populated with rich, complex people, like Gregor Dandolo, son of a Merchant House matriarch who seeks justice in a city that would sooner ignore crime than fight to stop it. Or Orso Ignacio, the Dandolo Hypatus, who fled one Merchant House for another, who struggles to unlock the mysteries of the Hierophants along with his scriving assistant Berenice, whose mind is even faster and sharper than his own. There’s Estelle Candiano, sold off daughter of a House Merchant lord, whose history with Orso is complicated, and whose scriving talents are ignored because she’s a woman in a city run by foolish men. And then there’s Clef. But the less said about him, the better; I’ll simply say he’s one of my favorites in the novel, for obvious reasons. Foundryside lives and dies on its characters, and Bennett’s novel more than thrives with the people he focuses on.

Foundryside is an excellent first novel in what promises to be another home-run series for Bennett. His characters are smart and engaging, his world is complex and dark though not without hope, and his story packs a punch, especially as we rocket toward the sequel in the closing pages. If you’ve never read any of his work, or worried it may not be your thing, trust me: Foundryside is your thing, and you’re going to enjoy your time here. Just keep watch out for any scrivings. Those things really do turn up in the darnedest places.

[ryukoishida]

Arslan Senki Fic: In which Arslan is Estelle’s Secret Santa. [idol/musician AU]

Title: Secret Codes and Paper Stars Author: ryukoishida Fandom: Arslan Senki | The Heroic Legend of Arslan Genre: Fluff, romance Rating: PG Character(s)/Pairing(s): Arslan/Estelle; featuring Isfan/Gieve For: @chatmant A/N: Remember that self-indulgent idol/musician AU? Yeah, it’s back. Sorry. Song that inspired this fic will be in reblog. It also looks like this will be the last fic I’m posting in 2017 (also I was looking at AO3 and apparently the last thing I posted in 2016 is also this AU lol), so I’ll wish everyone a Happy New Year!

Writing Commissions | Translation & Editing Services

-

“What have you got there, Arslan?”

Gieve, one of the top-selling pop artists in the country and known for his flirtatious ways in the industry circle — casually slips into the hideous plastic orange chair adjacent to the young idol who’s so focused on his task — pen tip tapping against the smooth surface of a card scrawled with neat handwriting and brows knitted in a deep frown — that he doesn’t notice the presence of the other man until Gieve clears his throat again.

“Oh, Gieve!” Arslan exclaims with a weak smile, the bruised shadows under his eyes much more prominent even with a layer of make-up on under the white fluorescent light of the television network station’s dressing room. He places his pen down at last and takes a tentative sip of his coffee, but winces when the lukewarm bitterness spreads across his tongue. He quickly pushes the mug away, narrowly missing the make-up kit set on the side of the counter.

“Working on a new song?” Gieve asks, an eyebrow quirked up in curiosity.

Arslan rarely drinks caffeine because he knows it’d wreck his voice, so for the young man to be consuming coffee willingly is a rare sight in and of itself.

“This?” Arslan glances down at the paper set on the table with a helpless little laugh, “No, it’s for the Secret Santa tomorrow.”

Gieve gives an exaggerated gasp. “Do you mean to tell me that you still haven’t gotten your Secret Santa partner a gift yet?”

“I have! But I thought it’d be nice to add a greeting card as well…” Arslan lowers his head, cheeks tinted a light blush before he continues in an uncertain tone, “… don’t you think?”

Before Gieve can give him any advice — for when would be the best time to help out a fellow idol if not now? — the door swings open and a staff calls for the younger singer, “Arslan, please head over to Studio B for stand-by. They’ll be ready for you soon.”

“Thanks,” Arslan nods with a quiet smile that has the power to cause thousands of female fans all over the country to coo and swear to protect him at all costs. Facing Gieve once more, he says with a more relaxed grin, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the gathering, then.”

“Sure,” Gieve waves goodbye with his usual charming smile and watches the silver-haired musician leave the room.

Tucking a piece of bright purple hair behind the curve of his ear, Gieve’s gaze rests again on the greeting card that Arslan has been grueling over for what seems to be a long while. From Arslan’s reaction just a few minutes ago, Gieve has a fairly good guess of who the recipient of the card is, and because he’s always been a curious person who knows no fear or bounds, he delicately picks up the card and reads the content inside.

“Oh, Arslan you precious boy,” Gieve sighs, resting his chin in the cradle of his palm as his eyes roam over the genuine nature of Arslan’s words, “how do you expect her to understand your affections if you don’t make it more obvious? Women need to be praised and worshipped, and this simply will not do.”

With a determined gleam to his eyes, Gieve picks up the pen that Arslan had been using just minutes ago and begins to write.    

“There you are, Gieve! Farangis has been looking all over for you!” Isfan pauses when he sees the envelope in his boyfriend’s hand and the guilty shift of his eyes. “What is that?”

“Hello darling, good to see you too,” Gieve greets him, eyes half-lidded to accentuate the kohl eyeliner and the bright turquoise of his irises while his lips, tinted slightly with lip-gloss, curved up into a playful grin.

“Don’t give me that look…” Isfan groans as he walks over, “that’s your ‘I did something bad and I’m trying to get out of trouble by seducing you’-look; it won’t work on me, not this time.”

“Oh, is that right?” Gieve saunters up to his lover, hips swaying purposefully as he places his arm on Isfan’s shoulder and head tilted just so that the slender line of his neck is displayed directly in Isfan’s view.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing with that envelope, you better put it down before you cause some serious damage,” Isfan warns, taking a step back and peels Gieve’s arm off of his shoulder.  

“But don’t you want to help Arslan get the girl of his dreams?” Gieve pouts, but obeys regardless, putting the card back down on the table.

“Is that what this is about? Gieve, you know better than to poke your nose into other people’s business — especially when it involves someone’s romantic affairs.”

“You’re heartless, Isfan, simply heartless.”

“Come on, you little demon, Farangis will have your head if you’re late for your interview.”

-

“Estelle, congratulations again on your success with the single ‘I Only Have Feelings for You’,” the host grins with bright enthusiasm at the youngest member of the all-girls unit, L.E.A.P., “it sounds like the track will have a big chance to win Parsian Music Award’s Best Duet of the Year.”

“Thank you,” Estelle nods with a stiff but polite smile, blond curls resting over her shoulder in a simple yet elegant side-ponytail. It looks like the host is waiting for her to elaborate, but if the host has done any preparation at all before the interview, he’d have known that out of the four members of L.E.A.P., Estelle is the quietest and most reserved, and it will take more than just the normal amount of prompting to get the girl talking.

The host continues after a slight pause. “You were collaborating with the up-and-coming idol Arslan on this single, and there were rumors while you two were recording in the studio as well as filming the music video. How did you like working with Arslan? Did you two hit it off right away?”

The polite smile Estelle has been trained to work on and almost perfected is turning shaky at this moment, and sitting beside her quietly, Parizad, the eldest of the four women and leader of the unit, quickly squeezes Estelle’s hand, half in warning and half in support.

“We had different stances regarding the direction of the song we wanted to take at first,” Estelle starts after exhaling slowly, her topaz eyes sharp and unforgiving, “but Arslan is a pleasant and respectable artist to work with, and I hope everyone will focus on the song we’ve worked so hard on instead of unfounded rumors about something that doesn’t exist in the first place.”

“Alfreed, can you please turn that off? It’s bad enough that I had to sit through that bullshit of an interview. I really don’t need to watch myself being disgraced on national television.” With an exhausted sigh, Estelle pleads with her teammate as she finishes the final touches of wrapping up her gift for the Secret Santa event.  

“I don’t get what you’re so upset about,” Layla chirps from the other side of the living-room as she adjusts her dress in front of the full-length mirror near the front door of their shared apartment unit. “Rumors are just more opportunities for you to advertise your song, isn’t it?”

“Estelle, it’s wonderful that you always speak so honestly — it’s part of your charm and fans love it when you put that part of yourself into your music — but in this industry, you’ll need to learn how to carefully handle questions like the ones you got asked in that interview,” Parizad finishes the last drags of her tea, and on her way to the kitchen to put the mug away, she affectionately pats Estelle on the head like an older sister would to her younger sibling. “We all hate those kinds of nosy questions, and it’ll take time to get used to the fact that as public figures, we have very little privacy, but it’s an issue we have to get accustomed to.”  

“I know I still have tons to improve on,” Estelle mumbles, lowering her head.

“Your socializing skills, especially,” Alfreed teases, and narrowly misses the cushion thrown at her direction.

“You’re already doing so well, Estelle,” Parizad shoots Alfreed a look before she sends Estelle a kind smile, “don’t put too much pressure on yourself, all right? We’re all in this together.”

Estelle nods, her heart swelling at Parizad’s sincere words.

“Girls, it’s almost time. We should head out.”

-

The Secret Santa is a success, Gieve applauds himself inwardly. As the organizer of the event, he’s proud to see his friends and acquaintances gather in the penthouse that he and Isfan share, laughing and chatting while nursing drinks in their hands.

Isfan’s two Kugsha dogs, Bahram and Kayvan, are strutting around the unit, earning friendly pets and occasionally food scraps from the guests who can’t resist the fluffy canines.

Making friends for Gieve is as easy as bewitching his fans with his sultry looks and attractive voice, but there are few he considers close acquaintances. Among those who have been invited to his holiday gathering, many of them have become his intimate friends over the years he spent in the entertainment industry: Arslan, his overly-protective manager Daryun, and the young idol’s talented make-up artist best friend Elam are talking quietly in the corner of the living-room; Nasrin and Kishward, who are managers of Ecbatana’s rising talents L.E.A.P. and the Knights of Survival, respectively, are talking to Narsus, who is infamous for his outrageous yet popular costume designs; the members of L.E.A.P. are chatting with the sister trio, Patna, Kura, and Yulin; and the men of the pop-rock band, the Knights of Survival, are drinking merrily and noisily discussing ideas for their upcoming live concert.  

“Okay, okay, who’s next?” Someone’s shouting excitedly over the chatter.

Most of the gifts have been distributed and opened; a lot of them are joke gifts that either make the recipients choke in laughter or roll their eyes, but there are a few thoughtful presents thrown in as well.  

Gieve retrieves a random gift from the cardboard box placed beneath the Christmas tree, and reading the tag, he announces with a smirk, “Estelle, this one’s for you!”

A series of cheering and clapping explode as Estelle makes her way to the center of the circle and receive her gift.

Estelle puts the card aside, and then carefully unwraps the paper, revealing an elegant, tall glass bottle filled with paper stars in shades of dark harvest gold to light champagne gold. There must be at least 200 tiny stars in the bottle; the colours are reminiscent of the hues of Estelle’s eyes, and she can’t help but think that the person who folded the stars must have kept this in mind.

Or it could have just been a coincidence, Estelle shakes her head slightly to clear her thoughts.

“Wow, whoever gave you this must have spent hours folding those stars,” Layla whistles from the side, pulling Estelle out of her trance. “Does the card say who it’s from?”

There had been no specific rules set about revealing the identity of the Secret Santa, so some of them have chosen to write their names on cards while others have to venture guesses after they’ve received their presents.

With shivering fingers, Estelle tears the envelop open with less grace than she has with the gift-wrap. The front of the card contains typical holiday greetings with a pleasant watercolour painting of a winter scene — nothing special or offensive — yet as her eyes follow the trail of words written inside the card, the colour of her cheeks grows more and more red with each second passing.

The crowd hushes until all they can hear is the fine clinking of glass against wood as someone places their drink on the table.

“Estelle… Estelle, what’s wrong?” Parizad is the first to notice something strange about the young idol’s reaction.

“Arslan,” Estelle’s eyes turn sharply to meet the man’s startled, midnight blue gaze.

“Y-Yes?” Despite the eerily cold tone of her voice, Arslan seems impeccably calm.

“Come with me.” Estelle stomps over to where Arslan is standing, the glass bottle of stars and card still in one hand, and briskly grabs hold of Arslan’s wrist, pulling him away from the crowd who has begun to make teasing comments and catcalling sounds.

They ignore the jeering, push through the crowd, and manage to find some privacy on the massive balcony that acts as an outdoor playground for the dogs after slamming the sliding glass door shut behind them, to the disappointment of the on-looking audience.

“Now, now, just let those lovebirds be,” Gieve consoles his friends and cleverly avoids the pointed glare that Isfan is giving him.

Even in the depth of winter, the city’s temperature rarely drops below 18 degrees Celsius, but in the evening with moisture heavy in the air, the breeze is chilling to the bone. It’s hard for Estelle to pretend otherwise, for the black cocktail dress she’s chosen to wear tonight is a sleeveless one that reaches just above her knees, the pale gold bow tied around her neck is almost suffocating when she realizes that Arslan, bewildered as he is, is still staring at her, waiting patiently for her to speak.  

“What the hell is the meaning of this?” Estelle waves the card in front of Arslan’s face, her voice shaking in a mixture of anger and bewilderment. “Is this a joke to you?”

“W-what do you mean?” He asks, utterly confused. Sure, he’s written the card and has hastily stuffed it in the envelop yesterday without double-checking for mistakes. Had he made some sort of grammatical or spelling errors so unforgiveable that Estelle is getting mad at him?

“Read it yourself!” Estelle, cheeks still tinted with heat despite the cold, thrusts the card into Arslan’s hands.

Five words into the poem that is obviously not written in his own handwriting, Arslan immediately understands why Estelle is acting this way. His only explanation: “Gieve…”

“What does this have to do with Gieve?”

“I think he was trying to help me out,” Arslan chuckles, closing the card and tucking it into his back pocket, “but as usual, the more he tries to extinguish the fire, the more likely he triggers a flood instead.”

“Excuse me?”

“It looks like Gieve rewrote the contents of my card to help me convey my feelings across to you, and he’s done so in a rather… non-subtle way. But he’s got one thing right in that poem,” Arslan laughs, the sound echoing like shimmering sunlight around them, warm and heady.

“If you can even call that poetry,” Estelle smirks, her shoulders much more relaxed now that she knows what’s going on.

“When I was folding those stars,” Arslan nods at the bottle in Estelle’s hand, the paper inside gleaming slightly under the moonlight, “I was thinking about how the colour of your eyes is also quite similar, only yours shifts depending on the light of the day and your mood.”  

“What… are you saying?” Estelle can feel herself stiffening up again when Arslan walks closer, her back rod-straight, but Arslan merely shrugs off his suit jacket and gently lays it over her shoulders to shield her from the night’s chilling breeze.

“I’m sorry,” Arslan apologizes, laughter low and smoky and his eyes are dark and endless when Estelle glances up to face him properly. “I should make my intentions clearer to avoid any more misunderstandings, shouldn’t I?”

He lightly pries the bottle of stars out of Estelle’s hand and places it on the floor, and then holding her hands tenderly in his, Arslan smiles softly and asks, “Estelle, will you do me the honor of going out with me?”

---

Extra Notes:

L.E.A.P. (Manager: Nasrin) - Estelle (was a Gospel singer before she was recruited; joined unit because she needed the money for her family) - Alfreed (Merlane is a bassist in a successful band, and she wants to exceed him with her own talent) - Parizad (dancer; charismatic leader) - Layla (all-rounder; can easily befriend anyone she talks to)

The Knights of Survival (Manager: Kishward) [Do you see the irony in the name? Please forgive me.] - Jimsa (guitar, vocals) - Jaswant (keyboard) - Merlane (bass) - Zaravant (guitar) - Tus (drums)