#does she now love pink and twirly skirts?

[stormsandskies]

Every once and a while I think about Jay and Ava and wonder what they were like when then were younger

were they super close? did they go on little adventures together? did ava braid jays hair? did they play dress up? did they give each other bad makeovers? was there fashion shows for their parents?

what was their girlhood like? was it happy? or was there an underlying note of sadness under all of it because someone was missing?

did their father taint the happy family memories?

or was he actively present and involved until their teens?

Did he come home from work and tuck them in?

Did he play dolls with them?

[whileyoureinschoolidothisallday]

Okay friends.

Normally I would reblog from my writeblr, but this is important to me and you’re important to me. I wanna show this to y’all specifically.

So, I’m gonna post the whole chapter over here as well.

I’d love to hear what you think! And also, with this chapter specifically,

I hope it hits you like it does me.

(if you prefer to read it on ao3, you can do so here)

My eyes flutter open lazily. For a moment, I don't remember falling asleep.

The lights are still on. I'm laying on top of the covers with my still-throbbing head snuggled softly against the pillow. Damp clothes cling to my skin, sending an irritating chill up my back. As I lay here, I'm calm. Cozy from the oblivious numbness of a good nap. Everything looks sharper and feels softer. I don't know the last time I slept like that.

The ignorant bliss only lasts a few more seconds, and then the day's events come rushing back. I suck in a breath and jolt upright. How could I fall asleep at a time like this? How long was I out? Damali--!

I stopped.

Oh, yeah.

I didn't need to rush anywhere anymore. It was over. No matter how long I was asleep, it was long enough for 'Drea to get the message. It didn't feel like she was here yet, but she'd be on the way.

The longer reality settles in, the heavier silence hangs in the room. This should feel more like a relief, I think. Instead, it just is. Flat. Maybe it'll be different when 'Drea starts the process. Damali always looked like she was having so much fun. I can do that too. My favorite face, hair, body, voice, all the styles I've thought about hundreds of times. I stop once I realize I won't get to stop pretending when it's time for my new name. I'll finally have to choose. The usual ominous weight creeps down my stomach, paired with a shudder that makes the hairs on my arms and neck stand up.

No.

I quickly get out of the bed and swing open the doors to my closet. Enough is enough. It's over. I'm so fucking sick of wavering all the time. The decision is made. Notebook. Markers. Pen. I slam myself back down on the bed, pen in a death grip, and commit.

My last name and backstory were already decided, so I just needed something to pair well with it. Delilah Renan's niece...Aubrey Renan. Spencer Renan. Casey Renan. Each one gets its own color palette. 'Drea will make anyone look however they want, but it's up to us to come up with a personality. Aubrey sounds the most like the original plan--a troubled niece. She gets red, denim jacket blue, black like ripped leggings and leather jackets, and mustard gold. Spencer reminds me of Kendra, strong and silent, dark blue and chrome. Casey was twirly skirts and curls, muted pinks, purples, and greys.

The second I have ten options, I toss the list aside and attack my closet, ripping out every relevant piece of clothing I can find and throwing it in a frenzied pile behind me. By the time I'm done, I can barely see the floor or my bed. I hastily strip off my wet clothes and start playing dress up.

The twist in my stomach continues to tighten, a constant, nagging pull in the background of my frantic fashion show. With every coil, my movements grow more desperate. I shrug it off. The anxiety isn't real. It never is. All I need is to see how well it will work. Once it's in front of me, I'll believe it and it won't be so bad. Didn't I spend all my life wishing I was someone else, anywhere else? Why should it feel wrong now?

I wear outfit after outfit. All of them are wrong. For some reason or another, they're not convincing enough. Everything I choose for Audrey reminds me too much of Sapphire. I don't have enough bright clothes to pass as Casey. Spencer feels the most believable, but I always catch a twinge of something not good enough. Something missing. I rush to keep the black hole in my stomach at bay.

It's the makeup. I wouldn't wear the same style if I were Spencer. A subtle line of eyeliner. Mascara. Maybe some rosy-nude lipstick and a little bit of blush. A black baseball cap to complete the look. It looks good. Like this is a girl that could exist. I could play the part and believe it.

I hold my hand out in front of the mirror and smile. "Hi. My name is Spencer Renan."

I try it in different tones. Different wording. Different smiles and sometimes no smile at all. None of it ever feels right.

Fuck! I start to yank off the clothes in frustration. Just fucking pick one already!

Why can't I do this? This isn't hard. Even if it was, it's better than the alternative. I'm not going back. I can't go back. I can't do this anymore.

The denim jacket snags on something as I tear it off. Its chain makes a quiet clink from the jostling. My rampage finally freezes in place. Sabin's ID tags. Slowly, thoughtfully, I untangle them from the fabric.

I forgot I had them on.

They've been around my neck for a year. I sleep with them. They constantly hang with the weight of his life and all the potential life he could've had if it weren't stolen from him. It's all he ever had that he could claim as truly his. All that's left of him. And I forgot about it.  

It's something I haven't thought about before. In all my daydreams of escaping and running away, with a face I thought would be better, easier, it never crossed my mind that Sabin couldn't come with. Keeping these would be a liability. They're a dead giveaway. Why would a Norm like Spencer Renan have the ID tags of a once-deadly experiment? Panacea is everywhere. They caught a glimpse of this and my fancy new identity'd be blown.

I look back in the mirror. I'm not completely undressed yet. I still have the hat, the jeans, the undershirt. It's enough to see that the tags have been what's missing all along. They clash against the Norm costume like a splash of neon paint, jingling incessantly. The truth is loud. Too loud, even if I kept it locked in a box somewhere. If I want this to work, I have to get rid of them.

If I want normality, I have to bury Sabin.

I sit down. Without any distractions for so long, the black hole in my stomach grows until I feel its pressure dragging down my ribs. My hand reaches up to clutch the tags again. I try to move toward the clasp on my neck, but my arm refuses to move any higher.

"This is the only thing I've managed to keep away from them. Will you keep it safe for me?"

His voice rings like the jingling of the tags. Why can't I do this? He'd want me to do this. All he ever wanted was a chance at a normal life, and if he couldn't have it then I had to. He'd want me to forget about him. Sometimes I thought he wanted death more than he wanted me, and I couldn't blame him. I could let him finally rest and drop his only remains in the ocean he loved so much, or in one of his boxes, or wrapped around Dimitri for him to guard instead of me.

Of course that's what he meant. Why did I ever think he wanted me to fight for him? Sabin decided a long time ago that the only place he'd ever be safe was six feet under.

And now I'm the one that has to kill us both.

It isn't fair. Why would he make me do this? Why would he think I could? Did he really think he meant so little to me that I could drop the thought of him for my own survival?

This is all that's left of him. Once it's gone, there will be no evidence that a Sabin Khilcov existed, and the only person who would give a fuck wouldn't be able to remind anyone. He didn't deserve to be forgotten. None of us do. If I die, he dies. Another fucking Chaos Power latched to my life.

"I don't wanna do this!" I cry out and lean forward, resting my head against the mirror in front of me.

But what else can I do?

I can't go back out there. I know I'm not strong enough. Whether I like it or not, this is all that's left. I lost this fight a long time ago. The black hole dissipates with the honesty, and suddenly everything clears.

I never needed commitment.

I needed to mourn.

I never had time before. Now, for once, I'm stuck in an in-between space where the time between the present and when 'Drea shows up could stretch on forever. It's death row, waiting for the executioner. How do I wanna spend my last moments as me? Not crying, that's for sure. I'm so sick of crying.

I slowly sit up and glance around. Everything happened so fast last time. I didn't get to say goodbye to anything. When I was still at home, I used to think there was nothing I would miss when I finally packed up and left, but that isn't true. My room was once the only place I had that was completely mine, without anyone else's influence. I made this place myself: the color of the walls, the designs, the way the furniture was arranged.

I'll miss my bed. I'll miss sleeping under the watchful presence of the diamond on the wall--it always made me feel safe. I'll never be able to draw it again. Or anything I used to. I'll have to leave all my photos too. If I wanted to paint at all, I'd have to completely change my style. It'd be better if I didn't. My heart lurches at the thought.

I turn to look at myself again. The hat hangs low enough that it drapes my eyes in shadow. They're puffy from crying so much and my thick eyeliner is all but non-existent, save for the smears. I look fucking pitiful. There's an emptiness in my eyes and a sickly grey tint to my skin that makes me look like I'm already a walking ghost. Too numb and too dead.

I wipe underneath my eyes. This is what longing after normality looks like. You waste all your time and energy wishing that you were just a little bit more like them that you don't realize how much of yourself you're killing in the process. I'll still be like this if I leave. No matter how different 'Drea makes me, the grey tint will remain. My eyes will stay empty.

I don't want this to be the last image I have of myself. Tear-stained, helpless. Even corpses get to look their best on their final day, don't they? If I'm not allowed anything else, I at least want that right.

What’s my best? What's the last image Ariana Salem wants the world to remember her as?

One last time. The hat's the first to go. My hair falls down in messy waves, still blocking my eyes. I find a ponytail band and pull it back. My movements have purpose. They're liquid. Effortless. There's nothing I have to second guess. I've done this routine so many times that at least in this, I know I can trust myself.

The clothes come off next. It feels like taking off a bra that's too tight. My eyes scan the piles of clothes and stop at dark long sleeves, peeking through beneath jeans and T-shirts. It's a dark turtleneck. Snug enough that it won't catch on anything, but loose enough that I can move freely. The pants match, only with a few extra pockets than normal. I step into some boots. Black, sturdy, a little worn from reliable use.

With the stereotype eyeliner scrubbed off, I take the pen and reapply. This time, a clean line. Smooth and even along my lid. Then, a sharp edge at the end. Rising up and up, way farther than it should be, almost into my hairline, until it looks like knives instead of wings.

My mom's face was always flawless before a big case. She'd walk out of the bathroom somehow looking airbrushed. Not a hair out of place. Suit pressed, heels shining. She made sure when she walked into a room, everyone knew she came to win. Watching her was like watching art being made. A whole new life created from colors, shading, brush strokes. War paint, my dad would joke, to which my mom would lovingly roll her eyes at his terrible humor.

It stuck with me. Just like the image of 'Drea, stalking the streets as Gemstone. Her mouth, adorned with fangs and lipstick and upturned in a wicked smile, the last thing her victims ever saw. It sends some kind of spark cutting through me. Anger, envy, admiration. I can't tell.

It radiates a dull warmth in my veins. I close my eyes and focus on it. Take a few long breaths. There's only one thing left to do.

One last time.

With every breath, I imagine more and more sparks firing off, from the center of my chest outward. The sparks stretch further underneath my skin. Even as it starts to sting, my breathing never strays from its steady beat. Familiar growls rumble awake inside me, shivering up my spine. Their gnashing teeth grind in the pads of my fingertips. The vileness of Kendra's energy slithers and pools into my hands and fills my mouth like dripping, bitter poison. It's everywhere.

Once again, I'm standing at the door waiting to be let in. I let the energy coil and snap for a while. Immerse myself, like all the other times before. The venom curls down my arms like dancing ribbons and juts out like daggers. As strange as it might sound, it brings a smile to my face. The pulsing warmth of home. An armor of thorns fashioned from unbreakable black diamonds. Anything that grazes its edges decays and burns to ash.

There's no recoil this time. The growls and gnashing teeth melt into a contented thrum. It doesn't bite back.

There's nothing left but the reveal.

I slowly open my eyes, and quickly lean back. The sudden stark difference catches me off guard at first. But the surprise only lasts for a moment before I return to staring.

The smirk is still there, slightly brightening my dull skin. My blank, rust brown eyes are swapped with the deep and dangerous red. I never noticed before, but besides being more intimidating, the eyes brighten and bring color back to my face. You can only see the tired circles if you're hunting for them. It's too hard to look away from the red, like a rattlesnake tail. The color holds you hostage until it's too late to look away. My whole body shifts with this much power in my veins. I stand up straighter. Lift my chin up.

The difference is striking, seeing something on a screen versus right in front of you. It's not like I haven't been chased by this image the whole time. She follows me everywhere. Everyone else can't get enough of her and I could never figure out why. Is it possible to be jealous of yourself? I avoided her for so long because I didn't think I remembered how to live up to her standards. She reminded me of everything I wasn't.

But I've tried on so many faces in these last few minutes and none of them, not even the one I started with, felt more like home.

I was so convinced that I didn't know who this was anymore, but the opposite is true. I fooled myself into believing that this isn’t who I am in the first place. It was so easy to fall for the pretend.

The longer I bond with the mirror, the more a fog lifts. Things connect, like finding new shapes in an Abstract painting.

I get why Sabin would want me to leave, and why he stopped trying to stand up to Panacea in the first place. Eventually, you just wanna live, even if that means following their rules. Believing that I was incapable meant that I wasn't responsible for anything. I had an excuse. My fear and inaction were justified because see? I'd just fuck it up anyway. I cloaked myself in an armor of apathy so thick that nothing could get through. Not pain, risk, loss, freedom, friends, power, love, or even myself, claiming self-destruction in the name of safety.

How familiar.

Somewhere down the line, Panacea got in my head and convinced me to do their job for them.

How could I let them take this away from me?

I'm not sure of anything anymore. I don't know if I'm doing the right thing, or if I'm making the right choices, and I sure as fuck don't know how to take care of anyone. But after this, I know I'm sure about one thing:

I can't go the rest of my life without feeling like this ever again.

Like this, no one can touch anything I love with their blood-stained hands and dodge justice. I am the monster under their bed, the heartless beast they write stories about. This is the face Norms fear. My face. The face of power, in a girl who's sick of the expectation to accept second-class citizenry like some gracious gift.

They plaster my likeness on every corner, news outlet, website and radio station, pretending it's a warning for the people. But really, it's to signal the other rats like them that I'm coming. And I take no prisoners. Even after months of me hiding here, dripping in tears and defeat, they kept locking their doors and looking over their shoulders for me. Even though I'm only one person. Even though I'm just a kid.

The smirk shows on my face so effortlessly because this is what freedom feels like. Finally realizing that Panacea can't do shit to stop me. No one else owns my face but me. They can bring me back to this exact spot thousands of times, but this power inside of me, this beast with dripping fangs and gnashing teeth is hungry for blood, and it's not gonna let me stop until those who have wronged us know exactly who the fuck they're dealing with. Why should I be the one afraid of them?

They should be afraid of me.

Kendra's energy flares at the ready in my hands. The blank space of indecision lifts, and my empowerment is swapped for the hovering reality.

I already signed my death sentence.

'Drea was on the way.

How much time did I waste already? What's been happening to Sabin while I've been stuck existing in nightmares? What's happening to Damali every second I stall here? I cuss under my breath and rush out the door.

"Kendra--!"

I stop short. She's leisurely sitting on the floor outside my room. Cell phone in lap. She looks up at me matter-of-factly while my mind reels.

"That took you considerably longer than I anticipated," she says, starting to stand up. "You were farther along than we thought."

I stare in bewilderment for a few more seconds before my brain finally catches up. "You were out here the whole time? What about 'Drea?"

"Never called her,” she says. “I gave ShadowGrl the sample instead. She should be almost done."

She tosses the cell phone back to me and moves toward the stairs. When I don't follow, she turns. "Are you not finished yet?"

Her tone jolts me out of my confusion and back to my usual scowl, albeit softened a bit for honesty’s sake. "How did you know I wouldn't bail?"

"You don't want to quit, human girl. You want sleep and a vacation.” She briefly pauses to shrug. “I gave you what we had available.”

Then, a small, rare smile softens her face. "Also…I like to believe I know who I chose."

There's absolutely no doubt: It's the nicest thing Kendra's ever said to me. My scowl melts into an eager smile. She turns around before I can get too sentimental.

"Now, let's get a move on. I believe you have another human to save?"

I follow her down the steps without another word. Her energy crackles eagerly in my hands, but it flows smoothly. There's not enough doubt lingering to clog the connection anymore. The static evaporates to nothing. Finally, I've remembered who I am and what I'm capable of.

I think it's time I remind Panacea.

[rarephloxes]

elucienweek, flower prompt. 

sorry girls!!! I’m late!! Hope it still counts though :)))))))

for @elucienweek <3

rating: G

wc: ≈3.3k

warnings: none!! they just go on a date!!! and bring each other flowers!!

psa: my first language is Portuguese! And this is also the first thing I’ve even written and posted! Ever! So, I’m nervous!! Lol! Enjoy!! Also: outfits link at the bottom!!

~*~

  Elain flitted through her bedroom excitedly, her nerves jittery and drowned in thoughts of the day she was about to have.  

 “But what do you think I should wear?” Elain asked her sister, Feyre, who was just a laughing face in the screen of her phone.  

 “Put me on FaceTime,” Elain’s phone speaker told her “I’ll help you pick.”  

 “Can you add Nesta to the call, please?” Elain asked, eyeing the clothes hanging in her wardrobe confusedly, brows wrinkled.  

  With a sigh, she sat down at her vanity, the gleaming glass of her perfumes and pretty makeup containers beckoning her.  

 Feyre’s laughing face, a picture taken by Rhys, her sister’s husband, winked out to be quickly replace by Feyre's and Nesta’s profile pictures.  

 (Elain knew she ought to be used to the fact that her sister was wed, for she had gone to her wedding wearing a beautiful pink dress matching the few other bridesmaids. She had even danced with Rhysand’s broody brother, Azriel, and overall had a great deal of time, but it was still weird thinking of her baby sister as a wedded woman. Who also was, uselessly, trying to pretend not to be pregnant).  

“Good morning,” Nesta greeted them, a little bleary eyed “What’s this about?”  

 “Did you just wake up?” Asked Feyre with a knowing smile on her lips. Elain knew that if said smile was directed to herself, she’d blush. “It’s nearly 3PM,”  

 “Oh, well,” responded Nesta with a carefully crafted absent-minded smile “You know how Cassian can be... energetic,”  

 “Nesta!” Elain, despite her best wishes and her sister’s rather tame answer, blushed while applying her mascara “Can we please focus on the matter at hand? I really need some help,”  

 “And what, exactly, is this matter?” Nesta inquired.  

 “It’s Elain’s third date with Mr. Mystery Man,” Feyre slightly static voice answered. Elain’s phone had never been quite the same after she accidentally potted and watered it with one of her apartment plants.  

 “Oh! I didn’t know you and MMM had gotten to the third date phase!” Nesta replied with a note of enthusiasm, the buzz of a coffeemaker as her background noise “A rather early time of day for a third date, though, isn’t it?”  

 Elain bristled slightly, but Feyre answered first “It’s a picnic date, Nesta. It wouldn’t be the same if was later. And besides, it’ll be just the right time for they to see the sunset,” Feyre frowned “Did you really just wake up?”  

 “I was taking a nap,” Nesta supplied with her mouth hidden by a mug covered in book details, a library’s name scripted around it “What can I say? Cass really wore me out,”  

 “Girls, please, please, can we stay on topic?” Elain pleaded a little, “I really do need help.”  

 “Oh, those are lovely lashes, Elain” Feyre praised from where Elain’s phone was propped in her vanity. Elain, now applying her blush until she looked somewhat sunburned, questioned “Do you like it? I glue them underneath my lash line, see? It looks nice, doesn’t it?”   

 Perhaps sensing the bit of anxiety on her middle sister’s face, Nesta said “It looks beautiful, Elain. MMM will not even know what hit him”. 

 Smiling at her sister’s compliment, Elain stood up and angled her phone to the side, widening the camera range to the view of her bed and bathroom door.  

 “So,” Elain started, slightly out of frame as she scoured her clothes for something fitting, “I thought maybe a dress? No pants or shorts because I bought a charcuterie board and really am planning to eat the cake Lu... I mean, Mr. Mystery Man-” Elain stopped herself with a laugh, what a silly nickname, dear Gods. Of course, Feyre would come up with something like that “- is going to bring, so nothing constricting in the belly area,”  

 “Ooh! I know! What about the white dress? With the blue flower print?” Feyre suggested.  

 “White? Feyre, a white dress for a picnic? I’m aware you live in a palace and has the wealthiest man in the land of the free to pay for your every wish, but please remember some of us have to do laundry” Nesta said, a laugh woven in her teasing.  

 Before Feyre could answer, Elain interrupted the seemingly lighthearted argument lest she lost her sisters to an everlasting word brawl “It’s cute, Feyre, you’re right. But, Nesta has a point. I don’t want any grass stains on it.”  

 “Besides, I thought I could wear my strawberry dress,” Elain said, placing a pink dress in front of her robe clad form.  

 “Oh, that’s cute,” said Nesta.  

 “Yeah, really pretty,” agreed Feyre.  

 “Then why do you both sound so unsure?”  

 “It’s just that it is a little plain,” Feyre explained carefully.  

 “It’s a 500-dollar dress,” Elain defended “And it has strawberries in it!”  

 “Yes, of course,” Nesta complied, “But maybe something with sleeves less... puffy? Or without a childish print?”   

 Feeling a little defeated, Elain nodded.  

 Afterward, the pile of clothes on her bed rapidly grew and with it Elain’s anxiety.  

 “Gods, nothing looks good,” Elain said, hating the whiny tone of her voice.  

 “Wait, wait!” Nesta startled “What of that sage green dress?”  

 The little dying light in Elain’s chest glittered.  

 “The one from Reformation?” Elain asked hangers chiming while she reached for the dress.  

 “Isn’t it a bit too fancy?” Feyre replied, uncertain.  

 “He is really well dressed,” mused Elain, looking at herself in the mirror, sage dress draped over her front “So you think this matches well with my white Fendi boots?”  

 “Won’t the boots be uncomfortable for a sitting on the ground date?” Nesta countered, voice muffled by the running water she was using to rinse her mug, coffee long gone by then.  

 “Well, I guess,” Elain acceded just as another dress caught her eye, “YES! I think I found the one!”  

 “Let us see it then!” Feyre asked around a mouthful of something.  

 “Wait, let me put it one first” said Elain before skittering out of view.  

 “What are you eating?” asked the corner of Nesta’s face.  

 “Rhys is doing business with these Belgium people. Very fancy. Particularly important Belgium people,” Feyre’s eyes and forehead answered, “They brought a lot of chocolate,”  

 “Quite the stereotype,” A pause “Save me some?”   

 “Sorry, I’m finished with them already.”  

 “Ok! Grand reveal time!”  

  Nesta’s side eye and frown disappeared once Elain popped into frame, a soft off-white midi dress with a high neckline and short sleeves now around her body, accentuating the dip of her waist.  

 “Ooh, I love the slit!”  

 “Yes! And it’s such a nice print too! The red details go really well with your nails! Where did you go to get that set?”  

  Elain squealed, jumping a bit with the balls of her feet, her skirts flaring “I get my nails done with my neighbor’s girlfriend. She’s quite good, isn’t she?” Elain approached her phone, showing her nails to the screen. “Oh, and look at the back,” Elain twirlied, skirts swishing around her calves.  

 More excited cheers ringed around Elain.  

 “Your tits look amazing! What about the shoes?”  

 Elain barely had the time to blush.        

 ” Oh, it’d look lovely with the converse I painted for you!” Feyre pointed out.  

 Elain had to turn away to hide her frown “I’d thought to wear slip on heels?”  

 “Way better!” recognized Nesta almost too quickly “Or maybe the pretty red ones with the ties at the ankles? Low heeled?”  

 “The red ones are pretty! Yes! But the slip-ons are easier,” Elain said, showing the options to her camera “Nude or green?”  

 “Definitely green,” said Feyre as Nesta said “Go with the nude one.”  

 “Do you think I could pull off wearing one color on each foot?” Elain giggled, putting her lip gloss and money purse in her bag, leaving the colorful shoes on top of her vanity chair.  

 “Nah, Nesta’s right, go with the nude one,” Feyre said, mouth foaming with toothpaste.  

 “What was that?” Nesta mocked in a singsong voice “Can you repeat it, please, I couldn’t hear around your toothbrush. Or the sound of your betrayal. I always save you a bonbon or two.”  

 “No, you don’t,”  

 “Well, I always mean to!”  

 Feyre spit off frame and flipped Nesta the bird.  

 All three of them laughed, Elain hurrying around her room to seem like she was ready to leave.  

 “Thank you so much for tuning in for this episode of Sisterly Love,” Elain joked with a big, unnerving smile, a weird laugh she hoped the poor functioning camera of her phone would hide “I’ll see you girls on next week’s episode- “  

 “Wait! No!” Interrupted Nesta with a serious face, “I see you worrying about, pretending you’re late,”  

 Feyre, who was smiling at someone else off camera, joined in as if she’d just caught on “Yeah! Stop... doing that,”  

  “Tell us about MMM!” Nesta demanded, “You can’t expect us to let you go on a date with a creep!”  

  “How do you know I’m pretending?” Elain huffed, her eyes diminished into slits, hands at her waist.  

  “As if you’d be in the risk getting to your date late. You like him too much,”  

  Nodding to her sister’s point, Elain dropped her facade.  

  “But he’s not a creep,” Elain said as she plopped down on her cushioned vanity chair, using the mirror to double check her makeup.  

  “Then what is Mister Mystery Man like?”  

   Elain had no control over the grin that illuminated her face “He’s... charming. Kind. Tall. And a swimmer too- “  

  “A swimmer! Nice broad shoulders then, huh?”  

  “Well, yes, I guess” Elain stammered a bit “He works in Communications. His brother’s dogs just had a litter, so now he’s taking care of two puppies. The cutest little things I’ve ever seen to be honest-”

 “Ok, ok, but how well does he kiss?”  

 “You’ve kissed him, right?”  

 With a quickened heartbeat, Elain confessed “Yes,”  

 “Then come out with it already! Tell us how it was!”  

 “It was a sweet kiss. He dropped me off at home and... well, you know how these things go.”  

 Neither Nesta nor Feyre said anything, urging Elain to keep talking.  

  And if Elain got a little breathless, none of her sisters mentioned “We were heading home after dinner. He took me to the new Italian restaurant near the Sidra, so it was a short walk until my apartment.”  

 “He looked so handsome, I thought I’d melt when he held my hand and I’ll admit I was rather tipsy by then, and he was so warm and... Gods, when he leaned down to kiss me, I turned into a puddle- “  

 “That sounds straight out of that novel you lent me, Nesta,”  

 “He is quite the charmer, isn’t he?”  

 “Yes. Yes, he is” said Elain dreamily.  

 “Elain! Don’t forget to do that thing you do with your lipstick? Makes your lips look so good,” Feyre reminded enthusiastically, dragging Elain out of her stupor.  

 “Yeah, maybe then your next kissing story won’t be so wholesome,” Nesta added with a leer.  

 With a happy giggle, Elain carefully traced a discreet line with her lipliner over her cupid’s bow and covered it with lip gloss.  

 “Yeah! Just like that!”  

 “Oh, I see the difference now. You look stunning,”  

 Opening a drawer, Elain asked “Big hoops or small ones?”  

 “They won’t look good with this dress, though” mused Nesta “Unless you’re wearing the small chunky ones, more oval than circle,”  

  “You mean these?” Elain showed the jewelry, to the camera.  

 “Yes, that’s the one. I knew I should’ve gone with you to get the extra earring holes! You look ten times hotter with all these earrings.”  

 “Yeah, you definitely should’ve” agreed Feyre with a smile “You look stunning, Elain. MMM is a lucky man,”  

 Not bothering to hide her smile, Elain thanked her sisters, the video call ending quickly after their well wishes and goodbyes.  

  With a reinvigorated sigh, Elain gathered her basket, carefully picking up the flowers she had wrapped to gift her date and left her apartment in a flurry of petals and jangling keys. 

                                          ***

  Elain waited by the Velaris Park entrance that viewed the Sidra, inhaling the salty breeze that ruffled her hair and skirts, cooling the hotness of the sun on her skin. 

 Twirling around as if she’d heard her name in the wind, Lucien stepped into her line of vision and Elain was suddenly, viscerally reminded of the Three Musketeers Disney film she knew all the song lyrics by heart, with the outdated montage of Minnie, the pure hearted French princess, meeting Mickey, the earnest musketeer with a desperate need to prove himself, saturated in an array of old sparkly effects and pretty roses that sprouted at will, surrounding the animated mice in a haven of pastel pink fluffy clouds and romantic orchestra, and the terribly cheesy, awfully idealistic and childishly romantic speech about love at first sight.  

 He walked up to where she was standing, a carefully wrapped beautiful arrangement of multi-colored tulips, lilacs, and white carnations in his hand, and a basket very much like hers tucked in his elbow. He was wearing a cream button down with the top buttons undone, the wisps of red hair and freckles on his collarbone adorned by a discreet necklace glowing in the sun.  

 Elain’s tote bag slipped off her shoulder in a moment of lightheaded carelessness and Lucien gracefully helped her reassert the bag in her shoulder, his hand lingering if only for a moment.  

 “Are these for me?” he asked as a greeting, the light of his smile mirrored in his eyes.  

 “Yes,” she smiled too, something soft slipping into her ribcage and filling her with sunlight at the sight of him “You said these were your favorites in-”  

 “My mother’s garden,” he said with her, still smiling at her like he could not stop even if he tried “I’ll admit it now that I didn’t share that bit of information necessarily aiming for a gift” he walked the few steps so he could stand at her side “Not that I’m complaining.”  

 "I'm glad you liked them," Elain said, her sunglasses slipping on the bridge of her nose "I believe I was promised a fine spot for picnics and watching the sunset?" Lucien’s presence melted away Elain’s unsteady nerves, the tension of her body uncoiling with the tender warmth flowing off him.  

 "The best spot there is," he promised with a wink "Also, these are for you" Lucien mentioned to the graceful bouquet of peonies, buttercups and sunflowers in his hands, the few residual beads of water in the petals scintillating in the sunlight. “I thought it might be presumptuous of me to gift you my favorite flowers, so hence the absence of tulips.”  

  Elain chuckled, walking by Lucien’s side as he led them to his favorite part of the park “I wouldn’t have minded at all. Tulips are one of my favorites as well,” 

 “A woman of great taste,” he replied with a little head bow.  

 Elain, her mouth a little dry, a few strands of her front hair pieces sticking to her brow, wondered why she had ever felt nervous to meet Lucien, with his soft curls smelling of autumn, apples and cinnamon, steady hands, and bright, bright smile. There was nothing unpleasant about his presence, the effortless way he stood and spoke, the grace in his step or the lovely caramel of his eyes. 

 He guided her to a little alcove of grass, lined by tall stone walls covered in vines. In all her walks through the park, she never noticed it. A beautiful corner hidden from curious eyes, but not blocking the river’s breeze or the sight of its running waters. 

 “I’ve got a friend in the team of architects that planned this park,” Lucien explained at Elain’s surprised face “Not exactly something one would find in the City Guide,” 

 “It’s lovely, Lucien. I’ll admit that this could possibly be the best the best sunset viewing spot,” 

 “Possibly be?” he asked with mock outrage, setting the waterproofed fabric over the grass, soon followed by a dark blue checkered flannel blanket “It is the best one. It’s the reason it’s a secret” he said in a conspirators whisper, comically eyeing their surroundings as if in search of busybodies. 

 “Well, I can only decide after the day’s event,” Elain sat at the other side of the blanket, carefully arranging her basket’s content over the fabric, swiping their bouquets so they rested near their respective owners. 

 “Is this a ruse so that I work extra hard to impress you?” 

 “I don’t know,” she smirked while plating the delicate chocolate strawberries she’d made herself the night before, “Is it working?” 

 “I’m proud to say I’ve being incessantly trying to remain at my A game since the moment I looked at you the first time. 

 “That’s good,” if the blush staining her cheeks gave away her smugness, Lucien didn’t acknowledge it.

*** 
 

It was easier than falling asleep, talking to Lucien. Like being carried away by a gentle river current. Like the subtle swing of a hammock by the beach. 

 He liked bossa nova, and she did too! Her father introduced it to her when she was a little girl, swaying her in his arms. It was Lucien’s mother favorite music genre, he accidentally scratched one of her vinyl records as a kid in his haste to listen to the soft melody, the boyish delight he had at the gleam in his mother’s eyes, rare even then, making his fingers clumsy. 

 He grew up in New Hampshire, in a big estate house with woods nearby, camping with his siblings every other week, learning how to fish with his hands because he never liked to use hooks, even as a little boy. Elain had never been one for the outdoors, except for the window box, the closest thing to a garden she had ever managed to keep over the years in her family’s one bedroom apartment. But she’d like to see it someday. He would love to show it to her, he promised with his hand hidden under his thighs as if to retract from touching the flush on cheeks. 

 Elain lived most of her life in apartments, except for the few summers she used to spend at her grandparents’ country house. Her grandmother had the most beautifully cared for garden Elain had ever seen. It even had a maze, towering walls of green she could get lost into while exploring with her sisters. Once her grandparents passed away, her father had to sell the property. She never got the chance visit it again. 

  The deep orange skylight alerted them of the incoming sunset, the Sidra’s waters a wonderful watercolor of blues, pinks, reds, and oranges, gleaming in between the dark green frames of the vine-covered high fence surrounding them.  

  By then, the initial space between them had dwindled, the food containers already inside their baskets, only wine glasses a sip away from being finished near their lazied forms. Elain and Lucien were laying side by side, the gentle slope of the ground allowing them to look at the departing sun without strain. 

 They hadn’t properly touched yet. The easiness of darkness and alcohol in their last date was substituted by the brightness of day and sobriety, their interaction more measured physically. Elain felt the absence of touch as the whispers of a phantom limb. 

 Consumed by the incandescent light of the sun, an unexpected source of courage, Elain laid her head on Lucien’s shoulder. She hadn’t realized they had been quiet for a while, the sunset filling the space where their words had been. 

 Before she could speak, Lucien snaked his arm under her neck, twisting his body to hold hers as they watched the dark blue dotted with stars overthrow the magnificent golden orange. 

 “Is this, ok?” 

  A nod. 

  A hug. 

  A breath on the neck. 

  A shy kiss on the cheek. 

  The white-hot warmth of his lips on hers. 

  The devastating light of her lips on his. 

  Finally, being home. 

Thank you so much for reading it!!!! Please, I'd reeeeealy appreciate your opinions/feedbacks on it :))))

Elain’s dress, shoes

Lucien’s shirt

[dccomicsbookshelf]

Headcanon: Bats & The Weather

Bruce: Is an overly dramatic asshole who needs his aesthetic. Sunshine is for people like Clark Kent and Barry Allen. Perching broodily on a gargoyle just doesn’t have the same effect when the weather is nice. (When he was little, he loved sunny days. They are so rare in Gotham it was practically a special occasion. Thomas would take off work when possible and the Waynes would retire to the outdoor pool where all three of them would splash around and get sunburned and Alfred would bring dinner out to them and they would eat sitting on the grass and watching the sun set. The first sunny day after his parents were killed Bruce refused to set foot outside or even open the curtains.)

Barbara: Loves early fall weather, especially on the rare occasions when the sky clears up just a little. The mornings when the air is brisk and there is just enough of a breeze that you can feel it. On really nice days, if she doesn’t need immediate access to her full setup, she wheels out onto the balcony so she can work from her laptop/tablet and enjoy the day.

Dick: Loves wind and loves storms. Has given Bruce many near-heart attacks because of this. (There are few things more terrifying than turning around to find your nine year old balanced on a railing ten stories above the ground, swaying in gale force winds.) But when the wind is strong enough it feels like flying. The constant dreary drizzle (It isn’t real rain) that afflicts Gotham is probably the only weather that he doesn’t like. It exacerbates his depression. When they do get a proper rain he loves to go splashing in puddles (even as an adult) and this is something he has reclaimed. (He still gets flashbacks sometimes, especially on patrol, the combination of rooftops and rain and the Nightwing suit. He makes sure he doesn’t patrol alone on rainy nights.)

Cass: Loves rain. she loves the way it smells, especially out at the manor away from Gotham proper. She loves the way it washes everything clean. Her most favorite of anything else though is sunrise after rainfall. The way the sunlight hits the wet grass in front of the manor, or the wet stone in Gotham. Puddles become magical portals and cars look like they are studded with diamonds. Plus, she can stomp in puddles and splash mud all over her siblings. Its the best!

Jason: Loves snow. Not ice, that nasty stuff that makes the air bitterly cold and the ground/rooftops treacherous. Snow, which is fairly rare in Gotham but beautiful when it does happen. He likes to curl up in a window seat with a blanket, good book, and hot beverage and just read while enjoying the view.

Stephanie: Windy days are the worst. You can’t wear short, twirly skirts, you hair gets blown into your eyes and mouth, and all the nasty smells from down the street are suddenly in your face. What’s really great is sunny days with just a hint of a breeze, so the air doesn’t feel oppressive but it doesn’t cause you problems either. Days when classes are canceled because of ice are good too. (If only they could cancel patrol as well.)

Tim: Likes sunny days but sunny days do not like him. Day in general just doesn’t like him. Anytime he goes outdoors during the day he gets sunburned,  even if its just a little pink over his nose and cheeks it happens. He has tried every brand and SPF of sunscreen and none of them work! Jason and Damian think its hilarious. Dick and the girls tease him. Barbara sympathizes. Rain makes him sleepy.

Damian: Why does Gotham have to be so cold all the time? He does not like! (And then in August it gets oppressively hot and muggy and that’s just as bad!) He enjoys painting on rainy days. He has an art studio on the third floor and can hear the rain on the roof. It’s almost meditative.

Duke: Hates Gotham weather with a burning passion. It’s just so dreary, he really doesn’t get how it hasn’t driven all the others insane. (Oh Duke. You have no idea.)

Alfred: Really wishes that his charges would cease finding ways to injure themselves on slippery rooftops or by stepping outside into the sun. Is partial to a cup of tea on a rainy day. Loves lighting storms. The electricity in the air is almost tangible and it is beautiful. (Now if only Master Bruce and his children would stop attempting to turn themselves into lightning rods that would be lovely.)