#large space family with vibrant colors and smiles that i adore

[deltas-writing-corner]

Courtship: Together

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland (Malleus x GN!reader)

Author note: Thank you all for your patience and happy reading!

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and alcohol consumption.

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AO3 version

“Really, I insist.”

“And I insist you sit down and relax while we finish preparing your party,” Lilia says as he pushes Malleus back down in his seat; the grand stone throne at the top of the double staircase in Diasomnia’s main lounge room. “We’re nearly done, anyway!”

Malleus tries to argue that setting out a few plates of food or lighting a few candles himself is no big issue, but Lilia skips away before he can get another word in. He continues to watch as the rest of his dorm mates decorate and rearrange the lounge into a grand venue befitting a birthday bash. Every so often, he checks his phone and rereads the last few messages you sent to him. You wrote you would arrive soon and would inform him when you were outside. He was getting antsy the longer he waits. There was even a moment where he was unsure if you knew the way to his dorm and panic-offered to escort you just in case. He snuck out for you once, and he’d do it again if you only asked.

The somber doorbell rings, and he immediately shoots up onto his feet. Lilia excuses himself so he can answer the door, but Malleus quickly descends the stairs and catches him by the shoulder before he can leave the room. “I’ll get it,” he says, leaving no room for a rebuttal from his caretaker. He hears several shouts of his name and approaching footsteps, but no one completely follows him into the halls, most likely thanks to Lilia holding them back. Even as he puts more and more distance between him and the venue, he swears he can hear the elder fae’s playful giggles echoing in the distance.

He picks up his already hurried pace at the sound of the bell ringing again. He’s a bit out of breath by the time he reaches the door and takes a few moments to straighten up and calm his pounding heart before welcoming you in. His efforts to appear calm and collected are all for naught, as he feels his breath being taken away when he opens the door and sees you. While you’re always wonderfully dressed, seeing you dressed in attire that is just a smidge more formal and fanciful strikes a carnal chord he didn’t know existed till this very moment. Black and green are the signature colors of Diasomnia. While your dress shirt isn’t the traditional vibrant green, instead it is a dark and rich hue, he can’t help but wonder if it would be too rude or outright ridiculous to ask you to wear it more often.

“Hey!” you greet with a bright smile on your face. “See? I made it here just fine.”

“Thank goodness,” he lets out a relieved sigh. “I thought I may have had to pick you out of a thorn bush.”

You let out a hearty laugh at his comment as he ushers you inside. He observes you as you look around and take in the decor of his dorm. While the architecture of Diasomnia is a typical design within the Valley of Thorns, his own home especially, he knows from a few off-handed comments that some students find the dorm gloomy and even downright unwelcoming. He supposes the green flames that bathe the walls and windows in an ominous glow can be a bit intimidating to those not used to them, but you don’t appear bothered by it at all. In fact, you’re dragging him in the opposite direction of the lounge and insisting that he show you around his dorm.

“I’m not leaving ‘till I see your room,” you firmly state.

“Why would you want to see my room?” he asks.

“Y’know?” You point back and forth between him and yourself. “You’ve seen my room, so now I get to see your room.”

That sounds awfully familiar.

“What is your name, child of man?”

“Depends on who’s asking,” you answer nonchalantly, completely unintimidated or disturbed by his presence. “What’s yours?”

His eyebrows furrow with annoyance. “It is proper to give your name when asked.”

“That isn’t how mutual introductions work where I’m from,” you scoff. “You’re supposed to give me your name, and then I give you mine.” you point back and forth between you and himself to better emphasize your explanation. As if you were trying to make sense of the difference between right and wrong to a child.

He feels the urge to growl in the back of his throat. “You’re rather ill-mannered, human.”

“I don't think any reasonable person would feel safe giving out their name to a tall guy with horns, wandering around an abandoned dorm that’s seen better days,” you bite back. “You aren’t making a great case for yourself either.”

After his mind finishes playing back the very first memory and conversation he has of you, he gently grabs you by the shoulder and leads you in the opposite direction. “Very well,” he concedes.

He guides you down several long halls, past the other standard-sized dorm rooms and other empty rooms. The large double doors of his room eventually come into full view, and when you turn and ask him if that was his room, you give him a giddy smile when he confirms it is. His room is rather plain. The only personal items he has are a few pennants above his desk given to him by Lilia many decades ago, and a giant statue shaped as the Witch of Thorn’s dragon form. While there isn’t anything in particular that he’s embarrassed by you seeing, he worries you might find the lack of personal decor boring, upsetting even. You have little else in your room as well, but compared to his it may as well be a treasure trove.

“Huh,” you step in and look back and forth, taking in his private space in all its unassuming glory. “So this is what a dorm leader’s room is like!”

The first place that catches your interest is the bed, which you unashamedly fall back on, arms spread out to bask in the space underneath you. If seeing you on his bed wasn’t enough to stir his heart, it would be the fact that another one of your shirt buttons came undone, exposing more of your collarbones and the middle of your chest to his obsessive gaze.

“Damn, I’d kill for a bed this big,” you grumble. “Do you know how much of a pain it is, sleeping with a bunch of full-grown wolves, four newborn pups, and a steadily growing deer?”

“You can always order them out of your room at night,” he suggests.

You fall back on his bed again with a groan. “Believe me, I’ve tried! They nearly scratched my door off and kept me up all night with their loud howling.”

You and your deep, unspoken love for animals. It seems it’s coming back to bite you in small ways. “You’re much more pliable than I thought!” he says, laughing behind his palm.

“Whatever,” you lift yourself and give a dismissive wave with your hand. Something catches your eye, as you look him up and down before tilting your head inquisitively. “Aren’t you supposed to have a sash with your outfit?”

He is, but what you don’t know is that he purposely left it in his closet, hoping you would notice and bring it up as you did just now. The reason and overall style of this birthday suit perplexed Malleus, but he’ll admit that it wasn’t an unwelcome surprise when the headmaster dropped it off the other day. He was actually hoping it would be you that presented it to him as you did with Lilia’s identical outfit on his birthday. However, that one time was because the headmaster had another obligation and handed the task to you last minute. It was the first time Malleus saw you since the end of the winter break, when his love confession went awry. It was awkward and nerve-racking, as to be expected considering how things went. But when you smiled and called him “tsunotarou” (much to Sebek’s disdain), it helped affirm the words the two of you had been exchanging over the phone, that you and he are still friends and that you still cared about him.

As he had hoped, you quickly offer to put the sash on for him when he mentions it still being somewhere in his wooden wardrobe. Your movements are swift and unassuming, but he can’t help the way his shoulders tense up when you put your arm around him to wrap the sash around his torso. Once the strip of fabric is properly secured, you run your hands over his clothes to smooth out the small wrinkles and bunched-up fabric. Your actions feel like a burst of electricity against his skin, even though there were several layers of clothes separating your bare flesh from his.

You casually wipe your thumb over the purple gem on his lapel pin before saying, “White suits you.”

“Is that so?” He timidly raises his hands to button up your dress shirt, just the one button that was undone earlier. He knows you hate having it buttoned up all the way. “I thought you said red suited me best?”

“I still think it does!” you chuckle. “But I’ve never considered you in something white until now. I guess I have to make you a white coat now.”

“You don’t have to,” he insists. “The one you made for me is fine as it is.”

“That’s good,” you smile. “All those years of helping my aunt sew and mend clothes for my cousins finally came in handy.”

“That would be your second aunt, correct?”

You’re visibly surprised at his comment, but you quickly give him a rather adorable smile. “That’s right!” you chant. When he asks you why you’re smiling so sincerely, you answer, “You’re the first person who’s been able to tell which of my aunts I’m talking about without naming them.”

“You speak of them often, so it’s expected that I’d be able to distinguish who you’re referring to after some time.”

“Well, shut me up if I mention them one too many times,” you insist, eyes averted from his own as you fidget with the ribbon tails of his celebratory bow near his breast pocket, his birth month and day were written with shimmering gold foil.

“Nonsense,” he frowns, redirecting your gaze to him so he can look you in the eyes. “They’re your family. If they’re important to you, then they are to me as well.”

While it’s true that you speak or make a frequent mention of your aunts during your many late-night strolls with him, Malleus’s ability to tell which one you’re referring to is mostly due to him carefully listening to each of your stories like they were gospels, writing seemingly rudimentary information down in his private journal to later read back by himself. Initially, he kept a record because your stories about the life you’ve lived alongside your rather rambunctious human family intrigued him. As his infatuation for you grew, he hoped that by showing you he remembers these moments of your life that you’ve shared with him, it would be a clear sign that he deeply cared not just about you, but also the family you deeply care for.

“Honestly,” you sigh and give him a playful look. “You really know how to tug on my heartstrings, don’t you?”

Malleus has done his best to remain calm and composed in your presence ever since he came to terms with his feelings towards you. As always, you shatter his efforts completely just by being your genuine self, open and honest with your thoughts. You seem to relish his red-faced meltdown, pulling him into a comforting hug while also laughing at him. He hopes you don’t think it strange, the way he seamlessly leans against you and melts in your arms. There’s a pleasant fragrant he picks up in your hair, fresh and floral, specifically like roses. He knows you like to make and use rose water every once in a while to keep your skin moisturized and your hair healthy. His heart is on the verge of bursting through his chest, thinking about you using it specifically with him in mind.

Is this your way of enticing him? It’s not much, but it’s working.

You pull away from him when your phone briefly rings. “Looks like they finished,” you announce as you skim over the newly received message, most likely from Lilia. “We should probably head there now before Sebek gets impatient and hunts you down like a rabbit.”

At the mention of his well-meaning, but loud retainer, Malleus and you leave his room and walk back to the venue together. Along the way, he acts bold and grabs your hand as you hurriedly walk side by side. You don’t pull away when his fingers interlock with yours. Instead, you squeeze and swipe the callus pad of your thumb over his knuckles, a silent assertion that his gesture is okay with you. A shy smile adorns his face. When he spares a glance over at you, he sees one as well.

“I know it’s only been 5 days,” he nervously mentions aloud. “But is it safe for me to presume that you already have an answer?”

“Pretty much,” you casually answer, but you still sounding quite sure of yourself. It sends his heart, mind, and body into a hopeful frenzy. “But as you said, it’s only been 5 days. I still have 2 more days left before my deadline hits and I’m taking all the time I’ve given myself.”

That cheeky tone of yours doesn’t go amiss. In normal Ramshackle fashion, you’re going to keep him at his wits’ end for your own amusement. He doesn’t know if he should feel more annoyed or more enchanted by you. Perhaps a mix of both? Truly, only you can make him feel this way.

“Honestly,” he shakes his head in disbelief. “You are by far the most troublesome human I’ve ever met.”

He halts his hurried pace. And you do as well. He grasps your still intertwined hands together with his other hand, holding it carefully like they were as fragile as glass. Your skin is covered in scars, both recent and old, that came from years of foraging and enduring the natural difficulties of mother nature. However, to him, these permanent markings are more precious than the rarest gem or the finest silk. Your hand is neither too large nor too small within his. It sits just right within his grasp like they were made for him to hold and caress as he is doing now.

“I suppose that makes you the person that you are,” he smiles down at you after letting out a curt laugh. “and it is you who I love and cherish immensely, with all that I am and ever will be.”

Perhaps it is in poor taste to repeat the same words he first told you during his initial confession, but there are no other words he could weave together that can equally convey to you the extent of his feelings other than these. He knows he’s getting ahead of himself. He knows that he’s agreed to abide by the time you’ve asked of him. His words are his bond, literally and figuratively.

He’s just so damn in love with you. He’s willing to act a bit more reckless than he usually is just to expedite the days where he can have you by his side and be together with you at last.

He barely catches it, but thanks to the quiet halls, he’s able to pick up the mumbled words you speak. “You’re making me lose my sense of patience, dammit.”

“Young master!” Sebek’s booming voice echoes down the hallways before Malleus can press your comment further on. His impending presence is enough to make you let go of one of him and take a step back to set some space between you and him. “Where are you?!”

He was much closer than he sounded, as you and Sebek nearly topple over each other when you both turn down the same corner. Thankfully, Malleus acts quickly enough and catches you before you could fall to the ground, and you thank him shortly after you’ve righted yourself up.

Malleus looks up at Sebek and asks, “Why on earth are you sprinting down the halls?”

“The human has failed to respond to Sir Lilia’s message, so he sent me to retrieve you both!” Sebek states, a bit too loudly for your liking as you click your tongue and rub your temples to relieve the growing headache. Malleus has assured you that Sebek’s volume is something you’ll grow accustomed to. It seems the day has yet to come.

“Well, we’re here,” you halfheartedly try to reassure the boy. “So can you please use your inside voice?”

“You!” now it was Sebek’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “Did I not give you an hour-long lecture on proper attire for the occasion?! Today is Master Malleus’s birthday, and you look no different from what you look like any other day!”

“What?!” you look at his retainer with utter bewilderment. “I am dressed up! I even went out and bought a damn blazer just to fall in line with your strict rules!”

“You’re not wearing it properly!” Sebek gestures to your rolled-up sleeves and the two undone buttons of your dress shirt. “Honestly, I expected better conduct from you, prefect!”

“Just shut up and walk, Zigvolt!” you fume and push the young fae down the hall, ignoring his continuous strings of scoldings and high expectations of you. “I’m not in the mood!”

You turn back to Malleus, who silently follows a few steps behind Sebek and you ahead of him. Malleus has to bite his tongue as you make a choking gesture, most likely directed towards Sebek, with one of your hands. He puts his hand up in defense, not wanting to get involved in your ongoing argument with his retainer. Whenever you and Sebek are together, willingly or otherwise, the two of you often butt heads. Your arguments are never too serious. Malleus knows that if he gives you two some space, you’ll both work out whatever it is you’re arguing about and go back to respectfully tolerating each other as per usual.

He wants to ask you about this supposed lecture Sebek gave you about how you should dress. It sounds equally intriguing as it does ridiculous. Unlike Sebek, he thinks you’re dressed rather well tonight.

The scent of roses in your hair is proof enough that you’ve taken some of Sebek’s words to heart, even if he says otherwise.

The food is delicious despite its unusual colors. The cake, although baked by Lilia, was fluffy and not overly sweet like you expected it to be. Your biggest fear of the night was walking into a dorm full of faes who are just as headache-inducing and strict as Sebek is, but thankfully there’s only one of him in the entire dorm! Some students were still standoffish and threw you a few too many nasty looks than you would normally tolerate. Thankfully, there were some students you remember helping out of their dubious contract with Azul during exams week and welcomed you with open arms. They followed you around like a bunch of ducklings, eagerly insisting you try some dishes they specifically made for tonight’s festivities. Whether they genuinely admired you or simply wanted to make even with you for your help, they are a pleasant distraction from your interactions with Malleus earlier.

Love is a strange thing. Unlike a deer, you can’t predict its next movements or manipulate it to a point of disadvantage. Whether you love someone poorly or properly, love isn’t the same across the board. The love you have for your ghostly dorm mates back in ramshackle is comparable to the love you have for your family, precious and irreplaceable. You can share the same sentiments for your flourishing entourage of forest animals you take care of. You even have a bit of love for Grim, even if he wears your patience thin every other day with his dim-witted cockiness.

You’ve been in a few relationships before, but they went nowhere meaningful. They were relationships built upon a foundation of opportunity and convenience, not of mutual affection and a desire for lifelong companionship. You’re also a creature of habit, so the idea of breaking your hard-fought routines puts you on edge, even if it’s for someone you care about. There’s also the fact that you’ve sworn to yourself to not get too involved with the people in this strange world. You don’t want anyone, or even yourself, to feel saddened or at a loss when it comes time for you to depart. You don’t want to inconvenience anyone if you can avoid it. When you return home, you just want to brush this entire experience off as a long and complex dream.

But how can you brush someone like Malleus off as a figment of your imagination? How can you simply forget all those nights you spent talking with him, laughing with him, genuinely connecting and bonding with another person outside your immediate family for the first time in a long while? How can you continue to tell yourself that you won’t get too involved or become attached to anyone in this twisted world after you’ve gone and fallen in love with one of its inhabitants?

You love Malleus, truly, wholeheartedly, and for far longer than you initially thought. You love him, but not to a blind point where you cannot realize that loving him isn’t as simple as acting upon your innermost desire. Even if the feelings you have for one another are mutual, what then? What will a relationship with a fae, a royal fae, entail? Few think highly of humans. Sebek is a living example that there are even faes who actively dislike and look down upon humans. Malleus is at the very top of the social hierarchy, while you are on the very bottom; a magicless human from a completely different world. That’s another problem! What happens once the way back to your home is finally unearthed?

You love Malleus, but no matter how you look at it, a relationship with him sounds nothing more than an outlandish fairytale. Your friendship with him is still a rather delicate issue. You aren’t particular about what others think of your involvement with him, but he can’t exercise the same amount of dismissal of public opinion as you do. He  has  to worry about what others think of him, because eventually he’s going to be king, and a king can’t flourish if his people think ill of him.

It makes you wonder why he fell in love with you, the most perilous person he could have ever met and involved in his delicate lifestyle.

“Having fun over here?” A playful voice interrupts your deep thinking. Lilia has one of his arms thrown over your shoulder, a gloved hand firmly squeezing you for comfort and bringing you closer to his side.

Despite his petite stature and his boyish looks, you knew from the moment you locked eyes with him on the first day of the school year that he was much older and wiser than he let on. In fact, he’s old enough that he’s been mentioned in a few footnotes in a history book or two. You even cited him as a source for a thesis essay just for a few laughs. He even has a copy in his room. It wouldn’t surprise you if he has it framed and hung on his wall. He’s a very sentimental man.

“Do you need a moment to breathe?” he asks, concern discernible in his voice.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” you plead.

“Not at all,” he nods assuringly before excusing him and yourself from the small group of boys you’ve been entertaining for the past hour. He leads you out to a quiet balcony and you bask in the cool night air once the doors behind you are closed. Once outside, you take in a much-needed deep breath and lean yourself against the balustrade railing. He quickly excuses himself again and returns with two flutes filled with a bubbly drink.

“What is this?” you ask, swirling the contents around with caution.

“It’s champagne,” he answers.

You give a quick sniff. It certainly smells like it. “Isn’t everyone here too young to drink?”

“Yes.” He clinks his glass against yours before throwing you a cheeky wink. “But we aren’t.”

That’s good enough of an explanation to have you down the much-needed alcohol in one shot. Lilia takes careful sips instead, but once he finishes his drink, he heads back and brings the entire bottle of bubbly wine for you to finish with him. It’s been a while since the two of you drank together. Lilia has an expensive palette, so you’ve quickly learned to cherish each selection he brings for these monthly get-togethers.

You gesture to the dark bottle. “How old is this?”

“Half a decade. Nothing too fancy,” he tells you while pouring himself another glass. “It’s certainly better than whatever it is you brought last time we got together.”

“Unlike you, I like a little kick in my drinks,” you explain.

“Well, I’m not exactly fond of the sensation of my throat burning up with searing pain,” As if you emphasize his point, he massages around his small Adam’s apple. “No wonder you’re so rough around the edges.”

“That’s a low blow and you know it Vanrouge,” you pour the last bit of champagne in your glass before setting the bottle down by your feet.

“How low?”

”Right in my gut.”

“Then I suppose I’ll need to make it up to you over another bottle,” he subtlety suggests. “Are you in the mood for anything in particular?”

“Not really,” you shrug. “Nothing too strong. I’d rather not get hammered in front of a bunch of teenagers.”

He offers a bottle of red wine he’s been meaning to pop open for a while and you accept without a fuss. He takes the empty bottle of wine and tells you to hang tight while he gets the next one. You’re left alone for a few minutes before someone enters the area and settles right next to you. It’s Malleus, who looks just as out of sorts as you certainly look and feel.

“Needed a moment to breathe?” you ask.

“Yes, but I also noticed you were missing and came to find you,” he admits. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you smile reassuringly at him. “Just out of my element a bit.”

“I’m sorry,” he looks so downtrodden that it makes your heart sink. “I had every intention of being close by you for most of the evening, but I’ve been busy speaking with the others that I-“

“Hey, relax!” you stop him before he can devolve any further. “Today’s your day, not mine. Besides,” you lift your empty glass for him to see. “Lilia is keeping me company.”

“Why is it that whenever I see you two together, there’s alcohol involved?”

“In my defense, he’s the one who offered,” you explain, but he doesn’t seem that convinced or assured. “It’s been a while since I’ve had champagne! And it’s a special occasion!”

“I’m not opposed to you drinking, but after what happened last time, I can’t exactly trust you two to pace yourselves or get your hands on something far too potent than either of you can handle.”

He’s talking about the last time you and Lilia drank. You’re not sure what it is the old man brought, but whatever it was, neither of you could stop drinking it even after you two were well past your limits. You both blacked out early in the evening and woke up with one of the worst hangovers in your life. Malleus knew well beforehand that you and his caretaker drank together. He’s even joined a few of your drinking sessions, despite not being fond of alcohol himself. But he certainly did not expect to deal with not only one, but two easily agitated and out of touch individuals the next day.

You still don’t know what was in that bottle.

“Malleus!” A newly arrived Lilia perks up when he sees the man of the hour next to you. “Have you come to drink with us?”

“I’m afraid not,” he answers, immediately followed by the two of you whining in disappointment. “Seriously, what is it with you two and alcohol?”

“You make it sound like we’re alcoholics. Which we aren’t!” you protest, eagerly watching as Lilia opens the bottle and pours you both the first glass of many more to come. “We only get together like this once a month.”

“We used to share a few glasses once a week at some point,” Lilia says as he hands your drink. “But that’s a bit too frequent for these old bones.”

“Says the man that downed half a dozen bottles of beer back in September,” you purposely bring up.

“I didn’t know it was alcohol!” Lilia shrills. “If I did, I would have paced myself better.”

You look over to Malleus and shake your head in disapproval. Your action makes him chuckle, and the urge to fidget with the stem of your glass comes down on you. He really does a great laugh. You’re not sure if it’s your genuine feelings or the alcohol that’s making your heartbeat faster after hearing it. For the sake of your sanity, you’re just going to blame the wine for making you feel more infatuated than usual.

As you and Lilia steadily empty another bottle together, the older fae feels compelled to tell you a story or two about Malleus when he was younger. Despite the latter’s protests, you insist and listen intently about the many times Malleus singed Lilia’s hair as a baby with his fire hiccups or the few instances he’s gotten lost on his quest to sightsee every single gargoyle around the castle. It’s never a proper birthday party without a relative sharing embarrassing baby stories with random guests.

After the second battle goes empty, Malleus suddenly asks you if you would like to walk around the dorm grounds for some much-needed air, Since he’s the birthday boy, you agree right off the bat, only after you get a glass of water in you to help stave off the wine a bit. Lilia gently reminds you both not to stay out for too long, otherwise, Sebek’s worrisome nature might get the better of him and he’ll put together a makeshift search party. If you hadn’t had a few glasses of wine, you wouldn’t have found Lilia’s comment as funny as you did at the moment. You’re a tad tipsy, but not drunk enough that you feel yourself acting or thinking too out of character or lose your sense of balance and trip over your own two feet.

“So, where are we going birthday boy?” you nudge him with your elbow. “Are you going to push me into that thorn bush now?”

“But of course,” he laughs. “I just wish for further respite, that’s all.”

Just as you’re about to mention that people usually like to step away from a crowd by themselves, you feel his smooth fingers interlock with your hand once again. He takes you around the back of the dorm where the expansive and well-attended hedge garden is located. The dark-colored bushes are blanketed in blankets of snow, and more green fires are flickering atop the lantern poles lined along the stone pathways. It’s been a while since the two of you went on a nightly stroll like this. They started out as either you or Malleus running into each other by pure chance and just going along with the lucky encounters. Soon your run-ins became much more intentional and a regular part of your schedules.

He’s the first to break the silence. “May I ask you a strange question?”

“Of course you can,” you nod your head, admiring the wooden gazebo the two of you have now settled underneath for a moment. “Isn’t that why we go on these walks, to ask each other a bunch of odd questions?”

It goes without saying that, due to your racial differences, there were a lot of questions burning in each of your minds about your differing ways of life and upbringings. Most of your questions were innocent and came from a place of wanting to learn and take into consideration his boundaries as a fae. As you grew more comfortable with each other, thus more open and honest, the more comfortable you felt to ask him more personable questions. However, you usually have to answer your own question first before he gives his response in return. You find that this is usually the case when conversing with a Fae. They won’t give until you give back something of equal value.

“In my defense, your blunt answers are refreshing,” he admits, almost gratefully. “No one other than Lilia speaks to me with such genuine honesty. Yet even then, he tends to shroud his words in some layer of vagueness.”

“My aunts were like that when I first moved in with them. Something about ‘learning things on your own,” you recollect. “But I was really quiet and withdrawn when I first moved in with them. They had to lead me by the hand and pummel me with lots of encouragement just to get me to do basic things.”

“You and the concept of quietness don’t mix well together,” Malleus laughs. “In fact, much of how you describe yourself as a child doesn’t seem to match up to how you behave now.”

His comment, while true and most likely just a casual observation, is treading into somewhat dangerous territory for you. “You really pay attention to everything I say, don’t you?” you comment in an attempt to divert the conversation elsewhere.

“I do,” he admits with an unashamed expression “But seeing as you now know of all of my embarrassing mishaps as a child, I think it’s only fair that I get to hear a story or two about yours.”

He leans closer to you, something you normally do to him whenever he gets all quiet and reluctant to say what’s on his mind. You don’t exactly mind telling Malleus about your early childhood, but it’s not as grandiose or as pleasant as he may think it is. What’s a friendship without revealing a few stories about your crappy childhood to each other? What happened to you is unfortunate, and you’re not ashamed to talk about it, not anymore at least. Considering the state of your friendship with him and the ongoing issue about whether you’re going to pursue something more with him or not, you’re not too sure if sharing stories of your past should be preserved for later or if doing so now is alright.

“Can I ask you something first?” you hesitantly ask.

“Anything.”

You turn your body towards him more, easily noticing the way he sits up a little more straight. The faint chirps of crickets and windswept leaves fill the silent void you’ve set in place. He remains quiet, tightening his grip around your hand, still interlocked with his, brushing the back of it with the thumb of his other. The gesture is small, but it’s obviously his way of letting you know that he’s patiently waiting and encouraging you to take all the time you need to sort your thoughts out. He’s looking at you with that concerned expression of his. The one he makes when he feels as though he’s made some sort of mistake or said something that was ill-spoken against you.

He tends to critical of himself, only because there is a lot of expectation set upon his shoulders for someone of his station. It is during moments like this that you understand what Lilia meant when he says Malleus still has much to learn and experience before he can truly take on the mantle of a king. He may be many decades older than you, but his maturity is probably not too far from your own; well put together than most, but still in need of opportunities to grow and learn some more.

That’s the purpose of these walks, to learn and grow from each other. All it takes is a question. But your question, the one that has been swirling in your mind for days, isn’t as innocent as wondering if his horns have nerve endings or not.

Your teeth are on the verge of biting your tongue hard enough to draw blood when finally, you will yourself to ask the burning question on your mind.

“What do you plan to get out of a relationship with me?”

He’s visibly taken aback by your question. If you squint really hard, your question is almost an affirmation that his feelings towards you are mutual, but it is only a minuscule part of a much greater whole. There can not, will not, be any do-overs for either of you. Before you pass a point where there is no return, you need to make sure neither of you is setting yourself up for disaster later down the line. You love Malleus, but you will not tell him what your genuine feelings are just to make him feel better. If word gets out about your relationship and it’s ill-received by his family or, heaven forbid, his own people, you’d never forgive yourself. Becoming King of the Valley of Thorns is his only desire in life. You couldn’t possibly understand why he would want to put himself into such a demanding position. You still don’t understand, but he remains firm that becoming king is what he truly desires in the entire world.

You’d rather die with these unpursued feelings of yours than to allow yourself to be the reason he loses his unwavering purpose in life.

“A relationship, with you,” he tests the words, the very concept, out loud. As if he’s trying to gauge the reaction of the world itself. “It certainly wouldn’t be a dull one.”

That look he gives you, the one that is so painstakingly painted in so much love and affection that can give you several tooth-rotting cavities, directed to none other than you, makes your heart do all sorts of acrobatic twirls and lunges. Your hands seek out the nearest object to fidget with, a piece of hair that fell out of place from your hairstyle. There’s a moment of panic that overcomes him and he goes to pull his hand out of your firm grip, but you tighten it just before his hand can slip away. You like holding his hand, you realize.

“Something’s troubling you,” he remarks. “Whatever it is, tell me.”

“This isn’t the best time to bring it up,” you argue. It really isn’t. Not when there’s alcohol in your body that makes you incredibly pessimistic and impulsive. And it’s his birthday. You really don’t want to make this day suddenly about you. You’re slowly regretting having that second bottle.

“Perhaps not, but it’s going to be brought up eventually, I imagine.” He gently cups the side of your face and forces you to look up at him, right into those green eyes that have always mesmerized you. “Speak to me,” he insists once more.

“I…” you start, but the words die in your mouth before you can speak them. There’s an instance where you nearly pull away from him and are ready to just book it back to your dorm and forget this ever happened, but he keeps you in place almost desperately. He wants you to speak your mind. He wants to know what’s eating up inside you. He wants you, all of you.

But like his desire to become king, you can’t understand why it’s you sitting across from him.

The edges of your vision wobble, and you know that if you’re pushed over the edge enough, you’re going to start sobbing. You hate crying, especially when you feel you don’t deserve to. Who are you to get all emotional when you’re the one who’s overcomplicating things? You’re the one who kick-started this conversation, so why are you the one getting all emotional? Shouldn’t Malleus be the one on the verge of breaking down? He’s the one with the most to lose. The most suffering you’ll likely be subjected to is a bunch of scrutinization and disapproval.

“You know this isn’t going to be easy, right?”

He reaches up with a folded handkerchief in hand, dabbing the corners of your tear-stricken eyes. “I know.”

“I can take a judgemental comment or two. I just don’t want you to be on that receiving end of it because of me.”

“People will always find something to pin blame on or direct their judgment towards, even if the detail is as insignificant as my decision to be with a human.” he calmly explains. It almost pisses you off that he’s remaining calm through all this while you’re going through many ranges of emotions. Malleus is a prince, and it's fragile moments like these that he’s been carefully taught how to navigate and work through. Now you’re just mad at yourself for forgetting something so obvious and vital. Damn that second bottle of wine!

“I’m the worst human you could have picked,” you proclaimed with utmost certainty. “I’m not even from the same world as you. What the hell can I possibly offer you?”

“Well,” He leans even closer to you, closer than he’s ever purposely been and you’re almost compelled to move away from him due to your nervousness. There was a brief moment where you thought that he might kiss you, that’s how little space there is between you and him. While a kiss from him sounds both amazing and absolutely terrifying, you let out an audible sigh of relief when he stops at pressing his forehead against yours. “What are you willing to give me?”

Oh, he’s slick and he knows it. The answer is so obvious now. You’ve made it obvious well before your first glass of champagne. You’re practically wearing your heart on your sleeves, but it’s not enough for him. He wants you to say it out loud so that what he assumes is mutual is in fact irrefutable. He won’t settle for anything less, you’re sure of it.

“All I can give you is my love,” you offer, in a hushed, almost embarrassed manner. “If you’ll have it. If it’s what you want.”

“It is,” he answers immediately, without a shred of doubt or hesitancy. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted from you.”

If this is truly all he wants from you, then he can have it. He can have every bit of it.

“Are you sure you can make it back to Ramshackle without issue?”

“I’ll be fine,” you reassure him for likely the 20th time. “I’m not that buzzed, and you look just as tired as I am.”

You’re right. Malleus is well beyond himself now. His social batteries are thoroughly drained. He needs a nice, long rest to fully process this long evening.

As he thinks about his conversation with you under the gazebo, he reaches out and tenderly caresses the side of your face. Your hands immediately reach up to tug and twist one of your shirt buttons. He once thought your habit to fidget with the nearest object meant you were uncomfortable. A dainty smile etches into his face now that he knows that this habit of yours was a sign that you were flustered by his actions.

He thinks it’s an adorable habit and very befitting of your person.

“What?” you look up at him with a nervous gaze. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Your face is all clean.”

Despite his statement, you wipe at your puffy eyes to ensure there are no visible tears left. Would you think him strange if he told you he finds you endearing like this, your eyes somewhat droopy and your voice hushed despite the lack of need to control your volume? You probably would, but your presumed disdain wouldn’t stop him even if you told him off. He can’t help it. He’s drunk as well, though not because of any wine.

“Are you busy this weekend?” you say into his open palm.

“Not particularly.”

“Good,” you smile against his skin. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Do you now?” He looks at you, intrigued by the sudden presentation of a surprise for him. “Is it safe to assume this surprise is my present?”

“Yup, it’s your birthday present,” you admit. “I found something on the island that you’ll absolutely love. The walk is long, but trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he says, beaming as he thinks about where exactly you’re going to take him. You have a knack for finding interesting spots on the island. Whatever this hidden wonder is, you seem quite confident that it’ll trump all the others.

“Meet me early in the morning, and dress warmly. It’s going to snow a bit.” you disclose before regrettably pulling away from him. “Goodnight, and happy birthday!” you call out to him one last time.

“Thank you! Please be careful on your way back!” he pleads, but you’ve already passed through the mirror back to the college’s main campus. Hopefully, you heard him. If not, he can always send you a letter through his charmed envelope or message you over the phone.

When he returns to his room to dress down and ready himself for bed, he finds that his desk is occupied by a hefty pile of presents that he had yet to open. While they vary in size, most are wrapped in identical gift wrapping and bows. Presents on the larger scale are fully exposed and have a card set over top of it or tucked in between the gift wherever possible.

He opens some gifts before calling it a night, specifically the smaller-sized ones. Most of them are centered on his skill for stringed instruments; new violin strings, fresh rosin for his bow, and even some sheet music for songs he’s never played before. If it weren’t so late, he’d practice a few stanzas. It’s probably best if he saves his awkward first time playing for another day.

Perhaps he can play for you someday? However, the mere thought of more physical activity causes a surge of tiredness throughout his body and he lets out a deep, bellowing yawn. Playing as host for his own party required much more listening than conversing than he had initially expected. He was also juggling his attention from his guests to you, who was always across the room from where he found himself. There’s a great divide in opinions regarding your friendship with him that, unfortunately, skews more negatively rather than positively. He cannot speak for all faes, but he did not want you to develop any poor opinions or experiences with his people, especially his dorm mates. Seeing the small group of first years keeping you company and even show a bit of reverence towards you was assuring.

You deserve as much praise and admiration as he receives, for you are someone who has well earned his respect and his love.

You weren’t exaggerating when you told him to dress warmly. Malleus doesn’t hate the cold, but he can’t say he likes the way it bites and numbs his minimally exposed skin. Thankfully, the coat you made for him helps stave off the cold rather well. Now if only his gloves could do the same for his needle-pricking fingers.

“Your master sure has the gall to leave me waiting outside in this weather.” He looks down at Gunter, the pack leader of your small bunch of wolves. He doesn’t seem bothered by the snow at all, what with his thick winter coat protecting him from the cold air and the scarf he wears around his neck. Not only did you think to make and put on a scarf for the rugged canine, you even secured it by tying the ends into a neat bow. “I wonder where exactly they’re taking me. Perhaps you have a clue?”

Gunter turns away from Malleus, as if to tell him he’s sworn to total secrecy on your behalf. Malleus can’t help but reach down and pat him on the top of his head. Loyal without a fault. He can see why you keep the wild dog around.

“Are you trying to interrogate my wolf?” He jumps a bit at your unannounced and undetected arrival. He didn’t even hear the crunching of snow and rocks from your heavy boots as you snuck up behind him. If he were wild game, he’d likely have a bullet lodged in his heart by now. “Whatever you promise him, it won’t work. He’s pretty tight-lipped.”

“I can see that,” he quips back. “Are the others staying behind?”

“They can’t stand the cold. Not like this one can,” you explain to him while proudly scratching behind the wolf’s fluffy ears. “The woods are still dangerous, even during the winter. He’ll scout ahead and let us know if we need to change directions and chase off any predators. I also promised I’d share some of our food if he came along, so there’s that.”

“You prepared food for us?”

“Of course I did!” you jostle your pack basket to reiterate your statement. “Did you really think I wouldn’t feed you?”

“You never fail to stuff me with food, so no, I didn’t think you wouldn’t,” he laughs. “Besides, without me, you’d end up with more leftovers than you’d know what to do with.”

“I lived with 11 people back home,” you grunt as you push open the metal gates that enclose the front of the Ramshackle dorm. “So what if I make too much food? You’re really pushing it for someone who gobbles it up all the same.”

“I rather enjoy the way you flavor your meals,” he remarks. “And you know that I’m very particular about my food.”

“Is that why you want me around?” you inquire with a cheeky grin. “So I can satisfy that silver-spooned appetite of yours?”

“What about you?” he questions back with just as much playfulness. “Without me, you’d have no gardening partner.”

“Damn,” you kick a twig and it tumbles down a small incline and into the half-frozen stream at the bottom. “and I thought I was being stealthy about it too.”

Malleus erupts into a loud fit of laughter, with you joining him as he sputters out how strange your shared senses of humor are. This right here. This is why he loves you. You just make him so damn happy! Your companionship and the bond you and him have built with each other is all he’s ever wanted, all he’s ever dreamed of since he was a young boy. There was a point in his life where he had nearly resigned himself to a life of loneliness. Now, look at him, out on a stroll with one of his closest friends. Although now you are not only his friend, you are now his partner as well.

His partner. His.

He involuntarily reaches over and squeezes your hand in his small bout of prideful possession. His enamored smile must have caught your attention as you reach out and poke the side of his face with your free hand.

“And just what are you thinking about, your highness ?"

He has to hold back the snort that he nearly lets out. How kind of you to layout the perfect opportunity to tease you. “Why, I’m thinking about you, of course,” he says, throwing a wink in for added measure.

You let out a huff of air that turns misty as your warm breath mixes and condenses in the cool air. “You should think of something else,” you retort, pulling the hood of your dark cloak closer to your face to cover the side that Malleus can see without strain.

“You seem a bit flustered,” Malleus continues to tease you.

“And you sure are talkative this morning,” you harshly say, but he knows it’s only because he’s “pushing your buttons" as you would say. You do it plenty of times towards him and your friends. This is nothing but well-deserved revenge for all those times you push him and get him all flustered. He’ll need to watch his back in the future. You won’t let him get away with this, not without avenging yourself first.

Oh, if only humans and Faes could get along as well as you two have. Malleus was born right at the end of the last war between his people and many defunct human nobility houses. Relations with the remaining human nobility are better with passaging time, but there is much room for improvement before there can ever truly be a declared peace between both species. A relationship between a human and fae is hardly anything new, the interaction between the two races as old as time itself. As overly optimistic and opportunistic as it surely sounds, he hopes that his relationship with you, no matter how it works out in the end, can be a proper example to his people and onlookers of any other kind than the harmony they once had with humans is still obtainable.

“What you said the other day,” he suddenly mentions. “I feel it would be in poor taste if I didn’t fully address the concerns you clearly have about us regarding my status as a member of the nobility.”

At the mention of your conversation a couple of days ago, your hand grips around tight around him for a moment. “I don’t like facing too many uncertainties,” you admit. “It probably sounds weird, but I do better in situations I have some control over. Being with you. Well, for lack of better words, it scares the living daylight out of me the more I think about it. I don’t even think you know what’s in store for both of us the further we get into this.”

“I have some idea, but to say that I fully understand what’s at stake would be untruthful,” he admits as well. When the court eventually finds out about who he has taken as his partner, he will receive some amount of scrutiny and his decision will be heavily questioned. "However, that would happened no matter who I chose to be with, so long as the person was not someone the court saw as diplomatically advantageous."

“Have you even told anyone about us yet?”

“No. Not even Lilia knows, but I'm sure he has an inkling by now,” he expresses. “As childish as this may sound, but I’d like to keep our relationship a secret as long as possible.”

“And when people start to connect the dots, what then?”

“The only way they’ll confirm their suspicions is to confront either one of us,” he answers matter-of-factly. “But whatever difficulties may be lined up for me in the future. So long as you’re by my side to support me, I'll endure whatever it is that is put forth in front of me."

“You’re right, you sound really childish,” you sigh. “But you also sound so damn sure yourself,” you grumble under your breath, but his pointed ears pick up on your comment despite your hushed volume. “I can’t say I feel the same way just yet. But I hope that, whatever comes up, we can do what we always do and just… talk it out.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he smiles. “After all, isn’t that the purpose for these walks of ours? So we may work through these difficult conversations with each other?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, a clear lopsided smile on your lips despite you not facing directly towards him. “I guess they are.”

Just as Malleus is about to say something else, you suddenly stop when a distant howl sounds. “We’re close,” you tell him.

“Now, where exactly are you taking me?” he finally asks you.

“Sorry,” you shake your head. “I can’t tell you just yet.”

“Not even after I asked so politely?”

“Nope!” you beam.

Still curious about this supposed wonder you’re escorting to, he continues to pester you with questions, trying to pull some sort of hint out of you. You’re not usually as tight-lipped as you are now. Your persistent secrecy only excites him the further you two travel.

Apparently, what you constitute as nearby is much further than what he would consider close. While still within the woods, he can faintly hear ocean waves crashing and a few seabirds cawing about. You’re taking him towards the southern part of the isle, clear by his now unbutton coat because of the warmer temperatures and the tuffs of green grass poking out through the half-melted snow the further you take him. The place finally appears before him, with tall brick walls and a metal gate, both of which are covered in thick, frosted ivy leaves. He can make out of a few shapes past the gate, but not enough to confidently guess what they are exactly.

“Will you tell me now?” Malleus asks once more while you busy yourself by giving Gunter some well-deserved ear scratches.

“What do you think?” you look down and ask Gunter. He makes a deep grunting sound in response to your question. “I guess you’re right,” you nod in understanding before looking up towards Malleus and saying, “The locals call it a gargoyle graveyard.”

“Gargoyles?” he says with clear excitement, like a young boy being told that a pile of candies and toys awaits him in the other room. "You took me out to see gargoyles?"

“Yes, but also no,” you say. “They would have been if they weren’t sculpted incorrectly.”

“So it’s a place where inoperable gargoyles are put?” he asks, still intruiged.

“The family who owns this piece of land mentioned that they also put gargoyles in here that were made purely for art’s sake,” you added. “But can it really be called a gargoyle if they weren’t made to act as a gutter in the first place?”

Malleus’s heart always skips and beats faster whenever he’s around you. That last comment you made nearly stopped his heart altogether. He once had a conversation with Silver regarding the stark difference between gargoyles and statues. The boy couldn’t fully grasp the difference, but it seems you can right out of the blue. By the Great Seven, is your ability to tell the difference between a purposeful gargoyle and a mere decorative grotesque really what’s making him go red in the face?

Yes. Yes, it is.

You easily notice this as well, as you comment how his complexion is almost the shade of a ripe tomato, although you’ve been busying yourself with undoing the many locks and chains secured around the front gate and didn’t even look over to him since. “I can see the tips of your ears getting all pink in my peripheral,” you explain with a hint of laughter arising in your voice. You’re clearly amused by all this. “Who knew my basic understanding of gargoyles is enough to set a fire in your loins!”

“Must you tease me at every opportunity?” he groans. "And so crudely too."

“What? Are you having second thoughts about me?” you jokingly ask.

“Somewhat,” he answers back, though it’s only a half-serious answer.

You toss aside the last chainlink and rusted lock keeping the front gate secured before saying, “I won’t be mad if you bail out now. It’ll save Sebek the future anguish when he finds out.”

“Sebek is already at odds with our friendship as it is,” Malleus clarifies. “Besides, I think the boy is rather endearing when he’s upset.”

“Endearing,” you mockingly repeat. “More like a pain in my ass.”

“Give him some time. He’ll grow on you,” Malleus encourages.

“For your sake, he better,” you glare at him for a moment. “Alright, that’s enough relationship talk for the day. These gargoyles won’t ogle themselves!”

No, they won’t, and it’s music to his ears that you want to appreciate them together.

Together, with him.

[fallenrepublick]

I need some adorable as stars fluff for Feral! So, basically, he either lives or escaped (you choose) and finds himself on shili, the togruta homeworld. Fast forwards several years (savage lives!), when savage and maul are actually on Shili(for whatever reason), and Savage sees a small child, hale togruta and half zabrak and follows them to their home....where there is Feral, who actually has a wife, and a family, three sons and a daughter on the way. Overall, adorable family fluff and reunion!!

This was hard as fuck to write

And not just because I spent twenty minutes calculating the distance between Dathomir and Shili and determining that it would take someone four days, ten hours, and nine minutes to get there through lightspeed with a class 4 hyperdrive.

Warnings: None probably

It was the biggest stroke of luck he’d ever heard of. Having been tipped off by an elder Night Brother who was tired of losing so many of his people’s lives, it occurred to Feral that Savage being taken away tipped his odds of survival against him, and his best shot would be to leave while his head was still on his shoulders.

He scrambled away from the village, taking one last look at the place that was once his home. The creaking buildings and aged bridges that spanned the area gave him a strange sense of dread, as if the place was more of a prison than a place of comfort. The only positive memories he had of the place was when Savage was with him, but now that he was gone, there was no point in staying.

In terms of getting off-planet, there weren’t many options. The barren rust-hued landscape was a good option for ships to land on if anyone came down to see the Night Sisters for one reason or another, but those instances occurred few and far between. Ducking behind large rocks and sprinting across the open spaces, his eyes scanned the terrain for anything that might be useful. He’d be grateful for even a speeder if he found one.

The ground shook, the sand and rocks that peppered the stony floor beneath his feet clicking as they trembled. His balance threatened to give out with the tremors, but he held fast, waiting for it to subside. He took it as a sign that his window of opportunity was waning, and as the sun lowered on the horizon, it took with it his chances of escape. Sometime soon, they would notice he was gone, and if that happened when he was still nearby, they’d find him almost immediately. He thought of Savage and what he must be going through, subjected to Talzin’s magic and Ventress’s undeniable cruelty. He wondered if Savage was still thinking about protecting him, and the guilt began settling over his hearts. If he hadn’t been so weak and foolish, maybe Savage wouldn’t have been taken away. Maybe they’d still be together.

Shaking it off, he convinced himself that his fear and regrets had to be dealt with later. He continued on his path, now with a more fervent sense of urgency and mild panic. Across the way, backlit by the sunset, sat a ship, dark and old, most likely belonging to someone the Sisters had killed long ago. His hearts raced as he hurried to the vehicle, climbing into the cockpit, whose front window had been covered in dust by ages of heat and harsh rock storms. He wiped away at the glass and pressed the buttons on the console, practically begging it to start up.

“C’mon, c’mon…” he groaned, the dead dashboard causing an ache in his chest. “Just one more miracle, please.”

The console came to life, the rumbling of the engine in the ship soothing his fears. He smiled to himself, unsure if it was luck, or the ship, or some benevolent god that had listened. Regardless, he took hold of the controls and began his ascent. The ship rose through the atmosphere, and he was whisked out, passing the clouds above and entering the starry cavern of space above him, leaving his past and dangers behind. When he turned around to watch the planet shrink into oblivion, he thought he saw a small spec of green light pulsing from the surface.

He didn’t really have a plan beyond his escape. In all fairness, he hadn’t thought he would get so far as to actually escape unscathed, and now, floating around the vast emptiness that had before seemed so far away, he wasn’t sure what to do or where to go.

Pulling up a map stored in the ship’s database, he was painfully aware that his fuel wouldn’t last forever, so a decision had to be made. Ultimately, it boiled down to only a few systems that were nearby enough to reach, but not too nearby that he’d be easily tracked down. His target landed on Shili, a planet located in the Ehosiq Sector within the Expansion Region. Traveling coreward would give him a better chance, since it was rare that any of the people that might want to find him would dare travel in that direction. Further, the planet was under the control of the Galactic Republic, and had been since the Republic’s earliest years. He might not be noticed there, but the people sent to look for him definitely would be.

Over four days of travel and lots of contemplation about his next move later, he exited hyperspace and gradually lowered onto the planet’s surface, the environment lush and green, plants and trees sprouting up from the ground around him, almost inviting him to come and at least rest for a while.

He leapt out of the ship, taking in the scenery. He’d never seen anything so… alive. His planet had been horribly gloomy, the only living creatures he interacted with either his brothers or viscous, territorial creatures that wanted nothing to do with him except probably eat him.

In front of his ship stood a tall tree that caught his eye, though not for its height, but instead for the person that stood behind it. She was a togruta, a native to the planet, striped head-tails falling over her shoulders and on her back, light green skin almost blending in with the flora that seemed to encase her. He wasn’t sure what to do in the situation, mouth opening to say something, but no words coming out as he found himself unable to find anything worth saying.

“Hello,” the woman offered, still half-hiding herself behind the plants. “Who are you?”

Shocked at her forwardness and his lack thereof, Feral snapped to attention, straightening himself to seem more approachable, or at least vaguely respectable. He doubted it was working. “I-I’m Feral,” he replied, trying to make it sound like he wasn’t nervous. “I was, uh, trying to escape my planet. Y-You see, there were people after me and, w-well it all started because-”

“You’re hurt? Hungry?” she asked him simply. “You can come back to my town if you need help.”

Help. It wasn’t an entirely foreign concept, but this would be the first time in his life that he would be accepting it from someone that wasn’t Savage. Saying yes felt… wrong, but he was in no position to deny it.

“If… If it’s not too much trouble, maybe I could stay there for a while? At least to get my bearings straight.” he responded finally, brushing himself off and rubbing the back of his neck, unsure if what he was doing was even allowed.

The girl snickered a bit at his nervousness and hesitation. “I offered, didn’t I?” Spinning on her heel, she tread through the woods, assumingly towards her village. Feral scrambled to catch up with her, following her every step over fallen branches and various plants. Wish as he may to make conversation, he couldn’t think of anything to say.

Thus, the journey was silent, save for the occasional warnings about ditches and hazards that lay on the path. But Feral found himself unable to contain his amazement when they reached their destination, the design of the buildings unlike anything he’d seen before, and an overwhelming sense of comfort in its inhabitants seeping into his own skin. Sloping architecture mirrored the look of Togruta head-tails, and the vibrant colors blended into the environment as if they occurred naturally.

She led him to a smaller building to the side, a lone point situated far from the chaos of the general populous. As colorful as the outside was, the interior was relatively unassuming, simple 

yet comfortable furniture peppering the floor, mostly made of wood and natural materials. He sat at the table near the kitchen, fidgeting as he did.

“I never asked your name…” he offered, trying not to meet her eyes as she walked about her space, gathering various food items.

“Madin. Yours?” She didn’t look up, clearly deliberating between one biscuit or another. She eventually shrugged and decided on both.

“Feral…” he said softly as she set food in front of him. Silence followed, and as Madin sat across from him confidently, he realized that he had no idea how to have an actual conversation.

“You seem so nervous,” she laughed. “I don’t bite. Most of the time.”

“I don’t want to be too much of a problem,” Feral said, his voice shaking slightly. “A-And th-the fact that you don’t really know me may seem like an issue or-”

“From what I can tell,” she began, tracing a finger along the edge of the table. “You have a…” She thought for a moment. “Behm d’ghe. A heart of warmth.”

He laughed nervously. “Well, I do have two of them.”

“Hearts of warmth, then.”

--

“Remind me again what we’re doing here, brother?” Savage asked as he sat in the cockpit of the ship, accelerating in the direction of their new destination.

Grumbling, Maul removed his feet from the dashboard and turned to his brother. “The planet is relatively defenseless, and as far as I’m concerned, taking it over to add to Mandalore’s power base is nothing short of beneficial to us. Got it?”

Savage’s expression was reminiscent of someone who did not, in fact, get it, but he didn’t bother arguing. Whatever Maul was up to was clearly better suited to his mind than anyone else’s.

Landing on the surface of Shili, Maul exited the ship and began walking away, turning back only to tell Savage, “Stay here until I return.”

Obliging his brother’s order, Savage stood beside the ramp, eyes glazing over the environment. Everything was bright and colorful, almost too much so, and he found himself wanting to leave at the first opportunity he saw. That is, until he saw something that gave him pause.

A child. And it looked… like him. Small and carefree, the male Zabrak wasn’t just a zabrak. Instead of horns were a pair of short, striped head-tails that framed his round face. When Savage approached him, he beamed, eager to speak to him.

“Whoah!” the boy exclaimed when he saw Savage in front of him. “You look a little like my father!” The thought that went through Savage’s mind upon hearing that had to be pushed down, as it was impossible. Though a hint of it lingered in the back of his head. “C’mere, I’ll show you!” The child turned and began running in the direction of his home.

Hesitant to follow the child, Savage worried about Maul returning soon to find him gone, but his curiosity overpowered it, and he found himself behind the child anyways. Instead of logic, Savage began trying to reason through all of the ways his assumption could be correct. After all, he hadn’t seen him after being taken away by Ventress, so his fate was still unknown.

In front of the boy’s house, two more boys that looked very similar to his guide ran to and fro, playing with sticks and yelling about winning some game or another. A woman stood to the side, visibly pregnant and holding a hand on her stomach, smiling and laughing as she spoke. Savage stopped walking, no longer trusting the vision before him.

Feral looked up, spotting Savage’s presence out of the corner of his eye. Almost immediately, his eyes lit up, mouth widening into the biggest smile Savage had ever seen on him. He began rushing towards his brother, Savage hurrying to meet him halfway.

“Savage!” he exclaimed holding onto the sides of his brother’s arms. “You got taller!”

“You were here the whole time…” Savage trailed off, still wary of what he was experiencing. Feral had become noticeably healthier, stronger and more confident in how he held himself. He was almost unrecognizable.

“I got lucky.” He looked over at the woman who had come up beside him. “And then I got luckier. Savage, this is Madin. She helped me when I first got here and then…”

“And then he wound up stuck with me the rest of his life,” Madin hummed. “The three monsters are Terren, Forta, and Uta. In that order. This here is going to be Shin, the only girl, unfortunately for me.” She rubbed her stomach thoughtfully.

Savage was frozen in place. Everything had changed so quickly, and though he should have expected it, he had half-wanted Feral to stay the same. But now, with his new responsibilities to Maul and his seemingly never-ending schemes, he was glad Feral had found his place.

He stepped forward and hugged Feral, practically lifting him off the ground as he did so. “I still can’t believe it!” Being set down, Feral rubbed his chest to return the air to his lungs. Savage motioned to the house. “I must hear everything about your life now.”

Maul’s mission would just have to wait.

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part fifteen) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±5200 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part fifteen: The sun rises and it’s time to bring the herd home, but not before Dean reconnects with an old friend. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Dean & Rocko scene: ‘Road To Perdition’ - The City Of Prague Philharmonic Orchestra. Final scene: ‘Ride’ - Hans Zimmer. Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: It’s about damn time, ain’t it? Thank you @kittenofdoomage, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​ and @winchest09​ for helping me. You girls are awesome betas and friends.

Ride With Me Masterlist

     Slow hoofbeats, little rocks and earth crunching underneath the thousand pound animal. Surprisingly light on its feet, never disturbing the quiet, as it scours the land for the last grass of the season. Calm breaths, taking in over a gallon of oxygen with each inhalation, followed by a soft purring sound when the air is pushed out through the nose. The cold of the night lingers and the air condensates. The first glint of the sun catches the moist clouds coming from its nostrils, turning the fierce creature into a dragon. Kind eyes, calm when it’s safe, but scanning the environment nevertheless, always on the lookout for predators. Pointy ears, flitting back and forth independently, picking up even the smallest whisper, like two little space antennas scanning the sky. 

     Dean watches the herd from a distance, with Y/N still sound asleep in his arms. He can tell she’s exhausted, because she didn’t stir once in the past three hours. The cowboy made sure she was fully covered with the unzipped sleeping bag, holding her close to keep her warm. She seems so comfortable, so trusting; it humbles him. Apparently she’s completely at ease being so close, her self-consciousness burned away by his never ending adoration. Of course he noticed the hesitation when they all went for a swim yesterday evening. She wanted to disappear, covering herself with her arms crossed in front of her chest, her expression shameful. And then there was the insecurity just hours ago, her mind clearly spiraling when he couldn’t give her the confirmation she so desperately seeks. Dean wonders what happened for her to lack confidence. If she has some douchebag ex-boyfriend maybe, who didn’t treat her right. 

     Staying awake wasn’t any trouble overnight, because he had plenty to think about. He’s not the guy to analyse his every thought, he'd rather stuff it all down and ignore them all together. But spending several hours under the Yucca tree, in an embrace with the one person that has his mind reeling, left him no option. So many questions, so much doubt. He wishes he had more answers, he wishes he could have a glance into the future in order to tell if he’s on the right path. If he can make it work with her, if he can step up to become the man she’s looking for. If she will stay with him, even after the internship, because the thought of her leaving brings back an anxiety that he used to experience when his family threatened to fall apart, which is exactly what happened, eventually. He came to one conclusion, though; he’s not going to let her go. 

     His gaze remains absently fixed on the horses, who have moved a few hundred yards closer. The oldest stallion of the herd had spotted the wranglers about an hour ago, but after careful observation decided that they weren’t a threat. It’s a beautiful sight, beams peeking over the mountain range, framing the horses’ silhouettes with gold. Small bugs twirl in the air like fireflies, surrounding the large animals. Dean squints and tips his head forward when the rising sun becomes brighter. The warmth is welcome; he hasn’t moved an inch over the past hours, not wanting to wake Y/N, causing the cold to settle in his bones. 

     A new dawn means they’ve got work to do and Dean is left no choice but to wake the heavy sleeper. The arrival of morning does the job for him, however; even with her eyes closed, the light seeps through. It triggers her to turn into him and hide her face in the crook between his shoulder and his chest. Y/N grunts, disagreeing with the time, and Dean sniggers. He’s not much of a morning person either, but his intern takes the cake.      “Mornin’, Yankee.”       She opens one eye and looks up, meeting an amused yet adoring smile.       “Morning…” Groggy, she rubs her face with the back of her hand. “Five more minutes?”      “You’ll miss the view,” Dean says, nodding at the horizon.

     His eyes reflect the scenery he’s beholding, the colors vibrant as the sun hits them just right, adding amber to the jade in his irises. It peaks her interest, and Y/N turns her head to face the new day. Only leaving a crack for the light to pass her long lashes, she takes in the mesmerizing scenery. On the edges of her vision, a darker shade of blue transitions into a lighter one, the tones changing from cold to warm as they enclose the sun. Cirrus clouds catch the first rays, curling across the sky like wisps of silk hair. From cobalt to pale turquoise, from apricot to saffron. The painter of this picture used every color on the spectrum. And smack in the middle, the sun rises. So bright, she seems to be aware that planets orbit around her. The Superstition Mountains stand proud and tall in the south, the peaks catching the early light, making the volcanic formations seem blood orange, as if lava is erupting from the earth once again. 

     The herd is only a couple of hundred yards away now, grazing calmly. They don’t seem to  be aware of the humans sitting on the top of the hill, almost as if Y/N is in a cinema, watching a gigantic movie screen. It would explain the idyllic Wild West decor, because such magic can only be created with CGI in a Hollywood studio. But they are here. Y/N can smell the air, sweet and earthy. She can hear the wind rustling small bushes and blowing gently through the canyons. She can feel Dean, the warmth radiating from his large form that has enveloped her.       “It’s breathtaking,” she says softly, leaning into him.      He places a soft kiss on her hair, and she smiles, content.       “Thanks for letting me sleep.”      He shrugs it off. “You needed it. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”      Y/N sits up and rolls her neck to loosen her muscles.       “It’s going to be intense, isn’t it?” she guesses, getting to her feet.      “I’d call it adventurous and exciting,” Dean chuckles, stretching his back now that he can move freely again. “Just like the old spaghetti westerns, y’know? Well… without the gun slinging and bounty hunts. It’ll be awesome, trust me.”

     Y/N sniggers, strolling around the Yucca tree to meet her horse. She finds it cute how the tough cowboy, who’s closing in on thirty, is beaming like a little kid. After ruffling Joplin’s mane, she takes a small case from one of the saddlebags, which holds her toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste. She has found a new level of appreciation for these simple products of hygiene, given that she has been stripped from luxury and has to do with the absolute necessary. Especially since she’s not just kissing Dean in her dreams these days.

     Looking forward to the day on his doorstep, Dean pulls his radio phone from the front saddlebag, turning it on and twisting the knob to find the channel.      “Benny? Come in?”      He lets go of the PTT button, the device beeping once when he does, then it’s quiet for a moment. Mirroring Y/N’s actions, he one handedly fishes out his toothbrush as well, but when his friend doesn’t respond, he pushes the talk button again.      “You better get your lazy ass out of bed, Lafitte. Gotta bring the horses in.”      Dean clips the radio to his belt. He has brushed his teeth, rinsed his mouth and cleaned his face by the time the farrier replies.      “Good mornin’ to you too, Chief.”      Dean grins at the slightly cynical tone of the Southerner. He pushes the button again, moving the speaker closer to his mouth.       “We’re with the herd, on Black Top Mesa, close to Dutchman’s Trailhead. Ya’ll ready to move?”      “Sure am, just cooking up some breakfast to go. Do you want some or did you already eat out?”

     Y/N has never timed taking a sip of water worse, because it comes out through both her mouth and nose. Dean stares at her mortified before he snaps the walkie talkie to his mouth.      “She can hear ya, you jackass!” he returns, his voice higher than he anticipated.      “Oh, I bet she can.”      The head wrangler shuts his eyes and cringes, turning away from Y/N to hide his red face. His free hand goes for his belt loop first, then rubs the back of his neck, before wiping the sweat on the denim of his jeans. Shit, this is embarrassing.       “I - I - We… You know what? I don’t owe you an explanation,” he hisses into the radio phone.      “I’m just saying, brother, if you haven’t yet, it’s gonna take us at least forty five minutes to get to ya, so--”      “- Over and out, Benny!”

     Quickly, he turns the device off, breathes out, and scoffs. That son of a bitch. Dean isn’t sure how he’s going to make Benny pay just yet, but he will taste his wrath. He carefully glances over his shoulder to check on Y/N, who he finds with her hand clasped over her mouth, trying her very best to contain her giggles.      “You think that’s funny, huh?” he mutters, flustered.      She laughs warm and hearty, wiping tears from her eyes as she approaches the cowboy.      “You don’t need enemies with friends like him, that’s a given,” she chuckles.

     He glances at her, his mouth pulling into a smile. She can spot a hint of relief, now that he knows she’s taking it well, but blood still warms his cheeks, making his freckles invisible. It amazes her every single time how all that confidence washes away once he loses direction. Benny was just teasing him, Dean must be aware of that. Besides, it’s not like the green eyed wrangler to take things easy, as he said so himself, so it’s not strange his Southern friend figured he covered at least a couple of bases overnight. She can feel a blush add color to her face as well, when the thought crosses her mind. Honestly, she too silently hoped he would have gone ‘down that road’. 

     “Well, unfortunately he assumed wrong,” she addresses boldly, taking the collar of his stockman coat gently between her thumb and index finger, reeling him in. “But he was right about them taking at least forty five minutes to get here.”      Stunned eyes flick over her features, wondering if he’s imagining things or if she really just gained the confidence he’s lacking at this very moment. Once again she blows him off his feet with her newfound assertiveness, like she does every so often. Shit, she’s sexy when she takes the lead like that.       “He sure was,” he returns, his hands now moving to her waist.      “I know we agreed to take it easy,” she tilts her head slightly, folding her arms around his neck now. “So what should we do with all that time?”

     Dean smirks at her from under his hat, shaking his head amused without breaking eye contact. What a tease. He couldn’t resist her to save his own life. Her radiance is brighter than the rising sun behind her. The pull he’s experiencing, the level of attraction, it’s so strong; he knows he’s going to have a tough time sticking to his boundaries. He has to, though, he has to do right by her. But that doesn’t mean they can’t have a little fun along the way.      “I got a few ideas,” he implies.      Before Y/N knows it, the strong wrangler lifts her up, pulling a squeal from within her, followed by a fit of giggles. He adjusts his grip when she folds her legs around his middle, smothering her sly grin with a sweet kiss. The low chuckle that escapes his throat sounds both gentle and gruff, adding to the wholesome sensation that fills her chest.       By the Yucca tree, he lowers himself to the ground, still holding the cowgirl in his arms until she has found her balance and straddles his lap, a knee buried in the gravelly sand on either side of him. The intimate connection strengthens as they get lost in the moment, the laughs dying down, eyes falling shut. 

     Dean lets his fingers wander over the fabric of her clothes, tracing the lines of her neck, her spine, the curves of her hips. Feeling no pressure that this needs to lead somewhere right now calms him, because even though it’s proven to be difficult to keep their hands off each other, he knows she will give him the space he needs and, despite this little tease, she respects him more than he respects himself.       He makes a little mental note when she whimpers, as he continues to leave a trail of kisses from the corner of her mouth, down her throat and her collarbone. Dean might not go down on the beautiful cowgirl today, but he will remember the little touches that make her sigh and squirm. 

     Their agreement to take it slow, combined with Benny’s remark, sparked something new. Since their first kiss, she has been willing, eager for more, but now that what she wants is just out of reach, she finds it difficult to control herself. He can tell in the way she touches him, the audible breaths that reach his hearing when their mouths aren’t sealed together, the longing in her eyes when she opens them for a brief second. Dean never thought he would say it, but taking their time might have an advantage he hadn’t considered before. Teasing him, tempting her… it’s an interesting way to pass the time. Making each other wait might feel like a torturous game right now, but when the moment does arrive for them to take things to the next level, it’s going to be something else. And just like that, the bachelor who didn’t waste a second to get around with so many women, doesn’t mind waiting for the one.

     The two lay together for at least half an hour, making out like teenagers. Sweet touches, cute giggles, all smiles. If they could freeze time, they would. But when Dean glances north and notices the dust clouds coming from La Barge Canyon, they have to interrupt the intimacy; Benny and the others are on their way.

     Five minutes later, Dean shrugs off his long coat, now that the sun has cast out the crisp of the night. He folds it up tightly and stuffs it into one of his saddlebags. Y/N has already mounted Joplin, at home in the Tucker trail saddle. The mare didn’t entirely awaken from her slumber apparently, because for once in her life, she stands still and doesn’t bounce around impatiently like a bronc in the holding box at the rodeo. Her rider has her wrists crossed on the horn, the reins casually between her fingers, as she stares at the herd ahead.       “That’s the leader, isn’t it?” she says.

     Dean turns his head, looking at the dark bay horse, who stands between them and his congeners. The animal stares back, ears perked forward, one of them flicking back to the herd every now and them. The stallion observes him carefully, he doesn’t seem entirely sure how to deal with the presence of humans. He’s alert, ready to bolt and take his herd to safety, yet at the same time curious. Understandable, because these youngsters spent most of their life living as feral horses, only seeing men when they were moved from the reservation to the large winter pastures closer to the ranch, and back to the mountains when spring was around the corner.       “Yeah, seems like it,” Dean confirms, watching the beautiful creature.      He returns his gaze to the task at hand, tying the sleeping bag behind Ted’s saddle, but then realization hits him. Wait a minute, is that…? The wrangler turns to face the interested horse again, who is looking at him from about two hundred yards away, like he seems to recognize the cowboy as well.      Y/N glances from the wrangler to the horse and back. “Dean?”

     But he doesn’t respond, slowly stepping away from Ted, narrowing his eyes to see better. The horse’s mane grew long, his forelock covering his face, the black hair growing all the way down to his nose, but a hint of a blaze still visible through the curtain. Dark brown eyes take Dean in as the stallion waits, so still that one could mistake him for a statue, save the wind playing with his tail. The low vegetation hides the white markings on his legs, so the wrangler can’t tell for sure. It can’t be. He couldn’t have grown that big, he wouldn’t be the alpha, he reminds himself. But besides the horse’s size and rank within the herd, there’s nothing that indicates the animal, isn’t him. 

     Dean moves his hand to his mouth, pressing the tabs of his thumb and index finger together, creating a circle, before he places them on his lips. He inhales and whistles sharply. The sheer, high-pitched sound moves across the land, reaching ears miles away. The ears the whistle was meant for, pick up the unique sound too and instantly the caution and doubt in the horse’s stance is gone. He neighs back, loud and strong, confirming Dean’s suspicion.      “Well, I’ll be damned…” he breathes.      “You two know each other?” Y/N wonders.      Dean beams. “Yeah, we go way back.”

     He leaves Ted and Y/N on top of the hill, carefully making his way down the slope without spooking the feral horse. But the stallion doesn’t feel threatened anymore, now that he recognizes Dean. He jogs up to him, taking a few more steps before he halts. Friendly eyes take in the wrangler, his nostrils flaring when Dean tentivally reaches, picking up his scent. As a content smile spreads across Dean’s face, he lets his fingertips brush the horse’s nose, soft as velvet. He takes another step, gliding the palm of his hand up his jaw now, to his cheek and then down his neck, following the flow of the horse’s dark hair. The short summer coat has already partly been replaced, now that the cold of winter will arrive in a month or so.       Last time Dean saw him, he was barely two years old. A youngster, a boney juvenile, who was a tad small. Obviously the fellow needed more time. That’s why the wrangler gave his horse another year to grow. It worked out well, because look at him now.      “Hey, bud,” Dean says softly, ruffling the horse’s mane. “You got big.”

     From a distance, Y/N watches the reunion. She doesn’t know the whole story, but the connection between man and animal is unmistakably strong. They have a place in each other’s hearts and even though they have been apart for a while, that didn’t change. The leader of the herd, who one would expect to be dominant, accepts a human touch without hesitation. It’s an unusual response for a horse who has lived off the grid for years. 

     Warmth fills her chest, a smile on her lips, similar to the one Dean carries. It’s incredible to witness him around the animals that captivate them both. She has enjoyed his interactions many times before, watching him handle them on the ground, seeing him ride. Always kind, always respectful. He has a way with horses that is special. Her grandfather would have said he’s gifted. He also would have given her a thumbs up. Grandpa always offered wise words, often followed by silence, the quiet giving them even more strength. One of his sayings comes to mind: You can judge a man’s character by the way he treats his horses. Well then, if that’s a given, then Dean is definitely one of the kindest and most loving souls she has come across.

     The wrangler rubs the stallion’s shoulder, before he slowly turns around. He tries to beckon the beautiful dark horse with a simple shoulder movement, using only body language to invite the large animal to follow him. After a moment of hesitation, during which the stallion glances at his herd and back at his human, he follows. No rope, no pressure, no constraint, but free will. It’s hard to miss the pleased expression on Dean’s face when he looks up at the cowgirl, who still watches from Joplin’s back.      “I know country boys aren’t known for manners, but aren’t you going to introduce your friend?” she jokes.

     The stallion stops at the bottom of the small hill, aware that as the leader of his group, he still has a task to fulfill. He stands tall, checking on the herd, the autumn breeze catching his tangled mane, folding his tail around his hind legs. He looks almost mythical.      “His name is Rock N’ Roll.” Dean takes him in, proudly. “But he goes by Rock’o.”      “Is he yours?” she asks, curiously.      The wrangler nods. “I was there when he was born. He had a rough start in life. I bottle fed him the first couple of months.”      Amazed, she smiles at him. “No wonder you two are close.”             He returns her expression, taking a moment to absorb the image of both the woman who is conquering his heart, and his horse who already claimed it years ago.       “It’s gonna be much easier to bring in the herd with him on our side,” Dean says, moving to Ted’s left side, after which he puts his foot in the stirrup and swings the other over the saddle. “We have to handle it delicately, but he trusts me.”      “You think he will follow you?” Y/N assumes, keeping Joplin on the spot, who seems to have woken up from her nap, now that Dean mounted his horse as well.      “No, but he will keep the herd together. It's a misconception that the stallion leads the group. They are usually in the rear, driving up stragglers,” Dean explains.

     The head wrangler glances over his shoulder at the growing dust cloud, an indication that Benny and the rest of the crew are closing in. Within a minute, he spots the four riders and their pack horses coming over the hill. The mischievous grin on the Southerner’s face can be spotted from far away.      “Had a nice mornin’ ride, Chief?” he nags under his breath, once he has joined the two riders.      Dean shoots him a glare, his fiery green eyes demanding him to shut up without using actual words. Y/N heard the farrier, however, and no one is prepared for the comeback.      “Oh, we didn’t have time. Forty-five minutes isn’t nearly enough for what I had in mind,” she counters casually.

     Dean snorts, caught by surprise, while Benny cocks his head at the intern, staring at her bug-eyed. Y/N doesn’t give the the blue-eyed cowboy another second of her attention and leads her horse to Ted, her fingertips briefly touching Dean’s thigh as she passes him, before she rides down the hill, her head held high.      Amused, the head wrangler waits for his friend to catch the wide grin on his face, which he does once Benny snaps out of his trance. He shakes his head sniggering, his laugh rumbling deep and low in his chest.      “Brother, you are in way over your head,” he states. “She’s a pistol.”      Dean admittingly raises his brow, nodding in agreement while watching her ride off.      “She sure is.” 

     “Yah!”      In full gallop Y/N speeds up along the left flank of the herd, directing the horses back to a compact group every time they fan out. Benny and Macy are leading, Dean tailing, while Brad and Jon cover the right side. The head wrangler wasn’t lying when he said that it was going to be exciting, because she feels like she’s living a Wild West fantasy. 

     Joplin has her ears in her neck as she sprints away, cutting off two stallions who fan out. Her rider doesn’t even have to give a signal, the feisty dark mare knows exactly what to do. Even though she is smaller than the others, she stands her ground and didn’t think twice when one of the juvenile stallions took an interest in her. With a squeal and a firm kick she made clear not to mess with her, her zero-tolerance attitude keeping them at a safe distance. Y/N had a hunch Joplin was good at the job, otherwise Dean wouldn’t have chosen the strong minded horse for his intern, but she didn’t expect her partner to be this fierce. Unflagging, focussed, and fast as a bullet. It’s an absolute thrill to work with her.

     They pursued the herd into O’Grady Canyon, the higher cliffs on both sides helping the wranglers keep them together. They passed the rock formations of Tim’s Saddle and Dean and Y/N briefly exchanged a look and a smile as they crossed the small creek. Revisiting the place where they shared their first kiss only two days ago feels special, that night’s energy still in the air. So much has happened since, and yet their journey has only just begun. 

     After a quick drinking pause, they continued, before the herd could fall apart. Some of the animals are restless, while others follow a lot more calmly. Using horses instead of dirt bikes or even a helicopter is a lot less stressful for the feral animals, but being chased makes them nervous nonetheless. Rocko’s laid back attitude towards the humans keeps the panic in the herd contained to a minimum, though. 

     Thankfully, the weather is working in their favor for a change. A cool breeze is sweeping across the terrain and swishing through the canyons, keeping the temperature from rising to the heights it reached in the past couple of days. It’s a good thing the conditions are a lot more tolerable, because the riding is intense. The wind, together with the stampede, does kick up a lot of sand, engulfing the wranglers in clouds of earthy particles. Dean, being at the back of the herd, has pulled his neckerchief over his nose, keeping the dust from entering his lungs. 

     Halfway through the afternoon, the wranglers have managed to guide the group of horses safely down the slopes on the east banks of the Superstitions. A time consuming detour, but crossing the mountains without a herd is challenging enough, not to mention with over a dozen wild animals added to the clan. After descending the much smoother slopes for hours on end, the canyon functioning as a tunnel and relieving the pressure from the riders, the walls on either side fan out. Before them lays the valley, the small town of Gold Canyon in the far distance to the west, the sun edging towards it as the day begins to close in on the night. 

     “Yankee!”      It’s Dean who gets her attention, his voice rising above the sound of the stampede. Y/N turns in the saddle while she continues to follow the movement of her horse with her hips. Behind her, three young stallions have wandered away from the group in a matter of seconds. Joplin hasn’t noticed them yet, fixed on holding the flank ahead, but when her rider moves her hand to the left, she rolls away like a fighter jet. The little dark mare needs no encouragement and is at full speed within five strides, shooting across the terrain at a speed of forty miles an hour. Y/N has bent over Joplin’s neck, staying low in order to increase the aerodynamics. The fast rhythmic sound of hoofbeats tremor the ground, the wind rushes in her ears and drags tears from the corners of her eyes. The two cut off the youngsters, redirecting them back to the herd like they have been doing this together for years. Y/N’s partner in crime pushes her ears back and snaps her teeth, not so kindly advising the horses to hurry it up or else, triggering her rider to grin at her feisty character. Once the three join the others, the cowgirl lets out a cheer, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Dean was absolutely right, this is just like a spaghetti western. 

     They ride along the promontory of the mountains to their right, roughly following the Lost Goldmine trail. By the time the company passes a volcanic remnant called Turk’s Head, the sky begins to change, adding orange to the blues. A glance at her old watch tells her it’s 5.10 PM. Three days ago she kept feeling her back pocket for her phone whenever she needed to know the time, or felt the urge to check her messages, but not having her Iphone with her turns out to be a blessing in disguise. Who would want to stare at a screen and miss all the good stuff? 

     Ted’s strides are long and consistent, not a trace of fatigue noticeable with the bay gelding. From behind the group, Dean should have a good overview, if it wasn’t for the dust clouds obstructing his vision. The small particles cling to his skin, his lashes, the fabric of his clothes. He can still see the boys holding their ground well on the right, the steep slopes running up into the peaks of the Flatiron assisting them, working as a funnel. Benny and Macy are keeping a good pace; if they continue at this speed, they will be home before dinner. Y/N is doing outstanding on the other flank, forming a dream team with eager little Joplin. Thankfully, Dean has eyes up ahead, because the radio on his belt begins to crack.      “Two miles to go, Chief!”      Dean takes the radio phone and presses the PTT button before he answers.      “Let’s bring them home, brother.”

     With his thumb he twists the channel nob, switching to number four, before he calls in again. They should be within the perimeter now. “Bobby, do you read me?”      It’s quiet for a moment, but then the static breaks.      “Loud and clear, son.”      The head wrangler smiles, glad to be delivering good news after three days and nights filled with nerve wrecking moments. Treacherous terrain, suffocating heat. Drought, snakes, minor injuries.       “We’re comin’ in hot. Thirty minutes.”      “The gates are open. I’ll tell Ellen to put the casserole in the oven.”      Dean’s mouth begins to water when his aunt’s famous dish is mentioned. No disrespect to Benny, but after all that canned food, he can’t wait to sink his teeth into that delicious corn, beef, and onion stocked, stomach filling meal.      “In that case, I’ll make it twenty. Over.”      “We’re ready for ya. Over and out.”

     The head wrangler hooks the radio back on his belt and glances aside. Rocko is galloping about thirty yards to his left, ahead by a few nose lengths. Sweat shimmers on his neck and shoulders, his dark bay coat almost black now. With big, powerful strides he pushes forward like a steam train, yet agile, maneuvering past rocks, cacti, and bushes. Even untrained, he has grown into a strong horse. Dean can’t wait to work with him. To strengthen that bond even more, to teach him. Watching the stallion by his side and under Dean’s wing as it were, fills him with pride already. It’s at this moment that Dean realizes; this horse is going to be something else.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part sixteen here

[chikkou]

I'd ask this on your Lisa sideblog but you don't have anon on and I'm shy lol, but do you have any headcanons relating to Lisa the First? Like Lisa's views on religion, her relationship with her mother, if any of the various worlds we see mean anything?

hoh man i didnt even know anon wasnt on LMAO... ill turn it on after i post this!

also fuck YEAH i do holy shit i fucking LOVE lisa the first!! i know its sort of the black sheep of the lisa series, since it is a completely different type of game and was clearly austins first game, but i fucking ADORE it dude. the music - which he made ENTIRELY IN THE FREE TRIAL OF FL STUDIO BY THE WAY - is FANTASTIC, the art direction is actually pretty fucking incredible for an rpgmaker game that uses a good deal of basic assets, and the gameplay.... ok yeah that part is a bit lacking but its a yume nikki-style game be nice it was his first time LMAO

ANYWAY back to ur question. first and foremost, i think this is not even a headcanon so much as straight up canon, but lisa DESPISES christianity. marty is christian, probably catholic given the golden crosses everywhere, and he is a fucking scumbag hypocrite. lisa likely associates all of christianity with this line of thinking, as there is one room in the bile area where the melted martys (although i suppose we can just call them joy mutants now LMAO) simply stand in a circle surrounding one big cross. the role of the melted martys is up for interpretation of course, as is everything, but after playing the painful and seeing them described as “mindless sheep,” i think this is how lisa viewed them. so they likely represent other people that, to lisa, are probably just as sick and disgusting as marty

lisas relationship with her mother... i go back and forth on this one a lot. i can never decide if i prefer the headcanon that lisas mom died in childbirth, and so lisa never met her, or if i prefer that lisas mom was around for a very short time and then either left or died. the fact that she says “i didnt want to leave” at the end of the first leads me to believe that she most likely died. in either case, the memory of her mother was clearly important to lisa, as she wears her pendant through the entire game and its explicitly noted as being a gift from her. in either case, i think that the death/absence of the mother is heavily implied to be the primary cause behind martys descent into alcoholism and lisas abuse, since the white room strongly implies that marty did at one time sincerely love and care for her as a father properly should 

as for the meaning of each of the rooms, i think most of them are fairly self explanatory, but some of them are a bit more vague, so ill break it down in terms of how i see it (and ill put them under the cut because its long as hell):

martys house - this is the most literal one. pretty self-explanatory. the dark, yet vibrant colors and the ear-bleedingly loud tv are pure sensory overload, something lisa probably deals with on a regular basis. when lisa goes outside and it turns into a sky of marty faces, i think this is the transition into the psychological part of the game

the lobby - this is honestly just pure yume nikki ripoff LMAO... but if i had to ascribe a symbolic meaning to it, i think its probably a quiet and safe area for lisa to retreat to in her mind when she needs it, but even that eventually gets sullied as tricky rick makes his way there, too (and tells her hes “just waiting” when she talks to him). the majority of gameplay is lisa searching for items with which to kill tricky rick, who always abuses and disparages her whenever she talks to him, telling her she’ll never forget. as for the reason why... well, take one look at him and its pretty clear whats going on there. (the name is also a reference to richard nixon, whose nickname was... well, you can figure it out!)

the town - the bar area is 100% my favorite from this world; lisa clearly hates alcohol and anyone who drinks it, associating them all with marty, and that music... all i can say is YUCK. the entire section also consists of lisa having to give up something in exchange for what she needs to move on, and usually getting the raw end of the deal out of it (she gives one marty a banana, he gives her a banana peel in return). she does all that while avoiding a marty following her outside who repeatedly tells her “you cant escape,” and upon reaching tricky rick (who is atop a narrow, columnar, PINK mountain), it becomes pretty clear whats happening to her. 

the sea room - fucking marty spiders man. im assuming they represent the sickly feeling of crawling skin she gets when she looks at him or is anywhere near him, but holy GOD they are annoying to deal with. she kills tricky rick with pills here - we dont know what kind of pills these are, but i interpret them as sleeping pills, and given the rumbling music and the rapid cycling marty background, i wonder if he forced her to take these. marty is everywhere here, but the only one she can speak to is seen chilling on a raft of some kind. marty likely spent much of his time recreationally, i.e. drinking, so it makes sense why this would be here

the rope room - theres no symbolism here this is just pure comedy (LMAO). if i HAD to assign some meaning to this area, it would be that lisa likely is so despondent at this point that putting in effort to do anything feels utterly pointless, much like climbing this long-ass rope was

the white room - as i mentioned earlier, i personally believe that this area depicts the previous relationship between marty and lisa (and also has one of my favorite songs in the game). he is shown doing traditional fatherly things - he is no longer wearing sunglasses and is wearing a suit, meaning he was likely employed, and is actually smiling. he also spends time with her in a completely platonic, familial way. when she interacts with him, there is a little heart over his head. after lisa walks through the golden statues (which will reappear later), the entire world becomes filled with bile, and martys appearance returns to that of the other martys, but with an extremely warped, grotesque face. the item she needs in this area to kill tricky rick is found between two golden crosses.

notice that all of the items she kills tricky rick with - a razor, pills, and now a plastic bag - are things that a child could plausibly get their hands on; none of them are explicitly weapons. i think this shows both her age and how often she must have considered using those things against him. 

the bile room - probably my favorite area in the game, and also features what i consider the quintessential lisa song. this area really drives home lisas disgust with marty and with christianity as a whole - it almost certainly has the highest concentration of crosses, and it is also quite literally covered in wall-to-wall bile, dirty water, and disgusting houses. a lot of the most graphic sights, like the melting martys and the pond martys (no idea what to call them LMAO) are here, so i think this is pretty much the lowest circle of hell for lisa. marty gives lisa a freshly cut finger in exchange for a napkin here; im not necessarily sure what that represents, but i think the napkin was used by marty to masturbate (as he says “i needed that” after he takes it), so perhaps the finger is martys?

lisa kills tricky rick here in a cave that is not-so-subtly shaped like a penis, and gets a vhs tape in which he pretty explicitly states what is going on in the game; he even pretends like he doesnt know who lisa is at first, which somehow makes it even more disgusting. the fact that vhs tapes play a role here sort of makes me wonder if marty really WAS filming some of what he was doing, and given that lisa the joyful confirms that brad was forced to somehow participate in lisas abuse, that is.... horrific to think about, honestly

the marty tape - this tape just has the player (as marty) walk up to lisa and suited marty, who are having a tea party with a plastic tea set. they both get hearts over their heads if you talk to them. i think this drives home that he and lisa did once have a normal relationship, and perhaps theres some part of marty who misses that? theres a LOT of ways you can interpret this; having the player become marty really calls a lot into question.

the mansion - the room leading here has a marty staring directly at the player who informs lisa that she needs a sword to progress. unsubtly, the sword must be placed into the crotch of a womans statue. the mansion inside is beautiful and ornate, and easily the most gorgeous area in the game - and it all leads to what appears to be a proto-joy mutant marty, sort of looking like jabba the hutt. i dont doubt that this is intentional, given that jabba the hutt is associated with slave leia, and its not at all a far leap to call lisa martys slave. the golden statues of women, as well as many golden crosses, are everywhere in this area. its actually quite a large space with a lot of thought put into it, so im really upset that i cant figure out more of what it represents LMAO

the final area - lisa seems to go back to her actual house, but upon leaving her room and entering whether the living room would be, the whole area changes. she encounters herself in a blood red room, but when she talks to the other lisa, she turns into marty. i think this represents a clear question - who is lisa without him? IS she anyone? or is she just a vessel for him to do with what he pleases? she encounters a naked marty telling her to give up shortly after, and flees from him, but is followed by voices repeatedly telling her that she must accept her fate. i think this clearly show the mental state of lisas last days. she was tormented, eternally. she truly felt there was no escape from marty. even the background becomes nothing but martys face, over and over again, as the end screen flashes.

at the end text, she finds a video tape, and in the tape sees someone who is ostensibly her mother from behind. she apologizes for not being there for her, but when that figure turns out, its martys face that she sees. the sky turns into marty. the music becomes corrupted and overrun with pretty fucked up laughter. she tries to run, but marty is already everywhere. theres nowhere for her to run. and then the game is over.

note that the video tape comes AFTER the games end screen, which stops not long after the appearance of the naked marty. so i personally believe that the “game over” represents her deciding to take her own life, rather than just give up and accept her fate. by running from him into the blackness, she got away from marty the only way she could have. it is sad and horrible, but that is honestly the best ending that she could have gotten in this game.

the first is definitely not as good as the painful in terms of gameplay, that much i can agree on, but i really think people miss out on a lot by not playing it. i think its really crucial to see lisas life from her own perspective before you can see it from brads - after all, brad may have known more than anyone else about what was going on, but he did not experience it like lisa did. for brad, lisa is a symbol of his own regrets and failures, but lisa was a PERSON (well, in-universe anyway LMAO). she suffered on her own, with pretty much no one to help her, and then she suffered so much that she couldnt take another second of it. 

[only-here-for-jatp]

Build-a-Band Pt 6 Sir Reginald II

It’s another Build-a-Band chapter!!! This time from Julie’s POV as she watches her adorable himbos make Build-a-Bears

She makes Reggie (Spoilers I know, but to be fair- he’s the only one left!)

If I’m really good, and y’all are really excited, I’ll try to get the last part done tonight! It feels weird to wrap this up. Feels like I’ve been working on it forever.

Anyway, you can read it on Ao3 here

And also below! ~1800 words

Julie knew long before Reggie headed home that all the boys would be back, sooner rather than later, which is why she checked her schedule. Luckily, she was opening the next morning and everything would be quiet. Not to mention, she’d already gotten her first couple of paychecks so hopefully she could pay for everything that was about to happen. She knew her father would help since he loved to dote on his adopted ghost boys, but it was also kind of nice to be able to do this for them.

She’d gotten home to find Alex stubbornly refusing to let go of Alexander, Luke whining that he wanted one, and Reggie filled with so much pride and warmth that she could swore he was glowing. By the time she’d left for bed that night, all plans finalized, the boys had been snuggled up in their own bed. Alex in the middle holding tightly to Alexander, sandwiched between the two other boys. She chuckled as she headed out knowing she might need a lot of sleep and energy for her three tag-alongs the next day.

It’s why when she arrived before the boys the next morning, she took a minute to breathe everything in. She kind of liked the mall when everything was quiet and peaceful. The lights were mostly dimmed and the only sounds were the distant hiss of coffee machines and the soft whispers of the few other employees, not willing to break the silence just yet.

The store itself appeared kind of magical with colors and life bleeding through everything. Even though the store wasn’t truly alive yet. She liked being the first one in and getting to set everything up. She could organize the pre-made bears in the window into cute scenes, place out the small props that existed around the store. She tried for something new every time, some small little spin that would put an extra bright smile onto the child that noticed.

It was as she was setting up that she walked past a bin that made her stop. Long before Reggie had insisted on joining her she’d been imagining which bears she’d pick out for everyone. She’d found a bear for Flynn and Carrie and Luke and Alex, but Reggie had been stumping her for a couple of weeks. Until of course, she walked past this particular bin this morning.

She wasn’t sure how she’d missed it before. The bear was soft and black with wide eyes and a small smile. It was soft and the fur had a slight curve to it. She let her fingers drift across the Midnight Moon Bear and knew that this would be the one. No sooner had she finished the thought when she heard the tell-tale signs of poofing ghosts.

She turned around with a smile catching the first glimpses on Alex and Luke. They both stared wide-eyed and open mouthed, although Alex caught himself pretty quick transforming into a look of mild interest. She could still see the sparkle in his eyes though as he started wandering towards the shelves. Reggie just kept nodding the quintessential “AM I RIGHT???” look plastered across his face.

Julie nearly died of laughter once Luke found the puppies and zoomed around the store with Reggie. She took glee in the opportunity to tease Luke about his height. Even with Alex quiet unawareness of what was going on around him, she could spot the joy he was trying to hide.

The store may be no longer be quiet and peaceful, but she had to admit, she liked it filled with life more. It wasn’t the thrill on being on stage in front of screaming fans, but it was the little moments of connection as a child watched a shell of fabric come to life. It was the awe in their eyes as they oh so carefully picked out a heart and gave it warmth and joy and love. Her favorite though was when she stuffed the new toy and she was one-on-one with a child and they kept glancing into her eyes and back to the ever growing stuffie. For just a moment, she knew that child believed in magic and life and love so strongly that it could change the world.

Now here she was getting to watch those emotions dance across her boys’ faces. The boys had so many characteristics which defined them. They were dead, and a band, and family. They suffered through childhoods, that while Julie didn’t know all the details, she knew forced them to grow up fast. Forced them to take care of themselves when the people who should’ve failed.

So, she took a moment to breathe and watch as her boys were able to be just that. Boys. Children. Teenagers. Dorks who just wanted something soft.

After she watched all three of the boys pick up their piece, she grabbed what would soon become Sir Reginald II and led them over to the stuffing machine. She went through the basic instructions, knowing the boys were barely paying attention before guiding them over to the hearts.

She smiled at their enthusiasm and teased Reggie as he looked at every single heart in all of the boxes. Luke was also digging, but it seemed to be more purposeful while Alex picked through the hearts carefully taking his time to find the right one. Julie, on the other hand, knew exactly which heart she wanted. She’d picked it out the day before when Reggie was here and slipped it behind the counter. Out of all the hearts she’d ever seen in the box, it was by far the biggest. Nearly twice as big as the next closest size and a vibrant red. Reggie’s heart was so large, she knew Sir Reginald II needed one to match.

It didn’t particularly surprise her when Reggie asked her to “do the magic” and she struggled to contain her laughter when he managed to drag his friends into a group beg. Julie never intended to say no, but watching the boys plead with her was admittedly adorable. So she led them through it, warming up the heart, jumping with the heart, and her personal favorite- the wish.

When she’d done the heart for Alexander the day before, she’d wished for Alex to know that he was family. He was just as important and valued by her as any of the other boys. Reggie was rapidly taking on a big brother role, and although she tried to be exasperated about it, she couldn’t be more thrilled. Luke was… something. Some days he felt like her other half. Alex though, Alex was everything that kept her calm and steady and grounded. She hoped she knew how much he meant to her.

For Reggie’s bear she’d thought long and hard about what the whispered wish would be. In the end, she thought about everything she loved about Reggie.

Sir Reginald II please take care of Reggie. Sometimes he doesn’t realize how important he is. He’s the glue that holds us all together and keeps us going when everything seems bleak. He is so loved and so valuable. Please remind him of that when everything seems hard.

Alex brought William the Sk8 Bear up first and he seemed to bounce a little as he came to life. The shriek though when Alex caught sight of the skateboard accessories would forever be her favorite.

Reggie came up to him next and whispered to her. I made a wish, but I wondered if you wanted to leave one for Luke too. Her eyes widened as a blush covered her cheeks, but she agreed. Quietly she sang to the heart.

We say we're friends, we play pretend. You're more to me, we're everything Our voices rise and soar so high. We come to life when we're, In perfect harmony

She kept glancing over to Luke, ensuring he wasn’t paying attention, but thankfully he was also absorbed in his bear. Reggie jittered with excitement next to her, ready for the bear to be made, already planning in his head exactly how to accessorize Lukas.

Luke slowly approached her, ready to make Jules a true stuffie. She couldn’t help but give him a look. Was this really the one he picked for her? She loved it, but she had to laugh at the slightly awkward eyeliner they’d put on this bear. Her gasp resounded though as she caught a glimpse of the heart in his hand.

It was a vibrant purple and whatever second guessing she did about his knowledge of her faded as she saw the most beautiful heart. It was her favorite shade of purple and she squeezed it tight, once again feeling a blush crawling up her cheeks.

Once she’d stuffed Jules the Bear, it was a lot easier to see where he was going with this. His smile at the sight filled her with a small light and she passed him the bear while he flounced off to find her the perfect outfit.

Quickly she got to work on Sir Reginald II already knowing that among the clothing and accessories lived a white tank top, black jeans, a leather jacket, and a red stuffed bass guitar.

There was something steady about stuffing the bears. There was a little foot press like on a sewing machine or piano. In a way, it almost felt like she was making music as she brought Sir Reginald to life. The machine would wheeze as the stuffing flowed through the nozzle to the bear and it would make soft whump noises as it filled in all the spaces. Carefully she laced up the back and flipped the bear over. If she didn’t stare too deeply or too hard she could almost see the twinkle in its eye and the smirk on his face.

Looking up, she caught a glimpse of the boys rushing around and finding all the perfect pieces. Dressing the bears, laughing, and teasing each other. Every now and again someone would pick up an article of something ridiculous and hold it up, asking if it was what each other was looking for.

She loved them, but they certainly were high energy and she took a deep breath before rejoining the fray. Luke had Lukas grasped tightly, eyes a little watery while he batted away Alex’s hands who appeared to be trying to snatch Lukas away. She let out a small laugh at their antics and eased Jules out of Reggie’s arms and replaced her with Sir Reginald II.

If she noticed Luke freeze and eye her warily, she didn’t think much of it as she gripped Jules loosely in her arms. Jules ended up in an outfit that was pretty close to her Stand Tall outfit and she was mildly impressed. Unfortunately, Julie caught a glimpse down at her watch and began to shoo the boys out. It was just about time to open, which meant it was time to send them home. She gently placed Jules back in Reggie's arms and began preparing for the rest of her day.

[evalinkatrineberg]

C5 - The Ball

A/N: Just shy of 19k words of Evalin being Evalin. Includes RPs with @ladyreggiewright @arin-schreave @hugo-stanton @clemencewestley and @idaliamoretti . Potential TW for the last italicized section at the end, for non-consensual kissing. ALSO I wrote one of Evalin’s thoughts before the official Theo reveal, and decided to keep it in for shits and giggles lmao

My parents picked up the FaceTime call on the first ring, their heads smushed together as they bickered over where the best spot to place their phone was, in order for me to see everyone that was there. It had been a family tradition for as long as I could remember to have a backyard barbecue on Illéan Independence Day. Normally, it was a pretty large gathering, including our family, some of the neighbors, some of my parents’ coworkers, and their families, leaving little space to walk or even sit in our average sized backyard.

From what I could see as my parents backed away from the phone, however, the event was a lot smaller this year - just my family, and June’s. Not that it seemed like anyone was complaining about that, but it did raise some questions in my own mind, especially when I considered the phone call my father had made to me at two in the morning a few weeks ago. Even Lukas had said that things were getting bad there.

I could see what he meant. It was as if none of my father’s coworkers were speaking to him anymore.

Nonetheless, I forced a smile on to my face, holding the flute of champagne Grace had had delivered to my room in the air, so that everyone gathered in my backyard in Carolina could see it. “I’m afraid I don’t have much time,” I admitted, feeling Julia tug at my hair with a towel, finishing up drying my curls before beginning to style them, “but I absolutely refused to miss the annual toast.”

“Of course,” Gabriel stated, holding the beer in his hand aloft from the Adirondack chair in which he sat. “Cheers, Ev.”

“Cheers,” I echoed alongside the rest of my family, taking about three sips of champagne before setting the flute back down on my desk. I had practically had to beg Grace to bring it up for me, spending all of forty-five minutes explaining and emphasizing just how important this family tradition was to not only me, but to my parents and siblings as well. In the end, she had relented, though Julia had grumbled about it until the bitter end.

“I wish I was there, with you,” June called through the screen, shaking her head, her dark curls bouncing against her cheeks. “Do me a favor, and find a cute man tonight, and send him my way. The guys around here just aren’t cutting it anymore.”

I laughed, assuring her, “I’ll do my best,” though I wasn’t entirely sure how many people were going to be in attendance at the ball tonight. There were the German royals, the Italian royals, and the Illean royals, of course, along with the Grahams and Wylan Caldwell, but beyond that, all I had been told was vague terms like, “palace staff,” and, “notable individuals,” which meant next to nothing to me. Maybe more specifics had been given, but I had been too focused on online classes, which had also started up this week, to pay close attention to them.

“Speaking of men,” Lydia began, setting her beer down on the brick patio beneath her chair, “has His Royal Asshole been on better behavior since we last spoke about him?”

Behind me, Julia made a noise that sounded like she was screaming with her mouth closed as she parted my hair with a fine toothed comb. I laughed, partially at the sound that Julia had made, but also at my sister’s nickname for Arin, which didn’t appear to be going out of use anytime soon.

“He’s been a good deal better, actually,” I replied, taking a few more sips of champagne. “He took me to the ballet a couple of weeks ago, and -” And we cozied up on the floor together. And we actually talked without arguing. And he called me stunning and adorable. I shook my head, feeling the color rising to my cheeks already. “It was good.”

“Just good?” Lydia raised her eyebrows, picking her beer back up and taking a long drink, glaring at the phone she was looking at me through.

It had been more than good, but I didn’t want to divulge the details of the date in front of my parents. My mother might have a fit if she found out that I had sat on the floor, even if it was within the walls of a private box. “I’ll tell you more another time,” I assured her, “but if I don’t hurry, I am going to be late.”

After a few quick goodbyes, I closed my laptop, allowing Julia to finish up on my hair, and Christina to finish up on my makeup. The dress they had had made for tonight was black, and fit me like a glove, ending with a little slit in the side down by my mid-calf. It came complete with a cape of gossamer silk, little strands of silver woven in, almost like the seamstress that had made this dress had plucked the stars from the sky to do so. I had been a little apprehensive about the cape at first, insistent that in combination with the high heeled shoes I would have to wear, it would almost certainly lead to me tripping and falling at some point, or possibly even rip the cape. However, Julia had reassured me that it would be fine, and I was in no shape to argue with her about it.

The start of the online semester had somehow made my sleep schedule even worse. At this point, I was surviving almost solely off of caffeine and sheer willpower. At the very least, the work kept me distracted, which meant I had less time to overthink that I was doing here. However, the increased workload had prevented me from seeing Arin since the ballet. Even at Wylan’s party, I had only been able to pop in for all of a few minutes, which I had spent chatting with Itzel. That had only been the week that the pre-semester work had been due. Now, with the real semester in full swing, in combination with our lessons here, and the recent slough of visiting foreign dignitaries, I was swamped. I’d actually fallen asleep in the library more than once, much to my own embarrassment. Luckily, I didn’t think anybody had noticed it, yet.

Tonight’s ball was a welcome reprieve from the work, though. I finished the last of the champagne, checking my reflection in the mirror one last time before turning towards the door, satisfied with what I had seen. Some days, I almost didn’t recognize the person I saw in the mirror. She stood with a straighter back, and a head held higher than the Evalin I had used to see in the mirror. My reflection even moved with a level of grace that I had not previously thought I’d possessed. The lessons we were getting here were really paying off, both inside and outside of the classroom.

I kept to myself as I walked down the hallway, speaking almost exclusively to the personal guard that had been assigned to escort me into the large hall where dinner was to be taking place. The meal itself flew by quickly, beginning with the presentation of the foreign royals, and then the Illean royals, and ending with everyone being ushered into the Grand Hall, which was decked out in gauzy strips of fabric and light colors, dousing the room in every color under the sun. I stared at it, wide eyed as I walked in spinning in a small circle to make sure I didn’t miss a single detail. Whoever had put this together must have spent hours planning and decorating. I wished there was some way I could pass my compliments on to them, because they deserved it.

With that, the dancing begun, a full orchestra playing a mix of fast songs, waltzes, and instrumental versions of more modern songs. I allowed myself to be swept up in it all, dancing with whoever was closest to me at the moment. After a lifetime of keeping myself so put together, so set in my rigid routine, it felt nice to just be able to let go of all that for a few hours, my only concern whether or not I could prevent myself from stepping on the feet of whoever was spinning me in circles at the moment.

After a handful of numbers, I made my way back to the edge of the crowd, needing a few seconds, at the very least, just to catch my breath, and get my bearings. Everyone here was dressed to the nines, having gone just as all out as I had. Though, I hadn’t seen anybody else with a cape, yet. Julia had proven herself to be right once again - the risk of falling had been worth the reward of standing out.

I stopped by one of the tables, grabbing another glass of champagne. There were other drinks laid out, their colors varying from vibrant shades of pink to pale hues of teal, but in this instance, I decided it was best to stick to what I knew and recognized. It had been a while since I had drank in a party environment, and I wasn’t about to go wild in front of a bunch of, “notable individuals.” That Evalin had to stay back in Knoxville for now, at least, maybe even permanently, depending on how the remainder of the Selection went.

Being so close to the Elite had me a bit nervous. I had come so far; it would almost hurt to be sent home now. My relationship with Arin was solid - I was confident in that, at least - but that wasn’t to say that other girls had had similar experiences to mine with him. From the rumors Christina attempted to feed me while I was studying, he had grown close with both Jen and Clemence around the same time he and I had begun to grown close. Leana’s name was thrown around quite a bit as well. Still, together, we only made up four of the twelve remaining girls. There were eight others that he could have been more secretive in seeing.

It had been three weeks since Alaina and Saxon had been sent home. We were due for another elimination, soon.

It was then that I laid eyes on Reggie, watching the dancers in the center of the room from where she stood by one of the tables, sipping on a glass of champagne. It had been months since I’d last been able to have a solid conversation with her, when I had leant her my ecology book. We’d seen each other in passing, but these days,  all of us were so wrapped up in other exploits that it was rare to be able to get in more than a few words to each other.

Tonight, though, we had nothing but time. “Hello, Reggie!” I called out as I walked up to her. “How are you?”

Blinking a couple of times, as if I had just woken her from a stupor, she shifted her weight from one leg to the other and rolled her shoulders back. She smiled as she looked over at me, one corner of her mouth slightly higher than the other, giving me a short nod by way of greeting. “Evalin. Ça va?” Evalin. How are you.

“Ça va bien,” I answered, blinking a few times as I wracked my brain to remember the French I had continued studying on the side. I am well. It had definitely taken a backseat these past few weeks, though. Coming to a stop besides Reggie, I gestured out towards the party, fighting to find the right words through the mild haze of alcohol beginning to take a hold on me. “Um, aimez-vous cela?” Are you enjoying this? At least, that was what I hoped I had asked her.

Reggie opened her mouth, and I braced myself to receive corrections on my grammar or pronunciation. I deserved it, honestly, for not giving the language the attention it deserved, but Reggie stopped herself, smiling and shaking her head before taking another sip of champagne. “I’m enjoying myself, thank you. So are you, it seems,” she finished, raising an eyebrow at me.

“A bit,” I laughed, still a little breathless and flushed from dancing. “You look amazing, by the way! I love your dress!”

“Can’t take the credit for it.” She looked down at her dress briefly before meeting my gaze again, offering me a close lipped smile. Her face lit up every time she smiled, though I wasn’t sure she realized it. It was a good look on her.

She frowned as she took in my own ensemble, though. “There’s a cape.”

“I know!” I giggled a bit, grinning from ear to ear. “I thought the cape would be a recipe for disaster at first, but it’s been fine so far.” I hadn’t tripped over it yet, and nobody had stepped on it while we were dancing, either. It was nothing short of a miracle, though in this room, right now, it truly felt like anything could happen. I’d never felt such a sense of magic in the air, even in those happy moments with Arin on the floor of the theater. That had been magical, but in a different sense of the word.

I hoped we’d be able to recreate some of that magic again tonight. It had been so long since I’d last seen him, since he’d complimented me, and shown me that he did care about me, even if it wasn’t love yet. It was something, as he would say, and I was willing to take it from there.

I took another sip of champagne. “So, have you left the side of the room at all yet?”

“I have,” she answered with a solemn nod. “I went to the bathroom.”

I was really glad I had swallowed my champagne before she had answered. The laughter now emitting from my body had already nearly caused me to double over, and might have caused the champagne to come out of my nose. I couldn’t decide whether or not that’d be worse than getting another nosebleed.

When I straightened back up, Reggie was looking at me, her eyes almost imperceptibly wider than usual. “Oh, I haven’t danced yet, if that’s what you meant.”

I turned my head towards her, offering her a smile. “Why not?” She was an absolutely gorgeous girl, and there were plenty of eligible men here looking for a dance partner. She’d have no trouble getting someone to dance with her, if she tried.

“I don’t think I’d make a good impression if I’d attempt it,” she admitted, taking another sip of champagne as she inclined her head towards some officials, and the visiting royalty from Germany and Italy.

“You can’t be as bad as me.” I’d always had two left feet. I still sort of did, though the lessons here had definitely helped a bit, as I’d noticed earlier. I shook my head a little, still smiling as I continued, “Besides, I think everyone is too caught up in their own dancing and chatting to notice one or two uncoordinated people.” At least, I sure hoped so. That was one of the mantras I kept repeating in my head as I danced. That, and that the earlier dances were a warmup, so I wouldn’t step on the feet of the people who mattered later. I wasn’t entirely sure that the theory behind the latter statement would hold up, but it was a nice thought, at least.

Reggie bit her lip. “I’ll take it into consideration.” Then, pursing her lips, she glanced at me out of the corner of her eyes. “Any hopes for a dance partner for the evening?”

I felt my face grow ever redder, and averted my gaze to the floor, hoping Reggie wouldn’t notice. “I was planning on asking Arin, later, maybe, but I’m not sure. I might make too much of a fool of myself, in that scenario.” The last part was more or less a mumble let out under my breath. Arin was one of the only people here I actually wanted to dance with, if I was being completely honest. I had missed talking to him these past few weeks - even bickering with him. I might be eternally confused by the way he made me feel, but there was no denying that it was nice to have his attention every once and awhile, and it had definitely been a while.

I looked up at Reggie again, realizing that her name hadn’t come up often in Christina’s gossip. That was odd, considering that if any of the girls here were ready to run a country, and do it well, it would be Reggie. There was no question in my mind. So, why was Arin avoiding her, then? Or, was she avoiding him?

“What about you?” I asked, hoping her answer might reveal something.

I could’ve sworn I saw her cheeks turn pink as the question left my mouth, but I supposed I must’ve been mistaken, because she simply inclined her head towards me and asked, “You’re not sure?”

My blush deepened, if that was even possible at this point. I was likely redder than a tomato. “I would probably accidentally step on his feet,” I mumbled.

“Yes,” she replied, an amused smile flickering across her face. “that would be quite unfortunate.”

Indeed. Thanks for the reassurance, Reggie!

When I looked over at her again, she was frowning. “Are you alright?”

I furrowed my brows. “Yeah, why?” Had I voiced my thoughts aloud? I hoped not. They hadn’t exactly been the nicest words to ever have crossed through my mind. It wasn’t Reggie’s fault that I couldn’t dance, though, and I shouldn’t take my own frustrations out on her. She had done nothing to deserve that.

“Never mind.” She shook her head, turning her attention back to the people dancing in the center of the room. They spun around each other, a mass of couples smiling and laughing, just enjoying the night. That could be you and Arin, if you just sucked up your pride and asked him. I wasn’t nervous that he’d say no, but rather that he’d say yes, and then be miserable the entire time. Neither the guests, nor the cameras lining the wall, needed to bear witness to that.

“With formal dancing, you can follow Arin’s lead, I’m sure,” Reggie instructed, glancing over at me briefly with a smile on her face. “It’s usually best not to look at your feet, however, even if it’s tempting.”

“Right.” Maybe that was what I had been doing wrong. Looking at my feet had seemed like the easiest way to prevent myself from stepping on my partners feet. I flashed Reggie a small, close lipped smile, before turning back to the crowd before us. “I’ve truly never seen anything like this. It’s incredible.”

“Very,” she replied, nodding and smiling as she continued to watch the sea of people in the center of the room. The crowd seemed to be growing larger with each passing second, more couples leaving their tables and refreshments to join the fray. “I admit I haven't celebrated Illéan Independence Day in any way close to this either.”

I laughed, shaking my head. That was quite the understatement. “Me neither. We’d normally just have a barbecue, and maybe invite the neighbors and some friends over.” I turned my head to the side, looking at Reggie again. For someone who didn’t want to dance, she was utterly entranced by the people who were dancing. “Other than this -” I gestured towards the mob of people on the floor “- how have things been? I really haven’t had the chance to talk to you since we met in the library!”

“We haven't.” It seemed like she had just come to the realization herself, judging by her frown, and the shake of her head.  “I suppose things have been -” she smiled again, gesturing towards me “- busy, for both of us then. I'm sorry I still haven't returned your book. I almost finished it though.”

“Oh, no worries! I’m in no rush to get it back!” I assured her, smiling as I turned back to the crowd. The idea of a book club that had first popped into my head when I had met her came back again, except this time it included not only me and Reggie, but also Arin. Maybe Jen, too, since it would make sense that she liked to read, given the amount of reading she’d have to do for law school. I liked the image of the four of us, cozied up around a table, books in hand, just reading, completely at peace.

If only we had the time.

“There’s been so much going on recently, I’d honestly forgotten about it,” I mused.

She dragged her attention away from the dancers, raising an eyebrow at me. “I presume it wasn't just the French keeping you busy?”

I had to laugh. “Clearly not, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” Then, with a shake of my head, I continued, “No, I’ve been doing other work in preparation for online classes, and then we had the proposal, and of course meeting and talking to people.” It had been a crazy couple of months, a whirlwind of activity sprinkled with flakes of fun.

With a nod, Reggie replied, “Online classes are definitely time consuming. Were you happy with how your project worked out?”

“For the most part, yes. What about you?” The truth of the matter was that I was pleased with my proposal, but I wished I had had more information for the logistics of how it might be implemented. I hoped that even if I didn’t end up being involved in politics when this was all said and done, somebody would still at least consider putting my proposal to use. There were so many brilliant people in lower castes, that deserved a shot at a career they’d excel in.

“I am, actually,” Reggie answered with an absent minded smile. “Hopefully they'll assign us another one -” she paused to take another sip of champagne, raising her shoulder slightly “-while I'm still here, of course.”

While she was still here? It almost sounded like she expected to be sent home soon. I couldn’t imagine being in the palace without Reggie. Even though we didn’t talk frequently, it was always nice to see her around, and she was such a constant presence at meals, and in lessons. Who else was going to ridicule me for missing breakfast to run, or using too many exclamation points while texting? There’d be a hole if she was gone, that I was sure I wouldn’t be the only one to feel.

We’d all grown kind of close lately. There were very few girls left that I hadn’t spoken with privately - just Nemesis, Brooke, and Tavi. I felt rather attached to all of them. If only there was some way that we could all stay here, even though only one of us could win Arin’s heart.

I hoped with every fiber of my being that I’d be the one to do just that. I got happy just thinking about talking to him. It was completely irrational and illogical, and went against all reason, but I couldn’t control the way that I felt. Yes, Arin was frustrating, confusing, a tad prickly, and easily upset. He had his flaws - we all did - but he was also caring, willing to listen, and, quite simply, kind. He didn’t push others to do what was too uncomfortable for them to bear, but was willing to help them if they wanted to push themselves out of their usual comfort zones. It was difficult not to want to love a man like that.

I hoped he knew I thought that of him.

I took another sip of champagne at the thought of anybody being sent home soon. “That’d be lovely. There’s so much more I’d like to do, and yet I get the sense that my days here are numbered.” I sighed, looking over the crowd. Much like Reggie, I had considered my own fragile position in this competition. While I felt like there was definitely something between Arin and I, I couldn’t deny that his advisors would probably push some of the other girls over me. What did I really have to bring to the table, after all, besides the ability to speak Swendish, and some killer organizational skills? I may have strong feelings for Arin, but that didn’t necessarily make me worthy of being the queen of a nation. That would take a different kind of person; one with more confidence, poise, and political savvy than I possessed.

So I had begun coming up with background plans. I was a biologist. It was near impossible to imagine my life outside of the Selection without the subject I had been passionate about for nearly all of my almost twenty-one years at this point. If Proctor was going to prevent me from working in labs or research centers in Illéa, then I’d set my sights across the ocean, in the country of my grandparents. Swendway. I’d submitted three transfer applications for the Spring of 2091 - one to the University of Stockholm, one to the University of Oslo, and one final one to the Arctic University of Tromsø. Nothing was set in stone. I likely wouldn’t even hear back from the universities until October or November, but it was still comforting to have a backup plan that wasn’t writing terrible travel brochures, just in case.

I hoped with all my heart that it wouldn’t come to that.

Reggie tilted her head to the side, frowning. “Care to elaborate?”

“It’s just with the recent eliminations, getting so close to the final ten,” I began, turning my head to look at Reggie again, “it’s starting to feel so much more real, you know? We’re not just flying under the radar, sliding through, anymore. We’ve got to be here still for a reason.”

“I'm aware, yes,” she responded, looking as if she was holding in a sigh, “though, I was under the impression you are still here for a reason.”

“Yes,” I began, nodding, “arguably the same reason we’re all here - to win. I just hadn’t expected to get this close. I’ve…” I trailed off, looking at her, trying to determine if she was annoyed by my carrying on. She simply maintained her same curious expression, however. “I’ve definitely learned a lot, just from being here, which I’m beyond grateful to have had the opportunity to do, but I’m not sure I’d be able to apply what I’ve learned to my old life, if I’m to go back to it.”

I wasn’t going back to Knoxville, to Proctor, to Lukas. I refused.

Pressing her lips together, she nodded, looking out over the crowd once more. “I think you will, if that's the case. Perhaps not directly in your lab work, yet these months hold experiences that go even further than work alone.” After a moment’s pause, she furrowed her brows, as if she was confused by her own words. Knowing that Reggie was just as much of a workaholic as I was, I couldn’t blame her. We were both the type to let out work and passions eat away at us until they consumed us whole, controlling out every waking thought and second of time. That wasn’t usually seen as a good thing, but a queen would need a strong work ethic, so I didn’t think it was an entirely terrible trait.

“Indeed. Do you ever think about it - what’s going to happen in the next few months?” I nodded as I took another sip of champagne. This was my third glass, counting the one I had toasted with my parents, and the one I had had at dinner. Maybe I needed to slow my roll. I was beginning to feel more pensive than usual, which was typical of me when I drank wine or champagne.

“I try, since I prefer to plan ahead. However all the things I had planned a couple months ago didn't go as expected either, so perhaps I shouldn't even attempt it.”

I nodded, understanding where she was coming from completely. “I feel the same way. There’s so many different paths this all could take, and there’s only so many occurrences I can plan for,” I finished with a nervous chuckle. Up until a few months ago, I had had my whole life planned out, at least in a vague manner. I was going to graduate college, get a job in a lab, researching potential cures for cancer, buy my own apartment, share said apartment with a dog and some small plants, meet the man of my dreams somewhere along the way, and start a family with him. Our children would watch the two of us grow old, seeing how much we loved each other, and knowing that we loved them just as much.

She raised an eyebrow at me, the corners of her lips twitching upwards ever so slightly. “And if you could plan it?”

That was a good question. There were two main paths my life could take from here. Either, I’d make it all the way, and end up becoming Arin’s wife, or I’d be sent packing at some point. Both paths had their own unique slough of interesting consequences. The former option would mean that I’d likely have to transfer to Angeles University and finish up my education there. I’d have to learn more about what being a princess, and eventually a queen, would entail. In addition, I’d likely also face some pressure to provide Arin with a heir. Hopefully I’d have a few years before people really started pestering me about that. I was just barely an adult myself - I wouldn’t know the first thing about caring for a child.

The latter option would entail first figuring out how to tell my parents that I would not be returning home, since I hadn’t even told them that I’d submitted transfer applications to Swendish universities. The only person I had even sort of confided that to had been Jen. Then, I’d have to get myself to Swendway, and likely find some living arrangements there, make some new friends and professional connections, and figure out how to move on with my life. Ideally, I’d like to still at least be friends with Arin, but I wasn’t entirely sure that’d be possible, at least not immediately. Even just the thought of him choosing someone else over me made my heart ache. I’d better get used to it, though, because statistically speaking, that was the more likely outcome.

Isn’t the prince of Swendway around your age? Maybe you could meet him and fall in love with him instead.

That’d be ironic, and highly unlikely.

I rolled my eyes at Reggie, flashing her a crooked smile. “Do you even have to ask?”

“I was simply not trying to presume anything, Evalin,” she answered, her voice betraying her amusement at the matter.

“Naturally,” I replied with a chuckle. “What if you could plan it - what would that look like?”

“I'd make use of the experience as much as possible, of course. Finish my studies,” she paused, straightening her spine, her voice alight with passion as she spoke, “and hopefully, come back, for a job.”

So her intention in coming here had been to open more doors for her professional life, then. I had to hand it to her, that was an incredibly well thought out plan, that had been an overwhelming success, if you asked me. “Hoping to be an advisor, then?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. Lord only knew that Arin, and likely his future wife, whoever she may be, would need as many of those as they could get.

I’ll give her the job for sure, if I win.

“Possibly.” She kept her tone casual as she looked out over the crowd. “Don't plan to apply for maid, at least.”

Had she just made a joke? I never thought I’d live to see the day! “I’d imagine,” I laughed out, lowering my voice before turning back to the crowd. “You’d be great at it, though. You truly are extremely knowledgeable, and think things over very logically, which is a useful skill.”

She lit up, a wide smile flickering across her face, before it faded back into her more common close-lipped smile. “Thank you.”

Smiling in return, I shook my head. “No need to thank me -” I elbowed her gently in the side “- thank yourself, and the hard work I’m sure you put into it.”

She blinked once as I pulled my elbow back to my side, a small smile playing on her lips as her eyes scanned the room again. They locked in on an important looking man in a suit, standing against the wall by himself. A government official of some sort, then? As I pondered who he might be, Reggie cleared her throat. “Speaking of which -” she pursed her lips “- Good luck tonight, Evalin. Remember to not look down at your feet; it won't help.”

I nodded. It was clear that regardless of who the guy across the room was, she wanted to talk to him. Time for me to return to dancing, then. “Yes, thank you.” With that, I began walking off into the crowd, finishing my glass of champagne and then looking over my shoulder at Reggie. “I’ll see you around, I hope?”

Nodding, she smiled. “Of course.”

I watched as she power walked across the room, impressed that she could do that in heels. My own feet were beginning to hurt, but I knew that I’d be able to ignore that as soon as I started dancing. Surprisingly, I had found that dancing was a lot like running. If I just focused on getting through the first few minutes, my body would go on autopilot, my mind emptying itself of all thoughts as I waltzed and reeled my way through song after song with partner after partner. Some of them were more interesting than others, and I made an effort to keep track of the names of the ones I rather enjoyed chatting and dancing with, but I was beginning to suspect that I wouldn’t remember many of them come morning.

Another song ended, and I curtsied to the man I had just finished up dancing with, laughing as I turned away, my cheeks aching with the size of my unfading smile. This night had truly been exactly the kind of break I had needed.

When I opened my eyes again as I finished laughing, I was greeted with the sight of a hand in front of me. I knew that hand. I had looked upon it often, as I sat on the floor of the Angeles Ballet’s theater, my head resting on his shoulder, and his head on mine. I felt my mouth form an o-shape, and I dragged my gaze upwards, only to be met with Arin’s smiling face.

I couldn’t tell whether my face felt hot from the champagne, or something else entirely.

“May I have this dance?”

Yes, sir. In fact, you can have all of my dances, if you want to.

I placed my hand in his, the same feeling of rightness I had felt that day in the theater washing over me like a wave. “Of course,” I answered with a smile.

He pulled me closer, leading me through the first few steps of the dance. My heart was beating so loudly in my ears that I almost couldn’t hear him as he asked. “How is your night so far?”

I could barely focus, being so close to him. All that champagne had been a bad idea. My walls were lowered, my inhibitions all but gone, and yet, I was kind of okay with it. I was vaguely aware of the fact that I had to be careful, though. I couldn’t kiss him, or anything of the sort, not with all the foreign dignitaries present. It was a damn shame. He looked pretty kissable tonight.

“Pretty good, I’d say,” I answered, already laughing as I planned my next joke. My head lifted upwards, my eyes meeting his as my laughter faded into an amused smile. He had such a nice face - nice to look at, and kind, at its very core. Although, I was pretty sure I only thought that second part because of the kindness he had been showing me, recently.“Warming up, so I don’t accidentally step on the feet of anybody important, you know? What about you?”

He just shrugged. “It hasn't been too bad- just a lot of making the rounds.”

The rounds? Did he mean with the Selected girls? Here I had been, thinking I was special.

Reminder: you really are a goddamned fool.

I didn’t think it was the increased jitteriness and nerves associated with sleep deprivation speaking, this time. Or maybe it was that, just in combination with a good bit of alcohol. Either way, I had questions, and I needed answers if I had any hope of sleeping tonight.

I raised an eyebrow at him, smirking a little. “Is that all this is to you, then?”

He blinked once, as if the question had caught him off guard. I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t have expected it. It had been a few weeks since we had talked, and he had just admitted to making rounds at this party. My question was the product of a logical conclusion I had drawn.

“I was actually taking a break from that, which is why I came over.”

“Good answer.” My eyes were completely lost in his face - his eyes, his lips, the way he was looking at me - as I chuckled. I had to keep talking, if only to prevent myself from doing something I’d live to regret later. So, lowering my voice, I added, “I’d hate to be just another box to check off on your to-do list.”

Not a lie. I wanted to mean something to him. I wanted him to love me.

I couldn’t force him to do that, though.

“Do I make you feel that way?” he asked, curiosity glimmering in his eyes before he looked around us, and then spun me.

I waited until after I was back in front of him to answer, too focused on keeping my balance as I spun to trust myself to talk without falling flat on my ass. Sure, he had fallen in front of me, but not surrounded by foreign royalty and the prominent political figures of Illéa. I kept my voice low as I spoke, just loud enough so that he could still hear me over the music. “Generally, you just kind of make me confused,” I answered honestly, shrugging, and still smiling at him.

He took a deep breath, something about it almost shaky to me. That mustn't have been the answer he’d wanted. Oops. “I seem to get that a lot. I'm working on being more clear.”

“Yes, you’ve told me as much before,” I said, giving him what I hoped was a reassuring smile as I recalled the time we had talked over bourbon in the hallway outside of the library. I wanted to let him know that his efforts weren’t going unnoticed. I saw him trying harder. We were kind of similar in that sense - both more willing to listen to other people’s thoughts and feelings, than to share secrets of our own. It was something we’d have to remedy, if we planned on pursuing this relationship. From what I knew, which admittedly, wasn’t much, good communication was the key to a successful, long-lasting relationship, and right now, Arin and I weren’t there. I hoped that we would be one day, though, sooner rather than later.

“I appreciate it. I’m sure I don’t make it easy either, with my constant questions, and my own -” I paused, trying to find the right word, “- omission of details in most of my answers. I guess it’s something we both have to work on, in a way,” I finished with a shrug.

A small frown crept down his face. “Are you okay, Ev? You seem a little bit off tonight.”

“Ev,” I repeated, my smile softening, my eye drifting down towards the floor to my side. A nickname. He had a fricking nickname for me. Nobody outside of my own family had bothered to give me a pet name, ever. The significance of that one syllable wasn’t lost on me.

“Oh!” My eyes snapped up, focusing on Arin again. Right, he had asked a question! “Yes, I’m good! Really enjoying myself, actually!” This is the best I’ve felt in the past few weeks. All my exhaustion, all my worries, all my plans for the potential futures in front of me were gone, tossed out the window as I looked at him. The couples around us faded into nothingness in my mind, the music itself even dimming out in my ears, until it was just me and Arin, dancing, close together.

“Are you sure?” He smiled, the appearance of it somewhere in between reassuring and concerned. “We can talk about it if you like.”

I wasn’t sure, if I was being honest. I was tired, I was stressed, and I was probably a tad overworked, though that wasn’t really an uncommon combination for me. On top of school, I still didn’t know why my father had called me at two in the morning his time all those weeks ago, or what Lukas had meant when he said things were getting bad back home. I had decided to forego the credit for my biochemistry lab, so I’d have to figure out how I would make that up at some point. I wasn’t sure what Proctor was up to, and the fact that she had been so quiet set me on edge. Lastly, I was nervous about where Arin and I stood in terms of our relationship, if we could even call it that. I knew how I felt, but his feelings were still entirely a mystery to me. I was losing sleep over it all. Most nights, I just laid in my bed for five hours, managing to sleep for maybe half of that time, until I just gave up, and went for my morning run. It wasn’t sustainable. It might help to confide in someone, about it all.

Here was my chance.

My smile faltered. Part of me still wanted to just brush off his concern and say that everything was fine, because he was already stressed enough about his own workload and problems regarding the Selection and politics. I absolutely did not want to add to that. At the same time, though, I had told him multiple times that I would appreciate him being more clear and open with me, and I’d be a complete hypocrite if I didn’t do the same thing in return.

“I’ve just been lost in thought a lot, lately. I -” I shook my head, averting my gaze to the ground the moment I heard my voice crack. I wouldn’t break down. Not here, not now, not yet. “I’d like to be more open, I think, but is this really the time and place?” I looked up at him again, trying my best to smile. Please don’t worry about me. I don’t want to put that on you. “Tonight has been a lot of fun, and you should get to enjoy it too, without having to hear about my problems, that probably aren’t even as big as I think they are anyway.” I hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was worth it to assuage even one of my worries, before taking a chance and adding, “Though, if I could ask you one question, maybe?”

He blinked, that same look of surprise flashing across his face yet again. “Yeah, of course.”

He was going to live to regret that answer. He probably wouldn’t even answer my question - or, in classic Arin fashion, he’d give me a non-answer. Still, if it meant I could sleep a little easier tonight, it would be worth it.

Here goes nothing. “Okay, you asked me how you made me feel, and I gave you my honest answer, but -” I took a deep breath, the sound of it shaky, my shoulders trembling slightly as they rose and fell, and looked up again to meet his eyes “- how do you feel about this?”

“I'm still figuring out my feelings.” His voice was quieter now, the deep breath he took a mirror image of my own. It wasn’t exactly a non-answer, but it wasn’t much of an answer, either. It changed nothing. At least he had been honest, though.

“I'm sorry if that's not the answer you wanted.”

I narrowed my eyes, offering him a small smile as I shook my head. “The only answer I wanted was the truth. I’d rather know that, than you lie and tell me what you think I want to hear.”

“Have I ever done that to you - lied, I mean, about my feelings?” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes darting away for a moment.

This was not the conversation I had intended to have at all. Yet, I was glad we were able to finally be so candid with each other. It was a relief to get his full and real opinion, like the first, frantic breath of air after breaking through the surface of the ocean.

“I don’t think so,” I answered, shaking my head. “I mean, we talked in the hallway, after the roller skating date, and you said you basically wanted to send us all home, and then a few days later, we kissed in the library, which kind of sent out mixed signals, but -” I sighed a little “- I think that’s more on me overthinking than it is on you.” Sorry, for doing that with every interaction we have. I would’ve voiced my thoughts allowed as I looked up at him again, my smile soft, had I not remembered how often he asked me not to apologize. Hadn’t I told him I was working on that? I had to live up to my word, if I expected him to live up to his.

“Well, how do you feel now?” he asked, squeezing my hand gently.

My own gaze drifted down to our hands, clasped together like they were two halves of a whole, like they were meant to hold each other. I needed to stop seeing it like that. He clearly had feelings for other girls. It was best that I brace myself for the worst.

Yet, I couldn’t give up the hope that we might be meant to be.

“A bit better than before, now that we both know where we stand.”

He took a deep breath, holding it for a few moment, before releasing it and asking, “Tell me what you want?”

I narrowed my eyes. What did he mean by that? What did I want right then and there? To dance the night away with him, to laugh, to sneak out with him into someplace secluded, and maybe confuse his feelings a little more by stealing some kisses. Or did he mean the question more generally?

I decided the latter was more likely. “Just to get to know you - even as simply a friend! I -” I swallowed, trying to figure out what direction I should take this sentence in “- I’ve never had many, and I’d like that very much.”

I had more friends now than I had ever had before, and I was afraid I hadn’t been a very good friend to them in return. I’d been stubborn, quick to criticize, aloof, judgemental - everything a friend wasn’t supposed to be.

“Evalin, haven't we been friends?” His voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “I don't take people I don't like to the ballet or give them book recommendations, and I certainly wouldn't ask them to dance with me - unless they're so foreign head of state and I have to.”

Good to know I get the same treatment as a foreign head of state. How romantic.

How to explain myself? “No - I mean, yes, those are things friends would do - but -” my shoulders sagged, and I was unable to quite meet his eye “- I just feel like I don’t know anything about you, is all.”

Why had I said that? Fuck, I was really making a mess of what had been a nice night.

“And I know you’re working on it, and I get that, I just…” I shook my head, my eyes wide as I forced myself to offer him a smile. “Sorry, this isn’t coming out right, at all.”

“Well, what do you want to know?” He tilted his head to the side, his eyes on me, boring into me, like he was trying to read me like a book.

I mimicked his head movement as I considered his question. “Anything, I suppose. Details - I like little details. I’ll even make a trade - a detail for a detail.” Righting my head once again, I gave him a sheepish grin, though it was more genuine than my smile had been moments ago.

“Okay.” He nodded. “Then, ask.”

“Okay.” The question was, what to ask him? I stared at the wall over his shoulder, biting my lip a little as I did. The details I wanted were more personal, and not at all befitting of the time and place. Most embarrassing childhood memory? What would your ideal life look like? Tell me a story that shaped who you are today. “How do you take your coffee?”

I made a mental note to ask him to talk at some point in the upcoming weeks. We could be more open then, and ask less superficial questions, hopefully.

He paused. Then, “Usually I prefer tea, but if I have coffee I like it with a  bit of milk.”

“Any kind of tea, in particular?”

“Earl Grey,” he answered, raising his eyebrows at me.

I wrinkled my nose, laughing at his answer. At home, we referred to Earl Grey as, “the British dishwater tea.” Somehow, it felt like that fit with who he was, as a person.

“Interesting.” No, this isn’t. “So, um, I guess you get a question now, if you want.”

“What's your favorite ice cream flavor?” he asked with a soft smile.

“Strawberry,” I answered without hesitation. Perhaps I could make my answer a little less superficial by elaborating. That might be a good tactic! “There was this little ice cream shop in my mother’s hometown that we always used to go to when we visited my grandparents, that made the best strawberry ice cream I have ever had.” I shook my head, chuckling as I added, “Nothing quite compares.”

“Strawberry is okay.” He looked lost in thought, as if he was mulling over my choice of ice cream flavor. “I prefer chocolate though. Always chocolate.”

“Chocolate can be good. It’s a classic,” I conceded, nodding once, then laughing a little. “As long as you don’t say vanilla is your favorite flavor, we’re good in my book.”

“What's wrong with vanilla?” He narrowed his eyes slightly, furrowing his brows.

“It doesn’t taste like anything!” I wrinkled my nose at the memory of trying vanilla ice cream as a very young child. “It’s like eating ice!”

“I can't say I agree with you there. Vanilla is a good flavor. Just not the best.”

I hummed thoughtfully, shaking my head. With a grin, I replied, “This might be a dealbreaker.”

He shrugged. “Aren't you supposed to accept all flaws in a relationship?”

“I was taught never to compromise my morals in a relationship.” I shook my head, doing my best to keep my expression serious for the sake of the joke, but I couldn’t hold it for more than a few seconds. This conversation was ridiculous. I had to laugh.

He raised his eyebrows at me. “I think it's a mixed bag. Compromises have to be made.”

“Yes, of course,” I agreed, “but not all the time. People can be wrong sometimes.”

“Wrong?” He inclined his head to the side, looking at me with genuine curiosity.

“Yes.” Did he seriously not think that it was possible for some people to be incorrect? The thought was absurd! With a laugh, I continued. “Some things do have a right and a wrong answer, you know?”

“And what about right now? Is one of us right or wrong?”

What did he mean by that? I wasn’t sure if we were talking about ice cream at this point, or something more.Was one of us right or wrong about this relationship? If that was the case, I sure hoped I was right, but did that mean that he didn’t agree that we had something between us, if we disagreed on that?

Ignoring the fact that my head was spinning, I raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you think?”

“Honestly? I’m not even sure anymore?”

Oh, good. “I guess we’re confused together, then,” I announced with a laugh.

He wasn’t as amused as I was, apparently. With a frown, he nodded slowly, his eyes distant even as he looked at me. “I guess we are.”

“Is there something wrong with that?” I inclined my head to the side, frowning now as well.

“Indecision isn't exactly a great quality of a future leader.”

He was right.

The song began to wind down at that moment, and I just about thanked my lucky stars. If we kept going like this, I was either going to kiss him to shut him up, and to shut my own thoughts up, or say something that would get me kicked out of the Selection for sure. Or, worse than both of those options, I might cry. Nope. I needed to get out of here. I’d ask Arin if he could talk another time, when I was more sober, and he didn’t have to make rounds, and there were no foreign dignitaries surrounding us.

“Well, just because you don’t know the answer, doesn’t mean nobody does,” I offered, fixing him with one last smile. “You can ask others for help, input, or advice, you know?”

“About us?” He inclined his head for a moment, keeping his eyes on me even as he let go of my hand and took a few steps away. So, he had meant our relationship, then. Oh, God. He didn’t feel the same way about me that I felt about him, and now he was stepping away, because either he was trying to let me down slowly and gently, or because he just didn’t know what to say.  

I couldn’t breathe. I needed to get out of here.

“In general.” I forced a laugh, curtsying before beginning to back away. “Thank you for the dance, Arin.”

He just nodded. “Of course.”

“See you around!” I offered him one last smile and nod before scurrying off. Air. I needed air. When had it gotten so stuffy in here? I beelined for the doors to the garden, which I had heard had been decorated with lights for the guests. The cool night air would do me some good.

I grabbed another flute of champagne on my way out, downing half of it in one go. More mistakes, but if my days here were numbered more than I had thought they were, I was determined to enjoy my time here while it lasted.

I wasn’t sure where I was walking, but I didn’t really care. The cool night air felt good against my skin, and that was all that mattered to me. There weren’t many people out in the garden at the moment, and those that were walking around weren’t familiar to me. So, I took in the lights and decorations instead, just as intricate as their indoor counterparts. To think that this might be one of the last time I walked these paths…

No. I couldn’t let my mind wander down that path. For all I knew, I was just overthinking things again, and in my tipsy stupor, Arin had confused me, and I had confused him in turn. We really needed to work on our communication skills. I’d have to start asking him to clarify what he was trying to say when I couldn’t tell in the future. It didn’t matter if doing so made me sound unintelligent; he already knew that I was smart. He had called me as much before we had kissed in the library. Very smart. Stunning. Adorable. Plus, he had said he liked me.

We were going to be okay. I just had to breathe.

There was a person blocking the path in front of me. I squinted, trying to make out who it was in the dim lighting, based off of their silhouette alone.

Hugo.

It was nice to see a friendly face. Or, rather, to kind of see a friendly face, given the lighting.

I walked up to him, watching the way he just seemed to stare into the distance, looking at everything and nothing in particular, his hands in his pockets. “Stopping to smell the roses?” I asked, chuckling a little at my own joke.

He turned around, smiling softly as I came to a stop a few feet from him. “Oh, hi, Evalin. How are you tonight?”

“I’m really good, actually,” I lied, smiling as I attempted to keep the good spirits I had been in at the start of the ball alive. “How are you?”

He looked at the ground for a moment, his smile growing as he did. Someone must have made him very happy tonight, then. At least somebody here knew where they stood in a relationship.

“I'm doing really well, thanks,” he answered, glancing around. “What brings you out here?”

“The breeze,” I answered, moving to stand beside him, my attention caught by the yellow flowers that dotted the bush in front of us, “and the fresh air. I never thought a room here could feel so stuffy.” Wrinkling my nose, I looked up at him, a small smile playing at my lips.

“And this wasn't that stuffy at all,” he replied with a laugh, taking a deep breath.

I felt my eyes go wide as I considered his words. The crowds could get bigger than this? From the sounds of it, they very likely could, and often did. That didn’t necessarily seem like a bad thing to me, though. The only reason I had felt like I had needed the fresh air to begin with was because of my own thoughts, and Arin, muddling them up even further.

So I shook off my concern, taking a sip of champagne before turning to look at Hugo again. Speaking of Arin…

“Oh, while I have you here - I wanted to thank you, for, uh, encouraging -” there was a certain uptilt to my voice, like the verb I had used was the only thing I was questioning within the sentence “- me to ask Arin to take me to the ballet. We went, and it was amazing.” It really had been. I couldn’t figure out why I had even freaked out about the possibility of Arin not liking me, I realized, a smile creeping back onto my face. That entire night had been so lovely. There was no way something that wasn’t real could feel so right.

He tossed a smile in my direction, turning his head to look at me. “Did it? I'm really glad. I know he can be difficult sometimes, so I'm really glad he took you.”

Yeah, “difficult,” is one way to put it.

“You know, when you first suggested it, I thought it was crazy. I had to wonder if we were even talking about the same Arin, you know?” I snorted, shaking my head. “He’s complex.”

He raised his eyebrows at me, the movement so similar to what I had seen Arin do many times before, that it was hard for me to comprehend how I hadn’t realized they were related earlier on during my first meeting with Hugo. “Aren't we all?”

He was right. Even I had noticed how some of the traits that frustrated me the most about Arin were traits that I exhibited myself. I had likely been too quick to judge Arin, after our first few interactions.

“Arin's always been a bit -” Hugo paused, glancing off into the distance “- different, but there's some good there even if it's hard to see sometimes.”

Once again, Hugo was right, I realized, feeling my smile soften.“I think I see it, sometimes.” My voice was distant, even to my own ears, as I thought about the moments of kindness that still shone through to me - the way Arin always offered to listen, the way he never pushed me for details if I didn’t want to share, even the way he had literally pulled over the car to help me with my nosebleed. Had I offered him the same compassion in return? I wasn’t sure I had.

Turning back to Hugo, I concluded, “But you’re absolutely right. Complexity is what makes humans so human, for lack of a better word.”

He nodded in agreement, but his words contradicted the motion. “But sometimes simplicity is best - like the way those lights in the garden look, or how there's something so calming about night air.”

“That’s why science was always so appealing to me,” I admitted, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. “There’s a right answer, and a wrong answer, with little room for interpretation, most of the time.”

“I like the in between - where there's no right or wrong. Where everything is open for interpretation.”

“Is that not more complex?” I furrowed my brows, turning my head to look at him once again. Did such a thing even exist? Sure, there were shades of grey in many conceptual arguments, but there was still a spectrum of right and wrong. It was what governed human morality, and the majority of our actions.

Hugo simply shrugged in response. “Not to me. It just feels right. Like that tree over there -” he pointed “- I don't need to know all the tiny details about how it works to see that it's beautiful.”

I tilted my head a bit, biting the inside of my cheek as I followed his finger to the tree he had mentioned, all the while considering his words. Had it not been for the one brain cell in my head still functioning properly, I might have started to explain xylem and phloem to him, and why they were important to the survival of the tree. That made more sense to me than the argument that the existence of the tree itself was just beautiful. Beauty was such a subjective thing. The tree wasn’t ugly, sure, but I wouldn’t have described it as beautiful, either. It was just a tree, plain and simple. Why complicate it, and assign it more adjectives?

“That makes sense,” I relented, though I still wasn’t entirely sure I agreed. “I guess just knowing the tiny details makes the big picture more interesting, to me.”

He looked down at me once more, offering me a small smile. “And that's fine. That's what makes you who you are.”

I blinked a couple of times, not prepared to handle talking with a Stanton or Schreave and being introspective at the same time. One often baffled me, and the other was something I actively tried to avoid. I was tipsy, sure, but not nearly enough to be having this conversation. Taking another sip of champagne, I nodded slowly, mustering up the courage to ask the only question on my mind at the moment. “Is my need to know everything really that obvious?” And is it as annoying as I imagine it to be?

His affirming nod made my stomach roll. “Yeah, but it isn't bad. It's just part of who you are.”

“Duly noted,” I replied, nodding and letting out a wry laugh before averting my gaze to the lights again. At least he was trying to make it seem like I was less nosy than I must seem. With a half smile, I went to ask my next question, the irony of me doing so not lost on me. “Any other facets of my personality I need to be made aware of?”

“Sweet, funny, has a nice laugh,” he answered, turning his head upwards, his eyes locking in on the stars.

“Oh.” I blushed at the compliment, finishing off the little bit of champagne I had left. I’d been expecting him to point out more areas of myself that I might improve upon, but I supposed what he had said was welcome as well. Maybe it was just the alcohol, but his voice began to mingle with Arin’s in my mind. Very smart. Sweet. Stunning. Funny. Adorable. Has a nice laugh.

I needed to focus on something else. I had come out here to get out of my head, not further into it.  

I followed his gaze upwards, taking in the stars, which were surprisingly easy to see, despite the fact that we were fairly close to a large metropolitan area. I had expected the light pollution levels to be higher. Nonetheless, I squinted at the stars, attempting to see if I could make out anything familiar. My grandfather had tried to teach my siblings and I how to use the stars as a method of navigation when we were younger, but it had never really stuck with me. I did, however, recognize one constellation, shaped like a lopsided box. “You can see Lyra really well tonight,” I observed, pointing it out.

“Which one is it?” he asked, squinting in the direction I was pointing. With a little laugh, he added, “Sorry, I haven't picked out constellations since I was a kid.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him with a laugh, “Lyra is the only one I really know, because it made me so angry as a kid.”

“It’s so stupid,” I complained to my father. “It’s a diagonal square. How is that a constellation?”

I pointed upwards towards the brightest star in the constellation, a ball of gas three times the size of our own sun. “That bright star is Vega, which is the bottom right corner. Then, connect the dots into a lopsided parallelogram -” I traced the shape in the sky with my index finger “- and voilà - Lyra.”

I felt his eyes on me as I drew the constellation in the air, watching him nod out of the corner of my eyes when he finally saw what I was pointing out. “Aha! There it is!”

“Yep!” I offered him another smile before looking back up at the lopsided parallelogram that had the audacity to call itself a constellation - and a lyre, at that! The homonym “liar,” was more fitting, in my opinion. “It’s a funny little thing.”

He glanced over at me again. “I'm impressed. Thanks for pointing it out to me.”

“No problem,” I replied, shaking my head. “As I said, though, my knowledge of constellations starts and ends there, so I can help you no further, I am afraid.”

At that, he laughed, the sound mingling with the crickets and the low voices of the other people in the gardens. “Well, that's better than my absolute lack of knowledge.”

“Is it, though?” I angled my head towards him a bit, a small smile playing at my lips. “Hear me out - if you know nothing, nobody questions you on it, because nobody expects you to have the answers, but if you know the bare minimum about a subject, people ask you questions as if you’re an expert, because they expect you to know all the answers, even if you don’t.”

Once again, he laughed, though I couldn’t quite figure out what about what I had just said warranted such a reaction. “Well, then it looks like I need to brush up on trivial facts so I can become an expert on everything.”

If only. I laughed. “It works until someone asks you an easy question that you would know, and you answer it incorrectly.”

“Didn't you say the bare minimum is enough to make you an expert?”

No, I hadn’t. At least, I didn’t think that I had. That hadn’t been what I was trying to say.

“It’s enough to make some people expect you to be an expert,” I explained again, frowning. “Sorry, I must’ve jumbled up my words when I spoke earlier.”

“Perhaps it's the champagne?” He laughed again. Maybe that was all he knew how to do, in these types of situations.

I laughed lightly, feeling some of the heat that had left my face return. “I’d like to think I’m not that much of a lightweight.”

“The bubbles can catch you off guard,” he offered by way of explanation.

I shot him a look out of the corner of my eyes, a joking smile on my face. “Speaking from experience?”

“This isn't my first ball,” he answered, chuckling. The thought of Hugo drunk, or even tipsy, was rather entertaining to me. It seemed like something most of the members of the royal family were somehow above, though I supposed it was impossible for someone to be completely immune to the effects of alcohol. They’d probably all been drunk or tipsy at some point. They were human, after all. Why did I have to keep reminding myself of that?

I nodded. “Of course. Fond memories?”

The smile that lit up his face was answer enough. “I always take away at least one good memory from a ball.”

“Any notable ones from tonight yet?” I asked, nodding once as I looked back up from the sky. It was a good philosophy, to always look for the silver lining. It was something I should try and do more often, if I was being honest with myself. It might spare me from some of the negativity I had been feeling as of late.

Hugo averted his gaze to the ground. “One or two.”

I smiled at him, genuinely happy, for his sake. He was a nice guy, and, much like everyone else present tonight, deserved to enjoy himself. “Good. I’m glad to hear you’re having a good time!”

“Are you having a good time?” he asked, looking back up at me.

Hadn’t I already answered this question at the beginning of our conversation?

“Yes,” I answered firmly. “This is the most I’ve danced, ever, I think, and I’ve only stepped on three peoples feet, which is a personal best, for me.”

“I'm glad to hear you're having fun,” he replied with a laugh. “I know these sorts of events can be a bit tricky sometimes.”

“Thank you. It’s -” my smile softened a bit, as I considered the manner in which I’d have spent this evening if I was back in Carolina, surrounded by my family, “- different, but not necessarily in a bad way.”

“It's all about who you dance with,” he stated, smiling. “According to my sister you should avoid Clarke Monroe at all costs, ‘no matter how cute he is’.” With a laugh, he answered my question before I could even ask it. “That's a direct quote.”

I chuckled. I hadn’t met his sister yet, but she sounded like a fun girl to be around, if that sort of statement was typical of her. “I haven’t bumped into Mr. Monroe yet, but I’ll keep an eye out,” I said, nodding once. Then, sighing, I looked around us one last time, my gaze lingering on the palace doors in the distance. I couldn’t spend the entire night out here, as nice as it might be.

Turning to Hugo, I  decided, “Speaking of which, I think I’m going to head back in.”

“I think I'll stay out here a little longer,” he replied, inclining his head a bit. Then, with a glance towards the palace and a smile, he amended, “Not too long, though.”

I couldn’t help but wonder who that smile might be for as I began to back away, meeting his smile with one of my own. “Well, if you find yourself in need of a dance partner, I promise to try my best not to step on your toes.”

He just laughed. “I just might take you up on that offer.”

“Well, you know where to find me if you do, but if you don’t, then enjoy the rest of the dance.” I waved one last time, before turning around and heading back inside.

True to my word, once I returned back inside, I danced until I couldn’t feel my feet at all anymore. Somewhere along the way, I had consumed another glass of champagne, though I swore up and down to myself that that would be my last one of the night. I didn’t want to accidentally fall asleep before midnight, when we’d throw the powder in the air. That was the part I had been looking forward to the most.

As another song ended, I made the decision to take a break and leave the dance floor. I was breathless, and knew I was red in the face as I chuckled to myself, drunk on happiness and joy, more so than just champagne. It was time for some water, and maybe some conversation. I scanned the room as I picked up the tiny plastic cup of water from the refreshment table, my eyes stopping when I spotted Clemence sitting by herself off to the side of the room, a plate of what looked like cake on the table in front of her. That seemed odd, for her, but I shook my concern off for the moment, deciding to approach her and at the very least say hello. I hadn’t seen her in ages.

“Hello!” I called as I got closer to where she was sitting, waving to her with the hand that was not holding my cup of water.

Clemence was using a fork to cut another bite of cake as I approached. Hearing my voice, she looked up, blinking once, as if she was seeing the ball, and the people dancing around her for the first time. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, hey, Evalin.”

Something was wrong.

I frowned, pulling out one of the chairs next to her, and taking a seat. Clemence had been there for me whenever I had needed her to be. She had been the definition of a good friend, and what had I been, besides an additional source of stress in her life?

It was time to repay the favor. “Is everything alright?”

“Fine enough,” she answered with a distracted bod, taking another bite and looking around as she chewed. She didn’t sound or look fine at all. Remembering what she had shared with me the first time we had spoken, I frowned, ready to sit with her the entire night, if that was what she needed.

Before I could say anything else, she asked, “Enjoying the ball?”

“Very much,” I answered, my frown deepening despite my positive feelings towards the majority of the night’s activities. “You?”

Clemence shrugged, the smile on her face clearly forced. “I’ve had better balls, to be honest.”

Yeah, okay, Clemence. Between her faked contentment with her current situation, whatever it was, and her uppity joke, it was impossible for me to not roll my eyes. I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her, though. Hadn’t I been trying to cover up my own problems in front of everyone else I had talked tonight? We were all going through the wringer right now, it seemed.

So I offered her a small smile. “The closest I’ve ever come to a ball was high school prom,” I joked, shaking my head at the memory. At the time, it had seemed like the worst night of my life. I had begrudgingly agreed to go with a boy from my calculus class, despite the fact that I loathed his personality and sense of humor, just for the sake of having a date to take pictures with. He had insisted on my sitting with him and his friends instead of letting me sit with June, and had stepped on the hem of my dress multiple times when we had danced, staining the light green fabric brown by the end of the night. To top it all off, during dessert, he had spilled his coffee in my lap. Not exactly a night to be remembered fondly. Still, it was humorous in retrospect.

Clemence’s smile was more genuine now, as she tilted her head, a hint of curiosity glimmering in her eyes. “This must be quite the change.”

“It is.” I nodded, smiling as I looked over the crowd. I had never been in a situation like this, though as I had said earlier, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Yet, I couldn’t help but wish things were as simple as they had been before this, before the Selection. “I toasted a glass of champagne with my parents’ beers over FaceTime while I was getting ready today. They’re barbecuing.”

Her answering laugh was choked, as if she wanted to laugh but couldn’t really bring herself to. It was sad, to see her so upset. Clemence was always so warm, welcoming; she always had some happiness to bring to others. What could have upset her like this? More importantly, what could I do to help?

“I almost forgot people out of here celebrated too,” she admitted.

I shook my head. “I think they’re celebrating having off from work more than anything else,” I admitted, but that was besides the point. I turned my head to look at Clemence again, half tempted to just reach over and grab her hand, and give it a reassuring squeeze, but I hesitated. I wasn’t sure she was the kind of person that liked the sense of touch when she was upset. What if I made her more uncomfortable?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I tried again. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” You’ve helped me so much; please let me return the favor.

She only nodded, taking another bite of her cake. “I know, but it’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

I raised an eyebrow at her, rather skeptical of the truth of that statement, but I didn’t press her for details. If she wanted to talk about it, she knew where to find me. Instead, I could try and cheer her up.

With a small smile, I asked, “Besides today, how have things been? It’s been so long since we last talked!”

She raised her eyebrows, her eyes scanning the crowded dance floor until they settled on their target. Arin. Interesting. Her smile softened as she looked at him.

Interesting, indeed.

“Wild,” she answered, “but not unwelcome.” Her eyes were glazed over, her mind clearly not in the room at the moment.

I grinned. It wasn’t easy knowing she, along with other girls, I was sure, was developing feelings for Arin as well, but when she looked at him, she looked more at peace than she had before. She deserved that bit of happiness. I had no control over who he chose in the end, after all. Besides, Clemence would make an amazing queen.

So, why was I so torn up inside about her liking him?

“Now, that’s a change of tune I never thought I’d hear from you,” I teased, nudging her a little with my elbow.

She blinked as she turned back to me, as if she had forgotten that I was sitting there. “He’s still an idiot,” she stated, though her fond smile betrayed how she truly felt about the matter.

My heart might have broken, had I let it. I couldn’t though. Not here, not now.

I nodded in agreement, chuckling. “He has one of the worst short term memory spans I’ve ever encountered.”

“I guess he has,” she agreed, turning away with a pensive look on her face.

“No,” I explained with a laugh, “I mean, he took me to see the Angeles Ballet, and afterwards he asked me what I wanted for dinner, and I said seafood, and he said okay, and then five minutes later when we got in the car, he asked me the same exact questions again.”

She let out a small laugh at the story, seeming genuinely interested in the conversation for the first time since we had started talking. “In his defense, the ballet probably turned his brain all mushy. What did you see?”

I was kind of surprised by her answer, considering her figure skating background, but I let it slide, laughing lightly. The fans of the ballet were few and far between, apparently. “Don Quixote,” I answered. “It was the best case scenario. Had it been anything else, he probably would’ve fallen asleep.”

“I would’ve slept too,” she admitted, smiling as she looked away once again. “I performed to Don Quixote, once.”

“Really?” How had I not know that? “That’s so cool!”

She looked downright melancholic when she responded. She must have really missed her figure skating career - that much was obvious, written all over her face.. Was that why she was so sad? Did being here somehow remind her of that? Did today’s date mean something to her, in terms of her career? It was the summer, though, so that last possibility didn’t make a ton of sense.

“It was at my first Olympics,” she explained. “Seems like a lifetime ago. I was a baby.”

“If you were a baby, then I must have been a fetus,” I joked.

“Thirteen is fetus age indeed,” she teased. “Barely an actual teenager.”

“And sixteen is definitely baby, age,” I agreed, nodding. “My younger brother is sixteen now, and the rest of us definitely have the urge to protect him at all costs.” I wondered what Randall was up to now. Was he looking at universities? Had he decided what he wanted to study yet? It had been so long since we’d talked, which was kind of sad. We’d grown close the past few years, being the last kids left at home.

“I was fifteen, actually.” She inclines her head towards the size, her eyes darker as she continued to think. “So I guess it’s newborn age?”

“Wait, when’s your birthday?” I could’ve sworn she was three years older than me. Maybe I was mistaken, though. I should definitely not have any more champagne. “I’m going to be twenty-one in almost exactly a month.”

“I’ll be twenty-three in November,” she answered, raising an eyebrow at me. “Arin isn’t the only one with memory issues, it seems.”

“Right,” I said, doing my best to ignore her jab at my memorization skills. Memorization was one of my strongest assets; I was just very much drunk right now. “Okay, you mentioned you were a sixty-seven baby, but not when in sixty-seven -“ I nodded “- but I’m going to place the blame on the champagne, just this once.” I tried to laugh off her earlier insult, which she had probably only meant as a joke, but I couldn’t shake it, especially now, knowing that she actually liked Arin.

“I also said I was still twenty-two,” she replied with a wink, “but, yeah, we’ll say it’s the champagne.”

I smiled a bit, shaking my head. I remembered her calling me a baby, and saying she had been born in sixty-seven, but not when her birthday was, or her age. Oh, well. “Sorry, I must have missed that.”

“Sure,” she responded, rolling her eyes. “Not memory loss at all.”

I grimaced, inhaling sharply. If she insulted my memory one more time, I was going to lose it, which was counterintuitive to the purpose I had come over here with. “If I have early onset memory loss, that’s going to be a big problem, because online classes just started recently.” A slight change in subject, but nothing so drastic that she’d think she’d bothered me. An ideal solution.

“Oh, already? Sorry, I’m more used to the German calendar.” She patted my hand. “But I’m sure you’ll do great. You were doing fine before summer break, right?”

I had been doing much better than “fine,” actually. I had made the dean's list every semester, had made close connections with most of my professors, had secured my internship, which was coveted amongst biology majors. I was on top of my game.

Humility is a virtue, Evalin.

“Yeah, but being online is kind of weird,” was the response I settled on as I wrinkled my nose. It was odd only having power points, with limited audio lectures, and only being able to ask questions via email. “I suppose it’s only temporary, though, because eventually I’ll either have to transfer, or go home.” And by that, I mean I’ll go and make a new home for myself somewhere else.

“This Selection starts being a long pause in our lives, doesn’t it?”

I bit my lip, shaking my head before turning to look at Clemence again. “I feel like it was more of a jump start, for me, at least. It was the kick out the door that I needed.”

That much was true. If I hadn’t been Selected, I likely never would have left Carolina. I wouldn’t know nearly as much about the world, or even just this country, as I did now, and I wouldn’t have made any of the connections that had forced me to open my eyes to the problems that existed in the current day.

I probably would’ve ended up with Lukas, out of convenience. I didn’t know where that realization had come from, but it didn’t sit well with me. Had I really been that ready to settle? Thank God I had been Selected.

Clemence only nodded.

My presence here was clearly doing nothing, except for putting me in a worse mood. With a sigh, I finished the last of my water, inclining my head slightly as I put the glass down, offering Clemence another smile. “I think I’m going to head back out and dance some more. Do you want to come?”

Her wince as she eyed the dance floor answered the question before she did. “No, I’ll stay here with my cake, but thank you.” She flashed me a right smile, one of her hands clutching her dress.

If she didn’t want to talk, that was fine, I couldn’t force her to, but she clearly wasn’t okay. I just wished there was something I could do, or say, to make her feel better. Maybe I should send Arin her way. She had looked happier when she looked at him. The heartbreak would be worth it, if it meant my friends were happy.

But what if he chooses me over her? Would she be happy for me then?

I was tempted to say yes, but I didn’t know for sure.

I needed to move.

“Alright,” I replied with a soft smile, pushing my chair in and beginning to scan the crowd for my next dance partner. I needed to forget about this conversation. “Well, don’t hesitate to wave me over if you need anything!”

“Thank you, but I have a waiter dedicated to me already,” she stated, pointing towards one of the waiters with a slightly amused smile. The message was clear. I don’t need you.

That was fine. I looked back at her over my shoulder, wiggling my eyebrows with a laugh. “Well, I won’t get in the way of that! I’ll see you around!”

With that, I began to walk away, spotting a man in a suit who appeared to be in need of a dance partner. I didn’t know who he was, and quite frankly, I didn’t care. I just needed to get out of here.

Clemence waved her hand in response, rolling her eyes with a little smile. “Don’t drink too much champagne! You have no idea how many diplomatic incidents could be avoided without it!”

“Don’t worry, I’m winning all the foreign dignitaries over with my grace, charm, and good looks,” I assured her sarcastically, adding in a wink for good measure.

She laughed. “Keep up with that good work, then.”

“I live to serve,” I joked with a small, mocking curtsy, before taking the opportunity to exit.

Clemence liked Arin. She had a familial background in politics and international relations. She was beloved by any Illéan who watched figure skating, and had a truly kind and compassionate heart.

I was so screwed.

That was a problem for another day.

I lost myself in the music again, paying only the bare minimal attention to my surroundings. I was pretty sure I had seen Arin dancing with Felicity at one point, but I didn’t care to confirm whether or not I had actually witnessed that. He was figuring out his feelings, still, with a lot of people, apparently. Me. Jen. Clemence. Felicity. Probably more, if I was being honest. He was entitled to that. I just needed to stop being a jealous bitch.

By eleven-thirty, I was running out of new people to dance with. I had already had a second dance with some of the guests, though not with Arin. I had lost track of him at some point in the past hour or so, but that might have been for the better. My fatigue was starting to get to me. I just needed to push through until midnight, when we’d get to throw the powder in the air. I wanted to be here for that.

Someone was heading my way. Idalia. It had been ages since I’d seen her - since she’d almost made me cry. I had almost forgotten about that.

She looked radiant tonight as she crossed the floor towards me, smiling widely. I had seen her here and there throughout the night, either talking with the Italians, or dancing with Wylan, but she’d never been alone when I had spotted her, so I’d never had the chance to say hello. Now, though, I waved, making my way to her as fast as I could in this dress and these heels, hugging her as soon as we had made it to each other. The one positive lesson I had learned from our last conversation was that she gave great hugs, and I could have used one right about then.

Pulling away, I smiled, holding her on the shoulders at an arm’s length. “Hello!”

Her eyes were a bit wide as she looked at me, but she smiled nonetheless. “How’s the night going?”

The night had had its ups and downs, especially by this point, but I didn’t miss a beat, giggling a bit for good measure. The champagne helped. “It’s been so much fun! How’s yours been?”

“Lovely,” she answered, raising an eyebrow at me. “How was dancing with Arin?”

Well, in Arin’s own words, it sure was something.

“It was good! It was nice to be able to talk to him, even if it was only for a few minutes.” I smiled, looking for him one last time in the crowd. I wasn’t sure why. Was I hoping he’d come back over to me, and offer me another dance? That was impractical. He was busy making rounds, after all.

I turned back to Idalia. “How was dancing with Wylan?” I asked, being sure to lower my voice as I wiggled my eyebrows at her.

“Why are you saying it like that?” She asked in response, looking around us, like anyone hearing that she danced with Wylan would accuse her of committing a crime. As if other Selected hadn’t been dancing with people other than Arin all night long. “It was just a dance.”

“Okay,” I practically sang, finishing with a laugh. “Whatever you say!”

“Evalin, stop it!” Her words were annoyed, but her tone betrayed her amusement.

“Sorry,” I replied with a laugh, “as your friend, it’s basically my job to tease you.”

Idalia just shook her head. “How much have you been drinking?”

Too much.

“Just enough,” I answered with a smirk.

She narrowed her eyes, like she didn’t quite believe me, and I couldn’t blame her. However, she didn’t push it. “Well, I do have some good news.”

Thank God one of us did.

I raised my eyebrows, my curiosity piqued. “Do tell!”

“Dancing with Arin was not terrible.”

He really is making the rounds.

“No, he was one of my favorite dance partners of the night.” I smiled, scanning the crowd for him once more. He had to be out there, but there was no way he was looking for me. At least, it wasn’t likely.

“Well,” she began, chucking, “I don't know if I would say it was my favorite, but it was good.”

I opened my mouth, about to ask her what she meant by that, but before I could, someone announced that midnight was getting closer. As soon as the announcement ended, Idalia stood up straighter, and turned to face me. “We should go pick a color!”

“Yes!” This was what I had stayed for! I grabbed Idalia’s hand, pulling her behind me as I made a beeline for the bags filled with shimmery powders. “I’ve been so excited for this part!”

“Let me guess, you're doing yellow?”

“Well,” I started, my tone a mix of sarcastic and mock-offended, “now that you said that, I think I’ll have to pick something else!”

She laughed, the sound barely audible over the music. “Hey, you can do whatever you want.”

“No, I know,” I reassured her, shrugging. “I’ll just see what catches my eye.”

“I heard some are shimmery!” She exclaimed excitedly, practically jumping up and down as we made our way closer.

Her enthusiasm was infectious, I had to admit, my own eyes going wide at her description. “That sounds so pretty!” We were like two kids in a candy store, given permission by out parents to buy whatever we wanted.

Her grin only grew as we finally reached the area where the bags were sitting, her eyes drinking in every color option, considering each choice with equal time. Despite my earlier protest, my eyes were immediately drawn to the yellows. They stood out to me, their vibrant hues like little rays of sunlight, brightening my day without any effort whatsoever. I tapped my index finger against my lip, trying to decide just which shade of yellow to grab. Should I go for a darker, richer, gold, as lavish as the decorations around me, or a lighter, pastel yellow, shimmery and bright with hope?

I stopped my debate to look at Idalia, whose eyes were darting between about three different bags. “Do you know why yellow is my favorite color?”

She perked up, dragging her eyes away from the neutral tones she had been considering. “Because it’s happy to look at?”

“Because of what it symbolizes,” I answered, offering Idalia a small smile. “According to color theory, yellow represents optimism, joy, hope, intellect, and loyalty - all things I think we could use a little more of in life.” All things I could use a little more of right now.

It’d be fine, I reassured myself, as soon as I got a restful night of sleep. There would be more of those in the future, now that the craziness surrounding the ball was over. I’d have a bit more time to sleep, to relax, to talk with Arin.

It seemed like no matter what I did tonight, my thoughts went back to him.

Idalia flashed me an amused smile. “Ah, color theory. My dad was always fascinated by color psychology even if it’s a very niche subfield. Talking about it with my mom around was always fun.” That sounded like it was in character for her parents, for what she had told me of them. They sounded like lovely people, who it would be interesting to speak with, should I ever have the opportunity.

“What’s your favorite color?” I smiled, raising an eyebrow at Idalia as I settled on a bag of yellow powder the color of daffodils - my favorite shade of yellow. It wasn’t as dark and powerful as gold, but wasn’t as soft and washed out as paler shades of yellow.

She made her way over to powder bags containing more shimmery tones, smiling as she looked down upon them. “It’s been a while since I’ve been asked that one. What’s your guess?”

Biting down on the inside of my cheek, I narrowed my eyes at her, as if I’d be able to see the answer on her face if looked heard enough. She wasn’t a red, or a blue - that much was for sure. Definitely a warmer color, but not yellow. That left one answer. “Based on color theory, I’m going to go with orange, because it represents warmth, fire, energy, and excitement, and you’re exemplary of all of those things.”

“Orange is at the top for sure,” she replied with a grin, picking up a bag of pearl white shimmery powder, flecked with pieces of fuscia and blue, “but if I really had to pick, I would say gold.”

Of course an Olympian athlete would say something along those lines. With a smile, I responded, “I can see that. I suppose your future Olympic gold will fit in well with the rest of your home decor when you have your own place to decorate, then.”

She laughed, dragging me by the wrist, away from the crowd of people trying to get powder for themselves as well. “I don’t know if I would go for gold decor but glad that’s where your mind is going. I’m a women of simple tastes.”

“I can also see that,” I admitted, humming thoughtfully to myself as she pulled me further into the room. “All I wanted in terms of decorations for my dream apartment was plants.”

“I haven’t even thought about moving out of my family’s home yet,” she admitted, her tone more amused than sad. That was good. I didn’t want Idalia to be sad. She was always so cheery and happy. I admired that about her.

“I thought I had a good two years, at least, until I left home,” I stated, absentmindedly smiling. I had imagined taking my college graduation photos on our front porch steps, side by side with June. I’d have been there for Randall’s high school graduation, and all of the events surrounding it. I could’ve even driven him home from his first college party, if he had stayed local as well, which I was pretty confident he would. My entire childhood was tied to that house, from the stairs I had tumbled down as a toddler, to the small bedroom where I had whispered my dreams into the dark, to the attic that contained a mystery that I’d likely never solve, now that I knew I wasn’t going back.

How long had I been zoned out for? I snapped back to the present, smiling wider at Idalia now, repeating what I’d told Clemence earlier tonight. “I’m glad this kicked me out the door a little earlier, though. I think I’ve learned more in these past few months than I ever have before.”

Her smile faltered, and she asked, “Is everything alright back home?”

The question caught me off guard. Without a real answer to give her, I sighed. “I think so? We FaceTimed today, and everyone looks well, but I did have an odd phone call with my father a few weeks ago.” I shook my head, looking down for a moment before meeting Idalia’s gaze again, this time forcing myself to smile. “I’m probably just overthinking it, don’t worry!”

She ignored my request, and frowned, definitely worrying. “Is he concerned for you?”

“He seemed like he was, but I was more concerned as to what he was doing in the lab at two in the morning.” I closed my eyes, shaking my head in a short, rapid motion at the memory of the phone call. When I reopened my eyes, I looked at Idalia, waving my hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. “Seriously, don’t worry about it though! That’s my job,” I finished, nudging her with my shoulder, hoping the playful gesture would ease her worries.  

She didn’t seem convinced, but luckily for me, the countdown to midnight started right then. We joined the crowd, practically squealing with excitement as we screamed along with the countdown, out voices lost in the cacophony of shouts around us. As soon as we hit the end of the countdown, I looked over at her, throwing most of my powder into the air, being sure to save a small amount in my bag. I looked up, watching the different colors descend back down upon us all like a tangible rainbow dissolving after. It was magical, in every sense of the word. I was beyond glad that I had stayed for this, instead of calling it a night early.

I turned to Idalia again, a mischevious grin spreading across my face as I reached for the remaining powder in my bad, flicking it towards her. She gasped in response, glaring at me as she flung her own remaining powder at my chest.

I could only laugh as I crumpled my now empty bag in my hands, shaking my head just to watch some of the powder drift down, out of my hair. “Thank you,” I began, turning to Idalia once more, “for keeping me company at this point, when I know there’s other people you probably would have loved to throw powder at.”

“I came to throw the powder with you because I wanted to!” She looked downright offended that I’d suggested otherwise.

“Well, thank you nonetheless.” I offered her the biggest smile I could muster, though it wasn’t much. I hugged her once more, waiting until I had pulled away to add, “I think I’m going to call it a night. I’m dead tired.”

“Alright,” she conceded, smiling back at me as she pulled away. “Do you need me to come along? I can come back right after.”

“Only if you want to. You by no means have to,” I answered with a shrug. Idalia was too nice to be true. How had I found such a good friend?

“I don’t know if I trust you to make it back,” she admitted, hooking her arm through mine. “I’ll take you back.”

We were silent the rest of the way back to my room, pausing only long enough for me to hug her goodnight before she turned back the way we had came. As soon as I was inside of my room, Julia, Christina, and Grace were all on their feet, rushing towards me to help me undress, to assist in removing my makeup and contact lenses, and, of course, to ask for more details about my night. I gave them as much as I could bear, watching their face light up when I had mentioned dancing with Arin, in particular. They knew just how hopeless I was, and I think they sort of loved me for it, somehow.

I frowned as I looked in the mirror, noticing just how covered in glitter I was. “Should I shower before getting into bed? I’d hate to make you have to wash glitter out of my sheets tomorrow, but I am exhausted.”

“I’m sure,” Julia said, crossing her arms once she had handed off my dress to Grace. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

I just shook my head, exhaling heavily through my nose. “Not much, but still, I can stay up the extra fifteen minutes it’d take me to shower. I’d hate to create more work for you.”

“Nonsense!” she scolded, ushering me towards my bed, going as far to pull back the sheets to make it easier for me to get in. “If you made any less work for us, we’d all be out of a job!”

“I just have one last thing to do, then,” I decided, sidestepping around her, and then walking towards my desk and pulling out a piece of paper. I had planned earlier on on writing Arin a note, to send tomorrow or later in the week, depending on my own schedule, and I’d be darned if I was going to forget to do it.

The note itself only took me a minute to write, though I didn’t pay close attention to my diction, or the legibility of my handwriting, too eager to get into bed to bother with that.

Arin,

Do you have any spare time to talk, this week, maybe? I’d like to clear the air. I’m genuinely very sorry if anything I said at the ball upset you - not that this is any excuse, but I had five glasses of champagne on maybe two and a half hours of sleep (if that), and didn’t stop to think about how bad of an idea that might be. Though, I think I was only three glasses of champagne in when I danced with you, but my point still stands. I had no intention of worrying you, and again, am truly sorry if I did.

I’d also like more details, if possible. I was a tad too afraid to ask deeper questions at the ball, what with all the people and cameras around. It didn’t feel like the right time or place for it.

Sincerely,

Evalin

P.S. - in case I wasn’t clear, I like your nickname for me.

Julia watched as I wrote, sighing as I stuck the note against the screen of my open laptop, to ensure that I’d see it tomorrow and remember to send it. “Now, bed,” she commanded as soon as I had finished.

Too tired to argue, I just smiled in response, slowly maneuvering myself under the covers as Grace and Christina crossed the bedroom, making their way to the door. As soon as they were out, Julia flicked the light switch, whispering, “Goodnight, Evalin,” before leaving the room herself, and shutting the door behind her.

Sleep took me instantly.

--

It was dark. From where I lay in the backseat of June’s car, the only light I could see came from the taillights of the car in front of us. I remembered seeing stars when we had arrived at the party, but I couldn't now. Her stupid car roof was in the way, too busy shielding us from the rain that wouldn’t stop hitting it to let us see the stars. Logically, I knew we wouldn’t have been able to see a lot of the stars anyway, with the rain clouds blocking them, but I would have liked to see some. I would have liked to see that stupid lopsided parallelogram that my grandfather loved so dearly.

I laughed. Everything was funny to me, especially the way that neither June nor Lukas found anything funny. “We’re going to have to stop for gas,” Lukas said from the passenger seat in the front, which was funny. We hadn’t driven far - only the twenty minutes to campus - and June had had more than enough gas on the way there. Where had her gas gone? Maybe it had grown legs and had walked away, and there was a big gasoline man walking through campus right now. That would be funny.

“Shit, really?” June asked through gritted teeth. I closed my eyes as she changed lanes, likely to pull into a gas station. I didn’t open them again until we had pulled up to a pump, the faded white and green coloring that I could see through the window letting me know that we must be at the twenty-four hour Gasoline Haven about fifteen minutes from my house.

Fuck. My house. My parents. “June, I can’t go home like this,” I groaned. I was so very, stupidly, foolishly drunk. How many shots had I taken? I’d lost count after eight. I doubted I’d remember this tomorrow. That was not funny. Why the fuck had I done this, and how was I still even alive?

“I know,” she reassured me, turning around in the driver's seat to face me as Lukas got out of the car, walking around to the gas pumps. “You can stay with me tonight, like you told your parents you were doing originally.”

I nodded, offering her a toothy grin as I pushed myself into a sitting position. “That’s why I love you.”

She smiled in return, opening her mouth like she was about to respond, only to be cut off my a sharp rap at the driver’s side window. She rolled it down, listening to Lukas as he yelled something, his voice completely drowned out by the rain, for me. “Fuck, okay,” June said, swearing more as she fumbled with her seatbelt, “I’ll go inside and pay.” With that, she exited the car, the annoying beeping noise signalling that she hadn’t closed her door all the way.

The sound of the rain got louder as her footsteps retreated, and the door to my left opened. I laughed as Lukas leaned into the car, bracing his forearms on the seat and smiling at me. I smiled right back, blinking slowly as I said, “Well, hello there.”

He said nothing. While my eyes were closed, he must’ve leaned forward, because the next thing I knew, his lips were on mine, strong and frantic, and all wrong. My eyes flew open, but all I could do was watch, and try to say something, anything, but my words were swallowed by his mouth. I was paralyzed, whether by fear or drunkenness, I didn’t know. I couldn’t lift my arms, to shove him away, and I couldn’t back away myself, not without opening the car door and allowing myself to tumble onto the wet pavement.

I stared at him in shock as he pulled away, instinctively attempting to bring my knees to my chest. I couldn’t unscramble my thoughts quickly enough to form a coherent sentence. Only one word rang through my mind. “Bad.”

“Why won’t you admit that you love me?” he asked, smirking, something sparkling in his eyes as he looked at me. I didn’t like it. I wanted him to go away. This was not funny.

I shook my head, trying my hardest to get the right words out of my mouth. “I don’t love you. I definitely don’t love what you just did.”

He raised his eyebrows, as if I had somehow challenged him, inviting him to rise to the occasion and prove me wrong. Except, I wasn’t wrong. I was never wrong. He was wrong. Something about him had always been wrong.

This was wrong.

“Would you like me to try something different?”

“No.” I shook my head again, but the gesture meant nothing to him, and he came in for another kiss. I tried to kick him away, but the motion seemed to do nothing. He was completely undeterred.

I heard footsteps splashing against the pavement as he pulled away. June’s voice cut through the noise of the rain. “What are you doing back there?” June would help me. June always helped me.

“Making sure she has her seatbelt on, now that she’s sitting up,” Lukas answered, reaching for the seatbelt as he spoke, slowly dragging his fingers diagonally across my chest as he made to fasten the buckle.

This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. Lukas would never.

“She said she wants to stay at my house tonight,” Lukas announced as he got back into the passenger seat of the car. I hadn’t said that. This was not funny in the slightest.

“No,” June told him, but I knew he mustn’t understand that word. Hadn’t I told him no? He had heard me, and had kissed me again anyway. Despite being blackout drunk, I knew with clear certainty that I was lucky it had stopped there, that June had come back just then. “She has to stay at my place, or her parents will worry, and we’ll all be busted. Besides, I’m the nursing major. I’ll handle this.”

All I could feel was the chill of the car window against my forehead. All I wanted to do was forget about this.

Maybe it was a good thing I was blackout drunk.

--

I awoke in a cold sweat, my mouth open as if I was screaming silently, my breathing rapid and shallow. Reaching for my phone, I clicked the power button, the time blinding me as the device flashed to life. Four o’clock. It looked like it would be yet another, almost sleepless night for me, then.

[mlpdestinyverse]

Adore

Eventide Twister and Dream Flow share an intimate moment together on Hearth's Warming Eve.

*NOTE: This chapter contains in-story music! For the full experience, do listen to the song that's linked later in the story before or during the scene in question! Thanks!

Feat. Eventide Twister,  Dreamaria Flow

Story and Description Under The Cut

Ponies' voices fill the night!                Hearth's Warming Eve is here once again! Happy hearts so full and bright!                 Hearth's Warming Eve is here once again!" The jubilant voices of Twilight Sparkle's party guests resounded within the walls of her castle foyer. Various citizens of Ponyville crowded the spacious hall, mingling together in friendly chatter or the exchanging of gifts if they weren't already harmonizing along with one of Ponyville's Hearth's Warming songs. The sheer number of merry attendees was far from a surprise. It was a grand celebration hosted by the Friendship Princess herself, held every year before the day of Hearth's Warming. And the town's ever-expanding populace over the years only meant more room for families and friends to peacefully join together in celebrating the beloved holiday season. Yet even with that knowledge, Eventide Twister tensely sat on one side of the room, blue eyes momentarily flitting across any passing faces before looking away to avoid any possible eye contact. She let herself appear to be distracted by the well-decorated room; focusing on the beautifully draping fabrics of reds and golds, or the curling ribbon and colored lights that wrapped around each and every crystalline pillar in sight. At the beginning of the celebration, she had aided in flying about, setting up wreaths and hanging up ornaments on the looming tree in the middle of the hall. It was simply per yearly tradition for the party guests. Perhaps she had been the only pegasus to keep her distance from the other attendees while she quietly worked around the uninhibited nooks of the room. But having an extra horn right beside her, cheerily lifting decorations up to her with orange-hued magic and a matching vibrant grin, had significantly altered the experience she had once dreaded and avoided each year prior. Every other presence in the room had left her mind with the stringing of lights and the mirthful laughter of her company. But her small, blissful space of comfort and genuine fun had ended once the actual party had started and a wave of other ponies had flooded into the castle. Again, Eventide's eyes roamed over the crowd. She anxiously searched for the streaks of blue locks she had grown so familiar with in the past year. Though when the sight of her friend had yet again escaped her, Eventide returned to taking in the decor- "You're rather quiet, miss Eventide! I hope you're enjoying the party?" Eventide felt herself tense further. She turned back towards the group beside her and the older unicorn stallion who had paused conversation to address her. He was a researcher from Canterlot, as well as an acquaintance of her mother, much like the two other mares who flanked him. When Eventide instinctively glanced over at the red-headed mare sitting right beside her, her mother smiled back lightly. "She's just waiting for her friend to return from the refreshment table," Sunset Shimmer answered. She felt her mother's hoof affectionately rub at her upper back. It was a comforting gesture that was appreciated, and a reminder of why Eventide had stuck so close to the mare in her friend's absence in the first place. But it didn't quite distract the pegasus enough from the three sets of eyes that were now honed in on her. Eventide could only faintly nod in agreement, hoping the older adults would carry on with their previous conversation. "We're sorry if we've been leaving you out, dear!" One of the mares piped up. "Enough of us old ponies talking! I don't know nearly enough about you, darling, and I've known your mother for years!" Leaning in, the second mare gave her an eager smile. "Say, what is it that you do? I can only imagine what you're capable of as Sunset's daughter. She's one versatile mare!" Sounds of agreement were shared between the three ponies, all while Eventide stiffened. What was she supposed to say? That the daughter of one of Equestria's greatest modern researchers and inventors - right-hoof mare of Princess Twilight herself- was a simple mailmare? Eventide could feel her face grow hot at the pitiful thought, and the presence of her mother beside her became more prominent with each second she remained silent. And yet an answer refused to form. 'I...I'm barely anything. I can't embarrass her like that...' "Well, you're not far off! Eve is great at a number of things!" Eventide turned to her mother, surprised by her answer. There, she could see Sunset's motherly pride radiating off of her. Whether the older mare was taking the opportunity to brag and exaggerate, as a parent instinctively would, or save her daughter from an answer, the pegasus wasn't certain. "That's what I thought!" The inquiring mare laughed. Sunset happily hummed in return. "Yep! I mean, this whole month alone, she's been so focused on practicing away on her piano! She plays beautifully-" Sunset turned her head, her expression shifting to one of confusion when she caught Eventide's stare of dismay. 'Not again...' "The piano, you say!" The stallion exclaimed with great intrigue. Eventide just barely stopped a wince as the mares also made sounds of interest. "I enjoy some Fréderéin Chopin myself!" He continued with a strange puff to his chest, as if satisfied with his own tastes. "You must be quite skilled if you've been practicing that much!" One of the mares added, equally as interested as her stallion companion. "Well we absolutely just have to hear you play sometime, won't we~?" The other mare chirped. Eventide bit her lip. There it was; the suggestion this topic typically lead to ever since she was a kid. She gave a vague hum, hoping it'd be enough to assuage their interest. Because well, they were strangers, and acquaintances of her mom at best. The possibility of seeing them again soon, or of their request being serious, was next to none. "Hey, actually! One of the musicians playing for the party has a piano set up right here in the hall!" Eventide's body went completely rigid. All while the three ponies gasped in realization, the same idea seemingly flashing through their minds. There was a painful churn to her stomach as the ponies happily chattered, seemingly discussing their ideas for song requests. But at that point, she couldn't hear what they were saying. She was frozen, her mind struggling to catch up to the situation. She could feel her awareness extending outward towards the large sea of strangers surrounding her, to the possibility of having no choice but to be the center of their attention and judgment. Very quickly, Eventide could feel her skin flushing. Her mind fuzzed over as it looped the horrific idea over and over again in her head. "Actually," Sunset Shimmer quickly interjected. Her voice pierced through Eve's thoughts, though not enough to relieve her cornered mind. "Eve really doesn't like performing on the spot." "Oh, are you sure?" The stallion deflated, doing nothing to ease Eventide's anxiety-ridden nerves. "If you've been practicing that much, I'm sure you'd do just fine, deary! Give it a try!" While a look of annoyance flickered across Sunset's face, Eventide could already feel her mind retreating into itself, far away from the choice before her. Her blue eyes flitting from face to face, she could just barely assess their expressions. Their insistence and expectations weighed her body and mind like concrete, and she could feel her internal panic overpowering her- -until she felt a cooling wave rush through her form, followed by a warm foreleg looping snugly around hers. "I'm back!" That familiar sweet, sing-songy voice broke through Eventide's clouded focus. And there she was. Beside her stood her friend, Dreamaria Flow, who smiled brilliantly at the group. Two beverages were suspended in the air next to her head by an orange aura of magic; the very same aura that swirled around her radar of a horn. "Sorry to interrupt, everyone! I'd just like to borrow my friend back, if you don't mind~" Dream shifted her attention to Eventide and smiled brighter, if possible. Sunset didn't miss a beat or give the other three ponies a chance to respond. It was like she was making a point, cheerfully accentuating her words purposefully as she replied. "Oh no please, go on ahead! You two should enjoy the night while you can!" "Sure will, Sunset! You do the same!" Dreamaria was already gently tugging Eventide away. Before Eve could turn to follow, the pegasus didn't miss her mother's grateful smile at Dream...or the playful, knowing glance she gave to her daughter. Swiftly averting her gaze, Eventide moved to match Dream Flow's stride, although Dream slowed her own steps in return to pace with her friend. "That felt like one stressful corner you were being pushed into..." Dreamaria eventually noted once the two had made some distance away from the group and the other partygoers. She tilted her head, giving her friend a kind smile while her brows narrowed back. "I'm not sure what was happening, but it sure seemed like they were pushing boundaries...how are you doing?" Eventide allowed herself a deep breath, one Dream Flow frequently reminded her to take. The stress that had overtaken her chest and mind was far from subsiding completely. But it was significantly less of a strain than what it was just moments before. And she only had one talented pony and her magic to thank for that. While she shot her friend a look of deep appreciation, more than relieved to get away, her eyes were soon trailing over to the rest of the noisy crowd surrounding them. Even after regaining her comfort bubble, she was once more made aware of just how out of her element she was. She never went to parties. Never did she willingly attend social gatherings if it meant being stuck in a room full of strangers and their uncomfortable attempts at forced conversation with her. ...but being invited along by Dreamaria to the unicorn's first Ponyville Hearth's Warming party had been the one exception. 'I really thought I'd adjust...but it still feels like there's hardly any room to breathe.' Dream Flow herself took a glance around the room. Then, with a cheery hum, she leaned in closer to Eventide. "Hey! Why don't we get the heck out of here?" Eventide blinked, giving a puzzled glance to her friend. It was only met by the mare's pleasant beaming. "This whole experience has been new and interesting. But I think I'm ready for our presents back at your place~ So we can head home, but only if you're ready!" While Dream Flow patiently waited for an answer from the pegasus, Eve found herself searching the unicorn's face, questions rolling through her mind. Dream had been so enthusiastic about the celebration just hours ago, and they were barely an hour into the actual party as they spoke. Not wanting to keep her friend waiting, Eventide slowly nodded. That was enough for Dream to happily nod back and motion with her head towards the double doors at the beginning of the foyer that exited the castle. Walking out into the cold winter night, the layer of snow across the land crunched underhoof. And Eventide couldn't help once last glance at the bright, bustling castle before trudging on beside her friend. -------------------------------------------------- The town was far quieter than they had left it nearly two hours ago, with the dark of night claiming the sky. It seemed that the usual townsfolk were either attending Twilight's party or staying indoors to celebrate with their loved ones. This left the streets of Ponyville fairly empty. The only immediate sounds around the two mares were their soft sips of hot cocoa that Dream Flow had retrieved earlier, as well as their leisurely paced hoofsteps. There was very little rush when the stringed lights on every house and tree were a sight to behold. The orbs beautifully illuminated the town with dappled glows, various colors bouncing off of the snow as well as the extravagant decorations that lined the many streets. But by the time they were crossing the bridge in the middle of town, Eventide's confusion had slowly subsided and the bigger picture of Dream Flow's decision had pieced itself together within her head. Her legs had begun to slow and drag through the blanket of snow at her own realization. It wasn't the excitement of presents that had drawn her friend away from a party she had been looking forward to. No. Dream had left for her sake. The timing was too convenient. After going out of her way to invite Eventide out and celebrate Dream Flow's first Hearth's Warming Eve in Ponyville, Eventide had gone and worried her compassionate friend with her trivial stresses. Again. And over the idea of playing a piano, of all things. They were supposed to enjoy the party together. Eventide was supposed to let the unicorn experience the excitement of one of Princess Twilight's celebrations, along with the togetherness of celebrating it with her new town's merry citizens. But she couldn't even accomplish that much for her friend. Now Dream Flow felt obligated to walk her home, knowing full well how much Eventide couldn't handle the pressure of a simple social event. Eve's ears folded back against her head, her eyelids drooping. 'I let her down... I ruined her night. And now she's stuck looking after me. I shouldn't have come...I should've known I'd weigh her down. But I was only thinking about myself-' "I...don't think anypony should have to feel this guilt-ridden on the day before Hearth's Warming." Eventide stilled and her head snapped up, realizing that Dream Flow was a few paces ahead of her on the bridge. The blue mare stood half-turned towards her, orange magic still glowing around her horn and cup. With a meek smile, Dreamaria's hooves crunched the snow as she walked back towards Eve, stopping a comfortable distance before her. Her voice was one of patience as she spoke, keeping her question soft in the silence of night. "Want to share what's going through your mind...?" Eventide bit her inner cheek, avoiding her friend's eye momentarily. She struggled, for an uncomfortable amount of time she would say. Yet Dreamaria remained there with a tolerance that was far beyond Eventide's understanding. "I..." Eventide's voice sounded too loud in this stillness, and in general, too grating for her own ears. She nearly stopped herself from speaking any further if it meant not having to hear such an unpleasant tone. Her pupils flicked to Dream's, just briefly, before lowering back towards their hooves. Even as quietly as she replied, her voice carried through the quiet air. "...m-madeyouleave. I'm sorry." As her words faded into the air, silence overtaking the space between them once more, she could almost feel Dreamaria's two-toned gaze boring through her. She chanced a peek up at her friend, uncertain of what she'd find. With a mildly troubled expression, Dream eyes seemed to be searching Eventide, analyzing her even. And within a second of Eventide lifting her head, the other mare's expression shifted into something gentler. "...there's something I want you to understand." Dream stepped closer, except this time, she was looking off towards the direction they had come from. "I like experiencing new things. And knowing what a Hearth's Warming party hosted by Princess Twilight was all about was certainly something I was interested in. But. What was more important to me was sharing that fun. And I invited you with me because I wanted to hang out and share it with you." Dream shifted her attention back to Eventide, her warm smile never faltering. "Sure, I liked the energy! But there's no one at that party I'd rather spend my Hearth's Warming Eve with. And if you're uncomfortable, then that's my priority." Eventide's breath involuntarily stilled. She instead watched as a flicker of guilt crossed her friend's face. "Really, I'm the one who knowingly pushed your comfort zone with the invitation. Getting out of that zone every once in a while can be good, but it's not exactly fair if I made you feel like you had to say yes-" "No." Eventide startled both of them with the ease in which she had responded. A shaky breath escaped her mouth in the form of a white cloud. Taking in Dream's face, her kind words echoing inside her head, Eve recognized the erratic pounding within her own chest. "Iw-wantedtogo..." 'With you.' It took a heartbeat longer for Dream's surprise to fade back into its usual warmth. "That's comforting...and honestly, I'm proud you gave this party a chance. You should be proud too! It takes a lot of courage to face the things you aren't comfortable with." Eventide nodded softly. She willed herself to take the compliment to heart, however difficult that tended to be. And with a confident beam, Dream trotted to stand next to her friend, lightly nudging her with her muzzle. "Well~? Let's get going! I meant it when I said I was looking forward to exchanging gifts- eep!" Any steps they had taken were quickly halted by a gust of chilly winter wind that tossed their manes about. Dream jolted, her magic hastily tugging at her blue sweater vest and the green sleeves beneath in a weak effort to cover any exposed pelt. "I d-don't remember winter being this cold!" She turned to Eventide, wide-eyed. "How are you not shivering?" Fighting back a smile at the endearing sudden shift in demeanor, Eventide responded by looking back at her wings and the thick layers of feathers covering them. After a pause, she then slowly and timidly extended one of them towards the unicorn. No explanation had to be given, apparently. Dream might as well have teleported beside her as she ducked under the pegasus' cream and orange plumage and pressed up against her for warmth. It took another moment of hesitation and mentally calming herself down for Eve to fully drape the wing over Dreamaria's back. Dream released a sigh of relief. "You're so lucky to have a thick coat, Eve!" She laughed. "You're like a heater!" Eventide didn't hide a shy smile that time. Resuming their walk, it wasn't long before Eventide could recognize the dark red roof of her family's home. She pulled a key out from a pocket in the gradient, monochromatic sweater she herself was wearing. A click unlocked the door, and she ushered Dream and her shivering self to head inside first. As expected, the house was soundless. In light of her choosing to attend Twilight's celebration for the first time in years, her father had also decided to join in on the festivities. As for her brother Astral, there had been no sign of him at the party. He was no doubt working tirelessly away in his lab, as he tended to do these days. The interior of the living room wasn't completely cast in darkness. Much like the castle and the streets, the Shimmer family household was also decorated with various lights, although every light in the room gave off a matching golden glow that created a warm, soothing atmosphere. In one corner of the room was their Hearth's Warming Tree, shimmering with the very same lights. And at the top sat the common Hearth's Warming tree topper; a star of destiny, the biggest and most vibrant of lights in the room. It might as well have been a beacon in the dark. And unless her friend voiced otherwise, Eventide settled on keeping the actual living room lights off if it meant basking in this beautiful ambiance. Shutting the door behind her and removing her snow boots, Eventide watched Dream Flow float their emptied cups over to the closest trash can, just before making a beeline for the tree. The lively unicorn apparently wasn't wasting any time. "Okay, let's get to it! Me first!" Dream eagerly declared. As Eventide made her way to the middle of the room, one of the various presents beneath the tree began levitating before floating over to the mare. Once in Eve's hooves, the orange glow of magic surrounding it dispersed. Dream Flow sat before her. The unicorn had her hooves clutched close to her chest while she observed her pegasus friend closely. If Eventide didn't know better, she would've thought that the other mare was watching on nervously. Upon tearing away the green wrapping paper, Eve's eyebrows flew up at the thick, mottled blue leather journal that was within her hold. It was clasped close, the cover bordered by beautiful metallic silver. But what drew her eye to the center of the surface was the same metallic silver, forming elegant swirls, dots, and music notes into a large design Eventide could recognize as a stylized version of her own cutie mark. "I had it custom made!" Dream quickly spoke up. She was rubbing her hooves together at this point, and now Eventide could curiously see that the mare was, in fact, timidly looking between her and her present. "I noticed your other journal was filling up and I thought you could use a new one! Something nice and fancy for your wonderful poems." Dream Flow shone a sheepish smile at her friend. "I hope it's a useful gift. I've never...bought a present for anyone besides my uncle before." 'Oh... I'm the first...?' While that almost seemed hard to believe, coming from somepony as giving and considerate at Dreamaria, a part of Eventide somehow felt lighter with that thought. She held her new, beautifully crafted journal to her chest, offering the most earnest smile she could at Dream. "Iloveit. Thank you." "Oh good!" Dream breathed out heavily in relief. She clasped her hooves together, appearing at ease. "Happy Hearth's Warming, Eve! Soo..." Her hooves began to tap against each other, interest lighting her face. "Not to sound too eager, but you said you had a gift for me too~?" Eventide stood still, the mixture of determination and uncertainty that she had been suppressing the whole day catching up all at once. 'Right... This is it.' While self-conscious, Eventide walked over towards the nearest chair, shifting it to the most ideal location she had noted in mind. She wordlessly motioned for the other mare to sit, who did so without question albeit visibly curious. Holding her breath unknowingly, Eventide found herself tensely striding to a small studio piano of dark mahogany wood, tucked in one corner of the room directly in front of Dreamaria's seat. Its keys were facing the wall, providing a makeshift barrier between herself and any onlookers to her performance. During her younger days, back when she had played more, it had helped with stage fright. Years had passed since she could handle an audience beyond her own family. And as such, as Eventide slid herself onto her seat before her piano, the mare positioned her hooves in their rightful places, only to watch them shake. Her jaw tightened. '...I can do this. I've practiced day after day for this. Just to get this right.' She fought the urge to glance up at the mare on the other side of the piano, knowing it could very well break any sort of resolve she had desperately clung to. It was taking everything in her not to back out, to avoid the possibility of making a mistake and embarrassing herself. But she had looked over this piece she had written, tweaking it every way she could to perfect it. She had practiced it to the point of knowing it by heart. With one last deep breath, she steeled herself. Her hooves made contact with the instrument before her. 'This is for her...and only her.' After a moment's tension, the first high key pierced the room, like the first touch of snowfall. It hung in the air for a moment before other slow, gentle keys faded in with it. Eventide took her time, letting each key have its turn to echo in the room of golden glows. There was only a heartbeat of momentary silence before a lower melody drifted across the keys. To her it resembled the heavy fall of icy snow, churning in the darkness, where all sense of direction was lost. And then it dispersed. Her hooves flew across the higher keys, returning to that original melody with fervor. Closing her eyes, the storm had made way to the first rays of light, breaking through the clouds. It revealed endless snow-blanketed fields. And there she traversed. Uncertain. Searching. Reaching. But somehow there was trust. There was belief, even with no set path, that she could continue onward, believing in that light that had returned her sight. Her world. The light was warm and the sunlit clouds urged her on. And in return, she could feel something within her swell with tender emotion. Adoration. Before she had realized it, Eventide had completely relaxed as her song flowed out of her. There was no desire to hide, and no need to force herself around Dream Flow. At this moment, for once, she felt at peace. Like being a simple pianist at this point in time was enough. The keys slowed once more, and the pegasus had her final notes resound through the air. As they faded, she allowed herself a moment of silence. And relief flooded her. 'I...did it...' Eventide raised her head, realizing the silence had yet to be broken by either pony in the room. And her eyes found Dream's. Dreamaria was staring at her with an expression she had never seen before from the mare. Wide-eyed. Slack-jawed. There was the slightest bit of movement to her mouth, as if any words she had in mind had not fully taken form. "Eve..." she finally murmured, so softly that Eventide felt her heartbeat quicken. She chose not to say anything as Dream Flow pulled herself out of her chair. Her hooves clacked against the wooden floor as she moved towards the piano. Dream stood on her hind hooves and placed her hooves atop the piano from behind. One hoof slid across its cool surface, a look of bewilderment on her face. "What...how did you...?" Dreamaria continued to look over the piano, and then at Eventide, not even bothering to finish her questions. That wide-eyed speechlessness had Eventide unsure whether to feel elated or worried. Either way, she timidly glanced back down at her keys. "...Happy Hearth's Warming." "You..." Dream blinked, and Eve could see pieces fitting together in her head. "Because I wanted to hear you play...?" Eventide nodded. Thankfully, Dream appeared to be pulling herself back in again, with her mouth stretching into a thrilled grin. "That was amazing!" She declared, delighted laughter tinging her voice. "Wow! I just...that was almost less of a melody and more like an emotion you just played. I didn't even need my magic to feel it..." Dream touched her hoof to her chest. "It was so passionate and...incredible. And...wow, look at me, I don't even know if I have the proper words right now!" She giggled. "Is this what means to be shaken?" By the time Dreamaria had finished speaking, Eventide could feel her cheeks flaring with heat. She shifted in her seat, not knowing how to handle the amount of happiness brimming in her heart. Movement from her friend's end had her watching Dreamaria rest her chin and hooves on top of the piano. Only then did Eventide really take in the way the decor was illuminating Dream Flow's figure from behind, creating a radiant halo of light. Beautiful. Breathtaking. "You really never cease to amaze me, Eventide..." The lights glimmered in Dremaria's predominantly orange irises. She exhaled serenely and closed her eyes, shifting her forelegs to properly relax and rest her head. "Could you please play it one more time? That energy...I'd like to feel it again." That was a request Eventide would never refuse. With just a bit more confidence than before, the pegasus once again took to her piano keys. She took her time, playing slightly slower than before, but with just as much heart. There was something strangely intimate about presenting this song. It was like she was telling a story, and bearing her heart. And she felt safe doing so. A momentary glimpse at Dream Flow's peaceful face, and Eventide was once more smiling to herself. The two of them in this tender moment, and this song that carried everything she held within, were all that mattered.

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-Music: "Adore" by Stephan Moccio. A fitting title. At one point in time I had planned on being subtle with Eve's feelings, but ultimately threw that out the window and this chapter happened. Say hello to DreamTwister~ This takes place at the end of Dreamaria's first year in Ponyville, and before either of them meet Skychaser. So back when it was just the two of them. It was a year Eventide spent learning what a friend's unconditional love and support was really like. And through the months, it lead to the development of...deep fondness. Eventide is far from ready to express the extent of it. But music and the arts have certainly proven to be a helpful outlet. Somanywarmfeelings...but if you've read Parental Shipping and know how well Dream recognizes the different forms of love, then well, you may imagine she won't be putting anything together any time soon. *holdsbothofthem* And because I designed it, here's a quick drawing I did for the design of Eventide's new journal!

[urlocalkpoptrash]

Scenery| Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung x Reader.

Genre: Fluff (90%)/ Angst (10%)

Warnings: Talk of being ill, and death.

Concept: Living your life through photos and memories.

A/N: Honestly, his song gives me so many feels. I hope you guys enjoy! 😭

- - - - - - - - -

The room was quiet for once, the boys had left not too long ago, and the nurses were visiting other patients. Taehyung yawned as you walked into the room, his eyes lighting up when he saw you standing by his bed. Today was a good day for him, it was all in his eyes. Lately, they had been dull and heavily lidded. He tried his hardest to stay positive, but some days were harder than others, luckily he was having an easy day.

“Well hello there, handsome,” you said, setting the large photo album on the side table.

He watched with wonder, a small smile tugging on his lips. He adored that book like it was the holy bible, and to him, it was.

“I see you brought me a gift,” his voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

“I did,” you grinned, sitting on the edge of his bed, “I know last week was a hard week, and I thought I’d try and cheer you up.”

He placed his hand on your thigh, his fingers curling around the fabric of your sweatpants. You felt your heart break a little, such a small gesture, full of such love.

“Shall I get started?” You asked, clearing your throat, trying not to let your emotions get the best of you.

“Yes, please.” He used what little strength he had to push himself higher on the bed.

You quickly reached back, and adjusted his pillow. He sighed, but smiled gratefully when you looked down at him. No matter how sick he got, he never asked for help, that wasn’t the tae everyone knew, and that wasn’t the tae he wanted to be.

You settled back into your position, grabbing the album. You had tagged a few pages, with some of your favorite pictures and favorite memories. You fingers danced over a few of the polaroids, scenes from your life flashing before you. You picked your most cherished photo.

“This was one of our first dates,” you set the photo on his stomach, letting him pick it up.

“It was an art museum, and you kept stopping to look at every single painting,” he grinned, looking at the picture fondly.

You had never been into art, but taehyung was, and you wanted to know everything about him. He told you that if he never pursued music, he would have pursued art. He was so knowledgeable and mesmerized by the paintings.

“What about this one?” You stopped before a rather abstract piece, completely lost as to what any of it could mean.

“Ah,” he stood beside you, one arm tucked warmly around your waist, “This is one of my favorite artists, he has a way of capturing the rawest form of emotions.”

You tilted your head to one side, squinting to see if you could try and make something out of the lines, and the vibrant colors masked by black and white.

“This one in particular is about having to hide your emotions for the better of someone else. He was madly in love with a girl, but her family looked down on him and his art. He knew that if he expressed how he truly felt, she would leave everything behind and follow him. He couldn’t let her do that, he knew she would regret it one day. He’d rather leave when the love was the strongest, than wait till he became the enemy,” he glanced over at you, and you were in awe of the painting, finally understanding.

“What would you have done?” You asked, still not breaking your gaze from the painting.

“I would have given up my art to be with the woman I love,” he mumbled, far too focused on the live art work that was standing beside him.

“If she loved you, she wouldn’t let you do that,” you finally turned your full attention to him.

“Some times the greatest masterpieces aren’t the ones you put on a canvas,” he whispered, just as you moved on to the next painting, knowing full well you didn’t hear him, and he was okay with that.

He laughed, and shook his head as you set down another one, “We had taken over thirty photos this day, and all of them, except this one, I was paying attention. Of course, the one you loved was the one where I’m not even looking at you.”

You beamed, and nodded. He had always told you that he hated that picture, but you would never think for a second about giving it up, or changing it.

It was your first time traveling together, and you had been exploring the city all day. You were eating the foods, talking to the locals, and most importantly your were able to taste all the wines. Tae never drank, but he would gladly sit with you, and converse while you divulged in your love of wine.

The night was coming to an end, and you two were going to be meeting the rest of his friends that night for dinner, but tae insisted on taking pictures. Almost all of them had been of you, because every time you asked to take one of him, he’d just smile and shake his head, a shy smile adoring his cheeks.

“Okay, fine. I’ll take a few,” he rolled his eyes, as if he was annoyed, but his amused chuckle told another story.

He had posed a few times, taking sweet photos, a few where he was trying to make you laugh, and two with his signature ‘v’ pose.

“Hold on, I need to fix this,” He fidgeted with something in his hand, sitting down, legs crossed at the ankles.

You watched him, his tongue slightly protruding from his lips, the wind was strong enough just to shake a few strands of his hair out of place. He hummed to himself while he worked, nose scrunching every few seconds. Your heart swelled, he looked the most like himself in that moment. You couldn’t stop yourself from snapping one last picture.

He had finished whatever it was he was doing, draping an arm around your shoulder, “Did you get any good ones, baby?” He asked, pressing a tender kiss into your temple.

“I did, and it’s probably my favorite picture I’ve ever taken,” you admitted, wrapping one arm around his back, walking beside him.

“I can’t wait to see it,” he stopped in the middle of the street, pulling you fully into his arms.

You looked up at him, resting your chin on his chest. He gently nudged your nose with his, before pressing a heavenly kiss on to your lips.

You grinned brightly when you flipped the page to find the next photo. You ran your fingers over the edges before placing in tae lap. He looked down, his brittle fingers taking ahold of the picture delicately.

“Was this the night -,” he cut off his own sentence to look at you, and he was pleased to see the fondness of your face.

“Yeah... It was the night you confessed you were actually in love with me,” your eyes held him in your gaze.

“You know, the hammock could could hold more than one person if you sat normally,” Jin mumbled from over his broad shoulder.

“It could, but I don’t want to share it with any of you,” he said with a boxy, tight lipped smile.

“Not even your girlfriend?” You said with a pout, your eyes peaking up over your phone, having just captured a photo of him.

“Nope. You’re a space hog,” he gestured over to you, where you were sprawled across the floor, legs spread slightly, your purse laying flat beside you.

“I’ll remember that when you want cuddles tonight,” you retorted, crossing your arms with a pout.

Childish. You were being childish, but in that moment you didn’t care.

“Oh baby,” he cooed, pushing himself up from the hanging fabric, striding over to you, only to kneel between your legs.

“Did I hurt your feeling?” He placed his hands in your face, squishing your cheeks so your lips were pushed out.

“Yes,” you mumbled, the muscles in your cheeks ached as you instinctively tried to smile.

“You’re so cute when you’re pouty,” he laughed an airy, playful chuckle, “I just love you.”

Three words to shut the whole room up, Jin and Jungkook both stopped bickering to turn on their heels to face the both of you.

Namjoon coughed loudly, choking on one of the snacks he had indulged on. Hoseok almost ran into the practice room mirror, but the wooden beam that spread across the mirror jabbed into his hip.

“What?” He asked, actually very confused.

“You-you, you said you loved her,” Jungkook squeaked from the corner of the room.

“I do,” he said matter of fact, looking down to hear the only response that actually mattered.

“I love you too, Taehyungie,” you whispered, capturing his lips with yours, the whole room groaning and turning away, but the smile on Taehyungs lips hurt his cheeks.

“I could look at these pictures all day,” you felt his fingers reach over to grab your hand.

“Me too, tae.” You glanced over, his eyes starting to hang a little lower, you could see the sleep trying to fight his bright eyes, “Do you want to get some sleep?” You brought his hand up, brushing your lips over his knuckles.

“Just a few more,” his voice getting more hoarse.

“Sure, baby,” who were you to deny him of this.

You flipped a few full pages, the right side of the book was getting heavier, as you started to near the end of the book.

“Stop,” he pointed just as you were about to turn another round of pictures, “Those, the ones of you,” you peaked through your lashes, seeing his weak, but very viable boxy grin.

You set the book in his lap, and he scanned over the page for a long moment, reliving the memories in his mind.

“Just a bit further,” he called back at you, chuckling as you groaned.

“How are you carrying all that camera equipment, and you’re not even breaking a sweat?” You looked up to see he had extended his hand for you.

After he had pulled you to his side, he nudged you forward. You were faced with the calm waters of a river running between the hill you climbed and the woods on the other side. He watched as you walked forward, admiring the way you silhouette moved into the sunlight.

“How did you find this place?”

“I was always on the look out for the most beautiful sights.”

You still felt the need to catch your breath, feeling a little dizzy. You sat on the batch of rocks crowding around the edge, “Did you find it?”

He looked at you through his camera lens, snapping a photo. He brought to screen to his face,”I did, and I will never find anything else like it,” he let his camera move away so he was only left with the view and you.

He laughed when you removed the next picture, and when you saw exactly what that was, you couldn’t help but laugh as well.

“I can’t believe you kept this,” he shook his head, the smile never leaving his face.

“Why wouldn’t I?!” You took the photo from him, examining it yourself.

39 flights of stairs you both climbed, and if it wasn’t for the incredible view from your favorite spot, you wouldn’t have dared to make this journey.

With a burst of energy Taehyung shoved the door to the roof his apartment open, the moon and star illuminating the concrete and back up generators. You followed after him, giggle, the wind wiping your hair across your face.

You both stood close to the railing, the world below you was still busy, but the apartments above had turned their lights off and closed their curtains, closing down for the night. You felt the excitement bubbling up in your stomach and you couldn’t help it.

“I passed!” You yelled loudly, your echo responding back to you.

Taehyung laughed, and yelled just as loud, “My girlfriend is officially college educated!”

Exams were over and you passed in the top of tour class, graduation was close you could taste it.

“You hear that world?! I’m college educated,” you opened your arms, welcoming the presence of happiness in your life.

“We get it! You’re in debt!” A man yelled from the building across from you, shaking his hand out of the window.

Both you and Tae almost fell to your knees in laughter, tears falling down your face from just how hard you were cracking up.

“Hey tae,” you mumbled softly, laying down beside him as you set the book on the side of you.

“Hmm?” He lifted his brows, but his eyes didn’t open.

“Why did you always have me in the pictures of your scenic shots?” His fingers ran through the strands of your hair.

“I wanted a picture of the scenery,” he turned his head, his nose replacing his hands, hiding his face in your hair, “And there is nothing as beautiful as you.”

And that was the last thing he ever said to you. The sleep that was fighting him so bad finally swallows him whole. It was as if he was waiting for a moment like that, for a moment where he could relive his life with you. He wanted to go holding the only thing that meant the world to him. He wanted to go never wondering if you were his. So he did, he passed with the boys at his side, and with you in his arms. The last things he remembers seeing was your face, the best scenery of all.

[starstruck-thirst]

Crimson Dance Card

Illumi Zoldyck: Part 2 ‘A Dangerous Foxtrot’

Previous- Part 1 ‘A Waltz Macabre’

Next- Part 3 ‘Insidious Quickstep’

Warnings: None (This will be a slow burn/ build friends)

~~~~~~

Flowers were in bloom in every conceivable space that the garden allowed them to. High standing topiaries created shade for the bright purple lobelias and pure white sweet asylum flowers to flourish. Elaborate pathways broke up the garden beds that held brighter flowers such as magenta and scarlet zinnias and bright orange marigolds. The colors were so vibrant and bright that it hurt the eyes.

Actually, it did hurt your eyes, which was why you were wearing a nice pair of sunglasses as well as a wide brimmed sun hat. Sure, the gardens were lovely, but one could only take such an onslaught of color all at once for so long.

“Are you listening to me?”

You hadn’t been. But it only seemed fair to look at your conversation partner and pretend you were. “Of course. Please keep going,” you said with a small smile as you turned to look at him with your full attention.

Tibor was a rather dull person. So much so that ‘bor’- as in ‘boring’- was part of his name. Or so you had thought somewhat cruelly to yourself when your father told you that he was you intended fiancé. He was nice looking enough: somewhat tall, blond, gray eyes, and tanned just the right amount for his skin tone. But it only served as an outward sign of his inward tedious personality for you. It was all so… expected.

“Oh! Well then. I was saying that after we got married we could honeymoon off content. I know of a lovely place that-,” and you stopped listening again.

The meandering people that were attending the gardens today were far more interesting by comparison, and you didn’t even know them. One woman stopped and pointed to a flower at her feet. Her male companion knelt and plucked a fuchsia gloxinia flower from the ground and offered it to her. She took it with a delighted giggle and you sighed, leaning on your arm as you watched the couple walk away.

Suddenly, you sat bolt upright. Just past the couple as they walked away had there been a blur of long black hair around a row of high bushes?

“Darling, are you alright?” Tibor asked, putting a concerned hand on your own. “You look as if you have seen a ghost.”

“I’m sorry. I thought I saw someone I knew,” you lied, looking back to your tea cup and lifting it to your lips for a sip. The bitterness of the afternoon black tea was soothing, even if it was starting to grow cold in the cup.

Tibor ran his fingers over yours in an attempt to be loving. “Maybe we’ve been in the sun too long. If you like we can relocate to the gazebo?”

“No, I’m fine,” you said with a tight, red lipped smile. “I think I might just be getting tired over all. Perhaps today will have to be cut short. I’m sorry, Tibor.”

“Of course, darling,” you hated how he said that word, so full of false romance and sativa sweetness, “whatever you need.” He patted your hand which only made you hate him more.

When he lifted his hand for another pat you slipped it out from under his grip and touched it to your cheek, tilting your head to one side to look particularly adorable. “Oh, Tibor, you are so considerate. I’ll call my driver to pick me up, I know you are busy so I don’t want to keep you.”

Tibor stood, in a fashion that seemed a bit too quick if you were asked, and moved to your side. “Are you sure? I don’t mind being a bit late for my meeting for you, darling.”

He put a hand on the side of your face and you wanted to vomit. “I’m sure. It wouldn’t be good for the image of the company for a junior partner to be late to a meeting. I completely understand.”

“You are such an angel.” Tibor leaned down and went to place a kiss on your lips, but coyly you turned your head just in time. To his credit, he realized and paused just a second before following through and kissing you on the cheek. “You’re always so shy,” he teased, staying in close proximity as he did so.

“Oh, Tibor. You know that I’m too shy to kiss in public.” A convenient lie. One you had established early on when he had kissed you without warning in front of several influential family friends. It hadn’t been particularly good, and you wanted to avoid such things in the future. Luckily remembering how awkward you had felt that day was enough to tinge your cheeks with pink.

Hesitating another moment, he kissed your cheek again before standing straight. “Please let me know when you make it home safely.”

“Naturally. I might do some errands first but I will make sure to tell you,” you replied in a tenor that was all too high and bubbly.

But he seemed pacified. With a satisfied nod he turned and left the garden as he pulled out his cell phone and called his driver.

The moment his back was around another topiary and out of sight you sat back in your chair in a somewhat undignified manner, feeling exhausted. The wedding was supposed to be in three months, but it felt like you were being choked with a collar of duty already. It had only been a month that this whole engagement had been put into place and already you were contemplating suicide.

Just the way you thought that made your mind reel back a month and a half ago to a lavish party where you saw your first dead body, slumped across a hard wood desk. The dark and cold eyes of his killer watching your every move. His dark hair pulled up into a ponytail and when it swayed you wanted to reach up and free the strands from their prison.

That had somehow helped you to feel grounded. The touch of the sun’s warmth on your arms was reassuring, but also beginning to grow too hot.

“Madam, are you finished with your tea?” a neutral toned butler asked, placing a testing hand on the teapot in front of you.

“Ah, yes. I am. Please take it all away. I’ll be going momentarily,” you replied, collecting your clutch purse from the table. “Thank you.”

The butler nodded politely and began to collect the cups and saucers from the table as you carefully slid from your seat and brushed the dust off of your skirt. “Seems too nice a day to go right home, I suppose I’ll walk about first,” you announced out of habit.

“A good idea, madam,” the butler assured with a bow before he turned to take the dirty lunch plates back to the garden’s main building where the kitchen resided.

You were glad that despite having chosen a nice sundress for the day, your shoes were very comfortable. You easily navigated towards the next garden section, away from the bright colored flowers into a more shaded area with tree coverage and benches next to dirt paths.

It was fortunate that many people didn’t like to come onto these little hidden sections, choosing instead to keep to the stone paths around the more conventional attractions. The dirt under your shoes crunched softly and the white noise made you smile as you slipped your sunglasses off, not feeling the need for them in the cover of the trees.

Birds sang out above you, and you whistled in response back before giggling at yourself for behaving like a child. But these little moments of solitude were quickly becoming the only time you felt anything like… yourself. Whoever she was. The person behind the giggles, poised movements, and well-defined makeup.

Was there more to you than all that anymore?

The bird that had just been communicating with you suddenly flew off, followed by several of its friends and you paused to turn around so you could watch them go. “That’s… odd,” you muttered as a black feather fell from the sky and slowly danced its way to the ground in front of you.

You looked back the way you had previously been going, trying to see if you could notice anything unusual- like a large dog- but nothing made itself known down the garden path. Something inside of you whispered, ‘Not that way.’

“Best not to question that,” you said aloud, turning on your heel and going down an alternate path. You hadn’t been persuaded to completely leave this shaded refuge, but you also were a smart enough person to listen to intuition.

If intuition had succeeded, you weren’t sure. The animals were rather quiet for a good stretch of your walk in this direction also. The heavy silence of the trees only being broken up by your footsteps was starting to finally get to you after a few minutes and you were starting to think to turn and go back instead of continuing to where the path would fork in about 20 yards. One of the forks would lead back towards the center of the garden where you could summon your car to take you home, and now it would be shorter than turning around. But was it safe to press on?

You stopped considering your options when the sound of heavy footfall on the dirt path in front of you tingled your ears. The realization of how the animals had been behaving hit you, they had all sensed a danger. While the steps sounded to be a human gait, who could they belong to?

The very real sense of possible danger slipped into your mind and you felt just a little scared. But just as you had the night you saw the body of Mr. Vojtech, there was also a sharp and distinct feeling of excitement as well. What if it was someone that wanted to hurt you? What if they took you away?

The notation was rather electrifying.

Black boots came around a dense bush ahead and you held your breath as the familiar form of Illumi Zoldyck merged from the lush forest fauna. He looked even more breathtaking than you remembered. Dressed for a day of walking around in nature with black boots, long pants, and a short-sleeved shirt. To your utter dismay his hair was also tied back into a loose ponytail. Not as high and tight as the first time you had met him, but not yet flowing in black water around his face.

You felt that cliché ‘rabbit frozen under a wolf’s gaze’ as you stood in front of Illumi, hands clasped over each other on your bag in front of your chest where they had subconsciously gone while you waited to see who would turn the corner. Slowly, to make it look deliberate, you lowered your hands to your waist, resting them naturally in a manner you had practiced since you were six.

Illumi stopped as he noticed you and visibly his posture relaxed just little. His shoulders sank to a natural relaxed position and the poise of the elegant man you had met at the party resumed instantaneously. “Miss. [last name], I’m glad that I found you here,” he said with a tint of a happy tone.

“Illumi?” you asked, and instantly regretted. How stupid was that to say? You licked your lower lip, noticing the slight increase in your heart rate, “I mean… Mr. Zoldyck. What are you doing here?”

Thoughtfully, he looked up into the trees and a slight wind rustled the leaves above the two of you. It was almost picturesque how the leaves separated just enough for some light to sneak through and land on Illumi’s white skin. A hand delicately brushed an escaped strand of hair away from his face from where the wind had pushed it. As the wind settled, he looked down to you again, letting his hand naturally fall to his side. “It’s a nice day, isn’t it?” he asked conversationally.

“Yes, it is,” you replied with an impulsive smile that always came to you naturally during small talk. “It almost seems too nice of a day though. That feeling of something being too perfect to be real.”

He moved towards you with a fluid grace that felt out of place in this environment of dirt and greenery. Even the most cultured men you had met never moved with natural fluidity as Illumi. For him it was if he was in his element wherever he went.

It kind of made a girl jealous.

“You seem bothered,” he put a hand delicately on top of yours that were still clasped tight over your purse. “Did I frighten you?”

His look of concern as he tilted his head to one side made you feel a tiny sense of reassurance, until you remembered Illumi was an assassin. The thought of him killing you still didn’t seem to bother you, despite the slight fear you had felt just moments ago. But some part of you knew you shouldn’t take reassurance from a trained killer.

The tips of his fingers stayed with your hands as you responded, and for some reason that added to your growing calm. “Yes. I’m sorry but you did. I didn’t expect… well anyone, but especially not you out this far from the central area.”

A slight amiable smile slid onto his face as he removed his hand from yours to put it naturally onto his hip. “I frequent this garden when I am in town for business. It isn’t as expansive as where I live though. But I guess when you don’t have that option you have to make do.” You nodded understanding the need to get away from people very well yourself. “What brings you out to the garden today, Miss. [last name]?”

“Oh, I was meeting,” for a flash of a moment between words you thought about lying, but something inside of you told you to tell the truth, “my fiancé.” Your voice had dropped noticeably from start to finish. Mentally you scolded yourself for losing face in from of the handsome Illumi. But you hadn’t wanted to admit why you were in the garden. In some silly fantasy in your head the assassin would one day ask you to dance again and perhaps try to kiss you.

You would let Illumi kiss you in public, you thought to yourself. Just the thought of a party of people seeing that sight and knowing you had escaped a marriage to the stodgy Tibor filled you with excitement, and perhaps just a touch of lust. Lust both for the moment of thrill kissing him in front of a room full of people, and lust of a more sexual nature that lurked below your more girlish desires.

He frowned. It was noticeable. “You don’t sound very happy about that,” he stated.

Manners dictated that you corrected him. ‘No, I’m very happy about my engagement.’ ‘Tibor is a perfect match for me. I worry I’m too boring for him!’ Something along any of those lines, but you couldn’t. The shame you felt for not being able to complete your duty in front of Illumi got to you and your eyes slid down to the dirt. The fingers that were laced over one another on your clutch tightened.

“Miss. [last name]?”

“I don’t have any interest in my fiancé. His family is old money, invested in my own family’s corporation even. But… I feel nothing for him.” You paused, feeling more and more childish as you stood there not looking at the man in front of you.

‘You are acting like a spoiled little girl! Get it together,’ you chided yourself mentally as you forced your eyes back to up look at Illumi who was watching you silently. The same leveled expression as the day he had watched you wonder into the scene of his own work. You labored a smile back into place. “But you have to do what you can for your family, right?”

He was quiet. No response came from him as he stood before you, potentially thinking about your sincerity? Finally, he moved next to you and offered his right arm out for you to take. “I want to walk you back to the front of the garden.”

“Oh, you don’t have to. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have distracted you from your nice day.” The denial of his time came so naturally that it was as if you hadn’t slipped up in your decorum at all.

“I insist.”

You took his arm with a hand, slipping it around his forearm and to his wrist. “Okay,” you muttered softly, feeling your body instantly react to touching his again. It was so slight, just like when you had danced, but you felt so alive. Excited was too simple of a word, but it was all you could think of as he started to walk the way he had come from. As you turned the corner away from the where you had been speaking, the memory of the fleeing animals so far from your mind that it could have happened a lifetime ago, you were grateful for your sunhat. Not only did the trees open back up shortly after that turn, but Illumi would be unable to see your cheeks as they turned an iconic pink.

“May I ask you a question, Mr. Zoldyck?”

“Yes. But I can’t promise I’ll answer.”

That seemed a fair response considering his life. “I hear you have siblings. Are you also the eldest?”

You couldn’t be sure as you weren’t looking at him, but Illumi sounded pleased. “Yes. I have three younger brothers.”

“Younger siblings are wonderful, aren’t they?” you said more to yourself than to Illumi. “I have one younger brother and one youngest sister myself. They can be… annoying sometimes, but I prefer a world where they are my siblings to one without them.” You laughed a little to yourself as you remembered your little sister at the age of 8 when she accidentally killed her pet fish by taking it out of the tank. “They remind you of how amazing the world can be. Learning things that you have known for years makes the world fresh for you.”

What sounded like a chuckle came from Illumi. “That is true. Watching my brothers grow up definitely has reminded me of some things.”

You wanted to ask what exact thing he was thinking of, but you didn’t want to push your luck. You had gotten at least this much and it felt like a bounty of information from an assassin.

Truth be told, you had tried to search the net for more information about the family after the chance encounter at the dance. But very little came up. The mountain they lived on was very public knowledge, how many supposable family members there were was public- but the sources weren’t ever sure.

“You didn’t ask me if you were my target this time,” Illumi pointed out as the front of the garden house came into view, a few couples leaving together having finished their own lunches and strolls. The woman you saw earlier now wore her fuchsia gloxinia in her hair like a prize. As she slid into her car the man that had been with her held the door open and watched her go with a smile. Your chest ached, and you gripped Illumi’s arm.

“I didn’t feel it mattered,” you responded. The ache in your chest was spreading and suddenly you felt a little sick in your stomach.

Illumi placed his left hand over yours and you looked up enough to see him just past the brim of your hat. “Are you alright?”

You noticed then your pace had slowed considerably. “Probably too much sun,” you told him realizing you felt somewhat sick. “Just sun sickness. I’ll be fine. Oh, I still need to call my driver! I was enjoying our conversation, so I forgot.”

Keeping up with Illumi, he urged your pace to quicken back to what it had been previously, and you matched it even though your stomach was starting to turn. “Don’t worry about that. You will just take my car.”

As the two of you approached the driveway, a black sedan pulled up and stopped perfectly in front of your path. A young woman with hair as black as Illumi’s stepped out of the driver’s seat. She seemed very pretty to you, with a serious face as she moved around the car to open the door with a slight bow at the waist.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you said as Illumi led you up to the door. But in spite of your words you let yourself be urged to the car, and Illumi held your hand to steady yourself as you slid into the backseat. “Thank you,” you said sheepishly from the comfort of the car seat.

He nodded at your words and lifted a hand towards the woman still holding the door open. “Amane will take you where ever you need to go. Just give her the address.”

“What about you, Mr. Zoldyck?”

“I have some business to attend to and Amane will return for me.”

Amane nodded at Illumi to show she heard him, and on some unspoken order she left to return to the driver seat. “Well… if you insist. Thank you. I do hope that we can meet again Mr. Zoldyck.”

“Of course. I still plan to claim another dance,” he said with a smirk that you couldn’t quite place the intentions behind before he shut the car door and Amane directed the car away from the curb.

You muttered to the dark-haired woman your address before laying your head back on your seat. The ability to rest instead of walking was a real relief as the car made its way around the city back towards your home. You ran over the events of the afternoon. Dull Tibor, the nice walk, the birds, and running into Illumi.

Some part of you realized that he hadn’t asked you to take his arm so much as told you to. It should have taken your notice at the time, such a bold act against decorum. But, it had seemed so in place.

A fresh wave of feeling very ill rushed you and you were forced to stop the train of thought as you sat up again to try and stay focused on pushing past the feeling. Had you really gotten that much sun today? Perhaps lunch had been to heavy for such a warm day.

Grateful to see the building your family condo was in on the horizon was an understatement. Usually in the summer your family was in the summer home in the country, but with the engagement and many business matters coming up for the next month you had all been somewhat forced to stay where you were for the time being.

Amane pulled up in front of the doors perfectly. In fact, all of her driving had been perfect and perhaps was the only reason you weren’t feeling worse. “Thank you, Amane,” you told her as the doorman of your building came to the car and opened the door.

“You’re very welcome, Miss. [last name].”

A gloved hand offered itself down to you, and more than grateful for the assistance you took it. The black sedan left as soon as the door was firmly shut by the doorman and you made way inside to a blissfully controlled temperature environment that did a lot to help you feel better.

Stepping into the condo off of the elevator was a relief, and you didn’t remember much of making your way through to your room- kicking off your shoes and ditching your hat in an unceremoniously, bad-mannered fashion- but when you woke up at 3am you felt disoriented but much better.

You even managed to eat some food in the quiet kitchen, unsure of which family members where home and their state of unconsciousness. But admittedly you didn’t quite care as you nibbled some toast and egg. The gentleness of the toast was a nice carrier to the egg protein that you felt like you needed as your empty feeling stomach gurgled loudly.

The sound of someone saying your name caught your attention as the elevator doors slid shut in the front of the condo. You had been so out of it that you hadn’t even heard the elevator announce itself. Maybe you really had been sick. You abandoned your second piece of toast to investigate who was calling you, though your stomach groaned in remorse.

Your father stood in the living room, looking exhausted but happy to be home in his familiar environment as he let his body fall into a stuffed chair. You had only seen him throw himself about like that two other times in your life, so it was startling. “Daddy? What’s wrong?” you asked, going to sit on the sofa nearest to the chair.

“I’m glad you are up,” he said, rubbing his eyes as before righting himself so that while he was still lounging he was doing so with slightly better posture.

“I slept a lot longer than I had meant to. I didn’t feel very well when I came home from lunch with Tibor.”

His lips fell even further into a frown as he looked at you. For a moment you wondered if it was slight disapproval that you were still in your sundress at 3:30 in the morning. “Did I miss something important?” It had been a rare day off for you, not having to attend any meetings with your father or do any social calls- other than Tibor- for the sake of the company. So the paranoia that perhaps you had forgotten something in your enjoyment of the day easily slid over you as you mentally went back through your calendar.

“Do you like Tibor Waterman?”

The question struck you as a bit odd, but you responded quickly, “He is a perfectly fine gentleman.”

“That isn’t what I asked.” The serious and strong tone of your father hit you with a force you hadn’t felt since he scolded you as child. “Darling,” he slid forward in his chair to be level with your eyes, “Do you like Tibor?”

The corner of your mouth turned down and you gripped the hem of your dress in your hands tightly. “No. I find him boring. He has no personality, his attraction to me is played up in such a way that makes me feel like a useless doll, and I don’t find him handsome in the least.”

“But still you would marry him?”

You nodded. “Of course. It’s what is good for the family right? Perhaps…. With enough time together I can start to find some of his charms.” Unconsciously your eyes slid away from your father’s to the glass coffee table. The images of marrying Tibor flitted across your mind. Seeing him every morning over coffee, getting texts from him while you worked on data sheets and letters, him making you have lunch together almost every day, coming home and having to slide into bed next to him.

His hands on your naked body.

It made a sense of dread wash over you. If white noise had a physical feeling it would be as if you were wrapped up in that. But you forced yourself to think of anything positive about him, trying to cope with the outlook of the future. His hair was nice. You touched it once when you had kissed his cheek. And maybe with time you could find the movies he showed you interesting.

“Darling,” your father called, and you snapped out of a mental image of trying to find joy in your dull marriage to look at him again. “The wedding is canceled.”

[fucking-zawa-sensei]

Skyscraper

Title: Skyscraper

Rating: T

Word Count: 2k+

Categories: fluff, high school

Notes: This one is for @yaycreamymancakes who is so awesome and I adore their art so much. They make me smile a lot with their shenanigans on discord, even if I’m mostly a lurker around those parts. They requested some highschool erasermic, in which Hizashi as a growth spurt over summer break and Shouta just can’t keep his eyes off him.

Read it on AO3 here

Skyscraper

The teachers had warned them that the summer before their senior year would be difficult, but as Shouta pulls out the seat of his desk and flops down onto the hard surface, watching as his classmates sink into their chairs in much the same, defeated way, he’s thinking their teachers could have been a bit more serious when they’d tossed the advice out into the air like they were saying something as trivial as, “it’s hot today.”

These internships were nothing like the short, almost laughably simpler ones of their first and second years.

Shouta’s back still aches from all the nights he’d spent hurling himself across rooftops, trying to keep up with his pro hero mentor, while simultaneously coming to the realization that he had years to go before he’d truly master his capture weapon.

Tensei comes into the classroom with a soft smile on his face that almost makes Shouta think his family had taken it easy on him when he’d continued to choose their agency for his studies, but the weak wave the boy gives Shouta before sitting down says otherwise.

Shouta groans and folds his arms on his desk, dropping his head down to rest atop them, blocking out the chatter of his classmates as they wait for the last students to trickle in before homeroom. He’s almost about to doze off when he hears a few people nearby let out little gasps. Unable to shove away the curiosity itching at the back of his mind, he lifts his head just enough to peak out from underneath his long bangs.

The student in front of him shifts to the side and he can see what everyone is staring at.

Or, rather, who they’re all staring at.

Hizashi was always an attention grabber, with his bright hair, styled to stand up, his even brighter glasses, and usually many bracelets, rings, or other accessories adding pops of color to his otherwise standard uniform. Being best friends with the boy, Shouta had gotten used to all the exciting decorations, all the extra pizzazz Hizashi put into every outfit and movement, always talking with not just his hands, but his whole body.

Most of his other classmates had gotten used to it by now as well, having spent the past two years in class together, but those aren’t the thing that is catching everyone’s eye now.

What’s different about Hizashi is not something he’d put on, it’s his height.

It’s his towering, immense height.

Hizashi had been rather small before, perhaps even a little more than usual for his age, a few inches shorter than Shouta if his hair was down.

Now, Shouta isn’t standing up, so it’s hard to tell, but Hizashi looks several heads taller than him.

He looked like a skyscraper, dragging his long legs over to the desk beside Shouta’s.

Shouta can’t help the way he sits up, watches with wide eyes as his friend walks behind him before pulling out his chair and sitting down. Shouta doesn’t miss the way Hizashi’s knees bang the bottom of his desk when he first scoots his chair forward, apparently not used to his new height yet himself either.

When Hizashi turns toward Shouta, he panics, dropping his head back into his folded arms, turning the other way, pretending he wanted some extra sleep before homeroom. It wouldn’t be hard to believe. He’d done this before when he had spent too much time training or just hadn’t been able to sleep well the night before. After the first few times where Hizashi had asked if he was feeling unwell, the other boy had learned to just give Shouta his space and he’d usually recover enough to have lunch with Hizashi and their other friends by the afternoon.

Shouta hears a soft sigh behind him and Hizashi’s chair creak a little as he shifts his position.

He wasn’t sleepy right now.

If Hizashi could see his face, he’d see that it was a vibrant, bright pink.

Shouta’s eyes were wide where he hid them behind his arm.

Somewhere along the lines last year, Shouta had realized he had a crush on the other boy, but had been doing what he thought to be a damn good job of hiding it. Now, though, now, with all that extra height, with those long limbs and sun kissed skin, apparently having spent a large majority of his internship outside during daytime, Shouta can’t keep the heat off his cheeks.

Hizashi looked damn good.

Shit, shit, shit, Shouta curses inside his mind.

It felt like being dragged back to ground zero, like he was realizing his feelings for the other boy all over again, the same way he had the first time, when Hizashi had fallen asleep at the kotatsu during one of their study sessions and Shouta had draped a blanket across his shoulders with a softness he’d never treated anyone else with before. He remembers the moment so vividly, staring down at Hizashi’s peaceful, sleeping face and realizing this boy was someone he could never imagine being without.

Yet, with their internships sending them to separate cities, demanding all their free time, he hadn’t seen the blond all summer break, and had apparently missed quite the change.

“Shit, Hizashi, look at you!” he hears Tensei’s voice trail behind him, as the boy comes up to talk to Hizashi.

“Haha, yeah. Turns out I’m a late bloomer or whatever,” Hizashi laughs out.

Shouta keeps his head tucked safely away, but tilts it just enough to not muffle his ear.

“I’ll say! You must be taller than me now!”

“You? No way!”

“Stand up, let’s see!”

Shouta hears Hizashi’s chair screech as it’s pushed back and the other boy presumably stands to compare his height with Tensei.

“Oh, wow, guess I am!”

Shouta bites his lip.

He’s taller than Tensei?

His face gets impossibly hotter.

At this rate, he’d have to keep his head buried for all of homeroom.

Hell, at this rate, he wouldn’t be able to look at Hizashi ever again.

“How does it feel?” Tensei asks. “Hit any lamps?” he jokes.

Hizashi laughs again and Shouta hears more shuffling and the chair creaks again.

“Ah...I don’t know. I’m still getting used to it. It kind of hurt when it happened, to be honest. Growing pains,” he says, with his tone dismissive. Shouta frowns, his mind switching tracks as he picks up the uneasy lilt to Hizashi’s words, his concern for the other boy overriding his crush.

He lifts his head, turning to look at Hizashi, his flush having disappeared. Hizashi’s eyes widen and it takes Shouta aback for a second, seeing that green gaze uninterrupted by his glasses, which have been pushed back onto the top of Hizashi’s head. The blond’s thumb and forefinger are still pressed against the bridge of his nose, where he’d apparently been rubbing before Shouta had decided to join the conversation.

“Ah, hey, Shouta!” Hizashi smiles, dropping his hand away from his face and pulling his glasses back into place. “How was your summer?” Immediately, Hizashi’s voice has ticked up back to its normal, happy pitch.

Shouta feels the heat resurfacing along the back of his neck and quickly tries to shake off the thought of, he’s happy to talk to me.

“Exhausting,” he answers. It’s the truth. He was still tired and sore from the weeks of training.

Tensei hums his agreement from where he stands above them.

“I feel that,” he says. Tensei rubs at his arms, just below where his engines are. “I thought I was going to lose a limb a few times there. At least with my internship being with my family, I didn’t have to explain when I almost fell asleep at dinner a few times.”

Shouta snorts and Hizashi full on belly laughs at the imagery of Tensei passing out into his salad.

“Yeah...sleep was hard to come by,” Shouta comments, resting his chin against his hand. He’d worked with an underground hero, knowing by now that, that was the path he’d be going down, and while he’d thought adjusting to no sleep at night would be easy for someone like him, he’d collapsed on his bedroom floor a few times coming home after work, not making it to the bed.

“How about you?” Tensei asks Hizashi.

The boy shrugs.

“Ah...the internship really wasn’t so bad...but my quirk got pretty out of control when my growth spurt happened. That wasn’t fun,” Hizashi admits, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at his desk.

“Sorry to hear that,” Tensei says, placing a hand on Hizashi’s shoulder. “It’s better now?”

Hizashi shrugs and Shouta is about to open his mouth, try to say something, anything to get the smile back on the blond’s face, but their homeroom teacher walks through door, calling their attention to her.

Tensei moves back to his seat and before Shouta can say anything, they’re thrown quickly into the first day’s classes.

It’s not until lunch that he gets the opportunity to say anything to Hizashi, but by then, the other boy already seems to be in a better mood, and they’d promised to meet Nemuri at one of the benches outside the school to catch up now that she’d graduated. Shouta walks beside Hizashi as they make their way to the meeting place, unable to stop himself from continuously glancing at the other boy, letting his eyes roam up and down his towering body, still not used to having to look up to see his face.

“It’s weird, huh?”

Hizashi’s question throws him for a loop, making him stumble a bit in his gait.

“W-what?” Shouta asks.

“Me being so tall, it’s weird, isn’t it?” Hizashi asks again, looking down at Shouta with a small, almost insecure smile.

“No,” Shouta insists.

“I see the way you keep looking at me,” Hizashi says. He pauses his step, and Shouta casts a helpless look over his shoulder as Tensei keeps walking on ahead of them, leaving them alone.

What was he supposed to say to that?

Yeah, you’re right. I can’t keep my eyes off you?

“Um…” Shouta mumbles, looking to the side.

“Is it my clothes? I know they’re kind of awkward now...they don’t fit right. I had to get bigger ones, but now these are too big…” Hizashi says, pulling at his shirt. Now that he mentions it, Shouta could see how Hizashi’s clothes sag around him in ways they never did before, obviously too large for his slim frame.

“I guess they think that if you’re tall, you’re also really muscular or something,” Hizashi says. “Not me, though, I still got these sweet, sweet chicken legs,” Hizashi jokes and rolls his eyes, but Shouta hears how his tone is too dark to really be considered funny. It’s too self-deprecating.

Was he really feeling bad about the way he looked now?

“What? No!” Shouta says. “You look…” Shouta runs his hands through his hair. “You...the reason I keep looking at you is because I think...I think you look really good. I think…well I just...like it...I like the new you.”

This time, when the blush comes creeping onto his cheeks, he doesn’t hide it. There isn’t any way for him to cover up his face anyway.

“You like it?”

Shouta nods.

“You like…”

Shouta lifts his head, looking at Hizashi, only to see the blond is also flushed.

“Me?” Hizashi finishes his sentence and Shouta’s heart takes off, immediately kicked into overdrive.

His mouth feels incredibly dry. He opens it, but nothing comes out. There are no words in his head, and now he’s just standing there, wide eyed and slack jawed in front of his friend.

Hizashi waits, but as Shouta continues to not respond, he chuckles a little awkwardly and starts turning.

“I...uh...sorry…I guess I got the wrong idea...I-” Hizashi starts mumbling as he moves to walk away, but Shouta grabs his arm.

“I do.”

Hizashi looks back at Shouta and he holds his breath.

“You do...what?” Hizashi asks.

Shouta can’t believe he’s going to make him say it.

“Like you. I do. I do like you.”

Just like that, Hizashi’s grin bursts onto his face, and Shouta’s heart flutters.

“Good! Great!” Hizashi shouts and steps closer to Shouta, laughing. “Good! Because I do too! I like you too!”

“N-no way…” Shouta whispers.

“Yes way! I like you a lot! I was so worried...when you turned away this morning…” Hizashi’s gaze shifts down to the ground. “I thought you didn’t like the way I looked now...or that something had happened over the summer and you didn’t like me anymore…”

“No, never,” Shouta says, moving his grip down from where he’d been holding Hizashi’s wrist to grab the blond’s hand instead, intertwining their fingers. “I’ve liked you for a while now, since last year. Nothing has changed. Well…”

“Well?” Hizashi asks, squeezing his hand.

“I guess you got a bit hotter…”

Hizashi’s face goes pink.

“Shouta!”

He smirks as the blond pulls his hand away from Shouta’s and uses it to cover up his face, flustered by Shouta’s comment.

“Are you two love birds going to join us anytime soon or are Tensei and I just going to eat by ourselves?” Nemuri shouts from where she’s waiting on the bench with Tensei.

Shouta had almost completely forgotten about lunch, and by Hizashi’s shocked expression, apparently so had he.

Hizashi smiles down at Shouta and offers his hand again, which he takes, and they begin walking toward their friends to undoubtedly answer a whole lot of questions Shouta really didn’t care to talk about.

It’s okay, though, he’s sure Hizashi can give them all the details.

He was good at talking.

More than that, he was good at understanding Shouta’s needs, the way he wouldn’t want to share everything that had just happened between them, wouldn't want to gush over the fine details like Nemuri was bound to.

Hizashi squeezes his hand and Shouta looks up at him.

“I’m so happy,” he says.

Shouta smiles and the words come out easy, “Me too.”

[let-it-raines]

Love your prompts! If it's still open - CS and baby's first xmas?

I’ve gotten quite a few of these, so if you’ve sent me one, I hope this is okay as the answer, even if it’s not your original ask. Canon is not my cup of tea, but I try and take a few liberties. Also, holy holiday fics, you guys :D

There’s a large tree in their living room, green branches smelling of pine and lit up by multi-colored lights with colorful baubles hanging on the branches. At the top rests a star and at the bottom rests boxes wrapped in colorful paper like the baubles all tied up with ribbons. Above the fireplace there are four red and white stockings, each one respectively inscribed with the names Killian, Emma, Henry, and Hope, and on the front door there’s a wreath, fake red cranberries sticking out of the vibrant greenery. At night, and only at night, there are white lights lit up that are strung across the rooftop, something that caused him a hell of a lot of annoyances and pains until he said screw it and asked Emma to flick her fingers and string the lights so that he wasn’t climbing atop their pointed roof while white snow covered the black shingles.

His entire home looks like festivity vomited on it – a phrase Emma has assured him does not match up with the Christmas holiday – and while a part of him can’t help but think that they’re going to have to take this all down, he mostly thinks that it’s as magical as his family is.

And he means that literally.

His family is actual magic, the kind written about in storybooks and spell books and projected across the television screen in fantasy, but to him, it’s all real.

He didn’t celebrate Christmas in the Enchanted Forest – he definitely didn’t celebrate in Neverland – but there were similar holidays. The firelight festival was held in the winters in certain kingdoms. Candles would be lit to imitate Christmas lights, though no one knew that at the time, and they’d line the streets while people stood outside and sang songs and traded goods and food while drinking ale. It was bloody wonderful the few times he got to celebrate, but he spent most of his winters out at sea, whether he wanted to or not.

But then he came to Storybrooke and met a woman – though he didn’t exactly meet Emma here – and everything changed.

There was no time for holidays his first few years here, not that he would have been invited anyways, but in the last few years, things have calmed and everyone has been allowed to celebrate whichever holiday they please.

What Emma pleases is Christmas.

And he’d do anything to make Emma happy, including stringing lights on the roof of their house and ordering a Santa Suit online so he could play Santa for all of the children in town when no one else would do it. He looks absolutely nothing like whoever Santa Claus is – though he thinks that may be one character who isn’t real – and he’s not sure any of the kids believed it, especially when Alexandra asked why he sounded like Killian.

Last year, Emma had been six months pregnant during December, and she was ready to get a move on things. He can’t begin to count the amount of times he caught her muttering about speeding along the pregnancy, wanting to fit into her jeans again, not having to pee in the middle of the night, and finally, getting to meet their daughter. It was an adventure like all of their other ones, and his quests to the market in the middle of the night to buy her chocolate ice cream only to have to return with pickles instead were a quest if he ever went on one.

But it was always worth it. He’d come home with the goods she wanted, and sometimes she’d eat them, other times she wouldn’t, but it always ending up with them in bed watching late-night television. He thought he knew Emma before, thought there was very little left of her book to be read – though he’d never tire or rereading it and discovering new passages he might have missed the first time – but then during those nights, he’d learn more about his wife than he ever thought possible.

She took to resting against his side, her body pressed against his from shoulder to toes, while his arm wrapped around her waist and either played with the loose strings of her hair or found itself resting on her ever-growing belly. Hope was quite the kicker, always moving around, and they both found comfort in feeling her move. During those late nights, especially around Christmas time, Emma would share a little more insight into how she felt growing up alone, all of the hopes and dreams she had about what Christmas could one day be like. He understood it all, childhood memories of wanting and wishing for more and for different in the back of his mind.

They weren’t in the past anymore. They were in the here in now with a bright future ahead of them, a happy beginning really.

So the things they talked about weren’t always melancholy. Emma would teach him more about the music she likes, varying between Motown and Rock of the past and the Pop music of today. He quite liked the classical, the ones without words, but Emma only liked those for background noise. So they’d take to talking about music or movies or television shows, which always lead to real life stories that gave him peeks into his wife’s mind.

Then, without fail, he’d be weaving her an intricate tale only for him to look down and hear soft snores against his chest.

He’d smile before leaning down and kissing her forehead and her stomach, wishing his loves a good night’s rest while he watched over them both.

But this year Emma is not pregnant, and they have a lively little bundle of energy bouncing around the house. Well, actually, she’s crawling and can prop herself up to stand with a few steps that get a little longer every day. From all the books he’s read, and it was a lot, she’s progressing just fine, if not the slightest bit advanced…or maybe that’s just his thinking. He’s biased, but his daughter is bloody brilliant and has been since the day she was born.

Gods, that was a beautiful moment.

Bloody and loud and uncomfortable, but beautiful.

He hears Emma’s footsteps pad down the staircase. From the way she’s walking, she’s avoiding the creaks, but he knows that she’s still going to hit the one on the left five steps from the bottom. Right on cue, the stair moans and Emma groans before continuing on and coming to stand in front of him. She’s got on naught a thing but one of his old pirate shirts, something she’s taken to sleeping in because the necks allow easy access for breast feeding, and her long thin legs are on full display to his gaze, expanses of creamy skin right before him.

“Killian,” she whispers despite no one else being around, “what are you still doing downstairs?”

He hums before splaying his knees apart and tugging on her (his) shirt before she stumbles forward into the open space, her hands falling against his shoulders and the shirt dipping open in front of him. “Well, I’m playing Santa, and I hear there’s a song out there about mommy kissing Santa Claus.”

Her face scrunches up, and even though he knew it was a joke in bad form, he still had to say it.

“That’s not your best flirting, Mr. Jones.”

“Aye, I know. But I was still kind of hoping you’d kiss me.”

Her legs bend before she settles down onto his lap and her arms wrap around his neck. She’s warm, always so warm except for her damn feet, and he closes his eyes the moment her lips slant over his and his arms begin rubbing up and down her back, tugging her as close as he can get her.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” he whispers when they pull back from each other.

She reaches to the side and pulls his left arm up, placing a kiss against his stump and holding it against her chest while her other hand caresses his stubble. “Merry Christmas, babe. Do you want to come to bed now? The Grinch isn’t going to come and steal our Christmas tree. I think you might be safe.”

He chuckles before leaning into her palm. “I don’t know. Weird things happen here, and I think Hope may lose it if there’s no tree or presents in the morning.”

“She’s not even ten months old. She doesn’t understand the concept of Christmas.”

“But she understands the concept of shiny things and new toys. And we understand the concept of Christmas. Wasn’t it you who said this is more for us than for her?”

“Hmm, I don’t recall.”

“Liar.”

Emma gasps, even if it’s exaggerated, and he rolls his eyes. “How dare you call the mother of your children a thief. And at Christmas time no less. You scoundrel.”

“Dashing rapscallion.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She tugs at his t-shirt collar before leaning down and kissing him again, her lips barely brushing over his. “Let’s go to bed, dashing rapscallion. The real Santa won’t come if we’re down here, and I may have a nice little red surprise waiting for you upstairs.”

He quirks his eyebrow while his body begins to tingle and Emma rises from her perch on his lap.

“Really now?”

“You’ll have to come if you want to find out.”

She begins to walk away and he leans forward to playfully smack her ass, which only makes her sway her hips in a more obvious fashion. Yeah, he loves her a hell of a lot.

“That’s the plan.”

He wakes the next morning to Emma splayed across the entire bed, her head resting over his stomach, and to the sounds od Hope’s babbling through the static of the baby monitor. In the video screen, she’s just sitting up in her crib, but she likely needs to be fed and changed, so he slides out of bed, pulls his pajama pants back up, and wanders down the hall to her nursery. He’s got no clue what time it is, but Henry hasn’t woken to go downstairs to open presents yet, and if it’s anything like last year, he won’t be up anytime soon.

“Hi, little love,” he greets the moment he walks into the room, and Hope’s blue eyes find him almost immediately before she screeches. She’s adorable but holy hell can she make some noises. “Okay, okay,” he soothes, stepping forward and scooping her up so that she’s squirming in his arms, “daddy is just going to change your diaper and get you dressed in the pajamas we bought for mommy, okay? Because it’s Christmas, bug. Yeah, Merry Christmas, Hope.”

Hope doesn’t talk back because, well, of course she doesn’t, but he likes talking to his daughter anyways. One day she’ll be able to speak and she’ll very well talk to him like Henry sometimes talks to him, angry and dismissive and pissed that he said no to staying out until three in the morning. But right now, wishing he’d thought to put his brace on to help hold her down, she babbles as he changes her, and he’s content to listen to her little noises. He quite loves her little sounds, and as much as he loves watching her grow and watching the milestones, he kind of wants it to all just…stop.

He doesn’t want her to grow up. He wants to be able to hold her in his arms forever and listen to her squeals and dress her in pajamas with a tail on her bottom likes she’s a human reindeer.

Ten years ago, if he’d had a thought like that, he would have assumed he was delusional and dying, but it’s not ten years ago. It’s here and now, and while he’ll gladly challenge anyone who dare hurts his family, he’ll also gladly be gushy and sentimental for his family. He wasn’t sentimental, or at least he claimed not to be, for so long, and now his treasure chest isn’t simply a box of things. It’s a home of memories.

Once Hope is changed and dressed, her blonde curls pinned back with a bow, he walks her down to he and Emma’s bedroom, quietly sneaking in and getting back under the covers while Emma slumbers away…until Hope squeals again and gets her chubby hands on Emma’s face.

“Hi, baby,” Emma sighs, her eyes almost instantly transforming from terrified to affectionate. She moves the comforter, the blankets rustling, making sure that it’s still covering her bare chest until her hands are free and she’s sitting up against the headboard. “Did daddy come take care of you while I was sleeping? Yeah? That’s because I put him in a good mood last night.”

“Swan,” he chastises, though no part of him means it.

“She’s a baby, Killian. She doesn’t know what sex is. It’s not like having Henry in the room. We can’t traumatize her like that yet.”

“I know.” He leans over and kisses his wife’s head before pressing a kiss against Hope. “When should we wake Henry up? I know he’s sixteen, but the lad sleeps like a rock.”

Emma hums beside him, still rocking Hope on her lap while their daughter continues to touch all of Emma’s face. “Let me enjoy some cuddles with this little reindeer, nice choice by the way, before we go wake him up. We’ve got to get our stuff done before we head over to mom and dad’s.”

They end up waking Henry around seven, and for someone who has not been a fan of waking up before noon on his break from school, he shoots out of his bed pretty quickly, ambling down the hallway with a determination in his eyes that must be some kind of Christmas thing. He practically bounds down the stairs until Emma stops him, handing over Hope and claiming that she needs pictures of the two of them coming downstairs to see what Santa brought. Henry grumbles a bit before Hope slobbers over his face, and then he smiles down at his sister and talks to her, telling her all about Santa and Christmas while trying to get her to pose for the camera. It’s a disaster, but he’s sure that he and Emma will treasure the pictures and memories regardless.

Henry rips through his presents almost instantly, his face lighting up with excitement over the new laptop they bought him for his writing. Of course, he knows that the lad will likely use it to watch Netflix, but maybe some actual writing and work will be done.

“Thank you, guys,” Henry gushes, getting up and hugging Emma’s neck before he moves to come hug his.

“You’re welcome, my boy,” Killian whispers into Henry’s ear while patting his back. “I think there are some other things under the tree for you, too.”

“I know, but I already know what all of those are.”

“Kid,” Emma chuckles, wrangling Hope in her lap, “what the hell? Did you sneak peeks?”

“No, but you ordered them on Amazon, and it’s hooked up to my email.”

Emma’s mouth gapes open while Henry smirks, and Killian throws his hands up in the air. “See, darling, modern technology is bloody wonderful, but if we’d gone to the store, none of this would have ever happened.”

She huffs in response before looking down at Hope. “Your daddy and your brother are ruining Christmas, and you’re just happy to be playing with the wrapping paper. They should be more like you.”

“She’s a baby, mom.”

“Yeah, well, you’re my baby, too.”

“Mom,” Henry whines, but he smiles anyhow.

The rest of their morning is a blur of red and green wrapping paper being tossed around and thrown away, toys and books and clothes scattered all across the living room. It looks like a tornado has blown through, but for one day, he won’t bother to clean up right away. He’s just going to enjoy this time with his family.

They get Hope several sets of new clothes, none of which she cares about, and several new toys, all of which she cares about for ten minutes before moving on. Meanwhile Henry is sitting in the recliner messing with his computer, mumbling under his breath as it chimes in his lap. Emma opens her gifts, a myriad of clothes and books as well as some Granny’s gift cards. They’re not a thing, but he convinced the Widow Lucas to make them a thing for Emma. But then she opens a small box filled with a diamond necklace, and her eyes light up.

“Killian, we weren’t supposed to do any nice gifts like this.”

“Aye,” he scratches the back of his head and smiles down at her, “I know. I just saw it and thought you’d like it. And that maybe one day you’d go back to wearing necklaces again.’

“Will you,” she begins, scooting over on the couch so that her thighs press against his, “will you put it on? Hope will probably yank it off, but at least for this moment.”

She hands him the silver chain before sweeping her hair over her neck, the thick blonde strands all falling to one side. It takes some maneuvering, but it’s nothing he’s not capable of, and he gets the chain to clasp behind her neck, pressing a soft kiss just below where it rests.

“Beautiful,” he sighs, and Emma smiles. They both know he’s not talking about the necklace.

Though it is a damn beautiful necklace. He has become quite adept at gift giving if he says so himself.

He eventually gets around to opening his own gifts, some sea charts from Henry. He says they’re vintage, which is Henry’s way of saying they’re old, and Killian sometimes wonders if that’s how Henry describes him to his friends…as vintage. Emma’s bought him some new clothes, some of them too bloody bright for his liking, as well as a telescope and new vacuum. Henry practically falls out of his chair laughing at him being excited over a new vacuum, and that’s when he promptly tells Henry that the lad can use it to clean all of this up tonight.

And then maybe he’ll use Henry’s new laptop to “Netflix and chill” with Emma.

Both Emma and Henry gasp, but he chuckles along with Hope. She has no idea what’s going on, but her little baby laugh makes the entire room melt and forget that he just scandalized both mother and son.

Possibly.

Henry may remember that forever.

After all is said and done, it’s a wonderful Christmas morning with just the four of them in their home before they’re all on their way to different houses and celebrations with the complex, wonderful family to which they belong.

“So,” Emma asks, coming to stand next to him and wrapping an arm around his waist while Hope is snuggly perched on her opposite hip, “was operation baby’s first Christmas a success?”

He leans down to kiss her hairline, lingering a tad bit too long and letting the scent of her shampoo and flowery perfume invade his senses. “It was perfect.”

[wtnvwritings]

Forgotten Lunches

AO3 Version

Relationship: Cecil/Siren!Reader/Carlos

Rating: General

Wordcount: 2.4k

Summary:  You, Cecil and Carlos are in a happy, loving relationship together. This is just a view into one day of your lives, a day where both of your boyfriends have forgotten their lunch at home--so you decide to bring it to them.

Note: Totally used the headcanon by @welcometonvheadcanons​ on how Cecil signs his text messages--I think it's adorable!

Click here for more information about the siren race

It comes as no surprise when it’s revealed that both Carlos and Cecil have left their lunch at home. When you stepped into the kitchen, half-dressed and still groggy with sleep, fate seemed more than happy to answer the question of ‘what will I do today?’ with a very simple answer.

Deliver the lunches of your forgetful boyfriends, of course. You can’t call yourself surprised, considering that not one, but both of them got up late for their respective jobs, tossed on clothes and tried to hurry their morning routine to but a fraction of what they’d normally give themselves.

For Cecil, it was a quick dash to the bathroom, a throwing-on of clothes and a very quick peck to yours and Carlos’ cheeks before he dashed like a breeze of cold wind out the door.

For Carlos, he was at least a little more calm, even while hurried--he had looser hours to his job in the research facility, after all, so the two of you were able to enjoy a joke or two at the expense of both of your lover. Still, he got ready and left before you could remind him to grab his lunch, the food you’d made for both of them the night prior.

What were the odds for the alarms for both of them failing to go off?

Not entirely impossible, as the morning itself would have.

You eye up the two neatly-wrapped lunches, only briefly considering if you were lazy enough to simply text both of them to come home on their break. The thought came, settled in your thoughts for a few seconds, and then you gently pushed them away in favor of being a more-or-less good person.

Besides, you haven’t had a chance to walk around town without the need of research on your back--a couple days off work has been sorely needed.

You ready yourself slowly, glamour forgone in choice of feeling the space and universe around you in your truest form. It isn’t much different from being under the shade of human glamour of course, not physically, but there’s the mildest sensation of freedom that comes with not having to wear another layer of being.

And it’s nice to shapeshift at will, if only to reach an extra limb or two out around you to gather up your outfit for the day.

Since most of your clothes fit a human form, you keep such a shape--two arms, two legs and a single head utop your shoulders, a bit of hair atop that single head. It means at least that you get to pick out something to wear with ease. 

You pluck your way through the closet, passing over some of Cecil’s clothes with a soft smile on your face; though he’s quite comfortable in his human form and in human-shaped clothes, he is certainly not afraid of tailoring some outfits to match other forms with other shapes. You’re hoping that Cecil will one day feel more comfortable in his unglamored body, but that’s a personal issue for every siren to deal with on their own time and willingness--a life lived among humans can influence one’s sense of beauty and self-confidence quite a bit.

Just as you’re about ready to leave the apartment, you remember something important, and quickly grab the soft, thin cloak sitting on one of the hooks near the door. You pull it over your shoulders, the hood over your head, grab the forgotten lunches in a bag and make your way out the door.

 The sun is always bright and hot in Night Vale--on the days it decides to lift into the sky, that is. Some days don’t have a sun and that’s alright, not everyone can be so confident in the way they light up the lives of others.

Still, today is one such bright, hot, sun-filled day. Though it’s certainly nice to have a step-up of cape twirling around your body with every hot, desert breeze, it’s not exactly an accessory by choice. For whatever reason it is, trying to bare your unglamored skin to the sun of Night Vale for long periods of time leaves you feeling ill, struck with flu-like symptoms that last a day or so, depending on the level of exposure. 

It’s gotten better over time, and you are almost curious if it’s something specific to Night Vale’s sun, as opposed to the sun of other towns. You have yet the chance to ask Cecil, though you also wonder if he would know anything himself; again, he doesn’t tend to tend to exist outside his glamour very often.

An interesting thought, nevertheless. Maybe Carlos would like to look into such a curiosity, if he has the time between all of his other experiments and questions...and other things that scientists do.

You catch a familiar face every now and again as you walk, cloak billowing behind you in vibrant color that looks so stark against the dark of your skin and form. You greet them always with a smile, even a soft chuckle when you explain why you’re out and about.

“My boyfriends left their lunches at home,” you’d say to each one who asks. “They were in such a hurry this morning!”

“It’s a good thing they have a partner like you, dear,” Old Woman Josie had said, surrounded on either side by her tall, heavenly friends, friends who were certainly not angels, but who definitely waved at you in a warm greeting. “Tell Carlos that I’ll be coming by the center later today--he’s been wanting to look at one of my old family relics.”

It doesn’t take too long to get to Carlos’ research center. Maybe ten, twenty minutes at most of a walk, though most of it is spent at intersections, waiting for the flashing lights of wilting lilies so you can safely cross from one side to another. It lets you get your thoughts in place at least, let them jumble about your mind until they have found a place to settle.

By the time you arrive at the center, the sun is high and hotter than before. You’re eager to get out of the sweltering air and into a slightly-less-sweltering building, if only so you can finally pull back the hood on the cloak and see a little bit better.

You catch the attention instantly of one of Carlos’ scientists on his team. She’s a young girl, a bit newer than the rest but with eyes that glitter like stars and a mind as sharp as a knife.

“Hey Sammy,” you say pleasantly, gently raising the bag in your hands in a gesture. “Carlos forgot his lunch at home. Where’s he at right now?”

Sammy smiles in turn and gently points to one direction of the room--because the entire research facility is really just one big room, built using the foundations of the old Night Vale High School gym, which had been itself built before school officials realized that a gym shouldn’t be located several miles away from the school itself.

There’s some dividers separating the spaces claimed by several members of the team, but it’s still one large room filled with bustling scientists going about their daily experiments and research.

“He’s over by the table,” Sammy finally says. “You know, the one that’s not real?”

You can’t help but chuckle.

“The one that looks real but, by all accounts, is not?”

She echoes the soft noise of humor, the little joke between you staying just that before you step through the makeshift laboratory to find one of your two likely-hungry boyfriends.

Of course you find him by the table, an ordinary-looking table of four legs and mild detailing around the edges. He stands next to it, one hand on his chin and the other propped on his hip. His hair looks a little frazzled, as if he’s recently run his fingers through it, but he otherwise doesn’t look half-starved.

“Hey,” You say, gently pulling his attention away from the non-existent piece of furniture. “You left something at home this morning.”

It takes a moment before Carlos finally turns to look at you, recognition slowly dawning over his features where there was focused annoyance. You see his eyes light up behind the safety goggles over them, and he takes a few steps close to you.

You lift his lunch from the bag, carefully wrapped in decorative cloth, and handed it to him.

“You were in quite a hurry,” you say, gently teasing. “I don’t know how you and Cecil slept past your alarms.”

Carlos chuckles sheepishly, setting the wrapped box onto a nearby desk.

“It might have something to do with how late we were up last night,” You can almost feel a gentle warmth over Carlos’ cheeks as he speaks, not entirely meeting your eyes for a few moments. “I should have gone to bed earlier, but you sound so pretty when you sing like that.”

“Carlos!” 

The reprimand is hardly firm, hardly with any edge--it’s said with a half-hidden smile behind your hand and a little blossom of warmth in your chest. It brings forth a flicker of memory from the night before and, oh yes, the three of you were up far, far later than normal.

Carlos takes a moment to adjust himself, gently pull at the buttons of his un-buttoned lab coat.

“I assume Cecil forgot his too?”

You nod gently.

“I’m planning on delivering it to him,” You feel a mild annoyance at the back of your words, but nothing that you try to hide from Carlos. “I don’t look forward to going back into the sun, it’s really hot out today.”

“Oh I know,” Carlos agrees quickly. “The sun was really loud this morning too--I had such a hard time focusing on the results from my tests.” 

He sighs, and a moment passes between the two of you. It’s a moment of gentle familiarity, a moment that doesn’t inherently need to be filled with sound or words--it’s just a moment to let the topic of conversation flow and ebb as it needs.

After another couple breaths, Carlos perks up, looking at you in mild curiosity.

“Why don’t you see if Cecil can just come here for his lunch? You won’t have to walk anywhere--I don’t want you getting sick from the exposure.”

The words make you feel warm inside. Carlos knows very little about sirens, he hasn’t had much time to ask the sort of questions and in the level of detail he likes, but it’s obvious he’s made the effort to remember what little details he’s able to pick up from observations and conversational snippets. It means a lot to you and, honestly, he presents a rather nice idea.

“I can text him, I bet he’s probably hungry by now anyway.”

You set down the other wrapped box beside Carlos’ before shuffling up beside him, phone in one hand and a smile on your face, the unspoken gesture to get a picture of the two of you to send to your mutual partner.

Carlos doesn’t respond at first, so you start to wrap your arm around his shoulders-

-but quickly retract it when you feel him flinch against your touch. It surprises you more than worries you, bright eyes blinking against the shadowy backdrop of your face and realization slowly dawning over your thoughts.

“Bad touch day?” Is all you need to say, to ask in careful and loving communication.

Carlos mulls over the question and eventually nods, as if he was reluctant to tell you. It’s not uncommon for him to try and push his boundaries on comfort, especially on the days he can’t even stand to be brushed against, but you’re slowly learning to pick up the queues to help him communicate those little things better with you (Cecil has long-since learned of Carlos’ many nonverbals).

You offer him a comforting smile and situate yourself to stand beside him, far enough not to press against his shoulder, but close enough that you’re able to get both of you in the frame (though it does help that you can extend your reach farther than most non-amorphous beings). You snap the picture and quickly send it off with a couple ot teasing messages.

[11:46 a.m.] You: I think a certain radio host left his lunch at home this morning 🤔

[11:47 a.m.] You: If you want it, you’ll have to come visit your two favorite people before we eat it up ourselves ;P

[11:47 a.m.] You: [Photo attached]

You and Carlos find an empty table (one that actually exists) and a couple chairs to settle yourself down. By the time that you do, you feel the vibration of your phone and glance over the message sent in response.

[11:49 a.m.] Cecil: I’ve been starving since I left the apartment, it appears one cannot live off coffee alone. Sincerely, Cecil.

[11:49 a.m.] Cecil: Also, you’re both looking beautiful and perfect. I like how you shifted your hair today. Sincerely, Cecil. 

[11:49 a.m.] Cecil: Give Carlos a kiss for me, I’ll be there soon! Sincerely, Cecil. 

You smile and relay the messages to Carlos, who’s face lights up with warmth in return. With a great care, you lean across the table and lay a gentle peck of lips over his cheek, then sit back into your chair, chin lightly pressed over your palms.

"Old Woman Josie told me she’ll  be stopping by later today,” Your words relay the message the woman had told you earlier. “Something about old relics you wanted to look over?”

Carlos all but blooms in excitement, the emotion unfiltered and absolutely beautiful over his face. It’s almost contagious to see him like this, surrounded by the things he loves and so ready to start babbling off about them at any given moment. He’s waiting for words though, a verbal confirmation that you want to hear his excitement as much as he’s yearning to talk about it.

“So,” You finally say, a smile on your lips, focus entirely on your partner. “Tell me about them.”

And so the air of that section of the laboratory is filled with the soft, energetic sound of Carlos’ voice as he explains just that, the two of you sitting together as couples do, waiting peacefully for the third member of your relationship so all of you can enjoy lunch together.

You couldn’t ask for better mates than Carlos and Cecil.

[machinakrp]

>> OPEN SONG JINSOL’S FILE …

:// AGE — 27 :// OCCUPATION — drug chemist :// CLASS —native

>> LOADING DEVELOPMENT …

:// MAGIC —  

jinsol’s magical is learned, and at the same time, seemingly twined into him. muscles and memory and nerves. it feels like it. something taught to him and adopted since he was old enough to let it manifest in his mind. it’s a second nature, nearly. infusing magic with medicine. or in his case, pseudo-medicine (he calls it medicine, at least). it’s something slipped in between measurement and chemicals and crushed herbs. built into molecules and compounding in a way that seems nearly impossible. should be impossible. but isn’t. a medical miracle, and maybe if he applied it different jinsol could be finding applications that would astonish, would’ve hefted him out of the slums of elysium on some miracle cure. but he doesn’t. just finds a way to manufacture emotion, to create a fabricated sense of bliss or love or warmth for people to envelope themselves in. like whiskey to warm yourself in the middle of a blizzard. a sort of danger ignored for that immediate sense of comfort.

:// MODIFICATIONS —

despite being an elysium native and building a large enough business that he has more means than most, jinsol doesn’t have many body modifications to speak of. just two.

the first is one he got done before he worked his way up, before he was able to pay enough for something above the books. but he’d needed it in the before period of his life. less now, though it’s a comforting reminder that it’s there. if you peel back the skin of his right wrist, there lies a hollowed out tube nestled between veins and bones. resting inside is a sliver of a knife.sharp and poised near a trigger spring. if he digs his finger in near his forearm and jams down on the end of the mechanism, it cuts out out. not entirely pleasant, considering it rips through skin on the way out. it also has to be manually wound back into his arm, meaning he has to seek someone out every time he hits the trigger. it’s meant as a last ditch defense system, for a hand ideally tucked up against a throat. he used to need it, back before he was working with hades. back when he was peddling his own goods and on his own. there’s a scar on his wrist now, a jagged sort of line left over from the two times he’s used it.

the second is less intrusive. a holographic tattoo on the nape of his head, a circle ring of a sun curved around the first jut of bone from his spine. something that shimmers and shivers and shakes before it implodes. then the hologram is looped back whole once again.

>> LOADING BIOGRAPHY …

tw: blood, drugs

RETRIEVING MEMORY…

21430102_sooji.vrml

a glitch – a vibrant flash of blue that reads so bright it hurts the retinas – the angle seems tipped. like the world’s off its axis. set instead on a lopsided table. baited breath, waiting for everything piled on top of it to slide off in a violent clatter. that’s the reaction the memory loop gives off when replayed. something not quite right that settles like nausea in the gut. trepidation. the unwanted kind. the memory holder’s perceptions, emotions flooding in. the room is sterile. blank-white floods the space. walls and sheets and floor. a glossy linoleum. there’s a rhythmic beep from a machine. a baby nestled in a set of arms – the memory holder’s – another glitch. the baby wails. the angle of the memory slips more. like the downward trajectory of a rollercoaster. from here, she plummets.

21430102_sooji.txt

lee sooji, a woman with too many secrets and unwillingness to divide interest from herself. naturally, a baby doesn’t fit well into the equation. even if it was planned. there’s not a lot of picture perfect anything that happens in elysium, but she’d always liked the idea of that. perfection. it’s hard to obtain though. even with a knowledge of chemical-infused magic that gave her the ability to create and shape her own world in the form of hallucinogens. is it a surprise that the marriage fell apart? probably not. a lot of things fall apart in elysium. dismantled by the society around them. he moved on, she was stuck with a baby that she didn’t really want. ignored at first. sharp cries, neglected fits. palms fit to ears of someone who constantly decided she was too young to deal with this mess of a life.

her feelings changed overtime. not dramatically, in a wild shift of personality. but slightly. when jinsol started to take shape more as a human than living soundbox. she liked some things, and she could list them off in a way that was reminiscent of explaining why one preferred a certain restaurant. she liked the adoration in his eyes. the way words could be pieced together into loving sentiments, something that seemed to runaway along with her ex husband. and sooji had always liked that. adoration. she valued it above nearly anything else. instilled the same beliefs into a young mind. he grew under fickle reliance. like a plant with a broken trellis, bent with the whims of her emotions. whether or not she felt like being a mother. whether or not she felt like being free of his shackling existence.

21490714_jinsol.vrml

it’s a humid day. it’s distinguishable based on that summer haze of warped air that makes the floor look bent. the click-whir of a broken fan. the chunks of ice jinsol has shoved into his cheeks, like an overambitious chipmunk. not that jinsol has any idea what a chipmunk is, he’s never seen one. just the scattered pigeons with broken-toed feet that loiter near the bottom step of his building. he looks like a wild thing. a smattering of band-aids covering scabbing, knobby knees. overgrown hair that hangs knotted in his eyes. a dirty smudge near his nose. gangly colt legs thrown over the edge of a dilapidated couch. he’s alone. some might say he’s too young to be alone, but he’d brustle up defensive at that. independent. biting off more than he can chew, but he’d rather swallow it down and half-choke than risk his pride and spit it back up. there’s a children’s cartoon projected up from an old holo-box sitting on a coffee table. sometimes it fritzes, and he stretches out a leg to thwack it with his heel. every ten minutes it seems like there’s a run of commercials hoping to sell him synthetically flavored juice. eventually, he loses patience and separates himself from the show, slips outside the door. some might say he’s too young to be running around the streets of elysium on his own. jinsol would cut them a smile, jagged and feral. a boy raised by chaos and the immediate impulses of a six-year-old.

21490714_jinsol.txt

jinsol’s youth is cut up into fractured pieces. the moments when his mother was there, and the moments when she wasn’t. his morals are ambiguous, lessons learned infrequent. and sometimes best avoided anyway. it depended on her mood, that’s what he learned. and it turned him desperate. seeking affection in a way that could turn near-violent. he’s a mirror image, in some ways. her reflection. has a constant needing for affection and validation. and when she gives, he takes. soaks it up. he likes it best when she’s at home with him, and jinsol babbles this out often. she regales stories in his ear, drifting off in the crook of her arm. humid ‘ i love you’s whispered against her neck, and she tells him just how much she loves him back. he can tell when she’s going to disappear by the look in her eyes. it’s like a lightswitch that only she can reach. a blank stare, or an emotion he can’t quite piece together yet, but he knows it’s bad. knows it makes him feel bad.

it’s resentment, but that’s a connection he makes later.

and then he’s on his own. raiding the fridge for non-perishables left behind and amusing himself. sometimes he skips school. it doesn’t matter, nobody notices he’s gone in the overcrowded classroom. wanders the streets instead, making friends with stray cats slipping through gaps of buildings too small a fit for most anyone else. a grand adventure, that’s what he’d tell himself to keep from feeling lonely. and then she’d come back, and it’d warm his bones. chase away that feeling. would try to grip to her with nails embedded into skin when he saw that look in her eyes. until he was pried off. he thinks he left scars, when he reminisces back nowadays, kept up late at night, sleepless. tries to reimagine his mother. but he can’t remember just how violent his longing for her to stay was.

21601130_jinsol.vrml

he’s older this time, pushing the bounds of maturity. stick-skinny still, and he drowns in his clothes. his hair is stained purple. so are the tips of his fingers. a smell of potent chemicals hang in the air, something nearly palpable. it’s either from the fresh dye or the burner he’s bent over. there’s a vial clamped above it. something bubbling and neon when the fluorescent flicker of the overhead light decides to work in brief moments of unsurity. his mother’s next to him, fingers tracing spirals up and down the line of his spine. every so often she redirects his hand. murmurs words into his ear. a palm pressed to the small of his back, and it’s nearly like a transferal. pressing magic into nerves. he doesn’t think it’s how it works, really. but it felt like it at the time, sitting in that tiny, cluttered apartment. a flicker of fire and warmth and belonging as his mother taught him secrets that were hoarded in his family. jinsol wonders if they’d ever been illustrious. if this strange magic ever mattered. there’s a sizzle-pop of a noise. a change in color. the vial’s removed from the fire. eventually, his mother tests it. he holds his breathe, waits to see if there will be a change in her eyes.

21601130_jinsol.txt

jinsol loves and hates it. the knowledge he has, the strange way he can cut chemicals with magic. something that grows larger and more complex as he does. now though, all of seventeen, and he loves the connection it’s forged between him and his mother. the way she’ll gravitate back to him, pass down this strange family heirloom. and he hates it, because it robs him from her too. how she’ll twist herself up in these strange moods and slip out of his life. to find someone, something, more capable than him. more fulfilling. but he took those mismatched emotions and jammed them into his own ambitions. his mother had never really scratched past the surface of capabilities.

jinsol became obsessive, in the same manic way he tends to become obsessive about a lot of things he cares about. and with that same strange of caring, an emotion caught halfway between love and violence. he found ways to bottle bliss, press desire into pills. a manmade euphoria, and he expanded his experimentation as he got older. found a way to coax out truth from an unwilling tongue and an addled mind. trust from the wary, if only they’d swallow down some of his magic. how much of jinsol’s success is luck? if one knew what he could make, the obsessive lengths he’d go to carve out what he decided he was owed, it would be a laughable question.

21630214_jinsol.vrml

the setting’s changed in this memory. the apartment’s even smaller, and the window’s stuck. the corner doesn’t fit down all the way. a cold gust slips underneath everytime the wind howls, angry and cutting with frost. a worn curtain flutters. there’s hardly a point in it, it’s nearly transparent from sun damage. jinsol’s fingers are white from the cold. there’s a scattering of pills on a table. his hands are sticky with blood. so is his wrist. half-congealed. his face is white too, but he looks ghost-startled over cold. the shock of a situation that saps the life, leaves everything devoid of color. eventually he fumbles for an old shirt, jams it over his hand. the blade’s still visible, sticking out from his arm. his own blade. his own modification. he slipped it into the side of a client broke enough to think wiping out jinsol inventory might’ve been a good idea. a heavy-sounding curse falls from his lips. a messy swipe of his hands as he tries to collect everything upturned on the table. manic eyes and chattering teeth. a glamorous life. it’s what he yearns for. he can’t meet his own expectations.

21630214_jinsol.txt

eventually, jinsol got sick of his mother’s dizzying circles that left them both lost. he moved out, on. hellbent on turning everything she taught him into a tool for himself. a way to crawl from the sheer desperation he seemed to live in. he craved opulence and wonder. awe and admiration. for all he’s seemingly worth now, jinsol’s initial endeavors were small, touch and go. dealt with the sorts of people that were elysium born and bred. namely: none too kind. but addiction’s a market all its own in this sort of place, and jinsol took advantage of it. he’s used his mod all of twice. a painful thing, and it’s left a scar. he doesn’t know what happened to either of the people on the other end of it. he’s callous enough to wish them dead. human enough that he wakes up in cold-sweat at four in the morning sometimes wondering if he’s a murderer.

it took a while to work his way up, and maybe he used some underhanded methods. doses meant to coax out secrets, understanding, trust. worked his way up and out of what seemed to be closets advertised as apartments. until he could afford a better supply, turned his brand into a necessity. ended up getting to know some bigger players around elysium. tried so very hard to pick up his mother’s mantle – to continue that endless, pointless quest of building a perfect life.

21680512_jinsol.vrml

jinsol looks almost garish. almost. draped in twined gold necklaces and delicate rings stacked along the lines of his knuckles. catch him in the right light of the fluorescent club-shifting-neon and he might glimmer like imitation sunlight. a white silk shirt and bottle service tucked away in a back corner of the afterlife. he has money, and he wears it like bragging rights. but he thrives on it. the stares. the attention. jealous, wanting. he craves it as much as people seem to crave his drugs. a symbiotic relationship. music thrums too loud around the room. enough to shake at bones. he spins a pill between he knuckles, and his eyes follow it. like he’s considering slipping it underneath his tongue. eventually, it’s pocketed. he doesn’t want to be his mother – as losing a battle as it seems to be.

21680512_jinsol.txt

twenty-five and he’s managed to carve out his own legacy. something built on the backs of vices. exploitative to be sure. but he’d argue a necessary one. doesn’t everyone deserve to be happy? he’s got connections, buyers, more than enough clients that he’s long ago been able to afford to move into an apartment with more than one room. he likes old school opulence. likes gold and velvet. likes paper-thin silk shirts, the subdued glimmer of diamonds. maybe he’d have more money if he didn’t waste it all so carelessly. it slips like water from his fingers. jewelry, furniture, perfumes, alcohol. anything that catches his whims, the unhoned impulse controls he’s given into all is life, only now he has the means for bigger mistakes.

21690326_jinsol.vrml

jinsol’s sprawled out on a couch. crushed velvet. it’d look lavish if not for the blotchy purpled wine stain near one arm of it. music spirals from a metal-boxed contraption in the corner. there’s a blanket tossed on top of it, maybe to hide a hologram it’s meant to simultaneously project. every time he takes a breath, it sounds wet. like pneumonia’s made a home from his lungs. his eyes are unfocused, and there’s a sheen of sweet on his brow. laid out next to him are vials in a shimmering variety of colors. an uncapped bottle of something that smells potent and alcoholic. there’s a retch of a noise, but nothing comes out. he rolls to his side and nearly topples. a manic laugh follows him.

21690326_jinsol.txt

new creations are in need of a willing test subjects. that’s what he tells himself, to keep himself from reflecting that warped image of his mother. bad habits catch up to him, pile up. he ignores the repercussions. it feels, sometimes, like he grew up wrong. like he’s constantly searching and seeking and coming up empty handed. but what he’s searching for is unknown, and without a name. despite it, he tries to continue his image of faux-perfection. what else is there to live for in the wasteland that is elysium?

[machinakrpx]

>> OPEN SONG JINSOL’S FILE …

:// AGE — 27 :// OCCUPATION — drug chemist :// CLASS —native

>> LOADING DEVELOPMENT …

:// MAGIC —  

jinsol’s magical is learned, and at the same time, seemingly twined into him. muscles and memory and nerves. it feels like it. something taught to him and adopted since he was old enough to let it manifest in his mind. it’s a second nature, nearly. infusing magic with medicine. or in his case, pseudo-medicine (he calls it medicine, at least). it’s something slipped in between measurement and chemicals and crushed herbs. built into molecules and compounding in a way that seems nearly impossible. should be impossible. but isn’t. a medical miracle, and maybe if he applied it different jinsol could be finding applications that would astonish, would’ve hefted him out of the slums of elysium on some miracle cure. but he doesn’t. just finds a way to manufacture emotion, to create a fabricated sense of bliss or love or warmth for people to envelope themselves in. like whiskey to warm yourself in the middle of a blizzard. a sort of danger ignored for that immediate sense of comfort.

:// MODIFICATIONS —

despite being an elysium native and building a large enough business that he has more means than most, jinsol doesn’t have many body modifications to speak of. just two.

the first is one he got done before he worked his way up, before he was able to pay enough for something above the books. but he’d needed it in the before period of his life. less now, though it’s a comforting reminder that it’s there. if you peel back the skin of his right wrist, there lies a hollowed out tube nestled between veins and bones. resting inside is a sliver of a knife.sharp and poised near a trigger spring. if he digs his finger in near his forearm and jams down on the end of the mechanism, it cuts out out. not entirely pleasant, considering it rips through skin on the way out. it also has to be manually wound back into his arm, meaning he has to seek someone out every time he hits the trigger. it’s meant as a last ditch defense system, for a hand ideally tucked up against a throat. he used to need it, back before he was working with hades. back when he was peddling his own goods and on his own. there’s a scar on his wrist now, a jagged sort of line left over from the two times he’s used it.

the second is less intrusive. a holographic tattoo on the nape of his head, a circle ring of a sun curved around the first jut of bone from his spine. something that shimmers and shivers and shakes before it implodes. then the hologram is looped back whole once again.

>> LOADING BIOGRAPHY …

tw: blood, drugs

RETRIEVING MEMORY…

21430102_sooji.vrml

a glitch – a vibrant flash of blue that reads so bright it hurts the retinas – the angle seems tipped. like the world’s off its axis. set instead on a lopsided table. baited breath, waiting for everything piled on top of it to slide off in a violent clatter. that’s the reaction the memory loop gives off when replayed. something not quite right that settles like nausea in the gut. trepidation. the unwanted kind. the memory holder’s perceptions, emotions flooding in. the room is sterile. blank-white floods the space. walls and sheets and floor. a glossy linoleum. there’s a rhythmic beep from a machine. a baby nestled in a set of arms – the memory holder’s – another glitch. the baby wails. the angle of the memory slips more. like the downward trajectory of a rollercoaster. from here, she plummets.

21430102_sooji.txt

lee sooji, a woman with too many secrets and unwillingness to divide interest from herself. naturally, a baby doesn’t fit well into the equation. even if it was planned. there’s not a lot of picture perfect anything that happens in elysium, but she’d always liked the idea of that. perfection. it’s hard to obtain though. even with a knowledge of chemical-infused magic that gave her the ability to create and shape her own world in the form of hallucinogens. is it a surprise that the marriage fell apart? probably not. a lot of things fall apart in elysium. dismantled by the society around them. he moved on, she was stuck with a baby that she didn’t really want. ignored at first. sharp cries, neglected fits. palms fit to ears of someone who constantly decided she was too young to deal with this mess of a life.

her feelings changed overtime. not dramatically, in a wild shift of personality. but slightly. when jinsol started to take shape more as a human than living soundbox. she liked some things, and she could list them off in a way that was reminiscent of explaining why one preferred a certain restaurant. she liked the adoration in his eyes. the way words could be pieced together into loving sentiments, something that seemed to runaway along with her ex husband. and sooji had always liked that. adoration. she valued it above nearly anything else. instilled the same beliefs into a young mind. he grew under fickle reliance. like a plant with a broken trellis, bent with the whims of her emotions. whether or not she felt like being a mother. whether or not she felt like being free of his shackling existence.

21490714_jinsol.vrml

it’s a humid day. it’s distinguishable based on that summer haze of warped air that makes the floor look bent. the click-whir of a broken fan. the chunks of ice jinsol has shoved into his cheeks, like an overambitious chipmunk. not that jinsol has any idea what a chipmunk is, he’s never seen one. just the scattered pigeons with broken-toed feet that loiter near the bottom step of his building. he looks like a wild thing. a smattering of band-aids covering scabbing, knobby knees. overgrown hair that hangs knotted in his eyes. a dirty smudge near his nose. gangly colt legs thrown over the edge of a dilapidated couch. he’s alone. some might say he’s too young to be alone, but he’d brustle up defensive at that. independent. biting off more than he can chew, but he’d rather swallow it down and half-choke than risk his pride and spit it back up. there’s a children’s cartoon projected up from an old holo-box sitting on a coffee table. sometimes it fritzes, and he stretches out a leg to thwack it with his heel. every ten minutes it seems like there’s a run of commercials hoping to sell him synthetically flavored juice. eventually, he loses patience and separates himself from the show, slips outside the door. some might say he’s too young to be running around the streets of elysium on his own. jinsol would cut them a smile, jagged and feral. a boy raised by chaos and the immediate impulses of a six-year-old.

21490714_jinsol.txt

jinsol’s youth is cut up into fractured pieces. the moments when his mother was there, and the moments when she wasn’t. his morals are ambiguous, lessons learned infrequent. and sometimes best avoided anyway. it depended on her mood, that’s what he learned. and it turned his desperate. seeking affection in a way that could turn near-violent. he’s a mirror image, in some ways. her reflection. has a constant needing for affection and validation. and when she gives, he takes. soaks it up. he likes it best when she’s at home with him, and jinsol babbles this out often. she regales stories in his ear, drifting off in the crook of her arm. humid ‘ i love you’s whispered against her neck, and she tells him just how much she loves him back. he can tell when she’s going to disappear by the look in her eyes. it’s like a lightswitch that only she can reach. a blank stare, or an emotion he can’t quite peace together yet, but he knows it’s bad. knows it makes him feel bad.

it’s resentment, but that’s a connection he pieces together later.

and then he’s on his own. raiding the fridge for non-perishables left behind and amusing himself. sometimes he skips school. it doesn’t matter, nobody notices he’s gone in the overcrowded classroom. wanders the streets instead, making friends with stray cats slipping through gaps of buildings too small a fit for most anyone else. a grand adventure, that’s what he’d tell himself to keep from feeling lonely. and then she’d come back, and it’d warm his bones. chase away that feeling. would try to grip to her with nails embedded into skin when he saw that look in her eyes. until he was pried off. he thinks he left scars, when he reminisces back nowadays, kept up late at night, sleepless. tries to reimagine his mother. but he can’t remember just how violent his longing for her to stay was.

21601130_jinsol.vrml

he’s older this time, pushing the bounds of maturity. stick-skinny still, and he drowns in his clothes. his hair is stained purple. so are the tips of his fingers. a smell of potent chemicals hang in the air, something nearly palpable. it’s either from the fresh dye or the burner he’s bent over. there’s a vial clamped above it. something bubbling and neon when the fluorescent flicker of the overhead light decides to work in brief moments of unsurity. his mother’s next to him, fingers tracing spirals up and down the line of his spine. every so often she redirects his hand. murmurs words into his ear. a palm pressed to the small of his back, and it’s nearly like a transferal. pressing magic into nerves. he doesn’t think it’s how it works, really. but it felt like it at the time, sitting in that tiny, cluttered apartment. a flicker of fire and warmth and belonging as his mother taught him secrets that were hoarded in his family. jinsol wonders if they’d ever been illustrious. if this strange magic ever mattered. there’s a sizzle-pop of a noise. a change in color. the vial’s removed from the fire. eventually, his mother tests it. he holds his breathe, waits to see if there will be a change in her eyes.

21601130_jinsol.txt

jinsol loves and hates it. the knowledge he has, the strange way he can cut chemicals with magic. something that grows larger and more complex as he does. now though, all of seventeen, and he loves the connection it’s forged between him and his mother. the way she’ll gravitate back to him, pass down this strange family heirloom. and he hates it, because it robs him from her too. how she’ll twist herself up in these strange moods and slip out of his life. to find someone, something, more capable than him. more fulfilling. but he took those mismatched emotions and jammed them into his own ambitions. his mother had never really scratched past the surface of capabilities.

jinsol became obsessive, in the same manic way he tends to become obsessive about a lot of things he cares about. and with that same strange of caring, an emotion caught halfway between love and violence. he found ways to bottle bliss, press desire into pills. a manmade euphoria, and he expanded his experimentation as he got older. found a way to coax out truth from an unwilling tongue and an addled mind. trust from the wary, if only they’d swallow down some of his magic. how much of jinsol’s success is luck? if one knew what he could make, the obsessive lengths he’d go to carve out what he decided he was owed, it would be a laughable question.

21630214_jinsol.vrml

the setting’s changed in this memory. the apartment’s even smaller, and the window’s stuck. the corner doesn’t fit down all the way. a cold gust slips underneath everytime the wind howls, angry and cutting with frost. a worn curtain flutters. there’s hardly a point in it, it’s nearly transparent from sun damage. jinsol’s fingers are white from the cold. there’s a scattering of pills on a table. his hands are sticky with blood. so is his wrist. half-congealed. his face is white too, but he looks ghost-startled over cold. the shock of a situation that saps the life, leaves everything devoid of color. eventually he fumbles for an old shirt, jams it over his hand. the blade’s still visible, sticking out from his arm. his own blade. his own modification. he slipped it into the side of a client broke enough to think wiping out jinsol inventory might’ve been a good idea. a heavy-sounding curse falls from his lips. a messy swipe of his hands as he tries to collect everything upturned on the table. manic eyes and chattering teeth. a glamorous life. it’s what he yearns for. he can’t meet his own expectations.

21630214_jinsol.txt

eventually, jinsol got sick of his mother’s dizzying circles that left them both lost. he moved out, on. hellbent on turning everything she taught him into a tool for himself. a way to crawl from the sheer desperation he seemed to live in. he craved opulence and wonder. awe and admiration. for all he’s seemingly worth now, jinsol’s initial endeavors were small, touch and go. dealt with the sorts of people that were elysium born and bred. namely: none too kind. but addiction’s a market all its own in this sort of place, and jinsol took advantage of it. he’s used his mod all of twice. a painful thing, and it’s left a scar. he doesn’t know what happened to either of the people on the other end of it. he’s callous enough to wish them dead. human enough that he wakes up in cold-sweat at four in the morning sometimes wondering if he’s a murderer.

it took a while to work his way up, and maybe he used some underhanded methods. doses meant to coax out secrets, understanding, trust. worked his way up and out of what seemed to be closets advertised as apartments. until he could afford a better supply, turned his brand into a necessity. ended up getting to know some bigger players around elysium. tried so very hard to pick up his mother’s mantle – to continue that endless, pointless quest of building a perfect life.

21680512_jinsol.vrml

jinsol looks almost garish. almost. draped in twined gold necklaces and delicate rings stacked along the lines of his knuckles. catch him in the right light of the fluorescent club-shifting-neon and he might glimmer like imitation sunlight. a white silk shirt and bottle service tucked away in a back corner of the afterlife. he has money, and he wears it like bragging rights. but he thrives on it. the stares. the attention. jealous, wanting. he craves it as much as people seem to crave his drugs. a symbiotic relationship. music thrums too loud around the room. enough to shake at bones. he spins a pill between he knuckles, and his eyes follow it. like he’s considering slipping it underneath his tongue. eventually, it’s pocketed. he doesn’t want to be his mother – as losing a battle as it seems to be.

21680512_jinsol.txt

twenty-five and he’s managed to carve out his own legacy. something built on the backs of vices. exploitative to be sure. but he’d argue a necessary one. doesn’t everyone deserve to be happy? he’s got connections, buyers, more than enough clients that he’s long ago been able to afford to move into an apartment with more than one room. he likes old school opulence. likes gold and velvet. likes paper-thin silk shirts, the subdued glimmer of diamonds. maybe he’d have more money if he didn’t waste it all so carelessly. it slips like water from his fingers. jewelry, furniture, perfumes, alcohol. anything that catches his whims, the unhoned impulse controls he’s given into all is life, only now he has the means for bigger mistakes.

21690326_jinsol.vrml

jinsol’s sprawled out on a couch. crushed velvet. it’d look lavish if not for the blotchy purpled wine stain near one arm of it. music spirals from a metal-boxed contraption in the corner. there’s a blanket tossed on top of it, maybe to hide a hologram it’s meant to simultaneously project. every time he takes a breath, it sounds wet. like pneumonia’s made a home from his lungs. his eyes are unfocused, and there’s a sheen of sweet on his brow. laid out next to him are vials in a shimmering variety of colors. an uncapped bottle of something that smells potent and alcoholic. there’s a retch of a noise, but nothing comes out. he rolls to his side and nearly topples. a manic laugh follows him.

21690326_jinsol.txt

new creations are in need of a willing test subjects. that’s what he tells himself, to keep himself from reflecting that warped image of his mother. bad habits catch up to him, pile up. he ignores the repercussions. it feels, sometimes, like he grew up wrong. like he’s constantly searching and seeking and coming up empty handed. but what he’s searching for is unknown, and without a name. despite it, he tries to continue his image of faux-perfection. what else is there to live for in the wasteland that is elysium?