#that circles would rather not play it safe than sorry with dreamers

[agent-jaselin]

Seen some good kid inquisitor stuff where the kid might be a dreamer, and now im thinking of the one case solas might just take the inquisitor with him. In spite of the terrible path he’s taking.

A kid who isn’t allowed to make the decisions, a new mage forced to watch as Cassandra and the advisors keep the circles. Running to him terrified of being put in a circle once all this is done, they are an orphan, isolated, no way to stop unless dorian tried something. But it’s Solas they trust to beg for help.

Solas genuinely worried because dreamers don’t live long in circles, don’t go un-tranquil long in circles. All of it likely to happen because his magic trapped them with humans and the chantry. Knowing that even with the terrible things he’ll do when he leaves, the child is probably safer with the Dread Wolf than in a post inquisition Circle.

He promises to keep them safe, and he keeps the promise this time. When Solas disappears, so does the child Herald. People assuming the child died alongside if Corypheus, but Leliana and others wondering if Solas kidnapped them. Those who aren’t pro-circle even thinking it might be better. Until three years later and the events of trespasser at least.

[jammatown919]

Estranged (Brainia)

Content: Maeve's birthday rolls around and brings up some painful memories for Nia.

Nia had managed to get through half her day without realizing. She'd gone through her entire morning routine, arrived at work, and made some good progress on her latest article, all while being blissfully unaware of what day it was. She was forgetful like that; it was why she set alarms for everything. The alarm she'd set for this particular occasion went off right at the start of her lunch break. Upon hearing the buzz, Nia's first thought was that Brainy was trying to call her. Perfectly normal. Instead, the words "Call Maeve" greeted her as she retrieved her phone from her purse. It was her sister's birthday. Her newly estranged sister's birthday.

Hastily, Nia silenced the alarm and moved to shove her phone back into her bag, but something stopped her. She really did want to call Maeve and pretend things were normal, but they weren't. Not a single word had been exchanged between them since their mother's memorial service; since Maeve had declared that Nia was not a real woman.

She understood why Maeve was upset; the powers she'd trained her whole life to receive had chosen Nia instead, and then Nia had lied about it. What she didn't understand was why Maeve used her anger as an excuse to invalid her sister's identity. To revoke the support that had been so vital during Nia's transition. Nia shook her head and stowed her phone away. It didn't matter why. What mattered was that Nia wasn't going to call the sister who had responded to an attempt to spare her feelings with downright cruelty. No matter how much she wanted to repair their relationship, it was not Nia's job to seek out an apology from Maeve. It was either coming or it wasn't, and considering how much time had passed, it probably wasn't.

For the rest of her work day, Nia tried in vain to get her mind off of her sister. Her concentration was pretty screwed at this point, so progress on her article had all but stopped. No matter what she tried, her thoughts always managed to circle back around to Maeve. To how they were probably never going to fix their relationship if neither of them took initiative. But you shouldn't have to, she told herself over and over, it's her responsibility to make it right.

Needless to say, Nia got absolutely nothing done between the alarm going off and the end of the day.

By the time she got home, she was considering a nap so she wouldn't have to think about anything for a while. She had a couple of hours before Brainy was due to be home. With any luck, she'd feel better afterwards and be able to make up what she hadn't been able to accomplish at work before bed.

Upon opening the door, however, Nia was surprised to find that Brainy was already home. Perhaps it was one of the DEO's rare slow days. She knew Alex would sometimes send him home early in order to give him in the breaks he never gave himself. Of course, he was still on call, but it was better than nothing.

"Nia Nal," Brainy, perched neatly on the couch, smiled over his shoulder at her. "How was work?"

"Are you watching Dateline?" Nia asked instead of answering his question. She'd suggested it to him weeks ago, but things had been busy at the DEO and he hadn't had the time nor the focus to watch much tv.

"Ah," Brainy glanced back the screen. "Yes. As per your recommendation. I find it quite frustrating."

"Really?" Nia inquired as she walked around the couch to take a seat beside him. Perhaps some quality time with her boyfriend was just what she needed to cheer up.

"I was able to identify the culprit quite early on." Brainy replied, casually slipping an arm around her. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "It wasn't difficult, and yet these detectives haven't a clue." He gave a little huff of annoyance, and Nia chuckled at him. God, he was cute.

"It wouldn't be a mystery if everyone caught on right away." She pointed out, only slightly teasingly. "We can't all be twelfth-level intellects."

"But the evidence is all there." Brainy protested. "How can anyone not see that it was his wife?"

"Spoilers!" Nia lightly thumped his arm and he fell silent with a small sigh.

For a few minutes, Nia thought that the show might be able to distract her, but that hope was quickly dashed. She couldn't focus on the unfolding mystery - although Brainy had been right in saying that the culprit was incredibly obvious - when her sister was still lurking in the back of her mind. Fortunately, however, she'd been both blessed and cursed with the ability to fall asleep anywhere, and she was already kind of tired. She'd nap to get her mind off everything, and hopefully she'd feel better once she woke up.

Falling asleep took no more than five minutes. Snuggled up against Brainy, it was easy to let herself drift into the dreamscape.

It presented itself in a way with which she was not familiar. All around her, there was nothing but dark, empty space. It seemed to be open, but Nia felt as if there were invisible walls on every side of her, closing her in, preventing her from leaving this one spot.

"Hello?" She called out, listening to her voice echo. No answer came.

All in all, not the worst dream she could've found herself in, though it did kind of defeat the purpose. She'd gone to sleep so she wouldn't have to think about anything, and now here she was, alone with her thoughts. Maybe this was the dreamscape's way of telling her that she needed to deal with this rather than just ignoring the problem.

But what was there to deal with? She still wasn't going to swallow her pride for Maeve's sake. Not this time.

You weren't supposed to get the powers.

What the hell? The dreamscape had never spoken to her directly; certainly not to tell her something like that.

"What?" She asked, not entirely sure that she'd heard correctly.  

When are you going to stop playing hero?

Was that... Maeve?

"What are you talking about?" Nia called.

Why couldn't you save Mom?

Nia froze. That was definitely her sister's voice.

"Maeve?" She asked tentatively. "What's going on?"

Why couldn't you save her?!

The scream startled Nia back into the real world. She jolted upright, eyes wide and heart racing.

"Nia?" Instantly, Brainy's hand found her shoulder, squeezing gently.

"I'm fine." She muttered. "It was just a dream."

He gave her a look, and she realized how odd that must sound coming from her.

"A normal dream." She corrected. "It's fine."

"Regardless, it seems to have caused you distress." Brainy observed, his voice soft. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"We don't have to."

"I know that we don't have to." Brainy replied, removing his hand from her shoulder. "I asked if you want to."

Nia let out a sigh. She didn't particularly want to get into it, but maybe this was how she was supposed to deal with it. Going to Maeve to directly was out of the question, so talking about it with someone else would be the next best thing.

"It was about my sister." She said vaguely.

"You don't talk about her much." Brainy remarked. "I assume there's a reason for that?"

"Yeah," Nia replied. "I told you about how my powers were passed down from my mother. All our lives, everybody assumed that Maeve would get them because my mom had a dream when she was pregnant with Maeve that her daughter would inherit the powers."

"But your mother had two daughters. Once you came out, did nobody think that perhaps you would be the next Dreamer?"

"We'd already spent so long thinking it would be Maeve. Even I didn't consider that it could be me. I didn't even want it to be me." Nia looked down at her hands, recalling the feeling of fulfillment she got from using her powers. They were so much a part of her now that she could hardly believe that she'd spent so long trying to get rid of them. "Maeve didn't want it to be me either."

"She didn't react well?"

"No, she didn't." Nia's voice cracked, and she took a moment to compose herself so she wouldn't start crying. "She told me I shouldn't have gotten them because I'm 'not even a real woman'."

"She said that to you?" Brainy straightened, his voice as angry as it was disbelieving. Nia gave him a little nod.

"We haven't talked since." She sniffled, her voice growing thick with emotion as her eyes grew wet with tears. "Today's her birthday, and usually I'd call her and we'd catch up, but I can't just call her like everything's normal. A-and it hurts, y'know? We've always been so close, and I hate not being able to talk to her."

"I'm sorry." Brainy said softly. Slowly, gently, he wrapped his arms around her.

"It's not your fault." Nia mumbled, leaning into his chest.

"I know, but you're in pain," He said. "And for that, I am sorry."

"It'll be okay eventually." This was the thought that Nia was choosing to cling to. At some point, one occasion or another would force her and Maeve into the same room, and once they were together, they'd work it out. They had to. She couldn't for a second allow herself to believe that she was going to be permanently at odds with someone who had been her best friend for so long. "Doesn't make it any easier, though."

"Is there anything that I can do to help?"

"You're already helping."

He tightened his hold on her slightly, and she relaxed against him, sighing as he began running his fingers through her hair. Despite her fractured relationship with Maeve still weighing heavily in her mind, being here, tucked safely against Brainy's chest, made Nia feel like things were okay. And they would be. She wasn't sure how or when, but someday, things would be okay again.

[leapyearkisses]

Not Flattering

@crinklednose commissioned me to write an In/ception fic! I hadn’t watched the movie in many years, but I fell in love with it when it came out and actually wrote a crap ton of stuff back in the day.  I was psyched to revisit my old stomping ground!  Thank you!

~Please consider commissioning me!  Commissions are OPEN~

------------------------------------------------------------

Low classical music drifted through the air, joining the convivial sounds of conversation on the outdoor patio.  Diners dressed in black tie finery chatted and laughed over lobster and champagne. Waiters in white uniforms moved from table to table with trays of fancy cocktails with a choreographed grace. The patio glowed gently in the light of braziers, candles, and overhead lanterns strung along the pergola.  Each detail was crisp and evoked nothing more than the finest summer fete.

Arthur leaned on the low brick wall that separated the patio from the walkway around the restaurant and watched as Cobb passed a business card to the mark and shook his hand. Dinner had been going very well so far. The projections were behaving themselves, which was always the chief concern.  He checked his watch.  They still had plenty of time before they needed to be out, too.  Arthur liked it when things went smoothly.  He took a sip of his gin and tonic before setting the glass on the wall, then pressed the on button of his mic.  “Eames?  Cobb is about to hand him off.  Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” came Eames’s reply in his ear.  “I’m on my way to you nh- Nhngtxch!”

Arthur swallowed and tried to ignore the way goosebumps crept over his neck.  “…Bless you.”

“Sorry about that.”  Eames’s voice – or the voice Eames was doing – now came from his earpiece and from behind him.  Arthur turned and found his teammate stepping out of the restaurant.  He was wearing the appearance of the mark’s best friend now, but there was still something very him in the roguish grin he gave Arthur.  “I’m having a touch of allergies.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Well, don’t,” he said.  “Now isn’t the time.”  He pointed out where the mark was sitting.  Cobb was just getting up and heading back into the restaurant on the other side from them. “Rockford’s right over there.  He should be ready to share his start-up idea with you now.”

“On my way,” Eames said. “I’ll have- hh have it in a jiff.”  His nostrils flared and Arthur sighed, sure he would sneeze again, but he didn’t. Instead, he shook himself and adopted the casual slouch of his disguise, and suddenly he seemed to be no more than that: Rockford’s best friend through and through.  He was welcomed to the table and took the chair that Cobb had vacated, spinning it around and sitting on it backwards in a manner most unbecoming of a dinner party.

Arthur went back to his gin, tuning in to the conversation.  Cobb, the clever investor, had gotten the mark all worked up about his future plans, and he was almost comically eager to convince Eames to go in with him.  He was gesturing broadly, even making sketches on his napkin, the fact that it was cloth be damned.

“Just think of the money we’ll make!”  Rockford said in a feverish whisper.  “I know no one else is doing anything like this!”

Eames rubbed his hands together.  “You’re definitely on to something, my old friend,” he laughed, sharp with a New York accent.  “Now we just need to find ourselves some venture capitalists.”

“Well, I just spoke to one here,” said Rockford, tapping his breast pocket where he’d stashed the business card.  “Very interested, and very rich.  But I’ve been talking to a few people at home, too.  He lowered his voice again, and Eames leaned in.  “’Course, some of them are pretty deep into other businesses, so they’ve been talking to me on the down low.  You’ve probably heard of some of them, though.  I’ve got-”                  

Eames lifted a finger. Arthur could see even from his position that Eames’s eyes were fluttering closed.  He fought a blush and a spike of irritation as Eames ducked into his elbow.

“Hh-hegscht!” Eames sighed and sniffed.  “My bad, man.  What were you saying?”  But his voice suddenly seemed loud in the quiet.  Arthur felt the goosebumps come back, but this time it was because all of the projections on the patio were staring at him and Eames, dinners forgotten.

Rockford was frowning, too.  “What was that?” he was saying.  “You sound different.”

Eames cleared his throat and rose from the table.  “It’s just a cold,” he said.  “Let me go get a tissue and I’ll be right back.” He began to walk away from the table with a controlled pace that kicked up a notch when he was halfway across the patio.  By the time he’d reached Arthur, the two of them were almost jogging back into the restaurant.

“Eames!”  Arthur hissed, pushing through a back door into the stairwell, heading for the apartments above the restaurant.  

“I’m sorry!”  To his credit, Eames looked a bit chagrined, but his expression quickly turned to annoyance as his face became his again. “I can’t change how I sneeze, it’s a reflex!  Most people never even notice, just you and apparently Mr. Rockford.”  He shouldered his way into the hallway. “You think he might have the same proclivities, Arthh- hh-” He raised his elbow again.  “Nhgttscht!  Hh- hh- hehgtsct!  Bloody hell.”

“I’m sure I don’t want to know!” said Arthur, now flushed as well as angry.  He drew his Glock from its shoulder holster and dropped a pair of projections who had appeared ahead of them.

“What’s going on?” came Cobb’s voice over his earpiece.  “I’m heading to the rendezvous.”

“We’re blown,” Arthur replied.  “Eames got the plans but not the names of his backers.”

“Copy that.” Cobb sounded pretty calm, but he was used to working in worse circumstances than these.  “I’m actually going to double back to the safe and see if he’s put them in there.  Can you buy me some time?”

“On it.”  Arthur turned down another hallway and shot at another projection, although this one was able to duck behind the corner. Luckily, at least, Rockford’s mind was untrained.  They wouldn’t be facing too many guns, which put them at an advantage.  “Eames, circle around left.”

“I’d rather stick with you, if it’s all the same,” he said.  He’d drawn his own pistol and was aiming it down the corridor with one hand. The other he was using to rub his nose. “I’m not the most coordinated during an allergy attack.”  His nose was starting to look pink and he sniffed again, more wetly.

Arthur scowled. “Fine then, cover me.”  He jogged down the hall and caught the projection from earlier with a bullet in the shoulder this time.  “I really wish you hadn’t picked now to enact one of my fantasies.”

“Oho, I am sure you’re fhh- flattered, Arthur,” Eames growled.  “But I don’t hh- have a habit of playing whih- bloody hell while I work!”  He and Arthur rounded the corner to the other stairwell and headed down again, intent on being a distraction.  Eames covered Arthur when the latter burst back into the kitchen, taking down a chef with a frankly ridiculous carving knife, but his next bullet went wide into the wall as he sneezed.  “Hehgshht! Ngktscht! Kshtt!”  

Arthur took out a pâtissière as she ran at him with a baking tray.  The saucier was right behind her with a steaming pitcher of gravy.  Arthur grit his teeth and jumped out of the way as the man flung the contents at him. “Eames, watch out!” he called, but as he rolled back to his feet, he realized Eames was no longer behind him. He’d vanished.  Arthur felt his eyebrows leap and he touched his mic. “Cobb, hurry up, Eames woke up. Something might be happening above.”

“Two more minutes,” Cobb replied, breathless, but he’d be lucky to get one; Arthur grunted as the poissonnier got him in the neck with a fillet knife, and he sunk to the floor.  A crack appeared in the wall as he closed his eyes.

He opened them in Rockford’s hotel room and sat up quickly.  Even at his first impression, he could tell there’d been a struggle. The bedside table was overturned and broken glass littered the carpet beside the bed.  Rockford was still out with five minutes left on the PASIV, but Arthur had been the dreamer, so that wouldn’t last.  He stripped off his tie and bound Rockford’s hands as a precaution. “Eames?” He didn’t see the forger.

“In here.”  Eames came out of the bathroom.  “The lookout betrayed us.  Thought they might gh- get a bit more heh- hehkgsh!  Hkgsht!”  He pressed a fist to his nose. “Ngkschxt!”  His nose was definitely red now, and his eyes were wet with allergic tears.  Arthur caught a glimpse, too, of wetness on Eames’s upper lip before the forger yanked out a paisley handkerchief and blew his nose aggressively.

The room, Arthur realized, had a strong scent of aftershave.  One of the broken bottles, maybe.  Arthur felt his stomach tighten with guilt.  “Bless you,” he said.  “I, uh. I’m sorry.  I wasn’t thinking you might actually be having a reaction…” Many real-world effects did translate down into the dream levels – rain or flooding if the dreamer had a full bladder, shifts in gravity if the dreamer was moving or moved in their sleep, heat and other oddities if the dreamer was feverish – but Arthur hadn’t really considered allergies before.  Maybe because considering them usually led to him being completely useless for the next twenty minutes.

“I knew your opinion of my work wh- wasn’t the most stellar,” Eames grumbled.  “Hnkstzxcht!”

“It’s not that,” Arthur protested, red as a beet.  “More like I was thinking with my- oh, bless you.  Let me find you another handkerchief…”

“I’d be better off with some cetirizine.”  Eames coughed.

“Go out into the hall,” Arthur said.  “Cobb’s waking.  We’ll meet you outside.”

“Don’t ­hh- hehgtzcht!  Mind if I do.”  Eames removed himself, catching another pair of rushed sneezes as the door shut behind him. Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and set about cleaning up their gear as Cobb came out of the dream.

---

Back at their hotel room by the airport that night, Arthur brought Eames an apology in the form of a bottle of Glenfiddich and a kiss.  The forger looked much better than earlier after a heavy dose of medication and a lie down, but he wasn’t above a bit of sniping.  Arthur tried to take it quietly, since he knew he’d fucked up. At least Eames didn’t say no when Arthur joined him in the same bed.

“You drive me crazy,” Eames sighed, “So smart and yet you can be so dense sometimes.”

“I deserve that.” Arthur nuzzled Eames’s neck.  “I’m sorry.  Again.  How are you feeling now?”

“Tip top, more or less.” Eames laid a hand over Arthur’s on his bare stomach.  “Tired, though.  And we have an early flight out.”

“We do.”  Arthur settled himself more easily against his pillow, closing his eyes.  “Good night.”

“Good night.” Eames’s stroked his thumb over Arthur’s knuckles for a minute, then spoke up again, a smile in his voice. “So, that’s a fantasy of yours, hm?”

Arthur covered his face with his free hand, ears burning.  “Go to sleep, Mr. Eames.”

[roses-and-oceans]

Once Upon a Dream ~ (Chpt. 1)

A/N: Hi hello, are you tired of me yet?

**

Each morning as you walked the half hour to the town market, you pondered over last night's dream and reveled in the warm feeling it left in your chest. This feeling would fuel you through the day and get you through the tasks of the day.

The bakery you worked at brought in custom well. It was mostly thanks to the owners. They were proud travelers from the Old Kingdom that made the finest bread and pastries in miles. Some of the townspeople spoke about how much of a great convenience it was for the Old Kingdom to fall when it did; these boys brought a great deal of folk to the town of Lestallum. Those that escaped the ruin stayed in the town or moved on to other kingdoms and towns in the Cleigne region. But they never spoke of it in front of the bakers; they carried a heaviness for the past few years. It was this year that it would be the 10th anniversary of the fall.

The three men at the bakery were very young, kind and charming. They attracted all kinds of people from the nearby lands and everyone had high praise for their goods. You kept up with the customers and orders as best you could with the help of Prompto. He was the sweetest of the three, his blond hair and cornflower blue eyes brought out the smiles in every one, even the cold-eyed captain that came for a loaf and a gruff chat every so often.

Prompto was your closest friend. He greeted you today with a floury smile, “Hello, Y/N!”

“Hello, good morning!” You greeted him as cheerfully as you could. You wrapped an apron around  your waist and followed Prompto to the back. At the prepping table, stood Ignis, a tall brunet man with green eyes semi-hidden behind a pair of glasses. You always tried your best to keep up to his standard, always eager for his approval. He was a conductor and everyone and everything in the bakery were part of his symphony. He directed where each pastry went, where the ingredients were kept and where the pots and pans were put for him to fill with delicious creations.

He nodded in greeting as he said, “morning”. He prepared an egg wash for rolls and began to set some bread to cool. As you kneaded dough, the third man, Gladiolus, came through the doorway leading to the storage carrying four large burlap bags. They easily weighed more than 100lbs and Gladiolus brought them in with ease.  He ruffled your hair as his large, dark figure passed by to bring in more bags, his forearms bearing the wings of a bird of prey tattooed onto his skin.

As you were kneading the dough, your mind drifted off to the prince. You were so close to him last night; it was as if you'd been really there. You counted his eyelashes and smoothed his brow. The stubble that lined his upper lip and jaw tickled you as he kissed your smooth, soft cheeks. You were both on the bed, legs entangled. The dark blue sheets covered you both and you both lay in the bed, your head against his chest. His hand was playing with your hair and you hummed contentedly. He tilted your chin up with one finger. His eyes were dreamy, hazy, and you realized that he was going to kiss you.

“Pray tell, what's so mesmerizing about that dough, Y/N,” Ignis said, his lilting accent tickling your ear.

You gasped and nearly knocked a rolling pin to the floor. Ignis held a tray full of warm bread and he had an amused smile on his face. Prompto chortled quietly next to you. Ignis peered over his glasses and said, “I think the dough has has quite enough of your pummeling. Please begin rolling it out in a circle.”

You laughed at yourself for getting so distracted. You began rolling out the bread and Prompto began casually, “Soo... What's been getting you so distracted lately?”

But you didn't dare tell Prompto. At least, not yet. You just shook your head and brought out pie tins.

In hindsight, you considered yourself quite lucky to have this job. In the beginning, when they put out a notice looking for an extra pair of hands, all types of men came in, asking for the job but were turned away. You were the only one they didn't turn away. You worked with good company, the customers were often quite nice and you liked the interaction with people. You took home bread every evening and you shared more than half with an old widow a little of a walk away from your cottage, with the book mender whose daughter was ill.

Everyday at noon, Ignis prepares a stew for everyone to eat when they shut the shop for an hour. Gladiolus and Ignis sat in the kitchen eating peacefully, but you and Prompto took your bowls and bread outside to sit in the soft grass next to a patch of buttercups. You both took off your shoes to feel the cool blades of grass and the soft dirt.

Prompto talked about any and everything; he mostly recounted old stories of when he was back in the Old Kingdom. He talked about his best friend, the adventures they had with Gladiolus and Ignis. Despite the sadness in his eyes, Prompto's voice still remained peppy.

“I admire that about you, Prompto, you're so positive all of the time,” you said.

He blushed and tried to shake it off. You continued to eat in silence. He drank the remainder of his stew and asked, “Why be sad all the time? It's kinda boring. Anyways, what got you all starry-eyed this morning?”

“Hmn?” You were staring off into the distant meadow and you realized what he'd been asking. You felt your cheeks warm up and said, “It's going to sound silly...”

“Are you seeing someone?”

You shook your head, “No... I've been having these really vivid, intense dreams. I see this castle and this man.”

“Castle?”

“Yeah. Like its made out of dark marble and gold. With this really tall tower that's made of magic and- oh! A prince! I see him every night and he treats me so kindly.”

“How long have you been having those dreams?”

“A month or so? Probably longer. I used to have dreams of the castle but I couldn't get anywhere near it. I'd always be right at the edge, unable to get anywhere closer. There was a field of thorns surrounding the castle.”

You remember those dreams. It was a time full of frustration. You almost hated those dreams. You remember seeing the tower shrouded in darkness, the thorns were black and prickly. Sometimes it looked like they were covered in blood. The sky was always stuck in a green and yellow, sickly twilight haze. Sometimes, it was like you were swimming through  the sunbeams to get over the thorns but you fell right in. That was usually when you woke up. You described your dreams to Prompto as best you could.

Prompto gave you an amused look and said, “You have a very active imagination, Y/N.”

You laughed. He smiled and said, “What is this prince's name?”

You paused and put a hand on your chin, “This is going to sound ridiculous but I don't think I actually know his name. He never gave it to me... But it feels like I've known him for years.”

Prompto nudged you, “Do you love him?”

It was rather hard to fight off the grin that overcame you. You pushed him right back and asked, “And if I do? What does that make me?”

Prompto shook his head, “I'm not one to judge, pal. What you do with this mystery prince is up to you. I think its nice. Like its something that keeps you going. Just stop daydreaming while working; Ignis'll have your head.”

You nodded, “Yeah...”

Silence followed. You were about to suggest going back into the shop when Prompto asked, “What does your prince look like?”

Just the very image of him had you smiling again.

“He's about your height. He's got these sleepy, blue eyes that look right through you. He smiles rarely but its infectious when he does. He has shiny black hair that almost looks blue. Every night, he's in a black suit and its like his laugh holds-.”

You glanced at Prompto to see what kind of face he was making. You expected him to look incredulous, or doubtful. Possibly astonished. But he held sad eyes. His lips were curved downwards in a frown, his brow furrowed.

“Prom?”

The sound of his name broke him out of his state and he shook his head, “Sorry... Just. It reminded me of my friend.”

He looked down at his feet, at the buttercups tickling his toes.  He hugged his knees and said, “He was lost when my kingdom fell. He sacrificed himself to keep our home safe and...”

He sniffled once and cleared his throat, “He wouldn't want us to mourn him. Not after ten years. He'd want me to live the best life I can.”

You rubbed your hand consolingly on his shoulder. “What was his name?”

“Noct.”

Prompto exhaled all the air in his lungs and it was like he was trying to get rid of all the pain from his chest. He stood up, kicked out all the kinks in his long legs and picked up his bowl and shoes.

“C'mon, time we head back, dreamer.”

He helped you up and you both went back to the kitchen area. Ignis was already preparing more pastries. He asked you, “Y/N, could you please tell me if this pastry filling is missing something?”

He held out a small jam tart out to you. It was still warm and soft. You bit into it and as the filling spilled out in on your tongue, you gave a small hum of pleasure.

“Oh, Gods above, Ignis. This is amazing!”

“Thank you kindly. Now, anything that you might feel is missing?”

You shook your head, “I wouldn't dare change a thing! These will sell out fast.”

Ignis smiled, “Thank you for your input.”

Prompto took the remaining pastry from your mouth and took a bite. He let out an almost obscene moan, “ Oh, Iggy, where would be without you!”

Ignis rolled his eyes and went back to filling out more tarts, but you could still see him smiling.

Gladiolus came in whistling, his arms rippling with his eagle tattoo. He plucked the last bit of the tart from Prompto's fingers and he popped it into his mouth.

“Heeey!” Prompto whined, “That was mine!”

Gladiolus swallowed down the last bit and taunted, “You snooze, you lose, kid.”

“Gladio, you're so rude!”

“All's fair in love and war. And Ignis' cooking.”

~

That night, Ignis sent you home with a great batch of tarts. Prompto waved goodbye to you from the counter and as you closed the door behind you, Prompto ran back to the kitchen where Gladiolus and Ignis were cleaning up, “Guys! I may have found something!”

Gladiolus and Ignis looked at him expectantly. Prompto found his skin was alive with electric thrill, “Y/N may have been dreaming about Noct!”

Ignis' head bobbed back, his eyebrows arched, “How do you know this? How is Noct-?”

“Every detail to Noct was perfect! Its like seeing him again, hearing his laugh! I don't know how she knows him, but she does.”

Gladiolus shook his head and tossed down the rag he was wiping the counter with, “She could have known him from when we held court-.”

“She's not like us,” He said, waving an arm out, “She would have been young, really young. She wouldn't have recog-”

“Prompto, please,” Ignis lifted a hand and sighed. He rubbed his brow, “I know you miss him. We all do. It's almost time for the ten year anniversary... You know what that means. As the years go by, more and more people will not remember our home. Our kingdom... Our prince...”

Prompto puffed out his cheeks and released the air out in a huff, “Yes. I know. But I have hope! I have hope that Noct is still out there in the castle! We can do something, we can find the-.”

“Prompto.” Gladio's voice was low and dark, “Drop it. We've had enough.”

The silence was thick. The only noise was the creak of the floorboards and Prompto adjusted his stance. He shook his head. “I'm holding onto the faith. Insomnia will never die!”

Prompto turned and went back to organize the shop. Ignis relaxed his own stance with a heavy exhale. He leaned against the counter-top, his shoulders weighing down with what seemed like years of pain. Gladio picked up his rag again and began twisting it around his hand. He stared into the corner, deep in thought.

In the front, Prompto wiped his eyes and began cleaning the display shelves. He thought back to the last day he saw Noct.

It was a cloudy, chilly afternoon. Noct and Prompto were talking, completely at ease and laughing. Gladiolus and Ignis were to the side, coring apples. They were enjoying a moment of peace amongst the raucous joy of the festive kingdom.

They were all so finely dressed. Noct was in a black dress suit, adorned with gold accents and stars. The three others were in their decorative glaive suits, boots polished to perfection.

That day was to celebrate the coming of the Equinox. The kingdom's people were bountiful and merry. They were content with the recent harvest and were quite prosperous in market sales and trades. They rejoiced. The energy was quite infectious and word had gotten out to the other towns and kingdoms. Everyone was invited to celebrate, to bring in the best season and more fortune.

Not everyone was as happy as could be.

There was one man. One lone, angry man. A man with gold eyes and  tar-like tears.

Prompto wished he could have stopped this man. He wished he could have killed him.

As soon at this man had stepped foot into the castle, he had destroyed everything that these four men held dear. He killed the king and innocent people, noble and common alike. He poisoned the kingdom, taken the light and drowned everything in darkness.

He planted rows and rows of black thorns around the Old Kingdom, preventing anyone from escaping or entering. Those who would come in contact were to die instantly.

Noct had saved them. He saved his friends. He gave them a fighting chance to escape. They were all wounded, but they escaped.

A week later, Prompto had a dream. It was Noct, reaching out from a pool of light. He reached out his hand to grab, to hold his friend. Then Noct's voice erupted, echoed, reverberated.

“There's someone out there.”

Noct couldnt reach Prompto's fingertips.

“They can help! Find them.”

Noct was getting further and further away.

“They hold the light.”

Noct was being swallowed by the light.

“A champion!”

Noct was gone.

At the same time, Prompto, Gladiolus and Ignis jolted awake. They had no idea what that could have meant, but for all three to receive the same dream?

Time had passed since then. The world around them cried less about the Old Kingdom, had forgotten the Royal names and those who survived, forgot more and more about their home.

The four men did not.

No champion had come forth.

**

Taglist:  @fortheloveofeos @gladiolus-mamacitia @angelic-guardienne@leeyahlee-nai @inconsistencys @furubatsu @hextme @zimmer2d@ladychocoberry @mandakatt @casxia

[therealraewest]

I didn’t want to risk posting my gift late so I’m posting it a bit early. Here’s my TPoH Secret Santa for @rosyabomination! You requested Julienne/Melody fluff and I hope you enjoy! Fic under the cut, and check the notes for the ao3 link

 Sempre Piu

Sometimes there are things in the world that fit together perfectly. Often things come in pairs, but too often those pairs are equals and opposites. The sky and the sea. Darkness and light. The sun and the moon.

           Hate and Time.

           But for two things to exist, parallel but never truly coexisting without losing bits of themselves, was a lonely life indeed. Julienne felt sorry for them, in a way. In a world she used to live in, laws of gravity could keep two bodies orbiting in a steady and ever-moving dance around each other without ever allowing those two bodies to touch. She wasn’t sure if gravity were quite so strict in this world, as it did pull her ever towards the ground below, but the sun surely didn’t care for a regular orbit. Or, well, the Light didn’t, at least.

           Gravity tugged at sugar-floss wings, though she knew she could power through and stay airborne for several hours yet. There were no signs that the Light’s master had any intention to let it fall away into night anytime soon, and on a day as clear as today she could nearly see straight from one side of the world to the other. The sky was liberating, but these days it was empty. She was often the only one for miles, if at all. Those who flew were only too wary since the sky itself had caught fire. Their numbers had fallen dramatically that awful day, and the market was the only place most of her feathered brethren felt safe anymore. It wasn’t that she blamed them, no. They had all lost so much in the fire. But she simply couldn’t allow herself to remain cooped in the market. It was a bright and colorful and crowded place at ground level, and short visits were always nice, but the dark and deadly ceiling loomed too low, too heavy. Even with the danger, she preferred the open sky any day.

           Below, there came a call more compelling than gravity, and at this Julienne angled downwards. Her new flight brought the ground soaring upwards as she grew closer and closer to her lover’s cadenza. It was a beautiful song, a melancholy thing played mostly in strings that Julienne had never heard before. Melody was a hell of a composer. She had been even before she became the walking ensemble that she was, always plucking out new tunes and juggling instruments in an attempt to capture the depth of the songs that played inside her head. Her final form had been shaped around that habit. Melody could now play as many instruments in tandem as she wished as easily as if they were extensions of herself, for the simple reason that now they very much were.

           The song shifted as Julienne swooped into frame. Less melancholy, more dulce, a tone Melody saved exclusively for her. Julienne’s chocolate heart threatened to melt as it swelled with affection. Her wings beat a couple more times, easing out of her relative dive to make a soft and easy landing beside her wife, placing both of them in the same octave.

           “Hello to you too, my love,” she said, nuzzling the side of the lyre face with her own. Melody’s song drifted off on a fond note.

           Those who did not know them well often inquired how the two of them ever managed to hold a conversation. When one half of the pair spoke only in what tones and rhythms could be provided by her symphonic form, it was easy for an outsider to question how anything meaningful was ever said.

           Julienne called those people idiots.

           The harp plucked out a questioning tone, Melody’s hollow eyes tilting upwards towards the blue sky above.

           “I could see all the way across the Sea of Limen today. It’s a lovely view, I only wish I could share it with you.”

           Drums beat out a bouncy rhythm in reply, Melody’s tempo becoming more of a skip.

           “Ah, yes, the elastic valley still stands as surely as it ever did. The fence does it well, but,” she faltered a moment, which Melody noticed immediately, letting out another curious note.

           “There’s Nothing where the Forest of Wisdom used to be.”

           A horrified clatter, the glockenspiel on the crown of Melody’s head shaking like leaves in a stiff wind.

           “I know, but at the very least if I can see it I know where it is, or at the least where it isn’t.” She nuzzled further into her wife’s accordion neck. “We are safe, and that’s what matters.” She didn’t mention the grief she’d seen in the Plains of Hesitation, probably plaguing some unfortunate soul, nor did she mention how empty the land seemed these days, with few wanderers still left.  So long as she knew where the threats were, she could keep the two of them far, far away from those places. Not that they were incapable of holding their own, but there was no need to tempt fate, especially now when She was getting more bold with each passing day.

           Melody made a soft sound, angling her head up and back. Julienne understood and accepted the invitation, climbing aboard. She sent a small thanks to the long-since-fallen stars that their forms seemed so perfectly matched, and that she was able to settle upon her wife’s back as naturally as a smaller bird might rest upon a branch.

           “In brighter news, there seems to be a new type of flower in bloom,” Julienne angled the knife-point of her head towards the horizon. “That way. They seem to be growing in a great circle.”

           There was a cymbal-roll as Melody shifted her direction. A brisk Andante began as they started towards the direction Julienne had indicated.

           “You’re quite right,” mused Julienne. “There’s so little in this world we haven’t seen, I’d love to investigate this new mystery with you.” She rested her head atop her wife’s, resting delicately beside glockenspiels and knowing she would be safe from each mallet. Melody was large, yes, but so, so gentile, especially when it came to Julienne. She never worried at all about her own relatively delicate form when it came to her love. “Feels almost like a hero’s work again, doesn’t it?”

           The accordion wheezed out a laugh beneath her.

           “Wandering towards a vague and unspecified destination without reason? All we need is that electric fool filling our heads with riddles.”

           The laugh deepened, light percussion falling like rain upon a roof. Julienne missed the rain, and she allowed herself to close her no-longer-physical eyes and pretend she was home in a flat resting near a window, hearing rain patter against the glass as she held the love of her life close to her, their human forms fitting together like neighboring pieces of the same puzzle.

           “I love you,” she said, knowing Melody would understand despite her abrupt change of topic. “Unconditionally and eternally, for all the time we have in this dying world.”

           Below her, a soft motif played, and Julienne knew it well enough to know that the sentiment was returned with all the strings of Melody’s musical heart.

           As if on cue, the sky began to dull from its vibrant blue. The dulling turned to darkening, and soon the two of them knew that if they kept on they’d be travelling through the night. One should never be caught travelling at night in this world, so Melody stretched right where she was and made a soft noise that indicated Julienne should dismount.

           Weaker monsters than them were often advised to find either a strong dreamer or the shelter of trees when night came, but the two of them were anything but weak. While they remained close to one another, hardly anything would dare to threaten them, and so it was no issue when Melody settled herself in a relaxed half-moon right in the middle of the open plain. Her earlier noise was repeated, a soft invitation that Julienne accepted. She settled her avian figure so that she filled the crescent that Melody had provided, resting her head beside her wife’s as she gave her wings a final stretch before they rested.

           A soft and sweet lullaby lulled from Melody. It was a sleepy thing, the woman’s equivalent of humming, and it reverberated through Julienne like the affectionate purring of a cat all around her.

           “Goodnight to you, too, my dearest,” she murmured, already letting the heavy blanket of sleep pull over them both. As they lay like this, Julienne’s dreams took her not quite backwards but perhaps sideways in time, where she as a ballerina had met a rather quiet musician with striking eyes and a kind smile, who spoke softly but played loudly, whose laugh sounded like the playing notes of a rain-stick overturned, and the two of them lived simply but happily in their own world of make-believe far from monsters or fears or doubts or griefs or hate.

           Some things fit together perfectly, not opposites but equals. Trees and Flowers. The Moon and the Stars. Wood, Water and Darkness.

           Dance and Music.

           Julienne and Melody.

[sweet-xoxo-thatcares]

I hope I don't become like Lynn off of Girlfriends.

She went to school all the way to get her Ph.D.

But she did nothing with her education until she absolutely had to.

Is it possible to fall in with schools, gardens, old buildings, museums, and old libraries? Cause I hate the real world.

I'd rather get paid to go to Hogwarts or University.

I'm a wizard Harry. I love books, stories, and movies...I'm just sorry your books were too long and the special effects were so much fucking doper to witness. But re-learning to enjoy reading books again. To paint in an image in your mind through someone else's words show how good that writer can be to paint that scene, those little details. For you to hear it and see what they were talking about, we all relate to them somehow. Through our own images and our own experiences.

Life tells us a lot about ourselves and the stories we've witnessed through other people.

Especially the ones like my own. Not every story ends in a happy ending. But it can be if we look for the positive or something we found after we went through the most shitty lesson ever.

That's kinda where my head is at right now, where's my rainbow?

Oh, yea I can see it coming in a little better.

I see why my dad had to be so positive and why he manifests me to go for so much bigger and better things in my life. Because he believed in me when I didn't believe in myself. He saw my potential and coached me to jump higher, to push myself to go for it. To at least try and don't be afraid of getting rejected, or getting my heart broken. We can heal after each and every game. Good game, coach. I like learning and playing with you. He made me into a hands on learner when I was playing soccer, basketball, tennis, and football drills. He loved teaching me and I loved learning from him. Cause he taught me in a way that I could understand it, remember it, and process it like it was practice. And that could explain why I was so into people who could teach me something new. Because I learned a lot about my dad even as just a regular person when he taught me the things he did. It just happened to be that when it came to love...it was kinda scary dealing with it at school because I was dead on my own then.

If a boy was picking on you a lot, Oh that means he likes you.

But why? Why wouldn't he be so nice to me like my prince in these storybooks? I thought I was a princess? I never did anything to these guys and they would just pick on me for no reason or just because I was fat, I looked different than most girls, and I had big boobs real early on in school. It was weird....and I didn't like it.

Sometimes I wished I could be invisible so I wouldn't get picked on and then I could steal candy from the store. I was really obsessed with candy and treats back then because mom didn't let us have sweets or just pop unless it was a holiday. I assumed it was just because she was worried about my weight and how it was affecting my self esteem. Comparing yourself to all the little girls in school and you're taller, wider, smarter, and brighter than them....I think she knew there were some girls and boys who were envious of me and what I could do. A/B Honor Roll....I only did that shit because I didn't wanna hear that shit at home. I don't think anybody understood what it was like to be me back then, because I barely, openly talked to just anybody unless I was for sure you wouldn't talk shit about me, you weren't too judgmental, or I could tell off jump that we would be cool. Because I rarely trusted kids after I got bullied and saw the reflections of them in other kids when I moved. I avoided talking to so many people because of it. I just didn't have the time or the bullshit to handle that shit again. If you were fishy and I felt something similar to somebody that I ended up not liking...I already knew how the story would go...or at least assumed I knew because of what facade was being presented. I know there are some people who have bad masks on outside, but are the most kindest, sweetest, gentle birds of the universe. And then there's the sweet masked people, who look pretty and endearing, but they're ice ice cold. Those were the types I couldn't get along with. Someone with an innocent face, just like me, but turned out to be a horrible person. Because as a kid, I assumed nice face = nice person. I've come to found that out that after high school, this is not always the case. People show you what they want you to see, if you figure them out before they even give you a chance too....bitches flip and don't like it. But, hey Life is strife, so I bear it more now than ever. Thats why my circles stay small. I trust few, cause I've seen too many. And then there's some people I let think they're all the way in the circle, but they're really not because I still haven't gotten to the key to trusting them all the way yet. Its when they force themselves into my existence, then I'm hesitant and I'll only talk if somebody talks to me. Because I don't really trust eager people wanting to get to know me so fast and so quick. Its like what are you up to? What are your intentions 1st, before I let you in?

Because I've done that before and got my feelings hurt, telling people who you are with an open heart became scary. Because sometimes people stopped really wanting to hang out with me once they found out what I was like when I was free to myself at home, in my unmatched pajamas. And sometimes I wear childlike things at home to keep me fluffy and smol. They help calm me down about adjusting to adult life. But if I were to say this out loud to some, they would think I was being too forward. Like stop talking to me so much. Stop telling me stuff about you so I don't get too attached.

I hate that I'm innocent looking sometimes, but it keeps me young. Hopefully when I'm 40, I'll have a secret room that I can slide into that has my dream childhood home escape. Because not all adults can be adults all the time. Otherwise you get bored. You need fun in your life, or at least I do. Always thinking about work, bills, and money obsessively stresses you out. Its a necessity yes, but if I was to lose my pure heart of childlike joy and love for cuddles, kisses, and hugs I'd feel less like a dreamer and more like a nobody. I have dreams every night. You don't have to not have fun, in order to be an adult. There's no rules. And the adults who don't have fun, lead down the road to having depressing, miserable. Because it was all work and no play. No relaxation, no escapism, no vacation. No energy outside of work and raising kids. That might be why I'm not ready to raise a family yet. There's still so much of this world that I wanna be able to explore first. Because the first eight years of a child's life is where they need their parents the most. And I needed my parents more and more, each and every day as I got older. Seeing them made me feel safe, at home and secure tucked into my bed. Able to go to sleep at night. It relaxes you to know that the people you care about is under the same room with you. Because they love you and you love them. No worries, right? They'll never leave and you won't have to.

But I already experienced my worst nightmare, having to be rejected from my home. My safe haven.

I'll have to rebuild another one soon. I got too attached to where I was at. Too comfortable. That's why I want a house, something I can build and grow myself so I won't have to leave again.

I like vacations, but I always like that ride going back home.

[bloodandwinemuses]

LITTLE CHARACTER THINGS

Just a fun little character game. Fill in the below categories with 3-5 things that your character can be identified by. Repost & tag away!

Tagged by: nobody. Fight me. 

Tagging: @therussianandthefinn, @secondhandmckie, @piecesfromthewhole, @eilidhink & @metalzerotruck, and whoever else wants to do this. 

EMOTIONS / FEELINGS: 01.   Shame 02.   Envy 03.   Curiosity 04.   Compassion 05.   Loneliness

GREETINGS: 01.   A greeting stuck in his throat, a lump stuck there that he has to shift, before he can be nice and gentle and good. An anxious undertone, a quiver in a mumbled,’ Hello.’ The clamor around him is a lively stanza; but he has never learned the lines, doesn’t know how to sing along. A boy at odds with himself; a dreamer roaming escapism grounds, only to discover they’re badlands. His confidence is an act, one that’s not solid, but in flux off stage. There’s the tiniest glint in his brown eyes, and an eagerness – ossified, if only he knew how to unclench his trembling hands, to abandon his comely home in the shadows; to be seen, to be heard, to be understood. Maybe, his insecurity whispers, maybe it’s too soon.

02.   Tense shoulders as he straightens his back, trying relentlessly to make himself appear taller than he really is. An assuring nod while he stands, hands clasped around a tattered sketchbook, listening to his teacher with an avid attention whose solidity never falters. Anything, anything to be seen.

03.   His arms encircle another person’s body, a person who knows it is safe in their middle, in the cradle of his limbs and the kind crinkle around brown eyes.  He places his chin on their shoulders, coos clever little pick me up lines into the hollow a tired mind, and rubs their backs. Friend is a golden ideal to him, placed on an embossed pedestal. It’s a title, to him, and it’s honorable. So, safe in their acceptance, he scoops up what he has, ready to swap anything for their smiles. 04.   Ridiculed, laughed at, stripped off vigor and versatility. In their eyes, he’s what they keep shouting in a relentless choir: a doormat, weak, brittle like ice. Shoulders straightened, arms crossed, his gaze fixed stubbornly at a face he’d rather forget than see every day. No, there is no modulated undertone, no welcoming tone – it’s a warning despite its subtlety. With an army of hyenas ravenous for his confidence inside his mind, he can alter the playground – can unsettle with the wisp of a smile if needed, can dig his claws into the varnish of their resolve quietly, slowly – without leaving any traces in his wake. No, enough is enough. His sanctum, his beliefs, they are no doormat; no funny toy they can toss around. They will be sorry, he knows.

05.  A bounce in his step; a booming voice – loud, too loud, a little over the top. Their breath, their smile, their body – all of them draws him in, holds him cradled in another dream. And their mouth, open and searching, roams his skin and reads the beat below. Rapid, racing, a raspy taunt in his ear. How could he not pull them closer until they’re closer than strangers should be, the seedy bar forgotten. Because they’re no longer strangers, but studying each other. Nails digging up wants and needs, a reddish trail across bare backs. A moan; a promise. They don’t stay the morning, always shying the first strip of light. But he loves them a little every time, and doles out a little time every time. And how is that not enough? A happy ever after isn’t what their nights mean, their greetings friendly outside the bedroom. They are what they are. Not lovers. But givers.

COLORS: 01.   Purple. 02.   White.

03.   Maroon.

SCENTS: 01.   Rain 02.   Acrylic paint 03.   Jasmine 04.   Cypress

CLOTHING: 01.   Horn-rimmed nerd glasses 02.   Creepers [Leopard print, light-brown, with a glitter effect] 03.   Friendship necklace [a round-shaped piece to a circle. In the center, it simply reads, in bolded letters,’ Best’ while the other, owned by Miranda, reads ‘Friends.’] 04.   Harem pants. 05.   Shirts with uplifting lines printed on the front.

OBJECTS: 01.   Sketchbooks worse for wear, which he drags around in hopes of spotting a motive out of everyday life so as to capture faces, moments, or laughter forever. Moreover, though, those sketches are mirrors. While hard to get to know, his drawings are reflections – little peeks into how he feels about somebody or something, respectively.

02.  Jasmine based perfume. Despite the looks he’s received at the shop for calling himself a firm stickler about aromatherapy, he is very particular about scents. All too often, the smell of jasmine has been solace to him, and likewise nipped difficult days right in the bud. 03.   A ridiculously outdated Walkman. The thing is older than him and closer to broken than functional. Why he keeps the thing is a mystery for the ages. Probably for the hipster aesthetic. 04.   Books. Alexander has been an avid reader ever since he was barely able to climb out of his cradle. Getting lost in the woods, in the kingdoms, in the deserts – all of it, he enjoys, needs, and clings onto like it’s his life-line. As socializing can be the treacherous trap Alexander’s hope is trapped in on the regular, he needs the pretense of adventure to compensate for the abyss between him and others. Whatever it is, he can never get the right words out, can never slow his heart down to normal. No, he is an anomaly among them. That’s how he feels – and why, consequently, he is at ease turning pages.

VICES / BAD HABITS: 01.   Internalizing his feelings, assiduously adding to the private cellar in his mind where he keeps anger, sadness, and envy in shiny bottles until he hurls them at himself and others, an alchemy out of which feeling are altered and brewed into Molotov cocktails. 02.   Low self-esteem and downright self-hatred. As somebody who lives primarily inside the internal abode of his own mind, Alexander first blames himself for everything before he would ever seek the flaws in others. 03.  Idealization. In spite of hurt and harm, he is a dreamer embarking on a dreamland expedition in reality – forgetting that these subconscious illusions is unreal; that no matter how much he loves, and how much he is loved, gentle hands will never belong to Greek gods. Forgetting, despite the odyssey to violence and vanity: neither obsession nor honor are sources of light. Because if he can’t touch or see others the way they are, then his heart remains an outpost for ghost towns. It’s not fair; it’s nothing he does subconsciously, however. 04.   Believing there is something fundamentally wrong with him, Alexander stays holed up in his room, shutting himself away from the world. In so doing, the divide between him and friends progressively grows larger until it’s a chasm with no bridges in sight. Most times, he even believes there is no place for him in any group at all. 05.   Overly emotional, overly sensitive – to the point of where there is an over reliance on his own experiences at play and an outright intolerance towards opposing beliefs.

BODY LANGUAGE: 01.  A little smile; a little laugh. He doesn’t slouch, doesn’t hide. No, he’s the one pulling others into his arms, whispering a welcome into their ears. 02.   Broken, teary-eyed, raw, subdued sobs – making himself small as if to hope nobody will find him holed up in his misery. 03.   Trembling hands, wandering eyes, fingers raking through already unruly black hair. Nervousness. 04.   A seductive smile, a sonorous lilt in his voice; a speech weaved together in soft timbres and lowkey make-believe. Pride faked, pride pried out of a book. He can be somebody likable that way.   05.   He speaks in a strident warning, his arms crossed as his gaze is fixed on somebody else. No, the shame crawling inside the safe shell of his skull is little more than a weak distress call. Rude, he knows, to scoff and point fingers like he does. More than rude, he knows, to unravel layers of anger and agony in front of a one-man audience. It’s not like him to cause sorrow; but sometimes, his eyes are rigid and cold. Sometimes, there’s just no happy ending.

AESTHETICS: 01.  An exodus of people interwoven with visitors flooding in – indistinguishable to everyone. On the fringes of sociability, Alexander listens to the music booming through the speakers. A generic tune from the charts – nothing original. Just the same three chord blandness people advertise as creativity nowadays. Here, in the mall, where nobody pays him any mind, he’s secure. From his observing post, he dares enough, hoping to join the masses someday. It’s the closest to shedding his shyness.

02.  Quivering voices, bravado promises in a darkened room. In the hiccup of stage lights, another poet rips his heart apart and throws the bait into the midst, for yearning dreams unwilling to wake up. It’s sacrifice, this low howling. Because they’re only listeners, only consumers. Everybody will take their peace tonight. Nobody will be ashamed at their clever thievery. 03.   A pint of beer in front of him, a play in his hands. He’s huddled in several blankets, fluffy socks peeking out as he reads on. Sanctum.

04.   His hand in his, tugging Avery outside to engage in a pas de deux to the quiet drum of raindrops. Secluded in the vortex of clouds, thunder growls as their breathing hitches in their sore throats; sore because of breathy laughs. And yet, their movement flows like a river, undulating. Steps in synchronization; minds in tandem.

05.   A fall down the oblivion hole. A simple push. Alexander relishes in the numbness, in its mist, his vision just a blotchy mirror into consciousness. It’s been years since self-loathing has gained the upper hand, has encapsulated the soothing paint brushes across an empty canvas so wholly, so fully. It’s been years since he has used his own blood stream to muddle his health.  But he knows  he will be fine, if only for today. Without the drugs, it’s too much. Soft drugs - just a break from his mind.  It’s been years since he has suppressed his tears for this, for an ugly fairy tale that makes him the freak,  and the outsider if he opens up, striking his colors. Shame squeezes him tightly, settles in his entrails – hot, burning, smoldering. 

 It’s good endless corridors lit by blinking bulbs, yet bright in their surgical cleanliness are just a memory now. Haunting, howling, hiding in the crook of happy moments. They’re more than simple remembrances, but he can believe there’s no collateral damage. Cured of his malfunctioning brain, as he hopes. But he knows that’s not how it goes. 

 SONGS:

Boys Don’t Cry – The Cure

Run, Run, Run – Junge Junge, Kyle Pearce

Gasoline – Troye Sivan

Worship – Years & Years

The Love You Have in You – Asbjorn

Human – of Monsters and Men

Day Old Hate – City and Color

Letters Home – Radical Face

We Have it All – Pim Stones

First Light – Lindsey Stirling

Dreams of Venice – Jesper Kyd