#my second pick is do not go gently into that good night by dylan thomas if we want poems other people have heard of before for answers

[mind-writing0]

~Chapter 12~

"Okay, okay, okay," Virgil paced his room, trying yet failing to breathe out his nerves. He turned to Romelle, "It fits perfectly, thanks." He stretched out an arm in his newly fitted suit, this one a more identifiable dark purple. Tonight would be the first time the Report would feature the Selected. AKA, the first time Virgil would appear on national TV. "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die." He muttered, his stomach performing flips he couldn't dream of attempting.

"You won't die," Allura comforted as if he were ridiculous. "Everything will work out splendidly. Okay, I think we're one of the last ones. The other Selected are waiting on you. Good luck!" With that, Virgil's maid shoved him as gently as possible out the door, shutting it so he couldn't get back in.

Virgil anxiously tugged on his sleeves, trying not to think of who all would be watching. His mother, his father (where ever he was), Dylan, Valerie, Dan...

Without thinking, he wrapped his arm around Lance's and slumped his head on his shoulder. "Oh, hey there!" He greeted, making no move to get away but instead enjoying the gesture of friendship. "Sleepy?"

"I'm gonna die," Virgil groaned again, making Lance laugh.

"You won't die," he countered as the group began moving. "But I did want to show you something funny." They reached the end of the hall, where a guard with a short black ponytail stood to escort them. "See this guy?" Lance whispered to Virgil. "He has a ponytail!" He laughed.

"I heard that." The guard replied, his violet eyes narrowing, though he looked like he was holding back a grin. "Let me guess, I'm the first guard you've seen without a crew cut?"

Lance nearly fell into Virgil as he laughed out of nerves. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry Officer...?"

"Kogane. And apology accepted, sir. I have my ways of keeping a ponytail." It might have just been Virgil getting used to Roman's activity, but he could have sworn the guard winked. What exactly that meant, Virgil wasn't sure.

"Here we are," their professor and guide, Miss Emily, called from the front of the group. "Now, we need to get you all seated..."

They had entered a gigantic TV studio. Monstrous cameras were to the sides and front of the stage. Those two round blue chairs that Virgil had seen on TV, at a time that seemed ages ago, sat in the center. To the right, three more seats for the royal family. To the left, twenty-five seats for the Selected shined as if expecting something Virgil was sure this group couldn't provide no matter how they looked.

"That's gonna look weird," Lance whispered to Virgil as they went over to climb the stairs to the top row. "You know, since we only have sixteen left."

"Sixteen? I thought there was eighteen." Virgil replied, shocked at how low the numbers their official first Report.

"Didn't Prince Roman tell you? Two of the Selected asked to leave after the attack, said they were too shaken up to go on. He told me when he visited my room that he didn't want to keep anyone here against their will. Speaking of the prince..." Lance smiled a little as they found their seats, "He asked me out on a date! We're seeing a movie tomorrow."

"That's great, Lance." Virgil said, looking over at where a nervous Prince Roman was being comforted by Queen Diana.

"Places, everyone, please." A cameraman announced, "We're on in two."

Virgil then saw, out of the corner of his eye, the Thomas Sanders approach the front of the stage. For some reason, he was more anxious about interviewing with him than talking with any of the royalty. He was becoming overwhelmed with the situation, and all of the eyes on him, so he held onto Lance's arm behind the backs of the other Selected.

"Three...two...one...action!" The cameraman called.

"Good evening, Ailea!" Thomas greeted the audience and cameras cheerfully. "As you can see, we have a few extra-special guests with us today! As you saw last week, our beloved Selected received makeovers and enjoyed the palace's hospitality. Tonight, we will finally meet and talk with these handsome young men. Are you excited?"

The crowd clapped politely in response. "Excellent," Thomas said, "though we do have a few announcements." He turned to the king, who began reading off some different types of events that had happened over the week.

Once he was done, Thomas turned back to the audience. "Well said, Your Highness. And now, Prince Roman."

Roman walked over to the round chair, and to Virgil it was so odd to see him in the same spot as he had for years, but at a different angle.

"Prince Roman, tell me: how has it been, getting the first impression of what is now sixteen Selected men?" Thomas asked.

"It's been fun," Roman replied, and Virgil noticed he still sat as stiffly as before. "The Selected sure are an incredible and interesting few."

"Interesting?" Thomas asked in what could almost be a teasing tone, "Would you have any funny stories for us about it?"

Roman looked deep in thought, but he was smiling a little. "Oh, alright, I'll tell. I can't believe you're making me do this, Thomas." He joked. "So, what I would consider to be my most interesting Selected story is...when I was taking a walk, the night the Selected first arrived, I heard some noise down the hall. I went to investigate, and...there was a very handsome young man, crying in a guard's arms to go out to the garden. I guessed that he was in panic from nerves, so I ordered the guard to let him go. Then he went out into the garden, and I followed him out to see if he would be alright. Then, oh, you wouldn't believe this, Thomas." Roman grinned and relaxed a little throughout the story, as if they were two friends telling this in private instead of to the entire country. "And then he told me off! To my face! He said something along the lines of 'how dare you make me go through this!' As if I had hand-picked him. But I would have, picked him, you know, if I could. He was absolutely fierce when it came to this tradition, and I thought it was homesickness, so I let him stay." To finish, the prince looked up at the Selected seats and met Virgil's eye, though to the audience it seemed like he was looking at any of the Selected.

Thomas sat awestruck for a moment. "Oh my goodness," he laughed a little, "that's brilliant! That is probably one of the best Selection stories I have ever heard. And you all," he turned to the Selected, "I'm going to find which one of you has such a temper. To start us off...Dipper Pines!"

Dipper came up to the round chair anxiously as Roman got up to sit back with his family. Virgil was beginning to feel kind of bored at this point, as Dipper was very quiet and barely spoke a word.

Overall, Thomas seemed to ask the same two questions along with others: Would you say that you have a bad temper? And: So are you the young man that yelled at Prince Roman?

Virgil was second to last to go, as Lance still had to go after him. As he approached the round blue chair, his heart pounded into his throat.

"Virgil Singer, how your name sings!" Thomas smiled at him as he settled. "I'm sure we would all like to know how your time at the palace has been."

"It's been—" his voice was stuck in his throat, leaving a quiet squeak. "It's been great! We...uh...I liked the purple." He pointed weakly at his hair, and when he heard laughter, he felt awfully stupid. "E-everything h-here is very...very lavish. I...I liked the pastries." He looked over at Roman, who's eyes lit up in response. Thomas noticed the gesture and looked between them as if he understood the joke.

"I see," Thomas nodded, "and how was your meeting with the Prince?" Virgil stopped cold in his somewhat-made tracks. "I...I...met him along with everyone else, and it was a bit rushed, but it was nice."

Thomas seemed to almost believe him. That was, until Roman's voice rang out from his seat. "Tell him what really happened!"

Virgil jerked his head around and glared at Prince Roman, who had a teasing yet gentle look that asked please, my dear? The black haired teen sighed and buried his face in his hands, a hot red blush contrasting his pale skin. "Alright," he looked up, "I'll tell you. I was feeling a little homesick, and I had a bit of a nervous breakdown. Prince Roman let me out to the garden, and for that I'm grateful. That's it. Nothing...romantic, or anything."

Thomas raised his eyebrows, "Really? Well, I'm sure you're only saying that so it doesn't get vicious with the other Selected."

"I don't think it gets..." Virgil turned around towards the others, where he noticed Bill glaring menacingly at him. He turned back to Thomas, "I don't think it gets vicious." He tried out a smile.

"I hope not, for your sake, Virgil. Thank you for your time. And last but not least, Lance McClain!"

As Virgil headed back to his seat, he felt light-headed. He caught sight of Roman, who tugged on his ear and grinned, his eyes still lighting up when he looked at him. The king glanced over at Virgil as well, his expression unpleasant.

The rest of the show was a little fuzzy. Lance's interview went well, as he raved to Virgil even when the cameras were still on.

They all filed out when the show was over, and Virgil stopped by Roman.

"You did excellent, darling." Roman whispered, as if muttering a secret. Virgil's stomach flipped when he was hit with the sudden reminder of Dan. That was exactly how he spoke to him, in those quietly secret nights in the tree house, his brown eyes shining in the candlelight.

"I'll kill you," Virgil replied in a low voice.

"Threatening assassination to royalty? Why, that is a crime punishable by death! It can be forgiven, maybe, with true love's kiss?" Roman asked, leaning against the studio wall as the Selected filed past.

"In your dreams, Princey." Virgil playfully punched the prince's shoulder. "So, did you need to talk with the whole ear-tug? Or were you just trying to flirt with me?"

"Oh, yes. I wanted to ask you...would you maybe want to try again with the walk in the gardens? It doesn't have to be a date or anything. Practice makes perfect, you know." Roman winked.

"Sure," Virgil decided, "that sounds nice. You'll be at my room at eight?"

Roman nodded, "I'm looking forward to it." Then he walked out with the others. Virgil followed soon after, once he got the full impact of the TV studio. Of all the things he'd done in the haze of the past two weeks, this was probably the most surprising.

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[hopingforfakedreams]

Dylmas - All I Want For Christmas Is You

3rd Person POV 

"All I want for Christmas is you." Mariah Carey's voice drifted through the stereo speakers.

A blonde man groaned, rolling his eyes at the song. "If I hear one more Mariah Carey song I will riot." He muttered, mostly to himself, as he stood in the queue of his local coffee shop. Every morning, at exactly 11:12am, he would be found here.

"I second that." A gravelly voice replied, followed by a deep chuckle.

The blonde man spun around, coming face to face with what could only be described as one of God's finest creations. The man who had just spoken had windswept brunette hair, eyes the colour of logs on a fire on a cold winter's night, a chiselled jaw and lips shaped into the perfect smile. To top it all off, he had just the right amount of stubble growing – enough to show his age but not too much that he looked untidy.

The blonde man stuttered, raking a hand through his own hair (which he hadn't styled this morning, mainly because he hadn't had the time). He sent a nervous smile in the brunette's direction, unsure of what to say.

"Oh, sorry, the name's Dylan." The other said, holding a large hand out to the blonde.

"Thomas." The blonde man replied, shaking Dylan's hand. Thomas would be lying if he said that his insides didn't flip at the firm grip Dylan held on him. "I promise I'm not a scrooge...well, not really. I just can't stand the hype over Christmas."

Dylan nodded his head in agreement, tucking his hands into his tight jean pockets. "Yeah, I get that. Christmas songs are just so overplayed."

Thomas smiled, purposely not looking at how the veins popped out of Dylan's masculine arms.

"Thomas?" a woman's voice called over the low buzz of the coffee shop.

Thomas jumped, swivelling around quickly. By the counter, he saw the barista holding out his cup of coffee – strong, no sugar, with just a dash of milk.

"Oh, that's mine. I guess I'll see you round?" Thomas asked Dylan, glancing back at him.

Dylan seemed to visibly deflate, "Oh...yeah. See ya, hopefully."

Thomas paused, taking his takeout cup from the barista's hand and thanking her with a polite nod. "Or, if you don't mind, we could stay here and get to know one another?" His voice was hopeful. He knew it was unlikely that Dylan would want to hang out with him any longer than he already had.

But, contrary to Thomas' belief, Dylan smiled as his face brightened. "I'd love that!" he exclaimed.

At Dylan's words, Thomas felt himself relax, cupping his coffee to warm his hands as he waited for Dylan to collect his own drink. He knew the barista working today well and was sure that she wouldn't mind them staying inside despite paying for a takeout coffee. It wasn't like the place was very busy anyway; most customers just bought a drink to go so there were a few empty tables.

Once Dylan got his drink, taking a quick sip of it and humming happily to himself as he licked his lips, the two men walked towards a table for two. It was by the window, so they could watch people bustling past on the street outside – coats pulled tight, hats down low, and faces out of the harsh December wind.

Thomas placed his drink on the table, sitting down and watching as Dylan did the same. Slipping off his jacket, he sighed. It was a good thing that he didn't have any important plans for today, only some last minute Christmas shopping but that could be done tomorrow.

The two new friends sat opposite each other, hugging their drinks close to their bodies for extra heat, as they spoke to each other. It was just casual conversation, getting to know one another and sharing stories of previous Christmas disasters.

At one point, Dylan threw his head back in a fit of laughter; his eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide open and Thomas found himself admiring the man in front of him, thanking the God's for sending him here today.

The conversation continued. It lasted much longer than either man's coffee did, their empty cups placed in the middle of the table.

Eventually, as it neared 12 noon, Dylan asked something which Thomas had been silently hoping to hear. "I know we just met, but do you maybe want to come round to mine? I promise I won't play any Mariah Carey! I have more coffee. And twiglets too!"

Thomas laughed, already putting his jacket back on and standing up. "Course I'll come! Sounds like a great way to spend today."

Dylan smiled at him, taking their empty cups to the bin and thanking the barista once again, who simply winked at him.

The two left the coffee shop, walking to Dylan's small flat, the conversation not stopping once.

Over the years that the two knew each other, going to that small coffee shop became a Christmas tradition. And each year they would buy a takeout coffee and sit in the same window table that they did when they first met.

* * *

Two Years Later

Dylan danced (as best as he could whilst standing on the top of a ladder) to the song playing. He sang away, his voice hoarse as it was still early morning. As he did, he carefully hung the Christmas decorations over the fireplace, pinning the strings to the wall in roughly the same places as last year.

As he was climbing down the ladder, the song changed and at the familiar chimes Dylan smiled wider than he had done so far that day. Whilst putting away the ladder, he began to sing, swaying his body gently. "I don't want a lot for Christmas; there is just one thing I need. I don't care about the presents, underneath the Christmas tree."

The man bent down, picking up a fallen bauble and hanging it back on the already decorated tree that stood in the corner of the room. "I just want you for my own. More than you could ever know."

Neatening up the rest of the room, he continued to sing. "Make my wish come true," since he was so distracted, he didn't notice Thomas stood in the doorway, "All I want for Christmas, is..."

"You." Thomas' deep British voice joined in with Dylan's as he now stepped further into the room, finally catching the younger man's attention.

Dylan smiled, blushing slightly as Thomas slipped his arms around his waist, swaying their bodies together as he hummed to the rest of the song. Thomas looked down at Dylan and couldn't help how his heart melted at the sight; the man was covered in glitter from decorations, his hair a mess and he was still dressed in his pyjama bottoms (no top) but he looked gorgeous.

Leaning down, Thomas placed a chaste kiss to Dylan's lips. "Love you, babe." He whispered into Dylan's ear before lightly pecking the tip of Dylan's nose. Then he pulled away, clapping his hands with a gleam in his eyes, "Now, where did you want the purple tinsel?"