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vampsol · 2 months ago

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SO HIGH SCHOOL | 이희승

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐓𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋 (𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐖𝐄'𝐒 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍)

⟢ PAIRING: lee heeseung x fem!reader ⟢ WORD COUNT: 6.7K ⟢ GENRE: fluff, comedy, smut ⟢ TAGS: basketballplayer!heeseung, nerd!reader, college au, strangers to lovers, pet names (baby, doll, etc), fingering, oral (f receiving), praise kink, unprotected sex ⟢ SYNOPSIS: Lee Heeseung, the captain of the university's basketball team, does not need to take any interest in you, the girl hidden inside a book. But once he's thrust into your life, it's hard to escape how right it feels to be around him. -ˋˏ✄┈┈ AUTHOR'S NOTE: This first chapter (as well as the second) has been rewritten to be set in a university rather than the high school setting for obvious reasons. I apologize for not writing it this way originally, and I hope the rewritten version is just as enjoyable as the original was ♥︎.

Heeseung at the free-throw line, certain he will make the basket and win the championship, turns to look at you in the stands. The sounds of his coach, taunts from the opposing team, encouragement of his teammates, and commotion of the final game of the season all fade into the background. To him, all that matters besides the ball in his hands is you.

You, amongst the others in the crowd with their hearts in their mouths, have no fears for your boyfriend. The star player who’s going to make history has never given you doubts before in his talents. All you can do is smile, incredibly proud and incredulous at the thought that he is all yours and nobody else’s.

It’s almost unimaginable how the two of you found each other, coming from completely different worlds. But like all stories, similar to the ones you’ve read since childhood, the story of you and Heeseung has a clear beginning…

𝑨𝑼𝑮𝑼𝑺𝑻

“Do you ever stop to—I don’t know—not read?” Jungwon asks, jotting down notes in his notebook.

You giggle and flip the page. “It’s the last book on Professor Choi’s summer reading list. If I get chummy with her, I’ll be a shoe-in for the TA position. Besides,” you retort, looking directly at your best friend, “how else would I be able to read and still remember what you just said to me if I didn’t practice?”

“Fuck off.” He lightly knocks his shoulder into yours.

Even though it was still very early in the fall semester, you still had a lot to concentrate on with August ending, like the first novel Choi selected on her extensive reading list. You planned to discuss it with the members of the university’s book club, your notes already tucked in your backpack for the second meeting of the month.

Now, sitting with Jungwon in the hallway as you eat your lunch, your focus is solely on finishing the last fifty pages of your book. Jungwon closes his notebook and gets up from his spot next to you. “Alright, I gotta head to Biochem. I’ll see you later!” With a wink, he runs down the hallway and disappears down the corner.

Who you don’t expect to pop up next to disturb the sudden quiet of the surrounding area is Lee Heeseung, star shooting guard for the university’s basketball team. You never spoke to him before, but his reputation and family’s legacy in your small town preceded him. His brother was the shooting guard for the team years ago, breaking numerous records before he got his degree and went on to play professionally. Now, Heeseung’s definitely filling his brother’s shoes and then some.

As a person, however, you know nothing about the boy at all. This semester, though, you shared the same European literature class with Professor Choi. She cared little for his extracurriculars or persona around campus; what mattered to her was the effort of her students and the quality of the classwork.

Heeseung passes you by on his way towards his destination, not sparing a glance. You sit attentively as he knocks on Professor Choi’s office door.

She answers after a moment, a somber smile on her lips. “What can I do for you, Mr. Lee?”

He clears his throat and asks her, “You saw my message and I—“

“I am aware, Mr. Lee. My response still stands. Is there something else you need?” Choi sees you out of the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t acknowledge your snooping.

“I will do anything to correct my last assignment. Please,” Heeseung begs.

“Mr. Lee, the cutoff for submissions was last week. I’m sorry, but your grade is final.” She sighs and looks at her watch.

“There’s nothing I can do to bring it up before the first game?” Heeseung asks, his voice growing thin from his frustration. He’s not rude, but clearly disappointed he isn’t getting his way with his big eyes and pleading words.

“How about this? I’ll tell Coach Sung you’re working on a paired project to make up the grade.”

“Perfect.” Heeseung breathes a sigh of relief before he takes in the rest of her sentence. “Wait, who’s my partner?”

Professor Choi extends her arm out to point in your direction. Immediately, you want to tuck yourself in your book and hide. You did not intend for your interest in their conversation to put you right in the middle of it, and now you wish you hadn’t feigned curiosity at all.

“She’s one of my best students, so you’re in great hands.” She turns her head so both you and Heeseung can hear her. “I’ll send both of you the information for the project later today.”

You didn’t notice Heeseung had kept his focus on you until you broke your stare-off with Choi. She smirks secretly as you turn your attention to him.

Heeseung isn’t bad to look at, the definition of his muscles peeking out of his shirt in multiple places and his brown hair falling into his face. Each piece of his physical being represents the epitome of a Greek god’s form. But the fact neither of you had ever interacted up to this point scares you more than his intimidatingly good looks.

When Professor Choi gently closes the door, Heeseung awkwardly walks over to your position, towering over you. Ironically, his presence physically embodies your feelings towards him, this stranger now being shoved into your life.

“I’m Heeseung.”

You give him a close-lipped smile and extend your hand out to him, your name leaving your lips immediately. Displaying fake confidence, you hope he can’t tell how terrified you are.

His eyes brighten when his hand touches yours. You stand up, hand still in his, and the feeling of his palm against yours causes you to fumble your next words. “S-so I guess I should give you my number. I mean so once we get the assignment—“

Heeseung smirks. “Usually girls flirt a little more before asking for my number.”

You scoff and tuck your book closer. “I was offering to give you mine, actually. For educational purposes.”

The noise of his laughter fills the small corridor. “Right.”

You roll your eyes, suddenly feeling annoyance creeping under your skin. “Well, if it’s that hard to swap information, you can find me in the library. Around three o’clock, to be exact.” You walk away, but Heeseung follows quickly behind.

“I have practice after my last class at two.”

You look at him with serious eyes, not bothering to stop your stride towards the stairs. “Tell Coach you can’t make it.”

“Are you nuts?” Heeseung says, eyes wide.

You smirk. “You have to get your grade up to play, right?”

You watch the clock in the library with scrutiny. Members of the book club have been gone for half an hour, but you stayed behind to wait. The short hand on the clock sits cruelly over the five, mocking you for holding onto hope Heeseung will come. Every minute that goes by proves you have to face facts: you’re now forced to collaborate with a stereotypical jock.

Chaewon, one of the student librarians, puts the disorganized books on the shelves as you tap your pencil on the table. “Waiting for someone? You don’t usually stick around this late,” she says with a smile.

You grin back, the sentiment not reaching your eyes. “You could say that.”

After another ten minutes of silence, you give up. You begin packing up your belongings, shaking your head and mumbling to yourself the entire time. Curse your interest in the guy and his lack of care for his academics. No wonder his grade was in the tank already. What was the point of athletics if he didn’t have other prospects to fall back on?

Just as you’re walking out of the library, Heeseung runs into you. Sweat’s dripping from his forehead and his breaths are labored. Clearly, he chose basketball over your project. You want to punch him for putting you both in this position.

“I swear I was going to blow off practice,” Heeseung says, but he can see your doubt in his words on your face.

“Sure. How about this? Figure out how to do the project on your own.” You press your body into his to push him out of your way. He follows in suit and rubs the spot you shoved, pretending to be wounded.

It only fuels your ire. You’ve only spoken to the jerk twice and you’re already tired of him treating every word you say and feeling you have like a joke. “Is failing that amusing to you?”

Heeseung’s expression immediately goes cold. “I’m not failing.”

“Sure. So Choi’s just doing this to torture you.”

He weighs his response in his mind before answering. “I may not be perfect, but Choi is really hard on grading.”

“That first assignment was just about what your future looks like after you graduate college.” You push your backpack over your arm. “Excuse her for thinking you had plans outside of throwing a ball around a field.”

That laugh of his may just be the end of your life. He chuckles hard and puts a hand out to stop you. “First of all, that’s football.” He tries to make you look at him directly, but you refuse, too angry to give into what he wants.

He continues anyway. “Second, basketball is my life. Past, present, future, okay? Without it, I don’t even know where I’d be.”

His voice is sincere, more honest than it’s been before. Regardless, your understanding and disappointment is evident. “Don’t you think that that’s the problem?”

“It hasn’t been one before. Suddenly I say it out loud and it’s an issue?” Heeseung’s voice raises a decibel, clearly agitated, and he goes back to his cold exterior.

If he wants to fight about this, you’re game.

“No,” you say, matching his vocal level. “The issue is that your focus is solely on basketball when there’s more important things in life than a dumbass court and sweaty guys trying to make touchdowns.”

“You’re mixing up your sports analogies, angel.” Heeseung steps closer, testing your boundaries. Your chest heaves up and down, your breath labored. You may just slap him if he gets closer.

“You know what I mean.”

“Are you going to help me or not?” A fraction of his expression slips. His eyes challenge you with both irritation and anxiety. The bravado’s merely a mask for the fear that he’ll lose the one thing he wants the most in this world. And did you have it in you to be the reason he couldn’t have it?

You sigh and rub your palm across your forehead. “Tomorrow, meet me at the marketside pier. 8 AM. Take it or leave it.”

He releases a humorless chuckle. “You’re not gonna make this easy are you?”

“Not on your life.”

Heeseung is there at one of the pier’s wooden picnic tables with his materials sprawled out when you arrive at 7:45. You weren’t expecting for him to be there on time, much less earlier than you. The sun reflects off of his hair, turning the brown curls almost orange. Like the first time you saw him, you can’t help but be reminded that he is painstakingly attractive.

You give him a shy smile and put your backpack down next to you.

“I can tell you’re surprised,” Heeseung says with a small smile.

“A bit, yeah.” You unzip your bag to grab your English textbook. “I thought on the weekends you typically do…’fitness stuff.’” He laughs at your air quotes.

“Well, to be honest, I wake up at 6 AM every morning for drills with my dad.”

Your eyes go wide. “Wow.”

“Yeah. Like you said, my sole focus is on that damn ball,” Heeseung says, opening his own textbook. “But I want to change that.”

“So you can keep playing,” you remind him, teasing the poor guy.

“Half true,” Heeseung says. “But I shouldn’t have left you hanging yesterday.”

You nod. “I appreciate your apology.” You grab a pencil from your bag, pushing on the eraser until the lead pops up. “And I shouldn’t have been so judgmental. You have to be good at stuff besides basketball, even if it’s not studying.”

“Hey! I’m doing well in all my other classes, thank you very much.” You both share a minute of laughter. “But, to be honest, I do like to sing.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, Troy Bolton.”

“For real! One day, I’ll take you to karaoke. I won’t make fun of you if you can’t keep up with me.”

“Okay, we’ll see.” You direct his focus back on to the page. “Now, onto Cervantes.”

𝑺𝑬𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑴𝑩𝑬𝑹

Although Heeseung took his sweet, laborious time to translate and understand Cervantes’s Spanish literature, the project went off without a hitch. Professor Choi was even surprised herself, in disbelief you pulled such an expansive and well-thought analysis out of the quintessential jock.

Now, it seemed the best next step to keep Heeseung on the right track was to sit him right next to you. Your initial partnership continued to benefit him in both his success in European literature and focus on academics, possibly for the first time in his postsecondary educational career.

Better than that, he may have found a new friend in you he wouldn’t have had otherwise.

By the end of one Tuesday class, Heeseung asks you to have lunch with him and his friends, a request that makes your previous seating buddy, Yujin, freak out.

Both her and Jungwon corner you on your way out when you tell them the news.

“No fucking way,” she whispers excitedly, slapping you on the back with vigor.

“That hurt,” you moan.

“Are you prepared?” Jungwon asks, smirking.

“Prepared for what?”

“The lion’s den, dude! You’re gonna be with not just his douche friends, but also the cheerleaders, other sports players…be prepared for the worst,” Jungwon grumbles.

“Oh shut up, Won!” Yujin threatens to hit him too, but he retracts. “Have fun on your pseudo first date.”

“It’s not a date!”

By the time lunch comes around, you hold yours with shaky hands, searching the student food court for Heeseung’s table. You usually sat with Jungwon or Yujin in the hallways of the English department to eat. Now, you’re a small fish in a big pond, waiting to be eaten alive.

Was it, in fact, a date, like your friends hypothesized? Did you have to try and impress Heeseung more than normal? Did you want Heeseung to take you on a date, real or fake, to begin with?

“Hey!"

Heeseung waves you over with a confident but over-exaggerated arm, flapping it wildly so you notice. He didn't need to do that, though; you could pick out his voice in any crowd.

You walk over with a smile and sit down, feeling small next to the strangers you had not met until this moment. The basketball team's not unwelcome, but they are awkward at your sudden presence at their table, even if Heeseung made it known beforehand that you would be hanging out with them to eat.

He says your name and introduces you to his friends. "And that's Sunghoon, Jongseong, and Jaeyun." You recognize the last two, Jay and Jake. Jake, the strikingly blonde one, has a class with you for the fall semester. He smiles and tips his soda can at you in acknowledgement.

“Hee was telling us you’ve been saving him this term in Euro Lit. Choi can be a pain in the ass, am I right?" Sunghoon and Jay share a laugh, but you bristle at the comment.

"Not really," you say. "Choi sponsors my book club, so we have a good relationship. I think that's why she wanted me to whip Heeseung into shape in the first place." You elbow Heeseung in the side, and he grins in response.

"She's probably right."

"Book club kid, huh?" Jake asks. "Haven't been one of those since elementary school."

Jake's comments make the entire team laugh. Your cheeks turn pink and Heeseung takes a sip from his drink, his posture stiffening in the process.

"It's not a bad thing though," Jake interjects amidst their laughter. "Books are fun."

"A bit nerdy, though," Sunghoon comments.

A girl next to Sunghoon smacks him hard on the arm, but he just pokes his tongue at her.

Your anxiety spikes the longer you sit with them, your gut feelings a reminder that they’re all a part of Heeseung’s world, not yours.

You clear your throat and stand up from the table. “I forgot to say, Hee, I have to do something for Choi anyway.” Heeseung’s face turns down at the corners. The only audible response you receive is from Jay and Sunghoon in the form of exaggerated snickers. “Run along, pet,” Sunghoon comments with a smirk.

You hope your eyes give the offense you won’t bother saying out loud. Fuck off, asshole.

When you make it to your usual lunch spot, Yujin and Jungwon are surprised to see you walking down the hallway.

“What happened?” Yujin asks.

“Exactly what Won said was going to happen,” you confess, sitting down in a criss-cross position beside her. “Now give me your chips.”

When the end of the day comes around, Heeseung catches you on your usual trek to the student trolley. “You’re forgiven, by the way.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What did I do?”

“You left me alone with my shithead teammates! I needed you there for backup, y’know.” He smirks and grabs your backpack from your shoulder to put around his arm. “I’m sorry about them. Sunghoon, mostly.”

“Can’t believe you’re friends with that guy,” you mumble.

“He’s the only one who I’m not friends with, truthfully. The others are cool. They’re just not used to new people.”

“I never would have guessed.”

Heeseung’s laugh is hearty, with a dazzling smile to match. You can almost forget the heap of embarrassment you felt earlier when you look at him like this, carefree and youthful.

“Anyway, let me give you a ride,” he offers, pointing to the parking lot. His car is freshly washed, its coat of paint identical to the school’s colors of blue with silver accents.

“What will your friends say?” you ask with a fake gasp.

“Fuck them. Besides, you’re also one of my friends. Now let’s go.” He takes your hand to walk in the direction of his car, not releasing your palm until you’re at his passenger side door.

As you give him directions to your dorm, your mind goes back to the labels you had been running through in your mind all day. Were you Heeseung’s friend? Yes. Did you want to be more? Surely he didn’t just ask anyone to have lunch with him and his friends if he didn’t have other intentions, right? So, in that case, did yours match his?

A part of you wants to say yes, but the rational piece keeps you in check. It’s ridiculous to expect more than a friendship. How could you when it was so obvious your worlds were so far from each other, your friendship a simple fluke? You were grateful for his presence in your life, knowing without him it would be a bit darker, but would it last?

Yet here you were. Sitting happily in his car, hair blowing in the wind as his thumb grazes the outside of your hand, you try to enjoy all the time you do have together.

𝑶𝑪𝑻𝑶𝑩𝑬𝑹

“This is ridiculous!”

“Come on, just try it!”

“When did I ever say I was good at sports?” You groan, holding the ball in your hands with nervous fingers. Only you and Heeseung occupy the university gym’s outdoor basketball court, the rest of the team and other sports folk inside. It feels as though there’s a thousand people in the metal stands watching you, waiting for you to mess up.

“You said if I passed the last test, you would let me show you how to make a free throw.” Heeseung has his hands in his pockets, his letterman jacket flapping in the autumn wind.

“If I suck at this, you’re never going to talk to me again. Just watch.” You try to dribble the ball across the court, but it falls between your legs before you can travel any further.

Heeseung puts his face behind his hand, clearly chuckling to himself. You scoff at him and the response you saw coming the second he put the ball in your hands. “See? I told you you would think I’m embarrassing!”

He raises his hands in defense. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just cute, that’s all.”

“’Cute’ is probably the nicest way you could say I’m embarrassing.” You kick the basketball in his direction. He catches it with no effort, his face still shaped in a state of enjoyment.

“I said cute because I meant cute, you dork.” He steps to the free-throw line and motions for you to join him. You do, grumbling and grunting the entire way.

“Now, you gotta relax. The only way you have half a shot at making the basket is if you stop tensing up.” He hands you the ball again and steps behind you.

He puts his hands on your hip, his palms soft against your hoodie. You can practically feel the heat of his skin through the material of your clothing, and you hope he can’t tell how much your heartbeat has spiked from him being so close to you.

“Next thing is to bend your knees. They can’t be locked up.” You listen to his words, trying not to focus on how his body is making yours react. You may be imagining it, but even his voice sounds a bit breathless from the small distance between yourself and him.

His lips are ghosting over your ear when he says, “Now shoot.”

You release the ball from your hands, hoping the angle of your throw and Heeseung’s directions will prove you’re partially competent.

And sure enough, the basket makes it in a single whoosh. You turn in Heeseung’s grasp, releasing a happy cheer. “That was amazing!”

You feel the rush of the shot in your veins, but suddenly the only thing that makes your body hum in pleasure is the sudden crash of Heeseung’s lips against yours.

Unsure how to react, you stand there frozen in place as his mouth moves on its own accord. But slowly, surely, happily, you fall deeply into his embrace. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and feel the press of his tongue against your mouth, begging for entrance.

You comply, letting the feeling of him and the thrill of this private moment in both of your worlds fill you to the brim with quiet pleasure and happiness.

[LHS] can we talk, please? [LHS] did I do something wrong?? [LHS] idc if you don’t respond i’ll keep texting until you say something… [LHS] don’t leave me hanging :(

You sigh and throw your phone to the other side of the bed, tucking your comforter closer to your chest. Deciding to stay in your dorm and skip classes was probably not the best way to handle your problems, but just because you’re smart doesn’t mean you’re sensible all the time.

The past weekend’s excursion with Heeseung was beautiful, no doubt. But the fears continued to creep in with little regard for how happy he made you that day or all the days that came before it. Would how he felt about you last any longer than his basketball season? Did he entertain this simply because it was entertainment and nothing more?

The thoughts had been too much when you said goodbye to him in front of your dorm room with another hasty, giddy kiss and all the hours following it. Maybe you were self-sabotaging, but it was better to manage expectations now than let them crush you in the aftermath.

When Yujin calls you during her lunch break, you have half a mind to ignore it. You answer anyway to avoid your friends thinking something drastic happened.

“Hello,” you mumble, the effects of your late morning nap hitting you.

“Dude, Heeseung is on a tear today. He even asked Jungwon where you were, and I didn’t even think he knew the kid existed. What the hell happened on Saturday?”

Before you can respond, a knock startles any remaining fatigue out of you. “I gotta go. I’ll tell you later.” You hang up, hastily grabbing your fuzzy robe before running to the door.

You don’t bother looking through the peephole to see who it is, but you curse yourself for not doing so when you’re confronted with Heeseung. He’s a sweaty and panting mess, but he doesn’t care for his appearance. His face morphs into relief when he sees you staring back at him.

“Thank God,” he says before stepping closer to you. He runs his hand over your forehead, frowning. “You’re not sick.”

You shake your head.

“So, you just ignore me all weekend and then don’t show up to class today?”

You sigh. “I didn’t know what to say when I saw you.”

He gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing. “So you chose not to see me at all? Was kissing me that terrible?

“No!” You run a frustrated hand through your hair, the spot in your hallway suddenly too cramped. You push him inside of your room and close the door behind you. “I don’t regret it at all. And I’d do it again if I could.”

Heeseung smirks at that, clearly happy with your response. “So, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that when you get bored of me, things won’t go back to normal for me like they will for you, Hee. You may think this is a game but—“

Bitterness marks his sudden laugh like a bee sting, sharp and painful to your ears. His eyes grow serious, so much so your words stop short because of his stony expression. “Do you think that little of me?”

Your body tenses at his words, unsure how to respond. You have never thought of him as lesser than once, not since getting to know him. But maybe only looking at your feelings regarding your relationship compromised his own in the process.

He steps closer, your faces an inch apart. “Two months ago, I didn’t realize how much my life was going to change because of you. All I thought about before was basketball. And now, you’re one of the few things outside of that damn game that matters to me. When I haven’t talked to you or seen you for too long, it’s like there’s this rock in my gut that I can’t get rid of. I kissed you because I wanted to, not for fun or because it’s this momentary thing.

“So, if you still think I’m going to get bored of you in a few days or weeks or months, then you really aren’t as smart as I thought you were, angel. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Breathless would be too small of a word to describe how his speech affects you. You feel the same buzz of his kiss from a few days throughout your entire body from his words alone. It makes every worry and fear that has plagued you evaporate, replaced with his promises and all the reasons you should jump in headfirst without another thought.

So you do.

You kiss him hard, crashing into his lips and hoping all of the feelings he harbors reflect in the actions of your mouth. You hold on to him with your hands on his neck and the smoothness of your lips in a beautiful rhythm with each other.

Whatever happens next, you know there’s no turning back now.

𝑵𝑶𝑽𝑬𝑴𝑩𝑬𝑹

“And Sim, our prime point-guard, passes to Lee. Lee has ten seconds to make another three pointer and win the game. Will he do it? Time to find out!” Kim Sunwoo screams into the microphone, broadcasting the highlights of the semi-final game to the many listeners not attending in-person.

Lucky for you, you have the perfect spot in the stands to watch Heeseung make the winning basket and lead the team to victory.

The crowd roars when your boyfriend secures the team’s spot in the championship game. His teammates lift him up above their heads and shoulders, chanting his name and holding him with all of their strength. Heeseung immediately searches the crowd for you, his excitement fueling his newfound focus.

When he does see you, clapping your hands and cheering with the rest of the bystanders, he kisses the inside of his palm and shoots it in your direction like he’s making another basket. Your heart squeezes at the gesture, but you only blush and wink.

Ever since that day in your dorm, you can’t seem to separate yourself from him or the feelings he stirs up inside of you. The thought and reality of not seeing or hearing from him for too long immediately dampens your spirits, just like Heeseung described to you when he confessed. Jungwon calls you “lovesick fools” every time you both are in his presence, but it’s not that. The love you feel for your boyfriend is one that strengthens every sense, impulse, and desire. Without it and him, that’s when you feel the weakest. And every time Heeseung smiles at you or holds you close, you can tell he feels the same.

Whether your worlds were the exact same or as different as they possibly could be, you both made your own perfectly fit for just the two of you.

The outside world has to creep in every once in a while, though.

At the end of the night, Heeseung’s arm is wrapped snugly around you as you walk. You discuss your shared plans for the night and subsequent weekend since your roommate is away with her own significant other. Heeseung stops short when he sees his father waiting at his car with crossed arms.

“Good job, Hee,” he sa‌ys. “Saw you lost a bit of steam in the third quarter, though. We’ll have to do some more conditioning before the final.”

And there it was. The judgment you saw so often in conversations between Heeseung and his father that made you ache for the boy you loved. As his father, he should’ve been proud to see his sons succeeding, one of them off and playing for a world-renowned team and the other on his way there. Instead, all they received was judgment. It wasn’t your place, but you couldn’t wait for the day Heeseung stood up to him.

“At least I made the winning basket, right?” Heeseung shrugs off the criticism with a laugh and holds you closer. “We have to go eat, so—“

“Of course.” His father moves out of your way. “Lovely to see you again, darling,” He says to you with a small smile as he opens the passenger door for you. You return his greeting, suddenly uncomfortable with how close he is.

On your drive to your dorm, you try to help Heeseung de-stress with a hand on his thigh. “Don’t let him get to you,” you say sadly.

He smiles and gives you a knowing stare. “I’ve been dealing with him my whole life. He doesn’t have that power anymore.” He takes your hand from his thigh to clasp it in his own palm. “Besides, I’m one step closer to the championship and I got my girl next to me. Nothing’s getting in the way of my good night.”

You set your backpacks down near the shoe rack when you step inside your small room. Heeseung follows you to your kitchenette, your hands ready to grasp the Chinese takeout flyer sprawled across your toaster oven. Heeseung presses his lips to your neck as you fumble with the paper menu. The trail of his kisses going from the back of your ear to the start of your collarbone makes you shiver.

“Hee,” you warn him. “We won’t be able to eat if you keep distracting me.”

“Food is the second priority,” he responds, lips feathering your skin. “Right now, we need to celebrate the championship.”

“The championship is still three weeks away.”

“If we both know I’m going to win, what’s the point of delayed gratification?” He pulls the sleeve of your shirt down to expose the top of your shoulder, kissing that area too, making your body thrum with pleasure.

You roll your eyes before Heeseung lifts you over his shoulder, immediately heading toward your bed. You protest weakly, saying you can take the trek a few feet from your kitchenette yourself, but he laughs it off.

He knows for certain he’s in love with you. It may not be the perfect time to say it, especially before he’s about to ravish you, but the perfect time will come when it feels right.

He doesn’t say it when he strips you bare for only his eyes as he kisses you senseless, shocked and grateful your body is for him and him alone to see and cherish. He doesn’t say it as you kiss every inch of his bare chest to send him into a rambling mess of praises and curses.

Somehow, stupidly, the words slip out when your mouth is wrapped around his cock, tongue flat against the underside of his tip as he feels the back of your throat against him. You gag around the head, taking him deeper into your mouth to savor the taste and feel of him between your lips.

“Fuck, I love you so much.”

The air stills, both your bodies going rigid at the sudden confession. But, instead of running scared, you take your mouth off of him and stare deeply into his eyes, smiling widely. “What’d you say?”

Heeseung breathes out a sigh of relief, seizing your face between his hands and kissing you deeply. “I love you. I’ve loved you since the second I saw you in that hallway. I just didn’t know it yet.”

You giggle and press another kiss to his lips. He sees a tear leave your eye, and he wipes it away gently with his thumb. “I love you, too, Heeseung.”

You fall back into a steady rhythm of kissing and touching, Heeseung’s hands roaming the skin of your stomach, the swell of your breasts, and the cleft between your thighs, making you moan.

“Let me show you how much I love you,” Heeseung whispers against your lips.

He lays you flat on your back, kissing what areas he hasn’t touched yet with his hands. He needs you to know, in every moment, he chooses you and will never stop making that choice. To be with you, to love you, to give all of himself to you.

If he had to decide to either give up the game or you, he would make the former decision in a heartbeat. His dad, his friends, and even fate may say it’s immature love and you haven’t been in his life as long as basketball has, but they don’t see him the way you do.

Even if he doesn’t say it out loud, he knows he doesn’t have to.

When Heeseung finally presses his lips to your clit, kissing the nub with adoration, your legs shake at the contact. You instantly run your fingers into his hair. “Fuck,” you curse, the word rarely slipping from your lips save for moments like these.

The first time you had been together, Heeseung didn’t know exactly how to touch you without being terrified it was too much. But now, he knows all the ways to turn you into a beautiful mess.

He licks languidly across your center and through your folds, keeping the perfect pace for you to ride your hips against his mouth. He inserts a finger into your entrance after coating the digit in the arousal already pooling at your center. You, typically so put together, are ready to fall apart at the simple press of his mouth against you.

Heeseung knows he can get you off this way, without question. And most nights, he doesn’t mind when you’re the only one who receives pleasure. But tonight, you moan out a request that he can’t say no to.

“Heeseung, please. I want you inside me when I come.” He doesn’t have to be told what to do twice when it’s the best command he’s heard all night.

He takes your mouth in his, holding your jaw in his hand and slightly applying pressure to the side of your neck. A half-empty moan leaves your lips at the sudden contact. To him, the sounds that you make are their own form of poetry, better than anything you’ve read to him all year.

Heeseung quickly grabs a foil packet from your bedside drawer to put on himself, protection being the one thing you can’t forget amid your desire for each other. Positioning himself at your entrance, he believes you could not appear more beautiful with your half-lidded eyes and eager hands grasping his hips to push him inside you at last.

When he eases in, he swallows the curse prepared to leave your lips with his own. It’s an indescribable feeling, the stretch and pull of your walls taking him in completely. Although you’ve been together many times before this night, it’s still a novelty Heeseung does not take for granted.

He takes his time establishing a rhythm, loving the pants and whimpers you emit because of him and for him. He holds his hand on your throat, his thumb going into your mouth for you to wrap your lips around in a lewd manner.

“Ah, fuck,” you say as he snaps his hips, filling you to the hilt. “Just like that.”

He feels his orgasm in his gut, threading further up his body as he snaps his hips harder and faster, moving in and out at a faster pace than normal. You don’t mind scratching lines down his back as you cling to him. You’re both reduced to a heap of I love you’s and satisfied sounds, and it could not be more perfect.

“Fuck, Hee, I’m coming,” you say in the form of a promise, one so precious he wants to hear it every day.

The flutter of your walls around him as you fall apart pushes him to his own end, releasing into the condom with a guttural moan. He kisses you deeply before separating from you, running to the bathroom to throw the remnants of your lovemaking into the toilet and clean himself up.

You hold your arms out to him, ready to have him back by your side. He grins and kisses the crown of your forehead.

“Best win ever,” Heeseung whispers into the dark.

“The semi-final, you mean?” you ask with a smirk, your question entirely rhetorical. He chuckles, not bothering to answer. Instead, he presses a kiss on the crown of your head. You respond with your own kiss to his sweaty chest. “I love you.”

He grins happily to himself, the words a thousand times more powerful leaving your mouth. “I love you, too, angel.”

With your body curled into his chest, your heartbeats matching in tempo, he thinks no amount of championship wins could compare to the love he’s found in you.

𝑫𝑬𝑪𝑬𝑴𝑩𝑬𝑹

The basketball feels light as air in Heeseung’s hands, incomparable to the feeling in his chest looking at you. His teammates can tell he’s staring directly at your position in the stands. They wonder how his mind is still so occupied by you, even amongst the sea of spectators waiting for him to either succeed or screw up

Little do they realize, you’re the exact reason he’s going to win the title.

As he looks in your direction, he takes the shot without second-guessing himself. He hears the faint gasps of some attendees and even his coach, but the following swish of the basket in the hoop tells Heeseung all he needs to hear. And all he needs to see is your beautiful, proud face as the gym explodes into cheers.

You’re the best and truest thing he has in this world. He knows he’s a champion, in both the traditional and figurative sense. With you by his side, he’ll always feel like the winner of every game he’ll ever play.

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @jjunberry @frenchkisstheabyss @yvnempire @addictedtohobi @innocygnet @filmnings @lovetaroandtaemin @joocomics @fancypeacepersona

𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 ── .✦ @kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @lapydiaries @moadiarynet @pirateeznet @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @deoboyznet @violetanet @whipped-kpop-creators

𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫 𝑴𝒀 𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑲𝑺 𝒐𝒓 𝑱𝑶𝑰𝑵 𝑴𝒀 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑺 © 𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖧𝖤𝖤𝖢𝖧𝖶𝖤; 𝖣𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖻𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍.

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thewriteadviceforwriters · 22 hours ago

Text

🍖 How to Build a Culture Without Just Inventing Spices and Necklaces

(a worldbuilding roast. with love.)

So. You’re building a fantasy world, and you’ve just invented: → Three types of ceremonial jewelry → A spice that tastes like cinnamon if it were bitter and cursed → A holiday where everyone wears gold and screams at dawn

Cute. But that’s not culture. That’s aesthetics.

And if your worldbuilding is all outfits, dances, and spice blends with vaguely mystical names, your story’s probably going to feel like a cosplay convention held inside a Pinterest board.

Here’s how to fix that—aka: how to build a real, functioning culture that shapes your story, not just its vibes.

─────── ✦ ───────

🔗 Culture Is Built on Power, Not Just Style

Ask yourself: → Who’s in charge, and why? → Who has land? Who doesn’t? → What’s considered taboo, sacred, or punishable by death?

Culture is shaped by who gets to make the rules and who gets crushed by them. That’s where things like religion, family structure, class divisions, gender roles, and social expectations actually come from.

Start there. Not at the embroidery.

─────── ✦ ───────

2.🪓 Culture Comes From Conflict

Did this society evolve peacefully? Was it colonized? Did it colonize? Was it rebuilt after a war? Is it still in one?

→ What was destroyed and mythologized? → What do the survivors still whisper about? → What do children get taught in school that’s… suspiciously sanitized?

No culture is neutral. Every tradition has a history, and that history should taste like blood, loss, or propaganda.

─────── ✦ ───────

3.🧠 Belief Systems > Customs Lists

Sure, rituals and holidays are cool. But what do people believe about: → Death? → Love? → Time? → The natural world? → Justice?

Example: A society that believes time is cyclical vs. one that sees time as linear will approach everything—from prison sentences to grief—completely differently.

You don’t need to invent 80 gods. You need to know what those gods mean to the people who pray to them.

─────── ✦ ───────

4.🫀 Culture Controls Behavior (Quietly)

Culture shows up in: → What people apologize for → What insults cut deepest → What people are embarrassed about → What’s praised publicly vs. what’s hidden privately

For instance: → A culture obsessed with stoicism won’t say “I love you.” They’ll say “Have you eaten?” → A culture built on legacy might prioritize ancestor veneration, archival writing, name inheritance.

This stuff? Way more immersive than giving everyone matching earrings.

─────── ✦ ───────

5. 🏠 Culture = Daily Life, Not Just Festivals

Sure, your MC might attend a funeral where people paint their faces blue. But what about: → Breakfast routines? → How people greet each other on the street? → Who cooks, and who eats first? → What’s considered “clean” or “proper”? → How is parenting handled? Divorce?

Culture is what happens between plot points. It should shape your character’s assumptions, language, fears, and habits—whether or not a festival is going on.

─────── ✦ ───────

6. 💬 Let Your Characters Disagree With Their Own Culture

A culture isn’t a monolith.

Even in deeply traditional societies, people: → Rebel → Question → Break rules → Misinterpret laws → Mock sacred things → Act hypocritically → Weaponize or resist what’s expected

Let your characters wrestle with the culture around them. That’s where realism (and tension) lives.

─────── ✦ ───────

7.🧼 Beware the “Pretty = Good” Trap

Worldbuilding gets boring fast when: → The protagonist’s homeland is beautiful and pure → The enemy’s culture is dark and “barbaric” → Every detail just reinforces who the reader should like

You can—and should—challenge the aesthetic hierarchy. → Let ugly things be beloved. → Let beautiful things be corrupt. → Let your MC romanticize their culture and then get disillusioned by it later.

─────── ✦ ───────

📍 TL;DR (but like, spicy): → Culture is not food and jewelry. → Culture is power, fear, memory, contradiction. → Stop inventing spices until you know who starved last winter. → Let your world feel lived in, not curated.

The best cultural worldbuilding doesn’t look like a list. It feels like a system. A pressure. A presence your characters can’t escape—even if they try.

Now go. Build something real. (You can add spices later.)

—rin t. // writing advice for worldbuilders with rage and range // thewriteadviceforwriters

Sometimes the problem isn’t your plot. It’s your first 5 pages. Fix it here → 🖤 Free eBook: 5 Opening Pages Mistakes to Stop Making:

🕯️ download the pack & write something cursed:

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joaosnovia · 2 months ago

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Hiiiii I’ve been waiting sooo long to request from u I looooove ur writing <33

So hear me out luv a Hector Fort long fic (please make it long 8k+) where he’s a popular student and reader is like an unpopular middle class student and she’s kinda bullied for that but Hector starts dating her cuz he loves her but all his friends and people in school start calling her a gold digger and Hector keeps defending her so one day he gifts her a necklace like an expensive one right but she needs money cuz her mom needs meds and her fam aren’t doing well but somehow the popular girl in school that has a crush on Hector finds out and tells him so he thinks reader is actually with him for the money so he fights with her and break up and then later he finds out that she suffered and he regret it when he found her working 2 part time and became always absent in school and got sent to principal cuz she sleeps in class cuz she’s tired from working and make the endings fluffy but please make it angsty like I wanna cry I wanna bawl my lil eyes and heart out (I’m a sucker for angst I litt read sad books all the time)

If you are able to write this I thank u in advance darling <33

Have a great weekend and stay healthy and safe 💙

❦ - unpopular.

summary:: the req.

warnings:: angst but yk that.

writers note:: this took way too long to write but tbf this got requested ages ago and i’d write like once a week but it’s lowkey fun! also there’s a baby ref in this

w/c:: 9k

tags:: @barcapix @n0vazsq @httpsdana @paucubarsisimp @universefcb @mariejuli @nngkay

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

montserrat academy smelled like money.

not literally, but in that subtle way: clean, polished hallways that echoed too much, perfume lingering in the air even after people had left, crisp uniforms that never seemed to wrinkle, shoes that didn’t scuff, phones without a single crack.

you didn’t belong there. not really.

you’d gotten in on merit, a scholarship, long nights of studying, beating the odds kind of story. your mom cried when you got the acceptance email. your little brother made a paper crown and called you ‘genius queen’ for a week.

but being in didn’t mean being part of.

you sat alone a lot. not because you were a loner, but because lunch tables filled up fast with people who didn’t look twice at you. your clothes weren’t trendy, your shoes were always the same beat-up pair of sneakers, and your accent still carried bits of the neighborhood you came from.

and the others… they noticed.

they didn’t push you or laugh in your face or throw your books across the floor like in those dramatic high school movies. no, it was quieter than that.

it was looking through you when you spoke in class. it was changing the subject when you joined the conversation. it was the way camila once complimented your thrifted bag, and everyone laughed like she’d told a joke.

you weren’t hated. just forgotten. misplaced. tolerated.

but you didn’t come to be liked.

you came to escape.

from the thin walls of your apartment, where you could hear your mom coughing through the night. from the grocery lists that had more crossed-out items than bought ones. from the part-time job you worked after school and on weekends, where your uniform smelled like espresso and burnt toast.

you told yourself that montserrat academy was a ladder.

get good grades. get out. get a future.

so you kept your head down. kept your notebooks full. tuned out the whispers.

until him.

héctor fort didn’t exist in your world. not really. he was the kind of student who was the school. son of someone important. name whispered like legacy. always surrounded. always laughing. not in a loud, obnoxious way, but in that warm, boy next door in a netflix teen show kind of way.

he played football, well. people wore his number on hoodies, not because they were on the team, but because he was the team. he was in all the sports day photos. he was in the group project that won nationals. he was even in the school tour pamphlet they handed to new families.

and he was everywhere.

in the mornings, leaning against his locker. during lunch, surrounded by people who hung on his every word. after class, headphones around his neck, bouncing a ball against his knee like he couldn’t sit still.

you noticed him because everyone did.

he noticed you, and that was the part you didn’t understand.

it started in october.

you were sitting behind the library, your favorite spot, shaded, quiet, full of soft rustling trees and the hum of faraway conversations you didn’t have to join. you liked being alone there. liked how the sun hit your notebook just right, how your soup thermos kept your hands warm.

you were rereading a chapter for literature class when footsteps crunched the leaves.

you didn’t look up right away. people didn’t usually come back here. but then you heard it, the unmistakable, too calm voice:

‘hey.’

you looked up.

héctor.

you blinked, then instinctively checked behind you, half-expecting him to be talking to someone else.

but there was no one.

just you.

‘is this spot taken?’ he asked, nodding toward the patch of grass near you.

you blinked again. ‘uh… no. it’s not.’

he sat. like it was normal. like it was nothing.

you waited for the joke. for someone to pop out with a camera. you waited to wake up.

but he didn’t say anything else. just pulled out a book, your book, actually. same edition, same dog-eared corner you had in yours. and opened it to where the next chapter started.

silence settled.

you told yourself not to read into it. maybe it was a coincidence. maybe he just liked the quiet too.

the next day, he was there again.

and the next.

by friday, he nodded at you like it was a routine. you didn’t even question it anymore. just shifted your bag to give him space and went back to your reading.

you still didn’t talk much. sometimes he’d point out a line in the book and mumble something about it being clever. sometimes you’d make a quiet joke and he’d laugh softly, like he was trying not to make it a big deal.

it wasn’t flirtation. not yet.

it was something else. something slower. something quieter.

and you didn’t understand it. didn’t know why he was choosing this spot when he had all the tables in the courtyard waiting for him. why he started borrowing your highlighters and returning them with smiley faces drawn on the caps. why he lingered a little longer after the bell rang.

but you didn’t ask.

because it felt… safe. and safe wasn’t something you had very often.

one wednesday, he showed up with two drinks.

‘one’s for you,’ he said, handing you a plastic cup with condensation beading down the sides.

you took it cautiously. ‘what is it?’

‘iced cinnamon oat latte,’ he said. ‘the guy at your café said it’s your usual.’

you stared at him.

he just shrugged, a little too casual. ‘i went there this morning. wanted to see if the pastries were as good as you always say.’

you blinked.

‘you went out of your way just to—’

‘they’re mid, by the way,’ he interrupted, sipping his own drink. ‘but this? this is good.’

you smiled, small and stunned.

and he smiled back, like he’d been waiting to see it.

you didn’t know what this was yet.

it wasn’t a relationship. wasn’t friendship, even, not quite.

but it was something. something soft. something beginning.

and even if you didn’t trust it yet… you were starting to hope.

you didn’t plan on him becoming part of your routine.

he just did.

it was subtle at first. like sunlight stretching across your bedroom floor, there before you really noticed, warm before you could name it. héctor started showing up behind the library before you even got there. sometimes with coffee. sometimes with an apple he’d take one bite out of, then forget to finish. always with that calm sort of presence. that ease you envied.

you learned little things.

he bit the inside of his cheek when he was thinking. he had messy handwriting and made his t’s too tall. he hated when people wasted food. he played with his necklace when he was bored. he smiled with one side of his mouth first, like the other had to catch up.

and he asked questions.

soft, curious ones.

‘what do you wanna do after this?’

you looked up from your book.

‘after school, i mean,’ he added. ‘like… life. what’s the plan?’

you shrugged. ‘go to uni. get a job. something stable. maybe sleep more than four hours a night.’

he laughed gently, but his eyes softened.

‘you don’t wanna dream big?’

you looked down. fiddled with the corner of your page.

‘i think surviving is dreaming big,’ you murmured.

he didn’t say anything right away. just nodded, slow, like he got it.

your classmates started noticing before you did.

you could feel the shift. the way people’s eyes followed you when you passed. the way conversations dropped to whispers when you walked into a room. it was subtle, at first. but it grew.

you weren’t invisible anymore. and it didn’t feel like a compliment.

camila started looking at you like you were a stray cat tracking dirt across her marble floors.

‘you and fort,’ she said one day in the hallway, voice sticky sweet, ‘are you, like… a thing?’

you blinked. ‘we’re friends.’

she laughed like that was the funniest thing in the world.

‘right. just checking.’

you didn’t tell héctor. you didn’t want him to feel like he had to defend you. not when things were still… undefined. you didn’t know what he called you when you weren’t around.

but then he asked.

‘do people ever give you shit?’ he said one afternoon, tossing a leaf in the air and catching it.

you paused. ‘what?’

‘about us hanging out.’

you looked at him, quiet.

he sighed. ‘it’s just, someone said something earlier and it pissed me off. they don’t know you. they don’t get it.’

‘get what?’

he blinked. caught your gaze. then shrugged.

‘you’re cool,’ he said simply. ‘you’re real. i like being around you.’

your heart did something weird and fluttery. you hated how easily he made you want to believe him.

‘well,’ you said, trying to keep your voice level, ‘i’m not really used to people liking me for… anything, so. that’s new.’

he looked at you for a second longer than he needed to.

‘they’re idiots if they don’t.’

your shifts at the café got longer. your manager asked you to cover weekends, and you said yes because your mom’s meds weren’t getting cheaper, and you didn’t know how to say no to survival.

you were tired all the time. your eyes stung during lectures. your back hurt from being on your feet too long.

and one friday, héctor showed up at closing.

you didn’t even look up at first, you were too busy restocking sugar packets.

‘hey, stranger.’

your head jerked toward the voice.

him. in sweats. hair damp from practice. a little out of breath like he’d rushed.

‘what are you doing here?’ you asked, blinking.

‘thought you might need company.’

you blinked again. ‘i… i have to mop.’

he grinned. ‘i’m great with mops.’

he wasn’t. he nearly slipped. twice. but he stayed. made you laugh. and when you locked up at the end of the night, he walked you to the bus stop, hands in his hoodie pockets, shoulders brushing yours.

‘thanks,’ you said softly.

he looked at you.

‘for what?’

‘showing up.’

he didn’t answer.

just nudged your hand with his, like he was asking a question without saying anything.

you let your pinky hook around his.

not quite holding hands. not quite nothing, either.

the next week, he brought you a sandwich during break.

‘you didn’t eat at lunch,’ he said, not even looking up from his phone.

you blinked. ‘how’d you—?’

‘you had your sad soup face,’ he shrugged. ‘figured you were tired of leftovers.’

you stared at the sandwich. it had your favorite cheese. the kind you only got when it was on sale.

‘you didn’t have to—’

‘i know,’ he said, finally glancing at you. ‘but i wanted to.’

and that… that was the beginning of the end.

because wanting you?

that was dangerous.

and you were starting to want him back.

by the time december rolled around, everything felt different.

you still woke up early. still packed your brother’s lunch. still worked weekends, still walked to school half-asleep with a thermos in your hands and a hoodie pulled over your ears.

but something in your chest had shifted.

it was the way you checked your phone before anything else, looking for a good morning text with a dumb emoji that never matched the mood. it was the way you stopped bringing soup because héctor always showed up with something better. it was the way his hoodie lived in your backpack now, just in case you needed it.

it was the way he’d learned to say your name like it was something soft.

and the way you stopped flinching when he did.

it was slow, so slow. every step of whatever this was. like he was giving you space to run, even though you didn’t want to anymore.

you hadn’t called it love yet.

not out loud.

but sometimes, when he leaned his head on your shoulder behind the library, when he handed you a drink with your name spelled right and a heart beside it, when he tied your shoe without saying a word and then stood up like it was nothing, you thought, maybe.

maybe.

the first time he asked you to come over, you panicked a little.

‘just a few of us,’ he said, fiddling with the ring on his finger. ‘nothing fancy. we’re watching the barça match. i’ll save you a spot on the couch.’

you hesitated.

you knew what his friends thought of you. knew the names they didn’t say to your face. knew you weren’t the kind of girl they invited to anything.

but you showed up anyway.

your jeans were the only pair you owned without a hole. your hair was in its neatest braid. you brought a bag of chips that cost more than they should have, but you didn’t want to come empty handed.

his house was everything you expected, clean, modern, a little too big for a family of three. his mom smiled politely, offered you juice. his friends barely looked at you.

except camila.

she smiled with teeth. leaned too close to héctor. made comments that danced on the edge of insults, just sharp enough to sting.

but héctor didn’t let you drift.

he kept his knee pressed against yours. he explained the game when you looked confused. he handed you a blanket when it got cold, and when the match ended and his friends were getting ready to leave, he pulled you aside.

‘you okay?’ he asked.

you nodded. too quickly.

he watched you.

‘you don’t have to pretend around me,’ he said, voice low. ‘i notice things too.’

you bit your lip.

‘i’m fine,’ you said. ‘they just… think you could do better.’

his brows pinched, jaw tightening.

‘no,’ he said. ‘they don’t get you. big difference.’

you looked up at him.

he stepped closer.

‘you’re the best part of my day,’ he whispered. ‘they can choke on their opinions.’

you laughed. you couldn’t help it. it burst out, messy and real.

and he looked so pleased with himself.

christmas break was colder than usual.

you worked doubles. your mom’s medicine ran out and insurance wouldn’t cover the new one. the heating in your apartment went out for three days, and you slept in the same bed as your brother, layered in sweatshirts.

you didn’t tell héctor. he was spending the holidays in menorca with his cousins, sending you photos of the beach and dumb santa filters on his face.

you didn’t want to ruin that with your problems.

he texted you the night before new year’s.

hey. can i see you tomorrow? like… actually see you?

you said yes, of course.

he showed up at your building at noon, wearing that navy jacket you liked, a bag in one hand and a little grin tugging at his mouth.

you met him outside, hair still damp from your rushed shower, shoes half-tied.

‘i brought snacks,’ he said. ‘and something else.’

you raised a brow.

he held up a small velvet box.

your stomach dipped.

‘don’t freak out,’ he said quickly. ‘it’s not, like, a thing. i just saw it and thought of you. that’s all.’

you opened it slowly.

inside was a necklace, gold, delicate, a tiny star on a fine chain. barely there, but still beautiful. something that caught the light just right.

‘héctor…’

‘you don’t have to wear it,’ he said, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘i just… you look up at the sky so much, and it made me think of you. that’s dumb, right?’

you shook your head.

‘no. it’s not dumb.’

he reached out, slow.

‘can i…?’

you nodded.

he fastened it around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin. you held your breath.

and when he stepped back to look at you, his eyes softened.

‘perfect,’ he said.

you didn’t cry. not then.

but something shifted inside you. something quiet and seismic.

you wore the necklace every day after that.

under your uniform, tucked into your sweater at work. even to sleep. you touched it when you were anxious. let your fingers find the tiny star when you missed him.

you felt… seen.

loved, maybe.

but nothing good stays untouched for long.

camila noticed the necklace two days after school started again.

‘cute,’ she said, twisting her lip. ‘real gold?’

you didn’t answer.

she smirked.

‘must be nice, having a boyfriend with a black card. you’re really playing the long game, huh?’

you froze.

‘what’s that supposed to mean?’

she shrugged. ‘just saying. not everyone gets a promotion from barista to princess without putting in work.’

you walked away before your hands could shake.

you didn’t tell héctor.

again.

but you should’ve.

because you were about to need him more than ever.

the first time he said it, i love you, it wasn’t planned.

no candles, no build-up, no carefully picked moment.

it was raining. you were curled up on his bed, wearing his hoodie, socks mismatched. you were both tired, he had practice all morning, you had two shifts back to back, and your eyes kept fluttering shut during the movie playing in the background.

he turned toward you, head on his arm, eyes soft.

you didn’t even notice right away. not until he said it again, this time quieter. slower. more certain.

‘i love you.’

your breath caught.

he didn’t rush to fill the silence. he didn’t take it back or explain it away. just watched you with that look. the one that made you feel like the world wasn’t spinning so fast. like maybe you could stop running and rest for a minute.

you didn’t say it back right away.

you blinked, heart thudding in your chest, and whispered, ‘why?’

he smiled, small, real, almost sad.

‘because you still show up, even when everything tries to tell you not to.’

your throat burned. your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie. your eyes stung.

and when you finally said it, i love you too, his shoulders dropped like he’d been holding that breath for weeks.

he didn’t kiss you. not right away.

he just pulled you closer. held you like you were something breakable and sacred at the same time.

like he knew you hadn’t been held like that in a long time.

after that, things got easier.

he called you more. waited outside the café when your shifts ran late. sent you dumb tiktoks and notes in your locker. sometimes he showed up at your place with dinner, stuff your mom liked, stuff your brother would actually eat.

he never made it a big deal.

never made you feel small about needing help.

never made it feel like charity.

just said, you’d do the same for me.

you fell for him a little more every time he said stuff like that.

he called you star girl sometimes. said the necklace made you look like you were born under something magic.

you rolled your eyes at him, but you never took it off.

not even once.

one night, after your shift, you both sat in his car in the parking lot. your feet were killing you, your voice was hoarse, and your eyes burned from staying open too long.

he reached over, took your hand.

‘come away with me this summer,’ he said.

you blinked. ‘what?’

‘somewhere quiet. no pressure. no uniforms. just you and me and maybe the sea.’

you laughed. ‘and how would we afford that?’

‘i’ll figure it out.’

‘you say that like it’s easy.’

he looked at you, serious now. steady.

‘i say it like i want you there. and when i want something, i make it happen.’

you looked away.

no one had ever made room for you like that before. not in plans. not in futures.

you squeezed his hand.

‘okay,’ you whispered. ‘just you and me and the sea.’

he smiled, wide. like you’d given him the world.

you started dreaming again.

tiny dreams.

less tired. more time. a quiet apartment with bookshelves. a degree with your name on it. dinner that wasn’t just toast or soup. a boy with brown eyes and soft hands waiting at the end of every day.

you let yourself believe you could have that.

you let yourself feel safe.

loved.

wanted.

just long enough for it to really hurt when it was taken away.

you noticed the change before it happened.

it started in the eyes. the way he looked at you.

less soft. less sure. less warm.

just for a moment, maybe two. but you felt it. deep, right between your ribs.

you brushed it off at first.

maybe he was tired. school, training, everything piling up. you told yourself you were being paranoid. that old voice in your head, the one that used to whisper they don’t stay, was lying again.

but then the texts got shorter. the calls went unanswered. the lunch spot behind the library sat cold and empty for three days in a row.

and then… the whispering started again.

it was different this time. sharper. louder. less subtle.

someone knew.

you caught it in the hallway.

‘heard she sold the necklace.’

‘seriously? damn. i knew she was in it for the money.’

‘poor thing’s gotta pay rent somehow, i guess.’

your blood ran cold.

you didn’t say anything. didn’t ask. didn’t confront.

you waited for him to bring it up.

but he didn’t.

not until the fourth night you waited for him after your shift, in the freezing cold, with your fingers numb and your chest tight and your backpack too heavy.

his car pulled up late.

he didn’t smile when he saw you.

you slid into the seat, heart already racing. he didn’t kiss your cheek. he didn’t say hey, star girl.

he just drove. quiet. stiff. hands clenched on the wheel.

you didn’t ask until you were two turns away from your apartment.

‘did something happen?’

he didn’t answer right away.

just exhaled. sharp. through his nose.

and then—

‘i heard you pawned it.’

your heart dropped.

‘what?’

‘the necklace.’

your voice cracked. ‘what are you talking about?’

‘camila said—’

‘camila?’ you cut in. ‘you’re listening to camila?’

his jaw tightened. ‘she showed me. a friend of hers works at the shop downtown. said you came in last week.’

your mouth went dry.

you opened it. closed it. opened it again.

because it was true. you had gone. but not to sell it. not to pawn it. you wanted to ask if they could hold it. just in case. if things got worse.

you didn’t do it. you couldn’t.

you still wore it. every day. tucked under your uniform. over your heart.

‘i didn’t sell it,’ you whispered.

he didn’t look at you.

‘you really think i’m using you?’ your voice trembled.

‘i don’t know what to think right now.’

‘you think i’m a gold digger?’

he winced at the word, but didn’t deny it.

you blinked, tears building fast, throat closing.

‘i helped pay for my mom’s medication last week,’ you said, voice barely a breath. ‘we ran out. the insurance wouldn’t cover the new one. she was in pain, héctor. i didn’t tell you because i didn’t wanna make you feel like you had to fix it. because i know you’re not a bank. you’re a person. the person i—’

your voice cracked.

‘—i loved.’

his face crumpled for half a second. but he turned away. again.

‘you should’ve told me,’ he said quietly.

you laughed, a bitter, wet sound.

‘and you should’ve believed me.’

silence.

you looked out the window. hand pressed flat over your chest, where the necklace sat, cold against your skin.

‘pull over,’ you whispered.

‘what?’

‘pull over.’

he did.

you stepped out. shut the door before he could say anything else. started walking.

and he let you go.

you didn’t cry when you got home.

you didn’t cry when your mom asked if you were okay, or when your brother offered you the last piece of bread from dinner.

you cried when you got to your room. when you closed the door. when you sat on your floor, in the dark, and finally unclasped the necklace and held it in your hand.

it glowed a little in the streetlight from your window.

a gift. a promise. a lie?

you didn’t know anymore.

you stopped answering his texts.

you couldn’t look at him in the halls. didn’t go behind the library. didn’t walk past his locker.

he tried. once.

‘can we talk?’

you shook your head. didn’t trust your voice.

he nodded. stepped back.

but he looked wrecked.

and you hated that part of you still wanted to run to him. still wanted him to take it back. to say he was sorry. to say i believe you.

but he didn’t.

not yet.

so you stayed quiet.

and tired.

and alone.

the first night he didn’t come to find you, you couldn’t breathe.

he didn’t text you. didn’t leave a voicemail. didn’t even try to look for you after school. you spent the whole night trying to tell yourself it wasn’t personal. maybe he needed time. maybe he was too ashamed. maybe he just didn’t know what to say.

but the silence echoed. louder than any apology. louder than anything he could’ve said.

you tried to distract yourself. books, homework, scrolling through your phone as if it could ease the ache gnawing at your chest. but nothing worked. nothing could fill the space he left behind.

you found yourself wishing you’d never said it. wishing you could take back those words, the ones that shatteredeverything. wishing that maybe, just maybe, if you had just stayed quiet, everything would’ve been okay.

but you couldn’t go back.

and in the silence, it became real. this wasn’t a misunderstanding. this wasn’t just a fight. this was something bigger. something that felt too heavy to carry.

the pain, his pain, stuck to your ribs. suffocated you. not from the words he said, but from the words he didn’t say.

he never even tried to fix it.

the next day, he didn’t try to find you. he didn’t come to your locker, didn’t sit beside you in class. he walked past you in the hallway, his gaze drifting somewhere else, anywhere but toward you.

it stung. the cold indifference. the way he looked like you weren’t even worth a glance anymore. like you were just another girl he used to care about.

he didn't apologize. he didn’t even see you.

he just, walked away.

and you hated yourself for still feeling something.

you tried to keep your distance. tried to push him out of your thoughts. out of your heart. but no matter how many times you told yourself you were better off, you couldn’t shake the image of his eyes. the way they softened when they looked at you. the way he’d whispered “i love you” like he’d meant it.

but that was before.

now, all you had were the remnants of the promises he’d made.

the necklace. the plans. the quiet moments. the love you thought you had.

and it hurt. oh god, it hurt more than you thought anything could.

you kept walking. kept working. kept pretending that it was okay, that you were okay. but every step felt like a betrayal of the love you had given him. the love you’d believed in.

that night, after another shift, you barely made it home before your mom noticed.

‘you look terrible,’ she said. ‘how’s your day?’

you didn’t answer right away. just slid off your jacket and put it on the chair. sat down at the kitchen table.

‘work’s fine,’ you said, your voice shaking despite the effort to sound normal. ‘it’s fine.’

but she wasn’t fooled.

she sat across from you, her eyes narrowing. ‘you know you can talk to me, right?’

you nodded. but the words were stuck in your throat. the words that needed to come out wouldn’t.

because they weren’t just about a fight.

it was about everything.

you stayed quiet. stared down at the table, where the unfinished bowl of soup from earlier sat cold.

‘does he love you, honey?’ she asked, her voice soft, gentle. like she already knew.

the question hit you like a punch to the gut. does he?

you thought you knew the answer.

you thought he did.

but now? it felt like that love had been a fragile illusion.

‘i don’t know,’ you whispered, voice breaking. ‘i really thought he did, mom. i really did.’

the next day, he still didn’t talk to you.

but she did.

camila. the girl who had spread the rumors. the one who’d whispered about you being a gold digger. the one who had poisoned his mind with lies.

she smiled at you like nothing had happened. like she hadn’t been the one to rip the love you had apart with her venomous words.

‘hey,’ she said sweetly, leaning against the lockers like she owned the space. ‘still hanging around him? thought you’d know by now. boys like him don’t stay with girls like you. they never do.’

you didn’t respond. couldn’t.

your stomach twisted, but you didn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you break.

you could feel her eyes on you as you walked away, but you didn’t turn around. you didn’t let her win.

by the time the final bell rang, the weight of the day crushed down on you. the world felt like it was closing in. your chest ached with every breath, your heart heavy, suffocating in the grief you couldn’t shake.

when you got to your locker to grab your things, you found something unexpected.

a small envelope, tucked into the corner of your books.

your hands shook as you opened it. and there, inside, was a note.

it wasn’t from him.

it wasn’t even signed.

just words, scrawled quickly. desperate.

he's sorry. he doesn’t know what to do. he needs you.

you stared at it. your vision blurred, and the sting in your chest deepened.

he needs you. but where was he? where was his apology? where was the man who promised to never leave?

he hadn’t even fought for you.

and the truth cut deeper than anything else.

he was still the same. still too afraid to face the mess he’d made. too scared to fix what was broken between you.

he had let you walk away. had let her win. let her voice drown out his love for you.

you couldn’t stay anymore.

not for him. not for this.

you folded the note carefully and shoved it into your bag. you walked out of the school, the weight of everything pressing on your chest, and didn’t look back.

that night, after another endless shift, you found him waiting for you. he was standing at the end of the street, hands shoved deep in his pockets. eyes wide, searching.

you didn’t stop.

you couldn’t.

and when you walked past him, you heard his voice crack.

‘i love you.’

you didn’t turn around. didn’t say anything. didn’t stop walking.

because love wasn’t enough anymore.

he didn’t sleep that night. couldn’t.

his phone was on his desk, buzzing with texts from friends, but he didn’t care. nothing mattered except the silence between you two. that’s all he could hear now. nothing but the deafening silence, thick with everything he hadn’t said, everything he should’ve said.

he thought about all the moments he could’ve fixed it. all the times he could’ve walked up to you and held you, apologized, and told you the truth. but no. he let his pride get in the way. let his insecurities shape his decisions. and now he was paying for it.

he sat up in his bed, staring at the wall, replaying the fight. hearing your voice break when you said, “you think I’m a gold digger?” like a knife to his chest. he couldn’t shake it.

he thought about all the things you must’ve gone through. about your mom needing medicine. about the struggles you were fighting on your own. and he had been too selfish to see it. too blind to see that you weren’t asking for anything from him except love.

the doorbell rang early in the morning, dragging him from his thoughts. he wasn’t surprised when he saw his mom standing there, her arms crossed, her face full of concern.

‘you look like shit,’ she said bluntly, walking in without waiting for an invitation. ‘what happened?’

‘i fucked up,’ he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. ‘big time.’

‘what’d you do?’ she asked, her voice softer now.

he shook his head, not sure he could explain it. not sure he could tell her that he’d messed up the best thing in his life, that he’d pushed away the only person who had ever really cared about him, really cared.

‘i hurt her,’ he said simply. ‘i hurt the one person who was real with me. and now she’s gone.’

his mom sighed and sat down beside him. ‘i don’t know what you want me to say, Hector. but you can’t change it unless you show her you care. unless you prove that you’re willing to fight for her. words are cheap, son. you’ve got to show her you mean it.’

he swallowed thickly. ‘but what if she doesn’t want to fight for me anymore? what if she’s just... done with me?’

‘then you’ll live with that,’ she said, looking him dead in the eye. ‘but you’ve got to at least try. she’s not a game you can just walk away from. she’s a person. and you’ve got to show her that you see her as that. if you love her, you’ll fight for her, no matter what.’

he nodded, but the weight of the reality set in. could he fix this? or had he already ruined everything beyond repair?

the next day at school was just as empty as the night before. he walked through the halls, trying to act like everything was fine. but every glance, every whisper, reminded him of the mess he’d made. his friends were quieter around him, his old group of popular kids acting like nothing had happened. but he knew better. they weren’t the ones he was fighting for.

he wasn’t even sure they cared about him anymore.

and then he saw you.

you weren’t looking at him. you never looked at him anymore.

you were with your friends, sitting by the lockers, talking quietly, like you didn’t even notice him across the hallway. and he couldn’t help but watch. watch how you smiled at them. how easy it seemed for you to laugh with them, like the last few weeks hadn’t existed. like you hadn’t been in love with him.

but he knew. He knew the truth, and it ate him alive.

his phone buzzed in his pocket. a text from his best friend: ‘yo, you good?’

he didn’t answer.

he couldn’t.

he knew if he answered, it’d be a lie. because he wasn’t good. he wasn’t even close to good.

he was broken. and it was all his fault.

you had to leave early that day. your mom had called, telling you she couldn’t pick up her prescription, and the pharmacy wouldn’t hold it any longer.

you didn’t want to be there. didn’t want to be anywhere near that school, near him. near the empty spaces where his words used to live.

the walk home was long. longer than it usually felt. with each step, you felt the weight of everything. everything that had happened, everything that was falling apart, and everything you had tried so hard to hold together.

and as you walked, you realized something: you missed him. you missed him so fucking much.

you hated yourself for it. because he hadn’t fought for you. he hadn’t cared enough to look for you. to hold you and make it right.

and yet, you were still here, still aching for him, still wondering if things could go back to the way they were before everything fell apart.

the whole situation made you sick. it made you feel small and foolish.

you needed to take a breath. you needed to move on. but every time you told yourself that, you could still feel him. feel his presence, his touch, his words, lingering like a ghost you couldn’t shake.

he didn’t wait long after you left.

he caught up with you on your way home. when you saw him in the distance, you stopped in your tracks, trying to pretend you didn’t feel the same pang in your chest as he got closer.

he was panting, out of breath, his eyes wild like he’d been searching for you for hours.

‘please... talk to me,’ he begged. ‘i can’t just let you walk away from me. not like this.’

you swallowed hard, eyes burning. ‘you already did. you walked away first.’

his hand reached for yours, but you pulled back, too hurt to let him in.

‘i didn’t mean it,’ he said, voice raw, desperate. ‘please. i’m so fucking sorry. you have no idea how much i regret listening to them. to camila... to everyone. i’ve been an idiot. i was scared, okay? i didn’t think someone like you would ever love someone like me. i thought—’

‘you thought what?’ you interrupted, voice trembling. ‘that i was just after your money? that i was just another girl who wanted a piece of your life?’

he winced at the accusation, guilt washing over his face.

‘i’m sorry. i didn’t think. i should’ve trusted you. but i was just so scared that i wasn’t good enough for you. i was scared of losing everything, and i let that fear take over. i let it make me do things i’m not proud of.’

you stood there, feeling like you were holding onto something that was slipping through your fingers.

‘you shouldn’t have been scared,’ you whispered. ‘you should’ve trusted me.’

he nodded, tears gathering in his eyes. ‘i know. i was stupid. but please... please don’t walk away from me. i love you. and i can’t lose you.’

for the first time in days, you met his eyes, and for the first time in days, you felt the faintest trace of something, maybe hope. maybe, just maybe, he still meant it.

but for now, it wasn’t enough.

he didn’t text you after that night.

you didn’t text him either.

and the world stayed still for a while.

it wasn’t silence the way it had been before, cold and final. this was different. quieter, softer. like the space between two people holding their breath, unsure if they’re falling apart or falling back together.

you were tired. tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix. tired of hoping, of second-guessing, of giving and not knowing what you’d get back.

you still showed up to school. you still worked both jobs. still helped your mom with everything she needed. still carried the weight of a life no one at school ever saw.

and he noticed.

he saw the way your uniform wrinkled more now, like you didn’t have time to care. he saw the dark circles under your eyes. saw the way you zoned out in class, like your body was there but your mind wasn’t. he saw all of it. and it killed him.

because he knew that pain. knew he had a part in it.

and even worse, he knew you wouldn’t let him help anymore.

it was a week after he’d found you on that street when you saw each other again. not just passing glances or accidental run ins. this time, it was real.

you were sitting in the back of the library, curled into a hoodie three sizes too big, your head in your arms, notebook half-filled with messy equations and tired handwriting.

you didn’t hear him approach.

‘you’re gonna burn out,’ he said quietly.

you looked up, blinking slowly. ‘already have.’

he sat down across from you like it was the most natural thing in the world. no drama. no begging. just silence and the low hum of pages turning around you.

‘i’m not here to fix anything,’ he said after a beat. ‘i know i don’t have the right. but i just wanted to sit with you. if you’ll let me.’

you didn’t answer right away.

you should’ve said no. told him to leave. told him that he lost his chance.

but the truth was, you missed him. and you were tired of pretending that you didn’t.

so you shrugged.

‘it’s a free country.’

and he smiled. just barely. just enough to let hope breathe again.

you didn’t talk much that afternoon. he watched you scribble notes. you watched him flip through a textbook he wasn’t really reading. every so often, your knees would bump under the table, and neither of you pulled away.

it was stupid how natural it still felt. how easy it was to fall back into rhythm, even with all the cracks between you.

but neither of you brought up the fight.

not yet.

it was too soon. the wound was still fresh. and you both knew that healing would take more than one soft moment in the library.

still... it was a start.

later that week, he found you in the cafeteria, sitting alone, a half eaten sandwich beside your notebook. your head was resting against your hand, eyes barely open.

he didn’t say anything. just slid into the seat beside you and offered his water bottle.

you took it without a word, too tired to argue, too drained to push him away again.

‘you’re not sleeping,’ he said gently.

you gave him a look. ‘gee, wonder why.’

he looked down, ashamed. ‘i deserve that.’

‘you deserve worse,’ you muttered, but your voice lacked the venom it once had.

he nodded. ‘i know.’

a pause.

and then, softly, too soft:

‘i don’t expect you to forgive me. not yet. maybe not ever. but i just want to show up. for you. however you’ll let me.’

you stared at him for a long moment. longer than you meant to.

‘you can sit,’ you said finally, nodding at the chair across from you. ‘but that’s all. don’t expect anything more.’

he nodded. and he stayed.

and just like that, he became part of your orbit again.

not your boyfriend. not your enemy. just… there.

he started walking you to your classes, just a few steps behind, never pushing. he offered you his jacket when it rained. he kept his distance when you needed space. and sometimes, he didn’t say anything at all.

but he was there.

and that meant something.

not everything. not yet. but something.

because you were still healing.

and healing doesn’t happen in grand gestures or perfect apologies.

sometimes, it’s just someone showing up. again and again. until the silence doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.

he knew he had no right to ask for more.

he was lucky you even let him sit beside you. lucky you didn’t spit his name like poison anymore. lucky you didn’t flinch when his hand brushed yours by accident.

he was still tiptoeing around your pain. still watching you fold into yourself every time the world got too loud. still noticing the little things, how you wore the same three hoodies on rotation, how you never touched the food in the cafeteria anymore, how your phone always had a message draft open but never sent.

you were hanging on by threads. and he hated that he used to be one of them, and then chose to cut himself loose.

so he didn’t push. he didn’t beg. he stayed in the quiet with you.

and he noticed things again. like how you never showed up to first period anymore. how you’d started asking to borrow pens because you kept forgetting your own. how your eyes glazed over in the middle of conversations, like your brain just... shut off sometimes.

he asked around, lowkey. your teachers were frustrated. your friends were worried. the front office said you’d been absent a lot.

he didn’t ask why. he already knew.

he figured it out when he passed by the corner store one night, walking home after practice, and saw you inside, half asleep behind the counter, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, eyes barely open. it was past ten.

his heart sank.

he stood there outside the glass door for a while, just watching you ring up a woman’s groceries, nodding politely, smiling weakly. it wasn’t your real smile. it was your i don’t have the energy to exist smile. and he felt like shit for knowing it.

when he finally came in, the bell above the door jingled, and you didn’t even look up.

‘i’m clocking out soon,’ you mumbled, automatically, voice tired and soft.

‘not here to shop,’ he said gently.

your head jerked up like you’d been shocked. and your eyes met his. and you just blinked, like your brain was short-circuiting.

‘why are you here,’ you asked, voice flat.

‘i was walking home,’ he said. ‘and saw you.’

you didn’t answer. just turned back to the register, scanned a pack of gum for a teenager with headphones in.

‘do you always work this late?’ he asked quietly.

you didn’t look at him. didn’t need to.

‘someone has to pay the bills.’

he nodded slowly, like the guilt in his stomach hadn’t just quadrupled.

‘i didn’t know.’

‘you didn’t ask,’ you said simply.

and that hurt worse than if you’d yelled.

when your shift ended, you didn’t expect him to still be there. but he was, leaning against the wall near the exit, arms crossed, eyes soft.

‘you really don’t have to do this,’ you muttered, walking past him.

‘i know,’ he said, falling into step beside you. ‘but i want to.’

you sighed, too tired to argue. and so the two of you walked in silence. your backpack looked heavier than usual. maybe it was. maybe you were just too drained to hide it anymore.

he offered to carry it halfway through.

you said no.

but when your steps started to slow and you winced mid stride, he reached over and took it anyway.

you didn’t stop him.

the walk to your building was quiet, but not uncomfortable. just slow. heavy. like everything between you was still being rebuilt, brick by broken brick.

he paused at your doorstep, holding the bag out to you.

‘i meant it, you know,’ he said.

you looked up.

‘meant what.’

‘when i said i’d show up. no matter what.’

your fingers brushed his when you took the bag back. you didn’t pull away this time.

‘okay,’ you whispered.

just that.

but for him, it was enough to keep going.

because maybe this wasn’t the end. maybe you were still letting him in. inch by inch. breath by breath.

and if there was still space for him, no matter how small, he was gonna stay.

every time.

until you believed he meant it. until you believed you were worth it.

and maybe, just maybe, you’d let him love you again. this time without fear. without conditions. just love.

quiet, steady, and real.

you didn’t mean to fall asleep at school again.

you tried. really. but your eyes had started burning halfway through third period, and your head had gotten heavy, and the warmth of the classroom mixed with the low buzz of the teacher’s voice just… pulled you under. you didn’t even feel it happen.

you woke up to the principal’s voice.

he was standing over you, your name tight in his mouth, like he’d said it more than once. your classmates were staring. the room was too quiet. your face was warm with embarrassment, but your limbs were heavier than shame.

you mumbled an apology and tried to blink yourself back to life, but your head still felt like it was filled with fog. your teacher looked guilty. the principal looked frustrated. and you just felt small.

he asked you to come with him.

you didn’t say anything. you just stood.

you sat across from him in his office, hands in your lap, hoodie sleeves tugged down past your knuckles. you’d been here before. when your absences started stacking. when your grades slipped. when someone reported that you were always nodding off, always running late, always “not quite here.”

he didn’t yell. he wasn’t cruel. he just sighed.

‘this isn’t sustainable,’ he said gently. ‘you’re clearly overwhelmed. your teachers are worried. you’ve changed, and not in the way we like seeing.’

you nodded slowly, unable to argue. because it was true.

‘is everything okay at home?’ he asked.

you hesitated, then nodded again. even though the truth was, not really. but what could he do? what could anyone do?

‘i’m just tired,’ you whispered. ‘that’s all.’

his frown deepened.

you left with a warning and a pass to go lie down in the nurse’s office. you didn’t go. you just sat on the steps outside the building, elbows on your knees, forehead resting on your arms.

you didn’t cry.

not because it didn’t hurt.

but because you didn’t even have the energy to.

hector found you like that.

he was supposed to be at practice. he left early. said he had a stomach ache. he didn’t. he just had a feeling. a gut-wrenching, aching sort of feeling that he needed to find you.

he spotted you from across the quad, folded up into yourself, hair falling forward, body still.

his chest cracked open.

he crossed the space between you like it was instinct. like his legs moved before his brain could catch up.

he sat beside you without asking.

you didn’t look up.

‘i heard,’ he said softly. ‘what happened.’

your voice was barely there. ‘did the whole school?’

‘doesn’t matter.’

you exhaled shakily, but didn’t speak.

‘you wanna talk about it?’

you shook your head.

so he didn’t push.

you sat like that for a while, him beside you, you folded in two, the sky slowly shifting above.

then, out of nowhere, you whispered, ‘i’m trying.’

he turned to you.

‘i know.’

‘i’m trying so hard, hector. and i just… i’m so tired of trying. and still getting nowhere.’

his throat tightened. ‘i see you. i see all of it.’

‘no you don’t,’ you said, finally looking at him, eyes rimmed red. ‘no one does. they all think i’m lazy, or ungrateful, or not trying hard enough. but i’m doing everything. i’m keeping my mom alive, and i’m paying rent, and i’m working every shift they give me, and i’m still failing everything and—’

your voice cracked.

‘—and i don’t know what else to do.’

he didn’t hesitate. he pulled you into him, arms wrapping around you like he’d wanted to since the first moment he messed up.

and you didn’t fight it.

you just sank into him, into the warmth of him, into the steady heartbeat under his hoodie. and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself fall.

‘i’m so sorry,’ he whispered into your hair. ‘for every second you had to feel alone.’

you didn’t say anything.

but your fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve like you didn’t want to let go.

he didn’t leave your side after that.

not for a second.

he helped you with your homework that night. sat beside you on the floor of your living room while your mom rested in the next room. he watched you write your essays, helped quiz you for math, brought you coffee even though you told him not to.

he didn’t care.

he was there.

he texted you in the morning to make sure you woke up. met you outside your first class with breakfast in a paper bag. walked you to work after school. waited outside until your shift ended.

you kept telling him you didn’t need saving.

he kept telling you he wasn’t trying to save you. he just wanted to love you right this time.

and little by little, piece by piece, you started to believe him.

because love doesn’t always come in grand gestures or perfect words.

sometimes it shows up late, with shaking hands and tired hearts.

sometimes it’s soft and quiet and steady.

sometimes, it’s him, carrying your backpack without asking, walking you home in the rain, whispering that he’s proud of you when you finish your homework even though your eyes won’t stay open.

sometimes, love is just showing up.

and this time, he was here to stay.

#football x reader #football one shot #football fluff #football x y/n #football x you #hector fort x you #hector fort x y/n #hector fort fluff #hector fort x reader

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scapinoz · 3 months ago

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MY MAD DOG (ALL MINE).

yandere male oc x male reader

mob boss x guard dog reader

— chapter one.

to start things off, it’s been like three months since I posted the prologue and I have no way to defend my actions. I simply forgot. like the story kept running through my head all day and night, and I did write; the later parts of the story, lol. i really didn’t want to write the starting parts. i was just lazy, nothing else.

warnings: illarion, illarion’s dad, Y/N, mentions of blackmail and violence. nothing much, really. tame compared to what I’ve planned.

previous chapter - prologue

series master list - my mad dog (all mine)

Y/N arrived like a storm—unwelcome, unasked for, and impossible to ignore.

He did not come with a wagging tail or soft eyes full of devotion. He was not the obedient, noble creature Ilarion had longed for, the one he had begged his father to give him. No, Y/N was something else entirely. A stray, all sharp edges and untamed wildness, the kind of animal that bit the hand that tried to feed it.

But he was Ilarion’s now. That much was clear.

At first, they danced around each other like two creatures who did not yet know if they were predator or prey. Ilarion, raised in silk and shadow, did not know what to do with this boy who walked into their mansion with his hands in his pockets and a scowl carved deep into his face. Y/N was nothing like the children Ilarion had grown up with—those glass-fragile boys in ironed uniforms who spoke softly and moved like ghosts, always careful, always cautious, as if the wrong step might shatter them into pieces.

Y/N was fire where they were mist, solid where they were air.

And at school, he was a disaster (his father had enrolled Y/N into his school soon after their next meeting).

He never sat up straight in class. He never raised his hand or took notes. The teachers despised him for his indifference, for the way he lounged in his seat like he had better places to be. The students feared him, though they never said it aloud. He did not belong in their world of wealth and whispered politics, where power was measured in quiet cruelty and the sharp cut of words. No, Y/N fought with his fists, with blood on his knuckles and a scowl on his lips.

And yet, he never strayed far from Ilarion.

At first, Ilarion did not question it. He did not acknowledge the way Y/N’s presence had become something of a constant, like the low hum of an approaching storm. He did not ask why Y/N always seemed to be near, lingering just close enough to catch the words others whispered behind Ilarion’s back—the jealousy, the envy, the resentment.

He did not ask why those whispers always stopped so suddenly, why the boys who spoke too loudly found themselves with bruised jaws and swollen lips.

He did not ask, because he already knew.

And he never told Y/N to stop.

By the time they were thirteen, an unspoken understanding had settled between them: Ilarion was the golden boy, the untouchable heir to a legacy written in blood and empire, while Y/N was his shadow, the mad dog at his heels.

It was inevitable, then, that when Ilarion spoke, Y/N listened.

And when Ilarion needed something done, Y/N was the one who did it.

Time did not soften Y/N. If anything, it sharpened him.

By sixteen, he had become something fierce, something untamed. He was taller now, broader, his face no longer round with childhood but carved with something sharper, something crueler. The fire in his eyes had not dulled, but it had learned patience. His rage no longer burned bright and reckless—it simmered, waiting, coiled beneath his skin like a beast ready to strike.

He was still the same boy, the same stray Ilarion had been given all those years ago. But now, he was something else too. Something dangerous.

And Ilarion—perfect, golden, untouchable Ilarion—had grown into the role his father had carved for him. He was flawless, the kind of boy people whispered about in admiration and envy alike. He had the world at his feet, the teachers singing his praises, the students bending beneath his presence. He was the sun around which their little kingdom revolved, and he played the part beautifully.

But the sun has shadows, and Ilarion’s shadow had a name.

Y/N.

The school called him a delinquent, a lost cause. He skipped classes, smoked behind the gym, walked into rooms like he owned them and stared down teachers like they were beneath him. He broke rules like they were made for him, and he did not care.

Or rather, he only cared when Ilarion did.

“I swear to God, Y/N,” Ilarion muttered one afternoon, arms crossed as he leaned against the old brick wall behind the school, where they always met when no one else was watching. “Could you at least pretend to be a functioning member of society?”

Y/N, perched on the ledge with a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips, barely spared him a glance. “And why the fuck would I do that?”

Ilarion scoffed, his irritation as sharp as the autumn wind. “Because you look like a damn criminal.”

“I am a damn criminal,” Y/N shot back. “Your criminal.”

Ilarion exhaled, long and slow, tilting his head back to look at the sky. He hated that Y/N was right. Hated that, despite his exasperation, despite the lectures and the sighs and the sharp-edged glares, he still found himself here. Still found himself asking.

Because there were always people who needed to be put in their place.

Boys who thought power came from their fathers’ wallets. Men who thought they could speak without consequence. People who thought that just because Ilarion wore his power with silk and smiles, he would not use it.

Ilarion never laid a hand on them himself. He didn’t have to.

Not when he had Y/N.

And Y/N—his mad dog, his stray, his shadow—never needed to be told twice.

“You’re impossible,” Ilarion muttered, shaking his head.

Y/N exhaled smoke into the air, grinning. “And yet, you keep me around.”

And Ilarion, despite himself, did not argue.

The afternoon sun filtered through the academy’s courtyard, golden and soft, casting long shadows against the pristine marble floors. It was a quiet hour—one where only the desperate or the foolish found themselves loitering with trembling hands and fragile hopes.

Ilarion had not been searching for anything. He had been making his way toward the student council room, mind preoccupied with the endless obligations of a golden boy, when he saw it.

A girl.

Standing before his dog.

She was pretty, delicate in the way all high-society daughters were raised to be, with neatly pressed ribbons in her hair and the scent of expensive roses lingering in her wake. The picture of polished elegance. And yet, there was something almost pitiful about the way she stood there—wringing her hands, voice unsteady as she whispered the words.

“I like you, Y/N. Please go out with me.”

Ilarion stopped.

Y/N stood before her, detached and distant, the very image of disinterest. His uniform was, as always, a mess—tie loose, shirt half-untucked, a cigarette tucked behind his ear like an afterthought. He had not bothered to meet her eyes, his gaze instead fixed somewhere past her, as if she were nothing more than background noise, a dull murmur in a world he had long since stopped caring for.

Ilarion knew that look.

Knew it because Y/N never looked at him that way.

The girl swallowed, gathering what little courage she had left. “Y/N?”

Silence stretched.

And then—finally—Y/N tilted his head, as if acknowledging her presence for the first time.

“You like me?” he echoed, voice flat.

The girl nodded quickly, a spark of hope igniting in her gaze.

Y/N exhaled sharply through his nose, something close to amusement but far colder. “What is it that you like, exactly?”

The girl hesitated. “I—I think you’re… cool.”

A pause.

Then, slow, deliberate, Y/N smirked.

It was not a kind expression.

“You ever wonder why I don’t have a girlfriend?” he asked, voice dripping with something unreadable.

The girl stiffened. “…No?”

Y/N yawned, stretching lazily. “It’s because I get bored easily.”

The spark of hope in her eyes flickered.

Ilarion, still watching from the shadows, clenched his jaw.

“I might still say yes, though,” Y/N added, tone mocking. “Could be entertaining for a little while.”

Ilarion turned on his heel and walked away before he could hear the rest.

He found her in the library.

She was seated by the window, absentmindedly flipping through a book she clearly wasn’t reading. Her expression was distant, her mind likely still lingering on the conversation from earlier.

Ilarion did not bother with pleasantries.

“You will stay away from him.”

The girl startled, looking up at him with wide, doe-like eyes. “What?”

Ilarion stepped closer, looming over her. His expression remained polite, refined—unshakable—but there was an undeniable edge beneath it.

“Y/N,” he said, as if explaining something very simple to a very slow child. “You will stay away from him.”

She blinked, confusion flashing across her face before something like realization took root.

“I—I’m not trying to—”

“You don’t understand,” Ilarion cut in smoothly, tone unwavering. “He is not what you think he is.”

Her lips parted, a protest half-formed, but Ilarion did not let her speak.

“You think you want him,” he continued, voice calm, “but you don’t. He isn’t kind. He isn’t gentle. He will not love you, nor will he pretend to. He is cold, detached, and endlessly cruel when he grows tired of things.”

The girl paled.

“He would ruin you,” Ilarion said, smiling faintly. “And he wouldn’t even care.”

A beat of silence.

Then—quiet, barely above a whisper—she asked, “Then why do you want him?”

Ilarion stilled.

The question was simple. Innocuous, even. And yet, it lodged itself into his throat like a blade, sharp and unrelenting.

Because Y/N was his.

Because Y/N listened to him.

Because Y/N—who cared for nothing, who met the world with disinterest and apathy—only ever looked at him.

Ilarion exhaled slowly.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Leave him alone.”

The girl said nothing.

She did not need to.

By the next morning, the girl was gone.

Oh, she was still at school, still walking the halls with her pristine uniform and perfectly tied ribbon. But she no longer looked Y/N’s way.

No more stolen glances. No more waiting outside his classroom. No more confessions in the courtyard.

Y/N noticed. Of course he did.

He caught Ilarion’s eye across the cafeteria, something unreadable flickering across his face.

Then, ever so slowly, he smirked.

And Ilarion—golden, untouchable, innocent Ilarion—simply picked up his fork and took another bite of his meal.

Y/N was smoking behind the school when Ilarion found him.

The sky was overcast, the air thick with the scent of rain and tobacco. Y/N was seated on the ledge, one leg hanging lazily over the side, the other bent at the knee. His blazer was discarded beside him, and his cigarette burned low between his fingers.

Ilarion did not say anything as he approached.

Y/N exhaled a slow curl of smoke before flicking the cigarette away. “That was fast.”

Ilarion’s brows furrowed. “What?”

Y/N turned his head slightly, gaze sharp, unreadable. “The girl.”

Ilarion froze.

“She’s scared of me now,” Y/N mused, tilting his head. “She wasn’t, before.”

Ilarion’s jaw tensed.

“Did you do something?” Y/N asked, voice void of curiosity.

Ilarion scoffed. “I should be asking you that.”

Y/N smirked. “I didn’t do anything.”

A pause.

Then—slowly, deliberately—Y/N turned to fully face him, expression unreadable.

“But you did.”

Ilarion said nothing.

Y/N exhaled sharply through his nose, something almost resembling amusement flickering across his face. “You’re ridiculous.”

Ilarion scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t,” Y/N muttered, standing. He stepped closer, movements slow and deliberate, the scent of smoke and something faintly metallic clinging to his skin.

Ilarion held his ground.

Y/N’s gaze flickered over him, detached but keen, like he was seeing something Ilarion had yet to recognize.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

Ilarion exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

That evening, Ilarion sat in his father’s study, the scent of aged whiskey and old books lingering in the air.

Across from him, Rylan stood beside Y/N, his expression a mixture of irritation and exhaustion.

“I hear you’ve been getting into fights,” Ilarion’s father murmured, swirling his glass.

Y/N did not react. He merely sat there, blank-eyed and silent, detached from the world in a way that made it impossible to tell if he even heard the words.

Y/N’s mouth curled in an unflattering way. “You say that like it’s a problem.”

Rylan sighed, rubbing his temples. “He doesn’t listen.”

“I never do,” Y/N agreed.

His father exhaled, long-suffering. “And you,” he said, glancing at Ilarion. “You’re supposed to keep him in line.”

Ilarion met his gaze, expression impassive. “I don’t control him.”

“No,” his father mused. “But he listens to you.”

Y/N finally moved, tilting his head slightly, gaze flickering toward Ilarion.

The room was silent.

Then—quiet, unbothered—Y/N said, “Only when I feel like it.”

Ilarion’s father sighed.

Rylan pinched the bridge of his nose.

And Ilarion—who had spent his entire life untouched by want—realized, with a slow, sinking certainty, that he was no longer as immune to desire as he once thought.

unedited. unrevised. y’all get it raw and fresh. just finished writing. posted it as soon as I was done, really. took more time to add the pics and align everything and paragraph everything really. anyways, here’s chapter one.

i feel like the next chapter will actually start picking up the pace. i just wanted to set the scene a bit and like just cause. anywhore, stan illarion for better skin (even if he’s a lil shit).

also recommend some names for illarion’s dad 🧍🏽‍♀️

#male reader #x male reader #yandere male #yandere x male reader #yandere x reader #mob boss x male reader #yandere oc #yandere male oc #male oc x male reader #toxic yaoi lol #me when i can’t write #buff male reader #no beta we die like ash Lynx #male Yandere x male reader #i should write more actually

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borderlands-oc-hq · 4 months ago

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GREETINGS, TRAVELERS!

What is this blog?

This is a place to share borderlands OCs!

We know not where you come from - let it be scorched deserts, neon-lit cities, or frozen wastelands - we are here to hear YOUR story!

This blog was created in order to celebrate amazing fan characters of the Borderlands community and help them see more light. There is not a lot to see YET, but with YOUR help, this place can thrive!

Submit posts with your OC's bios following the template below, and they will be shared here!

All sorts of Original Characters are welcomed - fankids, sonas, characters who weren't originally borderlands but are borderlands AU versions

Characters from the bio submissions will be added to the blog's banner in the form of little chibi goobers (if the authors want to, of course)

The template:

(feel free to remove/change points, it's just a guide to make it easier for you to share basics about your character! Feel free to tell more, too! Everyone will love it)

<DON'T FORGET TO ADD YOUR CHARACTER'S REFERENCE!>

Name:

Gender:

Pronouns:

Sexuality:

Allegiances:

MBTI: (Can change to a short personality desc)

Occupation:

Residence:

Time period:

Summary:

Toyhouse/artfight/info post link:

Tags to use: (Any additional tags you want me to use, they are listed below)

Want to be featured on the banner: (yes or no)

Below is a completed example of a submission, of one of the first two goobers to appear on the banner. They are feeling lonely here, so give them some company!

Name: Tom “Tommy” Lawrence

Gender: Male

Pronouns: he/him

Sexuality: Aro/Ace

Allegiances: Atlas

MBTI: intj 1w2

Occupation: Crimson Lance corporal, Pilot in training

Residence: Promethea, Meridian

Time period: Somewhere in the future after events of BL3

Summary:

The youngest son of the CEO and the General, the Little Prince of Promethea, all of this legacy and responsibility is crushing for him. Tommy fears he will forever live in his fathers' shadows, unable to keep up. He is an overachiever, and tries to be like them both, constantly overworking himself and falling into hysteria of not being able to meet his own expectations, ignoring achievements he already made. Often wondering if he was even worth the money spent on his creation, worried about becoming a wasted investment.

Toyhouse link: https://toyhou.se/23355799.tommy-lawrence

Tags to use: Fankid: Rhysothy, Cyborg, Corporate: Atlas, Time period: Post-BL3

Want to be featured on the banner: Yes

WHAT ELSE THIS BLOG DOES?

>If you want to share your OC, follow the template to submit a post!

>If you want this blog to share a post with your OC, send a link to the post via DMs

>If you have any ideas and suggestions, the ask box is open!

FUTURE PLANS:

>Week challenges (Aka art prompts for an OC-week)

>Sharing people looking for art trades/RP mates/friends/BnB groups (send an ask if you are looking for any of these!)

>Borderlands-Specific OC question sets (answers will be shared here!)

>Activity ideas (such as ”Draw your OC doing this and that” or writing prompts)

>Hosting massive collabs

>Hyping up ArtFight cards featuring Borderlands OCs

TAGS FOR THIS BLOG:

List of tags for this blog:

OCLandsINFO

Animal: (species name)

BnB character: (class)

Corporate: (insert corporation name)

Crimson lance

Crimson raider

Doppelganger

Eridian

Fankid: (pairing/character name)

OCxCanon

OCxOC

Sanctuary

Selfship

Siren

Sona

Vaulthunter

Robot AUofOC

(more tags will be added based on suggestions)

Have fun and thank you for coming!

#borderlands #borderlands OC #BorderlandsOCs #Borderlands Original Character #OC #original character #borderlandsoc #borderlands 2 #borderlands3 #borderlands2 #borderlands 3 #BL3 #OCLands #OCLandsINFO

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thisisnotthenerd · 4 months ago

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a collection of my favorite stuff from this episode:

the whole interaction with gubbling? perfection.

getting to snowgrave and hearing erro's story

the vault!!!

nia and the moonweaver!!!

the agrupnin vault! the legacy of the agrupnin family!!!!!!

nuts of healing!

the dragonborns sharing draconic!

nothing but nut!

unicorns!

byroden!!!!!!

the key finds doors?!?!?!

anyways, we still haven't gotten confirmation of garen's class yet, but i'm still holding out for a forge cleric. that or he's the mortal form of moradin, trapped on exandria unknowing for many decades.

a list of the vestiges they've found thus far:

stormgirdle: belt. bestowed by the stormlord. for carrying others through adversity. currently held by crokas.

honor's last stand: erro's mother's shield. bestowed originally by platinum dragon. currently held by erro.

infiltrator's key: key made from the blood of 12 master thieves. it talks?? currently held by fiedra.

condemner: shadow-touched heavy crossbow that served as the weapon of the legendary assassin todora. currently held by fiedra.

moon's mirror: a silvered hand mirror that bestows invisibility. blessed by the moonweaver. currently held by nia.

hearth's hammer: a war hammer beautifully decorated with the symbol of the all-hammer. currently held by garen.

the orb of avalir: PATIA'S ORB!!!!!! mark my words, crokas is going to be a cobalt soul monk. adds +6 to INT and +4 to WIS, and a skill & language proficiency. currently held by crokas.

#critical role #cr spoilers #exu divergence #erro moradaurum #fiedra marrow #crokas #rei'nia saph #garen

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sylphiesweet · 3 months ago

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Her Bluebell Heroine - pt. 1 { A Dappling Fanfic ˚.🎀༘⋆ }

“↳ w/c: 16.5k

a/n: thanks to @milojeria for helping me edit this fic, and thanks to @c-rose2081 for the dappling art!! this is the longest fanfiction i have written so far, and i am quite proud of how it turned out. i tried my absolute hardest to depict the characters and the world they are in as accurately as possible to the source material. my target audience is hardcore fans of ever after high, as there are many references throughout this fic which only someone who has seen the series will get. this fic also contains many fairytale-style play on words that are seen in the series, so some words will have a few letters changed (e.g., celebrate becomes spellebrate, excellent becomes hexcellent).

Summary: It is the beginning of Apple White's senior year at Ever After High. While trying to get her fairytale back on track, she finds her efforts interrupted by a crush on the sweetest and strongest girl she knows- Darling Charming. This the first part of a two-part story, following the blossoming love of Apple and Darling as they navigate their roles in the first ever sapphic version of Snow White.

enjoy ♡

“But you said, how could I even care if the Gods were against us? But I care if they’re against us. Don’t you care if our fate is against us?” - Sarah Kinsley

This story is narrated by yours truly, Brooke Page.

Chapter 0: Introduction

It is our fairytale fledglings’ final year at Ever After High; Senior Year. Through their spellmesters of countless harrowing homeworks, unforgettably enchanting classes, and everlasting relationships formed with their peers, some have found themselves entangled in the irresistible bonds of love. As told by the fairytales of old, romance is an essential component to any good story. Before they set out on the paths their parents took many pages before them, one final spellebration stands between these lovebirds and their happily ever after.

At the end of the school year, a glamorous banquet is thrown for the seniors, where all of the couples dawn their sparkliest tiaras and most dashing suits. Known as the Lovers Legacy Ball, this love-honoring event has been a tradition for the seniors of Ever After High since the school’s inception. It is an annual occasion where the children of romance stories spellebrate the love awaiting them in the future. Many a parties are thrown before their graduation, yet this one is always the most highly anticipated of them all.

For the Royals, especially those whose parents are known for their iconic love stories and regal weddings, the pressure to find the perfect date to the ball is on now more than ever. Though still a few chapters away, the Lovers Legacy Ball is all the halls are gossiping about!

Chapter 1

A delicate hand held up a compact mirror, encrusted in gold and diamonds with a ruby red gemstone embedded in the back, cut in the shape of a fruit. “Mirror, Mirror, in my hand. Who’s the fairest in the land?”

The glass of the mirror lit up, and a heavenly voice rang out with clairvoyance. ”Who else but the darling daughter of our gracious queen, Apple White?”

Apple giggled softly and continued dabbing on powder to her rosy cheeks. “Oh, Mirror! You always know just what to say.” She raised her magic compact mirror to her face, analyzing her flawless makeup.

”But of course, your Highness. Looking as princessly as ever.” A smile could be heard in the mirror’s omniscient voice.

“You flatter me, Mirror. Can you please read me my schedule for today?” Apple dabbed the sponge into the blush once more while she listened.

”Certainly…” The mirror’s glass swirled with smokey blues and purples until in the center appeared a written log of Apple’s day, stylized in amador font. Each section highlighted as the mirror narrated them aloud. “9:30AM, arrive at Ever After High. 10AM, move into your dorm. 12PM, lunch with Raven @ Hocus Latte. 2PM, convocation. 4PM, shoe shopping with Ashlynn and Briar…” The list went on. Once finished, the text went away in a foggy swirl until the glass was once again a plain mirror.

Satisfied, Apple shut the compact and dropped it into her clutch. She then set it down on the red leather of the seat beside her before getting up and knocking on a small window at the opposite end of the carriage. It slid open, revealing a chauffeur in a spiffy white suit with gold accents, perfectly matching the interior of the White Family’s finest vehicle. “Hexcuse me, driver?”

”Yes, Miss White?” His eyes never came off the road.

”How soon will we be there?”

”I’d say about 15 minutes.”

Apple reached into her dress pocket and pulled out her MirrorPhone. The time was 9:15. She smiled and put it back. “Perfect. Thank you!”

The chauffeur nodded and shut the dividing screen.

Sitting back in the plush velvet car seat, Apple took a gentle breath to calm her nerves. She turned to watch the lush of The Enchanted Forest roll by outside of the carriage window. Butterflies of hexcitement and fear fluttered about inside the young royal as she thought of the eventful day to come. Surely Blondie would be waiting at the school’s entrance, interviewing every important royal and rebel as they arrived. With the Lovers Legacy Ball happening this year, all Mirror Cast viewers had one thing on their minds- romance.

Although such a crucial part of her story, Apple had neglected the subject for quite some time. Ever since the incident with Raven’s mom a few pages back, her future lover had been completely up in the air. Daring Charming couldn’t wake her when she was poisoned, he couldn’t do the one thing he had to be able to do in order to fulfill their stories. After being convinced for so long that he was the one, it left Apple feeling the most uncertain about her future she had ever felt. And for someone who’s entire life has been finalized by quill and ink since before the first draft of her existence, it was a feeling she didn’t like. However, hope wasn’t entirely lost. After all, someone had woken Apple- and it wasn’t Daring.

The flora outside the carriage window gradually transitioned into cobblestone streets and dainty shops- the Village of Book End. They would be approaching the school any minute now. Apple smiled as she recognized the faces that lined the streets. She watched as old friends sitting outside of cafes, familiar store owners hard at work, and other classmates making their way to school on foot rolled past through the tinted window. It was nice to be back after being cooped up in her family’s castle all summer.

Speaking of family, her MirrorPhone chimed with a hext alert as Apple gazed out the window. She looked down at the message- it was her mother letting her know that the dwarves had finished bringing all of the furniture up to her dorm room. Queen White was proficient as always, staying 3 steps ahead of everyone. Even her own daughter. Apple pulled her schedule up to change it. Seeing as she was now free for the next few hours, she once again knocked on the driver’s window.

”Find somewhere to park for a while, please! I am going to walk around for a bit.”

”Of course, Miss White.”

Chapter 2

The streets of Book End were bustling with fairytale children. Though it was nice to stretch her legs after a long car ride, she couldn’t help but notice the stares from everyone she passed by. Plenty of underclassmen who were out exploring the village with their friends had stopped in their tracks to gawk at Apple, hardly being subtle about their whispers and giggles to each other. This treatment wasn’t all that different from how her public appearances typically went. In previous years, this was where she was really in her element the most- basking in the glory of her birthright to popularity. Whether she was hanging on Daring’s arm and looking like the most perfectly picturesque couple in all of Ever After, or cohorting with her fableous and equally royal girlfriends, or simply shining bright on her own as the future queen she was. However, she hardly felt like she was “shining” now. Within the whispers of the students around her there seemed to be strong undertones of shock and gossip, rather than the standard awe and praise.

Feeling peculiarly self conscious, she took out her compact mirror and checked her makeup as she walked. Not a lash or sparkle was out of place, yet seeing her flawless look still didn’t calm her nerves. It certainly couldn’t be her outfit. Apple knew that her dress was undoubtedly the fairest in all the land, the delicate reds and golds of her ensemble were as enchanting as ever. Silly as it may seem, she was convinced that her hair was the subject of all this chatter today. There were many things was known for- her royal status, her famous mother, her wardrobe, etc. But there was another essential characteristic about Apple that she had proudly carried with her throughout her life- her hair. Since birth, she had kept her locks long and voluminous. The people of Ever After had always joked that she might as well be Rapunzel’s daughter. While it was the common style for girls her age, Royals and Rebels alike, to have lengthy and luscious hair, Apple’s platinum cascading curls were the most envied. However, when her mother was her age, Snow White had worn her hair short. It wasn’t until the end of her fairytale that she grew it out. So, as both an ode to her mother and a desire to ensure her story stays on track, Apple spent the past weekend chopping it all off. Now, it rested by her ears in a cute bob, still delicately curled as she always kept it.

This change was sudden and still fresh, especially to her. She probably lost 5 pounds with how much she cut off, it was hard to adjust to. Her parents both loved it, and her mother was incredibly flattered by the gesture. As for the rest of the world, well, they hadn’t seen her new ‘do yet. Until now, that is.

Apple gently adjusted sections of hair in her mirror, trying to make it look as presentable as possible. While concentrating on blocking out the whispers around her, she almost ran into the door of Hocus Latte as it swung open. She jumped back, losing her grip on her compact. It landed at the feet of two familiar faces as they stepped out of the bakery. “Apple?” Her heart skipped a beat. Before her stood the walking reminder that Daring wasn’t her prince- Rosabella Beauty (aka, Daring’s new girlfriend).

Rosabella adjusted her glasses as if they were playing tricks on her, for she could hardly believe what she was seeing. A confused smile grew on her face. “Your… Your hair! It’s so-“

”-Gorgeous!” A shrill and sweet voice finished Rosabella’s sentence for her. The other walking reminder of her destined-partner-dilemma bent down and grabbed the mirror, holding it out with a charming smile. Darling Charming stepped forward and placed it in Apple’s palm, looking down at her and admiring her new look. “You look wonderlandiful, Apple! When did you cut it?”

Her peachy cheeks suddenly growing a little peachier, Apple giggled nervously as she looked up at Darling. She wished she had put on heels today. “Why, thank you! I just did it this weekend…”

Darling’s smile only grew wider. “You did it?”

Rosabella stepped around Darling to also look at Apple’s haircut closer. “…Willingly?”

Darling shot Rosabella a look, but Apple found the comment amusing. “Yes, willingly,” she said with a giggle. At least she wasn’t being… directly insulted.

”Well, it’s good to see you again, Apple.” Darling pulled her in for a hug. The embrace was warm, and made Apple feel even warmer. She could feel Darling’s muscles through the fabric of her top- a lacy piece with a regal gold and blue metal corset over it. If anyone could make armor look natural, it was her. Always the perfect blend of femininity and sophistication was the Charming Family’s dearest daughter. Hugging Darling back, Apple noted how she smelled of bluebells- a sweet and earthy scent. The perfume lingered in her mind, even after their hug ended.

Rosabella smiled and hugged Apple next, though quicker and less intimate than Darling did. “What made you go for the big chop? I never thought you’d make such a huge change to your appearance like this.”

Apple took one of her soft curls in between her fingers, twirling it around as she spoke. “My mother had her hair this length when she was my age. I want my story to go hexactly like hers, gotta stay faithful to the details!”

“Not every detail, right?” Darling commented. “It is your story, after all…”

“Well, she kept it blonde!” Rosabella gestured out to Apple’s cut and smiled. “I like it like this, it’s got your own personal charm. Plus, it’s spella cool that you did it yourself.”

Apple put her mirror back into her purse, beaming now from all the compliments. The insecurities from before melted away. “Thank you, girls!! I’ll admit, I was nervous to see what everyone thinks of it.”

“Please, everyone would love you even if you shaved it all off!” Rosabella teased.

Apple giggled. “You both look as elegant as ever. Have you been to school yet?”

Darling chuckled and shook her head. “We’re trying to avoid Blondie for as long as possible. Dex says she’s got him on camera duty again, and he’s been on his feet since the crack of dawn!”

“Yeah, we were watching her MirrorCast inside the cafe. She’s not letting anyone get by without an interview.” Rosabella pointed into the window of Hocus Latte, where they had “Just Right” playing on the TV screen. Blondie Lockes was holding her microphone to Hopper Croakington II, who is barely on screen for a minute before stuttering and transforming into a frog. The camera pans downwards to continue filming him.

Apple nervously laughs, dreading her interview just as much as the others. Though she would love to not do the interview altogether, the constant pressure from her mother to maintain a perfect public image meant Apple would show face no matter what. “That’s Blondie for you… If you’d let me, I’d be fairy happy to avoid her with you!”

Darling nods, linking arms with Apple unhesitatingly. “We’d love that!”

Apple’s heart beat fast as Darling pressed her body against her. The trio strolled down the streets of Book End together now. Curious, Apple continued the conversation of the interviews. “What seems to be the nature of Blondie’s questions?”

Rosabella chuckled dryly, adjusting her bright red frames as she spoke. “The same as any other year. She’s asking about Thronecoming plans, class schedules, summer break activities- you know, just general stuff. But, of course, the questions for the seniors…” She turns to face Apple now, with a look of utter annoyance. “...are all about the Lovers Legacy Ball.”

Darling nodded eagerly, putting off the complete opposite vibes about the subject compared to Rosabella. “Some of the answers we saw were really cute! Ashlynn and Hunter went up together. They seem to be going strong.”

”Briar said she’s bringing some prince from Beanstalk High as her date to the ball,” Rosabella said as she rolled her eyes at her cousin’s party-girl antics. “She told me she’s not really into this guy, but since everyone in our class already has a date, it’s either a giant or no date at all. And you know Briar- always go big or go home.”

The girls laughed at this, though deep down Apple felt a gnawing at her heart. Her closest friends all had dates to the ball, and she didn’t. Even though having a date wasn’t mandatory, it was still tradition, and Apple would be damned before she passed up an opportunity to participate in traditions. Though, the mere thought that she wouldn’t be able to was haunting her…

Noticing the sudden quiet that befell her friend, Darling looked down at Apple. She figured a change of subject would be best. “So, who are you rooming with this year?”

”Hm?” Apple looked up at Darling, taking a second to come back to reality after being so lost in her thoughts. “Oh, nobody actually. I got a private suite- the south tower.”

“No way, isn’t that one like 3 floors?” Rosabella asked in disbelief.

Apple nodded. “It is, but the tower itself is quite skinny.” Coming from a girl who grew up in the kingdom’s greatest castle, this didn’t mean much.

Darling giggled. “Still- lucky you! So much space to decorate. I’ll have to swing by sometime and see what you do with the place.”

Apple smiled up at Darling as a slight blush returned to her cheeks. “Yes! Absolutely! I’d love to have you over.” She looked over to Rosabella, not wanting to make her feel left out. “And you as well. My doors are always open to you both!”

”Thanks, Apple.” Rosabella smiled politely, though she knew she would not be taking her up on that offer. Neither girl would ever dare say it aloud, but a strange awkwardness between them was more potent than ever.

“Are the two of you still roomies as always?” Apple asked in return.

Both Darling and Rosabella nodded. The two princesses had been sharing a dorm for 3 years straight now. “Of course! We work so well together, why mess with perfection?” Rosabella replied with a smile towards her roommate.

Darling smiled back, and Apple felt another sensation brewing within her. It was silly, it was childish and she knew it, but a tinge of jealousy struck at seeing the fond closeness between Rosabella and the enchanting bluebell heroine who had unknowingly pierced her sword straight through her gentle heart.

“How sweet! You two really do make a great pair,” Apple said with a smile to mask all of the mixed emotions bubbling inside. “So, what classes are you both taking this spellmester?” She quickly threw out the question for a change of subject. Her hand still gently wrapped around Darling’s bicep, Apple yearned for the same intimacy which Rosabella got to share with her everyday. Though she knew the two girls were just friends, sometimes the mind knows what the heart cannot. And at the time, all Apple’s heart knew was that it had an unrelenting craving for the rich sweetness that was Darling Charming.

For how long Apple had had this crush on Darling, she could not say. They had been good friends for as long as she could remember, and Darling had always been a lady whom Apple admired. Perhaps it started over the last year, when it dawned on her that she would soon have to explore her options for her future lover. Or maybe even sooner than that, when she learned that Darling had been the one to wake her from her poison slumber. From a logistical perspective, that event alone qualified Darling to play the role of Apple’s princess charming in their story. And from an emotional perspective, Darling really was a darling. In every regard she was as sweet as a songbird, always treating others with the utmost respect and carrying herself with powerful grace. She was the pinnacle of elegance and tenderness, while simultaneously being the strongest person Apple knew. All in all, Darling was Apple’s top choice for a partner. Whether or not Apple was her choice, that was a question that sent her tumbling down a well of anxiety. Trapped in her doubts and insecurities, she had yet to even utter a word of her feelings to anyone.

The three princesses continued down the street together, discussing the upcoming school year and the passing summer. Apple savored the time in Darling’s presence, though her apprehensions followed close behind as they walked down the cobbled roads, a rouge thought of disquiet catching up and stinging in the back of her mind every once in a while. Eventually, the royals departed from one another and Apple was off to school for the dreaded interview.

Chapter 3

Hours later, inside Hocus Latte, business buzzed about the cafe floor as villagers and students came and went. After a long and stressful morning, Apple was delighted for her date at noon with Raven. Sitting by the window at a table for two, she sipped her caramel apple latte as she scanned the streets of Book End, waiting for one of her favorite queens in all of Ever After to arrive. Since they were roommates during Legacy Year, the two had remained close. Whether or not that was ideal for their fairytale, Apple didn’t mind. She highly valued her friendship with Raven despite what fate had in mind for them.

The bell at the front of the cafe rang as the door opened, a gothic beauty entering. Raven Queen looked around before spotting Apple, to which she waved with a smile.

Apple lit up with hexcitement, running over to greet her. She giggled as she wrapped her BFFA (best friend forever after) in a tight squeeze. “Raven!!”

“Apple!!” They held each other for a moment before separating with giggles. “Your hair is killer!”

Despite the dozens of compliments on her hair she had gotten today, this one meant the most. “Thank you! How are you, fairest friend?? I missed you this summer.” She leads them over to the table she was at and they sit down together.

”I’m alright! It’s been one spell of a day, though.” She takes off her black leather satchel and slings it over the back of the chair. Her attire was, of course, as dark and grungy as ever- a typical Raven Queen look. “I’m gonna grab a drink- watch my bag?”

Apple nodded with a smile, taking another sip of her own latte. It wasn’t long before Raven was back at the table, sitting across from her with a hot chai.

”So, how’s day one been for you? I saw your segment on Just Right earlier… though, it felt like it should've aired on the “Too Hot” channel.” Raven teased.

Apple groaned, laughing a little at the end. While not a total fairy fail, her interview with Blondie had been noticeably… uncomfortable. “Oh, Raven! Don’t make me relive it. I didn’t know you could say “Daring Charming” so many times!”

Raven cackled- that wasn’t an exaggeration. “Right?? He wasn’t even your boyfriend in the first place! Like, I get it- everyone thought you two were gonna be the it-couple of Ever After, but Blondie is royally overstepping.” The first sip of her chai left her unsatisfied with the temperature. Raven popped the lid off and cast a layer of vibrant purple flames over the top of the tea, warming it to the steaming point at which she liked it.

Apple held her latte out with a pleading smile, to which Raven reheated it with the same enchantment. “Thank you. And it’s not that Blondie isn’t always like this, it’s just… this year is different.” The magenta flames slowly dissipated, and Apple stared down at her drink as little swirls of steam rose above the sugary liquid. A telling silence hung heavy in the air.

The Lovers Legacy Ball was on everyone’s mind, and after Apple’s interview, the whole MirrorNet now knew that their future queen had yet to decide her future partner. Such suspense would of course make the public all the more interested in her answer, which only amplified the pressure on Apple. However, one had to stop and ask, was this really even her choice? This wasn’t just about dating, it was about staying true to the story. The fates of the fairytale world had already decided who was meant for who. As far as Apple was concerned, she was playing a game in which there was one right answer and a million wrong, and she couldn’t tell them apart. The two girls sat quietly for a few moments, sipping their drinks as they processed these circumstances.

The sweetened spiced drink was delightfully hot as it passed down Raven’s throat. Countless more of these would be dranken throughout the spellmester, during rushed lunch periods, late study sessions, final outings with friends before graduation. She set her cup down, savoring the flavors as she stared out the window. “So, do you have anybody in mind yet?”

Flutters arose within Apple’s chest. One very specific answer instantly came to mind. Whether or not she could move that answer from her mind to her mouth was another question entirely. “Well, the Charming family lineage is quite large! It is entirely possible that it’s somebody I have yet to meet.” She didn’t sound confident in the slightest. To save herself from saying anymore, she took a nervous sip of her latte. It was too hot and instantly burned her.

Raven gave a sympathetic simple as she watched Apple lie and then get instant consequences. “Come on, you must have at least a couple options.”

Taking quick breaths to cool her tongue, Apple looked up at Raven with a pout. “Of course I do! It’s just… difficult to talk about.” A notable blush appeared on her cheeks as she directed her gaze down.

This princess was too easy to read. Raven raised a brow, now thoroughly amused. “What’s this? Is the future queen of Ever After getting… flustered??”

Her teasing nearly broke Apple, turning the light blush into a deep rouge. “Well can you blame me! Look at me, Raven- I’m 18 and I’ve never so much as been on a date. I’ve basically been in an arranged engagement my whole life and suddenly it’s broken off. Now I have to choose who I’m spending the rest of my life with and I’m just supposed to know?? Just hex me already!” She buried her red face in her hands, resting her elbows on the tabletop.

Taken aback, Raven watched in surprise as her friend had a mini meltdown in front of her. She honestly was not expecting Apple to blow the lid off her teapot with one comment. She must be under more stress than she had let on. Raven leaned forward and offered a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Hey, hey, calm down. Take a deep breath, girl. You’ve still got all year to figure this out. And, well maybe there’s no use in suggesting it, but you could always just not-”

Apple cut her off, head still in her hands. “No, Raven, I can’t just not participate in the Lovers Legacy Ball. Breaking tradition like that… I love you, but that’s your thing.” Her head rose to meet Raven with weary eyes. Releasing a tired sigh, she folded her hands to rest her chin on her fingers. “You’ve been on dates before, haven’t you? Maybe you could give me advice.”

Retracting her arm, Raven chuckled and leaned back in her chair. “Yeah, like, two in total. All of which were with Dexter.” Dexter Charming and Raven had been on a few dates, but that didn’t make her the expert on dating. “I’m not really the person to be asking about this... Why not consult Cupid? That’s like, her whole thing.”

“Everyone and their fairy godmother wants Cupid to fix their love perils.” Apple sat up finally, fixing her hair as she spoke. “I don’t want to add more to her plate, she’s already got enough to worry about.” She took another sip of her latte, this time blowing on the surface before drinking. As the future goddess of love, C.A. Cupid had been working her wings off to get as much practice with matchmaking in as she could before graduation.

“Apple, you’re not a stranger, you two have been friends since Legacy Year,” Raven said with a confused frown. “I’m sure she doesn’t mind having a chat with you about this whole ordeal, it would probably only take a few minutes.”

”Cupid is a hard working business woman, Raven. Expecting special treatment just because we’re close would be an abuse of our friendship.” She set her cup down and crossed her arms over her chest. “To even suggest that is so unfairest!”

Raven gave another unamused stare as she listened to Apple rant. “…You’re avoiding talking to her, aren’t you?”

”Wh- No! I would never- I-… Yeah…” Defeatedly, Apple uncrossed her arms and dropped her shoulders. She let out an exasperated sigh. “Honestly, I don’t want to be told what I don’t want to hear. And there are far too many things I don’t want to hear.”

“You don’t think you would feel a little better after talking to her?” she said after setting her chai down again. “I can’t think of anything she could say that would be that bad.”

Apple thought about it for a moment. “What if she tells me that… one of my options is already taken?”

”Then you’ll just be down an option. What’s so bad about-…” Raven paused mid sentence, realization striking as she watched a rosy color slowly return to Apple’s face. “...You only have one option, don’t you?”

Disappointedly, Apple nodded.

Raven laughed. “Well, one is better than none. Can I know?” She leaned in close, eager to hear.

“No! Not until I at least know I have a chance…”

She rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair again. ”Then talk to Cupid! If your crush is taken, she’ll be the one to know.”

“You’re right, it’s just…” Apple couldn’t find her words. She wasn’t used to lacking confidence like this, the subject of love and crushes was such unusual territory for her. Out of excuses, she rested her head on her hand again with a sigh.

As Raven watched her friend sulk, the bell to Hocus Latte rang with the entry of another customer. While Raven was seated facing away from the door, Apple’s expression of horror served as a mirror to who had just walked in. She turned around to see a delightfully pink girl with a pair of feathery wings heading up to the counter. A twisted smile grew on Raven’s face as she stood up. “Speak of the cherub and she doth appear… I’ll be right back!”

”Raven!! No!” Apple whisper-shouted in embarrassment as she watched Raven walk away. Truly, this is the most evil she has ever been. And to think Apple had been encouraging such behavior for years now…

Moments later, Raven returned to the table, pulling up a third chair before taking her seat. “Look who I found! You don’t mind if Cupid sits with us, right?” she asked with an innocent smile.

Apple fixed her face and stood up to greet her friend. “Of course not. Cupid, it’s been so long!”

”Hey, Apple! How are you?? Love the new look,” Cupid said as she wrapped her friend in a tight hug. The two sat back down after their embrace, and Cupid set down her coffee. The foam within the dark liquid was intricately poured into the shape of a heart with an arrow through it- a charming personal touch from the barista.

“Why, thank you! And you look as angelic as ever,” Apple complimented back. It was true, Cupid’s dress was nothing short of heavenly. It was her signature baby pink, accented by sewn on pearls and shimmering golden lace. The inventress of coquette herself, Cupid’s first day look was a page-ripper.

Giggling politely, she twirled a loose curl around her elegantly manicured finger. “Thanks, Apple! Both of you look spelltacular as well. It’s nice to finally be back, isn’t it?”

”Totally. Although, this first day has definitely been kinder to some than others…” Raven looked over to Apple as she took another sip of her tea, hoping she wouldn’t have to coax it out of her.

Apple said nothing. She just smiled and nodded, giving Raven a look that meant she was undoubtedly going to have to carry the conversation.

Cupid, not at all picking up on the silent exchange going on, looked towards Apple with a pitying expression. “I saw your segment on Just Right this morning…”

”O- Oh! Did you now?” This wasn’t all that shocking- who hadn’t seen it by now? Apple chose to feign ignorance in hopes of avoiding this subject further.

”Yeah. Not just yours, of course. I actually watched the whole broadcast a couple times. I wanted to see who needs the most help with their love-life right now, it’ll be good practice for me!” Cupid smiled and took a sip of her coffee.

Raven chuckled somewhat nervously. “Good to know that we are your test subjects as always.”

Cupid laughed, too. “I also watched to support my roomie! And, well, my dad is really serious about getting me in the field as soon as I graduate. I’ll be matchmaking with all of the other big-shot love gods! When you think about it, Ever After is the perfect realm to warm up my wings on, much better than the others I’ve lived in. Nearly every fairy tale involves love in one way or another.”

Raven nodded. ”That’s so true. You know, Apple could really use some-“

”Hey, Raven! I don’t recall you doing an interview with Blondie this morning.” Apple interrupted with a swift subject chance, innocently batting her eyelashes.

Caught off guard and totally called out, Raven glared at Apple. “…Th- That’s cause I didn’t want to do one. I don’t like being on camera. And as I was saying-“

Cupid was the one to butt in this time, hexcitedly turning to Raven. “You’ll still be going to the Lovers Legacy Ball, right? The Evil Queen’s story begins with marrying a king!”

”I- Well, yes, that’s true…” Raven glared at Apple one more time, sour that she won this silent fight. She then gave in and eased up, sitting back in her chair. “And yeah, I’ll be going. I already know who with.”

This got a reaction from both of the girls. Apple sat forward with an enthusiastic, “Who??” She had been completely unaware of this. Both her and Cupid stared at Raven with eager anticipation.

Now, it was her turn to blush a little. She kept her cool though, not wanting to make a big deal about her own love-life. “…Dex.” As the girls freaked out, Raven simply took a calm sip of her tea. Though, deep down, she was happy at their ardor for her.

“Raven!! I can’t believe you kept this a secret!” Apple nearly shouted in a mix of disbelief and glee. She knew Raven and Dexter had been a thing for some time now, but she hadn’t realized how serious they were.

Cupid reached out and held Raven’s hand, looking like a proud mother on the verge of tears. “I’d just like to say… that I take credit for this.” Everyone laughed, including Raven as she nodded in full agreement.

“Please do! We wouldn’t be as close as we are now without you, Cupid.” She gave her hand a little squeeze. Before letting go, she turned back to Apple. “Dex and I decided to commit to this over the summer. And, as far as I know, you two are the first to find out.”

Hearing this made Apple smile even harder. She was flattered to be among the first told, even if the news was somewhat forced out of Raven. “When you two get married, I call dibs on doing the floral arrangements!”

Laughing again, Raven shook her head and sat back in her chair. “You’re getting way ahead of yourself, but sure. Now, back to what I was trying to say before I got interrupted!”

Apple’s smile tightened with anxiety. Her only way to avoid this now would be to run out of the cafe. “Let’s keep talking about you and Dexter! Would you keep your last name, or take his? Or maybe hyphenate! Queen-Charming has a nice ring to it.”

”Cupid,” Raven turned to look at her, ignoring the attempt to derail the conversation. “Apple could really use some of your matchmaking skills.”

”You know, I sorta figured…” Cupid turned to Apple with a sorry smile. “Blondie wasn’t all that discreet about it during your interview. I’d be happy to be of service! Especially for the fairest in the land. Tell me,” she said as she scooched in her chair closer. “What’s your heart desiring, dear friend?”

Apple’s face was the shade of a red delicious. She sighed defeatedly, shooting a look at Raven that said ‘you win’ before facing Cupid. “This whole ordeal is a stress. My future husband used to be already decided for me, but now that…” She hesitated, looking around at the other tables before continuing. “…Now that Daring and Rosabella are together, I have to make this decision for myself.”

Cupid nodded, holding her hands folded in front of her as she listened. “Don’t worry, Apple. You’re not the only one in this position. I’ve already spoken to dozens of other fairytale creatures who haven’t a clue of their future lover- many of your classmates, even.”

”Really?” This made Apple feel a little better. Realistically, of course she wasn’t the only one stuck like this. Cupid’s confirmation was just all the more reassuring.

“Really. It’s not that uncommon. See, for those with two specifically named characters in their stories, it’s quite easy to track down the both of them. But for stories with a vague “Prince Charming” archetype as the love interest, like yours, it can be a bit tricky!” Having extensively studied the way in which fairytale love works, Cupid was quite adept to explain such concepts.

As Apple listened, the complexity of these mechanics made her feel a little less better.

Raven chimed in. “It’d be funny if there was a little subsection in the Story Book of Legends that tells you who to date.” Says the girl who refuses to abide by said book.

Thinking about it, Cupid chuckles. “I suppose such a feature would be convenient. But then I’d be out of a job! There’s a reason matchmakers like us exist, and it’s not just for non-fairytale beings.” She turns Apple again. “I know you like to follow the specifics of your story to a spindle point, but love is a funny thing. It may not be an exact science, but the advice of following your true heart’s desires has never fallen short! If you know in your heart that someone is the one for you, then I’d say they are probably also right for your story.”

“Probably?...” Now it was the uncertainty that made Apple feel even worse. How was she to know who “the one” was, anyways?

“Hey! Like I said, it’s not science.”

Apple sighed, feeling more defeated than when the conversation began. “Thanks, Cupid. I appreciate the advice. But it still feels like all of my friends, even those with stories like mine, seem to know who their destined love interest is.”

Again, Raven piped up to stir the conversation. “Cupid, you mentioned that you knew some of our classmates without dates? Maybe Apple will feel better if she knows who they are.”

Sheepishly, Cupid chuckled a bit. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. I fear can’t share.”

“What?” Apple said with a pout. “Why not?”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality reasons.“ The group went silent with confusion after Cupid said that. She had a look at on her face like there was a punchline somewhere.

Staring at Cupid unamused, Raven asked, “...Exactly how the spell does that apply here?”

”Because I’m a love doctor, duh!” Cupid smiled as if she had been waiting to use that line for ages. Nobody laughed. “…Fine, I guess I’m not legally confined to silence. But if I went around airing out everyone’s love drama… Well, that just wouldn’t be fairy professional of me!”

Though she had a point, Apple was desperate to feel less alone in her worries. “Please, Cupid? I think Raven’s right. Even knowing one person would make me feel better.”

Shoulders tensely squared and hands fidgeting with anxiousness, Cupid took a moment to contemplate what to do. Eventually, she sighed and looked at Apple. “Fine. You can ask about one- just one of your friends! And I’ll tell you what I know. Only because you’re the fairest in the land,” she said with a sweet, teasing tone.

Apple smiled, one name coming to mind instantly. She pretended to have to think about it, though, tapping a finger to her chin and looking up as if she had no idea who to ask about. “Oh gosh, this is a hard choice… I’ll just pick randomly! How about… Darling?”

Raven looked up from her chai, also curious as to the answer.

Cupid thought for a moment. “I don’t think Darling is committed to anyone yet…”

Anxiety began to trickle away from Apple’s chest. There had been a tight knot around her heart ever since this conversation started. No, ever since the day began. No, no- not even that. This knot had been constricting her internally for pages. Hearing that Darling had yet to be taken was the greatest relief. However, Cupid hadn’t finished speaking.

”…but I believe Chase Redford is going to ask her out.”

“Wh- What?” The knot tightened again. When Apple had said there were things she didn’t want to be told, this was one of them.

”Yeah, the son of the Red Queen. Goes to Wonderland High.” Cupid said, assuming Apple didn’t know who she was referring to.

She held up a hand to stop Cupid from explaining further. ”I’ve met Chase before. How do you know he’s going to ask out Darling?”

”Oh! Because he told me he was,” Cupid replied, surprisingly oblivious in this moment for a love goddess. She took another sip of her coffee before continuing, too preoccupied to notice the look of heartbreak on Apple’s face. “He came to me for advice a few pages ago. Apparently, he and Darling used to spar together when she would visit Wonderland as the White Knight. He’s had a thing for her ever since. I told him to go for it! Though, I don’t know when or if he will.”

”…Oh,” was all Apple could muster up as a response. She seemed lost in thought. Raven noticed this somewhat frozen state of hers, but didn’t say anything.

”Hey wait! I said I’d tell you about one student, not two! Oh toadstools…” Cupid shook her head and chuckled at how carried away she had gotten. “Anyways, the good news is that Darling is still on the same page as you. At least as far as I know. Just because someone has a crush on her doesn’t mean she’s spoken for. Think of how many princes would slay dragons just to go on a date with you, Apple. Yet here you are,” Cupid reached out over the table, placing her hands on top of Apple’s with a reassuring smile. “My advice to you is to stop comparing yourself to your friends. You are far from the only girl in Ever After still looking for love.”

The gentle touch of Cupid’s hands pulled Apple out of her head, directing her focus back into the moment. Despite the less than ideal news she had just received, her friend’s kind words did lift her mood. She gave a small smile. “Thank you, Cupid.”

“Of course! And don’t lose a slipper over the ball, I honestly have no doubt that you’ll find someone in time. Besides, if it really comes down to it…” Cupid leans back and reaches into her heart purse, revealing a bundle of her signature love arrows that she always carries around. “…You know where to find me,” she says with a playful wink. The girls all share a laugh, yet this doesn’t make Apple feel any better. She pretends it does, though.

Their coffee date eventually comes to a close, and the three scatter off on their separate ways. With her one and only romantic prospect having been nearly crushed, Apple headed back to her dorm with a cloudy heart. If someone else wanted Darling, she would not be the one to get in their way- that kind of behavior was just not her role. Snow White didn’t pursue, she delicately laid down as her Prince Charming came to her. Little details like these, Apple had to remain faithful to them. Her chauffeur carried her back to campus, where she would spend the next hour getting ready for the rest of the exhaustive first-day events to come.

Chapter 4

The week that followed was just as tiring as this day had been, packed full of queries and intrusions about love. Love, romance, partners, marriage, destinies, dances, appearances, reputations, expectations- the endless bombardment of her future refused to cease! Every friend, acquaintance, classmate, faculty member, and nosy fanboy took the time to insert themself into her daily routine for an impromptu interview, just dying to know every last detail of their future queen’s love life.

During study ball period in the middle of the week, our princess found her peaceful studying disturbed by a tap on the shoulder. Apple turned around with a polite smile. “What’s up?”

Behind her was Nina Thumbell, who sat there with an eager expression. A hexcited giggle escaped her as she twirled a lock of her platinum hair around her finger. “So… Who are you taking??”

Apple’s smile faltered. Of course she knew what Nina was referring to, but she had faced enough of these questions already this week. Not every interaction needed to be treated like a Blondie Lockes interview. “Who am I taking? Where?” she replied, feigning ignorance.

Nina rolled her eyes playfully. “Oh okay! Being secretive about it, are we?” She leaned forward on her desk, whispering to her. “You know!! The Lovers Legacy Ball.”

Unfortunately for Apple, Nina was not nearly quiet enough. A splintery face popped up from her books, looking with hexcitement at the mention of the ball. “Ooh, are we talking about the Lovers Legacy Ball??” Cedar Wood asked way too loud.

Apple quickly shushed the both of them, attempting to stop the series of events which she knew were about to ensue. “Quiet! Professor Rumpelstiltskin will have us spinning straw into gold all week if he hears you.”

Nina pointed behind Apple towards the front of the class, where their teacher was sleeping on the desk. “Look- See? We’re fine. Now spill the beanstalk, girl!”

“Wait, what is Apple spilling?” Cedar curiously asked.

“Who she’s taking to the ball!” Nina hexcitedly whispered, replying too quick for Apple to tell her to be quiet again.

Cedar gasped, holding her book up to her lips. “Apple knows who she’s bringing to the Lovers Legacy Ball??” Heads all around them began to perk up, curiously and not at all subtly listening in on the conversation.

“What- No?? I never said that!” Apple felt her cheeks begin to flush with embarrassment.

“Oh? What’s this about Apple’s date?” A set of glowing white teeth grinning ear-to-ear suddenly manifested in between Nina and Cedar’s desks, followed by the rest of Kitty Cheshire as she crouched in between them.

“We were just asking Apple who she was bringing to the Lovers Legacy Ball,” Nina said, looking down at Kitty.

With a mischievous purr, Kitty looked up to Apple. “Well, I am one curious cat! Do tell.” The others both turned their attention to Apple, ready to hear her answer.

Her face now the color of a gala apple, she took in a deep breath to stop herself from exploding. “My date to the ball is…” The three leaned in close. “…a secret!” Then, the entire class let out a groan of annoyance. “So you’ll just have to wait and see. Now if you’ll hexcuse me, I have to get back to my thronework.”

“But Apple!-“ Nina tried to interject, until a loud snore came from the front of the classroom, followed by a coughing fit as Professor Rumpelstiltskin sat up.

The whole class quickly silenced themselves and turned back to their books. Kitty teleported back into her seat across the room with a poof, shrinking in her chair in case the teacher caught a glimpse of her sparkles trail.

As Professor Rumpelstiltskin came to from his nap, he looked around the room to catch anyone slacking off. “Hrmm…” Grumbling, he got down from his chair and began making rounds through the rows of desks.

Resuming her thronework, Apple was internally cursing herself for the answer that she gave. ‘A secret?? Yeah, to everyone including me! Thank my fairy godmother that I don’t have Cedar’s story right now…’ Rumpelstiltskin passed by her desk, heading to the back of the classroom. Not long after, she heard a ‘psst’ next to her. She tried to ignore it, not particularly wanting to spend her weekends at the spinning wheel in the barn, but then it came again even louder. Apple huffed and looked over at who was trying to get her attention and whispered. “Can I help you??”

The littlest brother of the three billy goats Gruff was turned to Apple with a smug look on his face. “So, I hear you don’t have a date yet?”

“No, I said my date was a secret.” Apple glanced over her shoulder, worried about the teacher coming back around.

”Okay, well if your ‘secret date’ happens to bail… You know where to find me,” he said, shooting her a flirtatious wink.

Apple’s head whipped back around, making no acknowledgement of anything the littlest billy goat had said as she kept her eyes glued to her desk.

The littlest billy goat frowned. “Cold shoulder treatment, huh? Alright, I see how it is-“

”NO TALKING DURING CLASS!” Professor Rumpelstiltskin shouted right in his ear as he seemingly appeared from nowhere. “SATURDAY DETENTION!! You’ll be spinning straw into gold til sundown…” He cackled maniacally as he walked off back to his desk, leaving the littlest billy goat Gruff with half a heart attack and ruined weekend plans.

Finally, everyone stopped pestering Apple about her date. Though it didn’t quite matter, as she was too distraught over the entire debacle to focus on her thronework anymore. The rest of the study ball was spent sulking silently at her desk, and mentally preparing for another round of interrogations next period. This routinely went on as the week progressed, turning into borderline harassment at points. By the end of week one, Apple White was positively hexhausted.

Chapter 5

Having successfully avoided her free time being filled with her professors’ 18th century punishments, she could finally take a well-needed breather from the chaos that had been the week. That Saturday’s evening, Apple found herself in her dorm, working at her desk in peaceful solitude. The air was warm, and the sounds of late summer flooded the space as gentle breezes came in through the open window next to her. She had just about finished all of her thronework when an unhexpected knocking came at the door.

Groaning quietly, Apple pushed her chair out and stood. “One moment!” she shouted as she hopped over to the stairs. Her private suite, the south tower of the school, had 3 floors that were connected by a spiral staircase running straight down the middle. While most of the dorms in Ever After High’s castle were quite sizable compared to other boarding schools, senior suites such as this one were envied by even the faculty. Traditionally, these dorms were reserved for only the most notable royals.

Apple descended the stairs, stopping by her mirror before the door to ensure she was presentable. While she wouldn’t normally prefer to be seen in her loungewear, she assumed that one of her friends was visiting- and she wasn’t wrong! However, as the delicate scent of bluebells hit her when she opened the door, Apple wished she had been in a more presentable dress at that moment. “D-Darling??”

”Hey, Apple! Sorry, are you busy?” Darling Charming smiled down at Apple as she stood in the doorway, of course looking as elegant as ever.

More flustered than she should have been, it took Apple a moment to recollect herself before responding. “No! Not at all. I was just finishing my studying. How can I help you?” She smiled back, pleasantly surprised by this surprise visit.

“I just wanted to stop by, see how you’re doing. I’ve heard it’s been a kinda crazy week for you.” Darling leaned against the dorm frame, as if fully ready to let Apple unload all of her stresses onto her right here, right now.

Though flattered by this unprompted wellness check of sorts, Apple was embarrassed to hear that whatever gossip was floating around school had made its way to her crush. “Oh, how sweet of you, Darling! Would you…” Shyly, Apple stepped aside and opened the door fully for her. “Would you like to come in?”

Darling nodded, standing up straight and stepping in. Entering the base of the tower, which was furnished with velvet sofas and a large mirror screen for cozy lounging, she nearly gasped at the grandness of it all. “Sweet Grimm!! This is bigger than I imagined.” She wandered around the staircase, peeking her head over the railing and looking up to see how tall it went.

Apple giggled as she shut the door. “Follow me! You’ll love the view from the balcony.” She walked past Darling and led her up the stairs. They passed the second floor, where Apple’s study desk and bookshelves were kept, and made their way to the top of the tower. Here, on the final floor, the ceiling extended high up, leaving enough space for a dazzling chandelier in the middle. Flowering vines draped across the golden arms of the light fixture fell gently down in all directions, covering the walls and hanging in picturesque floral swoops. The space underneath all of these intricate details contained Apple’s bed, wardrobe, vanity, and other quaint storage spaces for her most essential possessions.

Apple led Darling over to the double glass doors positioned across from her bed, which were letting in the glow of the sunset on the horizon, lighting up the whole space. Together, they stepped out onto a small balcony of white marble which overlooked the courtyards of the school and beyond. Apple stepped aside to let Darling take in the full view. “Pretty enchanting, right?”

Darling walked over to the edge of the balcony in awe, her curls gently blowing back and forth with the warm breeze passing by. “Absolutely. You can see Book End from up here!” She leaned her elbows against the railing as she took in the view.

Tangerine and fuchsia rays of light hit against the tower as the sun descended beneath the skyline of Ever After. Apple moved next to Darling, leaning on the railing as well. The two princesses watched together in content silence. When the last glint of light finally slipped below the horizon, Apple blissfully sighed and turned to face Darling. “I should thank you for stopping by and pulling me away from my thronework. I would have missed that gorgeous sunset otherwise.”

Darling turned to face Apple with a smile. “Any time.” She held her gaze on Apple for a moment longer. The way she was looking at her made Apple self conscious- though not in the way she normally does when it comes to stares from others. This was different. She felt… admired.

Beginning to grow flustered once again, as she always seems to get when around Darling, Apple turned to look at the view as she spoke. “So… Was there anything you wanted to talk about? I think you mentioned you had, um, heard stuff about me?”

“Ah, nothing bad. All just fables, I’m sure.” Darling chuckled, also going back to looking off the balcony as they chatted. “But if any one person is being talked about, good or bad, it’s gotta be hexhausting.”

Apple was silent for a moment. “Yeah. Definitely not the start to this year that I was expecting.” She rested her head in her hand, a slight frown settling on her lips.

”Well, what’s it all about?” Of course, she knew exactly what all of the gossip was about, though she thought it best to not be so direct.

Apple was hesitant at first to talk about her current no-date-dilemma, especially considering the one she was talking to was unknowingly at the center of it all. But after a week of nothing but hesitation and tip-toeing around careful responses to overbearing questions, she was tired. “Everyone wants me to share who I’m bringing to the Lovers Legacy Ball this year. It’s not that bad, but being asked the same question a million times is getting quite old.”

Darling thought for a moment, as if she was debating on whether or not to say this. “So… why don’t you just answer them?”

”Because I don’t know who I’m bringing,” Apple said with shockingly little hesitation. So much so that it even startled herself. She immediately attempted to backtrack. “W- Well, that’s not to say that I don’t have any ideas! I’m just… not sure.”

Surprised, Darling turned to look at Apple. Her expression was turned in a confused yet humored manner. “Oh yeah? Well now I’m curious. Who are your ideas?” she asked with a teasing tone.

Internally, a grimoire’s worth of curses were running through Apple’s mind. “Oh! Ummm.. You know, some princes, some lords, a few knights…” She kept staring off the balcony, hoping to hide the uncertainty that was undoubtedly plastered over her expression.

“Hmm…” Darling also stayed faced forward, processing her words. After an uncomfy moment of silence, she decided on a bold next question. “But no princesses?”

“Wh-” Apple’s head whipped around now, looking at Darling, shocked.

Darling eyed her, awaiting a response.

Apple quickly looked away. “I mean… Snow White marries a prince, so…”

Darling frowned, letting this response also hang in the air for a short moment before speaking. “Snow White also wasn’t blonde.”

“Well-” Apple paused. This was a fact which she had of course considered, but she honestly could not justify her picking and choosing of which details mattered. She didn’t know what to say.

After another period of silence passed, this one a bit more painful than the last, Darling sighed quietly and spoke up. “I’m sorry, Apple. I don’t mean to be so abrasive. It’s just… I hate to see others so caught up in the details of their stories. It reminds me of the fact that my princesshood is contradictory to my destiny.”

Shocked at this sudden personal confession, Apple turned to look at Darling. “What?” she asked, genuinely confused. “Darling, how does being a princess go against your story?”

“I am the daughter of Prince Charming. There is no such thing as a “princess charming.” At least, not yet there’s not. As far as I know, I’m the first of my kind.” Darling speaks in a calm manner, though there is evident pain behind her words. “The way the story always goes explicitly involves a prince and a lady of some manner. Sure, I could play the role of the damsel in distress to try and fit the traditions, but the truth of the matter is that I am not a damsel. My destiny is to save the damsel! But…” She pauses, frustratedly sighing once more. “Perhaps these details really may just get in the way of my story.”

“No!” Apple suddenly bursts out, interjecting herself with such a passion that it takes Darling by surprise. “You’re the most valiant and courageous girl I know, Darling! To hear that you have any hesitation over your destiny sounds as mad as The Hatter, you’ve already more than proven yourself of being the next Prince Charming.”

Darling looked down at Apple, stunned by her fervor. To see her friend so passionate for her, she couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, Apple. That means a lot coming from you.”

Here comes the blush. “It’s just the truth. Whatever fairytale you join, whoever you end up saving, you’ll be the best princess charming there is.”

Again, Apple’s words left Darling delightfully flattered. However, her smile seemed to turn sad somewhere in the middle of her speech. “I do hope you’re right… Though, despite what I want, I fear I may not have any damsel to save.” She begins fidgeting with a strand of her curls, twirling it around her finger. “I also have no date to the ball.”

Apple’s eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, followed by a hopeful beating in her heart. “O- Oh? Really?” Right as always, C.A. Cupid. “I didn’t expect that.”

“I’m being totally nonfiction. Everyone expects me to be a delicate maiden when it comes to dating. Either that, or they’re to focused on the details of their stories to consider me…” She winds her hair as tight as she can around her finger before letting it jump from her grasp, unraveling in a burst of furious twirls as it cascades back down to her shoulder.

“Oh.” Apple watches Darling play with her hair, remembering how her own locks used to be before she cut them. As much as she liked her new hair, she dearly missed her enchantingly huge curls. “Darling…”

“It’s alright though- I get it. I’m quite an unconventional character, being a girl savior type and all.” She turned all the way around, leaning her back against the balcony’s banister now and resting her elbows there. Her eyes wandered around Apple’s room as she spoke, taking in the elaborate decor. “It makes sense that someone like me would struggle in this department. But, honestly, if you can’t find a date to the ball- we might all be hexed.”

Apple wanted to speak up. Now more than ever, she wanted to tell Darling how she really felt. Unfortunately, no matter which way she worded it in her mind, there was nothing that sounded just right. How does one who has been trained her whole life to do nothing more than lie dead and receive a kiss suddenly work up the nerve to confess her love? “I’m sorry, Darling.”

Looking back down at Apple, she raised a confused brow. “Sorry? What for? I was just kidding about the hexed comment-”

She chuckled and shook her head. “I’m not talking about that.” Apple joined Darling now in turning around and leaning against the banister as she spoke. “When I hear people say that these are our own stories, and we get to shape them how we want, it scares me. I want my story to go exactly like my mother’s, yet it seems like my pages are prematurely wrinkled sometimes. I mean, my Evil Queen is one of the least evil girls I know, and I’m obviously out of a Prince Charming at the moment. So I’ve been trying my best to follow every little detail, as if doing so will help get my story back on track.” Apple looks up to Darling now. “I hadn’t realized your destiny was being hindered because of this.”

As Darling listens, she can’t help but crack a smile at the end. “...You say that as if I’m a part of your story.”

Apple smiles as well, of course blushing more as she realizes this, too. “I mean this mindset in general. They’re right when they say our stories are ours. You’re not a man like Prince Charming, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have his story. In a way, you’re right for feeling like you go against your destiny- because you get to reshape it to fit you. But that fact is being denied by… well, by people like me. And it’s hurting you in the process.” She looks down now, feeling a bit ashamed admitting this.

Unhexpectedly, Apple feels a gentle pair of fingers touch the bottom of her chin, moving her head upwards to face her bluebell goddess. Darling is looking at her with an earnest gaze, having been struck by her words. “Apple, you are not the one hurting me. Nobody is hurting me, I didn’t mean to give you that impression.” Looking down at the petite princess, whose cheeks were as pink as the sky was minutes ago, Darling lets go of her and sighs, embarrassedly. “Oh, Grimm.. I came here to try and cheer you up! Making you worry about me is the last thing I wanted.”

Almost instinctively, Apple’s hands shoot forward and wrap themselves around Darling’s. Any time she got even the tiniest of tastings of her touch, she couldn’t help but try and prolong it. “Oh, Darling! You have more than cheered me up with your visit. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sour the mood so much. Let’s not end the day with such melodramatics. The ball and our destinies can wait. How about we do something fun?”

Smiling at Apple’s infectious enthusiasm, Darling holds her hands back and nods. “I agree, a distraction is what we both need right now. What do you suggest we do?”

“Hmm…” Apple looks around as she thinks of ideas. “It is almost dinner time.”

“Oh! I heard the castleteria is serving Little Jack Horner’s pies for dessert tonight,” Darling suggests with an enticing tone and hexcited smile.

Apple eagerly nods, practically dragging Darling to the stairs as soon as she heard ‘pie’ escape her lips. “Spelltastic! What are we waiting for??”

Now, full of rambunctious giggles and hungry appetites, the two princesses headed to the castleteria hand-in-hand. Though Apple hadn’t gotten any closer to finding a date to the Lovers Legacy Ball, sometimes a romantic sunset and a friendly chat is all one needs to feel better about their worries. However, the chat had brewed up an entirely new feeling in Apple. She wanted Darling, and she didn’t know how to get her. Everything she had ever wanted before came instantly on a golden tray, hand delivered by one of her mother’s hundreds of dwarf workers. Not only that, nothing she had ever wanted went against the details of her story in any way. The thought of marrying a princess was frightening on a multitude of levels, it felt like she would betray her destiny. Yet this type of fear was why nobody ever considered Darling for their stories. With so much dissonance in her mind, Apple needed another talk with the one girl who was better than anyone at rebelling against destiny.

Chapter 6

Back in Apple’s tower again, Raven Queen has been invited over after classes for some afternoon tea. The two sat together on the first floor, sharing the loveseat by the window. The curtains were tied back, and the glass panes were pushed open to let the pleasant late summer air fill the room.

Placed on a little glass coffee table next to them was a tray of tea cups and sandwiches, yet neither girl seemed to touch the display. Raven sat criss-crossed on the couch, intently listening to Apple talk. “...So we ran off to grab dinner together, and it was like I didn’t even have to worry about the ball anymore. How it even possible to have all of your problems whisked away by just being in the presence of someone! Fairy godmother, she’s just too good to be true.”

An amused smile grew on Raven’s lips. She had never seen her friend so lovestruck before. “Wow, Apple. You really think Darling is the one?”

“How could she not be?” she spouted. “She’s a Charming, she’s strong, she’s gorgeous, she’s so dreamy, she fears nothing, she’s beautiful-”

“Do you think Darling’s pretty? I can’t tell,” Raven teased.

“AND!” Apple interjected, ignoring Raven’s teasing. “She can wake me from a slumber spell. Remember Legacy Year? Logically speaking, she meets all the requirements and more.”

Raven thought back. “Huh, you’re right..”

She nodded enthusiastically. “I know I’m right. She’s the one.”

“...Then why haven’t you asked her out?”

Apple pauses, a beat of anxiety passing through her before she speaks again. “Because… what if I’m actually wrong…”

Hexhaustedly, Raven rolls her eyes. “Apple, do you hear yourself?”

“I know,” she whines, holding her hands to her head in upset.

“For a future queen, you really are too afraid of rejection.” Raven uncrosses her legs and leans over to the side, grabbing one of the tea sandwiches from the table.

“It’s not the rejection that scares me,” Apple responds, then thinking about it briefly. “Well, that’s not to say rejection doesn’t scare me at all. But that’s not what I’m worried about!”

“Okay, then what’s really holding you back?” Raven asks as she takes a bite of the sandwich.

“What if Darling isn’t my princess charming, and us being together derails our stories! Mine, and whoever else’s she is meant to be apart of.”

Raven slowly finishes chewing her bite of sandwich, looking at Apple with a raised brow. “Do I need to remind you yet again that I do not intend on poisoning you?”

Apple giggles, rolling her eyes a little at what used to make her so upset. “Of course not.”

“Then I don’t get it,” Raven says. “You know that your story is basically already derailed. Why care about if Darling really is your princess charming or not?”

She shrugs. Apple does indeed recognize how it doesn’t entirely make sense. “Maybe I’m just in denial of that fact, but doing what’s in my control is comforting. If I can’t control you, I can still control things like my appearance, my actions, and hopefully who I end up with. I still want the same happily ever after as my mother. It’s what I have grown to expect.”

Raven nods. While this isn’t the first time the two of them had had a talk like this, and it most certainly would not be the last, she felt that they really gained a better understanding of each other each time. And as someone so adamant about others choosing their own destiny, Raven admired Apple’s commitment to her choice. “While I will say that you are most definitely in denial,” she says, obviously teasing her. “I think your story is going to go the same regardless of who you date.”

“How?” Apple tilts her head slightly in confusion. “I feel like in the case of princesses who need to be woken from a spell, there are very definite right and wrong options for us. Only so many people have that ability.”

“Which Darling does! As we’ve established. But anyways, if you do end up getting poisoned and Darling for some reason can’t wake you twice, then you’ll just stay poisoned until somebody else comes along who can.” Raven takes another bite of her sandwich, talking while she chews. “Either that or you die.”

“Raven! That’s horrible,” Apple cried, holding her chest in fear at the thought.

Raven cackled, finishing her bite again. “Yup. So you might as well get your gorgeous knight while you’re still breathing. Our stories will go how they go, and there is some stuff we just don’t have control over. Who knows, maybe one day I will spontaneously turn wicked and decide to play my part. For now, I’m just doing what feels right. You should, too.”

Though a bit frightened now, Apple understood what Raven was trying to say. “I suppose… But there’s still one other problem!”

“Which is?” Raven finished off her sandwich, ready to hear whatever Apple’s next hexcuse was.

“...What if she doesn’t like me…”

Another sassy eye roll from her grim friend. “She likes you.”

“What?? How could you possibly know that,” she exclaims, already feeling her face growing hot at such a possibility.

“You told me, and I quote, “When I told her about how I didn’t have a date to the ball, she asked me if I liked princesses.” And later you said, “She grabbed my chin to turn my head, and her touch was so delicate yet strong at the same time. I could have puked butterflies.” Does any of that sound even remotely like something a friend would do?” she asks in her most snarky tone.

Apple’s cheeks were scarlet with embarrassment and adorned with a shy smile. “Well… When you put it like that…”

Raven giggles seeing Apple so flustered. “Exactly. I’d be quite surprised if she wasn’t trying to drop hints that she likes you.”

“What should I do? I’ve never been so charmed before...” Anxious with the possibilities floating through her mind, Apple curls her legs up on the couch and hugs her knees to her chest.

“Ask Darling on a date!” As the words escaped Raven’s mouth, she swore she could see Apple’s soul begin to ascend from her body. “...Oh come on, it can’t be that scary.”

“It so can be! You know I’ve never dated before,” she hexclaimed as she hugged her knees tighter.

“Then how about you just ask her to hang out? As friends. Knowing Darling’s nature, she’ll probably end up asking you out anyways. Just do what you do best and be an enchanting princess with woodland creatures for friends, it’ll draw her right in.”

Apple laughed, and felt the stress begin to alleviate. “That sounds much more up my alley. Thank you, Raven.”

Nodding, Raven leaned over to the tray on the coffee table again, this time grabbing a sandwich for both her and Apple. “Anytime. By the way, how did Professor Nimble’s test go today? Maddie told me it was a real dethroner,” she said as she handed Apple a sandwich.

As Apple’s stresses died down, the two finally got to having a proper afternoon tea. They spent the time continuing to chat and indulge each other about the week’s activities. However, with Raven’s suggestions fluttering about in Apple’s mind, she couldn’t help but be filled with a sense of eager anticipation, hexcited for the next encounter she would have with her future princess charming.

Chapter 7

A fortnight later, and Apple had found herself thoroughly entrenched in her crush on Darling. Having followed through on Raven’s advice, she asked Darling one day if she would like to eat lunch together. From that point on, what was intended to be a one-off lunch date turned into them eating together quite regularly. The two of them had practically ditched the castleteria tables they had been loyal to since Freedom Year for each other.

On a pleasantly sunny afternoon, the girls had found a spot to sit at a lovely three tiered fountain with a wide pool at the base, located in one of the school’s many enchanting courtyards. They perched themselves atop the white marble ledge surrounding the fountain’s pool, setting their lunch trays on their laps. The sun twinkled on the reflection of the running water beneath them, reflecting onto the tall garden hedges surrounding the courtyard. Though the air had begun to cool as autumn crept its way across the kingdom, the flora planted around the school was still as lush and blooming as ever- and so was the relationship between these two girls.

Apple delicately smoothed the ruffles of her skirt as she sat down, being careful as to not get any part of her ensemble wet. “What a lovely spot! I can’t believe I’ve never thought to sit out here before,” she exclaimed as she admired the scenery.

Darling sat herself right next to her, letting her lungs swell with the fresh air as a gentle breeze jostled her curls over her shoulders. “Nice, isn’t it? This is where I usually come to cool down after sparring practice.” Lunch tray resting on her thighs, Darling picks up her fork and begins mixing her salad around. “Sometimes, on particularly breezy days, you can stand in the path of the fountain’s mist. It’s fairy refreshing.”

As Apple also began pecking at her food, her mind unintentionally wandered to the thought of post-sparring Darling. In uniform, flexed muscles, glistening in a thin layer of sweat from the workout… Getting a bit flustered at her own imagination, she tried to focus on the conversation. “I’m flattered you decided to share this spot with me!”

“Of course. The fairest of them all deserves to enjoy the finest nooks in the courtyard!” Darling jokes in an overly formal tone of voice. She smiles down at Apple with a wink before taking a bite of her salad.

Giggling, Apple’s eyes can’t help but be drawn to Darling’s arm as she raises her fork to her mouth. From a simple glance, Darling’s frame appears to be that of a typical thin woman. However, the moment her muscles are engaged, her physique transforms into that of a proper sword-wielding heroine. Subtly flexing from under a short sleeved blouse, Darling’s beautifully toned biceps are all Apple can look at.

Her arm eventually goes back to her side, but as Darling chews her bite of salad, she feels Apple’s intense gaze on her still. “...Are you going to eat, Apple?”

Finally, she snaps back to reality. “Ah! Yes, sorry. Just… spacing out,” she lies as she picks up her sandwich.

Darling chuckles, continuing to eat. Chirps of songbirds in the trees nearby fill the space, accompanying the trickling of the fountain water and rustling of leaves in the garden. Together, the two enjoy the serenity of the courtyard as they eat their lunch… At least, that’s what Darling thought they would be doing. She soon felt Apple’s eyes on her yet again. Nervously, she looked back over at the wide eyed princess. “...Wh- What’s up?”

“You’re really pretty, Darling.” Apple’s voice was quiet, but sincere.

A shade akin to cherry blossoms suddenly spreads across Darling’s cheeks. What an ironic thing, to catch a knight off her guard. “Oh! Why, thank you. You also are really pretty,” she responded, a clear hint of fluster in her words.

Apple gave an endearing little smile, taking another bite of her sandwich. Finally, she stopped ogling Darling and turned to appreciate the courtyard’s beauty.

Darling, on the other hand, was now the one staring at Apple. She wasn’t used to such compliments. How was she to just go back to eating? “What makes you say that? If I may ask.”

She swallows her bite and turns back to her. “Can’t a girl compliment a friend?”

“That… felt like more than just a friend compliment,” Darling says with a chuckle. They both get quiet now. Holding eye contact, waiting for one of them to speak up.

Internally, Apple feels her cauldron of nerves begin to bubble. She thought she could get away with one little flirtatious comment, Darling calling her out for it was the last thing she expected. The tension now created was too much for her to handle, she felt like she was about to get up and run away.

After their staring contest had gone on long enough, Darling opens her mouth to say something. Whether unfortunately or not, the words never get the chance to leave her, as a pair of rosy cousins suddenly enter the courtyard to interrupt their lunch.

“There you are! Apple, I’ve been looking all over for you,” Briar Beauty exclaims as she walks over to the fountain. She lifts up her sunglasses, setting them atop her head to get a better look at the two girls eating together. “Turn your MirrorPhone on, I’ve sent you, like, a bajillion hexts.”

Rosabella walks up next to her cousin, giving Darling a wave. “Enjoying the nice weather?”

“Hey, girls! We certainly are.” Darling says with a smile. “Care to join us?”

Apple, who has been scrambling to check her MirrorPhone, looks up sheepishly at the two of them. “Yes! Please, sit with us.” Though normally she would be sad to have her alone time with Darling interrupted, she is thankful to have that awkward moment from before written over.

Briar takes a seat next to Apple, and Rosabella next to Darling. Taking out her MirrorPhone, Briar pulls up a hexsite and shows it to Apple. “Fall is so here! The Beanstalk Bakery is adding the Pumpkin Carriage Latte to their menu next week.” Briar leans forward to look at the other girls, too. “We should totes all go together.”

“Ooh, that sounds hexcellent!” Darling exclaimed. She turned to look at the brunette beside her. “Rosabella, isn’t that one of your favorite drinks?”

Eagerly, Rosabella nodded. “Yes!! Personally, I like the way Hocus Latte makes it better than Beanstalk Bakery. But I’m still fairy hexcited!”

Darling giggled at her roommate’s enthusiasm over the autumnal drink. “I remember during Freedom Year, you would have a Pumpkin Carriage Latte in hand at all times.”

“Her addiction has not gotten much better- trust me,” Briar joked from the other end of the ledge.

“I can’t help it! They’re so sweet and delicious.” Rosabella clasped her hands together, smiling wide as she fantasized about her favorite drink.

Briar and Darling both laughed at Rosabella’s obsession, continuing to tease her. However, Apple mostly stayed silent. While the rest of the lunch went by fine, Rosabella felt the familiar unease she had been getting lately whenever she and Apple interacted. It was a subtle discomfort, one where she couldn’t decipher the reason behind it, but always felt as if she had done something wrong.

Chapter 8

The lunch dates like these continued, and so did Apple’s attempt at getting closer to Darling. At any given opportunity, she would attempt to slip in a flirtatious compliment or gesture, and Darling would never be subtle about pointing it out. They became accustomed to this way of flirting, and it was clearer than Cinderella’s slipper how they both felt about each other. Apple was certain Darling wanted her back, but she still couldn’t work up the nerve to ask her out.

During her lunch period one day, Apple headed out to the courtyard to find Darling. Ready to enjoy another meal with her, lunch tray in hands, Apple suddenly stopped as her eyes locked onto somebody sitting by Darling at their fountain spot.

It was a boy, but not one Apple instantly recognized. He had jet black hair, teeming with vibrant streaks of red. Had he been in his typical uniform, that being a bright red suit of knight armor, perhaps she would have remembered who this was. It was not until she watched him reach for Darling’s hair, brushing it out of her face in a loving caress of her cheek, that it finally clicked for Apple. But by the time it had, she was already turned and sprinting away, fleeing the scene before either of them could see the tears beginning to fall onto her food.

Chapter 9

Rosabella Beauty had just finished her lunch when a peculiar sight caught her eye. She was leaving the castleteria, and all of a sudden a tiny chipmunk scurried around her heels and down the hall. “Whoa! What the-“ She watched as it rounded a corner, followed by a pair of white doves flying in through the window and following where the chipmunk was heading. “Animals? Inside the school?” As an animal lover and protector, Rosabella had to know where these woodland friends were all going.

She followed the trail of creatures through the hallways, leading further into the desolate sections of Ever After High’s castle. Eventually, a soft sobbing began to echo in the corridor. Rosabella started to piece the clues together. There were only so many princesses at this school who attracted animals to them when they cried. The options ran through her head, but she didn’t need to ponder them for long, as when she entered a classroom filled with forest friends of all sizes, her eyes of course landed on Apple White.

The weeping girl had her head on the desk, arms wrapped around her face as her back rose and fell with her cries. Surrounding her were what seemed to be at least half of the Enchanted Forest’s inhabitants, comforting the distressed princess. A white rabbit sat in front of Apple on the desk, nuzzling her golden hair. By her right foot was a cuddly raccoon, and by her left, a flock of little ducklings. On the next desk over was a lunch tray full of food, which a team of squirrels and robins were pecking away at. Perched on her shoulders were the white doves Rosabella had watched fly in moments before, and playing in her hair were a trio of field mice. Foxes, bear cubs, wolf pups, badgers, sparrows, and other animals of all sizes were surrounding Apple.

Just when Rosabella thought the room couldn’t get any more full, she had to jump out of the way after being shoved by a doe as tall as her. “Sweet Grimm…” she muttered to herself. Apple still had yet to notice that a bipedal creature had entered the classroom, and for a brief moment Rosabella contemplated just leaving, pretend like she never saw this. But she couldn’t just leave Apple like this, it wouldn’t be right.

Rosabella stepped further into the classroom, cautiously walking around little animals. When she was close enough, she gently spoke up. “Uhm… Hey, Apple. Are you okay?”

Through sniffles and tears, Apple lifted her head to look at Rosabella. Despite it being no use, she made an attempt to wipe her eyes dry with her wrist. “O- Oh! Hi, Rosabella…” Just spelltastic. Of course she had to be discovered by Darling’s roommate.

Rosabella frowned, seeing how hard Apple had been crying. “What’s got you so unfairest?” Again, she carefully tiptoed her way around the woodland creatures and over to a desk next to Apple. She gently shooed away a pair of opossums on the seat and sat down.

“Uh… It- It’s nothing important…” Carefully sitting up to not send any of her furry or winged friends flying, Apple takes in a few deep breathes. She leaves her hands on the table, and the little rabbit finds its way in between them to get some pets.

“Nothing important?” Rosabella almost chuckles, looking around the chaos of the room. “Your furry friends would argue otherwise. Don’t be so modest, talk to me.”

Mindlessly petting the soft, white fur of the rabbit, Apple hesitates to say anything. “Well… I’m not exactly sure if I can talk about it with you…”

Silence falls over the conversation. It takes Rosabella a moment to form her words, but as she does, her frown of sympathy contorts into one of annoyance. “Fine. Be like that.”

Before Apple can process what she said, Rosabella is getting up from her seat and making her way to the door. “W- Wait! What?? Rosabella, what did I say!” Apple stands as well, sending animals scattering off of her. They create a path for her to walk over.

“You don’t wanna talk to me. It’s okay, I get it. You obviously don’t like me, I don’t know why I even offered to listen in the first place.” Whether intentionally or not, by clearing a walkway for Apple, the woodland creatures had moved right in front of Rosabella, blocking her way out.

“No, no! That’s not at all what I meant,” Apple cried as she tried to stop Rosabella from leaving, her voice breaking as more tears threatened to fall. “You- You think I don’t like you?”

Now even more annoyed at being unable to move through the sea of critters, Rosabella stopped and looked to Apple. “Yeah. I feel like you’re mad at me over Daring…” Speaking her innermost thoughts into existence, Rosabella’s face began to flush as the words came out.

Apple’s heart sunk, hearing her worst fear when it came to Rosabella being affirmed. It took her a moment of stunned silence and hitched breathes to come up with an answer. “...I’m sorry, Rosabella. I never wanted you to feel that way. It’s just not true.”

“Then what’s so awkward between us all the time??” She puts her hands on her hips. They’ve already opened the door, might as well go all in. “If you’re really not mad at me, how come I always feel like I’m guilty of taking something from you whenever we talk?”

“It’s… It’s not about Daring…” Her lip quivers, remembering why she was crying in the first place. A little blue bird flies over and lands on Apple’s head, but she waves it away.

“Then what is it about! What did I do to you??”

“You did nothing!” Unable to control her emotions, the tears well up again in Apple’s eyes. Uncomfortable and vulnerable, she wraps her arms around herself and looks down. “It’s about… D- Darling!” She bursts, covering her face as she begins to weep again. The animals get worked up again at Apple’s distress.

Watching her explode into tears, Rosabella is completely taken aback. “Darling? Really?” Now more confused than upset, she quickly grows anxious just standing there while Apple cries. “Sit back down. Take some deep breathes…” Rosabella navigates around the animals once more, taking Apple’s shoulders and guiding her to a desk.

Doing as she says, Apple takes in a few shaky breathes. A little chickadee flies over with a silk handkerchief in its beak. Rosabella takes it from the bird and hands it to Apple. “Th- Thank you,” she says before blowing into it. The forest critters begin to reassemble around the two girls, resuming their cuddly comfort routine.

Rosabella pulls a chair over next to where she sat Apple, taking her own seat. A brown bear cub crawls its way over to her feet, looking up with pleading eyes. Unable to resist the cuteness temptation, she bends down and picks him up, placing the cub on her lap. “What’s going on, Apple? You’re mad at me because of Darling?”

“No! Never once have I been mad at you, Rosabella.” She tries to calm down again, looking at her with puffy eyes. “I’m truly sorry to have made you feel this way. You’ve done nothing to deserve this. You’re a wonderful girl- and I think you and Daring are perfect for one another!”

Rosabella scratches the head of the bear cub as she listens. Her brows furrow in even more confusion. “Well… Thank you, I suppose. That still doesn’t explain what Darling has to do with it,” she pointed out. A part of her still didn’t fully believe what she was saying.

“I believe… the reason you think I’m mad at you… is because…” Apple hesitated, scared to be admitting this. “I’m jealous of you and Darling!” she blurted out.

Again, not what Rosabella was expecting to hear. “What…? Why would you be-”

“I like her,” Apple said, cutting her off. “I really, really like her! And I’ve always wished I was as close with Darling as you are with her.” She wiped her eyes once more, meeting Rosabella’s gaze with the most sincerity she could give. “I’m sorry for ever coming across as rude to you because of this, it’s truly disenchanting of me.”

Though completely caught off guard, Rosabella smiles in a mix of disbelief and amusement. “That… makes a lot of sense… You know what, apology accepted. Thanks, Apple.” The little bear in her lap lets out a tiny growl of approvement, nuzzling its head into her hand. She giggles, giving it more pets. “Since we’ve finally cleared the air, can you tell me what’s upsetting you?”

“Ah, right.” She had almost forgotten. “Well… I was really beginning to think that I had a shot with Darling. She made it seem like she liked me. But just now, outside…” Her emotions come rushing back, but she tries to keep the tears from starting for the third time. “...I saw her sitting with Chase Redford.”

Rosabella’s face instantly scrunched up, cringing at that name. “Are you nonfiction? He actually came here to see her?”

Apple nodded. She instantly noticed the reaction from Rosabella, and it didn’t help how she felt about the situation. “Yeah. He and Darling were sitting at our spot on the fountain. They were talking, and then it looked like he was going to kiss her! I couldn’t watch, so I ran away.” Her bunny friend comes back over and hops onto her lap for support. “I’ve been too scared to ask her out, and because of it, I may never get the chance now…”

“Ooh boy…” Rosabella cringes even harder. “Chase has been trying to woo Darling for forever after, but she’s not into him at all.”

“Oh?” She looks up at her, hugging the bunny in her arms.

“Yeah. You have nothing to worry about, Apple. Chase Redford is most certainly not your competition when it comes to Darling. And neither am I,” Rosabella says with a laugh. She stands now, setting the bear cub at her feat. “So, was that all you were crying about?”

Apple nods, watching as she stood. “Mhm. But I feel much better now. Thank you, Rosabella!”

“Ah… Yeah, anytime…” She gives Apple a weird look. These damsel-in-distress types were eternally confusing to her, she didn’t understand what Darling saw in them. “How about we get your friends back outside? Last time Baba Yaga caught me sneaking animals around the school, I had to stay after class and sweep the dragon stables.”

“Right! Come on, everyone! Out you go now.” Apple stands, still holding the bunny, and all of the woodland animals begin scurrying out of the door and windows.

Rosabella watches in astonishment at how obedient they all are. “Wow! That was quick.”

Walking to the door herself now, Apple shrugs. “It’s easy when you can talk to them. I’m going to bring this baby back to her hollow. It’s her nap time.” The little bunny in her arms yawns as she says this. Giggling, she looks back to Rosabella. “Want to come with? It’s only a quick walk through the Enchanted Forest.”

She shakes her head, also walking to the door. “I’ve got class soon, but thanks for the offer.” Together, they walk down the hall and back into the main area of the castle. “I must say, it feels good to finally talk things out. You really mean it when you say Daring and I are right for each other?”

“Of course!” Apple says as she gives her bunny pets. “I think you make a spelltacular couple. And you’ve really done some work on him. I haven’t seen Daring with his face buried in a mirror in quite some time now.”

Rosabella laughs. “Trust me, it wasn’t easy. He was a real beast to tame.”

Eventually, Apple reaches the castle door, and she and Rosabella part ways. Heading down into the Enchanted Forest, she doesn’t see Darling or Chase by the fountain as she passes by. With what Rosabella told her about the two, Apple felt her sorrow from before wash away. She still had a chance, and little did she know it, but those chances were much higher than she thought.

Chapter 10

“There you go, sweetie.” Apple was on the forest floor, gently placing her bunny friend in its hollow. It hopped into the soft grassy hole, where its many siblings lay curled up against one another. The mama bunny sat outside of their home, watching as her children settled down for their mid-afternoon nap. When they were all in, she looked to Apple and nodded thanks. “You’re very welcome, Mrs. Hopps! Have a good day,” she said with a wave.

Suddenly, the mama bunny jumped up at something she saw, and ran down into the hollow with her children in fright. Apple was fairy confused, until the scent of bluebells hit her. “Apple! I missed you at lunch,” Darling said as she approached from the walking path.

Apple turned around, a coy smile on her face. “How did you find me out here?”

Darling reached a hand out, offering to help Apple up off the ground. “I saw Rosabella in the halls, she knew you were out here for some reason.”

Bashfully grabbing Darling’s hand, she stood and then brushed the dirt off her knees. “Oh, yeah! We were just talking.”

“What about?” She smiles down at Apple, happy to hear about her friends getting along.

‘You,’ Apple thought to herself. “Nothing important. Anyways, I’m sorry I didn’t join you for lunch. I saw you with someone and didn’t want to interrupt.” She debated on asking about how her talk with Chase went, but it turns out she didn’t have to.

Darling sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah, that was Chase. He’s an old friend from Wonderland. You two might have met before?”

Apple feigns ignorance and acts like she hadn’t known who he was all along. “Ooh! Yes, I know him. He came a long way to visit.” Curiosity prodded at her. She had to know. “...What did you two talk about?”

“Actually,” Darling said with a shy smile. “That’s what I came to tell you.”

At that moment, Apple felt like she had been hexed. “R- Really?” What was Darling about to say?? Did Chase ask her out like Cupid predicted? What if she said yes?

“Yeah. He had come to ask me if I would like to go out with him.” Right again, Cupid. Before Apple had the chance to freak out, Darling continued speaking. “Unfortunately, I had to let him know that someone else already had my heart.”

Something in the air suddenly seemed to turn serene. This was not what she had expected. Apple felt her heartbeat fasten in anticipation. “I see… And who is this lucky someone?”

Darling took a step closer to Apple, moving with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they want. “Who else could it be other than the fairest girl in the land?”

Her cheeks darkened, and a smile couldn’t help itself but find its way onto her face. “Darling…” Would it be inappropriate to describe this moment as something out of a fairytale? Because as the sunlight twinkled through the mystical trees of the Enchanted Forest, and as Apple’s knight in shining armor moved in to wrap her hand around her waist, it felt nothing short of the most spellbinding love story ever written.

“The very thought of being with anyone other than you is unfathomable, and Chase’s confession helped me realize that. No one else makes me feel both strong and beautiful at the same time. When we’re together, it’s like I’m finally seen for who I truly am.” Acting on her truest heart’s desires, every word Darling said was pulled straight from her soul. “I can’t see a version of my happily ever after without you in it.”

“Oh, Darling!” Apple returns the embrace, putting an arm around Darling’s waist as well. No confession of love she had ever received before could top this one, coming from the only girl she knew with a heart pure as gold.

“Please, Apple. Say you’ll be mine.” Darling puts a hand on her chin, her thumb gently brushing once over Apple’s cherry red lips. “I’d kiss you awake a thousand times more just to be with you.”

Shivers run down her spine. “...Then go ahead,” she says as she closes her eyes.

After yearning for this moment, imagining it countless times before, Darling leans in and lays a kiss so passionate on her fair maiden’s lips, it could evaporate a witch’s strongest poison in an instant. In fact, it was a kiss so strong, so sweet, it sunk deep into Apple’s mind and destroyed any and all doubts she had ever had about her love for Darling. From the branches of the Enchanted Forest swooped down a pair of white doves, singing their heartfelt song as they danced and flew in the air around the two real lovebirds. Though most certainly a tale as old as time, these two princesses had introduced to the Realm of Ever After a love so special, so new, that it would forever change the very meaning of the word amongst fairytale beings of all kinds. Proving that these truly were their own stories to write, the newest iteration of Snow White was set out to be the most idyllic and beautifully sapphic version yet.

End of Part 1.

Thank you so much for reading!

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wonderful-prompts · 3 days ago

Text

The Build-Your-Own Prompt Shuffle!

From the public domain book Telling Fortunes by Cards (pub. 1914, available from Project Gutenberg). As these were lifted wholesale from a book of dubious origins from 110 years ago, some insinuations made with this text may cause offense or irritate one's senses. This text was likely written for upper-class New Yorkers of that time, dabbling in "fortune-telling" as a party game or parlor trick.*

To build your own prompt, find a deck of standard playing cards**, shuffle, and draw 3 or more cards. Then, read the corresponding meanings for the card(s) as listed below.

For more elements to the story, choose more cards, or draw more as necessary. For fewer, choose fewer.

For specific plot devices:

Diamonds in this deck are supposed to mean "money, riches, and success."

Hearts are "love affairs, friendship, amusement and pleasure."

Clubs are "business matters, whether investments, appointments or settlements."

Spades are "losses and grief, trouble and anxiety, sometimes sickness and death."

Other Notes

If a Jack is drawn from the deck without an accompanying King/Queen, it's probably a good idea to draw more cards until you get a King/Queen (or just choose a King/Queen from the lineup that interests you).

Additionally, the words "dark" or "fair" as used within the context of this time period (and presumed target audience) may refer to hair color or disposition.

Threes are time periods, which may help with timeline planning for certain events within a story, but can be removed if unnecessary.

Diamonds ♦️

Ace—An offer or a ring.

King—A fair man, a military man, or a diplomatist.

Queen—A fair woman, fond of pleasure and amusement.

Jack—The thoughts of either king or queen.

Ten—A legacy or property.

Nine—A good surprise about money.

Eight—Meetings about money matters.

Seven—A check or paper money; sometimes scandal.

Six—An offer of some kind, generally to do with money matters.

Five—Health, wealth and happiness.

Four—A short journey.

Three—Time, within three to four weeks.

Two—A secret or something unexpected.

Hearts ♥️

Ace—The house.

King—A rather fair man in society; sometimes a sailor.

Queen—A fair woman in society, but kind and good natured.

Jack—Thoughts of either king or queen.

Ten—An entertainment or festivity.

Nine—Great happiness and the wish card.

Eight—Love making or friendship.

Seven—A puzzle or indecision, doubt.

Six—Love affairs, sometimes an offer.

Five—Marriage, sometimes a new admirer.

Four—A small invitation, such as a dinner or evening party.

Three—Time, within a week.

Two—Kisses or trifling present.

Clubs ♣️

Ace—A letter.

King—A clever dark man, often a professional man, or in business.

Queen—A clever, amusing woman, sometimes a little satirical.

Jack—Thoughts of king or queen.

Ten—A new appointment, investment or settlement.

Nine—Relates to documents, papers, often a will.

Eight—A journey by road or vehicle.

Seven—A warning or unprofitable business.

Six—A very poor business offer or else money borrowed.

Five—News, either from the country or some one coming therefrom.

Four—A journey by land on business.

Three—Time, three to four months.

Spades ♠️

Ace—Spite, death, or worry; sometimes a large town.

King—A lawyer, widower or old man; a very dark man.

Queen—A very dark woman, a widow; a spiteful, malicious woman.

Jack—Thoughts of king or queen.

Ten—At night-time, imprisonment.

Nine—Grief, suffering, malice, and, with other black cards, death.

Eight—Across water, sometimes treachery.

Seven—Poverty, anxiety and annoyance.

Six—Delay, or a bad character.

Five—Temper, anger and quarrels.

Four—Sickness, sometimes a journey caused through sickness.

Three—By the water, or a very short journey across water.

Two—Tears and vexation, sometimes a removal.

End Notes:

* : This is pure speculation. Feel free to refute me once you've gotten the book!

** : If you can't find a physical deck of playing cards, there are playing card randomizers available for free online.

#writing prompts #writing prompt #prompt #prompts #prompt list #wonderful prompts #long post

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batsplat · 1 year ago

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always am obsessed with motorsport champions that decide to run the number 1 plate vs those who’ve stuck with their number. because it reveals so much of each of their inner philosophies, whether they are deeply superstitious, or seek a tangible everyday proof of their victory, or concerned with branding/legacies, or trampling the inner critic that believed deep inside of them that they were cut out to be a champion. just so interesting to parse through possible motivations

you're so right anon!!

of course, a big part of it is historical context... you can't really disentangle the choice of whether to run the number one plate or not from the era within which they made said choice. until fairly recently, it was entirely the norm to pick the number one plate - and beyond that, even those who didn't finish in first tended to just adopt the number that represented the place they had finished in during the previous year's championship. so for instance in 1987, gardner was first, mamola second, lawson third, haslam fourth, macckenzie fifth, and so on. in 1988, gardner ran the number 1 plate... mamola 2, lawson 3, haslam 4, mackenzie 5, etc etc. the only champion who broke with tradition was british racer barry sheene (500cc champion in 1976 and 1977), known for being a rebel - and even the styling of his iconic number 7 was apparently a wee bit controversial:

sheene stuck with the 7 both after his formula 750 title and then after his two 500cc titles:

there's some ways in which sheene is kinda the prototype of the modern rider, and he was the first to reap the benefits of having a distinctive number associated with him

in the eighties and nineties, it was all back to number one plates - but then of course another rider decided to break with tradition

incidentally, the generally purported story for why valentino took the number 46 is that it was his father's number. if his autobiography is to be believed, the truth is a little different:

I am Valentino. Graziano chose that name for me because he wanted to honour the memory of his best friend, who drowned at sea, near Pesaro, at the age of eighteen. The fact that St Valentine's Day is just two days before my birthday was also a reason. Number 46 originated when I raced minibikes. I was on a team with two kids from Gatteo a Mare, Marco and Maurizio Pagano. They are the brothers who lent me the Aprilia 125, which I used for my debut at Misano. All three of us had number 46 because we raced in three different categories. They too loved Japan and Japanese riders. One day we were mesmerised by a wild-card entrant at the Japanese Grand Prix who pulled off the most amazing tricks and seemed to have no fear whatsoever. He was number 46. And from that day on, so were we. For me, that lasted until I moved up to the Italian championship and, later, the European series. But when I finally made it to the world championship, I was asked to choose a number. I discovered that 46 was Graziano’s number when he won his first Grand Prix on a Morbidelli 250cc, back in 1979. Which was the year I was born. That’s why I decided that I, too, would be number 46. For me that number represents my career and, partly, my life. It certainly symbolises my massive, incredible, adventure.

so valentino was only the second premier class rider who stuck with his number. the norm of just following the previous year's standings to choose your number was kinda starting to die out in the late nineties anyway. by 2002, when valentino was defending his title for the first time, if you look down the list it's basically personal numbers all the way. still, valentino was the one to break tradition for champions - the first to do so in a couple of decades. valentino did also know sheene personally as a result of the link through his father, who was a friend of sheene's and had raced him:

^valentino with sheene, valentino wearing a tribute helmet with the iconic '7' on it after sheene's passing (also with the rainbow helmet colours and the word 'pace' or 'peace' on the back during the 2003 invasion of iraq), and valentino's 2005 championship celebrations for his seventh title, his shirt again featuring sheene's seven

hayden didn't follow valentino's example and instead went for the number one plate in 2007. casey made the same choice for the 2008 season, then jorge in 2011... so for a hot moment it really did look like valentino had been just another blip. if anything, the trend was going the other way, with a couple of high profile instances of riders who hadn't won the title rejecting their established numbers:

this particular trend didn't catch on, and from 2010 onward dani decided to just stick with the 26. because all the non-valentino aliens just couldn't stop faffing about with their numbers, 2010 is the only year in which all four aliens are actually concurrently running the numbers we most commonly associate them with

then, by 2012 apparently people were starting to get a bit superstitious about the number one plate. here, from an interview with casey:

the idea is that you can't defend the title if you're sporting the number one plate. which is true! in the 21st century, three guys chose the number one plate, and they defended their titles a grand total of zero times. one bloke stuck to his number, and he defended his title five out of seven times. so yes, it is technically correct that nobody with the number one plate had defended their title, though it is equally true that nobody not called valentino rossi had defended their title. I suppose we'll never know what the bigger factor was

anyways, if picking the number one plate was already a sure thing before, I reckon this sort of silly talk about 'jinxes' would have made casey even less likely to change his mind for 2012. not only is he stubborn, but he also takes an extremely dim view on superstitions

That race was the twelfth in a row that had been won by a rider not starting from pole, which was a new record. People were making a big deal about it and questioning whether, psychologically speaking, it wasn't a good thing to qualify on pole position at all. Maybe to the superstitious riders out there it had become an issue but I have never allowed myself to be affected by outside influences like that and I put an end to the stat by winning from pole in the next round at Laguna Seca in California. It is amazing how many riders have superstitions, which to me are completely ridiculous. Pretty much every one of them has a little mascot or a lucky pair of undies that they once had a good result in and have been stuck with ever since (so to speak!). Superstition is basically just fear and as an athlete my view is that by allowing it to enter your mind you are effectively handing over control. My approach has always been to deliberately tackle it by doing things differently to the last time, just to make sure I don't get into a restrictive habit. Some riders look at their qualifying position and think, I never go well from fifth position, or arrive at a circuit thinking about past results there and say, 'I've never done well here before, it's not my favourite circuit.' You have to be in the mindset that every day is a new day, a new set of circumstances. Every corner is different, every situation is different, and if you are not prepared to open your mind to that then you will always struggle more than necessary. You might have been through one particular corner a thousand times before but with a slight change in temperature, a new bike, a different tyre or a rider trying to pass you on the inside it becomes a completely different challenge and you have to be ready to deal with that.

given that casey is like, neurotically anti-superstition - well, he was probably always going to do the same thing as he did in 2008, but now he definitely would never just stick with his number. unlike jorge... who did change his mind, having run the number one plate in 2011 - but decided against making the switch in 2013. funnily enough, this did not help him defend the title. the eventual 2013 champion ended up also opting to stick with his number... and, well, marc's title defence went a little bit more smoothly. after jorge's 2015 title, he once again stuck to his 99, while marc has used the number 93 throughout his career. by the time you get to 2020, it's easy to have a warped perception of how common it is to keep your number. if you're born in, say, 1997 or later, you think it's basically the done thing to stick to your number, and it's really only a few outliers who use the number one plate. but even in the 21st century... it's really just valentino and marc who were doing it, plus jorge two out of three times. but between the two of them, they sure were winning enough of the titles to make it feel like the established norm

by this point, there really was a bit of a superstition about how the number one plate was 'cursed'. obviously, this wasn't actually a 'curse' as much as it was 'the dominant force in the sport in the noughties decided this number one plate thing wasn't for him and the dominant force in the 2010s who also happens to a massive fan of the other guy also decided not to make the switch either so that probably explains it'. it's not 'you won't defend your title if you're sporting the number one plate', it's 'you won't defend your title if your name isn't valentino rossi or marc marquez'. but obviously, sports drives people insane, so it was always going to be something that prompted a lot of speculation until someone finally managed to defend the plate

following his 2020 championship, mir didn't depart from the new tradition, with a suzuki video to announce his decision:

and fabio did likewise after his 2021 title:

obviously, sticking to their numbers didn't actually help joan and fabio defend their titles, and after his 2022 championship it was pecco's turn to make the choice. pecco went about this in the most pecco way imaginable, with just a touch of public hand-wringing about the whole thing:

just as a quick reminder, before pecco there had been 28 premier class champions. five and two thirds decided against the number one plate - sheene, valentino, marc, joan, fabio, and jorge twice. "I have always been fascinated about riders with number one" describes something that until very recently had been completely normal. not even remotely noteworthy. cheers valentino

eventually, presumably after some extremely extensive introspection, pecco decided to go for the number one plate:

and also this:

and also this (look he's got a lot of thoughts on the matter, please allow him):

and talking about defending the number one:

pecco has continued talking about it sporadically since then. he's spoken about it in the context of defending his title, which as he points out he can only remember marc and valentino doing:

and then the pressure inherent to sporting that plate, from after he'd successfully completed his title defence:

hm. right. let's unpack

the thing about this whole 'running the number one plate' business is that in motogp, each rider's individual choice has to be read with that history in mind. for many years, this wasn't even really a question... it's just what you do when you win the title. sheene was the rebel, the one who decided to do things differently, who wanted to be associated with his very own number. and valentino, who himself knew sheene and was already attached to his own number and has always had a good sense for personal branding, decided to stick with 46. of course, valentino being valentino, he's inescapable enough within motogp that ever since he made that choice, every single champion after him has had to actively make a decision one way or another

so you've got jorge, who had used the number one plate in his title defence during his 250cc campaign in 2007 - and also used it in 2011 as motogp defending champion. he ended up changing his mind for his following two campaigns... remember, he only started using the number 99 in 2009 after his fractious split with his manager during 2008 (see more on numbers lore here). here was what he said about his decision in 2011:

versus his decision in 2015:

jorge in particular does of course have a bit of a complicated relationship with the numbers he's used during his career - and unsurprisingly he's clearly put quite a lot of thought into the whole matter. he's determined to still have the number 99 represent him in some way even in 2011, while also thinking about how he can integrate the number one into his initials - and since it's jorge, of course it's particularly important that his fans approve. he "won't forget" his 99, it was still on his leathers because it's still 'in his heart'... but he explains it by saying he has "earned the right", that it's a "unique opportunity". then, a few years later, his main cited reason for sticking with the number 99 is how it 'represents' him

very much a question of identity, then, something about how jorge made the choice to use the 99 and how it was an expression of liberation for him... he was tempted by the number one once and only once - a statement in itself, following on from jorge's title win in 2010 where the oppressively popular defending champion had been taken out of contention through injury. jorge says he's 'earned the right' because he feels like he deserves it and he wants to tell the world as much. did his failure to defend the title play into his decision not to run the plate again or did he just decide it wasn't really for him after all? did he realise he had grown so attached to the number 99, what it symbolised to him, that he didn't want to give it up again? or did he just realise it was better for personal branding?

last year, here's what casey had to say:

it's fun how the perception of it has changed so drastically, hasn't it? now it's kinda the brave decision to take it... and that's mainly the legacy of two blokes who happened to monopolise this century of racing and decided to make their numbers their own (you may have noticed that there's considerably less material out there on why they made the choice they did). it's gone from something that you just sort of did automatically to something that puts a bit of a target on your back. because that's the subtext, right - everyone wants to 'take the number one plate'... which obviously they do anyway, but all this talk of curses and jinxes attempts to give it a bit of extra weight. is it presumptuous to take that number? valentino and marc made the call to stick to their numbers - and years later it's become a statement to deviate from that path. in that fabio quote above, in context he's really just trying to say he feels like he's the number 20 and nothing other than that - but "I feel like I'm not number one" is still a teensy bit loaded. how did marc's injury affect the choice made by those in his absence?

casey is unsurprisingly very firm on the whole thing, "you are world champion and you should be wearing number one". as if doing anything else is shying away from this duty. defending the title is another "challenge" that he says he likes - almost like a way of putting extra pressure on himself. though in a different interview, casey also says this:

just a number after all, then? it's also interesting how they frame it in different ways, isn't it? for casey it's "recognition" of an achievement, for jorge it's something you've "earned"... and for pecco, it's something you "need to respect". it's about something that puts "pressure" on you... perhaps that's partly because so much of the discourse about the number one plate has become about defending the title (or failing to do so), but pecco discusses it more as a responsibility than something he deserves. you can tell that it's clearly preoccupied him for a while - it's something he's "fascinated" by, he's "admired" people who have done it, he's "always loved it". for both casey and pecco, part of it seems to be about respecting the history of all the blokes who have used the number in the past, like it's an act that pays tribute to that heritage. you'd think this shouldn't have been such a tough choice in the first place, wouldn't you? goes to show how much of a break with tradition it's become - tradition, of course, that was really started by pecco's own mentor. would it be that surprising if that's part of the reason for the reticence? and, at the same time, would it be that surprising that his mentor's long shadow might make him feel like he needs that big and bold number one? what does pecco think it's saying that he went a different way? all this public hand-wringing just because he's breaking a trend

for jorge, the number one plate was a public declaration that he'd made it, naysayers be damned. to pecco, "the number one plate means you need to demonstrate you are number one". it's like giving yourself a point to prove... is it mainly a matter of pride or giving yourself something to live up to? both of them go to great pains to stress their continued attachment to their original number, how they're continuing to integrate it into all their cute designs... and that is something that has changed pretty definitively - not entirely as a result of valentino, but around the same time as valentino emerged as the figurehead of the sport, and he's certainly a big part of it. even the riders who go with the number one still want to have their number and to be known by it. the numbers have become such an integral part of branding and rider identity that riders want to make clear how important they are to them, whether they stick with the number as defending champions or not

at the same time, the fact that taking the number one plate has been de-normalised means that this decision places extra focus on the challenge of defending the title. pecco might not frame his choice in opposition to valentino and marc's to keep their numbers, but he does repeatedly link it to how they alone had been able to win successive titles. for him, then, it becomes an indirect way of living up to a legacy - counterintuitively by doing the opposite of what they did. "since I remember, was just marc and vale have repeated the title" “I thought about it many times this season in all the races we were struggling that the only two riders able to win two years in a row were marc and valentino"... that's what he's trying to live up to, this simultaneous source of inspiration and insecurity. are you lacking confidence if you need to see the number one to believe yourself that you are the number one? or is it conversely shying away from something you have rightfully earned if you can't bring yourself to take the plate? is it an expression of ego if you think your personal number is more meaningful than the number one could ever be? personal branding decisions aside, wouldn't manufacturers much rather you display the number one plate proudly on their bikes?

kind of remarkable, isn't it? it should be such a simple choice... and yet. not only is it now a question of branding and identity, but within motogp it's also become one of how you relate to the legacy of two specific riders. maybe it'll gradually become more common again to take the plate - after all, the curse has now been broken. or maybe it will be the source of much hand-wringing forevermore... we shall see. we shall see

#personally I'd always keep my own number lol. but I also think pecco specifically made a good call #though maybe it would've helped to do a little bit less public introspection and hand wringing and soul searching #poor little ferret wants a number one on his bike. needs to write essays justifying it. buddy it's fine who cares #batsplat responds #//#brr brr #does it bother anyone else that valentino doesn't actually use a continental number seven? no? just me?#some of sheene's 7s didn't have the dash. which. there may be a good reason for this but it doesn't quite feel like ideal branding-wise #taking a massive sharpie to valentino's title winning shirt #incidentally schwantz generally stuck to his 34 until he won the title. thought it interrupted the flow too much to mention it but #//currt #//at

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