Side blog of @bluemoonscape for my Alien Stage OCs for Fan Seasons 39, 40, 41, 42, and 10 💫 ART BY @alien-til-i-stage/@lulling-riot of S40 OCs Innamorati (@lulling-riot) and Yael (mine). Check out @lulling-riot for more S10, S40, S41, & S42 content ☪
“All the World’s a Stage and All the Men and Women Merely Players.”
Hi! I’m Blue, the owner of this blog. This blog is dedicated to the ALNST OC fan seasons, which currently include (in chronological order of creation) Season 39, Season 40, Season 41, Season 42, and Season 10/Sona Season. Season 40 and Season 10 are currently ongoing—check out @alnst-sona-season and @season40revival with mods Nadohan and MEEEE for more info!! Interested in joining future seasons? Contact mod Zen at @alnstseason41 or keep updated for future season 42 so you can save your OC(s) a place in it! There’s also an idea to hold a second Sona Season in the future (season 11) if that’s more your interest 🩵
I’m the owner of one of the non-canon fan groups within the fan seasons universe, AREPH—AGENCY FOR THE RECOVERY OF ESCAPED PET HUMANS, working closely with ANAKT GARDEN. Take a look at the official blog @the-areph for more info.
ALL OF MY CURRENT OCS FOR THE ALNST FAN SEASONS:
S39
CASTOR, HE/HIM: Winner of the 38th season, participant in the 39th season. Threw his first round in S39 to save his fellow competitor, Nyx ( @imperfectnothing). Deceased, but with ongoing lore! He’s still available to answer asks. Specify modern AU if you want to hear about his idol group with @azureitri’s Azure and my own OC Kyo, known as RØUND. Those three have a pretty interesting relationship…
KYO, HE/HIM: Participant in the 38th season, narrative haunter in S39. Lost his final round against his best friend and love, Castor. Deceased, but with ongoing lore! He’s still available to answer asks. Again, specify modern AU for RØUND.
TALLIS, HE/HIM: Participant in the 39th season. Defeated in his first round by the notorious, love-her-or-hate-her Daiki ( @daiki1k). Alive and available for asks! Captured by AREPH amidst a futile rescue attempt by ALIEN STAGE guard Hayate, he currently resides in the bowels of the AREPH facility, watched closely by Eddy. Plans might be brewing to break him out, though…
HIMEI, SHE/HER: Participant in the 39th season. She made it to the ELITE EIGHT, the name given to the final 8 competitors, after two fierce rounds against Min ( @starry-skiez) and Noora ( @kamersona). She lost against Season 39’s winner, Cirrus ( @cirrusoftheclouds). Though she’s a sweet girl, Mei’s drive to keep her closest friends Tallis and Tov ( @ivanttakethis) alive drove her to do horrible things that landed her guardian in trouble and her guardian’s newest pet human, Halo, a spot in ANAKT GARDEN. Deceased, but available for asks!
S40
NAZ, SHE/THEY: Participant in the ongoing 40th season, she has yet to take the stage for her first round against Mentha ( @rosedeleca). Naz was deeply in love with one of S39’s sweethearts, Akane ( @aakaneeee), and fell into grief and anger when Akane was killed in a 50/50 tiebreaker against S39 finalist Tov. Now Naz’s thoughts are only filled with sadness and a desire to avenge the injustice committed against Akane. Only, becoming attached to Tov’s sister Wren (@/ivanttakethis), fellow S40 competitor, complicates things. Alive and available for asks!
YAEL, HE/THEY: Participant in the ongoing 40th season, Yael lost his first round against Innamorati ( @lulling-riot). Yael lost his only friend and first love, Macbeth (@/lulling-riot) shortly before graduation from ANAKT GARDEN and turned his feelings of infatuation on Innamorati. Inna, meanwhile, harbored feelings of anger towards Yael for his hand in Macbeth’s death, creating a relationship fraught with love, hate, and resentment. Deceased but available for asks!
S41
LIGHT, SHE/HER: A direct relative of Season 38’s flame, Castor, Light was born with birth defects that left her without her legs, one of her arms, and half of her other. She was given prosthetics and later branded as a techno artist with a flat, mysterious, and robotic demeanor to create an aesthetic out of her disability. In a complicated relationship with Mori (@/imperfectnothing). Founding member of an idol group known as crAwl with Kafka, Nilaavu, Amara, Eunbin, Everest, and Jwi (@/lulling-riot, @chevalperd, @nottoonedin, @apple8ees, @verdantlights, @/imperfectnothing). The girls are like sisters to her, filling a void created by the volatile relationship between her and her guardian’s favored pet human, Akari ( @junebluues). Currently, leading up to S41, she’s focused on crAwl and Mori. Alive and open for asks!
HALO, HE/THEY: Adopted as Guardian Iquia’s replacement for Mei after her death, Halo wasn’t supposed to be enrolled in ANAKT GARDEN to eventually compete in ALIEN STAGE, but due to the trouble his guardian got in with AREPH, part of Iquia’s punishment was Halo being taken away and enrolled in ANAKT GARDEN to compete in the future. Physically ages slower than their peers due to genetic engineering and is marketed as childish and even coquettish to capitalize on this. Alive and available for asks!
S42
JEAN, HE/HIM: A direct relative of Yael and Macbeth, Jean survived an attempt to drown him by Yael, who was attempting to “save” him, when he was an infant. Acquired brain damage from the incident and had to have aging sped up so that he can make it to the stage before death eventually catches up to him. Sensitive about opening up to anyone but has a reluctantly close relationship with Mica (@/imperfectnothing) and used to be close with Zanni (@/lulling-riot). Alive and available for asks!
S10/SONA SEASON
AOKI, HE/HIM: Participant in the ongoing Sona Season. Lost his first round against Kay (@/imperfectnothing) on a 50/50 tiebreaker. Descendent of a world-famous star back when humans lived on Earth who rebelled against the very first ALIEN STAGE and was killed for it. Paranoid and cynical on the inside, friendly and clever on the outside, Aoki is an enigma to the end with a close relationship with Kay. Deceased, but alive in AUs and available for asks!
FAN GROUP MEMBERS
EDDY, THEY/IT: AREPH’s first human agent. Believes they are doing what’s best for aliens and humanity. A mysterious younger sister from their past haunts them, and their compassion for AREPH captive Tallis, rebel sect leader Noir (@/lulling-riot), and younger fellow agent Axis (@/lulling-riot) keep them from being able to truly and fully fulfill their role as ruthlessly efficient hunting dog. Huge fan of S39’s Tov. Its guardian, Arol, watches over it carefully. Alive and open for asks!
ITSASO, SHE/HER: Grew up in the 39th ANAKT GARDEN class, but after her Guardian, Guardian Nabos, suffered failure in the defeat of fellow pet human Kyo in Season 38, Nabos withdrew Itsaso from the 39th season and sold her off, too ashamed to reappear so soon after Kyo’s narrow defeat. Itsaso sang at alien bars and clubs and as a party favor for a long time before former classmate Nausikaa (@/imperfectnothing) found Itsaso and convinced her to run away with her. What she didn’t know is that Nausikaa is part of a human rebellion known as THE FLOWERING MEADOW ( @the-flowering-meadow). While she isn't a fighter, she works hard on the home front to keep things running. Alive and open for asks!
Asks are always open for anything related to the seasons, lore, and OCs!
tired of "aspec coded" characters that are only aspec coded bc they're so dedicated to their work. what abt the aspecs that don't do shit. what about lazy aspec representation
Welcome to the revival of ALIEN STAGE SEASON 40! I'm this season's host, @lookatmysillies (main blog @bluemoonscape). You can refer to me as Blue.
ALIEN STAGE Season 40 was formerly run by @junebluues who became too busy with life to continue the season. This revival will span all the way back to Round 1 and through to the end. Some rounds/round results formerly run in the original S40 will remain canonized as long as the owners of the contestants involved agree upon this decision. These rounds will only appear in the very first set of brackets and will be tagged as #predetermined and will not have a poll option. With every other round, any result is possible! These rounds will be indicated by the option to vote for your favorite contestant. No predetermined rounds will persist past the first row of brackets.
Please note that some former creators with participants in Season 39 and the failed run of Season 40 have been removed due to various factors including rigging or inappropriate behavior towards others in our community. Like. Actual grown adults rigging against teenagers' ocs or otherwise acting weird/rude towards others. Their ocs will no longer be included in the rosters to continue making the ALNST fan seasons a safe and fair place for everyone. Thank you for understanding!
Organizational tags will include the following:
round # - # determined by which round it is. Indicates each individual round and any content involved in said round.
official round - Any round considered part of the canon.
unofficial round - Any round that may occasionally appear between rows and/or after the official canon season has concluded.
asks - General asks about this season, how it works, or even questions about last season (@season39).
reblogs - Self-explanatory; non-original posts to this blog.
alnst oc: (insert name here) - Each oc involved in s40 will gain their own tag. An example would be "alnst oc: yael" in posts relating to my OC, Yael.
predetermined - As stated, these rounds will not have polls attached to them and will instead be posted as brief announcements following a results post and any posts involving lore relating to the results.
song requests - Any participant can submit an ask to me including the song they would like their OC to sing for their round. You can also coordinate with the other creator in your round if you want them to sing one song together and submit a song on both of your behalf.
oc announcements - These announcements will be posted in character with our OC announcers of the season, former S39 star Tov (@ivanttakethis) and fresh-faced Zhuli (@apriciticreveries)!
ooc announcements - These announcements will be made by me, the admin, and will relate to important super mega fourth wall breaking information.
alnst oc lore - Lore posts will be tagged with this. Feel free to tag this blog in any of your ALNST S40 OC lore to give them a boost and get them on this blog!
Here is the UPDATED ANAKT GARDEN REGISTRY, created by @alien-til-i-stage/@lulling-riot (love you mwah) and updated by me to reflect Season 39 results. The Season 40 section and beyond is still being updated as I gain more information about the season's updated lineup.
NOTE: This list was created by @alien-til-i-stage/@lulling-riot (heheh I <3 you) and has been updated by @bluemoonscape/@lookatmysillies to
Current OCs CONFIRMED to be in S40 are as follows (but like also please if you're supposed to be on this list and aren't or if you aren't supposed to be but are, let me know):
Ambrosia (@rosedeleca)
Asahi (@/apriciticreveries)
Casimir (@starry-skiez)
Ciaran (@/starry-skiez)
Clementine (@chevalperd)
Clove (@verdantlights)
Damari @/starry-skiez)
Gaia (@icequeuebe)
Gray (@/verdantlights)
Innamorati (@/lulling-riot)
Isla (@nottoonedin)
Jojo (@awaggaa)
Juliet (@yunoftheclouds)
Lyra (@fl0wers4herfriends)
Mentha (@/rosedeleca)
Micah (@4listr)
Mirai (@friedclownshrimp)
Monica (@/nottoonedin)
Murrelet (@/awaggaa)
Naz (mine, @/lookatmysillies)
Numa (@shenenenigans)
Sirius (@/shenenenigans)
Toki (@/verdantlights)
Wren (@/ivanttakethis)
Xael (@/shenenenigans)
Yael (mine, @/lookatmysillies)
Yuna (@/starry-skiez)
Zero (@/apriciticreveries)
IMPORTANT THINGS TO NOTE:
If your round is coming up soon, submit your song through my asks to make it official - or else a blank will be submitted in the song section of the round.
PLEASEEEEEE PLEASEEEE if your plan is to have your OC escape, sacrifice themselves, or otherwise at the conclusion of their round (anything unconventional outside of wins and moves on/loses and dies) you've GOT to tell me so I don't mark them incorrectly.
If you are mentioned in this OC lineup, send in your preferred image of your OC to be used in the brackets.
Some rounds may be released late, but not dramatically so.
This post will likely be updated in the future!
Take a seat, prepare to vote and push your favorite contestants through to the next round, and enjoy the show!
"Let's run through the starlight once again. Even if it all disappears someday in eternity." - summer, night by Jeon Jin Hee, wave to earth
omg guys azuretov is real... amazing art by @hoshiumiumi (thank you po ulit 😭🫶) and tov belongs to my dear friend @ivanttakethis. thank you so so so much!
Wren once again found herself at BLINK karaoke bar.
Guardian Ebej had dismissed her for the day, saying that her presence at Yael’s event was “too distracting.”
She didn’t know what he was on about.
None of her fans had come up to ask for a photo or an autograph.
How was she distracting?
She had asked Naz what she thought, but didn’t get a solid answer.
Nonetheless, Wren was forced to make other plans.
It wasn’t all bad though.
Now she had time to catch up with an old friend.
Wren stood on her toes, looking around the lobby for a head of copper hair.
But she didn’t see Monica anywhere.
Maybe I should call her?
“Dove!” A voice called.
Only one person called her that name.
Wren barely had time to turn around before Monica rushed forward and wrapped her in a hug.
She was warm and smelled like cinnamon.
It always reminded her of their shared childhood.
Monica released Wren from the hug, but kept her at arm’s length, beaming, “How have you been darling? How’s your sister?”
“Things have been absolutely crazy,” She said. “We have so much to catch up on, but first—”
“Shots?” Monica finished for her.
Wren grinned, “Shots.”
———
The first shot burned all the way down.
Monica’s lips puckered, “This is worse than I remember.”
“It’s been a minute since we’ve gone drinking together.” Wren said, passing her a second shot glass. “We’re out of practice.”
Pink and yellow lights danced across Monica’s face, her eyes filled with mirth and a vibrant sunset.
She accepted the drink, chuckling, “Is this your way of saying we need to hang out more?”
“Oh, absolutely.” Wren knocked her glass against Monica’s and they tossed them back together.
Monica was one of the few people Wren felt comfortable drinking with.
When she went out with other ZYNE trainees, she would only have one drink, and it was always something light on alcohol.
She needed to have complete control over her words and actions.
Drinking loosened lips.
Lowered inhibitions.
It would be too easy to slip up and give another trainee ammunition to use against her.
Wren felt a little more at ease drinking with her classmates.
She didn’t have to keep her guard up, or worry that a scandal could come out of anything she said or did while drunk.
But the second time she drank with them, about five shots in, kissing Naz on the mouth started to sound like a perfectly reasonable thing to do, and Wren resolved to never get drunk in her presence again.
Since then, Wren only got drunk with Monica, which was always a good time.
Probably because they were the same kind of person with a few drinks in them.
Wren slammed her empty glass down on the table.
The burn wasn’t as sharp this time, but her eyes still watered.
“Fuck. Okay, okay, one more.”
Monica handed her the final shot glass, spilling some of it over the rim “For good luck.” She said.
Wren nodded, “For good luck.”
They clinked their glasses and knocked back the last of the clear liquor.
It was a ritual for them.
Three shots for good luck.
Wren couldn’t remember exactly how it came about.
Monica couldn’t either.
They ordered food, a bottle of lighter liquor, and some mixed drinks.
Wren’s was dark red and fizzled on her tongue, equal parts sour and sweet.
Monica’s was frozen and bright purple.
The same shade of purple as Isla’s hair.
Wren smiled to herself.
The two chatted for a while, catching each other up on the latest happenings in their lives since they last spoke.
A medley of songs faded in and out as the karaoke machine cycled through its tracks on offer.
After paying for another hour of their session, Wren finally asked the question she’d been holding back.
“How are things with Isla?”
Monica cheeks turned bright red.
“Huh? Uh, well—”
Even after all these years, bringing up Isla was still the easiest way to fluster her.
Monica looked away, “Things are… fine. Just like they always are.”
“Boo, that’s boring.”
“Sorry my endless pining isn’t exciting enough for you.” She said flatly. “It’s not going to change.”
“But it can change. Just tell Isla how you feel!”
“Why? I know she would reject me.”
“She wouldn’t reject you.”
“How do you know?”
Wren reached for Monica’s hand and looked her straight in the eyes, her tone as serious as she could manage, “Mona — and I’m gonna hold your hand when I say this — Isla has been deeply in love with you for years.”
Monica’s already flushed face darkened further, “W-What?! No way!”
She nodded gravely, “Yes way.”
Monica tried to pull her hand away, “You’re wrong! Absolutely, one hundred percent, wrong!”
Wren tightened her grip, smirking, “The only way to prove me wrong is to ask her yourself.”
“I’m not doing that.” Monica shook her head fervently, “It’s way too risky.”
“Life is risky, my dear Mona.” Wren said. “And sometimes you gotta grab life by the balls until it begs for mercy.”
Monica made a face, “Isn’t that kinda extreme?”
Wren shrugged, “All is fair in love and war. And this is definitely love.”
“I don’t know, Wren. Sure, Isla may like me enough to be friends—”
“—Very close friends.” She interjected.
Monica ignored her, “But am I likable enough for her to love me that way?”
Wren barked out a laugh, “Are you kidding? Of course you’re likable. I had a huge crush on you when we first met.”
Monica choked on her drink, sputtering, eyes wide, “You did?!”
“You couldn’t tell?”
“No???”
Her incredulity only made Wren laugh harder.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because it was so obvious Isla liked you! I wasn’t gonna get in the middle of that.” She said. “And also Naz.”
Monica smiled sharply, “Now that is something obvious.”
Wren rolled her eyes, “Well yeah. I don’t make it a secret that I’m into her.”
“No, no, no.” She shook her head. “Not you. Naz.”
“Great Anakt, you’ve gone mad.”
Monica pounded her fist against the table. “I have not!”
Wren grabbed her hand, another laugh bubbling up and out before she could suppress it, “Mona, you’re gonna get us kicked out!”
She swatted her hand away, aiming to look serious but landing on a pout, “I let you say your piece, so let me say mine dammit.” She said. “That woman is in love with you, Dove.”
Wren’s traitorous heart flipped at the mere thought.
“How can you be so sure she is?”
Now I sound like Monica…
“How can you be so sure she’s not?
That was easy to answer.
“Because she loves Akane, and I am very much not Akane.” Wren said.
“But Akane is—”
“I know.” She sighed.
They both fell silent.
Monica frowned, “You know you can love more than one person, right?”
“Can you love two completely opposite people?”
Wren knew the answer to that too.
She’d seen proof of it in Tov, with Himei and Tallis.
But they were both gone now.
The taste of her drink turned bitter at the thought.
“You can’t know for sure until you give Naz a chance to try. Grab her by the balls or whatever you said.”
Wren coughed hard, pounding her fist against her sternum.
Monica just smiled.
“I don’t want to grab anyone by the balls, especially not Naz.”
“But you want to grab her in other places?”
Wren wheezed, “HELLO???”
“Don’t lie to me! I’ve seen the way you look at her!!”
“And how is that?!”
“It’s like— Ah damn, how does that one song go?” Monica snapped her fingers three times, “Something like ‘consume me, yes me’.”
“I don’t like the implications of this.”
“It’s the truth, Dove. You want her to consume you, or vice versa.”
Wren reared back, “Vice versa?!”
“She invited you to sleep in the same bed, next to her, practically cuddled up.”
“She was just being nice!”
“Naz is not ‘nice.’ She has never just been ‘nice.’ If it were anyone else, she would’ve told them to fuck off and sleep on the floor.” Monica tapped her finger against the table with each word. “She wants you, intimately.”
Her emphasis on the word “intimately” made Wren’s cheeks hot.
Out of embarrassment, of course. No other reason.
“I should’ve told you to grab Isla by the tits.” She grumbled around her straw.
Monica gasped, scandalized, “I would never!”
Wren leveled her with a look.
Monica broke eye contact, “…Okay, maybe I would.”
She snorted, “We got a woman enjoyer over here.”
“You’re one to talk!” Monica countered.
“I do like to talk about women. Well, one woman in particular—”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
Wren sat back and shrugged, “Keep all of my feelings bottled up inside me until one day I die?”
“No, no, none of that! And you’re not dying. You’re going to live forever!!”
“That’s very nice of you to say.”
Monica puffed out her cheeks, “Stop making me lose my train of thought.”
She stifled a chuckle. “Sorry, go on.”
Monica grabbed her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Her steadfast gaze sobered Wren immediately.
“Dove, if you really want to be with Naz, you should tell her that. Yes, she loved Akane, but I know that she loves you too. Even if you don’t see it yet.” She said. “But like you told me, you’ll never know for sure if you don’t ask.”
Well, she got me there.
“Same goes for you.”
Monica sighed, “Yeah, I know.”
They were two drunk hypocrites in the same karaoke room.
The thought made her chuckle.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or Monica’s encouragement, but for the first time in years, Wren wanted to try.
What if I just said ‘fuck it?’
What’s the worst that could happen?
She mulled the thought over for another moment, before coming to a decision.
“Alright, one more shot.” Wren let go of Monica’s hand and grabbed the bottle at the center of the table, recklessly over pouring two shots. “I’ll take a risk as long as you promise to take one too.”
She extended her pinky to Monica, just like they used to secure a promise as kids, “I will try with Naz if you promise to try with Isla.”
Monica hesitated, pressing her lips together in a thin line, “I don’t know…”
“Do you trust me?” Wren asked.
“Of course I do.”
“Then trust me on this, okay?”
The apprehension in her watery grey eyes was still evident as she searched Wren’s gaze.
But as the pink and yellow lights eclipsed across her face, bathing her in a warm orange glow, something in her gaze shifted.
“Okay, but you have to trust me too.”
Wren smiled, nodded, and raised her glass, “Here’s to saying ‘fuck it’ and grabbing life by the balls.”
Monica snorted, but raised her glass anyway, hooking her pinky with Wren’s.
“Until it begs for mercy.” She said, clinking their glasses.
The spirit was warm at the back of her throat, like lying in a sun spot outside in Anakt Garden.
She rested her chin in her hand, looking at Monica.
A toothy grin graced her lips in the wake of their liquor sealed promise.
Wren remembered the gap Monica had between her two front teeth when they were kids.
It was gone now, her guardian got rid of it years ago, but sometimes Wren swore she could still see the imprint if Monica smiled a certain way.
Sunlit affection bubbled up in her chest.
“You know,” Wren started, “In our next life, we should just date each other. It would be so much easier than all this.”
Monica giggled, nodding, “Agreed. Next time around, we’ll get engaged as soon as legally possible and have a spring wedding. Maybe in a botanical garden or something like that.”
Wren smiled, the warmth in her mouth spreading across her cheeks, “A spring wedding would be lovely.”
———
Four shots was a bad idea.
Four shots plus two mixed drinks was an even worse idea.
Monica called a car to take her back to her guardian, but the hotel was close enough to the karaoke bar that Wren decided to walk.
Big fucking mistake.
The sun had set hours ago, and the temperature dipped significantly.
Now she was drunk, tired, and cold.
All she wanted to do was lay down and sleep for the next three days.
The closer she got to the hotel, the dizzier she felt. The alcohol was really starting to set in now.
Wren leaned against the elevator wall to keep from swaying.
Luckily, there were no surprise run ins with Yael on her way to Naz’s room.
She fiddled with the key for a moment before getting the door open and ditching her heels as soon as possible.
Her feet ached as she staggered inside.
It was dark, but Naz was still awake, reading under the soft light of the bedside lamp.
She looked over as Wren shut the door behind her, “Where’ve you been?”
“I went to BLINK.” Wren said.
“With Asuka?”
Naz’s tone sounded off again.
Wren didn’t have the capacity to try to make sense of it.
“Nope, I met up with Monica. She said to tell you hi, by the way.” Wren rubbed her hands together for warmth, “Geez, it’s fucking freezing out there.”
She grabbed a shirt and sweatpants from her bag and tossed them on the edge of the bed.
“That’s what you get for staying out so late— What the fuck are you doing?”
Wren paused halfway through taking off her shirt, swaying slightly as she looked over her shoulder at Naz.
Her cheeks had darkened, and she wouldn’t meet her eyes.
…Huh?
Wren blinked, confused, “Changing?”
“Then go to the bathroom?” Naz sounded as confused as Wren felt.
“Ugh, too far.” She grumbled, pulling off her shirt. “I drank too much.”
“Obviously—” Naz made a choked off noise as Wren stepped out of her skirt.
Slowly, the gears started to turn.
“She wants you, intimately.” Monica had said.
Was that really true?
Monica said to trust her.
So Wren would trust her.
“Are… you okay?” Wren asked.
She didn’t turn around this time.
Too cautious to interrupt whatever was unfolding.
Naz coughed once, “Fine. I’m fine.” Her voice was stilted, “I’m… gonna lie down now.”
The rustle of sheets behind her was uncoordinated.
She didn’t even turn the lamp off.
Wren shrugged on her new shirt and pants and took a deep breath.
Liquid courage don’t fail me now.
Without giving herself another moment to doubt, she crawled up the bed and laid down right next to Naz.
“Ooh, you’re warm.” She said, rolling over and wrapping an arm around her.
Naz tensed up immediately, her voice strained, “Wren—”
“Just for a little while,” Wren said quietly. “Until I warm up.”
Naz muttered something under her breath.
She rested her head on Naz’s chest and turned to look up at her through her lashes, “Please?”
The heavy thump of Naz’s heartbeat against her ear picked up speed.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“I…” Naz looked away, sighed, and hesitantly looked back, “Alright.”
Her voice sounded so timid.
Wren had never heard it like that before.
She relaxed into her newly approved spot and closed her eyes, suppressing a smile, “Thanks.”
“…No problem.”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Naz cleared her throat, “Uh… so what did you and Monica talk about?”
“We spent most of the time catching up, until I asked about Isla.” She said.
“Geez, those two…”
“Tell me about it.” Wren chuckled. “I can’t believe Monica still hasn’t told her by now.”
“She’s probably scared.”
Wren frowned, “But she doesn’t need to be. Everyone can tell Isla is in love with her, but she doesn’t see it. How could she miss something so obvious?”
Naz made an awkward wheezing noise. “I can’t imagine.”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The rhythm of Naz’s heartbeat was lulling her to sleep.
“What would you do, if you were Monica?” Wren asked.
Naz didn’t answer.
Wren chanced a glance up at her, only to find Naz already looking back.
Her eyes had an unfamiliar sheen to them, catching the warm light of the lamp.
Wren sighed, biting back the question she really wanted to ask, “Me either.”
Not yet.
But soon.
————————————————————
Wrenica started as a crack ship, but these two and their relationship is so important to me y’all I love them 🥹
Rip Naz thinking Wren is serial dating their classmates by taking them out for drinks and karaoke lmao
Like Naz! Bestie!! She doesn’t NOT want that gay man or that lesbian (even tho she lowkey did at one point when they were kids, but regardless). She’s trying to yuri it up with you!!!
Anyways this is the beach episode.
Monica and Isla belong to @nottoonedin
Naz, Yael, Himei, and Tallis belong to @lookatmysillies
Her vision was hazy, but she knew the saturated blue sky and manicured green grass almost instinctively.
She blinked once and found herself seated on an old stool in the valley, a makeshift table beside her.
“What’s on your mind, Tov?”
Tov looked to her left to see—
“Moran?”
Her name came out of Tov’s mouth strangled with grief.
Moran smiled, blue eyes alight with curiosity, red curls tucked behind her ears.
No blood to be seen.
Was that why she was seeing Moran now? Because she was the only person Tov couldn’t bear to watch die?
“You never came here to ask me for advice.” Moran said. “It was hard to know what you were thinking.”
Tov shook her head, “I never knew what to say.”
“Do you have something to say now?”
So much.
Too much.
She wouldn’t be able to get everything out without all of the regret and the pain spilling over her words.
She wouldn’t be able to apologize enough.
“Solei is dying.” Tov said instead.
It was the deepest wound in her chest.
Raw and aching.
Cut down to the bone.
Moran’s gaze softened.
“Death is just an act of transition.” She said. “I told you that before. Do you remember?”
Moran had once compared the life cycle of humans to that of a star.
Death was a constant.
But so was rebirth.
Tov looked down at her hands, “It’s harder to remember now.”
It felt like confessing a sin.
She was starting to forget things she so desperately wanted to remember.
The artificial breeze rushed through her braids, smelling faintly of clematis flowers.
If she closed her eyes, maybe she’d get lost in an old memory of a kinder time.
“Do you blame yourself?”
Tov lifted her head, “What?”
“It’s quite common in this situation for a person to feel a kind of guilt.” Moran said.
She frowned, her mind reeling, “What situation?”
“Season 39.”
A rush of memories crashed over Tov, blinding her.
Bloodstained mouths.
Limp bodies under bright lights.
A human inferno engulfing the stage.
Tears prickled behind her eyes.
She blinked again.
“I-I don’t— I don’t know.”
It felt helpless to say.
“It’s very common for people to invent blame, or create a causality, when in reality…” Moran’s smile was gentle.
Tov’s vision began to blur.
“It was completely out of your control.”
———
Cassio insisted Tov accompany them to the studio for the day, rather than staying at home by herself.
Their schedule was fully packed with consultations, wardrobe fittings, and meetings, leaving Tov to amuse herself in one of the empty dressing rooms.
Just like when she was younger.
It was one of the first things she had a talent for.
Staying out of sight.
Sinking into the quiet.
But since the season ended, the quiet felt different.
Instead of feeling content, Tov just felt empty.
Like something was missing.
The silence became suffocating.
Her dream of Moran last night still loomed over her shoulder, whispering in her ear.
“Out of your control.”
“Out of your control.”
“Out of your control.”
Why is everything always out of my control?
Tov forced herself to her feet.
She needed air.
The long hallway outside dressing room had a balcony entrance on the left.
She just needed to get there without drawing attention.
Except, there was someone else in the hallway too.
A tall young woman dressed in black.
Dark skin.
Red eyes.
Thoroughly pissed-off expression.
“Oh, it’s you.” The young woman said.
“You must be Naz.” Tov said. “Wren has mentioned you before.”
“Yeah, she’s mentioned you too.” Naz’s tone was flat.
She nodded, preparing to leave, “Well, nice meeting you.”
Naz scoffed, “So that’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
Tov felt like she was missing something.
“What do you want me to say?”
“An apology would be nice.”
She frowned, “For what?”
Naz’s expression hardened.
“Round 26. Akane. Ring any bells?”
“I know who Akane is.”
I see her every night of the full moon.
I want to tell her that I’m sorry, but I can never get the words out.
“Did she ever mention me?” Naz asked.
Oh…
That’s why the name sounded familiar when Wren first told her about Naz.
Akane had mentioned her a few times over the years, though the context was long gone.
“Once or twice.” She said. “We weren’t very close.”
Naz set her jaw, eyes blazing. “That makes sense, since you didn’t give a shit when she died.”
Her words hit Tov like a slap across her face. “Excuse you?”
“Come to think of it,” Naz continued, as if Tov hadn’t said anything. “It didn’t seem like you gave a shit when any of your competitors died. They were all just stepping stones for you.”
“You don’t get to tell me how I feel about my classmates.”
“I don’t think you feel anything at all.” Naz said. “You’re a showpiece. Your only purpose is winning.”
Ignore it.
Ignore all of it.
She’s angry about Akane and she’s taking it out on me.
Nothing more.
“That’s a lot of assumptions to make about someone you just met.” Tov said evenly.
“None of those words were ‘sorry.’”
“Even if I apologized, you wouldn’t accept it.”
“And how would you know?”
Because I wouldn’t accept it.
Not from Cirrus.
Not from Daiki.
Not from Vera.
“An empty platitude won’t make you feel better.” She said. “The best I can offer you is a good luck.”
Naz rolled her eyes, “Of course, why would I be any different? I could drop dead right now and you wouldn’t be fazed by it.”
I know someone who would.
And you haven’t even given her a second thought.
Maybe it was the tone of Naz’s voice, or the fact that she was so blinded by the past to realize what was coming next, but it was really starting to piss Tov off.
“You’re right, Naz. I don’t give a shit about you.” She said. “Just like you don’t give a shit about me. Just like Season 38 contestants didn’t give a shit about you and Season 41 contestants won’t give a shit about me. But Wren cares about you.”
“I already know—”
“No, I don’t think you do.” Tov said, voice sharp.
Naz bit back her response, eyes wide.
“You take for granted that Wren will always be with you.” She said. “You’re wasting the time you still have with her blaming me.”
Neither of us could’ve changed what happened.
It was completely out of our control.
“If it weren’t for you, Akane would still be here.” Naz snapped. “She would’ve won Round 26 if production didn’t rig it for the ‘Star of Season 39’ to survive.”
“Akane made her decision when she stole the gun, not when the round was over.” Tov said. “She would’ve shot her guardian regardless.”
“You don’t know that.”
“If she won, what would’ve happened after?” She asked. “Do you think she just wouldn’t get caught with the gun and be punished for it?”
“We could’ve worked through it together—”
“That’s not how this works Naz.” Tov said. “Once you go that far, you don’t get to come back. Akane knew that.”
“Shut up! You don’t know shit about her!” Naz spat.
“I know that whatever made her pick up that gun was more important to her than the chance of winning.” She said.
“Akane wasn’t the person you thought she was. The sooner you accept that the better off you’ll be.”
Tov turned to leave, a distant pang of guilt in her chest for saying something so petty at the end.
But she wasn’t going to take it back.
She gave as good as she got.
“Himei wasn’t the person you thought she was either!”
Tov stopped mid stride.
Just hearing her name out loud gripped her heart like a vice.
Slowly, she turned, “What did you say?”
“You heard me.” Naz said. “You think Akane was hiding things from me?” She barked out an ugly laugh. “Himei did the same thing to you.”
The way the hall light caught her irises turned them blood red, like the stain that crept across Akane’s white dress.
Fear pierced Tov’s skin, “What do you mean?”
“Himei poisoned Lark.”
A voice cried out in agony.
Not Naz.
Not Tov.
It was Himei’s voice, ringing in her ears.
Much lighter than it had been in years.
An old memory surfaced in flashes.
A bad fall during the afternoon break at Anakt Garden.
Pain sparking up Tov’s side.
Himei screaming like it was the end of the world, running over to her.
Pressing too close and hugging too tight, tears in her eyes as she grabbed Tov’s face.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the clinic?”
Tov remembered being confused as to why Himei was so upset.
Himei told her that she hated seeing innocent people get hurt.
It scared her.
Would that same girl hurt someone as innocent as Lark?
No.
Himei wouldn’t do that.
She would never do that.
Naz was lying.
“Who told you that?”
“Himei did.” Naz smirked. “Well, she told you in that letter.”
Tov’s heartbeat thundered in her ears.
In her throat.
She could barely keep the shake out of her voice, “What letter?”
“Oh, Wren didn’t tell you?”
“What did I not tell her?” Wren asked, appearing in the doorway across the hall.
She looked between the two of them with a confused frown, picking up on the tension immediately.
“Himei gave you a letter for me?” Tov asked.
Wren’s eyes widened, a flash of guilt in her expression, “Not exactly…”
“Wren—”
She threw her hands out, “Okay, okay! I found the letter, and I kept it from you, but I didn’t open it or read it. I swear—”
“I know you didn’t.” Tov shifted her glare back to Naz, “She did.”
“You did what?!” Wren shouted.
She could hear the sting of betrayal in her sister’s voice.
Naz looked more terrified than Tov felt.
“You didn’t read the letter?”
“You went through my stuff?”
Fuck all of this…
Tov pushed forward, “The letter. Now.”
Wren hesitated for a moment before she dug into the duffle bag slung over her shoulder and pulled out a white envelope.
Tov’s name was written on the front in Himei’s neat handwriting.
It felt heavy in her hands.
Like the weight of her world was inside.
She looked up at Wren, her voice cold and curt, “Don’t call.”
————————————————————
THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTINGGGG!!!!
And I think Naz won 😬 (sorry Tov)
But now Naz has to deal with Wren and the whole going through her stuff thing so… maybe Tov won in the end?
Or they both lost? Yeah, they probably both lost lmao
Moran belongs to @geospiral
Solei belongs to @solei-eclipse
Naz and Himei belong to @lookatmysillies
Akane belongs to @aakaneeee
Lark belongs to @kamersona (they must’ve moved blogs 🥲)
From me, to APRI <3333333 @apriciticreveries. had a lot of fun writing this, my darling friend!!! I really hope you like it and it meets expectations. I was feeling nostalgic for Cas and Aurien, so I chose to put their relationship at the center of this little story. Let it never be forgotten how much Cas loves his baby sis.
NOTE: To avoid confusion, this is a fusion of canon and modern AU. Canon ALNST universe is in italics while modern AU is in normal font. For anyone who read my Yaelbeth short story for Nad’s birthday, it’s similar to that in the sense that the modern AU is interspersed much like the modern AU in Wiege. I’ve really enjoyed this format of honoring canon while also giving the OCs a happy other life 🤧 here we go!
~
Going from being the only child of a single mother to the oldest of three kids was… a lot.
It was only a few weeks after Castor’s sixth birthday that his mom tiptoed into his room late at night and told him to grab his favorite set of clothes and pajamas, his favorite toy, and a blanket before he followed her confusedly out through the back door of their tiny house and through the backyard gate, then down the street where one of her work friends was waiting to pick them up. At the time, he didn’t know why they didn’t just wait until morning to leave, leave through the front door, or take their own car, but when he got older he looked back on it and knew. He knew.
Not quite a whole year passed by the time his mother remarried, having divorced Cas’s father and started seeing a polished guy from uptown with fancy suits and shiny sports cars. She said he worked at a studio where he helped make music. Or something. He didn’t care enough about the dude to pay much attention. Suspicion hounded him; having a crappy excuse for a father isn’t something that leaves you quickly. The best way he could describe it was a haunting. His father wasn’t dead, but he haunted him. Haunted his perception of what family was—what it could be, should be.
When Castor was seven and his mom had her first baby with his new stepdad, he was petrified.
Whenever he was left alone with Onyx, he was afraid. Afraid he would hurt this—tiny, fragile thing. Afraid his eyes matched his father’s because really, he was no better than him. Maybe he was worse.
It was probably a blessing that Nyxie grew up to be so stubborn and independent. He learned to crawl and walk and talk sooner than Castor or any toddler Castor ever knew did. Maybe somewhere deep down, he knew that he had to grow up quick because his parents were always leaving their kids in a too-big house for trips and parties and his only substitute was a little redheaded kid with messy hair that was always a few inches too long who was too nervous to carry him in case he dropped him; a kid who wasn’t even at the starting end of puberty yet.
Nyx had his father’s slate gray eyes. He didn’t look at all like Castor, despite sharing their common mother’s blood. Nah. They didn’t look a thing alike. For that reason, it was easier not to think too hard about those scary implications of family. For a while, he could just think: this is my stepfather’s kid. This is my stepfather’s kid whom I take care of.
But around three years after Nyx came Aurien.
And it wasn’t that simple with Aurien.
It was Greeting Day.
Castor remembered when he first arrived at Anakt Garden with the other members of the 38th class. The 37th class greeted them on the second day, after those of them with belongings had moved their things in and they’d met their bunkmates with awkward waves. Back then, Castor was a wreck. A ruin of a child. He couldn’t speak to anyone; couldn’t look anyone in the eye, let alone an older child. Some of the members of the 37th class laughed at his behavior. Others tried to cheer him up and grimaced when they were met with an unresponsive husk of a human. Ultimately, he was skipped over by as many kids as could feasibly avoid him.
Now he was in the place of those kids up in 37. Because this time, the 38th class, grown taller and less naïve since their arrival years ago, was greeting the newest arrivals to Anakt Garden: the kids of the 39th class.
The night before, Kyo complained to Castor in the safety of their room that he was decidedly not looking forward to a “kiddie meet-and-greet.”
“Really, what are we even supposed to say?” Kyo had scoffed as he plucked loose threads from his blanket. “Like, ‘Hey, kids! Congratulations on your guardians signing your death warrant!’ Yeah, no thanks.”
“That’s not true,” Castor muttered, growing increasingly upset with Kyo’s pessimism. “One of them is going to win, and then they get to do whatever they want. Same as us. We could win.”
“First off, sorry that I’m not excited about the prospect of one little kid out of tens of them surviving.” Kyo glared at him. “And second, don’t be stupid. Seriously, Castor. Neither of us is going to win out of all these people. Even if one of us did—if—what’s worth living for if all your friends are dead?” He sat up and swung his legs to hang over the side of his bed so he faced Castor. “Would you really want to win if it meant I died? Ollie? Isaiah?”
“Maybe you’re just not cut out to win!” Castor snapped, sitting up in bed to glare right back at him.
Kyo’s face turned stony.
Castor almost took it back, but before he could, Kyo reached for the light between their beds and turned it out.
“Goodnight,” Kyo said coldly.
It was the first big fight they’d ever had.
Even though they hadn’t said a word to each other today, Castor still glanced over to watch Kyo as a line of kids—God, tiny, tiny kids, he swore he wasn’t that small when he was that age—lined up against the wall of the cafeteria where the tables were pushed against one wall to make room for Greeting Day. One by one, the members of the 38th class went silent as the kids of the 39th class drew to a halt and stared back at them.
Kyo was pale. He looked like he might be sick.
Next to Castor, though, Ollie made a high-pitched cooing noise like this was the cutest thing in the entire world. (As if they weren’t just a few years older.)
Castor zeroed in on the smallest two girls at the back of the line. The shortest of the two had her fingers entangled with the girl in front of her with long black hair and a boisterous laugh. The one behind the shortest girl was alone. Silent.
Immediately, Castor’s heart ached.
Maybe it’s why he chose to introduce himself to this one first.
The first thing Castor noticed about Aurien when she was brought home from the hospital was her eyes. Big, brown eyes, like the eyes on a speckled yearling deer. They took Castor aback, because he expected slate-gray eyes like his stepfather. Like Nyx.
These eyes were his mother’s, though.
The mother they indisputably shared.
That was when he really woke up to the reality of it: that he wasn’t just babysitting these kids, or taking care of his mother’s husband’s kids as a favor. He wasn’t detached from them, safely untethered.
They were his blood.
His half-siblings—the term he finally reckoned with as he stared into Aurien’s doe eyes for the first time, and she seemed to stare back.
Siblings, is what it was when you took one syllable off of the front.
Just siblings.
Despite the name, no half measures.
Only when he realized that did something in his brain click, and when he held Aurien in his arms for the first time, he thought with misty eyes: You’re mine. You’re just as much my kid as you are my mother’s and my stepfather’s.
I would die for you, do you understand?
In some other life I have died for you.
At the end of the line, Castor stood before the little girl flattening herself against the wall as though to make herself invisible. He towered over her in height. She had to crane her neck to even look at him, and in her wide, dark eyes, darker and deeper than the void of outer space, he saw fear.
He saw a child who looked a lot like him, not in appearance, but in experience. Pain.
To make himself smaller, he knelt before her, hoping his expression conveyed nothing but the earnest desire to help and know.
“Hey,” he said softly—soft as he could. “Sorry for all the commotion. It’s pretty crowded and loud right now. When I had my Greeting Day with the class above me—I hated it. I hated it a lot.”
The girl blinked at him from behind round glasses. Still she said nothing.
“My name is Castor, or just Cas is fine.” He cleared his throat and, making a decision, he shuffled so he sat with his legs criss-crossed, lowering himself even more. “Yeah, when I first got here, I was real bad at talking to people. Everyone just scared me. They all seemed like they knew what they were doing, all the time, and I was just… there. Like I missed some big lesson everyone else got. It sucked.”
Trying for a reassuring smile, he said, “It’s not that I’m not scared anymore. I’m still scared of… basically everyone, I guess? What they think of me. Or what they could do to hurt me if they wanted to. But now I try to think of it like, maybe everyone else is scared too, you know? Or maybe at least someone is. And if I treat that person how I wish others had treated me sometimes, maybe they’ll feel a little braver and a little less alone here. I had one person do that for me.”
“Do you see the boy with the dark hair over there by that classmate of yours, with the gray and black hair?” The girl followed where Castor pointed his index finger. She pushed her glasses up with her second knuckle and licked her lips like she was in deep thought; then nodded. “Okay, cool. That’s Kyo. He’s the first person who made me feel brave.” For a brief moment, he felt a stinging pang of guilt for their fight. “He’s a really good friend. I try to be a good friend too—sometimes I don’t think I’m too good at it, though.”
He turned his head back to the girl just in time to see her give the slightest shake of her head. He felt his eyebrows shoot up—he hadn’t expected her to respond to him in any way. “What?”
She pressed her lips into a thin line, chewed on her lower lip and fiddled with the hem of her uniform anxiously—then shook her head again. “You,” she said quietly. “Not a bad friend.”
Almost imperceptibly, the girl’s face fell, her tentative sort of small smile collapsing into a frown. Realizing his mistake, Castor quickly rambled, “Not that… I mean, you can know me. If you want. I sure would like to get to know you.”
Saved it. Her eyes shone with renewed hope.
Castor grinned. “So, um, since you know my name, can I ask what yours is?” He held a hand out, palm up, in encouragement. To show he had kind intentions.
The girl raised her hand uncertainly. Her fingers twitched, her palm hovered over his for a moment, and then she touched just her fingertips to the pads of his fingers. Good enough. That was already more than Castor had ever been able to get himself to do on his Greeting Day.
“Aurien,” the girl said softly.
Aurien.
“Fits you,” Castor said, earning a short, nervous laugh.
Feeling the telltale prickle at the back of his neck of eyes watching him, he turned his head to look back at the line of other kids.
Kyo was staring at him where he was chatting with that same kid with the gray and black hair. He watched Castor with… fondness, maybe, or admiration—Castor hoped that was what it was—when he saw Aurien’s smaller hand in Castor’s.
Castor shifted his gaze to the kid Kyo chose to introduce himself to and smiled when he saw the moon eyes the kid was making at Kyo.
He understood that feeling.
The corner of Kyo’s mouth twitched upwards when Castor looked back at him, and Castor smiled at him.
Right now, Castor didn’t see a group of kids destined to be narrowed down to one lone winner. He could see now that Kyo didn’t see them like that either.
They just saw kids.
And years later, when Castor was sixteen and had the first child of his own, subsequently forced to give her up, he returned to Anakt Garden and sobbed with his head on Kyo’s lap, convulsing with the force of his cries, and wailed, “Auri and Nyx are mine, not that one. They’re mine, not—I love Auri and Nyx, I want Auri and Nyx!”
He helped teach Aurien how to walk and talk.
He taught her the alphabet with her sitting on his legs and Nyx hanging over his shoulder, arms resting on his head. He made her favorite soup and dessert on the nights when his mom and her husband were away and read her fantasy books to lull her to sleep at bedtime. (Nyx preferred sci-fi, but he didn’t complain too much. Not when it made their little sister happy.)
On weekends, Castor and Nyx walked down to the playground with Auri between them, holding both of their hands. Castor pushed them both on the swings. If he occasionally got clobbered by dirty sneakers in the teeth due to an over ambitious jump by Nyx, it was still worth it. If Aurien dripped chocolate chip ice cream in his new car the first time he took them for a ride when he turned sixteen, it was still worth it. …Mostly. Admittedly he did rank the car above his dental health in terms of importance.
But of course Aurien was still ranked above the car.
Sometimes they pitched a tent in the backyard and slept out beneath the stars and moon, and as Castor lay in the middle of a doggy pile of siblings with Auri and Nyx half on top of him (and Kyo, who was sleeping over, on Nyx’s other side), he reflected as he stared up at the shining full moon:
This is the life he never thought he could have when he was still living with his bio father.
It’s the life he stopped thinking he deserved a chance at, after a while.
But what did he have now?
The most amazing boyfriend in the whole universe, a baby brother who poked fun at him at every chance and pretended like he didn’t steal his clothes—
—and a baby sister who changed everything for him.
Whose eyes he looked into and realized that he didn’t even have to deserve this kid.
She deserved to have him in her life.
At her side.
Protecting her, making her laugh, trying to repay every bit of purpose she’s given him simply by existing.
Stretching his legs out tiredly, he smiled sleepily at the moon one final time for the night before closing his eyes and turned his head to rest his forehead against Aurien’s temple.
“Love you, sissy,” Castor murmured. He reached a hand behind him to gently squeeze Nyx’s knee. “Love you, bubba.”
Castor almost dozed off before a dry voice came close to his ear and said, “What about me, bubba?”
At least the effort of hitting Kyo in the throat didn’t wake up the kids.
~
HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO THE LOVELY APRI!!! And also to anyone else who read this 🙏 Other OCs outside of my own and Apri’s in this short fic include @rockwgooglyeyes’s Nyx, mentions of Castor and Kyo’s S38 friends, @apple8ees’s Ollie and @lulling-riot’s Isaiah, and though she’s not mentioned by name since Cas doesn’t know her yet when she’s here, @ivanttakethis’s Tov was the other small girl he noticed along with Auri at the end of the line.
(So I got really curious and I wanted to see how many of my OCS can I give an irl face claim to, which I use mostly just actors and actresses but I tried!!!!)
For @lulling-riot - HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY KILLS YOU KILLS YOU KILLS YOU HUGS YOU here’s the Yaelbeth that I’ve been promising since you made the Yael comic. I used your birthday as an excuse to get motivated. I’m so smart
(Word count: 4k. Mix of canon and modern AU - ties into the first 2 Yael logs but can be read on its own—it just has references to the logs. TW list is shorter than usual but includes: recreational drug use, nongraphic references to sex, mild gender dysphoria, referenced suicide and talks about mental illness. 4k words of Yaelbeth being stupid below the cut)
“Yael.”
“Wake up, Yael.”
“Yael.”
“Yael.”
Macbeth’s voice was vaguely irate as Yael approached his desk and, without further ado, swung a leg up over the side of it like it was a horse and shimmied so he was planted firmly in the middle in a straddle with either leg hanging off the sides. Yael didn’t take offense to it. He’d learned not to, anyway. The perpetual stormcloud hanging over Macbeth’s head made him a bit of a grump–prone to scowls and narrowed eyes, gloomy, half-lidded glances and a wrinkled nose to show his typical state of disapproval. Compared to some of their classmates, Yael got the gentled version of Macbeth’s diagnosable annoyance with humanity. Him and Inna, he supposed. But Inna was too nice for Macbeth to understand at his core.
Yael understood. Not that he wasn’t nice–he liked to think he was pretty nice–but he didn’t really care about others the same way Inna did. When Inna finished his bevvy of extracurriculars, he always had someone he wanted to hang out with. Monica to stay out late in the rock-and-cement playground at their old elementary school before puberty and mental illness kicked in and life got complicated. Inna and Monica liked jumping rope, playing tag and hopscotch, while Yael would just sit and watch. Quiet. Uninterested.
Uninterested was how he felt about most people until he met Macbeth, with the exception of Naz from the experimental treatment clinic, who provided decent entertainment.
Yael plucked an eraser out from where it got wedged under his thigh and held it up like something deeply interesting and worthy of discussion, twisting and turning it in his hand. He smiled at Macbeth, the one with teeth that meant he had some grand plan in mind. “What?”
Macbeth fixed him with a deadpan stare. “How many times do I have to tell you not to sit on my desk? Your butt is crushing my papers.”
“Your papers like my butt,” Yael retorted. He grabbed the pencil in Macbeth’s loose grip and started idly scritching little doodles into the rubbery pink material of the eraser. One of them looked like it might be meant to be a cat’s face. Another vaguely resembled a marijuana leaf. “It’s Friday.”
“I have a calendar and eyes to see.”
“And what very pretty eyes they are, my friend.”
“Shut up. And stop poking holes in my eraser! What, did you forget to medicate today or something?” said Macbeth as he snatched the eraser back, which, in fact, Yael had begun to poke. Cats and weed had gotten old fast.
Yael shook his head, the same toothy smile still plastered to his face. “Wouldn’t you like to know. So as I was saying, it’s Friday. Friiiiday. Which is basically our day.”
Macbeth scrunched up his nose in confusion. “Since when?”
“Well, first off, I’m pretty sure we met on a Friday.”
“We met on a Monday.”
Yael squinted down at him. “Did we?” Then he beamed. “You remembered!”
Waving his hand– “Right, whatever. You were saying?”
“For the last three weeks we’ve smoked on Fridays. So what I’m saying is we should keep doing that. For routine’s sake.”
That earned Yael an amused snort. “Routine’s sake? For weed?”
…that was probably said a little too loudly in a religious school’s classroom. Macbeth briefly tensed, but no one appeared to be lingering. By the time Yael strutted in and took his place on Macbeth’s desk, everyone else left the study hall, eager to get on with their weekends. Nobody ever waited for Macbeth, and no one ever waited for Yael, except for each other. They were safe.
Back in fall semester when they tried kissing out, Yael would only try it in empty lecture halls after class, in the courtyard behind the big tree near the perimeter where they napped during breaks, or in the privacy of Yael’s house. His parents were doting but thought of themselves as “progressive” by leaving him alone in his room with a boy and offering him birth control tablets. To be fair, they were hippies. Weed-smoking, libertarian hippies who had a handmade sign in their yard that said, “Leave Clinton and Bush to Rot–We Want Legal Pot!” Yael never noticed that they actually misspelled Clinton with an e instead of an o until Macbeth came over to his house for the first time and pointed it out. I was just so used to seeing it, Yael had said sagely.
Point is, they know where to do and say certain things and where not to.
“Just come over to my house tonight.” Yael twirled the pencil between his fingers, pausing to note the small indents and chips in the yellow paint from absentminded pencil biting. His eyes flicked up to Macbeth’s, searching. “Unless you’re avoiding me.”
“I’m not avoiding you,” Macbeth said, exasperated. With a roll of his eyes, he stood from his chair and grabbed Yael’s tie to yank him forwards and set him off balance, causing him to stumble off the desk. “I’ll go to your house. We need to stop by mine first so I can check in.”
“You can grab a few things for overnight,” Yael added, letting himself be led behind Macbeth by the still-held tie out of the classroom. Seeing Macbeth’s hesitation flickering over his face, Yael quickly added, “If you want. Just to sleep.”
So they ended up at Macbeth’s house so Macbeth could announce himself as alive and throw a few things in his overnight bag–which had also been “embellished” by Yael, who drew on it with a hot pink marker once when they were both high. Macbeth said he’d have to throw it away and get a new one. He never did.
The reason they could never actually stay over together at the Roulette house if they wanted a moment’s peace was simple: Macbeth’s family was expansive in size and in their will to intrude upon others’ privacy. Even as Yael and Macbeth packed (or, Macbeth packed and Yael sat on the bed and watched) his younger sister Mae barged in, her friend from the next town over, Miriam, on her heels. Miriam went to a Catholic all-girls’ school that operated in horror of “forward-thinking” Catholic mixed gendered schools such as the one in their town, Gardens. But then, Eden was a weird town. Veturia–another lively member of the Roulette family who spent an hour in the bathroom every other early morning, thirty minutes to smoke so it rose with the shower steam and through the vent where no one could smell it, and thirty to actually shower––once compared Eden to Clearwater, Florida. She swore on her Chevrolet that Scientology has spread to the west. At some point, Miriam got tired of arguing with her.
However, she never got tired of arguing with Yael over theology. She only went to Catholic boarding school because her parents made her–she thought the whole thing was “a giant pile of horse-fucking-shit.” Yael disagreed. This annoyed her. And thus was the greatest feud of the decade, shortly ahead of Yael and Mae’s more playful feud caused largely by Yael going from calling Mae “Margaret” to pester her to taking it a step further when she protested by calling her Margaret Thatcher.
As a journalistic family, running the county paper and fond of closely watching the news, the Roulettes naturally had a burning and intense hatred for Margaret Thatcher.
“Where are you going?” Mae asked, flopping down on Macbeth’s comforter next to Yael, who busied himself with stealing her headband and putting it on his own head.
While Miriam wrestled it from him, Macbeth zipped up his bag and stood. “Yael’s. I’ll be back sometime tomorrow. Yael, give her the headband or she’ll kill you in your sleep.”
Sighing, Yael relinquished the headband.
Miriam glared down at him, handing the accessory back to Mae. “Good choice.”
Leaving the girls in relative peace, Yael and Macbeth trekked the distance to Yael’s house in a nearby cul-de-sac. Walking in school uniform in the summer was hell, but this early in spring, it was cold enough that they didn’t sweat too badly from the sun. Everything smelled clean and fresh after the long winter. Flowerboxes had been set in windowsills outside of the neighbors’ houses, full of blooming yellow, blue, and purple buds. It looked–felt–hopeful.
Last year at this time, Yael’s only friend was Naz, who was too invested in her other friendships to tag along with him constantly. They stuck together more in junior high when Yael was enrolled in the nearest city’s mental health clinic’s new program for youth with unexplainable and undiagnosed illnesses. That was where he met Naz. Naz threw a lot of fits in the waiting room, which made him dislike her, at first. She didn’t like him either on account of that time he smashed his head against the wall and gave himself a concussion–it scared her.
You can’t be too choosey with companions in a religious town when you’re part of a shrink program, though.
Yael had gone to school with Macbeth for years, but only last summer did they actually really meet through a summertime support group their parents made them attend. They didn’t talk for the rest of the summer, but when the school year started up, they recognized one another and clicked. Yael couldn’t properly explain what drew him to Macbeth. Macbeth couldn’t really explain it either.
Fate, Yael had claimed that first afternoon they tried kissing (it was winter and Yael still had his braces in so it hurt, a little), pulling away with a grin.
Maybe he wasn’t so far off.
This spring, with Macbeth at his side, he was the least and most afraid he’d ever been. Not afraid, because he had his soulmate at his side. And he was sure of it–Macbeth had to be his soulmate. He’d always believed in soulmates, waited for one, and what would a soulmate even be if it wasn’t what he and Macbeth were?
As Miriam would say: horse-fucking-shit.
And he was also afraid.
Because he could always lose Macbeth, too.
It was the kind of thing he usually tried to calm his mind from when he smoked. When they got to Yael’s house, they followed the usual routine–got a bowl of snacks and retreated to Yael’s room to do a few pages of homework together, exchange ideas for the story they were writing (it was supposed to be a more insightful rewrite of the Christian Bible, courtesy of Yael who believed they needed one in the world–or maybe just wanted to read something that affirmed his existence and identity and didn’t find it anywhere else, so he figured he’d have to do it himself)–then light up with the window cracked open to ventilate, lying on the bed with their sides touching. They changed into pajamas beforehand so they wouldn’t stink up the uniforms and fall asleep in their slacks and shoes.
These were the moments Yael enjoyed most, these days. He never cared much for his own bedroom until Macbeth. Now it was where they sequestered from the world together; from their annoyance or disappointment with humanity as a species. However applicable.
It was also when Yael could stare without Macbeth feeling the need to perform irritation or embarrassment as he usually did. With Macbeth’s amber eyes fixed up at the popcorned ceiling, eyelids relaxed, Yael could fixate on the brown speck in Macbeth’s left iris, the tiny twin moles above his left eyebrow, the uneven texture of his lips, chapped as they were because he couldn’t drink enough water to save his life. He could marvel at the curve of his eyelashes, the sharpness of his cheekbones that granted him his intimidating quality that kept most away from him, thinking him unapproachable, though it just looked pretty to Yael. There were a lot of things about Macbeth that others found weird or unpleasant that Yael just thought were pretty, in appearance or personality. He didn’t think it was strange to call someone’s personality pretty. It was the only word he could think of for it.
Caught up in the intimate setting of the moment, Yael rolled onto his side to face his companion and curled his calf over Macbeth’s, laying his hand on the soft inside of his elbow. They’d experimented once before, so he didn’t think much of it. Just wondered if Macbeth was feeling the same as he was.
Macbeth tensed, though, picking up on the signal, and glanced down at their legs, slowly withdrawing his from underneath Yael’s. “Yael–”
“It’s okay.” Only miffed by the withdrawal of contact, Yael pulled away to his side of the bed, rolling back over onto his back and folding his hands over his stomach (which was in complete knots). He picked at the skin around his thumb, chewed on the inside of his cheek, then, realizing the thought wouldn’t go away unless he voiced it, blurted, “Is it because of how I am?”
Macbeth turned his head to frown at him, brows furrowed. “How you are?”
“Well, yeah.”
“What do you mean, how you are?”
Sometimes Yael wondered if Macbeth just forgot his differences. Not that it was a bad thing–maybe it was a good thing. He was one of the only people outside of his parents and Naz who knew about it anyway. “Because, you know, I was a girl.”
Macbeth’s nose did that scrunching thing again like he was offended at the idea. “We weren’t even friends when you looked like a girl.”
“Well you could still tell when you had your hand–”
“That doesn’t matter, Yael, Jesus,” Macbeth interrupted, huffing out an audible scoff. “I didn’t care about that. I don’t care now. We were just trying something.”
Yael flipped over on his side again, staring at Macbeth’s side profile. “You’ve been dodging me when I try to talk to you about it, though.”
Helplessly, Macbeth shrugged, which looked quite awkward from a supine position. “I don’t know what to say. I just don’t see why it matters so much. I don’t see why we have to do it to be close. I like being close to you, but I don’t like that.” He took a drag, then coughed and shrugged again. “I don’t like when people talk about it. I thought I would like actually doing it, but I didn’t. It was just… me. Okay? I don’t care that you have to–sit down to take a leak, or whatever.”
He was tense, his face angled to the window away from Yael like he expected anger or rejection. Instead, Yael just laughed. “I could probably do it standing. If I tried.”
Startled, Macbeth actually giggled for what was probably the first time in his life. “What?”
“Peeing. I could try standing peeing. You could score me on accuracy.”
Macbeth rolled over to face Yael, mouth agape. “I’m not–Jesus, Yael, I’m not going to watch you pee to score you!”
Yael only laughed harder, so Macbeth laughed, too, until their stomachs hurt too badly and they wound up nose-to-nose, Yael nudging their faces together.
“That’s two times you’ve said Jesus out of turn. You’d get hit on the wrist with a ruler at school.” Yael studied his expression in response to the proximity. “Is this fine, though? Do you like this?”
Macbeth rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, Yael. This is fine.” I like this went unsaid but hung in the air between them.
“Good. It is for me too.” Yael ducked his head further to rest his forehead against Macbeth’s collarbone, breathing deep and peacefully. “I’m tired.”
“You’re always tired.”
“I’m tired like I’m going to sleep, though.”
“You’re also always sleeping.”
“Shush. Be nice and hold me.”
For all Macbeth’s feigned grumpiness, he did.
He’s in a cafeteria, in white clothes, surrounded by more children in white clothes. Like school uniforms, but worse. Worse. He recognizes it. He knows it.
He searches for Macbeth amidst a few other brunets, but he already knows: Macbeth isn’t here. If Macbeth was here, he’d be sitting with Yael right now, taking prim bites of his food and dabbing his mouth with a napkin, complaining to Yael about music theory or singing practice but he wasn’t in music theory or singing practice. Eventually a hypothermia victim will do anything and everything on this side of irrational to try and get warm, stripping the only clothing defending them from the cold, trying to burrow in the snow and insulate. Instinct.
Yael knows these words, he knows this day, where Macbeth is absent from him.
The moment he realizes it, he jumps up from his seat, his heart seizing in his chest, breaths coming in gasps. As he darts between the tables for the exit, none of the other students look up; no orderly attempts to stop him. The kids are all frozen, immobile, their chattering mouths motionless, their eyes closed, and their heads down so they can’t see what’s happening. Only Inna, easily recognizable by his baby blue head of hair, has his chin up. Only Inna has his eyes open. And as Yael rushes for the door, those eyes follow him the whole way.
The hallway is so much longer than it’s supposed to be. Yael runs as fast as he can, thinking: he can get there fast enough, he can stop it this time. This time he can save Macbeth. This time he can stop him from doing the very thing the old Yael said would save him but it didn’t, it didn’t, and it didn’t save Nina, it didn’t save him, he’s dead, he’s already dead–
He’s dead because You Already Watched Him Die.
But he’s still running to Macbeth’s room.
And he’s still falling to his knees in the doorway, screaming.
He still finds Macbeth dead,
because You Already Watched Him Die.
And All Stories Come To An End.
He’s been here before, and he still isn’t prepared for how shocked he is when the truth of it is before his eyes.
“Yael, wake up! Hey, wake up!”
For all the time Yael slept, he did wake up, screaming.
“No, wait! Where’d he go, where’d he go, where’s–”
Hands held fast to his wrists to stop his flailing, and the size and feeling of them was recognizable enough that Yael settled, his anxious trembling stuttering in its consistency. Only when he looked up at the face above him did he feel truly calmed.
Macbeth.
Alive.
You are beautiful.
“Oh,” he croaked. “Oh. Thank God.” And he threw his arms and legs around Macbeth’s shoulders and waist, dragging him down against him so their bodies were flush together.
Macbeth didn’t struggle or tense in the embrace. He was awkward as ever with physical affection, but he tried, moving his hands from Yael’s forearms to rest against his sides hesitantly. He asked, quietly, “Was it… the drowning one, again?”
“No.” Yael’s voice was still trembling and hoarse as he spoke. “It’s this different one I’ve started getting more and more since we’ve been friends.”
“...Should I be offended?”
“No!” Yael amended quickly, “no, it’s not bad–I mean, it’s not bad about you. Well, it’s–it’s just that you’re dead.”
“Oh. How do I die?”
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s… bad.”
Carefully, Macbeth shifted his weight off of Yael so they were hugging on their sides instead, laying his palm flat against Yael’s upper back. “I’m not a little kid, I can take it. Anyway, it’s not real, Yael.”
For a moment, Yael debated staying silent and pretending he was already going back to sleep. But–no. Macbeth deserved to hear.
His voice a broken whisper, Yael mumbled, “I find you, and you killed yourself, and I’m too late.”
He could hear Macbeth’s surprised inhalation in the quiet of the room. It was cold. They forgot to close the window before sleeping. “Oh.”
Yael exhaled harshly. “Yeah. Oh.”
He whined when Macbeth extricated himself from the tight hug, only reassured when Macbeth propped himself up on an elbow and pulled on Yael’s arm to get him to do the same. “Look, I know you know I have… like… some issues. With… depression, or whatever. But that doesn’t mean I’d actually do that. You know?”
“I know.” Yael mimicked Macbeth’s position, though his limbs still felt weak with fear. “It just feels so real. Like… it really happened a long time ago, or something. And… come on, we met over the summer in a support group for suicidal teenagers. Can you honestly blame me for being worried?”
Macbeth’s eyebrows twitched, upset. “It’s not like–like I don’t worry for you, too.”
Despite how close they were, it… honestly hadn’t occurred to Yael. He must’ve looked surprised for a moment, because Macbeth’s frown deepened into something more distraught. “Do you seriously not know?”
“Despite your name, Macbeth, you haven’t ever seemed quite as fixated on death as me.”
“Not death,” Macbeth protested. “More like… I just worry about your wellbeing. That’s what people are supposed to do for one another when they’re close, right?” He rubbed his head between his eyes like he was contemplating something great. “...I don’t know. I think maybe we’re supposed to worry about each other. Maybe we’re supposed to tell each other that kind of stuff.”
Vaguely less miserable, Yael smiled weakly. “Why? So I can make sure you know I’m haunted by your imaginary death and make you worried too?”
Macbeth shoved his arm. “No, idiot. I just didn’t think about it before. You don’t even know I worry about you. Or that I’d miss you if you died.” He paused. Quietly, he said, “I’d miss you if you died.”
I have missed you.
Yael sniffled so snot from his crying didn’t drip out of his nose and nodded, mouth trembling. “I’d miss you if you died too. So don’t.”
Macbeth smiled, a small, barely there thing. “And you don’t, either.”
“We’ll get really old together. And escape from here, like–go somewhere really great. Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ll write our book. And get rich for it.”
“Obviously.”
“And we can… hey, we can get a kid someday!”
“...Do we have to do that part?”
“And run a pot farm. Have a big house from all the book money somewhere in Europe.”
“And we’ll…”
“...and…”
Do we get an “and” this time?
Do we get an “after”?
Before
“Yael!”
“Hey, Yael, wake up!”
“What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for you.”
Like emerging from cold water and drawing your first breath after struggling under the surface for so long, Yael wakes with a start, his eyes flying open to welcome an open blue sky, and—
It’s not.
It’s not.
It’s not him.
It hasn’t been him for a long time, it can’t be—
Macbeth’s golden eyes, not one golden eye but two, stare back at him. Yellow and purple flower petals have blown with the breeze into his dark hair, like a scattered version of the flower halo Yael once made for him. Somewhere within those eyes, Yael can see his own disbelief—elation—reflected, shining like the light of the brightest star in the universe.
“Oh, hey,” Macbeth breathes, tilting his head to the side as if in wonder. “You’re finally here.”
Yael’s mouth is not filled with blood.
He is not blinded by stage lights.
He is not staring into one blue eye and one gold.
He’s just Here.
Finally.
Finally.
With a wail, he launches himself at Macbeth, tackles him to the ground, and buries his face in his neck.
“I’m sorry,” he hiccups, tears streaming down his cheeks in rivers. “I’m sorry, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, I’ll never let you go again, never, never, I promise—“
“It’s fine. Hey.” Macbeth clings to him tightly, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s fine. It’s fine.”
How long they lie there relishing their continued existence no longer matters; they have all the time they never had.
No matter how long it takes them to embark down the path again and let go of one another’s hand, step into the great unknown of a new life, it doesn’t matter.
Somewhere, they get an “and.”
They get an “after.”
And in every “and” and “after” and “before”—
They’ll find each other.
And when the boy with the blue eye is ready,
they’ll find him, too.
NOTE: In case the timeline confused anyone: in chronological order, Macbeth. You know. Died. Yael died sometime after him in Round 6. The last scene was Macbeth welcoming him to the afterlife, and afterwards is when they’re reborn into new lives where they will be able to live peacefully, based on the modern AU world shown in the official Wiege episode!! Thank you for reading and HAPPY BIRTHDAY NAD TWIN BESTIE
HBSHSHDJNBDVNSBDDH THANK YOU NAD I LOVE IT SO MUCH THE EERIE LOOK OF THE EYE AND THEIR COLORS OVERLAPPING AND AND AND YAEL’S PEACEFUL EXPRESSION VS INNA’S TROUBLED ONE IT ENCAPSULATES THEIR DYNAMIC SO PERFECTLY AND IT’S SO PRETTY THANK YOU FOR TAKING THE TIME TO DO THIS FOR MY BORTHDAY 🥺🫶
More often than not, she would come by his office if the topic couldn’t fit neatly into a digital message.
But today, she’d requested his presence in a Research Department lab.
The same lab he had taken Tov to a few days ago.
Though this time he was on the other side of the one way mirror, in the observation room.
The setup inside the testing chamber was the same as before; one stool and one microphone.
This must’ve been the next phase of the experiment Yakun told him about.
“I’m going to play the same song for Tallis and record his physiological response.” She said on the balcony.
Irin frowned.
He did not want to be a part of this.
“Agent Irin, nice to see you.” Yakun said, only sparing him a brief glance before returning to her tablet.
“Why am I here?” He asked.
“Eddy ran off somewhere, said to call you to handle Tallis.”
Ah.
They likely couldn’t bear to watch Tallis sing the same song as Tov had, knowing they were singing for each other.
Irin closed his eyes and sighed.
Today was going to be a long day.
“Alright, that’s fine.” He didn’t know if his tone matched his words.
Yakun didn’t mention it.
“We’re about to start.” She said. “It’ll only take a few minutes, then we’ll hand him back over to you.”
The agent nodded, looking back into the chamber.
Lyra and Zair were inside talking to Tallis.
The young man seemed more at ease with the two humans.
He even smiled at them.
Tallis had no idea who’d been standing where he stood not very long ago.
Speaking to the same agents.
Put through the same test.
Eddy was right to leave.
The two agents exited the chamber and Lyra took control of the microphone to speak into Tallis’s earpiece.
“Alright Tallis, you ready?”
Tallis nodded.
“Deja vu, huh?” Agent Zair said, walking over and nudging him with his shoulder.
Irin sighed, “Something like that.”
Lyra pressed a button on the panel in front of her and the song started.
A steady heartbeat, and then the tone of a heart monitor flatlining.
Tallis took a deep breath and began to sing.
Allow me, to the tips of your fingers
Allow me, to the ends of your feet
Dissolve me in your gaze
I don't want to let you go
His voice was smooth and light, almost warm on certain notes. Completely incongruent with his circumstances.
“Damn, he’s good.” Zair said.
Lyra nodded, “He is! Season 39 had a lot of powerhouse singers, so he was overshadowed, but he’s no slouch. I mean, he did make it into Alien Stage.”
“His special talent is perfect pitch as well.” Yakun added.
Please, leave me scars
Please, hurt me so that
Not a single drop of me remains
Let me drown in you
Irin never liked overseeing experiments of pet human subjects.
Watching everything up close made it harder to remain objective.
The distance was necessary.
That simply wasn’t an option today.
Until these falling stars
Are buried in the blur of time
On your icy lips
Read my soul
Yes, my soul, oh, oh
Tov had sung about falling stars in one of her rounds.
Irin didn’t make a habit of watching Alien Stage, but Vee was insistent that he watch Season 39 with them.
They seemed to like Tov the most.
And the song about the stars had been their favorite.
He never told Vee that he’d met Tov, or that he brought her to the facility.
There was a non-zero chance that they would kill him.
Notice my pain
And mend me right now
To quiet my fears
I'll drown in you
Irin tried to tune everything out. To disconnect from the emotion that laced Tallis’s performance.
But something kept tugging at him.
Just like the last time they spoke.
Sick of these nights to come
To be engulfed in silence
In your gaze, where l'm seen
Consume me, yes, me, oh, oh
Tallis’s voice cracked on the word “silence,” his expression pained but only for a moment.
It wasn’t hard to guess what he was thinking.
Yakun seemed to catch it too.
Until these falling stars
Are buried in the blur of time
On your icy lips
Read my soul
Yes, my soul
Sick of these nights to come
To be engulfed in silence
In your gaze, where I'm seen
Consume me, yes, me, oh, oh
Lyra burst into applause, before remembering that Tallis couldn’t hear her and rushing into the chamber, with Zair trailing behind.
Her excitement seemed to catch Tallis off guard; a strained smile on his face.
But his eyes…
Bloodshot and watery.
He looked like he was about to cry.
Yakun got the physiological response she wanted.
Irin walked into the chamber. “Alright you two, we’re leaving.” He said, gesturing for Tallis to follow him.
Lyra nudged him forward, “No worries, agent! We can stop by his room later.”
“We can?” Zair asked in a hush tone.
He couldn’t hear Lyra’s answer.
“See you guys later, I guess?” Tallis gave them an awkward wave and followed Irin out of the lab.
“Where are we going?” He asked once they were out in the hall.
“Outside.” Irin said.
“Uh— why?”
“Because you look like you could use some fresh air,” He said. “And I need a smoke break.”
———
Irin took Tallis to an offshoot of the open atrium at the center of the department.
Here, the heavy concrete of the agency compound gave way to a sliver of blue sky and warm sunlight.
Thick, dark green vegetation covered the ground a brief drop below them.
Unlike the rest of the main atrium and its balconies, there was no railing along this section, which seemed to keep most agents away.
It meant this place was empty most of the time, making it perfect spot to smoke in peace; free of coworker small talk and noisy conversation.
Irin walked up to the edge and pulled his lighter and a sleeve of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket.
“Whoa… I didn’t know you could see outside in this place.” Tallis said, still a few steps behind him.
“There aren’t many spots like this in the research department, but they exist.” He said, setting a cigarette between his teeth. “It’s also one of the only places you can smoke.”
Irin flicked the lighter twice and held the small flame close to the end of the stick.
The paper caught light immediately.
Tallis didn’t speak.
Irin was content to watch the clouds as he usually did during his breaks.
Ten minutes of silence, then right back to work.
“I can’t remember the last time I saw the sun.” Tallis said in a quiet voice.
Irin’s gaze snapped over to the young man — now sitting on the ground with his knees pulled up to his chest.
He looked awestruck… and yet deeply pained.
Somehow smaller than he was just a few minutes ago.
“Have you ever been in love before?” He asked, cutting off Irin’s attempt at a response.
The silhouette of a familiar figure came to mind right away.
Sharp pink eyes.
Glowing markings.
The end of a tail always curled in the shape of a heart.
Agent Irin blew out a puff of smoke and nodded, “Once.”
“Do they know?”
“Probably.”
Tallis’s eyes narrowed a little; curious, it seemed. “You’ve never told them?”
There was an accusatory undercurrent in his voice, or maybe the cigarette was just making him nervous.
Irin cleared his throat, “I’m… not a direct kind of man.”
“I wasn’t either.” Tallis said. “And now look at me.”
He frowned, “I don’t follow.”
The young man averted his eyes.
Took a deep breath.
Held it until his cheeks colored.
“Tov came to see me before my round.” He said, voice thin. “She told me that she loved me, and I… I just choked.”
Irin tried his best to ignore the way the confession caught in Tallis’s throat.
“It sounds like something that would be easy to do, but it didn’t feel like enough. She means a lot to me. More than what can fit in just a few words.” He said.
“Of course I love her, but she’s also my best friend. She’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to family. She sees me in a way no one else ever has, and it’s scary, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Tallis said. “I don’t know what I’d do without her. I don’t even think I’d still be me, you know?”
Tallis glanced up at him again.
The desperation in his eyes was clear.
He cleared his throat and nodded, “I think I understand the feeling.”
No, he knew he understood the feeling.
It came upon him so often that he felt more unlike himself when it wasn’t there.
The comfort.
The safety.
The intrinsic understanding.
Knowing without a shadow of a doubt that someone sees you for who you are.
“I probably know you better than you know yourself.” Vee said to him once.
It was true.
“There was so much I wanted to say to her that I ended up saying nothing. I thought we would have more time.” He chuckled humorlessly, “Great Anakt, I was a fucking idiot.”
Irin blinked, surprised to hear him curse.
He didn’t seem like the type.
Then again, he didn’t seem like the type to get violent either, but his incident record showed otherwise.
Looks could be deceiving, he supposed.
“And now I’m stuck here and she thinks I’m dead and maybe even believes that I don’t love her and I can’t fix any of it—”
Tallis cut himself off, digging his teeth into his bottom lip and hugging his knees tighter.
His eyes were getting watery again.
He scrubbed at them with the back of his hand.
“Just— don’t do what I did.” He said, finally. “If you love someone, tell them. You don’t know how much time you have left together. If you don’t, you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting it.”
Irin scoffed, though he wasn’t sure if it was out of offense or surprise. “You’re offering me advice? I’m old enough to be your father.”
“I never had a father, or a mother either. Just some shitty guardians.” Tallis said.
Irin shrugged a shoulder, “Fathers and mothers can be shitty too.”
He could speak from experience.
“Ruminating on the past won’t change anything. What’s done is done.” He said.
Another thing Irin could speak from experience about.
“Well what else am I supposed to do here?” Tallis asked, a slight edge in his tone. “All I have are my notebooks and my thoughts.”
“I could bring you some books to read.” He offered.
Tallis blinked.
“Really?”
“Sure.”
His eyes narrowed further, “Why?”
Good question.
Why was Irin doing any of this?
Maybe it was out of pity.
Tallis didn’t escape on purpose, and he had no say in Hayate’s decision to rescue him.
But he wound up here all the same.
Maybe it was because he reminded Irin of himself when he was younger.
Quiet. Observant. Composed.
Not the kind of person to draw attention.
Not loved or cared for early in their lives.
Not brave enough to say what was deeply felt.
“They’re just sitting on my bookshelves collecting dust right now. Might as well put them to use.” He said instead.
Tallis didn’t seem to be satisfied with his answer, but he didn’t push.
“That would be nice.”
Irin took a final drag of his cigarette, “I’ll bring a few with me tomorrow then. Any particular genre?”
“Surprise me.”
He nodded and stepped away to snuff out the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray nearby.
“Can I ask you something?” Tallis called from behind him.
“Go ahead.”
“What are they going to do with me once the experiments are over?”
Irin took a few seconds longer than he needed before he turned back around to face him again.
He could tell that the real question Tallis wanted to ask was, “Am I going to die here?”
A small part of Irin was relieved that he didn’t have to lie in his answer.
Though he didn’t know if that made things better or worse.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
———
Irin didn’t do overtime.
He was a staunch “clock-in on time and clock-out on time” employee.
While some of his coworkers loved what they did, Irin didn’t share their passion.
He didn’t live and breathe his work like Yakun, nor was he fully and zealously committed to the mission of the agency like Agent Pol.
To him, this was just another job.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
It paid the bills.
It came with good benefits.
It allowed him to live comfortably.
That was enough.
Any extra pay for extra time spent on the clock wasn’t worth the headache of more paperwork.
But Agent Korath wanted an updated plan to bring Tov back to the facility on his desk bright and early tomorrow morning.
It was well past his usual departure time when he finished something that would hopefully keep the agency out of any lawsuits or corruption investigations.
He didn’t feel particularly good about it, though.
Yes, he was following orders.
But following orders didn’t always mean you were doing the right thing.
At the very least, he did what he could.
Had he passed on the task, whoever replaced him probably wouldn’t have been as careful.
“I don’t get paid enough for this.” He muttered to himself.
As Irin gathered his belongings to leave, his phone buzzed twice in quick succession.
He assumed it was Vee, scolding him for staying late, but the messages had come from Yakun.
The first message read: Listen to this when you get the chance.
The second included an audio file.
Irin slipped the planning documents his boss requested under his door and made his way out to the garage.
Once he was in his car, he connected his phone to the speakers and clicked on the audio file Yakun sent.
The song that Tallis sang earlier that day began to play.
But it was Tov singing the opening lines.
Allow me, to the tips of your fingers
Allow me, to the ends of your feet
Dissolve me in your gaze
I don't want to let you go
Please, leave me scars
Please, hurt me so that
Not a single drop of me remains
Let me drown in you
Irin pulled out onto the main road as she sang the first half of the chorus and her voice faded into the rising instrumental.
He couldn’t understand why Yakun would want him to just listen to Tov’s version of the song.
Then Tallis took over the second verse.
Even if your cold words
Carve scars beneath my eyes
May they linger on your tongue
You can break me apart
Noticе my pain
And mend me right now
To quiet my fеars
I'll drown in you
His voice gained strength as he sang the chorus.
Irin accelerated onto the desolate highway, the only vehicle in sight so late in the evening.
In the bridge of the song, Tov and Tallis took turns singing lines.
Back and forth.
Tov sang.
To this everlasting melody
Face to face, we dance
Tallis followed her.
With our story
Lost in forever's embrace
And Tov reached back to grab his hand.
Until these falling stars
Are buried in the blur of time
Then the final chorus swelled, and the two began to sing together.
A somber harmony that clawed at Irin from within his own chest.
As if they were made for this duet.
On your icy lips
Read my soul
Yes, my soul
Sick of these nights to come
To be engulfed in silence
In your gaze, where I'm seen
Consume me, yes, me, oh, oh
There.
Right there.
He could hear it so clearly.
The way their voices both caught on the word “silence.”
The waver.
The crack.
Like a heart breaking open.
“Have you ever been in love before?”
“Once.”
Irin veered his car over to the shoulder of the road and slammed on the breaks.
He fumbled to stop the recording with a shaky hand.
His ears were ringing in the quiet.
“If you love someone, tell them. You don’t know how much time you have left together.”
He reached for the sleeve of cigarettes in his pocket, but stopped half way, tossing it into the passenger’s seat.
“Fuck.” He hissed.
Irin closed his eyes and laid his head against the steering wheel.
What have I gotten myself into?
————————————————————
Tallis is manipulating the hell out of that middle aged man lmao
Everything he said about Tov is true, but he did tell Tov that he loved her before his round (he also intentionally left out that they kissed).
Now, whether or not Tov understood that Tallis meant he was in love with her is different (spoiler: she didn’t).
He’s curating his story very carefully. If he can get Irin to feel sorry enough for him, maybe the agent could help him escape.
How much more will it take for Agent Irin to crack?
Tallis, Eddy, Yakun, and Zair belong to @lookatmysillies
