Ask Me To Promiseby IncandescaChaptersFuzzy Heartbeat MorningsOkay. I'll Try.Penny DropMissing TouchDreams Become NightmaresHate YouStill HauntsPanic AttackOld Habits Die SlowYou'll Keep GoingFuzzy Heartbeat MorningsBah-bum. Bah-bum. Bah-bum. Bah-bum. People say it goes more like bah-dum. It's never been that way for Sunset. She doesn't know if they're wrong, she's not hearing it right, or hearing it different. She smiles, and rolls over in bed. It doesn't really matter. But she likes to think about strange things in quiet times. Mornings with her are quiet times. It's not always the case, but she usually wakes up before she does. It didn't used to be that way. Sunset used to have sleeping problems, consistently throughout her entire life. Even as a kid. Insomnia worsened with age. It got particularly bad in her first three years at CHS. Better, once she fixed herself. With Twilight, insomnia might as well not exist. She's the closest thing to glue Sunset has ever gotten. She's comfortable with Sunset sharing and showing off the broken pieces of her, then helping her put them back in place. The cracks still show, and she gets new ones every week. But Twilight helps. She always helps. Even when she doesn't. Because her being there is enough. Stifling a yawn, Sunset shifts under the covers. Twilight lays on her back, ponytail still up, glasses to the side. Sunset considers nabbing them off the desk but decides not to. She sweeps a leg over Twilight's, entangling yellow with purple. An arm follows suit, hugging the soft curve of her belly. It doesn't take much to scoot over, until their bodies press together. Warm. Content. Peaceful. Twilight turns out the ever-present static in Sunset's head, and allows her to live. Twilight wakes up. Slowly, but inevitably. She makes the cutest noises, squeaks and whines as she stretches in place, instinctually knowing Sunset holds her before she consciously realizes. Sunset knows by the way Twilight twists herself left, and wraps an arm around Sunset for a brief but meaningful half-hug. "Hey you," she yawns. Sunset reels her in. The big spoon makes itself small and clustered. "Hey." "What time is it?" Sunset asks her phone to answer. It buzzes somewhere on the bed, muffled under the sheets. She has to stop leaving it there at night. "Late," she says. "Again?" Sunset buries her face in Twilight's neck. Nips. Kisses. Breathes and smells the bare skin. "It's Saturday. The planner doesn't come until tomorrow." "But-" Sunset bites. Twilight gasps with a shudder, then melts. Lilac pool in Sunset's arms. "Sunday, hon. We can worry about it on Sunday." She squeezes tight. "Now, lemme keep you for a lil' longer." Twilight wiggles. "For you?" She pivots, and they touch lips. "You can keep me forever." Okay. I'll Try.You'll Keep Going Time is an illusion. It's taken her, what. Nine years to realize that? Twilight's dead, but only in the present, only physically. She remains in the minds of those who remember. Friends, family. Lovers. And so long as she dwells there. So long as Sunset and her friends meet and chat, and someone brings her up because 'Twilight would totally love this' or 'She'd think you two are just adorable', she can never die. They're different now. All of them. They hadn't seen each other for a long time, although more accurately Sunset hadn't seen them. Not until she got back on her feet, and found a purpose, the fire in her chest that pushed her to survive for the person she loved, no matter what it took. "And do you, Sunset Shimmer, take Adagio Dazzle as your lawfully wedded wife?" In the outdoors, they hold hands. Being in nature wasn't a question. Sunset wanted that, for her planned ceremony with Twilight, and for the one she arranged with Adagio. For Twilight, they picked a spot further north, close to the Cascades inside an autumnal forest with startling red leaves and deep brown branches. For Adagio it's down south, where the sand sparkles white and waves glitter the same shade as Sunset's eyes. Sunset stares hers into Adagio's. Those deep, ancient pools of purple feel infinite, sometimes. Like she can look, and look, and look for centuries, and never find the bottom of them. Today she does. Today, her fingers graze the ocean floor, and she feels love. Fingers laced with Adagio's, she smiles so wide it hurts her cheeks. "I do." The preacher's smile joins the crowd. "You may kiss the bride." And so she does. Because Sunset keeps her promises. Penny DropShe strides with purpose. Canterlot City's cool wind flits across her face like a paintbrush, whipping her hair in a frenzy. Full plastic bags rustle on her shoulder. She grins. Ceremony stuff in those things. Still hard to believe this was happening. Five years ago, they graduated highschool. Three years, started dating. Last year, got their Bachelor's. And proposed. They have jobs now. Twilight works as a librarian. Soon, she'll start up in uni again for her PhD. She has a flood of recommendation letters and scholarships at her back and she'll use them, although her parents could pay it off regardless. Sunset's thankful, in either case. It means it's not her responsibility. Working off her own tuition fees is a cunt enough, and she knows unless she hits it big she'll either be grinding it down for life, or Twilight will ask her parents to clear the debt for her. She doesn't like the idea. It's always been hard for her to accept gifts, but she'll take it if it's offered. Turning it down would just be stupid. Sunset quit her sushi gig a few months into class. Too much obligation on top of everything else. She got herself dual degrees, psychology and Business management. If she plays her cards right and goes for a Master's, she could open her own therapy place by thirty. So many plans. So little time. Still so young. Twilight hit twenty-four in February. Sunset has to wait 'til June. Not that she's complaining, twenty-four is a gross number. Her phone buzzes in her pocket. She stops, plucks it out, sees the caller and answers with facetime. "Hey you." "Heeey~" Twilight walks down a street similar to hers, but with less people, fewer buildings. Trees and greenery populate the background, seven o'clock amber sunlight glittering through the leaves. Sunset continues her stride. "What's up?" "I just got off the phone with Rarity. She's offering to make our wedding dresses for free, and she was wondering if you'd rather have pearl or moonstone in the veils." Pearl and moonstone? Fuck me, I forget how opulent that girl is sometimes." Twilight laughs. Sunset's heart soars in her chest, and she wishes she was there right now so she could answer the heartstrings' tug with a face full of peppered kisses. "Sunnybunny, this is Rarity we're talking about. She's the most extra friend we have and we're friends with Pinkie P-" Twilight never gets to finish the sentence. The roar comes. The blur strikes. The scream echoes. Sunset freezes. Blood goes cold. "Twilight?" she calls. The phone is dark now, facing the ground. Car speeds off, sharp shallow breathing. Rubber on rock, screeching in the tinny distance. Dry. Ragged. Gasps that rattle like bones. "Twilight?" No answer. "Twilight? Twilight, say something!" People are looking at her now. They don't matter. Sunset calls 911 and heaves her answers to every question. Bah-bum becomes the angry thump of overactive bass in her chest. She imagines her and Twilight's ribs crack under the pressure. Too many questions. Stop asking what her fucking full name is or her age or her fucking address. Get her a fucking ambulance right the fuck fucking now. Every second they waste is a second she could be dying. She wants to yell at them but doesn't. Chemicals in her blood force her to action. Answering is the quickest way. Getting angry slows them down. She's already jogging when the call ends. They can track Twilight's GPS from her phone. She runs, runs, runs, runs. Her hair becomes flame. She pumps her arms through the air, punching the wind with her fists. People shout and bags fall off behind her but she doesn't stop. Sunset gets there first. Twilight's closer than she thought, should've recognized the park in the background. She always goes to the park at least once a week. She doesn't want to see Twilight's body. She can't. But she does. And she has to. Crumpled. Not broken, or mangled, twisted, or brutalized, thank Sun. Adrenaline stretches a second into an hour getting to her. Time so thick she can feel it move around in waves. She drops to her knees, hands on Twilight's shoulders. She says her name again. Her glasses aren't on her face. She can't find them on the grass or sidewalk. Her phone lies a dozen feet away, shattered in the street. She should run and get it. What if a car runs over and it breaks? "Twilight." She tightens her grip. Twilight doesn't react. "Twilight!" She shakes her. She yanks on her clothes and begs and pleads and say something please say something anything I don't care and where are your glasses and why can't I find them and who did this and I'll fucking kill them and oh god your back how didn't I notice why did I have to touch it it shouldn't be bent that way get up please please get up I love you so much I love you I love you you'll be okay I'll be okay we'll be okay and we're going to marry next week and we're going to adopt three adorable girls and we'll be the best moms ever but you have to get up so we can do that- She feels her lips move. Fast. Words shoot out of them in her voice. It's all underwater. Everything aches. Her throat closes. Heat and salt pour down her face. "Twilight," she croaks. "C'mon, baby. You're fine. You have to be." Twilight doesn't move. Her chest doesn't rise or fall. Sunset looks for a heartbeat. She looks for the bah-bum. It isn't there. Her scream morphs into the wailing sirens. Missing TouchIt was supposed to be their wedding. Instead, it's her funeral. Twilight's father helps his wife off the podium. She's bawling. He takes them into the funeral home, and the door clicks silently behind them. Sunset goes next, but Twilight's mom said she wanted to be there for everyone's speech. So the priest comes, and talks, and they wait. She stares dead ahead, separate from the others. Her friends are there. Of course they are. But she doesn't want to be near them right now. She doesn't want to be near anyone. Twilight from Equestria isn't there either, for obvious reasons. She offered her condolences to Sunset through the journal. It wasn't fair, but Sunset hated her for it. She just wrote her back a thank you, as equally hollow and meaningless as every time she offered it to every dipshit that gave her the same fucking line. 'I'm so sorry.' 'That must be so hard.' 'I'm here if you need me'. Fuck you. Who the fuck were they to think she'd ever need them? She needed Twilight. And Twilight was dead. They talked once or twice about death. What they'd do with their bodies when they died. Sunset wanted them to be buried together, in the ground. Plant a sapling or flowers over their grave. Start something beautiful with their end. Otherwise, Sunset considered cremation. Twilight posited donating her body to science. She never did make up her mind. In the end, it came down to her parents. They went with closed casket, standard burial. They could have gone open, but Sunset didn't want to see her. They didn't either. The first time was enough. The morgue was worse. No human body should be so cold. Sunset shivers in the warm August air. She wants there to be rain. She thinks there should be. She thinks it should be cold. She thinks the sky should weep for Twilight. Instead, the sun is bright in the clear blue sky, and even though they're not connected Sunset hates Celestia a little for it. She thinks a lot of things. But she doesn't get them, and she wants to call it quits on whatever tattered remnant of strings she calls her life. They were supposed to marry. Build something up. Have kids. Grandkids, if they were lucky. Die old not long apart, if not fortunate enough to pass at the same time. But no. Instead? This. How was it fair? How did anyone live through the storm of misery called life, when at any random moment it could snatch the most precious thing from your hands, and crush it in front of you? How could anyone stand for it, the injustice? Twilight's parents return. Her mother finishes her speech, dabbing her eyes, before calling Sunset up to the pedestal. She tries to offer a smile, but it's hollow. Sunset does not return the gesture. Her heavy black boots clunk against the steps. Anyone who didn't know Sunset might think of it as disrespectful. Fortunately, they do know her, and a part of her mind wishes they didn't, so they could pluck her out of their life like an unwanted pest and flick her into something entirely new. She looks out on the gathered crowd. Spike curls up on Night's lap. Twilight's mother leans against his shoulder, and rubs the dog's right ear. The girls look at her, without really looking at her. Pinkie's colors are dull, and her hair has lost its curls. It drapes over her face like a faded curtain. They've barely spoken since the event, her least of all. "Twilight..." Sunset begins. She breathes in, and the air stabs her throat like a knife. By a miracle, the cops tracked her killer. They had him in custody. She'd seen the pictures, some drunken oafish slob in his forties, fresh off a three-day bender. She would kill him, if she could get away with it. Bare teeth, raw nails. She'd go for the throat, do it nice and slow. "...Was my girlfriend. My... fiance, and the love of my life. She was the smartest, prettiest, funniest girl I've ever known, and I'll miss her every day." She chokes up. "I already do. I know everyone else will as well, because that's just the kind of person she was. Even when she was quiet, and stayed in the background not saying anything, she brightened the room just by being there. She was wonderful, and now I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Where I'm supposed to go. Who I'm supposed to be." It goes on like that for a while. The weight of the casket bears upon her. Knowing Twilight's there. Wanting to join her. Crawl in. Tangle limbs. Fall asleep. Bah-bum. Bah-bum. Bah-bum. Bah-bum. Until her heart goes quiet, too. Dreams Become NightmaresShe wakes up alone. She moved months ago. She couldn't live in that place anymore. She didn't take the bed with her. Wouldn't. Couldn't. It still feels wrong. It still feels like it's their bed. Like Twilight should be sleeping on her left, groaning and rolling around in her sleep, the two of them fighting over the bedcover without consciously meaning too. She expects that to happen. She expects to sense Twilight's presence, or hear her obnoxious snoring at three AM. Despite the fact her mattress doesn't have the room. She kept Twilight's things in boxes. Somehow it's worse than having them out. The boxes stare up at her instead, their taped-over, unlabeled faces mocking her whenever she sees them. Sometimes, she pops one open. She keeps her eyes closed while she digs around, looking for nothing, feeling for everything. Each time she half expects to hear footsteps come up behind her, or Twilight's cold wet morgue hand hold hers from between the cracks. If she did, Sunset would let Twilight pull her in. She has nightmares about the crash. It's usually at night, usually in bed. Sunset gets up late for a glass of water. She doesn't kiss Twilight's forehead, or tells her she loves her because she's already there, and she doesn't want to wake her up. No point, right? She'll see her again soon, she doesn't need to say it. She half-fills her glass when the car comes in. It crashes through their bedroom, and Sunset hears more sounds in her sleep than she did awake. The scream. The spine breaking. The thud of heavy metal deathtrap against soft, fragile flesh. The car's windows are black. The lights glare blinding white, but she can never see into the driver's seat. If the car doesn't crash into the kitchen, chase her into the street and run her over itself, it leaves. Sunset stands with the water clutched in her hand, calling out to Twilight. Asking if she's there. Most times, she gets what's expected. Most times, Sunset wakes up, or she walks into the room and sees a perfect still of Twilight's body as it was that afternoon. Even in the room, she can't find her glasses. Other times, Twilight answers, by dragging herself into the kitchen. Her gasps sound like rattling bones. Those aren't the only nightmares haunting her these nights. Old dreams, once pesky and bothersome, morphed into ugly ghosts. Starlight. A crush. A fling from highschool she didn't want to admit at the time meant anything. Then her Equestrian counterpart, so similar. Sunset crushed on her before Twilight but never did anything about it. She heard Starlight and Trixie from that side of the portal were married now, with twins on the way. She hated them. She hated that Starlight lived in her dreams. Hated she took Twilight's place. As her girlfriend, usually, one time her fianc. Maybe she still had feelings. That was probably the case. Twilight told her so, and said the fact it bothered her so much made her less concerned about how much Sunset loved her. She thought it was cute. Sunset never did, because she wanted to dream about Twilight. She wanted to dream about the girlfriend, the fiance, the wife-to-be she had then and there, day to day. But at least without that, she had her when she woke up. She doesn't anymore. The dreams with Starlight are the same as they ever were. Except everything's different now. And in that context, dreams become nightmares. Hate YouIt's been a year. It's been a year and nothing's changed. She isn't better. She isn't over it. Her friends get on without her. The rift seems to grow between them. Every missed call, unanswered text pushes them apart a little wider. They were friends before Sunset. She was the one to break them up in the first place. Equestria's Twilight glued them together, tacked Sunset on, and her Twilight hitched the ride. Natural then, that they'd fall apart. Sunset realized, one day, that she died when Twilight did. She wants to end it, but she doesn't. Because she's weak, and afraid of what death really feels like. Would she go to Heaven, like some of the human religions say? Hell? Tartarus? Or would she, as she suspects, simply cease to exist. It would be peaceful, if she was conscious for it. But she wouldn't. And so it terrifies her. Fear isn't the only reason, anyway. After all, she did this to herself. She hopes when she dies, if a higher power exists, that she can beat them bloody. Life has put her through so much shit, and she's just so fucking done with it all. Sometimes, late in the evening, after one too many puffs of leaf, the anxieties roar screaming through her skull. She finds herself drifting in a haze, limbs pushing through air like jello. She finds her smallest knife, the one she and Twilight used to slice the little things when they would cook meals together. She brings it to the bathroom, and rolls down her sleeve if she has one. She holds the blade to her skin. Sometimes, there's no pressure. Sometimes, enough to form an indent. She never actually does the deed. Her heart races, and breathing turns sharp and shallow. Before she knows what she's doing, the knife is across the room, her face in her palms, hunched over the toilet as her cheeks become a blazing, waterlogged mess. Why? She asks that question every day, multiple times a day. Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why couldn't it be her? If anyone deserved to die, it sure as shit wasn't Twilight. She was always the better woman. Kinder. Smarter. Whole. Not the broken stitched up disaster that was Sunset Shimmer, the failed scum of two realities. She hates life. She hates people. She hates the world. Most of all, she hates herself. Still Haunts"Alright class, put down your work, and let's see what we've got here." While the teacher makes her rounds, Sunset sneaks in another few touches. It's a piece of shit, honestly. Malformed, ugly, cracked, and poorly painted. There's an off beauty in it though. Something about the way it twists and turns, like a trained dancer. She makes little strokes with her smallest brush, tracing the curve of motion with golden paint. Gold against lavender, she realizes. At the revelation, she swallows. Hard. Life was pain. It's a lesson she's learned the hardest way possible, over and over again. But in the past, primarily thanks to her own decisions. It's why what happened back then hurt so much more. She did nothing to earn it. It wasn't even the universe spiting her, as much as her own victimhood complex wished it was. That was the harshest truth. She wasn't special. Neither was Twilight. She just happened to be at the wrong place in the wrong time. Still. Sunset will never forget it was her decision to have them run out that day. If she had just- "Oh, Sunset. That's wonderful." She looks up, meeting the teacher's gaze with her blue impenetrable own. "Oh?" She glances back down, lips thin. "I think it kinda sucks, to be honest." "Nonsense. I think you've made fantastic progress. Do you mind if I show the class?" Once, Sunset would've agreed in an instant. Now, she shrinks back, bunches her shoulders, and mumbles under her breath. "Yeah, sure. I guess." She ignores the attention paid by the other students. Generally speaking, she tries not to think about them. She does her own thing, in her own corner. If others approach, she gives her answers with as few syllables as she possibly can. It's better that way, she tells herself. She's gotten past the self-loathing for the most part, but only most. She still thinks it's better for people not to get close. Her old friends are testament to that. She's shaken back to reality as the statue clicks onto her desk. She thinks she sees a line of gold paint smeared out of place, and rage flashes hot in her chest before she looks again. Imagining things. Imagining problems. Blaming other people. It's why she's still alone. Panic AttackIt happens at a cafe. She's sitting at a small, round table, nursing an iced tea. She wanted boba, but thinking about the food and drink she and Twilight shared hasn't gotten entirely comfortable for her yet. She manages about half the time, which is, she supposes, some form of progress. And then, the car. The blaring horn. The screech of rubber on asphalt, swerving out of control the next block over. She swears it's right beside her. In that moment, her body and mind are yanked back by years to the day, watching the facetime view flip to the sky as a shrieking voice calls out. Her blood runs cold. She doesn't notice her hand is trembling, crushing the plastic in her grip until tea and ice begin to spill. Her throat closes up and she can't breathe, can't think, can't move, only shake and shudder and gasp with choking breaths for air that's fled her lungs and- "Sunset Shimmer?" A familiar voice grazes her ears, distant like a call from down a well. Deep, honeyed, softer than she remembers. Its hand rests on her shoulder, but retreats when Sunset nearly jumps out of her chair. "My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you," the voice says. Sunset tries to place it, but the overwhelming tide of adrenaline and cortazol blind her to everything outside her own inner world. "You seemed unwell. May I sit?" Sunset's lips flap open. Words attempt to form on her tongue, but a deathly croak leaves instead. "Hm. I'll take that as an 'I don't, for now', if you're anything like Sonata." A woman who, in Sunset's memory, looks older than she should walks into view. The wild mane of hair nearly precedes her. She scrapes the metal-framed chair back, and plops into the seat with a chuff. "Adagio?" Sunset whispers. "How astute." Adagio grins, but it falls into a half-hearted pout before long. "I don't remember you having short hair." Sunset's shrug arrives as a jerk. "I don't remember you having bags under your eyes." Adagio looks offended, placing a palm to her chest. A breeze picks up from the east, ruffling her honeyed curls and mid-tan windbreaker. "You wound me, Sunset. Have I touched a nerve, perhaps?" Sunset doesn't say anything. She considers standing up and storming off. Why the fuck is she letting this evil siren cunt talk to her anyway? "Wait, don't go." Adagio's hand moves as if to stop her, but pulls back halfway through. "I wanted to speak with you. You didn't..." "Seem well?" Sunset snaps. "Yeah. You said that. I didn't ask for your help. What plans do you have anyway, huh? Wanna fucking hypnotize me off a cliff because of your stupid fucking gem or something? Get over it! It's fucking gone! You're never getting it back and you never will and you never stood a chance because that's fucking life, it bends you over the desk and fucks you raw until you can't even stand anymore! Fucking get over yourself already, Christ!" Sunset's face burns bright as a flame. Belatedly, she unclenches her fists, lets her chest fall. Beyond the pounding rush in her ears and the harsh, animal breathing, the silence of the tables around her is deafening. Adagio doesn't look angry, somehow. Despite her losing her mind, screaming at the top of her lungs in the middle of a busy street. She sits back down, face flushed with shame. She tries to cover it with her biker gloved hands, the curve of her hunched spine quaking like bristles. Shortly after, the previous chatter reasserts itself, voice by voice. "I'm sorry," she rasps. "I take it that wasn't meant for me." Despite herself, Sunset manages a weak, bitter laugh. "How astute." "You spilled your tea, by the by." Just outside Sunset's view, Adagio stretches with a groan and resounding, cracking joints. Sunset tries not to cringe. "I'm feeling rather parched. Mind if I buy us some drinks?" Sunset shrugs. "Fuck it. Why not." Old Habits Die SlowToday was her birthday. Twenty-eight. Sunset basks in the afterglow, body awash in warmth and endorphins. She croons a tired, happy groan. Shifts herself to press bare skin to Adagio's. "Am I that good, after all this time?" Adagio smirks, running tapered fingers through scarlet-gold waves. She plucks them at the edges, twisting some around her knuckles like twine. "Dunno," Sunset yawns. She crawls deeper into the crook of Adagio's arm, finding a spot and palming it. "I've never done anything with a siren before." With a roll of her eyes, Adagio chuckles and reaches out with her free hand. Snatching her reading glasses off the nightstand, novella following, she flicks on the light. It bathes them in soft yellow, reflecting off the sweaty dew of their bodies. "Would you like to continue?" "After what we just-" Sunset yawns. "After what we just did? I'm ready to go to sleep, Addy." Adagio goes silent. Sunset stays in the quiet with her, a rising tightness in her chest making her neck and shoulders scrunch. "I-is everything-" "Hush hush. You're fine." The book Adagio had at her side, cracked open and ready to read, shuts again. The pages thunk closed with an eerie punctuation. She goes still a moment longer. "Addy, hm?" Sunset's voice is a whisper, shy and cowed. "Is that... okay?" Adagio attempts to stifle a yawn of her own. It fails miserably. "Sunny honey. We've done this little bed bang and breakfast routine how many times now?" Sunset buries her face in the crook of Adagio's neck. Instinctually she breathes in, tipping the scent of mango butter shampoo, sweat, and sensuality into her lungs. She fills herself to the brim with it, until her cup runneth over. "I dunno. I kinda lost track after April." "Exactly." Adagio pats her head condescendingly, like a beloved pet. Sunset considers slapping it away, cheeks red with embarrassment, indignation, and buzzing excitement. The familiar, unwelcome sensation of guilt wriggles its worming way through her guts, and she does her best to temper it. For a stretch, their lips do not move. Tranquility dominates the space between them - what little there is - and she realizes, after many months, she feels something she's forgotten. Bah-bum. Bah-bum. Bah-bum. Bah-bum. A lump bobs in her throat. She attempts to choke it down, but the effort doubles the sensation. Fists tighten around her esophagus. "Oh, no. Don't do that." Adagio, frowning, moves to sit and brush Sunset's cheeks dry. She stops her with a palm flat on her chest, keeping her down. "No. It's okay. I..." She swallows. Swallows. Swallows again, until she can rein herself in. "Thank you," she says, and means it amongst the most meaningful things she's ever said aloud. "And to think this all started as a therapy session. "Either I'm a horrible counselor, or a very good one." "Oh you're horrible alright. "Sunset grins, biting her neck. Adagio gasps and smacks the back of her head. After another happy pause, she continues. Voice back to below a whisper. "Official, then?" Adagio pecks the top of her head, turning out the light. "If it wasn't already, I'm not certain when it will be." You'll Keep GoingPromise Me It's always the small things in life that seemed to mean the most. The innocuous details, or beautiful banalities that captured a mind. The pinchy face frown Adagio gets when she concentrates on a book. The way she'll cross and uncross her legs, elegant and yet agitated. The polaroid photo she lets Sunset keep of her and Twilight in her dresser. The fact she doesn't judge, not even by the look in her eyes when Sunset mentions her. Pulling in the sea salt breeze, listening to the sound of rolling waves, Sunset closes her eyes. She leans against Adagio's back. Tucking her arms under, she brings them up in a hook, to her front, crosses them over to embrace from behind. "Mm." Adagio shuffles in place, cross-legged on the rocks like her. The thick, flat stones that jut up from parts of the city's coastline make for the perfect seat. "Done with your massage?" "For now." Sunset shudders. Heart trembles. She wonders if Adagio can feel it through her blouse, or imagine the catastrophes running through her head. How easy it would be for Adagio to slip and fall however many dozens of meters to the rocky shore below. "I just want to relax." Adagio bends her left arm backwards, elbow at an awkward angle. Finding Sunset's cheek with the palm of her hand, she cups it and strokes. "You're not already, then." Sunset opens her eyes for the briefest second. The light of early dawn greets her, the sun's pale-gold climb in the east painting the grayish-blue ocean in dazzling colors. Muted colors, faded. No less spectacular. She shuts her eyes again, a little harder. Jaw clenching. Forearms squeezing, until Adagio lets out a wheeze. She doesn't complain. "It's the wedding." Adagio takes that in for a moment. She says nothing, but continues to reassure through her physical touch. The gentle scrape of manicured, sharp, lavender nails on skin brings delighted shivers waltzing down Sunset's spine. Her chest tightens. Her head feels too wide. The lump in her throat and pull of her muscles makes it difficult to maintain a neutral expression. She tries anyway, though it makes her mouth and lips stretch more than she wants. She always feels she must look ugly when she's upset like this, trying to speak around an open grimace. "What if... what if it..." Tears come. The lump bobs with force. When she does speak it arrives with shuddering breaths, bunched shoulders, and molten, saline cheeks. "What if it happens again." "It won't," Adagio whispers. She finds Sunset's hair now, coiling digits around the fire locks. "You don't-" "I know I don't know that." Sunset hardens her embrace, turning her arms and fists into an interlocked steel grip. As if it's silk, Adagio's hands ease and pry them apart with the slightest touch, taking Sunset's hands in her own. "You're correct that it could. Bad things can always happen. That doesn't mean they have to, so..." "So?" "Don't borrow the trouble." Sunset breathes in, breathes out. Her intent is to relax. Her deep breaths come and go with too much force, too much speed. Crown she's bad at this. "Take your time," Adagio says, as though she knows. She probably does. The way she can read Sunset like an open tome has long unsettled, soothed, and intrigued her. It's a strangely compelling combination. "I can't hide anything from you," she mutters. Adagio, yawning from the morning's fatigue, stretches her back. She does so cat-like, Sunset knows without having to look. A long, luxurious, elegant feline arch that rolls from sacrum to scapula, popping stiff joints along the way. When she does it supine, it shows off her tummy. She often does so when Sunset happens to walk by, whether on the bed or the couch, just to soak in the attention Sunset can't help but pay to her body. "I am very old. Though, I haven't much acted it." "Mh?" Mind off the worst of it, Sunset leans back in, placing her chin on Adagio's right shoulder. Their cheeks touch, and whatever sound either of them make travels through the flesh, vibrates the bone. "You seem a lot more mature than me." "That maturity was learned, dearest." Their joined hands drop slowly lower, into Adagio's lap. Through the spaces between her fingers, Sunset uses hers to rub along exposed inner thigh. "You never told me about that." Sunset grins, chortling on the last few syllables. Air pushes through her nostrils, and with their faces so close, she feels Adagio's smirk. "There are many things I haven't told you." The smirk falls down. Adagio falls silent. Sunset squeezes her hands, thumbs rubbing across the top. It's what she used to do with Twilight's, and it feels like cheating. She loves Adagio, just as much as she loved Twilight. She hates that she can't move past her. "Something wrong?" she asks. "Sometimes I worry." "About?" "What you might think. I've been alive a rather long time. I've done some things you may not respect." "Didn't you basically come to Earth in the Dark Ages?" Adagio's response takes the form of a non-committal grunt. "Lots of people did bad stuff back then, I doubt you were especially unique. It's not like I have the most room to judge anyway." Adagio snorted. "The most you did was take over a highschool and make them your bitch." "And the demon-" "And the demon thing, yes, yes, I know." Now, Sunset's turn comes to go quiet. She breathes in, and out, smoother and better controlled the second go-around. "Well. There's a lot I haven't told you, either." "Even, then?" Sunset laughs. "Probably not. I imagine you killed some people. If I did, I don't know about it, or it's tangential." Sunset felt the question forming on Adagio's lips. 'Tangential?' She doesn't ask it. Instead she tips her chin up, in her form of a nod. "We carry ourselves with us, no matter how far we go. For me, it's simple. I lost my power." Sunset opens her eyes, leaning back to better look at Adagio's face and raises one quizzical brow. Adagio meets her gaze, tough and undaunted. For all the time they've been together, she doesn't recall Adagio shying away from eye contact even once. "Your power?" "My voice. My magic. My... past." Adagio's frown stiffens, lips thinning into a line. She squeezes Sunset's hands, a bit painfully. "I tried to hold on for so long, that piece of myself. It hurt my sisters, and so I had no choice but to grow up. I had to let it go." "And did you?" Adagio's shoulders hunch up for half a second. "As much as I can. They think about it less than I do." "You still think about it then." Adagio says nothing. Sunset hears the answer, moves close. Pressing her face between her bicep and bosom, nose and lips to pale-gold skin, like the dawn's early sun. "I'm sorry," she mumbles. Adagio leaves behind one of Sunset's hands to massage her scalp. "And so am I, for you. But I know if she could see you, she'd be happy."
Fuzzy Heartbeat MorningsBah-bum. Bah-bum. Bah-bum. Bah-bum. People say it goes more like bah-dum. It's never been that way for Sunset. She doesn't know if they're wrong, she's not hearing it right, or hearing it different. She smiles, and rolls over in bed. It doesn't really matter. But she likes to think about strange things in quiet times. Mornings with her are quiet times. It's not always the case, but she usually wakes up before she does. It didn't used to be that way. Sunset used to have sleeping problems, consistently throughout her entire life. Even as a kid. Insomnia worsened with age. It got particularly bad in her first three years at CHS. Better, once she fixed herself. With Twilight, insomnia might as well not exist. She's the closest thing to glue Sunset has ever gotten. She's comfortable with Sunset sharing and showing off the broken pieces of her, then helping her put them back in place. The cracks still show, and she gets new ones every week. But Twilight helps. She always helps. Even when she doesn't. Because her being there is enough. Stifling a yawn, Sunset shifts under the covers. Twilight lays on her back, ponytail still up, glasses to the side. Sunset considers nabbing them off the desk but decides not to. She sweeps a leg over Twilight's, entangling yellow with purple. An arm follows suit, hugging the soft curve of her belly. It doesn't take much to scoot over, until their bodies press together. Warm. Content. Peaceful. Twilight turns out the ever-present static in Sunset's head, and allows her to live. Twilight wakes up. Slowly, but inevitably. She makes the cutest noises, squeaks and whines as she stretches in place, instinctually knowing Sunset holds her before she consciously realizes. Sunset knows by the way Twilight twists herself left, and wraps an arm around Sunset for a brief but meaningful half-hug. "Hey you," she yawns. Sunset reels her in. The big spoon makes itself small and clustered. "Hey." "What time is it?" Sunset asks her phone to answer. It buzzes somewhere on the bed, muffled under the sheets. She has to stop leaving it there at night. "Late," she says. "Again?" Sunset buries her face in Twilight's neck. Nips. Kisses. Breathes and smells the bare skin. "It's Saturday. The planner doesn't come until tomorrow." "But-" Sunset bites. Twilight gasps with a shudder, then melts. Lilac pool in Sunset's arms. "Sunday, hon. We can worry about it on Sunday." She squeezes tight. "Now, lemme keep you for a lil' longer." Twilight wiggles. "For you?" She pivots, and they touch lips. "You can keep me forever."
Okay. I'll Try.You'll Keep Going Time is an illusion. It's taken her, what. Nine years to realize that? Twilight's dead, but only in the present, only physically. She remains in the minds of those who remember. Friends, family. Lovers. And so long as she dwells there. So long as Sunset and her friends meet and chat, and someone brings her up because 'Twilight would totally love this' or 'She'd think you two are just adorable', she can never die. They're different now. All of them. They hadn't seen each other for a long time, although more accurately Sunset hadn't seen them. Not until she got back on her feet, and found a purpose, the fire in her chest that pushed her to survive for the person she loved, no matter what it took. "And do you, Sunset Shimmer, take Adagio Dazzle as your lawfully wedded wife?" In the outdoors, they hold hands. Being in nature wasn't a question. Sunset wanted that, for her planned ceremony with Twilight, and for the one she arranged with Adagio. For Twilight, they picked a spot further north, close to the Cascades inside an autumnal forest with startling red leaves and deep brown branches. For Adagio it's down south, where the sand sparkles white and waves glitter the same shade as Sunset's eyes. Sunset stares hers into Adagio's. Those deep, ancient pools of purple feel infinite, sometimes. Like she can look, and look, and look for centuries, and never find the bottom of them. Today she does. Today, her fingers graze the ocean floor, and she feels love. Fingers laced with Adagio's, she smiles so wide it hurts her cheeks. "I do." The preacher's smile joins the crowd. "You may kiss the bride." And so she does. Because Sunset keeps her promises.
Penny DropShe strides with purpose. Canterlot City's cool wind flits across her face like a paintbrush, whipping her hair in a frenzy. Full plastic bags rustle on her shoulder. She grins. Ceremony stuff in those things. Still hard to believe this was happening. Five years ago, they graduated highschool. Three years, started dating. Last year, got their Bachelor's. And proposed. They have jobs now. Twilight works as a librarian. Soon, she'll start up in uni again for her PhD. She has a flood of recommendation letters and scholarships at her back and she'll use them, although her parents could pay it off regardless. Sunset's thankful, in either case. It means it's not her responsibility. Working off her own tuition fees is a cunt enough, and she knows unless she hits it big she'll either be grinding it down for life, or Twilight will ask her parents to clear the debt for her. She doesn't like the idea. It's always been hard for her to accept gifts, but she'll take it if it's offered. Turning it down would just be stupid. Sunset quit her sushi gig a few months into class. Too much obligation on top of everything else. She got herself dual degrees, psychology and Business management. If she plays her cards right and goes for a Master's, she could open her own therapy place by thirty. So many plans. So little time. Still so young. Twilight hit twenty-four in February. Sunset has to wait 'til June. Not that she's complaining, twenty-four is a gross number. Her phone buzzes in her pocket. She stops, plucks it out, sees the caller and answers with facetime. "Hey you." "Heeey~" Twilight walks down a street similar to hers, but with less people, fewer buildings. Trees and greenery populate the background, seven o'clock amber sunlight glittering through the leaves. Sunset continues her stride. "What's up?" "I just got off the phone with Rarity. She's offering to make our wedding dresses for free, and she was wondering if you'd rather have pearl or moonstone in the veils." Pearl and moonstone? Fuck me, I forget how opulent that girl is sometimes." Twilight laughs. Sunset's heart soars in her chest, and she wishes she was there right now so she could answer the heartstrings' tug with a face full of peppered kisses. "Sunnybunny, this is Rarity we're talking about. She's the most extra friend we have and we're friends with Pinkie P-" Twilight never gets to finish the sentence. The roar comes. The blur strikes. The scream echoes. Sunset freezes. Blood goes cold. "Twilight?" she calls. The phone is dark now, facing the ground. Car speeds off, sharp shallow breathing. Rubber on rock, screeching in the tinny distance. Dry. Ragged. Gasps that rattle like bones. "Twilight?" No answer. "Twilight? Twilight, say something!" People are looking at her now. They don't matter. Sunset calls 911 and heaves her answers to every question. Bah-bum becomes the angry thump of overactive bass in her chest. She imagines her and Twilight's ribs crack under the pressure. Too many questions. Stop asking what her fucking full name is or her age or her fucking address. Get her a fucking ambulance right the fuck fucking now. Every second they waste is a second she could be dying. She wants to yell at them but doesn't. Chemicals in her blood force her to action. Answering is the quickest way. Getting angry slows them down. She's already jogging when the call ends. They can track Twilight's GPS from her phone. She runs, runs, runs, runs. Her hair becomes flame. She pumps her arms through the air, punching the wind with her fists. People shout and bags fall off behind her but she doesn't stop. Sunset gets there first. Twilight's closer than she thought, should've recognized the park in the background. She always goes to the park at least once a week. She doesn't want to see Twilight's body. She can't. But she does. And she has to. Crumpled. Not broken, or mangled, twisted, or brutalized, thank Sun. Adrenaline stretches a second into an hour getting to her. Time so thick she can feel it move around in waves. She drops to her knees, hands on Twilight's shoulders. She says her name again. Her glasses aren't on her face. She can't find them on the grass or sidewalk. Her phone lies a dozen feet away, shattered in the street. She should run and get it. What if a car runs over and it breaks? "Twilight." She tightens her grip. Twilight doesn't react. "Twilight!" She shakes her. She yanks on her clothes and begs and pleads and say something please say something anything I don't care and where are your glasses and why can't I find them and who did this and I'll fucking kill them and oh god your back how didn't I notice why did I have to touch it it shouldn't be bent that way get up please please get up I love you so much I love you I love you you'll be okay I'll be okay we'll be okay and we're going to marry next week and we're going to adopt three adorable girls and we'll be the best moms ever but you have to get up so we can do that- She feels her lips move. Fast. Words shoot out of them in her voice. It's all underwater. Everything aches. Her throat closes. Heat and salt pour down her face. "Twilight," she croaks. "C'mon, baby. You're fine. You have to be." Twilight doesn't move. Her chest doesn't rise or fall. Sunset looks for a heartbeat. She looks for the bah-bum. It isn't there. Her scream morphs into the wailing sirens.
Missing TouchIt was supposed to be their wedding. Instead, it's her funeral. Twilight's father helps his wife off the podium. She's bawling. He takes them into the funeral home, and the door clicks silently behind them. Sunset goes next, but Twilight's mom said she wanted to be there for everyone's speech. So the priest comes, and talks, and they wait. She stares dead ahead, separate from the others. Her friends are there. Of course they are. But she doesn't want to be near them right now. She doesn't want to be near anyone. Twilight from Equestria isn't there either, for obvious reasons. She offered her condolences to Sunset through the journal. It wasn't fair, but Sunset hated her for it. She just wrote her back a thank you, as equally hollow and meaningless as every time she offered it to every dipshit that gave her the same fucking line. 'I'm so sorry.' 'That must be so hard.' 'I'm here if you need me'. Fuck you. Who the fuck were they to think she'd ever need them? She needed Twilight. And Twilight was dead. They talked once or twice about death. What they'd do with their bodies when they died. Sunset wanted them to be buried together, in the ground. Plant a sapling or flowers over their grave. Start something beautiful with their end. Otherwise, Sunset considered cremation. Twilight posited donating her body to science. She never did make up her mind. In the end, it came down to her parents. They went with closed casket, standard burial. They could have gone open, but Sunset didn't want to see her. They didn't either. The first time was enough. The morgue was worse. No human body should be so cold. Sunset shivers in the warm August air. She wants there to be rain. She thinks there should be. She thinks it should be cold. She thinks the sky should weep for Twilight. Instead, the sun is bright in the clear blue sky, and even though they're not connected Sunset hates Celestia a little for it. She thinks a lot of things. But she doesn't get them, and she wants to call it quits on whatever tattered remnant of strings she calls her life. They were supposed to marry. Build something up. Have kids. Grandkids, if they were lucky. Die old not long apart, if not fortunate enough to pass at the same time. But no. Instead? This. How was it fair? How did anyone live through the storm of misery called life, when at any random moment it could snatch the most precious thing from your hands, and crush it in front of you? How could anyone stand for it, the injustice? Twilight's parents return. Her mother finishes her speech, dabbing her eyes, before calling Sunset up to the pedestal. She tries to offer a smile, but it's hollow. Sunset does not return the gesture. Her heavy black boots clunk against the steps. Anyone who didn't know Sunset might think of it as disrespectful. Fortunately, they do know her, and a part of her mind wishes they didn't, so they could pluck her out of their life like an unwanted pest and flick her into something entirely new. She looks out on the gathered crowd. Spike curls up on Night's lap. Twilight's mother leans against his shoulder, and rubs the dog's right ear. The girls look at her, without really looking at her. Pinkie's colors are dull, and her hair has lost its curls. It drapes over her face like a faded curtain. They've barely spoken since the event, her least of all. "Twilight..." Sunset begins. She breathes in, and the air stabs her throat like a knife. By a miracle, the cops tracked her killer. They had him in custody. She'd seen the pictures, some drunken oafish slob in his forties, fresh off a three-day bender. She would kill him, if she could get away with it. Bare teeth, raw nails. She'd go for the throat, do it nice and slow. "...Was my girlfriend. My... fiance, and the love of my life. She was the smartest, prettiest, funniest girl I've ever known, and I'll miss her every day." She chokes up. "I already do. I know everyone else will as well, because that's just the kind of person she was. Even when she was quiet, and stayed in the background not saying anything, she brightened the room just by being there. She was wonderful, and now I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Where I'm supposed to go. Who I'm supposed to be." It goes on like that for a while. The weight of the casket bears upon her. Knowing Twilight's there. Wanting to join her. Crawl in. Tangle limbs. Fall asleep. Bah-bum. Bah-bum. Bah-bum. Bah-bum. Until her heart goes quiet, too.
Dreams Become NightmaresShe wakes up alone. She moved months ago. She couldn't live in that place anymore. She didn't take the bed with her. Wouldn't. Couldn't. It still feels wrong. It still feels like it's their bed. Like Twilight should be sleeping on her left, groaning and rolling around in her sleep, the two of them fighting over the bedcover without consciously meaning too. She expects that to happen. She expects to sense Twilight's presence, or hear her obnoxious snoring at three AM. Despite the fact her mattress doesn't have the room. She kept Twilight's things in boxes. Somehow it's worse than having them out. The boxes stare up at her instead, their taped-over, unlabeled faces mocking her whenever she sees them. Sometimes, she pops one open. She keeps her eyes closed while she digs around, looking for nothing, feeling for everything. Each time she half expects to hear footsteps come up behind her, or Twilight's cold wet morgue hand hold hers from between the cracks. If she did, Sunset would let Twilight pull her in. She has nightmares about the crash. It's usually at night, usually in bed. Sunset gets up late for a glass of water. She doesn't kiss Twilight's forehead, or tells her she loves her because she's already there, and she doesn't want to wake her up. No point, right? She'll see her again soon, she doesn't need to say it. She half-fills her glass when the car comes in. It crashes through their bedroom, and Sunset hears more sounds in her sleep than she did awake. The scream. The spine breaking. The thud of heavy metal deathtrap against soft, fragile flesh. The car's windows are black. The lights glare blinding white, but she can never see into the driver's seat. If the car doesn't crash into the kitchen, chase her into the street and run her over itself, it leaves. Sunset stands with the water clutched in her hand, calling out to Twilight. Asking if she's there. Most times, she gets what's expected. Most times, Sunset wakes up, or she walks into the room and sees a perfect still of Twilight's body as it was that afternoon. Even in the room, she can't find her glasses. Other times, Twilight answers, by dragging herself into the kitchen. Her gasps sound like rattling bones. Those aren't the only nightmares haunting her these nights. Old dreams, once pesky and bothersome, morphed into ugly ghosts. Starlight. A crush. A fling from highschool she didn't want to admit at the time meant anything. Then her Equestrian counterpart, so similar. Sunset crushed on her before Twilight but never did anything about it. She heard Starlight and Trixie from that side of the portal were married now, with twins on the way. She hated them. She hated that Starlight lived in her dreams. Hated she took Twilight's place. As her girlfriend, usually, one time her fianc. Maybe she still had feelings. That was probably the case. Twilight told her so, and said the fact it bothered her so much made her less concerned about how much Sunset loved her. She thought it was cute. Sunset never did, because she wanted to dream about Twilight. She wanted to dream about the girlfriend, the fiance, the wife-to-be she had then and there, day to day. But at least without that, she had her when she woke up. She doesn't anymore. The dreams with Starlight are the same as they ever were. Except everything's different now. And in that context, dreams become nightmares.
Hate YouIt's been a year. It's been a year and nothing's changed. She isn't better. She isn't over it. Her friends get on without her. The rift seems to grow between them. Every missed call, unanswered text pushes them apart a little wider. They were friends before Sunset. She was the one to break them up in the first place. Equestria's Twilight glued them together, tacked Sunset on, and her Twilight hitched the ride. Natural then, that they'd fall apart. Sunset realized, one day, that she died when Twilight did. She wants to end it, but she doesn't. Because she's weak, and afraid of what death really feels like. Would she go to Heaven, like some of the human religions say? Hell? Tartarus? Or would she, as she suspects, simply cease to exist. It would be peaceful, if she was conscious for it. But she wouldn't. And so it terrifies her. Fear isn't the only reason, anyway. After all, she did this to herself. She hopes when she dies, if a higher power exists, that she can beat them bloody. Life has put her through so much shit, and she's just so fucking done with it all. Sometimes, late in the evening, after one too many puffs of leaf, the anxieties roar screaming through her skull. She finds herself drifting in a haze, limbs pushing through air like jello. She finds her smallest knife, the one she and Twilight used to slice the little things when they would cook meals together. She brings it to the bathroom, and rolls down her sleeve if she has one. She holds the blade to her skin. Sometimes, there's no pressure. Sometimes, enough to form an indent. She never actually does the deed. Her heart races, and breathing turns sharp and shallow. Before she knows what she's doing, the knife is across the room, her face in her palms, hunched over the toilet as her cheeks become a blazing, waterlogged mess. Why? She asks that question every day, multiple times a day. Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why couldn't it be her? If anyone deserved to die, it sure as shit wasn't Twilight. She was always the better woman. Kinder. Smarter. Whole. Not the broken stitched up disaster that was Sunset Shimmer, the failed scum of two realities. She hates life. She hates people. She hates the world. Most of all, she hates herself.
Still Haunts"Alright class, put down your work, and let's see what we've got here." While the teacher makes her rounds, Sunset sneaks in another few touches. It's a piece of shit, honestly. Malformed, ugly, cracked, and poorly painted. There's an off beauty in it though. Something about the way it twists and turns, like a trained dancer. She makes little strokes with her smallest brush, tracing the curve of motion with golden paint. Gold against lavender, she realizes. At the revelation, she swallows. Hard. Life was pain. It's a lesson she's learned the hardest way possible, over and over again. But in the past, primarily thanks to her own decisions. It's why what happened back then hurt so much more. She did nothing to earn it. It wasn't even the universe spiting her, as much as her own victimhood complex wished it was. That was the harshest truth. She wasn't special. Neither was Twilight. She just happened to be at the wrong place in the wrong time. Still. Sunset will never forget it was her decision to have them run out that day. If she had just- "Oh, Sunset. That's wonderful." She looks up, meeting the teacher's gaze with her blue impenetrable own. "Oh?" She glances back down, lips thin. "I think it kinda sucks, to be honest." "Nonsense. I think you've made fantastic progress. Do you mind if I show the class?" Once, Sunset would've agreed in an instant. Now, she shrinks back, bunches her shoulders, and mumbles under her breath. "Yeah, sure. I guess." She ignores the attention paid by the other students. Generally speaking, she tries not to think about them. She does her own thing, in her own corner. If others approach, she gives her answers with as few syllables as she possibly can. It's better that way, she tells herself. She's gotten past the self-loathing for the most part, but only most. She still thinks it's better for people not to get close. Her old friends are testament to that. She's shaken back to reality as the statue clicks onto her desk. She thinks she sees a line of gold paint smeared out of place, and rage flashes hot in her chest before she looks again. Imagining things. Imagining problems. Blaming other people. It's why she's still alone.
Panic AttackIt happens at a cafe. She's sitting at a small, round table, nursing an iced tea. She wanted boba, but thinking about the food and drink she and Twilight shared hasn't gotten entirely comfortable for her yet. She manages about half the time, which is, she supposes, some form of progress. And then, the car. The blaring horn. The screech of rubber on asphalt, swerving out of control the next block over. She swears it's right beside her. In that moment, her body and mind are yanked back by years to the day, watching the facetime view flip to the sky as a shrieking voice calls out. Her blood runs cold. She doesn't notice her hand is trembling, crushing the plastic in her grip until tea and ice begin to spill. Her throat closes up and she can't breathe, can't think, can't move, only shake and shudder and gasp with choking breaths for air that's fled her lungs and- "Sunset Shimmer?" A familiar voice grazes her ears, distant like a call from down a well. Deep, honeyed, softer than she remembers. Its hand rests on her shoulder, but retreats when Sunset nearly jumps out of her chair. "My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you," the voice says. Sunset tries to place it, but the overwhelming tide of adrenaline and cortazol blind her to everything outside her own inner world. "You seemed unwell. May I sit?" Sunset's lips flap open. Words attempt to form on her tongue, but a deathly croak leaves instead. "Hm. I'll take that as an 'I don't, for now', if you're anything like Sonata." A woman who, in Sunset's memory, looks older than she should walks into view. The wild mane of hair nearly precedes her. She scrapes the metal-framed chair back, and plops into the seat with a chuff. "Adagio?" Sunset whispers. "How astute." Adagio grins, but it falls into a half-hearted pout before long. "I don't remember you having short hair." Sunset's shrug arrives as a jerk. "I don't remember you having bags under your eyes." Adagio looks offended, placing a palm to her chest. A breeze picks up from the east, ruffling her honeyed curls and mid-tan windbreaker. "You wound me, Sunset. Have I touched a nerve, perhaps?" Sunset doesn't say anything. She considers standing up and storming off. Why the fuck is she letting this evil siren cunt talk to her anyway? "Wait, don't go." Adagio's hand moves as if to stop her, but pulls back halfway through. "I wanted to speak with you. You didn't..." "Seem well?" Sunset snaps. "Yeah. You said that. I didn't ask for your help. What plans do you have anyway, huh? Wanna fucking hypnotize me off a cliff because of your stupid fucking gem or something? Get over it! It's fucking gone! You're never getting it back and you never will and you never stood a chance because that's fucking life, it bends you over the desk and fucks you raw until you can't even stand anymore! Fucking get over yourself already, Christ!" Sunset's face burns bright as a flame. Belatedly, she unclenches her fists, lets her chest fall. Beyond the pounding rush in her ears and the harsh, animal breathing, the silence of the tables around her is deafening. Adagio doesn't look angry, somehow. Despite her losing her mind, screaming at the top of her lungs in the middle of a busy street. She sits back down, face flushed with shame. She tries to cover it with her biker gloved hands, the curve of her hunched spine quaking like bristles. Shortly after, the previous chatter reasserts itself, voice by voice. "I'm sorry," she rasps. "I take it that wasn't meant for me." Despite herself, Sunset manages a weak, bitter laugh. "How astute." "You spilled your tea, by the by." Just outside Sunset's view, Adagio stretches with a groan and resounding, cracking joints. Sunset tries not to cringe. "I'm feeling rather parched. Mind if I buy us some drinks?" Sunset shrugs. "Fuck it. Why not."
Old Habits Die SlowToday was her birthday. Twenty-eight. Sunset basks in the afterglow, body awash in warmth and endorphins. She croons a tired, happy groan. Shifts herself to press bare skin to Adagio's. "Am I that good, after all this time?" Adagio smirks, running tapered fingers through scarlet-gold waves. She plucks them at the edges, twisting some around her knuckles like twine. "Dunno," Sunset yawns. She crawls deeper into the crook of Adagio's arm, finding a spot and palming it. "I've never done anything with a siren before." With a roll of her eyes, Adagio chuckles and reaches out with her free hand. Snatching her reading glasses off the nightstand, novella following, she flicks on the light. It bathes them in soft yellow, reflecting off the sweaty dew of their bodies. "Would you like to continue?" "After what we just-" Sunset yawns. "After what we just did? I'm ready to go to sleep, Addy." Adagio goes silent. Sunset stays in the quiet with her, a rising tightness in her chest making her neck and shoulders scrunch. "I-is everything-" "Hush hush. You're fine." The book Adagio had at her side, cracked open and ready to read, shuts again. The pages thunk closed with an eerie punctuation. She goes still a moment longer. "Addy, hm?" Sunset's voice is a whisper, shy and cowed. "Is that... okay?" Adagio attempts to stifle a yawn of her own. It fails miserably. "Sunny honey. We've done this little bed bang and breakfast routine how many times now?" Sunset buries her face in the crook of Adagio's neck. Instinctually she breathes in, tipping the scent of mango butter shampoo, sweat, and sensuality into her lungs. She fills herself to the brim with it, until her cup runneth over. "I dunno. I kinda lost track after April." "Exactly." Adagio pats her head condescendingly, like a beloved pet. Sunset considers slapping it away, cheeks red with embarrassment, indignation, and buzzing excitement. The familiar, unwelcome sensation of guilt wriggles its worming way through her guts, and she does her best to temper it. For a stretch, their lips do not move. Tranquility dominates the space between them - what little there is - and she realizes, after many months, she feels something she's forgotten. Bah-bum. Bah-bum. Bah-bum. Bah-bum. A lump bobs in her throat. She attempts to choke it down, but the effort doubles the sensation. Fists tighten around her esophagus. "Oh, no. Don't do that." Adagio, frowning, moves to sit and brush Sunset's cheeks dry. She stops her with a palm flat on her chest, keeping her down. "No. It's okay. I..." She swallows. Swallows. Swallows again, until she can rein herself in. "Thank you," she says, and means it amongst the most meaningful things she's ever said aloud. "And to think this all started as a therapy session. "Either I'm a horrible counselor, or a very good one." "Oh you're horrible alright. "Sunset grins, biting her neck. Adagio gasps and smacks the back of her head. After another happy pause, she continues. Voice back to below a whisper. "Official, then?" Adagio pecks the top of her head, turning out the light. "If it wasn't already, I'm not certain when it will be."
You'll Keep GoingPromise Me It's always the small things in life that seemed to mean the most. The innocuous details, or beautiful banalities that captured a mind. The pinchy face frown Adagio gets when she concentrates on a book. The way she'll cross and uncross her legs, elegant and yet agitated. The polaroid photo she lets Sunset keep of her and Twilight in her dresser. The fact she doesn't judge, not even by the look in her eyes when Sunset mentions her. Pulling in the sea salt breeze, listening to the sound of rolling waves, Sunset closes her eyes. She leans against Adagio's back. Tucking her arms under, she brings them up in a hook, to her front, crosses them over to embrace from behind. "Mm." Adagio shuffles in place, cross-legged on the rocks like her. The thick, flat stones that jut up from parts of the city's coastline make for the perfect seat. "Done with your massage?" "For now." Sunset shudders. Heart trembles. She wonders if Adagio can feel it through her blouse, or imagine the catastrophes running through her head. How easy it would be for Adagio to slip and fall however many dozens of meters to the rocky shore below. "I just want to relax." Adagio bends her left arm backwards, elbow at an awkward angle. Finding Sunset's cheek with the palm of her hand, she cups it and strokes. "You're not already, then." Sunset opens her eyes for the briefest second. The light of early dawn greets her, the sun's pale-gold climb in the east painting the grayish-blue ocean in dazzling colors. Muted colors, faded. No less spectacular. She shuts her eyes again, a little harder. Jaw clenching. Forearms squeezing, until Adagio lets out a wheeze. She doesn't complain. "It's the wedding." Adagio takes that in for a moment. She says nothing, but continues to reassure through her physical touch. The gentle scrape of manicured, sharp, lavender nails on skin brings delighted shivers waltzing down Sunset's spine. Her chest tightens. Her head feels too wide. The lump in her throat and pull of her muscles makes it difficult to maintain a neutral expression. She tries anyway, though it makes her mouth and lips stretch more than she wants. She always feels she must look ugly when she's upset like this, trying to speak around an open grimace. "What if... what if it..." Tears come. The lump bobs with force. When she does speak it arrives with shuddering breaths, bunched shoulders, and molten, saline cheeks. "What if it happens again." "It won't," Adagio whispers. She finds Sunset's hair now, coiling digits around the fire locks. "You don't-" "I know I don't know that." Sunset hardens her embrace, turning her arms and fists into an interlocked steel grip. As if it's silk, Adagio's hands ease and pry them apart with the slightest touch, taking Sunset's hands in her own. "You're correct that it could. Bad things can always happen. That doesn't mean they have to, so..." "So?" "Don't borrow the trouble." Sunset breathes in, breathes out. Her intent is to relax. Her deep breaths come and go with too much force, too much speed. Crown she's bad at this. "Take your time," Adagio says, as though she knows. She probably does. The way she can read Sunset like an open tome has long unsettled, soothed, and intrigued her. It's a strangely compelling combination. "I can't hide anything from you," she mutters. Adagio, yawning from the morning's fatigue, stretches her back. She does so cat-like, Sunset knows without having to look. A long, luxurious, elegant feline arch that rolls from sacrum to scapula, popping stiff joints along the way. When she does it supine, it shows off her tummy. She often does so when Sunset happens to walk by, whether on the bed or the couch, just to soak in the attention Sunset can't help but pay to her body. "I am very old. Though, I haven't much acted it." "Mh?" Mind off the worst of it, Sunset leans back in, placing her chin on Adagio's right shoulder. Their cheeks touch, and whatever sound either of them make travels through the flesh, vibrates the bone. "You seem a lot more mature than me." "That maturity was learned, dearest." Their joined hands drop slowly lower, into Adagio's lap. Through the spaces between her fingers, Sunset uses hers to rub along exposed inner thigh. "You never told me about that." Sunset grins, chortling on the last few syllables. Air pushes through her nostrils, and with their faces so close, she feels Adagio's smirk. "There are many things I haven't told you." The smirk falls down. Adagio falls silent. Sunset squeezes her hands, thumbs rubbing across the top. It's what she used to do with Twilight's, and it feels like cheating. She loves Adagio, just as much as she loved Twilight. She hates that she can't move past her. "Something wrong?" she asks. "Sometimes I worry." "About?" "What you might think. I've been alive a rather long time. I've done some things you may not respect." "Didn't you basically come to Earth in the Dark Ages?" Adagio's response takes the form of a non-committal grunt. "Lots of people did bad stuff back then, I doubt you were especially unique. It's not like I have the most room to judge anyway." Adagio snorted. "The most you did was take over a highschool and make them your bitch." "And the demon-" "And the demon thing, yes, yes, I know." Now, Sunset's turn comes to go quiet. She breathes in, and out, smoother and better controlled the second go-around. "Well. There's a lot I haven't told you, either." "Even, then?" Sunset laughs. "Probably not. I imagine you killed some people. If I did, I don't know about it, or it's tangential." Sunset felt the question forming on Adagio's lips. 'Tangential?' She doesn't ask it. Instead she tips her chin up, in her form of a nod. "We carry ourselves with us, no matter how far we go. For me, it's simple. I lost my power." Sunset opens her eyes, leaning back to better look at Adagio's face and raises one quizzical brow. Adagio meets her gaze, tough and undaunted. For all the time they've been together, she doesn't recall Adagio shying away from eye contact even once. "Your power?" "My voice. My magic. My... past." Adagio's frown stiffens, lips thinning into a line. She squeezes Sunset's hands, a bit painfully. "I tried to hold on for so long, that piece of myself. It hurt my sisters, and so I had no choice but to grow up. I had to let it go." "And did you?" Adagio's shoulders hunch up for half a second. "As much as I can. They think about it less than I do." "You still think about it then." Adagio says nothing. Sunset hears the answer, moves close. Pressing her face between her bicep and bosom, nose and lips to pale-gold skin, like the dawn's early sun. "I'm sorry," she mumbles. Adagio leaves behind one of Sunset's hands to massage her scalp. "And so am I, for you. But I know if she could see you, she'd be happy."
