#either way this man and his story seeps into so many of my subconscious creative decisions now it's unreal

[hollenka99]

Blonde twink to make your 8 year old self gay in a bisexual girl who won't realise she's queer for another decade way

[sugarfreecapsicle]

i saw the light

moodboard by the incomparable @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan

moodboard by the lovely @sebashtiansatan 

A/N: first of all, big congrats to @marquiswrites on her milestone! She’s a wonderful and creative writer who deserves every ounce of recognition she can be given. I’m thrilled for her and even more honored to be able to participate in this challenge for her. second of all, thanks for putting up with my crazy and this series - here’s hoping I can somehow keep this going!

warnings: religious ceremony (christian), mentions of deity, prayer, hymns, ANGST

pairing: bucky x reader, southern usa au

country mile masterlist

Molten dread seeps from your chest to your toes and piles, feet to knees. Hallowed ground, from both childhood memories and divine merit shackle you to the gravel. Weathered steps precede the equally aged white doors. Music hums from the other side, choir warming up, some attendees mingling and chatting about their week prior to the balmy Sunday morning.

“Well, look at you!” You pivot and grin at the decades-old Buick Sam assists his mother out of - this morning her suit matches the car in alabaster white, accented by a pink ribbon tied on her hat and a coordinating purse. Sam loops her arm in his, grinning proud. The Wilsons, in your experience, mirror the same smile: bright, joyful, genuine.

“Look at you!” A laugh as you tuck some hair behind your ear. Mrs. Wilson hobbles along by a patient Sam to meet you where you stand. “You look so pretty today, Mrs. Wilson. You tryin’ to impress somebody?”

She laughs heartily and swats at you with her well loved leather Bible. “Honey, I’m just here to make sure Jesus knows I’m tryin’ to behave myself and keep Sammy in line.”

“Mama, you know I don’t make trouble,” Sam retorts, feigning some minor offense. Of course his mother pays him no mind.

“It sure finds you easy, son,” she murmurs and jabs his side with her elbow. “Let’s get in there before the reverend thinks I’m not comin’ today.”

Another common quality in the Wilsons: they quietly sneak through your safeguards and guide you in the right direction. You flank the elderly woman and find solace in the whine of the stairs underfoot. Power in faith, Mrs. Wilson would’ve called it had she known your entrapment in the parking lot.

The three of you make it up the stairs carefully, balancing Sam’s mother between as her knees aren’t what they used to be. The comfort of her habit to sit on the right, in the third pew from the front where she can feel the sun beam through the stained glass depiction of Jesus in the garden of Gesthemane settles in your chest.

Before you can scurry away to one of the back pews, she gently pats the seat to her left with a coy grin. “You always have a place with my family, baby.”

So you sit and feel a bit more prim as the townsfolk make their way in, Coulson mingling with the present congregation. In the seersucker suit and tie, a small cross pinned to his lapel, a cracked and worn leather Bible in his hand that now wore a golden wedding band. Light gleams off it from the hanging metal-work lights so out of date you marveled at their resilience.

Even the pillars in the church are the same - a fresh coat of white paint to match the exterior, stained glass windows depicting the life of Christ only a little dirty from recent rain, low pile green carpet from the door at the back up into the choir loft. 

“Good to see you this morning,” Coulson greets jovially, hand extended to you for an always firm shake. He passes onto Mrs. Wilson and Sam quickly who both answer him with pearly white smiles. You grin, a knot in your chest. “It’s been a long while since you’ve been in town - we’ve missed having you here.”

“It’s..” you clear your throat and hold a hand to your chest, still politely grinning, “it’s good to be back, Reverend.”

Coulson nods, hands folded over the Bible in front of him as he chats with the Wilsons about the restaurant, the family band and if Sam wouldn’t mind helping tune the guitar this morning when you notice a barely put together attendee enter from the side door.

“Well if it ain’t the Barnes boy,” Mrs. Wilson mutters in your ear. Coulson quietly shifts along to the far aisle and walks to meet with more of the flock.

Bucky smiles and nods with one of the deacons, hands clasped between them in welcoming. As expected, the young farmer traded in his plaid shirt and red dirt mottled denim for black chinos and a clean tattersall button down. Tucked in, of course, similar to the small knot of hair just above the collar of his shirt.

He moves to the left side of the pulpit and makes himself comfortable at the piano. Since when had this developed? The Bucky you remembered couldn’t sit still long enough for anything like a piano lesson. For all the nostalgia, parts of this little world shifted out of place, a memory disjointed.

Steve appears in your periphery looking spick-and-span as ever with Peggy not far behind in a pretty blue pencil dress. Both greet you warmly with hugs and jump into the conversation as your now full pew inventories the goings on ahead of you.

“Bucky’s been playing for a few months now. It’s the only way we could get him to show up anymore,” Steve answers your unasked question. Apparently you’d been caught ogling.

Your Bucky - if you could even call him that anymore - loved being social at church. He could do without the sermon and the singing, but the congregational greetings just after the reverend’s first song fit into his heart lock and key. He beamed, shaking hands with anyone he could reach, even crossing the aisle to visit with as many as he could. Age never mattered to him then - he’d shake hands as heartily with an elder as a baby. 

This new Bucky fusses with his sleeves at the piano bench alone. Not frowning, but not smiling. 

“Y’all are comin’ by for supper after the service today?” Mrs. Wilson leans over to address both Steve and Peggy, expectant eyes and a nodding head.

“You couldn’t pay me to be anywhere else but your kitchen, ma’am,” Steve answers kindly, giving Peggy’s manicured hand a squeeze. Another new development. Warmth radiated from the couple, a new love realized. 

“Well, good,” the elderly woman settles back and gathers her Bible and sermon outline in her lap. “Lord knows I need an army to eat all the food I make.”

You sense the roll of Sam’s eyes - always a few steps behind his mother’s innocent manipulation. The din of the room swells briefly, and Reverend Coulson makes his way up the steps to his matching white podium. A full congregation, choir in attendance, musicians tuned. And an eager preacher with the Good Word for his flock.

“Good morning,” Coulson calls into the microphone.

Your religion hadn’t survived your departure from town either, but the enthusiasm of the room was contagious. The music starts, and you find your gaze drifting to the piano as you sing. Sleepy blue eyes meet yours in the moment before a blink, then they’re gone, reading the sheet music in front of him. Probably just his eyes finding a place to rest as he plays, a subconscious thing, not intentional in the least.

The muscle memory of the opening prayer followed by a short hymn - I Saw the Light sung by the reverend himself -  and then choral worship awakens a dormant longing in your bones. Routine, peace, an odd juxtaposition to your inner turmoil. 

Coulson opens his Bible at the song’s end with echoing applause, resting it against his little wooden podium. He has more crows’ feet now, but the smile is all the same. 

“Isn’t it a wonderful day the Lord has made for us?” 

Amen’s scatter around the chapel, and suddenly you realize you’re without a Bible and a small copy of the outline for the sermon. Might as well be considered naked and foolish in the church. Without prompting from you, Steve passes you  a heavy and scribbled old copy of the Word, with him since high school. Peggy follows suit and shares her Scripture with him and sets the outline nearby.

A note on the edges of his outline reads: He stares at you every time you look away.

It’s heavy in your lap, a foreign and old thing, while a shiver pricks at the back of your neck. The feeling of being watched. You dare not look away from Coulson as he emphatically tells the story of Jesus’ miracle of feeding five thousand people with only five loaves and two fish. God provides for us in the same way, he says, creating blessings out of what some would consider table scraps. 

“The Lord abides and he provides!” Coulson laughs heartily and the congregation returns his excitement.

He casts his usual glance at the clock - he’s ready for lunch, ready to wrap up his sermon. One more song to call those who feel compelled to kneel at the altar or prayer benches to entreat God’s mercy - Bucky and the Wilsons play Softly and Tenderly in slowed tempo.

Coulson steps down from the pulpit to the altars and benches, offering to pray with some of those who appear moved to tears, a few weeping as if to mourn a death. He places a hand at their backs, each and every one in their own turn, and murmurs quiet prayers, beseeching God’s intervention to those families. 

Your heart twists in your chest, a rag being wrung out of its heavy laden burden of moisture. Fingers grip the Old Book in your hands just along the edges. Steve doesn’t notice. Your lips work between teeth carefully when you brave a glance to the piano.

Bucky - eyes watery and tender - stares at you like you’re breaking his heart. The song ends, prayers complete, and Coulson dismisses the congregation to flood the parking lot. Sam offers you a ride to his mother’s house, and you accept in a voice distant and foreign. 

The little yellow house teems with friends and family alike, and you manage to weave a path to the living room’s sofa. Faint magnolia wafts about once you plop down, memories of nights spent whispering and giggling in pillow forts made from the cushions bubbling into mind. Then it’s all cheers when the first round of biscuits emerge from the oven.

Steve and Peggy find you soon after and try to maneuver the bottled hallway to get a plate for themselves, portioned by either the matron of the family or her ever faithful son. The process runs like her diner with servings then seating then conversation over a home cooked meal.

Your table with the new couple allows for one more, and you expect the seat to remain empty until Sam manages to make a plate of his own. 

And then Bucky finds his way over and sits unceremoniously next to you, arms brushing against each other and flinching away as quickly. Steve says hello to his friend who responds with a shoveled bite into his mouth and a nod.

Some things clearly remain the same.

Sunday lunch continues like this, bumping elbows and hands with Bucky more often than either of you would prefer. Peggy tries her best to keep your attention; Steve and Bucky share clipped sentences and have their own implied conversation. With only his green beans and some gravy left on his plate, Bucky uses the napkin draped over his knee and moves to depart.

“You need a ride home?” 

The trio wear expectant looks you don’t notice until you look up from your own scant plate. Your cheeks warm under the awkward silence, you quickly wipe away any remnant of food from your lips and mumble out your acceptance.

A flurry of goodbyes, and then it’s just you and Bucky in his truck thundering down the road to your house. He’s quiet, hand resting over his mouth while the other minds the steering wheel. 

“What was up with your staring this morning at the service?”

The engine roars in the tension between you.

“What staring?”

Lazy mid-afternoon air tangles your hair. Your jaw sets tightly. 

“The staring at me, Barnes.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” he scoffs, hand scratching against his unshaven cheek. “Good to know you left all this to go get yourself an ego, though, that’s good for you.”

Subconsciously your right foot shifts left in the dirtied floorboard to pump an invisible brake pedal. The truck pushes onward.

“An ego?” Raised  voice and adrenaline. “Bucky, if someone told you a snake bit your ass, you’d say it was a damn bee even if you saw the thing slither under your feet.”

Your pushing against the floorboard suddenly pays off when Bucky diverts the truck to the side of the road and squeals to a stop. After shutting the engine off, he angles toward you, thin blue against wide black pupils. 

“What’d’ya want me to say? D’you want me to roll out some red carpet for you because the princess returned?” Veins in his neck emerge under sun-tanned skin that fades paler by the white collar of his undershirt. Your throat dries when his silver chain catches sunlight. “You were just gone one day. No goodbye, no nothing. Just gone. You didn’t give a shit about any of us, how we’d feel.”

How I’d feel remains unspoken.

“When have you ever known me to live my life for other people, Bucky?” 

The silence of Bucky’s heart plummeting through the undercarriage carries on as  a coin in a well. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and for a moment, you regret your reply.

“Sorry I thought my feelings mattered to you.”

And what can you say to that? The finality in his own answer keeps your lips shut for the remainder of your ride home. An apology hangs in your throat, in your heart, but finds nowhere to surface. Too little too late.

You don’t even say goodbye when you exit his truck and shut the door behind you. Neither does he.

[alleiradayne]

JACKSON

Summary: Briana and Jensen sing Jackson at JIB Written for: @atc74‘s Duet Challenge Reboot Warnings/Tags: Fluff, music, singing, suggestive not-so-platonic friendship but it really is platonic. Characters/Pairings: Briana Buckmaster and Jensen Ackles Word Count: 1300 Song: Jackson by June Carter and Johnny Cash

Look, I know we work well together. I get it. I’m all too aware. Maybe even a little too aware. Screen or stage, it doesn’t matter where we are. When the two of us are together, filming, singing, or just kickin’ back and havin’ a few drinks, everyone in the room feels it. Call it what you want, but whatever it is, it’s palpable.

I’m not quite sure where it started either. Maybe it was that gag reel. Those fuckin’ donuts, man. Jensen’s a pro when it comes to comedy. He’s taught me a thing or two. I never realized it until he pointed it out on set a few months ago. A reel of our outtakes would last hours. I wish I had one. You know, for the rougher days. Especially now.

I know our personas on the show have a platonic BFF thing going on. But off screen, things definitely took a turn at JIB that year we sang Shallow. I’ll never forget it. It was Jensen's idea. In fact, he was the one that insisted I lay down an album. Never in a million years did I think I’d get back to my original dream.

But you know how Jensen can be. Persuasive and supportive and charming. I’m no dummy, I know what I look like when I look at him. And I know that gleam in his eyes, the hint of that confident smirk. And dammit, do I definitely know what I look like when he looks at me like that. It’s gotta be subconscious. We don't mean anything by it. We’re like family. He’s another big brother to me, and I’m a second little sister to him.

Not sure why my mind wandered there of all places. Nerves. Rome's not a huge gig, but it's a special one. After last year, we wanted to keep up the duet. And yet, as I stared at the sliver of blinding light between the curtains at the top of the stairs, I couldn’t help but think about—

"Ready, Buckmaster?"

Like struck glass, my rambling thoughts shattered into a million tiny glittering pieces, shimmering as they faded to nothing. Though darkness encompassed us both, I knew Jensen stood beside me. A deep breath steadied my heart. “Yeah.” A hard swallow caught my voice. "Yeah, I'm good."

“You’re in your head is what you are,” Jensen retorted. “What’s got your tongue?”

Despite my best efforts, I sounded far more unsure than I felt. “Nothing… just… last minute practice. You know. In here. Not that that makes any sense.”

Jensen scoffed as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Of course it does." He paused. "Nervous?"

Stalled. I never stalled. "I… don't know," I stuttered. "Maybe? Couldn't really tell ya. Been a hot minute since I last felt any sort of nerves."

"I hear you," he said with a squeeze of his arm. The din of the tiny convention room filled the silent void between us until he shifted. From my shoulders to my hand, the warmth of his grasp slid into my palm. "You know what to do. Eyes on me. Nobody else is there." He paused once more as a cast member introduced us. “It's just you, me, and the music.”

With a reassuring squeeze of his hand, I said, "Right. Music. Us. That's it." Careful steps carried me up the stairs to the stage. Jensen trailed behind, his hand still clasped in mine as I turned over my shoulder and said, "Let's do this."

The sliver of light widened and revealed Jensen's brilliant smile as I pulled the curtain aside. "Go git it, sister."

Like a dial on a speaker, the dull roar of the crowd cranked to eleven and slammed into my chest with all the force of a speeding truck. And in that moment, with Jensen trailing behind me, tension seeped from my shoulders. The twitch in my fingers settled as I wrapped them around my mic. The uneasy flutter in my stomach quieted as I grasp the stand. And the lights. Thank god for those lights, brighter than the noon-day sun. A sea of black and white spread out before me, silhouettes in an endless ocean. Calm. Sweet, sensational calm.

The rhythm section drowned out the crowd, started without warning. That churning beat and strumming guitar drove the opening bars right on into the chorus, and so, we sang.

We got married in a fever Hotter than a peppered sprout We’ve been talkin’ ‘bout Jackson Ever since the fire went out

Yeah I’m goin’ to Jackson I'm gonna mess around Yeah I'm goin' to Jackson Look out Jackson town

The gig always felt different than rehearsals. No matter all my prep, it still felt entirely different. Granted we only ever sang to tracks in our practice, but that was enough for Jensen. He was a natural talent. He didn't even need to try. And maybe the first couple of runs I tried to live up to some crazy uncommunicated expectation I thought he had of me. But another one of Jensen's many talents is reading people like open books.

Memories of those rehearsals flooded my mind as I turned to him and sang my verse.

Well go on down to Jackson Go ahead and wreck your health Go play your hand you big-talkin' man Make a big fool of yourself Yeah, go to Jackson Go comb your hair

He always let me ruffle his hair.

Honey, I'm gonna snowball Jackson.

He always winked.

See if I care.

Something about the live shows hooks me so hard into the moment that I forgot to experience them. Forgot to be in the moment. I get caught up in the performance, get the lyrics right, don't get too creative, no obnoxious arpeggios or ridiculous embellishments. Keep the audience engaged, breathe, breathe again, long line, don't forget to breathe. Breathe, Briana. God dammit, breathe.

When I breeze into that city People gonna stoop and bow

HA!

His dark glare snapped to me, accompanied by a mischievous grin. By the middle of his verse, he towered over me, that glare far more devious than it had started.

All them women gonna make me Teach 'em what they don’t know how Yeah, I'm goin' to Jackson You turn-a loose-a my coat 'Cause I'm goin' to Jackson

No acting class can teach you how to push away from an attractive man as you sing to his face.

‘Goodbye,” that's all she wrote!

My turn.

But they'll laugh at you in Jackson And I’ll be dancing’ on a Pony Keg They’ll lead you ‘round town like a scolded hound With your tail tucked between your legs, Yeah, go to Jackson, you big-talkin’ man. And I’ll be waitin’ in Jackson Behind my Japan Fan

Another run at the chorus reunited our voices. Enough voices to be heard in the audience joined us, too. Jackson wasn’t just a song to me; it was a story. On the surface, it sounds like a quarreling couple who married too fast and in the midst of lust rather than love. But then we sang together.

Yeah, we’re goin’ to Jackson Ain’t never comin’ back

Jackson reignited their love. In the end, they found each other in Jackson. And that’s the story I love to tell.

Jensen finished the song in casual Johnny Cash fashion and the accompanying rhythm section faded away, overwhelmed by the crowd cheering and clapping.

And just like that it was over. Another gig in the books. Jensen smiled, waved, kissed the top of my head. And I hugged him the only way I could, around his waist like a kid sister.

Because, despite the way it always looked, that was all we’ve ever been.  Big brother. Kid sister.

Kindred spirits telling stories with song.

Feedback is appreciated! Feel free to reblog, too!

If you want in on any of my tags (Sam/Jared, Dean/Jensen), send me a DM or an ask!

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[that-guy1512]

My Disney Prince

WARNINGS!!!: blood, fighting, a little bit of gore, I tried not to swear but there may be a few here and there. If I missed any please tell me! parings: platonic or romantic princiety Fallowing Roman: Roman had always adored Disney movies and did not hide the fact that they were his favourit. Whenever movie nights came up he would insist on one of the many in the franchise. and really, he couldn't help it. He loved them all, Mulan, Aldin, Tangled. You name it, he adored it. However, whenever Roman watch one, (which was quite often), he would always like to go out into the imagination after words and reenact curtain scenes, or some of the villains or someone similar to fight. They just inspired him, and ever since Roman could remember, he had wanted to be a Disney Prince. and yes, he knew it was childish and silly, but a man can dream can't he? And that is exactly what Roman was! A dreamer! He was Thomas' creativity for crying out loud, he was his hopes, his dreams, his aspirations! So, it was normal for Roman to want to be something he wasn't. Right? ~~~~ time skip, 'cause the writer can't think of how else to progress the story~~~~ Roman had just finished watching 'Sleeping Beauty' when he decided that he wanted to fight the dragon, Maleficent. He had never fought her before, but he had fought many dragon witches and always prevailed with them so it couldn't be that different or hard. So, as Roman started his venture into his realm of creativity, he began to think about what made the great beast what she was, and how the world would change the intensity of the fight. As he thought about all these things the world around him started to shift and change into what Roman was imagining would be a mighty place to have a battle with the dragon. And somewhere, off in the distance, out of view of the princely man, a dragon was forming, built to fight. Made strong, fast and agile. And ready. Ready for an opponent to round the corner, eyes red and blood thirsty. The monstrous creature had a challenger in mind and would not rest until they were dead and gone.

Whenever Roman had done this in the past he always subconsciously created them a small ways away. He didn't want to be able to predict when the attract would be coming, or if he found his opponent first, he didn't want them to be able to tell it was coming. However, it didn't usually take this long to find them, and that worried Roman a small bit, not because he couldn't take an ambush, but because it was a dragon, and he didn't like the idea of it either hunting him or roaming wild, and considering what he had been think when making it, Roman did not think it would be friendly. "It'll be fine-" Roman reassured himself out loud, “-I can beat it. I have fought worse." But he was still nervous, the hairs on the back of his neck were on end and he had the feeling that if he didn't find her soon, his knees would start shaking. Still, he walked on, deeper and deeper into the imagination. WAM!! Roman went flying back as a massive tail came hurrying into his gut. The impact knocking him off his feet and into the air. "You! finally... I've found you," Maleficent grinned, sharp teeth in full view, "I have been looking for you, and now that i have found you, well-" she chuckled, "- you wont be leaving here alive." Before Roman could reacted, Maleficence's eyes flashed and she bolted forwards, mouth open with a brilliant blue flame building at the back of the throat. Unsure if it was training or instinct, Roman rolled to the side, his right are singed by the flames. Having no time to stop and tend to his wound, Roman leaped up, drawing his sword in the process, then ran at the beast, trying and failing to land a hit. Quietly, he cursed under his breath. "Come now Prince Roman, you didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" Maleficent teased, "Just give up, you cannot best me!" the dragon bragged. "If I cannot beat you then I will die trying!" Roman proclaimed loudly. "Then die you shall." the beast growled, rushing Roman again, her tooth, making a deep gash in Roman's left thigh. Roman hissed as the pain set in and blood gushed out, seeping into his uniform. The creature's bellowing laughter filled Roman's ears as his foe soared into the air. Smiling wickedly down at Roman, happy to have both the advantage and injured Roman. "I think... I made her... to strong..." Roman panted to himself, 'and blood thirsty' he though. There was no time left to think as fire shot down at him from the sky, burning him and his clothes more. "Give up! There is not beating me!" Maleficent yelled, rocketing down at Roman, ready to do him in. 'I'm doomed.' Roman thought, as the monster crashed down at him, 'this is how I die. How pathetic.' An earth shaking clang shock him from his thoughts as a blur of black and purple flashed in front of him. The blood of the beast dripping down as Maleficent let out a blood curling scream.

Fallowing Virgil ~~~~ a few minutes earlier~~~ Virgil had been sitting in his room with music playing well he browsed Tumblr when there was a knock at the door. Virgil chuckled to himself as he recognized Patton's knock. "What do ya need Pat?" Virgil smiled, answering the door. "I just came to tell you that dinner is ready and ask you if you could please get Roman for me please?" the happy trait responded. "Sure thing, Pop-star." Virgil respond as he walked out, closing his door behind him. "Thanks kiddo!" Patton said happily, as he skipped off back the the kitchen.

the first place Virgil had checked for Roman was his room, because it seamed to most obvious place. However, when he knocked he go no response. "Roman!" Virgil called, "I'm coming in!" As Virgil opened the door the first thing he noticed was that Roman was not in his room. The second thing was that 'sleeping Beauty' was on his TV, which meant that Roman had to have been in the imagination. Sighing, Virgil made his way down the hall to the door that would hopefully lead him to Roman. Virgil paused outside the princely man's realm. Although he knew he was allowed in there, he still didn't like it. In the place, if his thoughts got to far ahead of him they could manifest and come after him or anyone else in there with him at the time. Taking a deep breath, Virgil grabbed the knob, turning it and walking in before he could over think it more. Virgil gasped at the scene in front of him. Roman, who was bloodied and beaten, was still being attacked by an enormous dragon. "What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time Roman?" Virgil mumbled, racing forward, summoning the first weapon that came to mind. Well blocking the dragon from getting to Roman, Virgil realized that his weapon of choice seamed to be a scythe. Virgil quickly pulled down on the weapon, leaving a massive gash on the side of the creature's face. Without giving himself or the monster a chance to think, Virgil struck again, catching the wounded beast in the eye. Virgil attacked in quick secretion, before dropping his weapon, grabbing Roman and running to the exit. Once back in the hall, Virgil sat his friend down, examining his injuries. "Oh my God! Dude, are you okay? What were you think!?" Virgil rushed, summoning a first aid kit, hoping that it wasn't bad enough that he would have to get Logan. "I'm fine." Roman winced, "I was just tryin' to fight Maleficent." the slight slur of Roman's words scared Virgil more then he cared to admit. "But is okay!! 'Cause ma price in shinning armor came and saved me!" Roman continued. "I'm starting to think you've lost to much blood." Virgil said in a monotone voice, one he got when concentrating on something. Roman gasped then, "Does that make you my Disney Prince and me your Disney Princess!?" Roman yelled happily. "Sure, whatever you'd like buddy." Virgil said, not really paying attention to what Roman was saying, just that he was talking and that meant he was alive. "Now come on, let's get you to bed, yeah?" "OKAY!" Roman cheered. 'This is gonna be a looong recovery.'