#he must be at that stage where growing sons realize they can beat their father at a sport now ...

[jrueships]

BLUEY 😭😭

[theusurpersdog]

A Bird in a Cage

Sansa’s arc in A Clash of Kings is all about boxing her in. Not only is she a hostage in King’s Landing, she’s also expected to pretend she’s not; she has to attend Court with a smile on her face, playing the role of Joffrey’s betrothed every day. Showing any honest emotion is punished by verbal and physical beatings. Her entire life becomes a performance she must put on to keep the monsters at bay. Everything about her world is meant to be stifling; from the physical restrictions to the emotional ones, it all makes her retreat deeper and deeper within herself.

But the real magic of this book is the moments where she finds a way to push back or escape her bounds . . . 

Captive

In more ways than one, Sansa is a captive in King’s Landing.

The first kind of abuse she’s subjected to is physical. Beatings are a part of her everyday life. Because Robb was crowned king, or because she was happy Janos Slynt was sent to the Wall, or because Joffrey decided to be especially cruel one day. Sometimes for no reason at all.

She has to take care to dress carefully to hide the bruises:

The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey’s gifts as well.

This should go without saying, but domestic abuse is not rational; nothing Sansa does could stop Joffrey from abusing her – no clever words or tricks she could do to keep him happy. Half the time he has her beaten, it’s because of something Robb did.

Because she could be beaten at any moment, Sansa always keeps one eye on Joffrey, terrified that his mood could turn:

So the king had decided to play the gallant today. Sansa was relieved.

. . .

The king was growing bored. It made Sansa anxious. She lowered her eyes and resolved to keep quiet, no matter what. When Joffrey Baratheon’s mood darkened, any chance word might set off one of his rages.

Not only is she afraid of being hit, she’s genuinely afraid he could kill her:

When she doubled over, the knight grabbed her hair and drew his sword, and for one hideous instant she was certain he meant to open her throat.

Sansa knows her life balances on an incredibly delicate string. Jaime being Robb’s prisoner gives the Lannisters a reason to keep her alive, but Joffrey had reasons to keep Ned alive, too. If anything were to set him off, he would kill Sansa without hesitation. That’s why Sansa feels safer with Cersei around to watch her son, because she’s the only thing that remains to keep Joffrey in check. And Sansa knows that if Robb were to do anything to Jaime, her life would be over:

Gods be good, don’t let it be the Kingslayer. If Robb had harmed Jaime Lannister, it would mean her life. She thought of Ser Ilyn, and how those terrible pale eyes staring pitilessly out of that gaunt pockmarked face.

The beating she endures after Robb wins the battle at Oxcross is so bad that she can barely walk afterward; and as I already mention above, she has to be careful to wear dresses to hide her bruises.

And not only does she have to endure the abuse, she also has to carry on the farce for the rest of the court. Everyone knows she’s a prisoner, and everyone knows that Joffrey is having the Kingsguard beat her, but she’s not allowed to show it; all of her pain has to be kept hidden, pushed deep down inside herself.

Which leads me to the other kind of abuse Sansa experiences in King’s Landing. Everything about her time there is meant to emotionally destroy her. Joffrey intentionally tries to taunt her with threats to murder her family:

“It’s almost as good as if some wolf killed your traitor brother. Maybe I’ll feed him to wolves after I’ve caught him.

. . .

“I’d sooner have Robb Stark’s head,” Joff said with a sly glance toward Sansa.

. . .

“I’ll deal with your brother after I’m done with my traitor uncle. I’ll gut him with Hearteater, you’ll see.”

He loves to play mind games with her, like when he promised to show Ned mercy and then cut off his head and said that was mercy. The constant way that he twists reality around messes with her head and leaves her understandably paranoid:

What if it was some cruel jape of Joffrey’s, like the day he had taken her up to the battlements to show her Father’s head? Or perhaps it was some subtle snare to prove she was not loyal. If she went to the godswood, would she find Ser Ilyn Payne waiting for her, sitting silent under the heart tree with Ice in his hand, his pale eyes watching to see if she’d come?

The constant cruelty she suffers, and Joffrey and Cersei’s profound betrayal at the end of A Game of Thrones, make it hard for her to trust anyone, even when they show kindness:

He speaks more gently than Joffrey, she thought, but the queen spoke to me gently too. He’s still a Lannister, her brother and Joff’s uncle, and no friend. Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father’s head. Sansa would never make that mistake again.

How is she supposed to trust anyone, when everything around her is false? When everything is a carefully constructed jape at her expense? Especially because she’s surrounded by enemies; anyone making their home in Joffrey’s court is sworn to kill Sansa’s family.

And Cersei intentionally makes her isolation worse, rotating her bedmaids:

Sansa did not know her. The queen had her servants changed every fortnight, to make certain none of them befriended her.

Sansa truly has no one to talk to, not even friendly servants to keep her company. Her loneliness is so profound that she enjoys being watched over by Arys Oakheart because he’s the only person who will actually talk to her.

She realizes that no one in King’s Landing cares if she lives or dies:

She [Cersei] spared Sansa not so much as a glance. She’s forgotten me. Ser Ilyn will kill me and she won’t even think about it.

And before the Battle of the Blackwater started, Tyrion told her this:

“I ought to have sent you off with Tommen now that I think on it.”

Unlike Joffrey and Cersei, Tyrion doesn’t wish Sansa any harm; he orders Joffrey’s men to stop hitting her, tries to comfort her afterward, and doesn’t want her to be married to Joffrey. But she is not one of his priorities. It didn’t even occur to him to try and get her safely out of the city.

This is dehumanizing. Sansa has no friends or even anyone to talk to, and the people around her treat her life as an afterthought.

Sansa also suffers from the emotional fallout of Joffrey’s abuse. She blames herself when he has men hit her:

She must learn to hide her feelings better, so as not to anger Joffrey.

The fear of being hit by Joffrey is nearly all-consuming for Sansa. It affects everything down to the smallest details of her life, like how she dresses and does her hair:

I have to look pretty, Joff likes me to look pretty, he’s always liked me in this gown, this color.

Instead of getting to live as her own person, doing things to make herself happy, Sansa has to live for Joffrey’s satisfaction. Even when she’s being physically beaten, she thinks of him instead of herself:

Laugh, Joffrey, she prayed as the juice ran down her face and the front of her blue silk gown. Laugh and be satisfied.

Everything about her life is a performance for other people. She wears the gowns and jewels Joffrey likes, dressing to hide the bruises his men leave all over, and says the words they tell her to say:

“My father was a traitor,” Sansa said at once. “And my brother and lady mother are traitors as well.” That reflex she had learned quickly. “I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey.”

Sansa repeats that phrase over and over throughout the book, always at once. Almost like a reflex. An actor on stage repeating their lines, rehearsed and performed a thousand times.

The worst part of the act is that everyone knows it’s exactly that: an act. Sansa is required, every day, to declare that her family are traitors who deserve to die, and for no reason at all. The way Joffrey abuses her is an open secret:

“He’s never been able to forget that day on the Trident when you saw her shame him, so he shames you in turn. You’re stronger than you seem, though. I expect you’ll survive a bit of humiliation.”

There is no way anyone could ever believe Sansa actually loves the boy who killed her father and intentionally humiliates her in front of his court. No matter how well Sansa tells the lie, it will always be see-through; especially because everyone knows that she’s a prisoner, being held until Jaime is freed. Sansa has to repeat the lie of believing her family to be traitors to try and please the Lannisters – if she said anything different she would be beaten or killed – but there’s no way they will ever be happy, because even when Sansa says the lies as convincingly as humanly possible, they know they’re lies because there’s no way they could be anything else. Sansa cannot win.

That’s never clearer than during her conversation with Cersei inside Maegar’s Holdfast, while the Battle of the Blackwater rages on:

“I pray for Joffrey,” she insisted nervously.

“Why, because he treats you so sweetly?” The queen took a flagon of sweet plum wine from a passing serving girl and filled Sansa’s cup. “Drink,” she commanded coldly. “Perhaps it will give you the courage to deal with truth for a change.”

If Sansa told Cersei the truth in this moment, she would be severely punished. And Cersei knows that, because she would be the one doing the punishing. Yet she verbally berates Sansa anyway.

The same dynamic plays out between Sansa and the Hound. At the end of A Game of Thrones, he gives her this bit of advice:

“Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants.”

And as one of Joffrey’s Kingsguard, he knows first hand of the abuse Sansa suffers if she says anything that could even be construed as out of line. Yet when Sansa tries to follow the advice he gave her, he throws it back in her face:

“ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you? Singing all the songs they taught you”

Everyone in King’s Landing is always threatening to kill Sansa if she tells them the truth, and then calling her stupid when she repeats back the lies they want to hear. They’re forcefully dehumanizing her, demanding she remove all of her own thoughts and emotions and replace them with hollow lines they’ve given her, and then getting mad when her words are empty.

This plays on one of Sansa’s greatest insecurities about herself, which is her intelligence. Because of her low self-esteem, she already thinks of herself as being less-than. That’s very clear whenever she does an act of kindness – she steadfastly refuses to give herself credit for anything:

Sansa could not believe she had spoken. Was she mad? To tell him no in front of half the court?

. . .

Lancel was one of them, yet somehow she still could not bring herself to wish him dead. I am soft and weak and stupid, just as Joffrey says. I should be killing him, not helping him.

She never thinks to herself You are doing this because you are a good person. She always punishes herself internally, calling herself stupid and childish for believing in good things. Joffrey and Cersei have destroyed her so much that she can only see herself through their eyes, cruel and mocking.

The fear that she’s stupid is one of her greatest anxieties:

“My Jonquil’s a clever girl, isn’t she?”

“Joffrey and his mother say I’m stupid.”

And she doesn’t like to be watched by Ser Preston Greenfield because he treated her like a lackwit child.

Everyone around her is comfortable calling her stupid and emotionally abusing her, and it’s easy for Sansa to start internalizing those messages. Joffrey and Cersei’s betrayal at the end of A Game of Thrones forever changed Sansa; the fear that she could ever be so wrong again, and the fear that she was stupid to believe in them, haunts her. Throughout her time in King’s Landing, her self-worth plummets, and she really starts to believe all the things that Joffrey, Cersei, and everyone is always telling her about herself.

Because she has to endure so much abuse and cruelty every day, it starts to become normal to Sansa. Compared to the way Joffrey treats her, anything would be an improvement; she has a soft spot for Arys Oakheart because he hesitated to hit her once:

Arys Oakheart was courteous, and would talk to her cordially. Once he even objected when Joffrey commanded him to hit her. He did hit her in the end, but not hard as Ser Meryn or Ser Boros might have, and at least he had argued.

At least he had argued is one of the saddest lines in a series of books that has a lot of sad lines. Sansa expects so little of the people around her, and is subjected to so much cruelty, that the mere act of hesitating before hitting a defenseless child is enough to stand out in her memory as an act of kindness.

And Sansa thinks this when Tyrion asks her if she’s flowered yet:

Sansa blushed. It was a rude question, but the shame of being stripped before half the castle made it seem like nothing.

This is a perfect moment to show the small ways in which Joffrey is breaking her down emotionally. Tyrion’s question is embarrassing and impolite, but Sansa doesn’t even care because it is so much less embarrassing than the humiliations Joffrey makes her suffer. Joffrey has set the bar for cruelty so high that Sansa is willing to ignore others mistreating her because it isn’t as bad as Joffrey.

The secret friendship she has with Dontos makes this even worse:

“And if I should seem cruel or mocking or indifferent when men are watching, forgive me, child. I have a role to play, and you must do the same. One misstep and our heads will adorn the walls as did your father’s.”

Dontos is not wrong, but it doesn’t make it any less toxic a message for Sansa to hear: I’m cruel and hit you for your own protection. That’s on display when Joffrey is beating Sansa for Robb’s victory at Oxcross:

“Let me beat her!” Ser Dontos shoved forward, tin armor clattering. He was armed with a “Morningstar” whose head was a melon. My Florian. She could have kissed him, blotchy skin and broken veins and all.

Sansa is happy that Dontos is the one hitting her, because at least it’s better than Meryn Trant and Boros Blount. Dontos volunteering to hit her is an act of kindness for Sansa; which further reinforces the idea that someone hitting her is okay.

All of this works to lower Sansa’s standards and warp her perception of what is and isn’t okay; and in the case of Dontos, it is outright grooming on the part of Littlefinger. He intentionally paid an older man to win Sansa’s trust and get her used to the dynamic of secrecy and pushing boundaries, all so he can swoop in during A Storm of Swords. Sansa’s stuck in an endless cycle of her abuse conditioning her to accept more abuse.

All of the abuse and isolation Sansa suffers also leaves her incredibly depressed throughout A Clash of Kings. When she gets the note telling her to go to the Godswood, she thinks she will kill herself before she’s caught:

If it is some trap, better that I die than let them hurt me more, she told herself.

After the bread riot, Sansa has panic attacks; so much so that she feels suffocated in small rooms:

Sansa could go where she would so long as she did not try to leave the castle, but there was nowhere she wanted to go. She crossed over the dry moat with its cruel iron spikes and made her way up the narrow turnpike stair, but when she reached the door of her bedchamber she could not bear to enter. The very walls of the room made her feel trapped; even with the window opened wide it felt as though there was no air to breathe.

She likes to go up to the roof of the tower so she can see the entire city laid before her; it’s the only place where she doesn’t feel so claustrophobic and trapped.

That passage is also so fantastically written to show just how depressed Sansa is. Sansa could go where she would so long as she did not try to leave the castle, but there was nowhere she wanted to go. She's too depressed to go riding around the courtyard; she doesn’t see the point in going around in circles. We know from A Game of Thrones that Sansa has plenty of hobbies: playing the high harp, needlepoint, reading, and sharing gossip with her best friend. In A Clash of Kings, she’s too isolated to have anyone to talk to, but we never see her doing any of her other hobbies either. Nothing brings Sansa happiness in this book.

Especially because she’s constantly surrounded by reminders of her trauma. The way Sansa copes with her grief is by pushing it out of her mind and pretending like it doesn’t exist:

Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears.

Sansa actively tries to forget about the people who mean the most to her because it hurts too much to think of them.

But she can’t forget about Ned when she’s surrounded by reminders of his death. Joffrey and Cersei intentionally throw it in her face, and she has to walk through the same halls his men died in:

Sansa moved as if in a dream. She thought the Imp’s men would take her back to her bedchamber in Maegor’s Holdfast, but instead they conducted her to the Tower of the Hand. She had not set foot inside that place since the day her father fell from grace, and it made her feel faint to climb those steps again.

The reminder that hurts the most is the presence of Ilyn Payne, a recurring figure in all of Sansa’s nightmares. Just his presence makes Sansa’s skin crawl:

She was climbing the dais when she saw the man standing in the shadows by the back wall. He wore a long hauberk of oiled black mail, and held his sword before him: her father's greatsword, Ice, near as tall as he was. Its point rested on the floor, and his hard bony fingers curled around the crossguard on either side of the grip. Sansa's breath caught in her throat.

. . .

She looked for Ser Ilyn, but the King's Justice was not to be seen. I can feel him, though. He's close

When Sansa’s afraid she’s going to die, it’s always his blade she fears:

I'll not escape him, he'll have my head.

. . .

Ser Ilyn will kill me and she won't even think about it.

. . .

If she went to the godswood, would she find Ser Ilyn Payne waiting for her, sitting silent under the heart tree with Ice in his hand, his pale eyes watching to see if she'd come?

. . .

If Robb had harmed Jaime Lannister, it would mean her life. She thought of Ser Ilyn, and how those terrible pale eyes staring pitilessly out of that gaunt pockmarked face.

Watching Ilyn Payne kill her father is the worst thing that ever happened to Sansa, and she lives in constant fear that the same thing could happen to her.

The only thing that keeps her going is the thought of her family. Sansa is insecure in herself enough to start believing the abuse that Joffrey and Cersei inflict on her; but she loves her family too much to ever believe the lies about them. Even though she’s forced to declare them traitors every single day, her internal monologue is always fighting against it:

Rob will kill you all, she thought, exulting

. . .

I pray for Robb’s victory and Joffrey’s death . . . and for home. For Winterfell.

She even finds a way to make Joffrey’s words work in her favor:

“Did I tell you, I intend to challenge him to single combat?"

"I should like to see that, Your Grace." More than you know. Sansa kept her tone cool and polite, yet even so Joffrey's eyes narrowed as he tried to decide whether she was mocking him.

One of the only moments where Sansa is even remotely happy in this book comes when she’s talking to Tommen, because he reminds her of Bran:

Princess Myrcella nodded a shy greeting at the sound of Sansa’s name, but plump little Prince Tommen jumped up eagerly. “Sansa, did you hear? I’m to ride in the tourney today. Mother said I could.” Tommen was all of eight. He reminded her of her own little brother, Bran. They were of an age. Bran was back at Winterfell, a cripple, yet safe.

Sansa would have given anything to be with him. “I fear for the life of your foeman,” she told Tommen solemnly.

That’s a short passage, but it so beautifully captures a small piece of what Sansa is truly like, outside of the abuse and the fearing for her life and the never being able to express her emotions. She loves her family so much and wants nothing more than to be with Bran again. And while Joffrey mocks Tommen for his knightly dreams, Sansa is so nice to him, building up his confidence before he competes. She’s old enough to have grown passed the childishness of Tommen facing the quintain, but because she knows how important it is to Tommen, she gladly plays along with him. We never got to see any scenes in A Game of Thrones of Sansa interacting with Bran and getting to act like a big sister, but this scene does such a good job of showing us that Sansa was a great sister to him.

Sansa also feels a much stronger connection to the Godswood, the ancestral home of her father’s gods:

The air was rich with the smells of earth and leaf. Lady would have liked this place, she thought. There was something wild about a godswood, even here, in the heart of the castle at the heart of the city, you could feel the old gods watching with a thousand unseen eyes.

And even though Lady’s long dead, Sansa still has a strong connection to her wolf. When she believes she’s going to die during the Blackwater, Lady is the first thing she thinks of:

“Lady,” she whimpered softly, wondering if she would meet her wolf again when she was dead.

The more abuse Sansa suffers and the more pressure is put on her to denounce her family as traitors and give up on ever going home, the more Sansa falls back on her family. That’s the only form of comfort she has in King’s Landing; the memory of Winterfell, and the belief that Robb is coming to save her.

The Lannisters have Sansa held captive physically and emotionally in King’s Landing; she has to suffer through beatings and repeat their words to stay alive. But as long as Sansa has her family - has Winterfell - to hold onto, there is a part of her that the Lannisters can never have. Even if it’s only within the walls of her own mind, Sansa has fought herself a small piece of freedom.

Courtesy is a Lady’s Armor

Trapped within the political machinations of King’s Landing, Sansa starts to learn how to play the game in earnest.

Even before she consciously starts to do it, though, Sansa is already in many ways an adept political actor. There’s a reason that all highborn children are taught from a young age how to conduct themselves; Westeros is a society built on the cornerstone of tradition, and knowing how to perform courtly behavior is important. Because Sansa took all of Septa Mordane’s training seriously, she already knows how to walk the dangerous tightrope of courtly speak:

Sansa felt that she ought to say something. What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady’s armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, “I’m sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord.”

This is the same skill we saw in her second chapter of A Game of Thrones, when she was proud of herself for telling the Hound that no one could withstand Gregor during the tourney – she managed to say something courteous without telling a lie. Just as she did then, Sansa manages to say an apology to Tyrion that’s true.

It also shows just how good Sansa is at keeping a level head, because just moments before she was thinking this:

Tyrion turned to Sansa. "My lady, I am sorry for your losses. Truly, the gods are cruel."

Sansa could not think of a word to say to him. How could he be sorry for her losses? Was he mocking her? It wasn’t the gods who’d been cruel, it was Joffrey.

Faced with the men responsible for killing her father, she manages to think on her feet and fulfill the role of a Lady.

She also learns how to use that same skill to benefit herself. Whereas at first she was just trying to perform the functions of a Lady, she starts to use her courtesy to talk the people around her into helping her in such a way that they don’t even realize it’s happening:

“I would sooner return to my own bed.” A lie came to her suddenly, but it seemed so right that she blurted it out at once. “This tower was where my father’s men were slain Their ghosts would give me terrible dreams, and I would see their blood wherever I looked.”

Tyrion Lannister studied her face. “I am no stranger to nightmares, Sansa. Perhaps you are wiser than I knew. Permit me at least to escort you safely back to your own chambers.”

Part of why Sansa’s so naturally gifted at this kind of political double speak is because she understands people so well; she’s an empathetic and emotional character, and is extremely aware of the emotions of everyone around her. To affectively influence others, you need to understand what they want and be able to give it to them. Because Sansa is so aware of the people around her, she intuitively knows what they want; and all she wants to do is give it to them, because she doesn’t want to be hurt again.

The whole conversation she has with Tyrion in the Tower of the Hand does an excellent job showing how intelligent she is:

“I . . .” Sansa did not know what to say. Is it a trick? Will he punish me if I tell the truth? She stared at the dwarf’s brutal bulging brow, the hard black eye and the shrewd green one, the crooked teeth and wiry beard. “I only want to be loyal.”

“Loyal,” the dwarf mused, “and far from any Lannisters. I can scarce blame you for that. When I was your age, I wanted the same thing.” He smiled. “They tell me you visit the godswood every day. What do you pray for, Sansa?”

I pray for Robb’s victory and Joffrey’s death . . . and for home. For Winterfell. “I pray for an end to the fighting.”

Again, she shows an unparalleled ability to lie without actually lying. And she’s clever enough to tell Tyrion what he wants to hear without saying anything that’s actually false, that way it can’t come back to bite her later. She learned her lesson in A Game of Thrones not to trust someone just because they’re kind, and is careful not to show her cards to Tyrion. But in case he’s being honest in trying to help her, Sansa does not reaffirm her love for Joffrey. That’s why her answer of I only want to be loyal is so smart; whether Tyrion is playing her false or no, Sansa has given him the answer he wants to hear. She’s kept all of her doors open without creating additional risk for herself.

Having to survive Joffrey every day also teaches Sansa how to get what she wants without actually having to say it. When she saves Dontos’ life, she plays to Joffrey’s ego:

Unhappy, Joffrey shifted in his seat and flicked his fingers at Ser Dontos. "Take him away. I'll have him killed on the morrow, the fool."

"He is," Sansa said. "A fool. You're so clever, to see it. He's better fitted to be a fool than a knight, isn't he? You ought to dress him in motley and make him clown for you. He doesn't deserve the mercy of a quick death."

All Sansa wants is to save Dontos’ life, and in the moment she comes up with a spectacular lie. Of course Joffrey would think it humiliating to make Dontos into a fool, so Sansa convinces him that would be an even greater punishment than death. She manipulates Joffrey into doing what she wants him to, and he doesn’t even know it’s happened.

Learning how to slyly insult Joffrey is one of the few ways Sansa can actually express herself as a prisoner, and she gets incredibly good at it. She starts by passive-aggressively getting one over on him:

“Did I tell you, I intend to challenge him to single combat?"

"I should like to see that, Your Grace." More than you know. Sansa kept her tone cool and polite, yet even so Joffrey's eyes narrowed as he tried to decide whether she was mocking him.

But as she gets better at politics she goes even further, actively tempting Joffrey into getting himself killed:

“They say my brother Robb always goes where the fighting is thickest,” she said recklessly. “Though he’s older than Your Grace, to be sure. A man grown.”

Joffrey’s biggest insecurity is that he can’t rule in his own right; Cersei won’t let him do certain things, and Tyrion is in charge of him as the Hand of the King because he hasn’t come of age yet. While Joffrey’s anger is normally aimed destructively at Sansa, here she figures out a way to make it work for her; using his own emotions against him to do something reckless.

As well as learning the art of political double-speak, Sansa starts to understand the broader political machinations at work. Because she was a diligent student of Catelyn and Septa Mordane, she has almost every sigil in Westeros memorized; at Joffrey’s name-day tourney, she recognizes every competitor by their House. This may seem unimportant at first glance, but it’s actually very important; twice in Arya’s chapters in A Clash of Kings she wishes she knew Houses and Sigils as well as Sansa, because than she would know who she was dealing with.

Since Sansa knows who everyone is, she has head start in understanding where everyone’s loyalties lie. On top of that, she’s also incredibly observant; she’s constantly taking in everything around her, stopping to pay attention to every little detail and interaction between people. Even though Cersei and Joffrey are trying to keep it hidden, Sansa notices that Joffrey’s tourney is held inside the Keep because he would be mobbed if they went out into the city. And she knows the Redwyne twins are hostages just as much as she is:

The Redwyne twins were the queen’s unwilling guests, even as Sansa was. She wondered whose notion it had been for them to ride in Joffrey’s tourney. Not their own, she thought.

That’s not something anyone would have told Sansa. For one, no one is even allowed to talk to her per Cersei’s orders. For two, Cersei doesn’t let anyone acknowledge that she has hostages – in the same way Sansa has to pretend she is a guest of Joffrey’s court, the Redwynes have to pretend they’re willing guests. That means that Sansa, with no help from anyone, has of her own accord put all the pieces together and realized the Redwynes are political pawns just like her. Very impressive for a twelve-year-old.

Sansa’s attention to detail is clear when she meets Shae, and immediately notices something is not right with her:

Lollys clutched at her maid, a slender, pretty girl with short dark hair who looked as though she wanted nothing so much as to show her mistress into the dry moat, onto those iron spikes.

And when she’s entering Maegar’s Holdfast at the start of the Blackwater, and notices the guards:

The two guards at the door wore the lin-crested helms and crimson cloaks of House Lannister, but Sansa knew they were only dressed-up sellswords. Another sat at the foot of the stair – a real guard would have been standing, not sitting on a step with his halberd across his knees – but he rose when he saw them and opened the door to usher them inside.

Her encyclopedic knowledge of Westerosi Houses and her attention to detail combine to give her a really good head for political machinations. She sees how the Lannisters use empty titles to flatter their lesser servants while saving the best prizes for their family:

Hallyne the Pyromancer and the masters of the Alchemists’ was raised to the style of lord, though Sansa noted that neither lands nor castle accompanied the title, which made the alchemist no more a true lord than Varys was. A more significant lordship by far was granted to Ser Lancel Lannister.

She manages to keep pace with Littlefinger and Tywin’s games:

She did not understand why that should make him so happy; the honors were as empty as the title granted to Hallyne the Pyromancer. Harrenhal was cursed, everyone knew that, and the Lannisters did not even hold it at present. Besides, the lords of the Trident were sworn to Riverrun and House Tully, and to the King in the North; they would never accept Littlefinger as their liege. Unless they are made to. Unless my brother and my uncle and my grandfather are all cast down and killed. The thought made Sansa anxious, but she told herself she was being silly. Robb has beaten them every time. He’ll beat Lord Baelish too, if he must.

I cannot emphasize enough that Sansa, following the tiny thread of Littlefinger looks happy to be Lord of Harrenhal, manages to predict the Red Wedding a whole book before it happens. That’s pretty incredible. Right now, Sansa has no power to start pulling meaningful strings of her own, but it’s clear that she fundamentally understands the complexity of geopolitics and would be well-prepared to make decisions of her own when the time comes.

Another way Sansa continues to learn about the realities of ruling is through people around her trying to teach her lessons. Because Sansa’s a hostage and isn’t allowed to say anything she feels, she basically becomes a blank slate for people to project whatever they want onto. Cersei, Dontos, and the Hound all try to “teach” her something as they project all of their own fears, insecurities, and trauma onto her.

Dontos tells her to play the fool:

“Joffrey and his mother say I’m stupid.”

“Let them. You’re safer that way, sweetling. Queen Cersei and the Imp and Lord Varys and their like, they all watch each other keen as hawks, and pay this one and that one to spy out what the others are doing, but no one ever troubles themselves about Lady Tanda’s daughter, do they?”

Of course, Sansa already knows this. All the way back in her second chapter of A Game of Thrones, Sansa thinks to herself that Moon Boy is smarter than he looks and is only pretending to be a fool so he can go wherever he likes; and Dontos confirms her suspicions when he reveals Moon Boy is a spy for Lord Varys.

It’s a consistent pattern that everyone around Sansa is constantly underestimating her; partly because of their own biases, and partly because Sansa is an almost entirely internal character, rarely letting people hear her honest thoughts. People assume she’s as hollow as the words they force her to say, but in reality she’s an introvert and a hostage.

The Hound also feels the need to impart some “lessons” onto Sansa:

Sandor Clegane snorted. “Pretty thing, and such a bad liar. A dog can smell a lie, you know. Look around you, and take a good whiff. They’re all liars here . . . and every one better than you.”

Again, he’s assuming Sansa’s much dumber than she actually is. Sansa already knows that everyone in King’s Landing is a liar, and has sworn to herself never to trust them again.

The most valuable lessons Sansa gets are from Cersei during the Battle of the Blackwater:

“Certain things are expected of a queen. They will be expected of you should you ever wed Joffrey. Best learn.” The queen studied the wives, daughters, and mothers who filled the benches. “Of themselves the hens are nothing, but their cocks are important for one reason or another, and some may survive this battle. So it behooves me to give their women my protection. If my wretched dwarf of a brother should somehow manage to prevail, they will return to their husbands and fathers full of tales about how brave I was, how my courage inspired them and lifted their spirits, how I never doubted our victory even for a moment.”

In this moment, even though she’s not doing a particularly good job actually doing it, Cersei articulates what’s really important about politics: optics. Her true motives for protecting the Ladies don’t matter as long as the Ladies believe that Cersei is doing it for the right reasons. That’s what monarchies are built upon. They’re a fragile house of cards constructed out of people’s belief.

That’s a lesson Sansa learns again when Joffrey sets her aside and takes Margaery as his bride. Sansa knows it’s going to happen, and is coached by Cersei how to react:

I must not smile, she reminded herself. The queen had warned her, no matter what she felt inside, the face she showed the world must look distraught. “I will not have my son humiliated,” Cersei said. “Do you hear me?”

But in front of the court, Joffrey carries on the charade, pretending Garlan’s offer of his sister’s hand is brand new information. Sansa watches from the sidelines and sees how people react; chanting and cheering to the theatre of it all. She gets to learn in real time how important it is to be performing your duties for the people. Other characters – most notably Jon Snow and Daenerys – can never quite figure that part of ruling out, and it has grave consequences.

I don’t mean performing in the negative sense. Of course, it can be used like that, like when the Tyrell’s intentionally starve King’s Landing so they can swoop in and make a big show of providing food. But it can also be used for good; it is an absolutely necessary aspect of ruling to let your people know what you’re doing for them. Jon in particular gets in trouble at the Wall because he doesn’t explain why he does things; he just does them and hopes people will trust him. Part of the courtly aspect of ruling is doing the work of showing your people how you’re helping them. That way you build trust with them, and they know you care for them. That’s what Sansa’s learning how to do.

Sansa’s also very good at the literal courtly aspect of politics; the time actually spent in court, sitting for hours and hours as the tedious day-to-day of ruling takes place. After the Battle of the Blackwater is over, Sansa has to sit in court for an entire day as soldiers are given their reward. She manages to stay focused the whole time, giving incredibly detailed accounts of each prize that’s awarded and each act of valor that caused it. She handles herself better than the grown men in the hall:

By the time all the new knights had been given their sers the hall was growing restive, and none more so than Joffrey. Some of those in the gallery had begun to slip quietly away, but the notables on the floor were trapped, unable to depart without the king’s leave.

Actual adults can’t even tolerate it, but Sansa manages just fine. This talent of hers is taken for granted by readers, but really stands out when you compare it to other characters. Sansa has the benefit of being raised to be a Lady, unlike a character like Daenerys who never had to sit through the training. Dany can’t make it through one day holding court in Meereen, and calls a lid early because she’s so bored – then stops holding court all together. Actually being a Queen is horribly bureaucratic, and that’s a skill that takes some practice to be able to perform.

Sansa’s ability to hold her own as a leader also really shines during the Battle of the Blackwater, when all hope seems lost and Cersei abandons the women in Maegar’s Holdfast:

“Oh, gods,” an old woman wailed. “We’re lost, the battle’s lost, she’s running.” Several children were crying. They can smell the fear. Sansa found herself alone on the dais. Should she stay here, or run after the queen and plead for her life?

She never knew why she got to her feet, but she did. “Don’t be afraid,” she told them loudly. “The queen has raised the drawbridge. This is the safest place in the city. There’s thick walls, the moat, the spikes . . .”

“What’s happened?” demanded a woman she knew slightly, the wife of a lesser lordling. “What did Osney tell her? Is the king hurt, has the city fallen?”

“Tell us,” someone else shouted. One woman asked about her father, another her son.

Sansa raised her hands for quiet. “Joffrey’s come back to the castle. He’s not hurt. They’re still fighting, that’s all I know, they’re fighting bravely. The queen will be back soon.” The last was a lie, but she had to soothe them. She noticed the fools standing under the galley. “Moon Boy, make us laugh.”

Sansa has no reason to do this. Cersei has given Ser Ilyn orders to kill her if the castle falls, and all the women in the holdfast are older than she is. She’s the last person who should be capable of standing up to take charge, considering her age and her impending death by execution.

She knows she’s faced with a choice: try and save her own life, or stay and comfort the women in the holdfast. And she decides to stay.

True Knights

This book sees Sansa’s worldview start to deepen. She’s only a child when the series starts, and like most kids has a very simple understanding of the world; there’s good and bad people, and good and bad things that happen. Songs were the way Sansa gave that worldview structure. They taught her that the good things happened to the good people, and the bad things happened to the bad people. Westeros is fair, and only the good people could be put in charge to do good things. Kings, queens, and knights were all avatars of the inherent goodness of the world; people put in place specifically to protect others.

This worldview became unsustainable for Sansa after Ned’s death. Every single rule the songs taught her was violated by her father’s execution. In her last chapter of A Game of Thrones, we see Sansa turn to nihilism as a result; her father is dead, her prince is a monster, and the knights sworn to protect her are the ones beating her. She doesn’t believe in anything anymore, so much so that she just wants to die.

In A Clash of Kings, Sansa starts to grapple with the overwhelming cognitive dissonance. Ned’s death and Joffrey’s cruelty taught her how evil people can be; but she also knows how good they can be, because she grew up in Winterfell. For all of their shortcomings, Ned and Catelyn were loving parents who tried their best to do good, and raised their kids the same.

Sansa still believes in goodness, but sees that everyone around her fails to live up to it:

Knights are sworn to defend the weak, protect women, and fight for the right, but none of them did a thing. Only Ser Dontos had tried to help, and he was no longer a knight, no more than the Imp was, nor the Hound . . . the Hound hated knights . . . I hate them too, Sansa thought. They are no true knights, not one of them.

Notice how she thinks They are no true knights. Sansa is surrounded by unimaginable cruelty, but she holds on to an undying sense of optimism. She knows that real knights don’t fight for the right, but that doesn’t stop her from continuing to believe in those ideals. Unlike in A Game of Thrones, when her belief in good was attached to specific people like Joffrey and Cersei, Sansa’s new worldview isn’t dependent on people to live up to. She believes in doing the right thing no matter what, even if the people around her let her down.

Sansa’s conception of beauty is the same way; in the first book, she assumed that beautiful people must also be good. But in A Clash of Kings, she reverses that order; people become either beautiful or ugly to her based on how good or bad they are. We view Joffrey through many POVs, and it is clear that by any standard that he is objectively attractive; yet Sansa now finds him ugly:

His plump pink lips always made him look pouty. Sansa had liked that once, but now it made her sick.

And she thinks this of the Hound:

The scars are not the worst part, not even the way his mouth twitches. It’s his eyes. She had never seen eyes so full of anger.

It’s not his physical appearance that scares her, it’s the anger in his eyes. That’s the part of him that’s ugly to her.

This evolution in Sansa’s understanding is never clearer than in her interactions with Dontos. The parts of his appearance that Sansa finds unattractive are his blotchy skin and broken veins, which are both symptoms of his constant drinking. It’s his drinking that bothers her:

“I prayed and prayed. Why would they send me a drunken old fool?”

. . .

This is madness, to trust myself to this drunkard

But Sansa manages to look beyond that as soon as Dontos invokes Florian the Fool. As much as Sansa understands that the songs aren’t true, the idea still appeal to her. When Dontos says he wants to make amends and become a true knight, in spirit if not name, Sansa treats him as if he actually were a knight:

“Rise, ser.”

. . .

Sansa took a step . . . then spun back, nervous, and softly laid a kiss on his cheek, her eyes closed. “My Florian,” she whispered. “The gods heard my prayer.”

Sansa’s growing understanding of the world around her also changes the way she thinks of class. To some extent in A Song of Ice and Fire, every single character is classist because they’re all rich people in an extremely hierarchical society. The entire structure of kings, lord paramounts, lords, knights, and peasants requires you to be classist; if you believe everyone in Westeros is equal, the entire structure of the society crumbles. While some of the POV characters like Jon and Davos make great strides in understanding how bankrupt the Westerosi class structure is, they’re still generally classist; it’s almost impossible not to be when you grow up in the culture they did. Davos grew up poor, but the indoctrination of classism has given him an almost religious fervor to follow Stannis as the “true” king.

Sansa especially had a very rigid understanding of class in A Game of Thrones; Arya making friends with the butcher’s boy was anathema to her. But the more that Sansa sees the people in power as the monsters they really are, the more sympathy she has for the people below her. In the sept praying before the Battle of the Blackwater, she holds hands with a washerwoman:

The old woman’s hand was bony and hard with callus, the boy’s small and soft, but it was good to have someone to hold on to

The more Cersei and Joffrey try to isolate Sansa, the more they try to snuff out any feeling of goodness or loyalty she had, the more Sansa reaches out to connect with people. Everything bad that happens to her makes her feel more connected to the people of King’s Landing. She’s too young and privileged (class-wise) to have a fully functioning understanding of the true evils of hierarchy, but she fundamentally understands something most of the aristocracy do not: that the common people are people and should be treated with respect.

She knows the common people will suffer the most if Stannis breaches the city walls, and prays for theme:

She sang along with grizzled old serving men and anxious young wives, with serving girls and soldiers, cooks and falconers, knights and knaves, squires and spit boys and nursing mothers. She sang with those inside the castle walls and those without, sang with all the city. She sang for mercy, for the living and the dead alike

Sansa gladly positions herself alongside the working people, not offended to be among them the way the Lannisters certainly are.

Sansa’s deepening worldview also gives her an incredibly complex relationship to the songs and stories she used to love. As I’ve already mentioned, she doesn’t disown them entirely; the high ideals of the songs are still very important to Sansa. The concept of a true knight, who would actually defend the defenseless, is the cornerstone of Sansa’s belief system, and she doesn’t need that person to actually be a knight – as long as they fulfill the moral obligation of being good. (Little does she know that very person is later tasked to find her.)

But now she knows that the stories lie. She understands their role as propaganda; when Arys Oakheart tries to say the peasants believe the comet heralds Joffrey’s reign, she doesn’t believe him:

“Glory to your betrothed,” Ser Arys answered at once. “See how it flames across the sky today on His Grace’s name day, as if the gods themselves had raised a banner in his honor. The smallfolk have named it King Joffrey’s Comet.”

Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure.

And she can’t even finish a sentence defending knights without realizing it isn’t true:

“Do you have any notion what happens when a city is sacked, Sansa? No, you wouldn’t, would you? All you know of life you learned from singers, and there’s such a dearth of good sacking songs.”

“True knights would never harm women and children.” The words rang hollow in her ears even as she said them.

The words ring hollow in her ears because Sansa does know what happens when a city is sacked; earlier in a previous chapter, she thinks this:

The whole city was afraid. Sansa could see it from the castle walls. The smallfolk were hiding themselves behind closed shutters and barred doors as if that would keep them safe. The last time King’s Landing had fallen, the Lannisters looted and raped as they pleased and put hundreds to the sword, even though the city had opened its gates. This time the Imp meant to fight, and a city that fought could expect no mercy at all.

Cersei underestimates Sansa, assuming everything she knows is from a song, but here we see that Sansa knows that the songs don’t tell the whole story. Unlike in A Game of Thrones, she no longer holds them in complete reverence. The Sept used to represent everything beautiful about the songs to her:

Sansa had favored her mother’s gods over her father’s. She loved the statues, the pictures in leaded glass, the fragrance of burning incense, the septons with their robes and crystals, the magical play of the rainbows over altars inlaid with mother-of-pearl and onyx and lapis lazuli.

It was the song’s come to life. But after Ned’s death, she hates it:

When Sansa had first beheld the Great Sept with its marble walls and seven crystal towers, she’d thought it was the most beautiful building in the world, but that had been before Joffrey beheaded her father on its steps. “I want it burned.”

She literally wants to set fire to the things that used to represent the songs.

But songs and stories are the foundation of Sansa’s world; even though she doesn’t believe in them the way she used to, they still shape her perception. She doesn’t want to let them go:

There are gods, she told herself, and there are true knights too. All the stories can’t be lies.

She still uses the template of songs and stories to interact with the world, but now with the understanding that the world is so much more complicated. Whereas before, the songs represented a sanitized version of war, Sansa begins to understand it in its entirety:

Away off, she could hear the sounds of battle. The singing almost drowned them out, but the sounds were there if you had the ears to hear: the deep moan of warhorns, the creak and thud of catapults flinging stones, the splashes and splinterings, the crackle of burning pitch and thrum of scorpions loosing their yard-long iron-headed shafts . . . and beneath it all, the cries of dying men.

It was another sort of song, a terrible song.

Thinking about something through the lens of a song no longer represents a childish fantasy for Sansa. Her conception of them is no longer permanent; her view of the songs has changed to fit with her new reality, but it’s still a comforting way for her to make sense of the world around her.

She even incorporates her love of the songs into her political manipulations:

"You're lying," Joffrey said. "I ought to drown you with him, if you care for him so much."

"I don't care for him, Your Grace." The words tumbled out desperately. "Drown him or have his head off, only . . . kill him on the morrow, if you like, but please . . . not today, not on your name day. I couldn't bear for you to have ill luck . . . terrible luck, even for kings, the singers all say so . . ."

Her use of the songs nearly saves her life here. Joffrey doesn’t know enough to be sure that she’s lying, so once the Hound corroborates her story, he has to believe it’s true.

Sansa’s attachment to the stories is integral to her character, and GRRM does a tremendous job of making it important to the arc she starts in this book, which is her continued journey from pawn to player in the Game of Thrones. Sansa’s perspective as a political actor is entirely unique from anyone else for many reasons, and one of those is her connection to the ideal version of Westeros that lives in the songs. Even as Sansa realizes the songs are lies and that the world is so much darker than she thought, she never gives up on the hope that it could be good. Her unwavering optimism for the world, in the face of so much trauma, means that she will never stop trying to make the world better.

Flowering

Throughout her time in King’s Landing, Sansa’s experiences with sexuality are inextricably linked to violence. The way Joffrey physically abuses her comes with a nasty undercurrent of sexual violence. The total control he exerts over her means she has to let him do what he wants:

The king settled back in his seat and took Sansa's hand. His touch filled her with revulsion now, but she knew better than to show it. She made herself sit very still.

The subtext of that scene is drawn to the forefront when Joffrey has Sansa beaten after Robb’s victory at Oxcross:

“Leave her face,” Joffrey commanded. “I like her pretty.”

. . .

“Boros, make her naked.”

Boros shoved a meaty hand down the front of Sansa’s bodice and gave a hard yank. The silk came tearing away, baring her to the waist. Sansa covered her breasts with her hands. She could hear sniggers, far off and cruel.

This is one of Sansa’s first experiences with sexuality, and it is nonconsensual and done specifically to humiliate her.

The relationship between sex and violence is never clearer than at the start of the Blackwater:

"Bless my steel with a kiss." He extended the blade down to her. "Go on, kiss it."

He had never sounded more like a stupid little boy. Sansa touched her lips to the metal, thinking that she would kiss any number of swords sooner than Joffrey

Joffrey is asking Sansa to kiss his sword; the metaphor here is not exactly subtle. To Joffrey, sex and violence are one in the same; having power over someone, hurting someone, turns him on as much as physical attraction. And as his betrothed, Sansa is on the receiving end of his sexually charged violence.

Unlike Joffrey, Sansa’s not turned on by violence, seeing it and sexuality as two separates things. And she would rather suffer through the violence, thinking to herself she would rather kiss the sword than kiss Joffrey. Her experiences with being found attractive to someone have all been so traumatic that actual violence scares her less.

Arguably the most traumatic experience she has is during the bread riot:

Sansa dug her nails into her hand. She could feel the fear in her tummy, twisting and pinching, worse every day. Nightmares of the day Princess Myrcella had sailed still troubled her sleep; dark suffocating dreams that woke her in the black of night, struggling for breath. She could hear the people screaming at her, screaming without words, like animals. They had hemmed her in and thrown filth at her and tried to pull her off her horse, and would have done worse if the Hound had not cut his way to her side. They had torn the High Septon to pieces and smashed in Ser Aron's head with a rock. Try not to be afraid! he said.

In the nightmares she has of that day, she dreams of being murdered; a knife cutting through her stomach until she’s left in bloody ribbons. It’s not hard to see the violent sexual imagery in that description. Sansa knows what those men planned on doing to her, and the memory haunts her. It’s no coincidence that she wakes from those nightmares to her first period:

“No, please,” Sansa whimpered, “please, no.” She didn’t want this happening to her, not now, not here, not now, not now, not now, not now.

The way GRRM writes her reaction is so visceral. As tears streams down her cheeks, she tries to wash herself, cuts apart her sheets, burns them, and tries to drag her entire bed into the flames as well. And the whole time she does this, she keeps thinking They’ll know or What will I tell them? or I have to burn them. She’s so completely and utterly terrified that anyone could ever know, she’s hardly even thinking. It’s just sheer, overwhelming panic.

This line in particular stands out:

The bedclothes were burnt, but by the time they carried her off her thighs were bloody again. It was as if her own body had betrayed her to Joffrey, unfurling a banner of Lannister crimson for all the world to see.

Down to jewelry she wears and the way she styles her hair, Sansa’s body belongs to Joffrey. Her job in King’s Landing is to look pretty for him in the hopes that it will save her from his wrath. Her body exists solely to please him. She’s literally stripped of her own agency and control.

Flowering is the last straw for Sansa because it means she can be tied forever to Joffrey through marriage, and he’ll be free to rape her and force her to have his children. And there’s nothing Sansa can do to stop it. Her own body has betrayed her by merely existing.

Sansa’s period is again equated to physical violence during the Battle of the Blackwater:

“You look pale, Sansa,” Cersei observed. “Is your red flower still blooming?”

“Yes.”

“How apt. The men will bleed out there, and you in here.”

Then a second time, Cersei compares sex to violence:

“You little fool. Tears are not a woman’s only weapon. You’ve got another one between your legs, and you’d best learn to use it.”

Through Cersei’s eyes, we get the clearest summary of the point GRRM is trying to make. Existing as a woman in Westeros is inherently oppressive to the point of smothering the life out of her. Where the men are given swords, women are given marriage and childbirth; but the latter is no less violent than the former. In Cersei’s words:

“We were so much alike, I could never understand why they treated us so differently. Jaime learned to fight with sword and lance and mace, while I was taught to smile and sing and please. He was heir to Casterly Rock, while I was to be sold to some stranger like a horse, to be ridden whenever my new owner liked, beaten whenever he liked, and cast aside in time for a younger filly. Jaime’s lot was to be glory and power, while mine was birth and moonblood.”

“But you were queen of all the Seven Kingdoms,” Sansa said.

“When it comes to swords, a queen is only a woman after all.”

In many ways, Sansa’s arc in A Clash of Kings is centered around this idea; the violence of femininity in Westeros. Being a child isn’t enough to spare Sansa the horrors. The whole reason she’s trapped in King’s Landing to begin with is because of her body; the Lannisters want to use her like property – a broodmare to sire them sons to inherit Winterfell.

It’s no surprise the climax of Sansa’s chapters in A Clash of Kings pushes this concept to its furthest bounds . . .

Ser Dontos and The Hound

Throughout Sansa’s chapters in King’s Landing, GRRM is deconstructing the trope of the Princess in the Tower. Sansa more than any other character is aware that her life takes place within a story, and she prays to the gods to send her a hero to save from the Red Keep. GRRM had already subverted the idea of a charming Prince with Joffrey in the first book, so A Clash of Kings subverts the trope of a knight coming to save her. That’s why her two protectors in King’s Landing are Dontos and Sandor Clegane – two men who aren’t quite knights.

For most of the book, the narrative treats Dontos and Sandor as foils. The story of why either one is not a knight puts them on two opposite ends of a spectrum. Dontos has his knighthood taken away from him because he’s too soft. He would rather drink and let people laugh at him than fight with a sword, which is why Joffrey makes him a fool. On the other hand, the Hound likes killing too much to be a knight:

“Let them have their lands and their gods and their gold. Let them have their sers.” Sandor Clegane spat at her feet to show what he thought of that. “So long as I have this,” he said, lifting the sword from her throat, “there’s no man on earth I need fear.”

This dichotomy between them is made clearer in the way Sansa has to escape their advances. Around Dontos, she’s dodging kisses:

"Give your Florian a little kiss now. A kiss for luck." He swayed toward her.

Sansa dodged the wet groping lips, kissed him lightly on an unshaven cheek, and bid him good night. It took all her strength not to weep.

But it’s a steel kiss she has to dodge from the Hound:

He laid the edge of his longsword against her neck, just under her ear. Sansa could feel the sharpness of the steel.

The idea of Dontos and Sandor as opposites is driven home further by their different approaches to Sansa’s love of stories; Dontos uses it to win Sansa’s trust:

“I think I may find it in me to be a knight again, sweet lady. And all because of you . . . your grace, your courage. You saved me, not only from Joffrey, but from myself." His voice dropped. "The singers say there was another fool once who was the greatest knight of all . . ."

"Florian," Sansa whispered. A shiver went through her.

"Sweet lady, I would be your Florian," Dontos said humbly, falling to his knees before her.

The Hound uses it to berate and belittle her:

“There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can’t protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don’t ever believe any different.”

Sansa backed away from him. “You’re awful.”

“I’m honest. It’s the world that’s awful. Now fly away, little bird, I’m sick of you peeping at me.”

But underneath the superficial differences, Dontos and the Hound have the exact same relationship to Sansa. When Joffrey is having her beat after Robb’s victory at Oxcross, both make efforts to help her – Dontos volunteering to hit her with a melon instead of a sword, and the Hound telling Joffrey “enough” – but stop short of doing anything that would put themselves in danger. They both make advances on Sansa against her will – Dontos with kisses and the Hound with knives, but the overt sexual nature of both cannot be denied. They both position themselves to Sansa as a sort of mentor figure, telling her how to act and what to believe, with the implicit (and often explicit) message that she’s not smart enough to think for herself and it would really be in her best interest if she just trusted them instead. Both men position themselves as Sansa’s “protector”, but they never protect her from much of anything; in the few moments they’re actually given the opportunity, like during the Battle of the Blackwater, they both panic and leave her to fend for herself.

What really connects the two men is how they use Sansa. To them, she’s the paragon of youth and innocence; the way she believes in the stories reminds them both of what they used to be like before the world beat them down. Sandor was a boy who played with toy knights before Gregor burned his face, and Dontos was saved as a child by the knight of knights Barristan Selmy.  While they’ve both grown jaded, Sansa brings out the parts of them that still believe in the stories. That’s clear from the way Dontos reacts to the Lannisters winning the Battle of the Blackwater:

“Oh! the banners, darling Sansa! Oh! to be a knight!”

And even though the Hound claims to hate the stories, it’s a song he wants from Sansa:

“Go on. Sing to me. Some song about knights and fair maids.”

Sansa as the princess in a tower appeals to the fantasy of both men to be her hero.

But this is a subversion of that trope, not a straight retelling. Particularly in regards to Sandor, GRRM really deconstructs the destructive nature of this male fantasy. Before Sandor asks Sansa to sing him a song, he comments on her body:

“You look almost a woman . . . face, teats, and you’re taller too, almost . . .”

Sandor wanting to play the knight with Sansa is always tied to his sexual attraction to her; in every single instance, GRRM always ties them together. There is never one without the other. It should go without saying that this is not good; Sansa is barely twelve, and hasn’t even had her first period when Sandor’s sexual advances start. She is a child. In Maegar’s Holdfast, she’s shocked that men would view her sexually:

“Enough drink will make blind washerwomen and reeking pig girls seem as comely as you, sweetling.”

“Me?”

“Try not to sound so like a mouse, Sansa. You’re a woman now, remember?”

This passage also very clearly draws the connection between Sandor’s relationship to Sansa and violence. Cersei explains to Sansa the way battle makes men into monsters around women, and then the next chapter Sandor appears in Sansa’s bedroom with a knife. This is not meant to be a romantic scene, or else GRRM would not have framed it with threats of rape and violence.

This is further re-enforced by the song Sansa sings to Sandor. When he holds the knife to her neck, he demands she sing the song of Florian and Jonquil:

He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. “I’ll have that song, Florian and Jonquil, you said.” His dagger was poised at her throat. “Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life.”

But Sansa can’t remember the words, and instead sings the Mother’s Mercy hymn:

Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war, we pray, stay the swords and stay the arrows, let them know a better day.

Gentle Mother, strength of women, help our daughters through this fray, sooth the wrath and tame the fury, teach us all a kinder way.

It is incredibly symbolic that the Hound demands Sansa sing him a song of romance, but she physically can’t; the only song she can remember the words to is one of forgiveness.

So much of Sansa’s narrative in A Clash of Kings is people demanding things that she can’t give them. Joffrey wants her loyalty, Cersei wants her words, Tyrion wants her trust, and Dontos and Sandor want her love. Everyone is pulling her in different directions, and her entire personality starts to crumble under the pressure; there’s no way she can give all of these people everything they want. Something has to give.

And when Sansa can no longer play her role, when the fear of dying is too visceral for her to wear her courtesy like an armor, the one thing Sansa can still give Sandor is her mercy. . .

Radical Empathy

The running thread that connects all of the themes in Sansa’s chapters is her being trapped. Physically through Joffrey’s abuse, emotionally through Joffrey, Cersei, Dontos, and Sandor, and even by herself mentally as she begins to internalize the abuse. Everything about the Red Keep is meant to turn Sansa cruel and self-interested, just like everybody else; even if they aren’t intentionally cruel like Joffrey, they’re okay with Sansa being hurt because that’s just how life is, like Cersei. Or Dontos and the Hound, who don’t intend to hurt Sansa but do because they’re too caught up in their own narrative to acknowledge her humanity. Even Arys Oakheart, who really doesn’t want to hurt her, but is too afraid to say no and defy the class structure of Westeros.

That makes Sansa’s defiance through empathy stand out in such radical contrast. The kindness Sansa shows everyone, even those who hurt her, is how GRRM brings the songs to life. Sansa doesn’t love those stories because she’s silly and naïve; she loves them because they justify her belief in the inherent goodness of being kind.

Empathy and kindness are Sansa’s defining character traits, and that’s why her arc in A Clash of Kings opens with her saving Dontos’ life:

Sansa heard herself gasp. “No, you can’t.”

Joffrey turned his head. “What did you say?”

Sansa could not believe she had spoken. Was she mad? To tell him no in front of half the court? She hadn’t meant to say anything, only . . . Ser Dontos was drunk and silly and useless, but he meant no harm.

Even though just moments earlier she had noted Joffrey’s mood was turning dark:

The king was growing bored. It made Sansa anxious. She lowered her eyes and resolved to keep quiet, no matter what. When Joffrey Baratheon’s mood darkened, any chance word might set off one of his rages.

The way Sansa stands up for Dontos is particularly notable because he had the chance to do the same for her in A Game of Thrones, but chose not to:

Sickly Lord Gyles covered his face at her approach and feigned a fit of coughing, and when funny drunken Ser Dontos started to hail her, Ser Balon Swann whispered in his ear and he turned away.

- Sansa V

Dontos wouldn’t even risk treating Sansa with basic courtesy, yet she risked her live to save his.

And that’s not the only time Sansa stands up to Joffrey to save someone:

Halfway along the route, a wailing woman forced her way between two watchmen and ran out into the street in front of the king and his companions, holding the corpse of her dead baby above her head. It was blue and swollen, grotesque, but the real horror was the mother's eyes. Joffrey looked for a moment as if he meant to ride her down, but Sansa Stark leaned over and said something to him. The king fumbled in his purse, and flung the woman a silver stag.

- Tyrion IX

The only other character we ever see move to actually stand up to Joffrey is Tyrion, who is also the only person in court who doesn’t have to be afraid of Joffrey’s retaliation. Everyone else sits by day after day and watches as Joffrey abuses Sansa and says nothing; or worse, they actively participate. But whenever Sansa sees Joffrey hurting someone, she risks herself to make him stop.

Sansa also uses her kindness to give herself courage:

Sansa found herself possessed of a queer giddy courage. “You should go with her,” she told the king. “Your brother might be hurt.”

Joffrey shrugged. “What if he is?”

“You should help him up and tell him how well he rode.” Sansa could not seem to stop herself.

She’s too afraid to speak back at Joffrey when he’s abusing her, but as soon as she sees him mistreat Tommen, she finds the courage to stand up for others.

Kindness is almost an involuntary reflex for Sansa:

Lancel was one of them, yet somehow she still could not bring herself to wish him dead. I am soft and weak and stupid, just as Joffrey says. I should be killing him, not helping him.

Lancel Lannister, who stood by and egged the crowd on as Sansa was stripped and beaten after the Battle at Oxcross. She has every reason not to help him; she knows if she stays in that room, with the battle all but lost, Ser Ilyn is going to kill her solely because of the Lannisters’ spite. She has no reason to stay and help Lancel. But she can’t stop herself.

The moment where Sansa’s kindness stands out the most, though, is when the Hound comes to her room during Blackwater:

Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. “Little bird,” he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the softer sound of retreating footsteps.

I think reading this passage out of context is what allows certain fans to paint this scene in a romantic light. The softness of Sansa reaching out to touch Sandor is an indelible moment. But it does the moment a disservice to read it that way. This scene is so well written because of what comes before it:

“I could keep you safe,” he rasped. “They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them.” He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened. “Still can’t bear to look, can you?” he heard him say. He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. “I’ll have that song, Florian and Jonquil, you said.” His dagger was poised at her throat. “Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life.”

Afraid for her life, Sansa closes her eyes. But Sandor is too bitter, jaded, and wrapped up in his own self to realize that’s why she closes her eyes; he thinks it’s because she still can’t look at the burned ruin of his face. He came to her room with kindness the furthest thing from his mind; the flames dancing on the Blackwater Rush made him scared like a wild animal, and he’s come here to get something from Sansa – whether she wants to give it or no.

(And while certain people are interested in carrying a lot of water to redeem this character, GRRM has really left no ambiguity in Sandor’s intentions. The passage He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed, taken in tandem with his confession to Arya, I took the bloody song, she never gave it. I meant to take her too. I should have. I should have fucked her bloody and ripped her heart out before leaving her for that dwarf, make it very clear that Sandor intended to rape Sansa. That is not up for debate.)

Sansa singing the Mother’s Mercy hymn is the last thing Sandor expected. The idea that in this moment, as Sandor becomes all of the worst things he’s ever believed about himself, about to do one of the most monstrous acts a person can do – that in that moment, Sansa could still show him mercy, is enough to stop him. He can no longer pretend that all the songs are lies and that everyone is only pretending to be good, because in this moment Sansa is still somehow capable of showing him kindness. 

Sansa’s ability to have empathy for seemingly irredeemable characters is not limited to Sandor (though certain shippers would like to pretend that’s some unique characteristic of their relationship, it most certainly is not). The dynamic between Sansa and Cersei is so rich because of Sansa’s inability to hate her, even though Cersei is responsible for pretty much every bad thing in Sansa’s life.

The Sansa and Cersei dynamic is one of the narrative’s most dynamic and complex, as Cersei represents a dark mirror of Sansa. Both were in love with the idea of becoming Queen as children, but arrived in King’s Landing to find their Prince is not who they thought he would be – Cersei both literally and figuratively, as she realizes she’s not to marry Rhaegar Targaryen but instead Robert Baratheon. They’re both subjected to emotional and physical abuse by the King for things that aren’t their fault – Robert hates Cersei because she isn’t Lyanna, and Joffrey hates Sansa because of his fight with Arya on the Trident.

But Cersei’s Lannister upbringing and life have made her cruel in all the ways Sansa is kind. She can see the parallels between herself and Sansa, but instead of reacting with empathy, she uses it to justify her cruelty:

“You’re stronger than you seem, though. I expect you’ll survive a bit of humiliation. I did.”

Being afraid of the men in her life has taught Cersei that’s the correct way to wield power:

“Another lesson you should learn, if you hope to sit beside my son. Be gentle on a night like this and you’ll have treasons popping up all about you like mushrooms after a hard rain. The only way to keep your people loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy.”

But Sansa reacts the opposite way:

“I will remember, Your Grace,” said Sansa, though she had always heard that love was a surer route to the people’s loyalty than fear. If I am ever a queen, I’ll make them love me.

This line has become the definitive statement of Sansa’s character because it so wholly embodies her ethos. Cruelty is not in her nature, and her instinct is always to show kindness. It also ties a direct connection to her own personal experiences shaping how she wants to be as Queen:

“Fear is better than love, Mother says.” Joffrey pointed at Sansa. “She fears me.”

Sansa knows what it feels like to be afraid, and she never wants anyone else to ever feel like that. Where the cruelty Cersei suffered taught her it was normal and good to rule that way, Sansa learns what it feels like to be at someone else’s mercy. If she ever has control over someone, which she will in books to come, she’s learned to always be kind because she knows what it feels like when someone isn’t.

All of her chapters in A Clash of Kings are full of moments that show how much Sansa values kindness. While I’ve already highlighted the life or death examples, she also shines in the small moments, like when she encourages Tommen before he faces the quintain at Joffrey’s name day tourney. And she comforts him when Myrcella leaves for Dorne:

Prince Tommen sobbed. "You mew like a suckling babe," his brother hissed at him. "Princes aren't supposed to cry."

"Prince Aemon the Dragonknight cried the day Princess Naerys wed his brother Aegon," Sansa Stark said, "and the twins Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk died with tears on their cheeks after each had given the other a mortal wound."

- Tyrion IX

She tries to comfort Lollys Stokeworth across the bridge to Maegar’s Holdfast:

She greeted them courteously. “May I be of help?”

Lady Tanda flushed with shame. “No, my lady, but we thank you kindly. You must forgive my daughter, she has not been well.”

“I don’t want to.” Lollys clutched at her maid, a slender, pretty girl with short dark hair who looked as though she wanted nothing so much as to shove her mistress into the dry moat, onto those iron spikes. “Please, please, I don’t want to.”

Sansa spoke to her gently. “We’ll all be thrice protected inside, and there’s to be food and drink and song as well.”

Her prayer in the Sept before the battle starts shows just how much she cares for everyone:

She sang for mercy, for the living and the dead alike, for Bran and Rickon and Robb, for her sister Arya and her bastard brother Jon Snow, away off on the Wall. She sang for her mother and her father, for her grandfather Lord Hoster and her uncle Edmure Tully, for her friend Jeyne Poole, for old drunken King Robert, for Septa Mordane and Ser Dontos and Jory Cassel and Maester Luwin, for all the brave knights and soldiers who would die today, and for the children and the wives who would mourn them, and finally, toward the end, she even sang for Tyrion the Imp and for the Hound. He is no true knight but he saved me all the same, she told the Mother. Save him if you can, and gentle the rage inside him.

There’s only one person in the whole of Westeros Sansa won’t extend her empathy to:

But when the septon climbed on high and called upon the gods to protect and defend their true and noble king, Sansa got to her feet. The aisles were jammed with people. She had to shoulder through while the septon called upon the Smith to lend strength to Joffrey’s sword and shield, the Warrior to give him courage, the Father to defend him in his need. Let his sword break and his shield shatter, Sansa thought coldly as she shoved out through the doors, let his courage fail him and every man desert him.

This line feels especially important. A lesson that’s drilled into Sansa time and time again by Cersei and Sandor is that her kindness makes her weak. It was used against her in A Game of Thrones, where her trust in Cersei and Joffrey left her completely vulnerable to Ned’s death. But this passage shows that it is not weakness that makes Sansa kind - it’s strength. For a character as kind as she is, and subjected to so much abuse, it would be easy to see her narrative as someone repeatedly letting herself be run over. By including this line, showing that Sansa’s empathy is a choice she makes – and making it clear that she chooses not to have it for Joffrey – it shows that Sansa still has control over herself, and will set boundaries. 

Instead of using her experiences in a negative way like Cersei, Sansa learns to carefully apply the lessons of her life; she won’t let abuse stop her from being kind, but she knows when to stop herself from trusting someone again.

Because Sansa’s kindness and optimism are the most important aspects of her character, her arc in A Clash of Kings ends there. Joffrey setting her aside in favor of Margaery is an emotional rollercoaster for Sansa:

Dontos waited in the leafy moonlight. “Why so sadface?” Sansa asked him gaily. “You were there, you heard. Joff put me aside, he’s done with me, he’s . . .”

He took her hand. “Oh, Jonquil, my poor Jonquil, you do not understand. Done with you? They’ve scarcely begun.”

Her heart sank. “What do you mean?”

“The queen will never let you go, never. You are too valuable a hostage. And Joffrey . . . sweetling, he is still king. If he wants you in his bed, he will have you, only now it will be bastards he plants in your womb instead of trueborn sons.”

Throughout A Song of Ice and Fire, the narrative is constantly testing Sansa’s commitment to her ideals. Everything she knows is constantly turned on its head, going from a dream to a nightmare. The momentary joy she feels knowing she doesn’t have to marry Joffrey is only allowed for a second, until it collides with Dontos’ harsh reality.

But instead of ending there, the narrative takes a page out of Sansa’s book and leaves on a vision of hope for the future:

It was a hair net of fine spun silver, the strands so thin and delicate the net seemed to weigh no more than a breath of air when Sansa took it in her fingers. Small gems were set wherever two strands crossed, so dark they drank the moonlight. “What stones are these?”

“Black amethysts from Asshai. The rarest kind, a deep true purple by daylight.”

“It’s very lovely,” Sansa said, thinking, It is a ship I need, not a net for my hair.

“Lovelier than you know, sweet child. It’s magic, you see. It’s justice you hold. It’s vengeance for your father.” Dontos leaned close and kissed her again. “It’s home.”

[peaches-writes]

according to flora

description: growing up with jeongin according to the different shrubs and flowers around you member: jeongin / i.n. genre: fluff, childhood best friends to lovers au, neighbor au, slice of life, cottagecore elements (this is debatable) word count: 5.7k warning: mention of animal death (im so sorry) notes: some of these plants probably don’t grow in korea but whatever i need them for the plot + ending happens a year before ‘before one a.m.’ + i’m not confident w this pls go easy on me

makahiya ~ shy plant

When Yang Jeongin first moved into the neighbourhood when you were five, he and his brother let out a surprised gasp after stepping on their lawn. You were making flower crowns and trying to do ‘magic’ next door with your cat, immediately looking up at them from their loud reactions to the grass, the gears in your head concluding that they must have stepped on the shy plants that grew everywhere. 

“Do you think it’ll open again?” You overheard Jeongin’s brother ask curiously that day, squatting down on the grass.

Jeongin naturally followed, poking on the folded and now red leaves of the unusual plant. “It doesn’t seem to want to.” He muses sadly.

You took that as your cue to approach them, walking the small distance around the fence and poking Jeongin’s shoulder. He looks up at you with a small jump and wide eyes, almost falling on his butt and toppling over his brother next to him.

“Hello! You must be our neighbor!” His younger brother greeted instead for the two of them, waving politely at you with a small tree branch he found nearby. You waved back politely before extending the same hand to introduce yourself properly.

“The shy plant won’t open if you keep touching it.” You pointed out after the younger brother’s introduction, answering their query. “Just wait a little bit.”

“Shy plant?” Jeongin repeated, looking back down on the plant. At that, the leaves slowly began opening up again, returning to its vibrant green color as it stretches. “Wow!” He exclaims, touching it again and causing it to wrinkle back into a shy close but this time much clearer in front of him and his brother. “Cool!”

You smile in equal amazement, taking a step back and motioning over to your dividing fence and the tree across the Yang house’s lawn. “There’s more of them around your lawn, just look for the sharp leaves and maybe the pink flower that goes along with some of them since a lot of weeds and grass growing around here look like them too.”

His younger brother only nodded, muttering a quick thank you for tipping them off before running across the lawn, while Jeongin awkwardly stood up and extended his hand out for you to shake after realizing that he hasn’t introduced himself, “I’m Jeongin, by the way—we’re moving in today.”

“Y/N,” You shook his hand shyly, the unfamiliar feeling of holding someone else’s hand sending tingles down your spine. “I live next door.”

“Will you...” He trailed off, awkwardly placing his hand back to his side and darting his eyes everywhere but you. “Will you help us look for them?”

You nodded after a beat or silence, shrugging as nonchalantly as possible. “Sure.”

When Mr. Yang expressed interest to maintain the grass on their lawn and backyard some time later, Jeongin made sure that his father didn’t cut any of the shy plants.

dwarf santan ~ jungle geranium

Since that day, Jeongin has naturally stuck by your side, helping you 'make potions’ on your front porch by picking out the flowers for you when unfamiliar bugs and pests guard them and climbing up the trees in your lawns and backyards for when you need leaves. No one from the nearest four blocks are around your age and Jeongin never really thought of himself as the type of kid to walk all the way to the other side of the neighbourhood just to maintain a friendship with a friend. 

Besides, he’s always thought that your company was enjoyable and enough. 

“What are you doing?” He asked you one morning as he approached you, seated in the middle of your backyard garden. It’s the day before his seventh birthday and he’s spent the entire week pretending to not notice how you’ve been crushing and mixing flower petals less in favor of studying the stems of your garden flowers. “What flower’s that?” 

You quickly hid the pink jungle geraniums in your back, scrambling to stand up when Jeongin stops right in front of you. “N-Nothing!” You stammered out a reply as you tried to stop yourself from gripping the small flowers too tightly and accidentally crushing them in nervousness. “It’s just...”

When you trailed off, trying to come up with another excuse for the 7th day in the row, Jeongin only sighed, scratching the nape of his neck. “You’ve been acting weird this whole week.” He pointed out to you bluntly, a small pout on his lips. “I don’t want to assume that it’s for my birthday but if it is, you can just show it to me now—it’s tomorrow anyway.” 

A beat of silence passes. When you didn’t speak, he quietly added, “I don’t like it when you act weird...”

And with that, you slowly took out the crown of jungle geraniums from behind your back, “I’ve been trying to make you this but I’m really bad at connecting the flowers.” You then held it in front of him, delicately placing them in his hands when he reached out for them. 

He held it up to his eye-level, as if inspecting it, before looking back at you, “Can you put it on for me?” He then took a tentative step towards you, placing the crown back in your hands with a slight shake in his hand. 

And equally as shaky with your hands, you tiptoed and placed it on top of his head, catching his smile when your heels reach the grass beneath your feet once again. “How do I look?” He asks, tilting his head from side to side that almost caused the crown to fall of his head. 

“Pretty.” You answered matter-of-factly, turning his close-lipped smile into a full grin when you fixed the crown again with more confidence and a chuckle. “Happy birthday.”

“T-thank you!” He blushes, his cheeks matching the pink of the flowers. “Can you...can you teach me how to make this?” 

He especially left out the part that he wants to make one for you, too shy at the time to say it out loud.  

“Yeah—yeah, just help me pick out the ones you like.” You replied before leading him by the hand to the very back of your garden where the shrubs are. 

You then spent the rest of the afternoon teaching him how to make crowns and bracelets as well as convincing him that drinking the sap on the geraniums is okay. 

“It’s very sweet,” You told him as you suck on one while you work. “Some are bitter but it’s almost always sweet.” 

Jeongin went home with a whole stem of geraniums after, showing it and his flower crown proudly to his brothers. 

On your birthday that followed after this, you found a bracelet of jungle geraniums conveniently left on the pillar of your front porch. You still have this bracelet, pressed between the pages of your favorite book in a circle. 

rose

You and Mrs. Yang encouraged Jeongin to join his first school singing competition in the 3rd grade because if there’s something you and your best friend’s mom have in common, it’s your endless admiration for his singing skills. Mrs. Yang always encouraged her son to sing and perform during parties while you grew up to your best friend singing to you and the plants that you grew. 

So, for an entire month leading up to the talent show, you spent all your weekends in Jeongin’s room, clumsily playing the piano with him as he practiced trot songs. 

And, on the day before the competition, Jeongin’s mom sneaked you out of your practice sessions so you can help her buy his son a congratulatory bouquet at the supermarket. 

“So, Y/N, roses or tulips?” Mrs. Yang asked you as you stood in front of the shelves of plastic bouquet wrappings and vibrant flower arrangements. 

“Oh, um...” You examined the flowers closely, tiptoeing around the sides. You’ve always known that tulips and roses are traditionally given to say congratulations after competitions but something about the baby’s breath caught your eye. In a way, it seemed more fitting for your best friend. “Mrs. Yang, can we get the bouquet full of baby’s breaths?” 

But Mrs. Yang chuckled in response, albeit without any malice, “Sweetheart, we need to get our Jeongin a big bouquet, especially if he wins.” She then took a big bouquet of roses and another of tulips in the same size, both decorated with baby’s breaths, and held them in front of you. “but, we can buy a bouquet with baby’s breath on it, just not as the main flower in the arrangement.” 

You ended up nodding along, picking the bouquet of roses. 

Jeongin later won the singing competition. Mrs. Yang allowed you to hold the bouquet through the entire program and eventually give it to him when the awards have been given and the pictures have been taken. 

“Congratulations!” You practically ran halfway across the auditorium to him on the side of the stage, almost shaking the petals off the flowers.

“Thank you!” Jeongin grinned shyly at you, holding the big bouquet in one of his small hands as he pulled you into a hug with the other. “These are so pretty!”

“Your mom and and I picked them out at the supermarket.” You recalled as you slowly pulled away from his hug after a moment, hands unconsciously coming up once again to fix the baby’s breath and roses that have wrinkled slightly from all the running and hugging. 

Jeongin mimicked your actions almost instantly, his free hand going to the baby’s breath instead of the roses to admire them. “I like the baby’s breath the best, they’re so cute,” He commented nonchalantly. “but the roses are beautiful, too.” 

You hum through your heart doing a small unfamiliar flip in your chest. “I like them the best too.”

kalachuchi ~ plumeria

Hana, your family’s Persian cat of thirteen years, died some time in the summer before your 7th grade from old age. You don’t remember much from that period of time in your life but endless crying in your bedroom and a small funeral you held in your backyard with Jeongin, his two brothers, and a few friends from school. 

“We’re sorry about Hana again.” One of your friends, Chaeryeong, hugged you before leaving. Since the weather seemed appropriately gloomy on that Sunday morning, everyone had to leave right after before it rained harshly as predicted on the weather forecast. 

“Thank you.” Hugging her back tightly, you then bid her a second goodbye as her parents’ car arrived.

With that, only you and Jeongin were left standing in your front lawn, waiting for the rain to come. With a sigh, you quietly turned around with the intention of trudging back inside your house, only to be stopped by Jeongin wrapping his arms around your shoulders in a hug. 

The gesture immediately encouraged the reemergence of tears on your face. 

“I’m so sorry about Hana,” He mumbled against the nook of your neck, hugging you tighter when he heard you choke back sobs. He pats your back comfortingly, swaying you from side to side and humming gently to ease you. 

You stood there for what seemed to be a long time, until it started drizzling in light rain and your mom appeared on your front porch and gestured for Jeongin to bring you inside the house. Hesitantly, you let your best friend take you inside, his arm never leaving your shoulder until the two of you sat down on the sofa in your living room.

“Can I hug you again, please?” You asked next to him when he brought his arm back to his side, the absence of his arms feeling uncomfortable in the moment somehow. 

Hearing your small voice broke his heart instantly. He nodded with a small hum, letting you snake your arms around his waist this time as he brings his arm back on your shoulder. The downpour outside became harsh almost instantly, the different flowers and shrubs growing right below your windows crashing against the glass panes that suddenly gave him an idea. 

Over a month later towards the end of that summer, when you and Jeongin came home from the animal shelter and adopted an orange tabby named Mimi, the two of you ended up chasing the energetic kitten to Hana’s grave in the hidden corner of your backyard—only to find a plumeria tree growing on top of its small mound. 

“Oh? What’s that, Mimi?” You crouched down in front of the tree as Mimi sniffed the small white flowers, your eyes beginning to sting. Jeongin, a few steps behind you, immediately slowed down running at seeing where you ended up. “That’s a plumeria.” 

You turned to Jeongin after, mustering up a small smile for him. “Did you do this?” 

He nods as if unsure, crossing the remaining distance to you and sitting down crisscross on the grass. “When the rain stopped, I found grown cuttings in our backyard and,” He shrugged, momentarily being distracted by your new kitten as she finished sniffing the flowers and proceeded to climb up his lap. “you did tell me one time that plumerias mean new beginnings.” 

Overwhelmed with the gesture, you let yourself fall back on the grass, leaning over to Jeongin to press your forehead to his shoulder blade gratefully. “You remember these kinds of things I tell you?” 

You hear him hum next to you, his shoulders moving slightly as he plays with your new cat. “I remember everything you tell me.” He clarified as nonchalantly as he could muster. “...and I know flowers make you the happiest.” 

“You make me the happiest.” You muttered under your breath in response, not knowing that he heard it clearly. “Thank you so much...this—this means a lot to me.”    

bougainvillea 

You went on your first overnight field trip three years later in your 12th grade, right after your college entrance exams. The destination wasn’t far from school but the retreat house’s ambiance was somehow entirely different from the city outside its gate because of the area’s unusual amount of pine trees encircling it. Compared to the towering skyscrapers and bland-colored suburban neighbourhoods you’ve gotten used to, the retreat house felt like an entirely different world and the entire trip felt like a healing from school stress. 

“Look at all these pine trees, Innie!” You exclaimed on the second morning, when you woke up an hour early and found Jeongin wandering around the retreat house’s extensive mini forest. Looking up as you walked alongside him on the trail heading to the mess hall, you couldn’t help but marvel at the trees and their calming presence. “They look like they could reach the sky!”

Next to you, you missed the way Jeongin briefly casted his eyes away from the pine trees to have a good look at you, grinning at your familiar bright eyes and agape lips that only comes out whenever you looked at plants. 

He considers himself lucky you never seemed to notice the way he always looks for this particular expression of yours. You didn’t know it at the time but he‘s always thought you’re the prettiest admiring the flora around you. 

“They are,” He verbally agreed after a while once he’s successfully made himself look away from you to watch the morning sunlight filter in through the trees. Looking around, an archway of unfamiliar vibrant pink and greenish white immediately caught his eyes, pointing it to you. “Hey, look at that.”

You followed his gaze, seeing bougainvilleas for the first time. “Bougainvilleas!“ You smartly named the plant, remembering it from one of the books you used to read to Jeongin. “We should check it out.”

Hurriedly, the two of you then approached the archway leading to a hidden garden. The ground dipped a little to form a slope underneath your slippers as you entered, catching Jeongin off-guard until you expertly steadied him by his arms.

“Careful!” You hissed playfully, gently pushing a stray branch of the pink bougainvilleas above his head when he’s regained composure and stood up straighter.

“Right, sorry!” He laughed before walking a little slower behind you to admire the flowers.

You then busied yourself after by whipping out your phone and taking photos of the flowers, snapping a couple of candid shots for Jeongin as well. You wandered around the archway in relative silence, noticing a couple more different flowers as you walk closer to the other side.

“Ow,” You suddenly heard Jeongin wince behind you after a while, immediately making you turn to him in worry. Catching your gaze, he shows you the hand he pricked on one of the thorns, luckily intact. “Thorns.”

You sighed at his clumsiness, taking a step toward him and taking his hand in yours to inspect it further. “I told you to be more careful,” You scolded him under your breath, heaving another sigh afterwards but this time in relief while massaging the pad of his index finger. “Their thorns might give you rashes.”

“Sorry...” He sheepishly apologizes, curling up his fingers above your hand as if to retract them back to his side.

But you keep his hand in place, bringing your linked hands down between the two of you. “We should get ointment for this, though,” You conclude, walking him now back to the trail. “Just to be sure.”

“O...kay...” He trails off in a daze, clumsily keeping up with your brisk walking to the mess hall.

Your Homeroom adviser would check up on Jeongin after, almost mistaking his blushing cheeks for signs of illness. 

baby’s breath 

In the summer that followed, when you’ve received your acceptance letters and graduated high school, you scheduled a packing day for university three days before you went to Seoul with Jeongin and his older brother. Video calling on your laptops and occasionally waving at each other through your nearly adjacent bedroom windows, you spent the entire day going through your things and arranging them in bags and boxes.

This is when you stumbled upon your books of pressed flowers.

Jeongin didn’t notice it at first, how your screen suddenly became silent, too engrossed for a while with running his hands through his keyboard which he hasn’t touched in a year to focus on studying. He played familiar melodies, mostly trot songs, for a while—looking up to you on the screen only after the fifth song and realizing that you’ve been standing in one distant spot the entire time, going through one of your hardbound books.

He walked over to his laptop perched amidst the mess on his bed at this, sitting down in front of it before calling your attention, “What’s that?”

The sudden voice made you close your book with a loud thud and you turned to Jeongin in surprise, “You startled me!”

He laughed through a quick apology before repeating his question, “What were you reading?”

“Oh,” Your hands unconsciously ran through the hardbound covers, opening it again to the page you were on previously. Walking to your laptop screen as well, you carefully tilted your book in front of the screen and showed him the the dried baby’s breath tucked in between the pages. “Remember when someone gave me a branch of baby’s breath on Valentine’s Day in the 10th grade? I forgot that I pressed it in a book and—I didn’t expect it to come out this pretty!”

Jeongin remembered. Of course he did, he almost died of anxiousness sneaking it around you at the time in an effort to be anonymous.

Braving through the butterflies that suddenly erupted in his chest, he coughed awkwardly once then replied, “Yeah, I remember. Didn’t it have a—a note?”

“Oh, right!” You exclaimed, retracting the book back to you and flipping through the pages until you found the card. “Here it is!” You then showed the perfectly preserved pink card he made, the words he printed on the paper barely visible on the screen but he knew each and every one in there until this point enough to get flustered. “This was really sweet, pity the sender never revealed themself.”

Though all the gears in Jeongin’s head urged him to reveal himself to you at that moment, he clumsily blurted out a small and almost dismissive ‘yeah,’ at your comment, letting the opportunity go as you then switched the topic to finding the jungle geranium bracelet he made for you, tucked in another book.

This would continue to bother Jeongin until the two of you were seated in the back of his older brother’s car, en route to Seoul, when he noticed the books in one of your bags, pointing to it and asking why you brought them.

“I collected all my pressed flowers into this one book—in case I miss home,” You answered after taking out the book from your bag. Flipping randomly, you ended up on the dried baby’s breath again—now reunited with its accompanying card. “Look, it’s the baby’s breath again.”

You then handed the card for him to read when he asked, noticing the way his hand slightly trembled in front of you.

“You complete all the empty spaces of my heart, like baby’s breath on sophisticated bouquets. Thank you for bringing more color and detail into my life. Without you, roses will only be intimidating and tulips insincere. Happy Valentine’s Day.” He read, nudging you on the shoulder after. “You like these kinds of things?”

“You don’t?” You shot back, taking the card from him once again and carefully placing it back on your book. “It’s a little cheesy but I think it’s nice.”

“Really?” He asked in disbelief, feeling light-heated all of a sudden.

“Yeah...” You shrugged back in response, fingers tapping on the book’s cover. “Like I said, it’s sweet.”

You especially left out the part that you’ve always hoped it was him who sent it.

Next to you, Jeongin felt like he could explode right there and then. He’s keep this in mind ever since. 

cherry blossom

Your Freshman Orientation was everything but calm and laid back. From playing an intense game of modified musical chairs to dividing the entire auditorium in smaller groups to compete in a treasure hunt around the building; you, Jeongin, and your newfound friends, Seungmin, Felix, Hyunjin, and Jisung, were completely exhausted at the end of the day.

Luckily, your facilitator, a music major named Chan, prepared a relatively calmer final activity before parting ways with your group at the end of the day. The instruction was to write short messages to each other on origami cherry blossoms and exchange them with each other. Provided with endless bundles of pink and red colored papers, you spent the last twenty minutes of your school hours on that day coming up to people, making small talk, then writing compliments or Twitter handles on your cherry blossoms.

Naturally, since you knew each other very well already, you and Jeongin made it a point to exchange origamis last. You didn’t have to, Seungmin pointed out, but you and Jeongin mutually insisted.

“It’s like a fresh start,” You explained to Seungmin before the group dispersed.

Jeongin nodded along in agreement, “But with the same people.”

Hyunjin dramatically gushed how he thought that the gesture is so sweet. Felix and Jisung, meanwhile, simply nodded along and agreed that it is cute, while Seungmin was quick to catch onto Jeongin (as he had the entire day) that there might be something going on between the two of you.

So, you approached Jeongin after he’s met up with everyone in your group, handing him the prettiest origami cherry blossom you made.

“I wrote it inside the paper.” You told him shyly when his expression turned into that of confusion at seeing the petals empty. “Can you read it when you get back to the dorms?”

“Why?” He asks bluntly with a small frown, fingers hovering over the petals as if tempted to unfold them. “Did you write anything weird? Are you actually transferring schools?”

Your eyes widen and you wave your hand dismissively, “No, no! Just...read it later!”

"Okay.” And true to his word, Jeongin waited until he and Jisung returned to their shared dorm before opening your letter. 

“‘Did you know that cherry blossoms symbolize life changes? Like new beginnings.’” You wrote in your neatest handwriting despite the lack of tables and flat surfaces back at the auditorium. “‘But you’re still here and I’m glad. Thank you for growing up by my side. I hope we continue to until even after this point in our lives. Y/N.’”

Jisung, who was peering over Jeongin’s shoulders annoyingly the entire time, shook his shoulders violently until it was time to cook dinner time. “You two are so adorable! Are you dating? You better be dating!” He exclaimed, attacking the younger boy exaggeratedly.

The last question only made Jeongin frown, pushing his roommate away immediately. “We’re not dating or anything.” He sighed. “Y/N’s just—someone I’ve spent all my life with.”

“Didn’t you say you met when you were five? That’s not your entire life.” Jisung pointed out before a smirk overtook his features. “So if you’re not dating, you like them, then?”

Jeongin looked over silently at Jisung next to him after, catching the older boy’s anticipating expression as he himself contemplated on the question. Though his brothers caught on quickly early on, Jeongin himself as never verbally voiced out his feelings for you before.

But it’s Jisung and even when he’s caused so much trouble throughout orientation, Jeongin decided he could trust him. “Yeah...” He trails off, much to Jisung’s satisfaction. Saying it out loud felt weird but also familiar somehow that Jeongin can’t help but blush. “But don’t tell anyone!” 

Jisung surprisingly kept his mouth shut about it for a grand total of three months, when he ended up accidentally telling Seungmin in front of Jeongin during one break time they happened to share together. 

“So? What am I going to do with this information?” Seungmin asked unfazed during this particular lunch. 

Though he’s said this, however, he was already raking his brain for what he deemed as his most evil scheme yet. 

“Don’t tell Y/N, duh.” Jeongin answered with a pointed look at Jisung sitting next to Seungmin. Jisung only returns this look with a bashful grin and a peace sign help up in the air. “I swear, Jisung, if you’re not months older than me—”

“I pay half the dorm rent too.” Jisung adds unhelpfully, making Jeongin place his hand on his face and groan. 

Luckily, the two have only gossiped to Hyunjin and Felix, occasionally almost letting it slip right in front of you but holding back every time. 

pink carnations

A week before Valentine’s Day, Jeongin found himself walking an entire two feet away from Seungmin along the empty crafts store aisles, begrudgingly dragging a small wheeled cart behind him. Seungmin has given up scolding him for trailing behind so slowly a long time ago and has decided on just carrying as many items as he can in his arms before walking back to the younger boy. Somewhere, you were also wandering around, albeit in a different aisle with Felix, as you try to find the other half of your buying list.

At this point, Jeongin really just wanted to strangle whoever came up with the idea of having a dorm party and a Secret Valentine exchange gift (Kim Seungmin).

“Stop frowning, you look ugly.” Seungmin suddenly snapped him out of his daydreams after a while, carefully dumping packs of colored paper and bottles of glitter on the cart.

Jeongin narrowed his eyes in response, crossing his arms, “You come up with an exchange gift for Hyunjin.”

At this response, Seungmin only scoffed, taking the cart on one hand and dragging Jeongin along with him with the other. “We both know that’s not why you’re frowning.” He stated matter-of-factly as the two transfered to another aisle. “If you’re thinking about buying Y/N something or, you know, confessing, I’m telling you, just do it. It’s Valentine’s, anyway.” 

Jeongin rolled his eyes. “It’s not that easy! And it’s really not the right time to confess.”

“When is the right time?” Seungmin prodded on, stopping right in front a display of party cups. This crafts store has everything for some reason. “You’re in your first year of uni, you just finished your second semester midterms, and your wingman friends have time until finals to help you out. When else is the right time?”

The younger boy rolled his eyes, helping Seungmin examine different party cup designs now. “That’s exactly why it’s the worst time ever: it’s Valentine’s, we’re still adjusting to university, and we have four mutual friends trying to wingman terribly.” 

“If you don’t plan on confessing then at least give Y/N something, they’re your best friend and they deserve it on a holiday like this.” Seungmin sighed exasperatedly, picking a design after a while. “Plus, it’s not like you haven’t given Y/N gifts in other holidays or anything of the sort before. Just think of it casually like you would do with Christmases or birthdays.”

As if on dramatic cue, the two boys see you and Felix pass by after, laughing at something on the latter’s phone while dragging along a cart of buntings and cartolinas. Seungmin had to physically snap his fingers in front of Jeongin again to get his attention.

“I...” Jeongin trailed off, sighing towards the end when you disappear. “I’ve only given them something on Valentine’s once and it was—well, it was anonymous.” 

"What?” Seungmin blinked twice in disbelief. “You have a best friend who’s into flowers, literally the most common Valentine’s Day gift, yet you’ve never officially given them anything on such day before?” 

“Valentine’s is just too obvious, even if they don’t know how I feel—” Jeongin sighed helplessly before frowning at his own words. “It sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”   

“Yeah,” Seungmin nodded fervently, lightly smacking Jeongin in the head with his party cups. “Took you long enough to realize. Like I said, you don’t have to have romantic intentions if you can’t confess right now.” 

“Ugh, what do I do?” Jeongin scratched his head in frustration, realizing at that moment that it does sound a bit stupid not giving you anything on Valentine’s before. 

The older boy sighed, though he seriously contemplated on it for a moment. “The market’s on the other entrance of the crafts store,” He finally said after a while, shaking Jeongin’s hand off his arm. “Pick out something simple, not too big and extravagant because it’d be a waste seeing them wilt after a while, as long as it can be meaningful for the two of you.”

Jeongin’s eyes widened at this. “Really?”

And Seungmin only nods, shooing him with his hands, “Yeah, yeah, go, but make it back here before we go to checkout.”

“I owe you one.” Jeongin grinned happily, sprinting out of the bookstore. 

Now left alone, Seungmin joined you and Felix on another aisle, showing you his and Jeongin’s cart.

“But where’s Jeongin?” You asked curiously, looking around for any sign of your best friend.

“Oh, he went to the bathroom.” Seungmin lied smoothly with a reassuring grin. “Now, what else do we need?”

-

Later on at the Valentine’s day dorm party, once the exchange gifts have been done, Jeongin approaches you at the end of the night as you prepare to head back up to your dorm with the last gift he’s been carefully carrying around with him. 

“Oh? Innie, hi.” You smile up at him when he jogs up to you by the staircase, immediately noticing the wrapped gift in his hands. “What’s that? Do you want me to give that to my roommate?” 

The boy only shakes his head in front of you before thrusting the gift in your hands. “No, no, it’s for you.” He clarifies, letting go of the wrapped package only when it’s safely in both of your hands as you adjust to its surprising weight. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” 

“But I didn’t make you anything.” You frown, one hand fiddling with the ribbon tying the newspaper packaging together. 

You and Jeongin have never exchanged gifts on Valentine’s Day or even White Day before (or at least from what you know). You once told him that you get enough flowers and other little gifts from him on other days and he’s always told you that he enjoys just spending time casually with you on this particular day. 

And you’ve always thought that, even with your crush on him, you don’t think he owes you something on these kinds of days. 

“It’s fine.” You hear Jeongin reassure you after a while. “Just open it when you get back to your room.” 

The familiar words make you giggle. “Why? Did you make something weird?” 

He catches on after a slight delay, laughing along with you. “No!” He waves his hand dismissively. “Just open it later.” 

“Okay.” You then transfer the gift to one hand in order to hug Jeongin properly. “I’m giving you a hug because I don’t have anything to exchange with you right now but expect something on White Day, okay?” 

“You don’t have to give me anything on White Day.” He pats your back with a laugh, his heartbeat ringing loudly in his ears now. 

“We’ll see.” You conclude before parting ways with him, bidding him a second goodnight and going up to your dorms first. 

When you arrive back in your dorm, the first thing you do is to take the gift back in your room and unwrap it, finding a small jar turned into a terrarium of dried pink carnations and baby’s breaths inside. 

The note attached to it reads, “’Y/N! I was surprised you kept the baby’s breath. I didn’t think of drying flowers until you showed them to me so here’s my own attempt, that maybe these flowers can last for as long as we’ve been together. Happy Valentine’s Day!” 

It didn’t take you long to connect the dots together, a sigh of relief passing your lips as your chest now feels lighter with your worries vanishing. 

You can finally and clearly tell that Jeongin likes you too. 

Picking up the terrarium from the newspaper wrappings before throwing the latter away, you examine the smaller details inside, your heart melting at the visible effort Jeongin spent making you such an intricate gift. 

Touched by this gesture, you then spend the rest of the night coming up with Jeongin’s White Day gift. 

[ashintheairlikesnow]

chris going to nat during a storm and refusing to get in the bed but nat comes and sits with him instead to comfort him 🥺🥺🥺🥺

@whumpmasinjuly‘s day 6 prompt is ‘water’! My inspiration for this morning (thanks for this prompt, Anon, although I think it probably isn’t quite what you were thinking) fits pretty well!

CW: Conditioned fear/phobia, brief reference to head-banging/negative stimming, vague, brief references to emotional torture and past noncon

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @stxckfxck, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions, @pretty-face-breaker

Ronnie swam up out of sleep to see the top of a small red head peeking up over the side of the bed, big green eyes in a pale lightly-freckled face. She blinked, letting out a slow, soft exhale, trying to find conscious words. “... baby? Tris? What’s... what’s up, honey?”

Outside, thunder rumbled, softly menacing. Wind blew the falling rain against the window in patters of sound. Ronnie squinted at the alarm clock on the side table, looking at the red letters faintly glowing in the dark. 2:38 AM. 

Paul would have just finished his lunch break, she thought idly. 

Tristan was already climbing up into he bed before he even tried to answer. “I, I scared of storms,” He said in his soft, sweet, high little-boy voice. Not quite her baby any longer, but not yet old enough to not think of Mommy first when he woke up at night. “Too loud. Too too too too too loud, hurts my skin.”

“The... thunder hurts your skin?” Her mind wasn’t keeping up with this, not at all, and Ronnie groaned, letting her head fall back against the pillow as Tristan clambered gracelessly over her. He settled himself alongside her, wriggling under her heavy blankets and twisting his fingers in her sleep-shirt, letting go, again and again and again. 

“Big noises hurt,” Tristan murmured, his own voice sleepy again already. She felt the softness of his hair as he tucked himself under her chin, and she sighed and slid an arm around thin shoulders, held him tightly, felt his fingertips tracing patterns over her stomach through her shirt, stopping to tap, here and there, humming in a low tuneless song only he understood, something he kept inside his head. “Big, big noises hurt my, my skin, Mommy.”

“S’okay, baby,” Ronnie whispered, tightening her arm, feeling more than hearing his happy little sigh in response. She looked towards the blinds and watched lightning flash on the other side. A few seconds later, thunder rumbled again, low and distant, moving away.

“Can, can, can can can-can... can can I sleep with you, Mommy?” 

Ronnie huffed laughter. “Well you already are, Tris, aren’t you?”

Tristan didn’t answer, but his fingers gripped a little tighter into her shirt and Ronnie watched the storm through the blinds until she felt her young son’s body relax, heard his breathing go slow and even, sweaty and warm the way that children sleep, pressed against her with the perfect certainty of a child that his mother could save him from the things he was most afraid of.

Ronnie felt a lump in her throat and swallowed against tears that threatened in her eyes. Tristan wasn’t quite like a lot of children, and he wasn’t enough like the ones like him, and she wasn’t sure she could give him safety for as long as he’d need it.

Ronnie Higgs wasn’t a woman who cried, but she had shed plenty of tears over her little boy and he wasn’t even five yet.

She turned her head a little, pressing a kiss to the sweaty strawberry blond hair so like his father’s. The three of them only had each other, and with Paul gone so much for work, Tristan had always seen Ronnie as the center the world turned around.

The thought that she would have to keep carrying him through life - Veronica Higgs, who barely graduated high school and had a baby growing inside her when she walked across the stage to take that diploma from a disapproving principal whose eyes dropped visibly to the rounded bump of her stomach, Veronica Higgs whose husband could just as soon get shot as promoted within the Garden, Veronica Higgs who had fought for two years to get a diagnosis for her son only to realize how little she understood once she got one...

She was the one he ran to when frightened and the person who carried him screaming out of Target when the world overwhelmed him and had held him when he tried to bash his head into a wall and the responsibility, the weight of being his mother when she hadn’t even been ready to have a baby in the first place, she was twenty-two years old with a four year old who needed someone stronger, older, a better barrier between him and the world... it was terrifying.

Right now, though, he was just like any other kid, coming to his mom to sleep in the big bed when the storms raged outside the window.

"God, I hope I can be this for you for as long as you need me,” Ronnie whispered, and felt some deep trickle of fear inside her at the thought of what would happen to Chris if she were gone and he had to navigate the world alone.

The storm passed, but Ronnie still laid awake in the dark, holding her sleeping son tight.

------

The creak of the attic door opening wakes Nat up, from deep sleep to perfect alertness in seconds, and she sits up in bed, her hand moving instinctively for the phone to call Nine and tell him to scramble, they’re compromised, get ready to pick up what rescues can make it through the tunnel this time-

Time of raid, 1:15 AM-

“Nat?”

Chris’s voice is soft, a little higher-pitched than it usually is, trembling. Nat yawns, and turns, letting the phone fall back onto the side table, blinking as she sees his red hair first, always - ducking his head into her door, in the wide expanse of an attic she’d renovated into a large master suite when she first got the house. 

“Chris, what’s up?” Nat’s brown hair tumbles in loose waves, free of its daily braid, around her shoulders. She slept in soft plaid pants and an oversized t-shirt and always had, and she pushes back the covers to swing her legs off of the bed.

Outside, thunder rumbled, and Nat exhales. “Ah,” She says, without waiting for Chris’s answer. “Because Jake is gone?”

There’s a pause, and then Chris creeps forward into the room, his hands twisting and untwisting at the hem of the big shirt he wore, almost certainly Jake’s. The teenager she’d taken in looks younger than usual, and Nat wonders - not for the first time - what kind of soullessness it must take to look at someone so young and feel actual desire to ruin them.

“It’s, um, it’s-... it’s storming,” Chris says in a low voice, flinching as a flash of lighting briefly illuminated the big picture window at the front of the house, in what Nat liked to call her ‘reading nook’, not that she ever had time for reading any longer. “I don’t, um, I don’t like-... I don’t like to be, to, um, to be alone, for storms, my Sir-”

“I know, Chris.” Nat feels weariness pushing down on her shoulders, her back aching. She did her best to keep herself in shape but some things just go, after a while, and she’d discovered that her forties were going to be the decade where her back decided to just give her the middle finger every fucking day of her life. “I know you don’t like storms. Did you ask Antoni-”

“He, um, he’s, um... he’s-he’s... he’s awake, I just-... I just, um, I want-” He stops, and there’s a look of confusion on his narrow, pretty face. In the dark his eyebrows seem strangely absent, their coppery-light color washed out by the dim light brought on by the storm and a streetlight outside. “I want-... I want to sleep with, um, with you, please.”

Flash of lighting, crack of thunder that rattled the windows. She hears the first cracks of tiny pebble-sized hail as it smacks against the window. Even in the darkness she can see Chris’s eyes widen in a sudden panic as he all but throws himself across the room, leaping into her bed and throwing his arms around her.

Nat catches him, one hand in his hair and the other across his shoulders. He’s trembling, his entire body shaking and heart racing, a pulse she can nearly see beating in his throat, green eyes white-rimmed with panic. 

“Ssshhhh, Chris, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s just a storm. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, honey.”

Chris buries his face against her neck, breathing harshly, fingers twisting and twisting and twisting her t-shirt, rocking himself forward and back against her. “I hate storms,” he whimpers, and Nat’s heart breaks. “Hate storms, hate, hate them, hate them, hate hate hate-”

“I know,” Nat says softly. “I know you do. It’s okay, honey. No one’s ever going to make you be outside for a storm ever again. We’ve got you, here. You’re taken care of. We’ve got you.”

Nat’s phone buzzes and she glances over at it, seeing it light up and quirking a faint smile when she sees it’s a text from Jake.

Dime-sized hail here, bad storm. Addie and I watching movie still. Watch out for Chris?

Already on it, Nat thinks, her lips twitching in a wry smile. 

“Can, can can can... can I stay with you?” Chris whispers against her neck, and Nat sighs, pulling him down into the bed with her, shifting the blankets back up to cover them both. A lanky, lean-muscled teen boy is no small thing to have in a bed, and her back is going to regret her choices in the morning.

For now, though...

“Mmmn, looks like you’re already staying with me, doesn’t it?” Nat teases, lightly, and hears his relieved exhale in response. They lay there in silence for a long time, and she can tell from his breathing and his occasional shivering, full-body shudders that briefly tense every muscle, that he hasn’t fallen back asleep.

The weight of keeping her rescues safe, right down to giving them someone they can go to with even the smallest fears brought on by the bigger terrors that they’ve had to survive... sometimes, it’s terrifying.

She’s just some farmer’s kid from the Midwest, grown up but no closer to understanding her place in the world than she had been in high school. She doesn’t feel like a different person than she was then, most of the time. She feels exactly as scared and overwhelmed, and tells herself what her father always said-

One foot in front of the other, and you’ll find you’ve gone miles further than you ever thought you could go.

“I hope I can help you for as long as you need me,” She murmurs, sliding an arm around Chris’s muscled shoulders and holding him tightly, just another boy scared of the storm outside his window, looking for someone to hold onto.

The storm passes, but Nat lays awake, listening to Chris’s breathing and praying to God that she and Jake could keep him safe. All she can do, in the moment, is keep her arm around him and hold him tight.

She hopes that if his family is still out there, somewhere - if someone is looking for this sweet boy - that they will know, somehow, that someone holds him when he’s scared, now.

At least... she blinks back the heat of rare tears and lets her mouth move in a prayer without sound.

Please, God, let them know someone is there to hold their son until we find out where he belongs.

[javajunkieao3]

Beth/Benny Fanfic: Being Alive - Part 7

For all their weeks in Kentucky, Benny and Beth hadn’t discussed returning to New York besides the tense conversations before he visited her high school chess students.  After that, the conversation seemed to be tabled and Beth had been reluctant to bring it up, not wanting to push them into choppy waters, and also, somewhat selfishly, not wanting him to leave.  Part of her was always afraid that if they went back to New York, he would never come back, just like she could never stay.  But one morning, New York is pulled squarely back into focus when Benny says, “I have to go out there for a few days.  I should be back by Monday.”

           “Is everything okay?” she asks gingerly.

           “It’s my mom.  My brother called and said she’s been having some problems recently.  So, I’m going to go down there and try to sort it out.”

           Beth realizes that for all the time she’d known Benny, he hadn’t mentioned his family before.  She wonders then if it was because she never asked, and was she supposed to ask?  She also notices that he didn’t ask her to come with.

           “Okay.”  She hesitates before she asks, “Do you want me to go with you?”

           “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

           His words hurt more than she expected and she crosses her arms over her chest.  “Oh, okay.”

            “It’s not that I don’t want you there.”

           “You sure?  Because it sort of sounds that way.”

           Benny’s face softens and he says, “Beth, you should know by now that there isn’t anywhere that I don’t want you with me.”

           “Then why is my going with you a bad idea?”

           “The reason my brother called is to stage an intervention.  My mom’s an alcoholic.”

           Benny never mentioned this before, not even back during her drinking.  She thinks then of how difficult it must have been to hear what was happening to her. Maybe it was better that he was out in New York then.  She’d seen the haunted look in Harry Beltik’s eyes when he saw her and spoke of his own alcoholic father.

           “I can handle it,” she says.

           “I don’t want to put too much on you.”

           “You couldn’t,” she says.  “You’ve been there for me, Benny.  Time and time again, you have been there for me.  Let me be there for you.”

           “You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

           She nods.  “I’ll tell you.  But it won’t be too much.  Let me help you.”

           He takes a long pause before he says, “Okay.”

---

           They fly out the next morning and take a cab down to his apartment.  It had been so long since Beth had been there, and if anything, her memory had recalled the place as nicer than it actually was.  She looked at the spot on the floor where the air mattress had been, marveling that she had actually slept on that dank floor for weeks on end.

           “Reminiscing?” Benny asks, palming her waist as he stepped past her.

           “I’m just thinking about how I should have made you take the air mattress.”

           “We both know I wouldn’t have agreed to that.”

           “And now?” she asks.

           “Only if you’re on it with me.”

           “When is your brother meeting us?”

           Benny takes a hold of her wrist and checks the time on her watch.  “He should be here soon.”

           “Are you nervous?”

           Benny shrugs, and she expected some quip about how Benny Watts didn’t do nervous.  Instead, he rakes his fingers through his hair and says, “All we can do is ask her to get help.  Beyond that…”

           “I know.”

           And she does, more than most.  Benny looks at her worriedly.  “Are you sure you’re okay doing this?”  

           The answer is yes, but before she can tell him there’s a knock on the door.  Benny opens the door and greets his brother.  It’s like looking at an abstract painting of Benny.  The similarities are there, but stretched and pulled out of dimension.  She steps forward to say hello, and he grumbles to Benny, “Why is she here?”

           “Don’t start, Cal.”

           “This is a family thing.”

           “Beth is my family,” Benny says in a hard voice.

           Beth feels a certain rush at his words, but its tempered by the boys’ continued bickering.  Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for her to come.

           “You really think Mom would want someone other than us to see her right now?”

           “Mom is probably blitzed out of her mind right now. She won’t even remember who saw her.”

           Benny’s wrong.  Even in Beth’s drunkest state, she still remembered the people she saw. The calls she ignored.  Maybe not right away, but they all had a way of creeping back.  Usually in the middle of the night while she stared up at the ceiling, debating whether or not to take a third or fourth green pill.

           “That’s not the point,” Cal says.

           “I can stay here,” Beth offers.  

           “You don’t have to do that,” Benny says, glaring at his brother.  She steps forward and puts her hand on his arm.  “I don’t want to make this more difficult than it has to be.”

           Benny swallows hard and from the conflict in his eyes she can tell that as much as he had tried to give her an out before, he wanted her there.  He needed her.  She squeezes his arm and looks over at Cal.

           “Last year, I was addicted to pills and alcohol. I’m not sure how bad it is with your mom, but I’m pretty sure wherever she is, I was there at some point.  Maybe I can help.”

           Cal holds her gaze before he looks to Benny and says, “I thought all that Freud stuff was bullshit, but you really do end up with your mother, huh?”

           Benny shakes his head and says, “Fuck off, Cal.”

           “She can come.”

----

           It’s about an hour’s drive out to where Benny and Cal grew up, and the atmosphere can only be described as tense.  The scene in Benny’s apartment clearly demonstrated that he had a complicated relationship with his brother, and during the drive, Beth felt like somewhat of a referee between them.  It was a role that her personality made her particularly ill-equipped to play.  

           Benny parks the car in front of a tidy looing Tudor house.  Thinking of her own past, Beth notes that Benny’s mother at least is well enough to remember to take care of the lawn.  They walk up and Cal pulls a key out of his pocket and unlocks the front door. The smell hits them immediately, and Beth knows it intimately.  While the two men recoil, Beth feels a lurch of yearning.  

           “Mom?”  Benny calls out.  “It’s Cal and me.”

           They walk through the house slowly.  The kitchen is messy with dishes piled in the sink. She spots a half-finished bottle of wine, but no wine glasses.  Makes sense, Beth thinks.  At a certain point, the glass just becomes a hindrance to the task at hand.  The living room is in a similar state of disarray. She can feel Benny grow increasingly tense beside her, and it only grows when they find the bedroom empty.  But, Beth knows where to find her.

           “Fuck,” Benny breathes out.  His mother is asleep fully dressed in the bathtub.

           “Why the hell would she be in the bathtub?” Cal says, and his confusion distracts Beth because the choice makes perfect sense to her.  The coolness of the marble against hot skin.  The way you sink into the basin, feeling yourself contained at all four corners as the world spins out of focus.

           Benny strides past her and crouches in front of the bathtub.  He’s all action, which she knows is an ineffective tool against the inertia of drunkenness, but maybe it can work this time.         “Mom.  Mom, wake up.”

           The older woman stirs, her eyes bleary as she gazes up at her son.  “Benjamin?”

           “Mom, you need to get up,” Cal says forcefully. Everything about him had been forceful since Beth met him.

           “Cool down,” Benny says in a tight voice. “Give her a moment.”

           The woman’s eyes shift to Beth and she says, “Who are you?”

           “I’m Beth.”  After a pause she adds, “It helps to shift to your knees first.”

           “What?”

           “Getting out of the tub.  It’s easier to shift to your knees first.  You have better balance.”

           It takes time for Mrs. Watts to process what Beth said, but then she clumsily leans forward and pulls her knees beneath her. She stands slowly, her sons each taking one arm.  They maneuver her down the stairs with effort and then the talk begins.  You’re hurting yourself.  We’re worried.  You’re out of control.  All of it’s wrong, but of course, they don’t know that.  How could they?  Beth stays mostly out of the conversation, washing the dishes in the sink.  Behind her, Mrs. Watts insists, “I’m fine.  I just had a little too much last night.”

           “Mom, we found you in the bathroom,” Cal says.

           “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

           Beth hears the hardness in her voice and knows that they won’t change her mind today.  But they continue to try, Beth drying the dishes and stacking them quietly next to the sink.  When she’s finished she turns around, her heart breaking when she sees Benny sitting next to his mother.  He pulled the chair close and he’s leaning forward earnestly as he speaks.  Beth places the dishrag on the counter and presses her back against the cool granite.

           “I know what you’re feeling,” she says in a low voice.

           Mrs. Watts looks up at her and smiles unkindly. “Oh, you do?”

           “I do.  Right now, you’re feeling hungover.  But, it’s the other feeling.  The stillness.  The world has so much noise, but after a certain point, everything goes still and all you can hear is the beating of your heart.  But by that point you don’t remember that you can ruin it, so you drink more, and then you create your own sort of noise.  Your heartbeat is too loud.  Everything is too loud.  So, you drink more to drown it out until you either get sick or pass out.  And then you start it again.”

           “Who are you again?” Mrs. Watts asks.  Her voice is so soft that it’s almost a whisper.

           “I’m like you.”

---

           Ultimately, Mrs. Watts refuses any help and summarily throws her children, and Beth, out of her house.  Cal tries to go back in, but Benny grabs his arm and says, “It’s no use. Today wasn’t the day.”  Beth can see the worry in his eyes, and she thinks then that maybe Cal’s forcefulness had just been a way to hide the gnawing fear.

           “We’ll try again later,” Benny tells his brother.

---

           Back at the apartment, Benny asks Beth if she would mind having some people over that night.  This was one of the things that Beth never understood about Benny. She never felt comfortable in a crowd, but with Benny, it was where he thrived.  She still remembered the first time she saw him, sitting there in his leather duster and hat surrounded by people.

           “I don’t mind,” she says.

           A few hours later, she’s playing simultaneous chess games with Benny, Levetov and Wexler.  Cleo watches from the side, as usual, puffing away at her cigarette. She and Cleo greeted each other as they always did, but Beth felt part of herself withdrawn around her.  Beth didn’t entirely blame Cleo for what happened in Paris, but part of her could not help thinking that if Cleo had never showed up in Paris, she would have won that game.  She isn’t naive enough to think that the drinking wouldn’t have happened at some point, but it wouldn’t have happened then.

           When Beth is finished with the games – she wins them all – she goes into the kitchen to put together something for them to eat. Cleo comes up to her, pressing the smoldering edge of her cigarette into an ashtray on the counter.

           “I always love watching you trounce them.”

           Beth doesn’t respond, because she doesn’t know what to say.

           “It’s good to see you,” Cleo says.

           “It’s good to see you, too.”

            “I can’t believe the last time we saw each other was in Paris.  That feels like practically a lifetime away.”

           Beth nods.  “Yeah, it’s been a while.”

           There is another stretch of silence, and Cleo lights another cigarette.  She takes a long drag, the plume of smoke leaving her mouth like an elongated sigh.

           “I’m sorry that I made you drink.”

           “You didn’t make me do anything,” Beth says. “I could have stayed in my room. I chose to meet you.”

           “I didn’t know about…” she takes another drag from her cigarette.  “Anyway, Benny was pretty agnry when I told him we met up.  He wouldn’t talk to me for months after that.”

           Beth glances over her shoulder at Benny and sees that he’s watching them.  His eyes are asking her a question and she nods slightly.

           “It’s in the past,” Beth says, turning her attention back to Cleo.  And with that, she feels herself release the resentment she had held since sitting across from Borgov in that gilded room, sweat dotting her hairline.  It truly was in the past, and what did it matter?  She got sober.  She beat Borgov.  It all worked out in the end, even with the detours.

           Cleo grins hesitantly and Beth returns the gesture.

           “Hey, how’s the food coming along over there?” Wexler calls out.

           “Keep your pants on,” Cleo calls back, eyes sparkling.  “The women are talking right now.  Your food can wait.”

----

           Cleo and the boys leave around one in the morning and Beth and Benny play one more game of chess – he wins and she blames it on the hour – and then go to bed.  The next morning, she wakes up to an empty bed.  The apartment is cold and she puts on Benny’s robe, wrapping it tightly around her small frame.  She begins to walk out of the bedroom but stops at the doorway. Benny is at the kitchen table with his back to the bedroom.  She can tell he didn’t hear her wakeup because his shoulders are tense, his movements are short and jerky as he takes a sip of coffee and puts the mug back down on the table.  She walks out and she can tell when he hears her because he rearranges his body, giving her an easy grin.  

           “Morning.”

           “Good morning,” she says, sitting next to him.

           “There’s coffee in the pot.”

           “I don’t need coffee right now.”

           “Okay.”

           His body goes tense again.  “Benny-“

           “I don’t think I can go back to Kentucky right now.”

           She takes a deep breath.  “Okay.”

           “My mom needs help and I can’t put that all on Cal.”

           “I understand.  I can stay here for a few weeks.”

           “I don’t think it will be a few weeks.”  His hand tightens around the mug.  “She’s really bad, Beth. She was never this bad before-“

           He stops himself and she fills in, “Before you came to Kentucky.”

           He nods.  “I checked in more.  I think it helped.”

           “What about Cal?”

           “They never had as close of a relationship.”  

           Beth nods quietly.  “I’ll stay here as long as I can and then we’ll figure it out.”

           “I’m sorry, Beth.”

           “You don’t have to apologize,” Beth says.  She thinks of Alma and how she would have done anything to change what happened in Mexico City.  “She’s your mother.”

           Benny takes her hand and kisses it.  “Sometimes I wonder how I ended up with someone like you.”

           “It’s the hair.”

           “I should have tipped my barber more then.”

           “You actually went to a barber?  I always just imagined you in your bathroom with kitchen scissors.”

           He grins and leans in to kiss her.  He stays close, forehead pressed to hers and murmurs, “We’ll get through this.”

           He says it like a statement, but Beth knows him well enough to read the underlying question.  It’s a rare show of vulnerability, and Beth wraps her arms around him, pressing a kiss just under his ear.  “Yes.  We’ll get through this.”

[justkending]

10 Years Time. Chapter 3.

Series Summary: As princess of Alberia, it is your duty to grow into a rightful young lady if you plan on ruling your family's country. Of course, the only way your father can see this happening is sending you off to a boarding camp at the age of 14 for 10 years to learn what it means to grow into a Queen.That means leaving all your friends and family behind. One specific person, your best friend, you never want to say goodbye to. But 10 years later, you come back grown into a young lady, and find your best friend has grown into a knightly young man. How will you two adjust after 10 years apart? Will things be the same, or will all that’s happened in that span of time affect your relationship?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Stark Daughter Reader

Word Count: 5100+

A/N: I added in the picture of the dress and all the goods again, just in case you forgot. Honestly, one of the main reasons I did a story like this was for the outfits I get to pull together! There are going to be many more dresses to come;)

Chapter 3:

“Everything is ready to go for tonight?” Steve asked turning to his second in command.

“Yes. Guards will be posted at entries and exits, and we also have them posted at rooms throughout the halls as well to make sure any wanders don’t get into something they shouldn’t.” Bucky responded as they walked through the wide halls of the castle together.

“Good. Reliable people at their designated station?” he asked. 

“Yes, stop worrying about it.” Bucky said halting in his step making his tall broad friend stop as well. “I know why you’re drowning yourself in work you know? You do it every time you think about her.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Steve said straight faced before continuing the walk. 

“And you say that every time too. God, you are so stubborn sometimes! No wonder you two were always so close!” Bucky laughed smacking his friend’s shoulder only getting a glare from him.

“It’s been 10 years Buck. I didn’t really see her off on good terms. I’m sure she hates me profusely because of me standing her up.” Steve sighed.

“You didn’t have a choice.” Bucky defended.

“There’s always a choice. It was whether or not I wanted to spend the rest of my life in the dungeon that made me choose the option I did.” he retorted.

“Well, at least this way you’ll still be able to see her. In the end I think you made the right choice whether she knows why or not. This is for the better.” Bucky reassured him.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Steve nodded noticing Sam coming towards them. “Samuel, you did you’re rounds?” 

“Yes, everyone is secure and ready to go. Clint and I are going to meet with a few others before getting ready for the evening to make sure the outside security is ready as well.” Sam grinned. “The new kid still joining us tonight?”

“Parker?” Bucky asked getting a nod from Sam. “I didn’t realize that he was invited.”

“Yeah, the king has taken a liking to the kid. He wants us to start training him soon. Practically adopting him as his son he never got.” Steve chuckled.

“Nope, instead got two beautiful young daughters.” Sam chuckled. “Speaking of which. Have either of you seen Y/N?”

“Uh, no. Have you?” Steve said clearing his throat and blushing slightly at the thought of her. 

“Yes, and all I can say is she most definitely grew up.” Sam grinned knowing Steve would want to know. “You probably won’t even recognize her tonight.”

“Personality and all?” Bucky laughed nudging his friend who was concentrated on Sam still.

“Now that, I don’t think has changed much.” Sam pointed out. “But she grew up looking like the young version of Queen Mara.”

“Wow. Mara was one of the most pined for royals back in her day.” Bucky smirked.

“Yeah, and I hate to say it, but I think even Y/N may have her beat. Add in the sassy attitude, and you got the whole package.” Sam continued.

“Ok gentlemen. That’s enough. We have a lot to get done today, and not much time left. Let’s finish up our checklist and then get ready for tonight. We have more guests to prepare for than we are used to.” Steve said breaking the boys conversation, and trying to push the thought of Y/N away even though that was never fully possible for him.

“Sensitive topic. I’ll take note.” Sam mumbled. When he looked up he got a stern look from Steve and cleared his throat. “My bad. I’m going to find Peter and Clint.”

“Yeah, you should.” Steve said. 

Sam saluted before making his way in the opposite direction. 

“Touchy much?” Bucky snickered.

“Don’t push me Bucky. I’m not in the mood.”

“That’s just the anxiety talking. Let’s get a few drinks in you. That should calm you down.”

“I’m on duty tonight.” Steve argued.

“No, you’re not. You’re invited to the party as the Captain of the king’s army. That means you get to celebrate and relax.” Bucky countered.

“There’s never a break from my job Buck. You know that. Anything could happen at any moment and I have to be ready to lead.”

“Fine, hardass. Then let’s at least get that pole out of your ass before you see Y/N tonight.” Bucky groaned walking ahead of his now irritated friend. 

___

Guest had started arriving, and the ballroom was filled pretty full. People from countries all around who had heard, or already been to, King Stark’s parties before were never disappointed. If you weren’t invited than you might as well have been one of the loser kingdoms. But lucky for most, Tony was an inviting King and very rarely left anyone out. 

“God, it smells like old rich people in here.” Bucky groaned before sending a fake smile to a duchess of some village he couldn’t pronounce.

“Easy Buck. You get on any of these people’s bad side, and I’m going to be the one having to fight the war.” Steve said plastering on a fake smile as well.

“Where the hell is the guest of honor? Everyone is already here by now, why isn’t she?” Bucky continued to complain.

“You know it takes the ladies longer to get ready Buck. Especially a princess that’s making her first entrance as a women of royalty after being shipped off for a decade.” Steve said peering over heads trying to secretly get a view of the royal everyone else was waiting on. 

“Yes, but have you met Y/N? We ARE talking about the same princess right? The one who had her dresses altered so that she could hunt, fish, and spar with us in comfort, and the same girl who would run out to the village with her hair in a mess of braids against her father's will. Eventually coming back covered in mud and dirt from running around without a care.” Bucky spoke up looking at Steve. “She doesn’t strike me as one to worry about her appearance.” 

“Yes, but-” but just as he was going to defend Y/N’s tardiness again, he caught eye of her ladies in waiting that were always supposed to be close in hand to her. “Wanda. Natasha. You two look lovely this evening.” he said bowing and taking their hands before placing a chaste kiss on them. Bucky doing the same, but sending a smirk Nat’s way. 

“Yes, well, Lady Janet made all of our gowns tonight so we have her to thank. Especially the princess. She looks absolutely stunning!” Wanda said giddily slightly bumping Nat who just laughed and rolled her eyes. 

“Yes, she does. She is quite the catch tonight.” Nat said looking up at Bucky.

“Well, I must say she may look nice tonight, but I have my eyes on someone else.” Bucky grinned. 

“Nice try.” she retorted turning away from him with a smile. “Y/N should have many suitors proposing for an agreement in marriage after tonight. I’ve heard the king has brought in many eligible young bachelors.”

“Is- Is that so?” Steve said clearing his throat at the sudden dryness over taking him. 

“Yes Steven. It is her duty after all.” Nat said with sorrowful eyes as they all watched him practically deflate a little at the thought. 

“Yes, I suppose it is.” he said after a while of blankly looking ahead. “Speaking of the Princess, where is she? Shouldn’t she be with one of you?”

“Yes, but Sam intercepted her as we were walking this way. She told us she would meet back up with us after she talked to her father.” Wanda said. 

“Sam’s with her?” Steve repeated. Nat hummed, and they all watched as Steve began to scan the room again. “I actually have to talk to him about one of the guards that was stationed-”

“Ladies and Gentleman!” A loud voice overcame Steve’s excuse, and all heads turned to the front of the room where King Stark was standing with Pepper and Morgan close by on an elevated stage. An announcer shouting loudly next to the royal family. “King Stark would like to thank you all for being here today to celebrate the return of his eldest daughter Princess Y/N Maria Stark.”

“Wanda we should go find Y/N.” Nat whispered getting the other redheads attention who nodded before they bid the knights farewell and made their way to the front. 

“It is with great honor I now introduce King Anthony Edward Stark!” the announcer continued before moving out of the way and motioning to Tony. 

“Hello all, and thank you so much for making the journey to join my family and I today for this monumental occasion.” he said raising his hands before folding them in front of him. “As you all know Y/N has gone off to learn about what it takes to be a rightful heir to Alberia. She’s come back with a head full of knowledge, and the beauty of her late mother God rest her soul.” Everyone one bowing their head at the passed queen. “However tonight is a celebration of the once young princess’s journey to adulthood. I ask that you all enjoy the company, food, and atmosphere tonight as we welcome her back home.” he turned to the side and everyone turned with him. “Y/N my dear, why don’t you come up to say a few words?” he smiled down the way.

Steve tried to peer over the head of others that were clearly blocking where Tony was speaking toward, but due to his position, it was impossible to see anything. 

It wasn’t until he saw the gold crown on top of the Y/H/C curled hair that he saw what everyone was ooing and awing about. 

Gracefully making her way up with the help of her father's hand, the princess turned to the crowd of others with an elegant and welcoming smile on her face.

“Oh my-” Steve started, but Bucky nudged him cutting him off.

“Holy shit.” Bucky muttered getting a few glares from others around him, but not caring. “That’s Y/N? No way they sent back the same girl we knew.”

Steve couldn’t think of words at the moment. Let alone speak anything. 

She really was breath taking in all senses. The extravagant and intricately detailed gown only bringing more beauty to the princess, and brightening her already perfect features. 

Bucky was right. This couldn’t have been the tomboy, loud, rambunctious, young teenager that Steve kissed good night all those years ago, could it? The women standing before them was a poised, exquisite, devastatingly gorgeous, with all the maturity of a young lady.

So when she spoke and brought even more wonder into Steve’s world, he couldn’t help himself when the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk at her voice. 

“I am truly honored that you all could be with my family and I tonight. Though this is something that I know my father takes much pride and joy in celebrating, I am just happy to be home and welcomed by such kind and humbling individuals.” she smiled putting her hands in front of her and interlacing her fingers. “Like he said before, take this night to enjoy the company, food, drinks, and party. We can’t let a traditional Stark party go to waste, now can we?” she asked the crowd with a raised eyebrow. They responded eagerly with a loud cheer. “Well in that case, let the party commence!” She laughed getting yet another cheer from everyone, and the band quickly filled the space with music. 

“Well done bug. You really are paving the way to being a great Queen.” Tony said wrapping and arm around his daughter's shoulder.

“I would hope so. I spent 10 years learning how to do so.” she smirked.

“That’s my girl.” Tony said pecking her cheek before pulling back. “I haven’t got to say it, but you look stunning tonight bug.” A look of remembrance in his eyes as he scanned his daughter. “You’re a spitting image of your mom. Beauty and grace.” 

“Thanks dad. I hope to do her right tonight.”

“You will, no doubt. You’ll always make her proud.” he said placing his thumb on her chin. “Now!” he clapped his hands. “Before I start crying, I’m going to mingle. I’ll find you later when I need to. Don’t go too far.”

“How can I? Too many people to sort through.” she joked looking out to the crowd.

“True. Make friends and learn names tonight. It’s important for the future.” he pointed a finger before wrapping and arm through Peppers. Morgan already running off with her groups of friends before Y/N could talk to her.

“I know.” Y/N nodded as he smiled and walked into the herd of people. 

“Overwhelmed yet?” a deep thunderous voice said from behind.

Y/N turned at the sound and spotted the long haired blonde with kind blue eyes, and the black haired brother of his. 

“Thor.” she smiled widely. “Loki. How are my two favorite brothers?”

“Oh, you know. Giving each other hell as usual.” Thor said bumping his brothers shoulder who glared at him before they came closer to her. Both bowing and kissing her hand. 

“You look as heart-stopping as ever your highness.” Loki said looking up with a gleam in his eyes.

“Well, you two grew up being easy on the eyes I see. How in the world is that?” she teased bringing her hands back in front of her and straightening her posture. Something she would find herself doing a lot that night. 

“We can ask you the same. What happened to the little rascal that we used to know?” Thor said with a wide grin.

“She grew up.” Y/N said raising her chin in pride.

“So she did.” Loki nodded. 

“What have you two been up to? Still training to be kings of your kingdom I presume? I’m sure your father is proud.” Y/N said pushing the conversation away from herself.

“Yes. Odin is quite proud of us. Proud of you as well. He wouldn’t stop talking on the ride here about how excited he was about seeing you and how your father had been going on rants about how much you have grown.” Thor said raising his own chin in pride.

Thor and Loki were apart of the neighboring kingdom that was the strongest ally of Alberia. Their father, Odin, being best of friends with your own, even if they saw each other only for meetings of council and get togethers for business. Since their kingdom was just down the road from yours however, the boys would spend a majority of their time here at your home where the whole crew of your friends would play and venture here. Odin’s kingdom was big like your own, but he was a lot more business than your father. So they preferred to hang out here a majority of their childhood.

Not that anyone cared. They were practically adopted brothers of yours. Plus, here they had Steve, Bucky, Sam, Clint, and everyone else. Where as in Asgard they had but a handful of children their age within the kingdom. 

“So King Odin is here himself? Well isn’t that just a lovely surprise.” she gleamed turning to look out into the crowd. 

“Unfortunately my dear, as much as we would love to stay and catch up, which we will be soon for sure, we know you have other’s that need to be talked to as well tonight. We won’t hold you back, your highness.” Loki bowed elbowing his brother to do the same. Thor showing a face of disappointment at having to leave so soon, but bowing anyway. 

“I hope we can get the whole team together at some point soon to catch up as well.” Thor said standing.

“I will definitely make sure that a dinner or lunch is scheduled just for that.” she laughed. “I feel as though I have a lot that I need to be filled in on.” she winked.

“Oh, so very much.” Thor winked back. “Have a good evening Princess Y/N. We are glad to have you back.” 

Both of them saying their final goodbyes, and excusing themselves to other conversations. 

“Princess.” Natasha said coming over to her with Wanda close. “You’re father would like us to usher you around and make sure you talk to a group of certain people.”

“Sounds about right. I guess the night is young, and I do have a flourish of people that I need to meet and re-acquaintance myself with.” Y/N sighed. “Lead the way.”

__

For the next few hours it was filled of, “Princess, this is blah blah blah ruler, duchess, king, queen, or emperor of this country, kingdom, village, or town.” Then Y/N saying on repeat. “Oh it’s so nice to meet you. I’m so glad you could be here with us this evening. I hope the travel wasn’t too hard.” which lead to further discussions, and blah blah blah blah blah...

Some she had met before and others who were completely new faces. Most of the kings and queens introducing their sons and daughters, but mainly showing off son’s that they believed would be a good fit for the Stark kingdom. Aka future kings that they would hope Tony would consider. 

About 2 hours into the madness, Y/N was able to sneak away from her handmaidens, and sneak into a corridor that was practically silent from all the madness in the ballroom. Just as she was about to turn another corner to get even further from the party, she bumped into a slender build causing her and the other figure to stumble back.

“I’m so sorry miss! I didn’t hear-” a younger boys voice started rambling in apologies. 

“It’s fine. Truly. Don’t think twice about it.” Y/N smiled brushing her dress down.

When she looked up she saw a scattered teenage boy with chestnut colored hair, brown eyes, and a paler complexion. 

“I’m sorry to be harsh ma’am, but these hallways are actually not open. I’m going to have to escort you back to the ballroom if you don’t mind. The party is this way if you would like me to-” he said motioning behind her as she raised an eyebrow at the strangers obliviousness to who she was. 

“Peter, you do realize who you’re talking to right?” another voice spoke up from behind the two.

“Captain Rogers. I was just-”

“Just escorting Princess Y/N back to the party. Yes, I see that.” Steve grinned with a knowing smirk.

Y/N turned around to the voice, and saw the tall, blonde, and now very buff figure of her old best friend standing sternly at the doorway with Bucky next to him with the same grin on his face. Of course Bucky’s more of an ‘each shit’ grin.

“Wait. Princess-?” Peter started and quickly cut himself off before running in front of her and stammering over his words. “Oh my gosh! Your highness I didn’t realize- You see I’ve never actually seen you, so I didn’t- Oh gosh this is a big mess. I’m so so sorry-!” he said bowing and never looking up at her as he continued his ramble. 

“Peter stand up kid. You’re just making this worse on yourself.” Bucky chuckled as they walked closer to the two. 

Y/N let out a soft giggle covering her mouth with her hand as she did. Steve heard it and immediately shot his eyes her direction finally taking her in up close after not seeing her since her speech. Somehow she managed to disappear every time he got close. 

“Oh, come on Buck. Don’t be so hard on the boy. He’s new right?” Y/N said placing her hands in front of her.

“Yes ma’am.” Peter spoke up finally standing up and carefully looking to her. 

“Peter is the name?” she asked and he nodded. “Peter Parker. I’ve heard about you.” she grinned now moving her hands behind her dress and crossing them. “Father seems to have taken quite a liking to you too. Says you’re a smart kid.”

“Uh, yes ma’am. King Stark has been mentoring me since we’ve come here.” he nodded as she began circling around him and placing herself in front of the two knights. Peter slowly turned around seeing her in the middle just about 5 steps in front of them, and them smirking and sharing a look before turning back to him.

“And when exactly did you come here?” she asked paying no mind to the guards behind her. 

“When I was 8 your majesty. My parents died in their travels, and my aunt and uncle took me in. They live and work here in the castle. Well, my aunt does. My uncle was killed in action during a battle after I got here.” he explained.

“I’m sorry to hear about your loses Peter.” she said becoming sentimental and seeing why her father had grown to like this kid. He was strong for sure. “No one should have to be that familiar with death at such a young age.”

“We get by. I still have my aunt May, and you father has been very kind to us as well.” Peter nodded with a soft smile forming showing he was feeling better about this confrontation now. 

“Well I’m glad my dad has been welcoming to you. You seem like a headstrong young man.” she smiled a smile that made all the nerves in Peter relax.

“Thank you Princess.” he bowed again. 

“Please. No need for the titles when no one else is around.” she said nodding her head behind her with a wink. Once again, Steve and Bucky sharing a look and Bucky lightly laughing behind her. “Call me Y/N.” 

“A-Are you sure that’s ok?” he asked.

“I’m the one saying it, aren’t I?”

“I-I guess.” 

“Ok, then I think it’s safe.” she smiled.

“Hey kid. How about you and I go check the guards post on this level and make sure everything is in order. Consider it part of your training.” Bucky said coming around, and throwing an arm over Peter’s shoulder lightly tousling him. 

“Uh, ok.” he went to bow again. “It was nice to finally meet you Princess- I-I mean, Y/N.”

“You as well Peter. I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you.” she nodded with a grin.

He smiled back and looked at Bucky who just chuckled before turning them around. 

“I still need to catch up with you Y/N/N.” Bucky said back to her. “Don’t think you’re off the hook yet.”

She laughed and waved him off. “Can’t wait.”

It was silent as Steve and Y/N watched the two walk down the corridor, and eventually disappear around the corner. 

Y/N could feel Steve’s eyes on her back and wasn’t ready to turn around and face the reality of who she had been thinking about for the past decade.

Taking a deep breath though, she straightened her shoulders and turned around repositioning her arms in front of her. She put on a polite smile before looking at the now very filled out man.

His figure was pyramid-like almost, if the pyramid had been flipped upside down. His shoulders were broad and waist small. He definitely had been working out since the last time she saw him. Then again, he was a twig when he was younger, then in his teen years he started to semi-gain some meat on his bones, but now. Wow. Now he was what Y/N had imagined a God to look like with the chiseled jawline and perfect physique. 

“You’re crown suits you.” he spoke up after they both had analyzed the others growth. 

She raised her hand touching the crown she had forgotten she had on and let out a laugh looking down. 

“Yes, um, Jay designed it for.” she smiled looking up. 

“I know. I was the one who gave her the sun idea.” he said in almost a whisper.

“Wait, you-”

“What, uh, what are you doing away from your party? Shouldn’t you be out mingling with all the other royals?” he said diverting the conversation away from his slipped comment, and giving her a soft smile. 

“Oh well, you know how me and parties mesh. Not very well.” she sighed. 

“Yes, I do remember that. I always did find you sneaking off to hide away somewhere.” he chuckled avoiding eye contact and looking at the ground like it was so interesting now. “Let me guess. You’re going to the library.”

“How did you know?” she laughed turning and starting to walk again. 

Steve heard her footsteps and shot his head up immediately going to follow her. 

“Because you always said it was your escape from this world. Finding books that took you out of here and into another land.” he answered coming up beside her and matching her pace. “That and if you couldn’t escape outside, this was your place within the castle to hide.”

She didn’t turn to look at him but instead raised her chin and kept her eyes focused forward. 

“Hmmm so you didn’t forget about me. Good to know.”

“Y/N-”

“I heard you’re the new Captain of our battalion. Is that true?” she pushed on.

Steve saw the way she avoided the very big elephant in the room between them, and figure 5 minutes after reuniting probably wasn’t the best time to dig up the past. 

“Yes. Yes it is.”

“What about your father? Why has he retired?” she asked.

“He actually-” he cleared his throat. “He passed away about 6 years back. Caught an illness on the battlefield and couldn’t shake it.” Steve said looking forward as well.

The princess stopped suddenly in her step, and turned to the blue eyed man. Steve stopping with her and carefully raising an eye.

“I’m sorry. I was never informed.” she said with genuine sorrow in her voice and eyes. 

He gave her a tight smile before nodding ahead for them to continue the walk.

“Yes, well it was sudden, and he went in his sleep. Mom was shaken by it, but she’s doing much better since.”

“I’m glad Sarah’s doing ok… I am truly sorry for your loss though Steve. It seems as if we have had quite a few fallen since I’ve been gone.” she said looking down at her feet. 

“Yes, but that is just a part of life. We mourn and move on. It’s all we can do.” 

“I suppose you’re right.” 

They continued their walk until they found themselves at the doors of the library. Y/N without hesitation opened the door, and made her way in allowing Steve to make the decision to come in or not. 

Steve was unsure about going into the space with her considering she was supposed to be out there and he was as well. In a way, they were breaking the rules, but also what was new with the two? After looking both ways down the hall and seeing that no one was there. He turned back into the library, and the doors closed behind him. 

Looking forward he found Y/N staring up and looking around her. As if seeing the room for the first time. 

“Nothing’s changed much in here.” she smiled. 

“Now that’s not true. They repainted in here, and fixed up the trimmings.” he said walking closer to her, but still keeping a safe distance. 

“Oh I see. It’s a little brighter.” she smiled to see that all the books she had ventured to back in the day were encased in beautiful white walls and shelves, with gold trims and outlines. “It still gives me a peace of calmness coming in here.” she sighed moving around trying to see it all. 

Steve just watched taking her in as she took it all in. She was captivating without even trying. Moving gracefully, not like the destructive little girl she once was, around and lightly running her fingers over the spines of the books as she passed some of the lower shelves. When he noticed her looking back and giving him a slight look before going back, he realized she had caught him staring. 

“So, 10 years? A lot’s changed I guess.” he said scratching the back of his neck nerves coming back. 

“That’s putting it lightly.” she chuckled picking up another book and opening it. “You’ve changed.” she adds.

“So have you.”

“Yes, but only in the princess aspect. That doesn’t mean my personality is completely gone.” she said looking up through her lashes and making his heart thump a little faster before looking back down.

“Good. I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t the same ball of sunshine you were before.” he said suddenly finding the high ceilings very interesting. 

“Hmmm.” she hummed nodding her head. “Sunshine? I’ll be honest. Wasn’t sure if you remembered that.” she said with a slight tone of bitterness in her words. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he said looking back at her and seeing some pain behind her expression.

“Nothing. Just…” She paused. “10 years is a long time away. Lot’s of things you can forget if you don’t keep up with it all.” she said slightly hinting at the issue of his abandonment, but not really giving away her true thoughts.

But he knew what she was hinting at. He could tell just by the pain in her eyes. 

“Y/N-”

They were both cut off by the sound of the library doors bursting open. Out of instinct, Steve moved to where he was in front of Y/N. The protective knight not sure who was barging in. 

“Y/N! Are you crazy running off like that?” Nat shouted stomping in with Wanda close behind. “If you’re father found out your ditching his party he’s throwing for you, he would have our head before yours.”

“Nat, I just needed a minute-” Y/N said coming out from behind Steve. 

“No time for minutes. There are suitors out there that your father is trying to introduce you to, and you’re running off to read?” she said looking around like she just notice she was in the library. “Come on.” she said grabbing her wrist and pulling the princess to the exit.

“Y/N, I just wanted to say-” Steve started hoping to get some form of apology out, but was cut off by her.

“We’ll talk later.” Y/N said with a polite smile. 

Before he could argue any further she was being yanked out of the room by Nat, and Wanda was sending him an apologetic look before disappearing as well.

“Shit Rogers. You really messed up this time.” he mumbled to himself rubbing a hand down his face before finally dragging himself back to the party too.

10 Years Time Tag:

@starstrucknature  @zlixlle @thorne93 @captainsteveevans @girlintheshire @shreddedparchment @queenie4ce @laneygthememequeen @averyrogers83 @sp2900 @heyiamthatbitch @purpleclodpastamug @noobmaster63 @snow30285 @zeilenkrieg @twizzziee @buckybarneslove76 @srrymydood @kaytizzle @cheeseburgersstuff

Other Tags:

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[a-vintage-snake]

Once I Called You Brother

Pairing(s): None in this chapter

Warnings: Abusive parenting, both emotionally and physically, Remus typical stuff  Characters: Roman Sanders, Remus Sanders

Summary: When Remus disappears, Roman tries to reflect on their shared past.

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People who were asked to be tagged: @avocados26, @fandoms-will-collide @nottoonormalme Author’s Note: *claps hands* SO. My Dukeceit one-shot gave me so many plot ideas that I wanted to continue it. And I intended the next installment to be a one chapter thing from Roman's point of view, before returning to Deceit and Remus. HOWEVER, after writing 10.000 fricking words for this chapter and not even REMOTELY close to being done, I thought that would be a bit too cray-cray and decided to split it up in not just two, but MULTIPLE separate parts. I write out of order (meaning I write the scene I'm feeling the most that day) so while most of the next three chapters is written, they're not done just yet. Hopefully the next chapter will be out sooner than this one though. Don't worry, we will return to slimy boi and trash rat eventually. Just have some Roman angst while you wait. Word Count: 6790 “Don’t wait up for me!” Remus yelled. “BYYYYEE!!” “REMUS!! Remus, wait!” Roman ran after his brother, but the minute Remus spurred the mare into a gallop there was no chance he could catch up. Baffled he halted and watched as his brother disappeared out of the castle’s gate.

Quickly Roman turned to the stable boy who had brought out Remus’ horse.

“You! Prepare a horse! I need to go after-”

“Your Highness!”

Roman whipped around to see his fencing teacher approaching him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The man huffed. “You haven’t finished your lesson yet!”

“So sorry, mister Moore, but I have to cut this lesson short. My brother, he just-!”

“Absolutely out of the question!” Mister Moore waved away the horse the stable boy brought over. “I allowed you a break, but you have to continue practicing stat if you ever hope to improve your footwork!”

“But sir, my brother! He’s planning to go to the Desolate Mountains!”

“I don’t care if his Grace is planning to go to the underworld itself, you will not skip this lesson!”

“Are you kidding me??” Roman yelled. “I am not going to be stopped by you, you absolute-!” “What is going on here?”

Roman’s back immediately straightened and he shut his mouth, as his father made his way over to the stables. King Augusto was dressed in his hunting attire and was in the process of pulling his gloves on.

“Your Majesty,” Mister Moore bowed when Roman’s father reached them. “So sorry for the disturbance, but prince Roman is trying to get out of his lesson.”

“Out of the question.” King Augusto said as he turned towards his son. “Roman, how many times must I tell you? As the future king, you have responsibilities.”

“But father, it’s Remus!” Roman said.

“Oh heaven above help us…” His father sighed dejectedly. “What has Remus done this time?”

“He just left, yelling that he was going to kill the warlock in the mountains!” Roman gestured to the castle’s gate. “If we hurry, we can catch up to him-!”

“You are not your brother’s babysitter, Roman. Lord knows he scared all those off…” King Augusto muttered as he turned away. “Return to your lesson.”

“But father!” Roman followed after the man as the king ordered the stable boys around. “Didn’t you hear what I said? He wants to go to the Desolate Mountains! We have to go after him!”

His father stopped in his tracks, and Roman froze when he realized what just left his mouth. The king slowly turned to face him, and Roman’s heart started beating painfully fast when his father walked up to him until they were mere centimetres apart.

“I don’t have to do anything,” The king spoke in a soft, dangerous voice. “And you would do well to remember that, son.”

Roman clenched his fists to hide that his hands were shaking.

Show no weakness; show no flaws.

“Yes father…” Roman said, quietly.

A few seconds passed, where the king inspected his eldest son with a cold glare and Roman desperately tried to not break eye contact. But then the king’s gaze eased slightly and he sighed.

“My hunting party will go in the general direction of the mountains,” King Augusto said. “I’ll keep my eye out for him.”

Roman’s eyes widened in surprise, before his face split into a big grin.

“Thank you father!” He beamed.

“Yes, yes,” His father waved him away. “Now get back to your lesson; I expect improvement by the end of the week.”

“Of course!” Roman wanted to give a playful salute, but thought better of it. “I won’t let you down!” “You better not.” The king hauled himself up to his awaiting horse, and rode up to the castle’s gate where his hunting party was waiting for him. Without another glance to his son king Augusto spurred his horse on and rode out of the gate, the king’s men behind him. Roman watched them go, and hoped his father would catch up to Remus soon.

A cough behind him pulled Roman from his thoughts.

“Your Highness,” mister Moore said. “Let’s continue your lesson.”

--

After fencing Roman had etiquette class. When those were done, he was expected at the study hall, where one of his tutors taught him the history of his country, the monarchs that had come before him, the alliances between their country and its neighbouring kingdoms. The many names, dates and places eventually blurred all together, and Roman was relieved when evening came and the lesson finally ended. He wanted absolutely nothing more than retreat to his rooms, collapse on his bed and sleep until sunrise.

He knew he couldn’t. Of course he knew. But the idea was nice.

After a quick change of clothes Roman made his way to the dining room. Mentally he reviewed his lessons of the day, just in case his mother would interrogate him about what he learned.

The dining room was a lovely space, with warm wooden walls, a large fireplace that was currently unlit and tall windows that overlooked the gardens and the landscape beyond it. A long table that could easily fit 30 people stood proudly in the middle. When his parents entertained guests, the dining room was a cheerful place, filled with laughter and jokes, and Roman would love every minute he spent there.

When it was just the family however, the dining room was a somber place. No amount of warm candlelight could quite chase away the solemnness that oozed from the muted suppertime, and the silence made Roman acutely aware of every scrutinizing frown that his parents sent his way.

When Roman entered the dining room, his mother and father were already seated. As the lackey announced his presence, Roman gave a short bow to his parents. But his eyes immediately zoned in on the empty chair that sat across from his, and it’s usual occupant nowhere in sight.

“Good evening Roman,” His mother greeted him. “Have a seat. I trust your day has been well?” “Splendid mother,” Roman answered dutifully, just like every evening. He sat down at his usual spot next to his mother. “And how has your day been?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, aside from a mild headache.” Queen Nadia smiled thinly.

“So sorry to hear that. I hope you feel well soon.” His daily talk with his mother done, Roman turned to his father who sat at the head of the table. “And how was the hunt, father?”

“Excellent!” His father looked quite pleased. “We caught two boar and a doe. Not bad, don’t you think?” This answered exactly none of the burning questions Roman had, but just when he opened his mouth to ask what about Remus the lackeys served up the dinner. Roman bit his tongue and swallowed his questions for now. His parents insisted total silence during actual suppertime.

Knifes scraped over plates, sometimes someone would cough, and the soft sound of chewing were the only things that filled the stillness of the room. Roman tried to focus on the creamy flavour of the quite excellent dish of chicken with mushrooms and potatoes, but no matter what he did his eyes were pulled to the other side of the table. His brother’s empty spot seemed to taunt him.

Silence wrapped around Roman’s throat like a noose. My goodness, dinnertime was always a miserable time, Roman knew that, but today the atmosphere pushed down on him like a crushing weight and Roman wanted nothing more than to break the tension. What was different?

Walking up to the dining room, Remus came from an opposing hallway and joined him. Roman threw a quick glance at his brother, intending to give a casual greeting, but what came out was-

“What the hell is that on your upper lip??”

Remus raised his eyebrows in surprise, but grinned. The soft mush of barely there moustache hair that a 14 year old could grow moved along with it.

“Jealous, bro-bro?” Remus stroked the hairs proudly.

“Pfff, hardly!” Roman laughed. “You look ridiculous!”

“You’re just mad because you can’t grow any facial hair yet! Baby face!” Remus stuck out his tongue.

“Rather a baby face than a dead animal on my upper lip! What did you, torture some poor hamster?”

“Oh, you want to know my secret?” Remus leaned in, a wild grin on his face. “It’s totally actually just glued on pubic hair!” He said in a loud stage whisper. Roman let out a shriek of laughter.

“Holy shit that’s disgusting!” Roman wheezed. Remus cackled along with him, and spread his arms in a proud stance.

“All hail the pubic ‘stache!” He hollered, and Roman had to stop walking and lean his hands on his thighs to laugh.

“You’re so weird!” Roman managed to say through peals of laughter. Remus grinned widely.

“Only the best kind!”

The brothers were still laughing among themselves when they reached the dining room. Their parents gave them disapproving glares, but Roman and Remus couldn’t stop grinning when they sat down. Throughout the quiet dinner the brothers both had to suppress their giggles and smiles whenever they made eye contact across the table.

Roman tried to focus on the dish he was eating. He brought his fork up to take a bite, but paused when he looked at the cooked spinach on his plate. A grin spread on his face when an idea came to him.

When Remus looked up at his brother, Roman was sporting a very dapper looking spinach moustache.

Remus, who had just taken a large swig of water to wash his last bite down, snorted loudly and spit out his water in a large spray across the table. Their mother and father let out double screams of surprise while Remus howled with laughter.

“REMUS!” His father rose from his chair. “You blithering idiot, look what you have done!”

A loud smack echoed across the room as king Augusto backhanded Remus so hard he fell off his chair on the ground. Roman’s light mood disappeared as he shrunk back into his chair; his hand quickly came up to wipe away the spinach from his lip.

“Can’t we have one dinner without you making a fool of yourself?!” His father roared at his son on the floor.

“No- Wait, father, I wasn’t-” Remus stammered. “It was Roman, he-”

“Of course, blame your brother.” His mother cut him off, coldly. “As if Roman would ever be as disruptive as you.”

“Learn to take responsibility for your actions, you moron.” His father said as he sat down again.

Remus shakily got up on his feet, holding his stinging cheek.

“Roman, tell them! Please…” Remus pleaded.

All eyes turned on him, and Roman froze under his parents expecting stare. Oh god, he would be a disappointment if he told the truth. He had been disruptive and childish, all the things his parents taught him not to be. They would be angry with him, furious maybe! He wasn’t supposed to make mistakes like this.

Avoiding his brother’s eyes, Roman merely shook his head.

“There, you see,” His mother looked back at Remus. “Now what do you have to say for yourself, little liar?”

Remus kept staring at his sibling, his mouth opening and closing in quiet disbelief. Then he turned away and ran out of the room.

“Honestly, that boy…” His father shook his head, not bothering to call his second son back. “Where did we go wrong?”

“It’s not our fault, dear,” His mother said. “Some people are just born a little… freaky, that’s all.”

His mother turned to Roman, and he stiffened as she gently caressed his cheek.

“Don’t worry, we’re not talking about you.” She said, her voice sweet. “You are such a good son, Roman.”

She pressed a soft kiss to his temple, before turning back to her dinner. Roman tried the same, but noticed he had lost his appetite.

The next evening when he ran into Remus on his way to the dining room, his brother refused to make eye contact and didn’t speak a word.

Roman’s heart gave a twinge at the sudden memory. He couldn’t take it anymore. He slammed his cutlery down with a bang and stood up. His parents jerked up.

“Roman?” His mother asked. “What do you think you’re-”

“Where’s Remus, father?” Roman asked before the courage left him. His father looked disdainfully at him.

“Sit down Roman. We have rules at dinnertime, you know that.”

“Where. Is. Remus?” Roman repeated. “You said that you would look for him!”

“And I did! Are you suggesting I wouldn’t look for my own son?”

“No, of course not! But then…” Roman looked at his brother’s empty seat. “Then where is he?”

King Augusto let out a sigh.

“I couldn’t find him. He was probably already too far ahead of us.”

Roman’s stomach dropped. His gaze flicked outside towards the mountains in the distance, looming in the fading light.

“We have to go look for him,” Roman said, as he scrambled away from the table. “Roman, get back here!” His parents rose from their chairs as well.

“He’s in danger!” He already had his hand on the doorknob when hands seized his shoulder and hand.

“Roman, sweetie,” Queen Nadia’s voice said in his ear. “Come sit and calm down before you do anything rash.”

“But mother he-!”

“Roman.” His mother’s tone took a warning edge. Roman swallowed, reluctantly released the doorknob and allowed his mother to gently guide him back into his chair. She sat down next to him and faced him, a soft smile on her face.

“Now,” She started. “Tell me exactly what your brother said.”

“I told you! He left yelling that he was going to kill the warlock in the mountains!” He rose once more. “If we hurry, we might be able to stop him!” His mother grabbed his hand before he could run again.

“So he never said specifically that he was going to the Desolate Mountains?” She asked.

“Well he…” Roman shut his mouth, thinking. Wait, had he…? Feverishly he replayed his brother’s exit from this morning in his head. Had he mentioned the Desolate Mountains at all?

“No…” Roman said hesitantly. “No, I don’t think so…”

“Well there you go,” His mother smiled kindly. “No need to worry, sweetie.”

“But then… where would he have gone?” Roman asked.

“Son, do you really think we only have one warlock in this whole country?” His father shook his head with a laugh. “I’m sure there’s plenty of them living in mountainous areas!”

“But how do we know for certain?” Roman’s eyes once again went to the window, to the threatening peaks in the distance.

“I don’t think even Remus would be stupid enough to actually go there.” King Augusto said. “Didn’t we make you both promise to never enter the mountains?”

I’m pretty sure you only made me promise, Roman wanted to say but he didn’t. After all how could he know for certain that they hadn’t made Remus promise as well? “And besides,” His mother added. “Remus is always yelling nonsense! Do you remember, a few years back, when he ran away to the sea to ‘fight the Kraken’, in his own words? He came back two weeks later with five sacks of dead fish and a live squid in a tank!”

Oh yeah, that had been an odd day… Remus had loved that tiny squid though; doting on it like it was a cute kitten or a puppy. He had been devastated when he found the squid dead in his tank a month later.

“Someone murdered him!” “Or he just couldn’t survive in a tank, no matter if it’s a salt water tank.” “No! I took good care of him, and Sir Squiddles was just fine this morning!” “Seriously? You named that thing ‘Sir Squiddles’?” “HE WAS NOT A THING! He was my friend!”

At the time, Roman had laughed at Remus calling a squid his friend and got kicked out of his brother’s room for it. Now thinking back on it, Roman cringed at his own insensitivity.

“But…” Roman tried one last time. “What if he did go…? Shouldn’t we look for him just to be sure?”

“Sweetie, don’t be daft,” Queen Nadia’s voice turned impatient. “You want to risk your own life because you jumped to a conclusion? Or the lives of our knights? What if we sent troops, and Remus turns up tomorrow unharmed? Do you want the blood of those men and women on your hands?”

“…No. No I don’t.” Roman finally sat back down. His parents gave him content smiles.

“I’m sure Remus is fine. He’s just off on another attention seeking ‘quest’, and he’ll be back before you know it.” His mother reassured him. Roman nodded.

“You’re right… You’re both right. Thank you.” He said.

“Very well.” His father sat back in his chair. “Now that’s settled, lets get back to this excellent meal before it gets cold.” Roman nodded and picked up his knife and fork again. Of course Remus would come back just fine! Like his father said, not even Remus would be so reckless to go to the Desolate Mountains!

…Right?

“Oh, and Roman?”

Roman looked up at his father. “Yes?” He asked.

“Don’t ever interrupt dinner time again.” King Augusto said coldly.

“…Yes father.”

--

“Hey! Planet earth to Roman!”

Fingers snapped near his ear. Roman startled, quickly turning his gaze away from the window and back to the other people in the room.

“So sorry, zoned out there for a second.” Roman smiled. “What were we talking about?”

“This is the fourth time you’ve zoned out and missed the punch-line to my story! What is up with you today?” Tristan huffed. “You’ve been more quiet than Farah! You’re not turning boring on us like her, are you?”

The others laughed, apart from Farah in the far corner. She buried her face further into the book she held open on her lap. Even from the windowsill Roman had seated himself he saw her cheeks turn a bright red. He gave a soft wince in sympathy.

“That’s not exactly gentlemanly of you to say of our fair Farah, Tristan!” Roman said.

“Oh, it’s all in good fun!” Tristan fell back on one of the soft sofas in the salon, lounging on it widespread with a lazy grin. “She really ought to grow thicker skin if she isn’t used to it by now!”

Roman wanted to snap at him that Farah didn’t seem to find it fun, but his father’s voice immediately echoed through his head.

“You need to maintain a network of friends, Roman,” King Augusto had said when Roman once asked why he needed to spent time with someone as insufferable as viscount Tristan. “Build yourself a reputation, learn to know your future allies. After all, what is the one thing we always tell you?”

“A royal’s reputation is the most important thing he has.” Roman had answered, the words falling from his lips automatically after years of it being drilled into him. So Roman only smiled thinly at the viscount before turning his head to look out of the window again.

The murmurs of the conversation started up again, and Roman listened without registering any of the words. After two more times of him missing some hilarious joke, the others seemed to grow tired of his inattentiveness.

“Tristan is right! You are boring today Roman!” Tristan’s best friend Brett complained. Roman shrugged.

“I guess today is an off day.” He said without looking towards the other man. He didn’t need to see to know that Brett was trying his best to pose to impressively show off his muscles for his crush Madison.

“It’s not just today,” Madison pouted, gracefully ignoring Brett in favour of braiding Emma’s hair. “You’ve been quiet every time we hung out in the past weeks.”

“Yeah!” Emma whined. “You’ve been so mopey and dull, Roman! What gives?”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Roman instead smiled and brightly said, “Maybe I’ve been brainstorming for new adventures!”

“I sure hope so.” Madison finished the braid. “This mood you’ve been in just isn’t any fun!”

“Are…” Farah spoke up hesitantly. “Are you okay Roman…?”

Roman’s smile faltered slightly. Was he okay…? Why was she even asking? Of course he was okay! He just… Hadn’t been too keen on hanging out with his friends today, that’s all.

It wasn’t that he completely disliked the others company. Okay, Tristan was an asshole, and Brett couldn’t hold up an intelligent conversation even if he tried, but Farah was nice! If a bit quiet. And Emma and Madison could have been good company if they stopped gossiping for a few minutes. He had just hoped he could have had this day to himself. Roman’s schedule was busier than ever! The past weeks were filled with so many lessons of various kinds that at the end of the day he could barely keep his eyes open. After shoving food in his mouth, Roman would collapse on his bed and sleep like the dead. And on the rare few days he didn’t have lessons, his parents made sure he spent time with his friends, the children of the court’s nobility. Two months had passed in a haze.

And there was still no sign of Remus.

His stomach clenched as his thoughts went to his brother. Alright, if he would be completely honest with himself, Remus was partially at fault for his somber state of mind. He knew his parents told him not to worry, but as the days turned into weeks, and weeks had turned into two months… Roman couldn’t help himself. He was distracted at his lessons, grim during meetings and unusually quiet. His parents had asked him repeatedly if he was getting sick the last couple of dinners.

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, he considered telling the others. He knew he wasn’t meant to be gloomy, but they were his friends! Surely they would understand?

“I suppose…” Roman started, swivelling his head to look at the others. “I have been a bit worried lately…”

“Worried?” Emma asked. “How so?” “Well… It’s Remus. He’s been gone for weeks now-”

“Oh, so that’s the reason it’s been so peaceful around here?” Tristan laughed. “I already wondered why it smelled nicer around the castle lately!”

“Hey!” Roman said.

“What?” Tristan spread his hands in a ‘what gives’ gesture. “It’s true! How many times have we seen Remus covered in weird dirt and dragging heavens knows what around?”

“Too many times...” Brett said, shaking his head.

“Didn’t he once put a rotting decapitated pigs head in your bed, Tristan?” Emma shuddered.

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Tristan made a grossed out face. “It took weeks before the smell got out. And I’m still not sure how he even got in!”

“He did that because you pranked him, right?” Madison asked.

“Yes! Seriously, your brother just can not take a joke!” Tristan said to Roman, who grimaced. Roman remembered that particular “prank” all right…

“Wanna hear something crazy?”

Roman looked up from his book, expecting his brother to grin at him with that “I just brought a live opossum into the parlour and I have called him Jeremy” grin, but instead his brother looked… Strangely nervous. Huh. That was very unlike him.

“Yes…?” He said, curious enough to ignore the warning bells.

“I think…” Remus said slowly.

“You? Thinking? Don’t hurt yourself, brother!” Roman laughed. Remus didn’t laugh, and made a short stuttering movement that to Roman seemed like a wince. Frowning, Roman wanted to backtrack but before he could say anything Remus continued talking.

“IthinkIhaveacrushonTristan!” Remus rushed out. Roman’s mouth fell open.

“You WHAT??” He yelled, abandoning his book in favour of jumping from his chair and joining his brother on the couch. “You have a crush on Tristan??”

“Yell a little louder, I don’t think the people in the dungeons quite heard it!” Remus hissed out while punching his brother’s arm.

“Sorry, sorry, just excited!” Roman squealed. “Oh gosh, are you going to tell him? When will you tell him? And how? Flowers are a classic, obviously, but if you want to be more original you could always slay a grand monster to prove your love-!”

“I wrote a poem.” Remus mumbled. Roman let out a gasp.

“Oh that is PERFECT! And such an unorthodox of a display for you brother! You must truly have it bad for our fair Tristan!”

“Oh, shut up!” Remus punched his arm again, but he was smiling. Roman couldn’t stop grinning as well. How long was it ago that they had this kind of brotherly banter? It felt like years! If Roman were to guess, the last time they truly spent time together like siblings was when they had been kids. And now their 18thbirthday was only a month away!  

Why did they ever stop hanging out…?

“Send him that poem! I’m sure he’ll love it!”

“You think so…?”

“I know so!” Roman gushed. “Tristan is super nice, he’ll be over the moon by it!”

“Wow, it’s almost as if writing a poem for your crush, only for said crush to not only read out said poem out loud and make fun of it in front of basically the whole court,” Roman bit out through a forced smile. “But also ridicule you for having a crush is not even remotely funny, Tristan!”

“It was a little funny!” Brett said.

“Yeah! Didn’t you see Remus’ face?” Tristan snorted. “Come now Roman, it was a harmless prank!”

“A harmless prank that caused my own brother to refuse to talk to me for nearly a year!” Roman very nearly shouted. He had sworn up and down to Remus he hadn’t known Tristan would do something so cruel, but he had the suspicion Remus never truly believed him. Especially since his parents didn’t allow him to cut off all contact with the viscount.

“You will not lose one of your most important future allies because Remus is too immature to handle a joke, Roman!” His mother had bristled. “And that’s final!”

Secretly Roman thought the pig’s head had been well deserved.

“Hey now, calm down.” Tristan held up his hand in a placating gesture, and Roman wanted nothing more than to challenge the insolent cur to a duel right then and there. “I meant nothing by it. Honestly Roman, what’s the matter with you today? You make fun of Remus all the time!”

Instantly the anger inside him deflated.

“Yeah, well-! I…” Roman stuttered out. He couldn’t exactly deny it. “Maybe-! Maybe… Maybe that was wrong of me!” He ignored the sceptical stares. “And besides, Remus has never been gone this long, and I don’t… I don’t… I’m worried, alright??” “I don’t think you need to,” Emma said. “Remus is like a weed; you can’t really kill him!”

“Exactly,” Madison finished the intricate braid in Emma’s hair. “Before you know it, he’ll ride through the castle’s gate and he’ll be back doing… Whatever the hell it is he does.”

“Seriously, what does he even do all day?” Brett snickered.

“He often goes to the library.” A quiet voice said. Immediately all eyes turned to Farah, who seemed to instantly regret saying anything.

“The library? Really?” Roman asked quizzically.

“Remus in a library?” Madison scoffed. “Don’t you think that’s stretching the truth a bit too far, Farah?”

“Does he even know how to read?” Emma simpered.

“It’s true!” Farah said. “I regularly see him when I go to the library!”

Roman swung his legs off the windowsill and sat to give Farah his full attention. “What does he do there?” He asked curiously. While he hated to agree with the others, they were right; He couldn’t exactly picture his chaotic brother to particularly enjoy the library.

“I don’t know…” Farah muttered. “We don’t really talk.” “Wow, what a shocking revelation!” Tristan snorted. “Farah doesn’t talk! Next you’ll tell me that water is wet!”

Another wave of laughter echoed through the room, and Farah looked like she wanted to disappear into her green coloured hijab. Roman glared at Tristan, the irritation rising up to new levels. He was about to snap at the viscount when the doors of the salon opened.

“Your Highness,” The lackey entering said while he made a bow. “Pardon the intrusion, but your parents request your presence in the throne room.”

Roman barely held back a sigh in pure relief, and practically ran out of the room without saying goodbye to the others. He did feel a pang of guilt for leaving Farah alone with those heathens, but he shook it off and made his way to the throne room.

Upon entering he saw his parents, looking regal and untouchable on their thrones, the picture perfect concerned monarchs. Before the throne knelt an older man, his clothes torn and tattered. Most likely he was a peasant from a nearby town. His parents smiled at him when they saw him.

“Ah, Roman! Just the hero we wished to see.” His father beckoned him closer. “Come here.” “Would you repeat your request for our son?” His mother smiled sweetly at the kneeling man.

“A-Ah! Yes, yes of course, your Majesties!” The man shuffled on his knees, so he faced Roman who had walked up to his side.

“Please good sir!” Roman gently grabbed the man by his elbows and helped him stand. “No need to kneel for me! That cold floor can hardly be good for your knees!”

The old man looked surprised, but smiled either way. Roman smiled back, choosing to ignore the disapproving peers he knew his parents were giving him.

“Your Highness,” The man started. “I come to you in dire need. My village is under raid by a manticore-chimera! The monster has killed several of our villagers, destroyed a good portion of our crops and damaged our homes! We’re not sure how long we can keep the demon at bay! But the whole kingdom has heard of your bravery fighting such horrors, and we beg for your help!”

The more he listened, the more Roman felt his heart clench. That fiend was harming his future subjects! His people! Outrage and determination swelled up in his chest.

“Do not worry, my good man!” Roman bellowed. “I shall come with you and vanquish the mighty beast!”

--

He vanquished the mighty beast.

A day’s journey away from the castle had taken Roman, and the knights that accompanied him on every quest, to the village the monster terrorized… The small town sat right by the edge of the Desolate Mountains.

Ignoring the cruel irony, Roman had focused on slaying the manticore-chimera. It had taken all his willpower and several close calls, but he did it. He was victorious, and the monster would do no more harm.

And in the end, every fight Roman suffered through would always be worth it. It was worth it to return to the village after the battle and see the relieved, happy faces of the townspeople. To see their tears of relief, hear their joyous laughter and know that those who had been grieving would get a little respite now that their loved ones were avenged.

It was worth it knowing his people were safe.

And if the people celebrated, and Roman and his entourage were pulled along with it, well who was he to deny an adoring audience?

That’s how Roman found himself surrounded by all the town’s children, who were breathlessly listening to Roman regaling how he had taken down the manticore-chimera. His knights mingled with the adults of the village, who smiled both fondly and wondrously at their prince entertaining their kids.

“And so, while my brave knights distracted the monster, I snuck up to it from behind, narrowly avoiding its scorpion tale!” Roman mimicked drawing a sword. “I waited with bated breath until I saw an opening… And then… POW!!” The children all startled, many of them gasping. “I pierced my sword right through his heart! And the manticore-chimera… Was no more.”

The children ooohed and aaahed when Roman struck a heroic pose, the gold details of his most princely outfit sparkling in the sunlight and his red cape fluttering in the slight breeze.

“When I am older, I wanna be a knight too!” One of the children gaped.

“Oh, and what a fearsome warrior you shall be!” Roman scooped the girl in question up and settled her upon his shoulders. “Known far and wide! Every monster shall quack in their boots upon hearing your name!” The child shrieked with laughter as Roman took off in a gentle sprint, the other kids nearly tripping over their own feet to follow him.

“You are much nicer than the other prince!” The girl giggled above him. Roman laughed, a little confused.

“Other prince? What other prince?” He asked.

“The weird one with the funny moustache!”

He froze. Skidding to a halt Roman was distantly aware that the kids surrounded him once more, pulling at his cape and sash and begging for a turn.

It couldn’t… There was no way!

The girl wiggled on his shoulders. “Keep running, keep running!” She yelled. Roman shook himself from his frozen stupor.

“Ah, I’m afraid this mighty steed has done enough running for today!” The children all chorused their disappointment, and the girl pouted as he lifted her off his shoulders back onto the ground. “How about you play with the knights instead? They have saved your home just as much as I have!”

“But we wanna play with you!” A boy whined. All the other kids nodded in agreement.

“Ah, but maybe, if you ask nicely… My knights can show you how to hold a sword like a true warrior!”

That seemed to instantly cheer the children up. Roman watched with a smile as the group ran off towards the knights. Dread pooled in his stomach however when he thought about what the girl had said.

B-But there probably had been a mistake! There were loads of people with moustaches, and perhaps it had just been a rich merchant travelling his way around the mountains, the only safe (albeit long) path to the kingdom on the other side. Any child would see a fancy gentleman and think him a prince! Roman huffed a laugh, and pretended not to notice how strangled the sound was. That was a totally reasonable explanation! No need to panic over nothing! He would even ask to be sure, so he could laugh at his own foolish behaviour!

He looked around for the village head, a lovely older woman who had introduced herself as Alina before he went to kill the manticore-chimera. He spotted her chatting animatedly with her wife on the edge of the town square. Quickly he approached her.

“Pardon me, my lady?”

“Prince Roman!” Alina grinned at him brightly. “We are forever in your debt for slaying the beast. We simply cannot thank you enough!”

“It was the mere duty of a prince and future king, ma’am!” Roman said. “But I need to ask you something.”

“Anything, your Highness.”

“About two months ago, did a traveller pass through your town? My age, with a moustache, most likely wearing green?”

“Oh, did prince Remus ever return home safely?”

Roman felt like he had been punched in the stomach.

“You… You have seen my brother?” He asked weakly.

“It was a little hard to miss him!” Alina’s wife Nesta said. “He rode in one late afternoon, and stopped only to allow his horse to drink something and to buy some more supplies in our tavern. He yelled that he would kill-” The woman paused when she saw Roman’s face drain of all colour. “Your Highness?”

“What did he yell?” Roman’s voice sounded numb. “Please, what did he say?”

“He yelled that he would kill the warlock in the Desolate Mountains for us, your Highness.” Nesta continued solemnly, all mirth from just mere moments ago gone. “We tried to stop him. We warned him of the danger, but he didn’t listen. He… He rode away before we could talk sense into him. But… Surely your Highness knew this? Our king and queen would not send their son on a mission like that without a plan!”

Silence stretched out for a few seconds as the women smiled hopefully at Roman. Their smiles died away at Roman’s ashen expression.

“You didn’t know…” Alina gasped. “Please, you have to believe us, if we had known prince Remus was there without your parents blessing, we would have sent word to the castle immediately! We wouldn’t have- Prince Roman?”

Roman couldn’t breathe. The sound of the village head and her wife asking him worriedly if he was feeling unwell reached him muffled and faraway, like his ears were stuffed with wax. A coldness like ice spread from his core to his limbs, making his skin tingle. He had the idea that his legs would give out on him any second. The shadows of the Desolate Mountains loomed over him, cold and menacing.

He had actually… Remus truly was that reckless… He had really gone to…

Oh god his brother had gone to the Desolate Mountains!

“Haha! !It seems like we overstayed our welcome long enough!!” Roman yelled so suddenly the women jumped back in shock. He felt himself slip back into his princely demeanour without truly trying. “Thank you for your hospitality, you are such wondrously kind people!!”

“Prince Roman, maybe you should sit down first?”

“Sit down?? Of course not, I feel fit as a fiddle!!” Roman chuckled, edging on hysterics. “Yes, we should definitely be going now!! I should inform the general!! A grand day to you, ladies!!” With that, Roman stormed away, ignoring the protests of Alina and Nesta. He had to find the general, he had to round up the knights, and they had to go look for his brother!

“GENERAL ISOLDA!!” He called out over the town square. The woman in question looked up, a bit shocked to see her prince in such a frenzied state. The knights that were talking to her stood to attention as well.

“Your Highness?” She asked when Roman reached her. “What is the matter?” “Gather all the knights! We’re going!” Roman commanded.

“Already?” The general frowned in confusion. “But we have barely rested for the journey home!” “We’re not going to the castle! We’re going to the Desolate Mountains!”

“What- Are you mad?” The general gaped at him, thinking he must be joking. Roman however could not be more determined.

“My brother is there, general! He has been there for the past two months, and we must find him immediately! We can buy supplies here in the town, and-”

“No.”

Roman stopped dead in his tracks.

“No? What do you mean, no?”

“It means that I am not sending my knights on a suicide mission, my prince!” The general seethed. Roman stared at her, before nodding.

“You’re right… That would be unfair to ask of them. I shall go alone then! Inform my parents of my absence!” Roman turned around to search for his horse, but was stopped in his path by one of his knights. Without Roman realizing more knights had joined the little group, and they formed a circle around him. Trapping him.

“I will do no such thing,” General Isolda said behind him. “Because you will be returning with us.”

“Let me go at once!” Roman turned to glare at the general, who merely looked unimpressed.

“You will return to the castle with us, prince Roman,” She said. “And that is an order.”

“You can not order me!” Roman fumed. “I outrank you!”

“And your parents outrank you, your Highness. I- All of us- Have strict orders to always bring you back home. No detours, no crazy quests. And we will follow those orders no matter what.” Roman bristled, ready to shout and yell. He looked around at knights circling him, closing his escape path off. Many of them had their swords partially drawn, their faces resolute.

“Please prince Roman,” The general said patiently. “Do not force me to tie you to your horse.”

He could not fight them all off, Roman knew that. And the whole journey home they would watch him like a hawk. Admitting defeat, Roman’s shoulders sacked.

“Fine,” He bit out. “But we’ll be leaving immediately. If we hurry we can make it back by evening.” He had to let his parents know as soon as possible, so he could go looking.

As Roman and his entourage left the town, it felt as if the mountains mockingly waved him goodbye.

[injusticeff]

Chapter Twenty-Nine

***4 years later***

Simone

“But mom, she’s putting my toy in her mouth!” I heard Junior frantically call out to me as my eyes averted to the rear view mirror to look at the both of them sitting in the back seat.

Xae snickered from the driver’s seat beside me causing me to do the same which only angered Junior even more since we weren’t taking him as seriously as he wanted to be taken. “Junior, your sister’s only a baby. You did the same thing when you were two.”

“Yea, but to my own toys.” He retorted back in a defeated tone, knowing that he just wasn’t going to win this one. He took one last glance over at his now slobber filled toy before letting out an annoyed huff and turning his head to look out of the window instead. "Whatever, she can have it."

Xae attempted to hold in his laughter as he took a quick glance behind him to look at Junior before swiftly focusing his attention back on the road in front of him. "How about I get you a new toy lil man—a better one."

"Really?!" My eight year old's face instantly lit up at the mention of something brand new and not covered in his sister's saliva. "Anything I want?"

Xae nodded in response, keeping his eyes in front of him as he drove. "Yup, anything you want. Just make sure your sister doesn't get ahold of this one."

"I won't. Thanks dad!" Junior replied with a giddy smile on his face, completely forgetting about the toy that he had been complaining about not even two minutes prior.

A wide smile spread across my face at the sight of Junior's excited expression. My eyes soon averted over to Xae as I grabbed his hand and interlocked our fingers, bringing the back of his hand up to my lips before pressing a soft kiss against his caramel toned skin. I loved when he took the initiative and treated Junior as if he was his child, even after we had a baby of our own. He could have started neglecting Junior since he now had a kid that shared his DNA, but it was like Xae didn't even miss a beat. It made it that much easier for Junior to accept him as part of our family at first, although my son knew who his real father was.

"I love you." I mumbled against his soft skin causing his hand to give mine a comforting squeeze as he glanced over at me in admiration.

He flashed me a quick smile as he replied with those same words, the passion in them still as evident as the first time that we told each other we loved one another. The drive from then on was filled with content silence as our family maneuvered through traffic and the radio played lowly in the background.

Today was a routine for our family. Every Sunday, we'd visit the cemetery and speak to our deceased loved ones. Just to feel like we were still connected to and could communicate with them somehow.

We all hopped out of the car with Xae unstrapping our daughter, Tiara, from her car seat where she had been sleeping peacefully. We named her after Tiarra, of course. Although we weren't close, I took her murder a bit harder than I thought I would and since I wasn't able to make it to her funeral, I figured it was the least I could do. Though, Xae and I decided to spell our daughter's name differently because I wanted her to be the opposite of my older sister; a true queen with a name fit for what belonged atop her head.

Tiara was the beautiful baby girl from our dreams. And nothing at all how I expected her to be. I finally understood those terrible two stages that mothers were always talking about.

"Baby, I'm gon' take Tiara to go see my grandmother. I'll meet y'all back here in ten and if y'all are even a second late, I'm calling the police." Xae unknowingly interrupted my train of thought as he held a fast asleep Tiara, earning a light giggle from me in response. Protective wasn't even the word for how Xavier was when it came to our family. After experiencing people breaking into and hurting him in his own home, he vowed never to let it happen again. Especially not while his family was inside. Over his dead body.

"Alright, I love you." I replied lovingly as I leaned into him, puckering my lips up for a kiss. He tried to fight the smile that was daring to form on his face but couldn't as the butterflies that were still in my stomach every time I laid eyes on him was surely still in his.

He pressed his lips against mine softly, his hand cupping my cheek as I melted into his embrace. Every time still felt like the first time that we kissed; passionate and electrifying.

"Mom! Dad! Ew!" Junior abruptly called out, ultimately pulling both Xae and I away from each other as we laughed at his disgusted expression. He was still at that age where he thought girls were disgusting and just wanted to play video games all day long.

"I'll see you in ten." I added as I started toward Junior causing him to turn and start our walk through the small cemetery.

It didn't take long before we reached the tombstone marked Dominick Anderson, 1992-2016.

He had committed suicide about a year into his sentence. That's what the police informed me, at least. The Dominick I knew would harm anyone other than himself. Junior was young when it happened so I didn't think he really understood the concept of death. Hell, I wasn't even sure if he did now. He just knew that his father was gone and he would never be able to see him again. It was hard to explain to a child because they had so many questions that you just didn't know how to answer.

"Hey dad!" Junior called out as we approached the gravesite. "Guess what? I made the basketball team at my school. Now watch me be the next MJ. Swish!" He stepped back, tossing an imaginary ball into the air causing me to giggle at his antics. That was the thing he was most excited about this school year.

"That's right and I'm so proud of him. You should see him out there." I added as I pulled my son into me making him immediately toss his arm around me in return. I always spoke to Dom right along with Junior so that he would never feel like he was going through this by himself. I would always be right by his side, no matter what his sadistic father did to me and the people I loved.

I wasn't sure if I should ever tell Junior all of the crazy things that Dominick did while he was alive and why he ended up in prison in the first place. I was certain once he truly understood, the questions would come flooding in anyway but that just wasn't something that was easy to admit to a person in general.

Junior playfully began pushing my embrace away with the smack of his lips. "Nuh uh, she won't even get me those new Jordan's that just came out."

"Boy, that's because them shoes were over a hundred dollars and your feet are still growing a mile a minute. You must be crazy." I retorted back causing him to wave me off with a slight chuckle and continue his conversation with his father.

Things were so different and peaceful now that Dom had passed. Sometimes, I had to take a step back and appreciate moments like these.

***

My head rested comfortably on Xae's chest as his arm laid over my body protectively. I allowed my fingers to trace light circles against his skin while I stared ahead at Tiara's crib that was pressed up against the wall in front of me. The sound of his heartbeat serenaded my ears and his slow breathing had also caused me to relax a bit more.

It was nearing three in the morning and for some reason, I couldn't sleep for the life of me.

There was something nagging at me but I couldn't figure it out. Nights like these were rare but they happened every so often. Usually some tea or hot cocoa would warm my body and do the trick in helping me fall asleep so after a while of not being able to fall asleep on my own, I decided to make just that.

I carefully slipped out of Xae's hold causing him to stir a bit but ultimately settle back into his deep slumber. Grabbing my silk robe from my closet, I accompanied it with some comfortable fuzzy slides and began to make my way towards the kitchen to start boiling the water for my tea.

As I passed Junior's room, I could hear faint sniffling coming from inside making my head instantly jerk back. It was late and usually, my son would be knocked out—slobbering and all.

I gave his room door a gentle shove as my fingers immediately reached for the light switch, flipping his light on. His head instantly snapped up in my direction allowing me to get a good look at his tear stained face. It broke my heart into pieces just to see him hurting. "Aw, baby. What's wrong?"

My feet carried me over towards his bed and I sat down beside him before enveloping him into a light embrace, my hands rubbing small circles onto his back.

"I had a bad dream. Me and dad went to the fair together and we were playing games and having fun." He paused for a bit as I remained quiet, allowing him to continue whenever he was ready. "There were so many people and they kept pushing me and when I turned around, dad was gone. He left me in my dream just like he left me in real life. He doesn't even wanna be with me in my dreams." Junior shook his head in disappointment.

At that moment, I realized he was talking about Dominick and not Xae. My chest ached as I stared down at my son's heartbroken face, unsure of what else to do except hug him tighter. "Baby, your father was battling a lot of demons and was gonna be in prison for a long time. He just couldn't handle that. It had nothing to do with you, he loved you with all his heart."

And that was the truth. If Dom wasn't anything, he was a good father when he was around his son. They were like two peas in a pod when they were together.

"But didn't he think about not being able to see me anymore? He ain't even think about me." His head hung low as it shook from side to side in sorrow.

I sighed, not knowing how in the world to respond without making Dom sound like the selfish man that he actually was. The last thing I wanted was for Junior to see him as a monster. There was no telling what kind of trauma the truth would cause. As far as he knew, all he saw was love from the both of us when we were all together. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

He nodded in response before lifting up his covers, signaling for me to get underneath them. My teeth grazed my bottom lip a bit before I quickly stood to my feet. "Hold on." I swiftly made my way over to my phone, opening up my safari app and going to the shoe website that Junior had excitedly shown me the previous week. The shoes he wanted were one of the first on the web page since I had viewed it previously.

Without a second thought, I purchased the sneakers he wanted and had them shipped to our home. I decided against telling him now and just chose to surprise him whenever the shoes came.

Heading back over to the bed, I slid beneath the covers and Junior automatically threw his arm over me protectively as he snuggled into my side. My body responded by pulling him closer to me as a small smile graced my face at the love that was radiating off of him. We had a bond that was unbreakable.

Within minutes, I was dozing off into a comfortable slumber with my son wrapped up in my arms.

Bree

I stepped into the doctor’s office with an anxious sigh, far from ready for them to be face-to-face with me as they would at any given second.

Looking around the room without purpose, my feet swung back and forth as I sat on the elevated seat in the middle of the room. Just sitting there alone and with my thoughts was enough to have me going crazy, coming up with all types of scenarios in my head as to why my OB/GYN had called me back in a week after my annual checkup.

I could only think of the worst. I mean, it was hard not to when they refused to tell me anything over the phone. But nothing felt wrong so I had no clue what it could be.

The only person I had been having sex with was Antonio. We started dating not too long after I moved in. He was an active father and was there for me through every step of the way during my pregnancy with our son, Javier. Since it wasn't supposed to be possible for me to have children in the first place, my pregnancy underwent many complications which meant countless hospital visits and sleepless nights. Javier and seeing Antonio's love for him was the only thing that made it worth while.

Javier was born premature and Antonio decided to take one month off from managing his restaurant to be with me through the entire process. Without me even having to ask.

I found myself smiling just thinking back on it. Antonio and I's relationship definitely wasn't perfect but we made it work for the sake of our child and that, I could always commend us on.

My thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sound of the heavy wooden door swinging open, followed by my gynecologist stepping inside of the room right after. She was a sweet lady in her mid-thirties that never failed to make me feel as comfortable as possible whenever I was in her care. It was why although she was transferred to a farther location a few months ago, I had no problem going out of my way so she could continue being my doctor.

"Hello, Bree." She immediately welcomed me with a warm smile causing me to flash her one in return. Her voice was smooth like honey.

I had preferred she called me by my first name since I had taken Antonio's last one about a year after our son was born. Things were going so well and we wanted to make things official and be a real family. Though, sometimes I didn't like hearing his last name at the end of mine. Times like this where I was questioning our relationship entirely.

"Hi, Mrs. Rozario. How are you doing today?"

"I'm doing well." She shut the room door behind her and set the manila folder that resided in her hands down onto the desk that sat in the corner of the room. "So, I'm aware that you came in for your annual check up a couple weeks ago, correct?"

I nodded in response, letting her know that what she had stated was right. "Yes, is something wrong? They wouldn't tell me anything over the phone."

She gave me an uncertain look as she sat down on a stool seated near the desk she had previously placed the folder on. "Well, your results came back." She spoke as she swung the folder open, reviewing over the contents of the paperwork that sat inside. "I'm sorry to say this so bluntly, but you tested positive for Human papilloma virus otherwise known as HPV. Now, have you had unprotected sex with anyone in the last six months?"

The shocked expression was evident on my face as I began to stumble over my own words. "No. I mean—just my child's father. My husband." It felt a bit forced to even say that but she had to know that I wasn't just out there like that. "I don't understand. I don't have any symptoms."

"Well, many people that have HPV don't develop any symptoms other than occasional genital warts. And you haven't spotted any of those forming around your vagina or the surrounding areas?" She asked as her pen moved a mile a minute against the paperwork she had been looking over.

My heart fell to the pit of my stomach at just the thought of Antonio cheating on me. I knew we didn't have the best relationship but I thought we had enough respect for each other not to step out. I didn't want to believe it. "No, I don't think so. Is it curable?" My chest began to flutter almost immediately after asking the question. A part of me didn't want to know the answer.

"I'm sorry Bree, but Human papilloma virus is not curable but there are treatments to remove the warts if you ever come across some forming. Other than that, you must protect yourself and your partner during intercourse from now on."

She continued to explain some things to me but I completely zoned her out as tears threatened to spill from my eyes, the gravity of the situation hitting me all at once. In a blink of an eye, I was now living with an incurable disease and it was all thanks to Antonio. He had not only stepped out on me, but brought something back to me as well and that alone had my blood boiling.

He had no care or remorse for my health or my feelings.

The remainder of my appointment was a blur and I was completely zoned out as I drove back home, unknowing of how I should react once I actually saw his face. I wanted to hurt him for putting me through this. I wanted to make him feel the pain I felt.

My vision was cloudy as I pulled into the driveway, instantly rolling my eyes as I noticed the car that sat out front. As I neared the front door, I could clearly hear angry screaming and things being thrown around inside the house. There wasn't a time where they weren't like this and it was beginning to get a bit annoying.

I sighed as I pushed the door open, stepping inside only for the yelling match to become louder and more evident on what the reasoning for it all was.

"No!!" I heard her voice yell out from what I assumed to be the kitchen. "I'm sick and tired of you treating your daughter like she doesn't even exist while you're over here giving your son and that puta everything. It's not fair to me or her!" Serina screamed out which immediately made me even more livid. I wasn't in the mood for her or her antics today.

After the first time they had sex, Serina had gotten pregnant with Antonio's baby causing us to basically go through our pregnancy at the same time. She was the epitome of baby mama drama and if I didn't have a child with Antonio already, I wouldn't have wanted any parts.

Making my way to the kitchen, I cleared my throat to make myself known causing both Ant and Serina to snap their heads in my direction. She instantly scoffed and mumbled something under her breath before looking at Antonio expectantly. "Well? Don't act like you weren't about to disregard everything I was saying just to cater to her now that she's here. You know what? I'm over it Antonio. If you don't wanna be in your daughter's life, that's on you."

"Chill. No one said that I didn't wanna be in her life. I love Alianna with everything in me but you're expecting me to spend every waking moment with y'all when you know I have other responsibilities too." He responded in a calmer tone than they were using before, attempting to lighten the mood now that I was in their presence.

"Oh really?" She scoffed again as she placed a hand on her hip. "Responsibilities like what? Catering to this bitch right here?!" Serina threw her hand my way, gesturing towards me without even a glance in my direction.

And that was the last straw. "Yes, bitch, damn! You're mad because he's not paying you no attention. Newsflash sis, he never wanted your ass to begin with so get out of our house with the disrespectful shit and you!" I turned towards Antonio causing him to widen his eyes, not expecting things to be turned back on him. "How dare you continue to allow this broad to come in your house and disrespect your wife. Grow some fucking cajones you spineless fucking bastard."

They both looked shocked at how bad I was seething and honestly, I was a bit surprised at myself too since I rarely ever blew up like that but after the news I had just received, I was over being nice. "Now, I'm gonna ask you one more time to leave our home because I'm trying to have a conversation with my husband in peace."

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of the both of us." She responded as she folded her arms across her chest, only making me more angry by the second.

My attention averted from her back over to Antonio as I glared at him with an expectant look. "Antonio. Get her ass out of here because I'm really about to chew the both of y'all out."

"Man, you remember last time I tried to put her ass out. She was screaming and carrying on about how I was man handling her, threatening to call the cops. I don't need a scene like that right now, Bree."

I looked at him as if he had three heads. "I don't give a fuck what you don't want! I didn't wanna catch HPV from your lying, dirty, dog ass but here I am!" I screamed at him, unable to hold back any longer. In all honesty, I was hurt that he would do that to me and it was probably with the bitch standing in front of me in the first place.

"Oop." Serina immediately began to gather her things, trying to contain the laugh she was so evidently holding in. "Well, that's my cue." She brushed passed me with a teasing smirk as I glared at her the entire way out.

When I turned back to Antonio, I can tell he was speechless by my revelation but he didn't look an ounce bit surprised and that alone turned the rest of my hurt into pure anger. I waited until I heard the door shut before I decided to continue. "How could you do this to me, Ant? I mean, why marry me if all you're gonna do is fuck around? You're fucking dirty and you don't deserve me or your son."

"So, you're gonna try and take my son away from me because we're having problems?" He responded almost as if he had the right to be upset with me.

"No, YOU have the problem. I wasn't the one out sticking my dick in infected bitches and bringing that shit back home!" I yelled in his face, only growing more heated the more that I thought about the situation. This was something I would never be able to rid myself of.

Antonio smacked his lips in response. "Well, maybe if you were a better wife, I wouldn't be out getting my needs met by your friend, Cecilia, now would I?"

His words immediately halted me in my tracks as I stared at him with squinted eyes, trying to decipher whether or not he was serious about knowingly sleeping with my friend.

But the smug smirk on his face told it all.

And then I saw red. I was so tired of everything he had put me through. It was as if I blinked and a sharp kitchen knife had suddenly presented itself in my hand as I shoved the object in and out of his abdomen repeatedly, seemingly unable to stop myself.

Blood splattered all over my hands and lower half as his body soon became limp and fell to the ground with a loud thud. But I couldn't stop. I just kept stabbing him and stabbing him until I could feel my anger physically expel from my body simultaneously.

A natural high overcame my body but I immediately came down from it once I realized what I had done.

Xae

“Babe, you want something from the store?” Simone called up to me from downstairs as I heard a bit of rustling coming from down there, most likely Junior putting on his shoes and jacket.

Instead of yelling back down to her, I decided to get up and make my way down the stairs where, sure enough, Simone and Junior were getting ready to leave. Tiara was staying at home with me since it was a bit cold out and we didn't want to take her out too much unless it was needed.

As I neared Simone, my arms immediately snaked around her waist as I admired her natural beauty with hooded eyes. I wasn't going to lie, a nigga was slick in the mood but adulting consisted of having to wait for the perfect time to do those things. In other words, when the kids were asleep.

"Yea, you know those boxes of spicy Jamaican beef patties? I've been wanting some for a while." I pretended to think for a split second. "Oh, and lemme get a lil' bit of you too."

Her eyebrow raised as a small smirk began to form on her face and she closed the space between her body and mine. "A little bit of me, huh?"

One of her hands found themselves cupping my cheek before she leaned up, softly pressing her lips against mine. I didn't hesitate to return the favor as our lips moved in sync together, our tongues somehow adding themselves to the mix after a couple seconds of light pecks. Every time I kissed this woman was like the first time I kissed her; the day everything I knew turned out to be a lie. But she remained the same and there through it all.

"Mom. Dad. Please." We suddenly heard Junior sigh in annoyance causing us to break away with a light chuckle. When I looked down at him, he was looking back up at us while shaking his head in pure disgust.

"What? So you get to kiss your mama but I don't?" I teased, my arms still resting securely around her waist. "Not fair."

He shrugged slightly. "You can kiss her on the cheek like I do. All that is unnecessary."

Simone immediately bent down so that she was face to face with our son as she held her hand out for him to high five, which he did proudly. "Good use of that word, baby. You're so smart." The eight-year-old cheesed at his mother's compliment. A definite mama's boy to the tee.

A low snicker came from me as I also held my hand out for him to slap. "You'll understand when you're older why her cheek just isn't enough for me sometimes."

Simone gave me a playfully knowing look as she lightly hit my arm. She wasn't ready to give him 'the talk' about girls and things of that sort just yet. He was still young and we decided to wait until he at least hit his teens or preteens to even bring a subject like that up. As far as we knew, Junior still thought girls his age had cooties and Simone was content with that.

"Is that all you want?" She turned her attention back over to me causing me to nod in response. We still had pretty much a lot of food to eat in our kitchen now, we had just ran out of the basic necessities such as bread and milk so she didn't need to buy out the whole store. Plus, I wanted her to hurry up and come back home to me anyway. "Ok, I'll be back in a few. I love you."

We shared another light peck before I walked both her and Junior to the front door, swinging it open for them soon after. "I love y'all too. Be safe out there and make sure you text me when you make it there."

I wasn't going to lie and say that I wasn't still a bit paranoid from the events that happened all those years ago. A near death experience could do that to you but for me, it wasn't about being in control. I just wanted to know they made it safely to where they needed to go and if I didn't receive a text or call, I would know something was wrong right away. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I was ever too late to make it to any of them.

A light smile graced my face as I watched them get seated in the car for a couple of seconds before shutting the door behind me once I saw them pull off. Tiara was up in our room sleeping when I had first came downstairs so I decided to wait half an hour before I went up and checked on her again. That girl loved her sleep and waking her up out of it would be hell for anyone that tried.

I wasn't even able to reach the living room couch before hearing frantic knocking coming from my front door. Quickly rushing to answer, I swung the door open praying that Simone and Junior hadn't gotten into any trouble that fast but immediately froze instead.

My eyes traveled downwards then back up to her face in pure disbelief. I couldn't quite make out what I was looking at, but I could tell that it was nothing good at all. "What you doing here?" Was all that could manage to slip from my mouth. Not even a 'what happened' or 'are you ok' could form because there was something in me telling me that I didn't want to know the answers to those questions.

Bree immediately barged in, nearly shoving me to the side altogether as she began pacing the floor back and forth repeatedly. Almost every inch of her was covered in what seemed to be dried up blood and her eyes looked as if they hadn't stopped shedding tears in hours. There were a million questions I wanted to ask but didn't at the same time.

"Bree, what are you doing here?" I repeated myself, being sure not to step too close to her. My front door remained open behind me up until she rushed over to it and slammed it shut before sinking down to the floor, her head buried in her hands.

Tiara's loud cries instantly filled the house causing me to sigh, realizing the loud noise from the door closing most likely woke her up. Quickly rushing up the stairs to grab her from her crib, I made my way back down to see Bree still sitting in the same spot I left her. Only this time, she was rocking back and forth.

I rocked my daughter on my hip as she laid her head down on my shoulder, still a bit fussy from being woken up out of her sleep but more calm since she was now in my arms. Bree slowly looked up at the both of us, a bit surprised to see a baby on my hip I presumed.

She slowly made her way back up to her feet and eyed the both of us down quietly. I was beginning to feel a bit uneasy with her presence as a whole. It didn't feel right to have her in here, especially while Simone was gone.

"Is she yours?" She finally broke her silence. The pettiness in me wanted to say that she was the only person who would put a child on a man that wasn't the father, but I just nodded instead. Bree looked back over to Tiara with a small smile, looking almost as if she wanted to hold her and mother her herself.

But her smile instantly fell as the empty look she arrived here with soon took over once again. "I'm never gonna be able to see my son again now. And because of me he's gonna be put into the system." More tears began to pool from her eyes and I couldn't do anything but stare at her. Not an ounce in me wanted to comfort her in this moment; I just wanted to know why she showed up here.

"Wait, why wouldn't you be able to see your son again? Where is he? And where's Antonio—"

"He's dead!" She quickly cut me off at the mention of his name as her head sunk down until she was staring ahead at her feet. "...I did it—I killed him."

A hardy laugh immediately escaped my lips. Bree might have been a lot of things but a cold hearted killer wasn't one of them. I just couldn't bring myself to believe that the tiny girl in front of me actually had the gall to take someone else's life. Especially the father of her child.

But when she looked up at me without a hint of laughter in her expression, I knew she had to be serious. "Wait, you're for real?"

"Yes, Xae. Please, you have to help me!" She took a couple of steps closer to me but I instantly moved back, looking at her as if she needed to be checked into a mental hospital.

"Help you?" I mimicked her tone of voice unintentionally. "Bree, how the fuck am I supposed to help you? You killed someone! Then you're gonna have the audacity to bring this bullshit back to me and my family. No, I'm not helping you. And how dare you even ask me that in front of my daughter."

She sighed, attempting to hide the fact that she rolled her eyes but failing miserably. "It's not like she can understand what I'm saying. Please, Xae. I don't have anyone else."

"No!" I reiterated more sternly this time. "I'm not doing anything. Matter of fact, you ain't even come over here and tell me this shit. You need to leave now. I won't turn you in or nothing but you needa get far away from my house and never contact me again. You're gonna have to handle the decisions you made on your own."

The painful expression on her face only deepened as she nodded her head and began making her way back towards the direction she came. I could tell she was hurt by my bluntness but her problems didn't involve me anymore and neither did her drama. I was finally happy and I couldn't let something that had nothing to do with me mess that up.

She left without another word and thankfully she headed out when she did because not too long afterwards, Simone and Junior had pulled back up from the store. I wasn't sure how Simone would have reacted seeing Bree after four years of never hearing about her and I didn't want to know either.

But there was no way I was about to hide what just happened from her either so as soon as they stepped through the door, I told Junior to watch his sister and pulled her into our bedroom to explain everything from start to finish.

"So, she waited on me to leave before she came in here? Sneaky ass bitch." Simone shook her head, nothing but disdain for my ex on her face. I was still angry that she would actually try and get me involved with something like that.

There were times where she would hit me up over the years to see how I was doing and wish me well, but I knew for a fact that I had never made her feel comfortable enough to even think that she could come to me with something like that. And our history together didn't mean a damn thing to me in that moment; all that mattered was protecting my family.

"Well, I guess since we're revealing things, I have something to tell you too." She added, instantly causing one of my eyebrows to raise in confusion. My heartbeat began to quicken. I couldn't take any more bad news right about now. "I'm pregnant."

I only stared for a few seconds as my brain took a little while to process the information. "You? As in—" Stuttering over my words, my hand began to caress her stomach as she giggled and nodded yes.

Without another word, I wrapped my arms around her waist and swept her off of her feet as I dressed her face in multiple kisses all over. Her light laughs filled my ear as my kisses continued to rain down on her, the good news ultimately making me forget the reason I was even angry in the first place.

My wife was having another one of my children and there was nothing that could ever pull me away from that.

THE END

[raywritesthings]

The Canary’s Wrath

My Writng Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Jim Corrigan, Malcolm Merlyn, Thea Queen, Damien Darhk, John Diggle Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: When the Black Canary is killed before her time, she is offered the chance to ascend to a higher purpose. / AU Post-”Canary Cry”, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Deaths *Can be read on my AO3 and FFN, links are in bio*

They had told her she would be fine, yet Laurel had felt compelled, somehow, to make her deathbed confession anyway. It was important to her to clear the air at last with Oliver, to let the truth free. It might even help him to know that he was still worthy of love, capable of forgiveness.

She tried to hold on long enough for her father — the true target of tonight’s attack, and wasn’t that the bitterest part? — but it just wasn’t meant to be. There was so much more she could’ve done, should’ve done. A life cut short. It wasn’t fair. But it was too late, and she was slipping away.

Until she awoke again.

She recognized this place. The empty gym, the folding chairs in a circle. Laurel did what she did at any AA meeting and took a seat, wondering where everyone else was and what she was meant to be waiting for.

There was a noise to her left, and Laurel turned her head. Sitting in the chair beside hers was a man Laurel had never seen before. He had a dark beard and hair peppered heavily with gray, and there was something calming and ancient in his gaze. Foreboding, too, but she had looked into the eyes of dangerous men before and hadn’t flinched. She didn’t do so now.

“Who are you?”

“Who I was doesn’t matter,” the man said. “Who I am is what you should be concerned with, Dinah Laurel Lance.”

“You know who I am?” Laurel had to wonder what this really was. She didn’t recognize him from any part of her life. Was this some guide to the next stage or something?

“I do. You’re the Black Canary, a hero,” he told her. “In another life, I was a decorated police officer, a hero in my own right, but then I was called to a higher purpose.” He gestured around her. “Now that you have passed beyond the realm of living, you have the choice to answer that call.”

“To a higher purpose? To something other than just being dead?” Laurel didn’t want to just be dead, floating around on a cloud somewhere and watching events unfold with no way to help. Assuming that was what the afterlife was. Maybe it was nothing. An eternal sleep. She shuddered; enough of her life had been spent numbed to the world, sleepwalking through her own life because there had been nothing worth living for.

“You would pursue justice, even vengeance, against the guilty. You would be beyond their mortal powers, and you would have knowledge no mortal yet possesses about a coming Crisis unimaginable in scale and devastation,” he explained. “In another life, you might have stood against that Crisis as a hero with those you knew. Now, I believe to best prepare them, they must be able to trust the one who holds the power I currently possess.”

“How will I know what to do?” Laurel asked. It wasn’t a question of accepting; she was doing this. She was a bringer of justice, and vengeance suited the likes of the man who had tossed her life aside as a mere message just fine. Justice had failed to hold Darhk behind bars, so he would face worse at her hands before she could even think about resting in peace.

“The same way you know how to throw a punch or use a staff. I will train you in everything that I know. Then you will become the Spectre.”

“The Spectre,” Laurel echoed. It wasn’t a hero���s name, really. It sounded foreboding as she had thought before. But the darkness was already inside her, and with no life left to live, it was about time she embraced it.

Jim Corrigan, as she learned he had been called in his mortal life, was true to his word. He pushed her through the training of her life, literally. Every punch she had ever thrown in the ring, every gun she had fired, every defensive maneuver she had perfected was redone and relived. Then they went even beyond that.

“This Crisis looms, in part, because of reckless changes wrought on the fabric of time itself,” Jim explained. “There was another path that your life could have taken, that of the Black Canary until the end of a life well-lived. The Spectre cannot return that life to you, but I can transfer her strength to you.”

Laurel’s mind seemed to stretch and fill with new knowledge, new memories that had never happened. An early separation between her parents; running away from her alcoholic father’s home and traveling the world, learning everything there was to know about fighting to protect herself when no one else would; a Cry more powerful and dangerous bursting forth from her lips; those same lips locked in a kiss with the very same love of her life, who loved her back just as fiercely; the baby blue eyes of a son nestled in her arms; a growing family who held her up as Oliver drifted away with a smile on his face at 86; her own quiet passing a few years later.

It felt like the arrowhead was being driven into her again and twisted, this time in her heart. Laurel’s eyes welled up with tears — and wasn’t it just her luck that there were tears left to shed in Purgatory? — and the scream she had seen in the other life rattled the roof and the walls.

This had been stolen from her. She would have her vengeance on those who had done this, too.

It could have been months or years or eternity. There was no time in this place. She did not age and she did not weary. She forgot the feeling of sun or rain or wind. She felt little but cold emptiness, emptiness that could only be replaced by purpose and one that would soon be at hand.

She felt a pull on her very soul that echoed with a familiarity in her bones. Oliver, desperately reaching out, seeking aid from supernatural forces he only barely understood. He struggled to find the light in him, lost in his own darkness. She would take the darkness from him, channel it to do the things he could not.

It was time to return and seek retribution. The kind no one could run from.

---

Malcolm Merlyn felt satisfied that everything was finally coming together. After everything he had sacrificed and conceded, the fealty he had had to pledge after losing his own power and his very hand along with it, he would see the dawning of a new age.

Darhk’s plan was on a much larger scale than his own had once been, but that had made it all the more necessary to ensure that he and his own were deemed part of the select few. Thea would thank him for it one day once she realized what he had done for her; it hadn’t been easy to convince Damien to secret one of the very vigilantes he had been fighting the better part of the year into the inner sanctum that the dome represented. H.I.V.E.’s leader was retrieving Rubicon tonight, and after that it would be a short time until the missiles were launched and the surface of the Earth turned to little but ash.

Oliver and his team had lost. They didn’t realize how fully, yet, but he thought Oliver must know; must have known from the moment Laurel had breathed her last. Why else would he have allowed his sister a vacation, or gone on some fruitless trip to learn magic as if he expected to beat a master at it after a few hours’ practice? The group of heroes was directionless and still unaware of what was to come. It made perfect sense that Malcolm should have sided with Darhk. At least he and Thea would make it out of this alive.

Thea had arrived underground with the young man whose affections she was currently entertaining. He finished preparing the drug he would have to give her if she refused to cooperate, yet as he went to pick up the syringe to store it in a pouch on his belt, it rolled away from him. Malcolm frowned and reached again, and it rolled the other way.

He looked up. “Damien?”

There was no answer.

With honed reflexes, he plucked the syringe up from the table quick enough that it couldn’t move. Whatever had just happened, it was no match for him.

Then the syringe shattered in his hand.

“Ah!” Malcolm stumbled to the sink, washing tiny slivers of glass and trails of blood from his skin. He did not need damage to the one flesh and blood hand he had left. And how had it happened?

“You never really were sorry about drugging her the first time, were you?”

Malcolm gasped and whirled around. Standing in the kitchen was an impossibility.

“You… you can’t be here. You’re dead.”

“Death is exactly why I’m here,” said Laurel Lance. “The deaths you’ve caused have finally caught up with you, Malcolm. And your guilt is beyond doubt.”

His senses were screaming at him to fight or to flee. Whatever this was, it could not be Dinah Laurel Lance. He therefore felt not a shred of hesitation as he slipped a knife out of the block and flung it with precision — only for it to sail through her and embed itself in the wall behind.

“What,” he began, and swallowed around a mouth gone dry. “What is this? What are you?”

“I am the Spectre.” A black cloak suddenly folded down around her, a hood descending over her face, as her eyes glowed a bright green. Plates and mugs rattled in the cabinets, drawers pulled out and cutlery rose into the air. “My task is to punish the guilty whom the living cannot touch.”

The faucets turned on and began filling the basin as the plug went into the drain.

“Do you ever think about the men who drowned that night in the sea? Have you ever wondered how it might feel?”

“You can’t possibly expect to—” Malcolm made a run for it, around the kitchen island and through an archway into the sitting room. He could flee to any number of homes in this underground base, line low until Damien returned to expel the spirit of the woman Malcolm had watched him murder.

A great boom shook the house before he made it to the door, and Malcolm fell under the weight of part of the ceiling collapsing. Enough to pin him, but not crush him.

“There were many who died like this at your hand,” the Spectre told him, seeming to float around the ruin into his sight line. “Tell me, what made their lives worth less than your ambitions?”

“Laurel, stop this!” He begged. Another wall had collapsed and the weight was pressing down on him. He couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. Water covered the floor an inch deep and was rising. “I’m Thea’s father.”

“Yes, you are.” She raised an arm, and the wood and plaster and metal peeled back away from him. He drew in a shuddering breath.

Malcolm tensed as he felt three steps pulled from the quiver strapped to his back. Then he was flipped over, unable to move as those arrows rose into the arrow, then pointed down towards his chest.

“The murder she committed is your guilt, too.”

“Laurel!”

The arrows shot down with no bow to fire them. Malcolm felt a sharp, piercing pain as they punctured his chest and then was no more.

---

Thea didn’t know why or how this vacation had turned into a nightmare, but she wanted out now. Only problem with that was, there wasn’t a way out.

She pounded against whatever wall the fake sky was made of, not feeling it give even an inch. What even was this place?

A distant boom had her turning around. Something was going on, and if she could find out what maybe she would find a way out as well. Thea ran back into the quiet little suburb, searching for the source of the disturbance when a chilling scream stole her breath.

“Laurel!”

That had been Malcolm’s voice. He was here? And why had he said…?

Thea found a growing crowd gathering across the street from one of the cookie-cutter homes, only this one had seemingly collapsed in on itself. In the ruins lay her father’s broken body, a trail of blood leaking from his mouth. Thea was stunned speechless.

A cloaked figure stood over him, and as people whispered and murmured to each other in shock, the figure lifted their head to show off glowing green eyes and a frown on a face that Thea knew devastatingly well. She knew, too, why her father’s last word had been what it was. She gasped, but the woman who was somehow Laurel rose high into the air.

“Each of you agreed to join Damien Darhk deep below the Earth,” the figure said in Laurel’s voice, harsh and booming. “You believed yourselves to be the chosen few, the worthy. You turned your backs on humanity and wait for them to die.”

A rumbling started up. Panes of glass or whatever material the false sky was made of started to drop out of the ceiling one by one. People cried out, and parents hugged their children to them in terror.

“You will suffer the fate you left them to instead.”

“Wait!” Thea shouted, running out into the street to place herself apart from the crowd. If this went badly, she didn’t want anyone else caught in the crossfire. “Not everyone agreed to this.”

The cloaked woman paused, one arm lifted.

“I was taken down here without knowing what this place was. I’m still not sure what it has to do with Darhk’s plans,” Thea began. “And, and there’s children here. They didn’t get a choice, either. They’re minors, so they can’t consent,” she added, thinking of her lost friend and how she would have presented an argument such as this in a courtroom.

The woman — for it couldn’t truly be Laurel, not with everything she had done, considered this. Then hatch-like doors were flung open in the walls, revealing tunnels leading out and up from the dome. “Leave this place then, and never return.” And she vanished into thin air.

Thea stared up at the skies in vain, trying to spot her as the people in their gray uniforms began to flee. What had just happened? How could a being that powerful exist, and why did she have Laurel’s face? What had happened to her friend?

For now, all she could do was get to the surface and find the others. They needed to know about this apparition, whether it was friend or foe.

---

Oliver sped down the streets towards the open back doors of the truck Damien Darhk stood in. He had little hope of countering the man based on what Esrin Fortuna had told him about the darkness within him, but he could not allow further harm to come to his loved ones. If John lost Lyla the way he had lost Laurel… no one should ever feel that pain again.

It would be different for John, of course. At least Lyla knew how much her husband loved her. Oliver had let Laurel die believing herself not to be loved by him. He had lost the one person who continued to believe in him despite all he had done, and only when it had happened had he realized all the time he had wasted.

Darhk saw his approach and walked to the edge of the truck floor, arm raising — yet then he ducked as if dodging an attack. It happened a second time, and Darhk whirled from left to right.

“Show yourself! Enough with the games— ah!”

Oliver could not tell if it was gravity, the sharp movements on the edge of the truck or something else that knocked Darhk to the ground. The man went rolling, and Oliver turned his motorcycle to follow his path.

He cut the engine on the shoulder of the road, mere feet from Darhk who was only beginning to stand with his suit rumpled and torn. Oliver breathed in deeply, centering himself and searching within for the light as Esrin had explained. He thought of the team, of his family, of Laurel.

And it was Laurel’s voice that answered his seeking. “Damien Darhk.”

Before his eyes, a cloaked figure rippled into being just behind Darhk’s shoulder. The sorcerer spun and struck with a debilitating blow he would have learned in the League, yet it passed straight through, sending him sprawling back in the dirt. Standing there without Darhk obscuring her, Oliver could see the woman clearly, and his breath caught.

Laurel.

She turned away, towards Darhk who was again struggling back to his feet.

“You would set the world afire and begin it anew under your guidance. You are not a God, Damien, but a man who has incurred His Wrath.” There was something different to the timbre of her voice, not-quite her. A great power seemed to course through every word.

Darhk seemed to know it, too. “What are you?”

“I am the Spectre. I seek vengeance against the guilty.”

Darhk had gone, if possible, paler than he typically was. The name meant something to him. He caught sight of Oliver and raised his hand. Oliver felt his breath stutter in his chest for a single moment as he froze, but Laurel’s eyes shone with brilliant green light as she turned her head sharply in his direction.

Oliver’s breath returned, and he watched Damien sink to his knees, his hands going to his throat as his eyes bulged.

“Laurel,” Oliver said. She made no indication of hearing him, and seconds later Darhk fell on his side, a small chip slipping from his slackened grasp to land on the ground. The Spectre crushed it under her heel.

“Laurel,” Oliver pleaded this time. Whatever the Spectre meant or was, she could not have her form by accident. He had to believe there was something of the woman he had loved in her.

She turned on the spot towards him slowly, the cloak receding, and she was Laurel in jeans and a jacket and a loose-fitting shirt like he knew her best. Her eyebrows raised and her lips turned not quite to a smile. “Hi, Ollie.”

His lips pressed tight together, water stinging his eyes, and Oliver took two strides to reach her and pull her into his embrace. To his immense relief, he did not phase through Laurel’s body the way Darhk had. She felt real and solid in his arms.

“How- how is this possible?”

“After everything that’s happened in your life, are you really surprised by anything anymore?”

He pulled back, hands cupping her face. “I guess there’s not much that can keep a Lance down.” She watched him, her smile still small and not fully reaching her eyes. “Laurel, what… what is the Spectre?”

“It’s what I am now,” she answered simply. “A higher purpose I was called to after my death. I’m not really alive anymore, Ollie. Not in the way Sara is.”

He shook his head, thumbs brushing her cheeks. “Laurel, you’re — whatever this is, we can figure it out. The whole team. We’ve missed you so much. We need you.”

“But I can’t return,” she disputed. “Laurel Lance is dead, and if she was alive she would be a hunted vigilante.”

He let go of her, his stomach dropping. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t. You couldn’t know this would happen. None of this was ever meant to,” Laurel said, a faint glow in her eyes again. “In another time, the Green Arrow and Black Canary fought side by side for years, but the constant meddling with time changed things, stole the life I would have had. A life with you.” She lifted her own hand to his cheek for a moment, then let it fall. “If I can’t have that life, then I want to be more than I was in life.”

Oliver struggled past the lump that threatened to block off his voice. “Where will you go?”

“Wherever there’s injustice.”

That caused him to smile, a twist of the mouth that felt painful. “Dinah Laurel Lance, always trying to save the world.”

“I’m not the world’s savior anymore, Ollie. I’m its avenger. It will be up to you and the other heroes to save this Earth and the many besides it.”

He didn’t understand what she meant by that last part, but it didn’t matter to him in the moment. “You were my hero,” he told her fiercely. “You are. And I love you, Laurel, please, you have to know that. I love you so much I couldn’t stand it at times—”

“Oliver!”

“Ollie!”

His teammates came running from opposite directions. John with his helmet off and baby Sara handed to Lyla who waited some ways off, and Thea in a plaid coat. He stopped in his tracks and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

A flutter of something in the wind had him looking back at Laurel, who had donned the Spectre’s cloak again.

“Please don’t leave,” he whispered. “Your father, Sara…”

“I will come to them when they need me most. Just as you will see me again,” she promised.

He didn’t know how she expected him to survive this a second time. But Oliver reached beneath the hood and pushed it back, bringing her lips to his. If she had to leave, he would not let it be without her knowing the truth.

Laurel responded to his kiss, but already she had begun fading away. She slipped through his fingers and left his mouth tingling with the phantom touch of hers. When he opened his eyes, she was gone.

In the absence of her, he could hear the sirens and the boots of ARGUS soldiers as they hurried about their business, as if the woman Oliver had loved and lost had not appeared and vanished from his world all over again.

“That was… was that really her?” John asked in a trembling voice. “I don’t understand.”

Thea drew up to him and tucked herself in at his side. “Malcolm’s, um, dead.”

Oliver blinked. Then a snort left him. A tired, grateful, ache of a laugh followed, to the point where Thea was helping to support his weight.

“Yeah, John. That was her.”

Dinah Laurel Lance had wanted to be a police officer; she had been denied and became a lawyer. She had wanted to be his protege in the field; she had been denied and became a hero of her own. She had loved being the Black Canary; and when that had been taken away from her, she had found another way like all the times before. A way that had never been meant for her, but the way her life had been forged by forces beyond either of their control.

Those who rose up in this city or around the world like Darhk would wish they were under the mercy of the Black Canary. For none would be able to hide from the Spectre. Just as he would never deny the love he held for her ever again.

Though they couldn’t be together, Laurel would remain forever a part of his life and his heart, and he would hers until the very end.

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON IMPERIAL’S  MAIN RAP SON JIYONG...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 26 DEBUT AGE: 20 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 17 COMPANY: 99 SECONDARY SKILL: Lyric writing

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): N/A INSPIRATION: jiyong was inspired by the performances of idol-groups while he was still a songwriter for 99 entertainment. he realized he wanted to be on stage to entertain instead of working behind the scenes, and wished to be as accomplished as the talented artists who came before him.  SPECIAL TALENTS:

acrostic poems

freestyle rap 

impressions of some celebrities (style over tone)

NOTABLE FACTS:

jiyong’s older brother was a producer for a small company and introduced him to the idea of songwriting as a profession

he often carries a small notebook to write ideas in whether they’re general themes and concepts or lyrical phrases to later add to a song

since jiyong dislikes aegyo, his fans often buy him cute accessories during fan-meets to tease the idol

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

his thoughts on imperial are always exchanged between feelings of pride and disappointment. he’s aware that he is riding on the back of this boy-group to gain solo success, and he doesn’t truly attempt to mask it. short term, he wants — no, needs imperial to continue to grow into an icon that can’t be so easily ignored by 99. then, he needs to set his solo musical career into action.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

jiyong’s presence in the idol industry is decorated with shifting fault lines, yet, regardless, it doesn’t halt his efforts in founding a strong career upon it. whether or not it is with imperial or alone, his focus is on constructing a stronger presence in the industry, one that is admired and constantly rewarded for fulfilling it’s expanding potential. he’s got his eyes set on developing his future musically with more to release, but also to grow into a household name through variety shows and other notable appearances. jiyong doesn’t see limits; he thinks his are endless in a greedy and aggressive outlook.

IDOL IMAGE

ABSTRACTION.

he’s an eccentric paradigm.

jiyong is full of a youthful gleam, charming and saccharine but also wickedly sinful. it’s a dichotomy between two opposing characteristics that somehow suits his boyish image. the way hard-hitting raps spill from his mouth to the timings of his cheesy winks that arouse excitement from the crowd. 99 entertainment composes him in a way that’s unforgettable. they want him to shine enough to burn the mirage of his beaming, playful grins, and his half-lidded sultry stares into the minds of those who take a glance at imperial. just enough to keep them hooked onto the taste, yet never completely fulfilled by the portion; their affair with the rapper further evolving into a heated addiction. his image is one of a tease, someone who stands out in a way that brings the audience crawling back for more.

loud laughter and charming habits are part of this persona that helps him appeal to younger fans who see their high school crush in his mannerisms, but also the older adults reminiscing their passing youth. with his aggression stifled to appear as power instead; his obsessive drive conducted into the disposition of passion, he’s just a reckless romantic making love through the design of various lyrics and slanted stares. jiyong can just as easily be the mischievously, enticing performer as he can the boy-next-door. the pattern of inky designs sprawled on his skin serving as a suitable accessory to his bright smiles; something a little bolder to counteract all the sweetness. he could make anything seem okay.

people tend to gravitate towards him, feeling as though they know him. he gives away just enough information to build those gentle connections and just enough distance that his conversations follow the likeness of a person who is wholesome and genuine. jiyong is a quick-witted, enigmatic performer who never runs out of things to say.

he is a desire, previewing the rare hints of thrill with the flash of a pearly smile, curved like a cocky promise, bright with the hues of a faux cheekiness. he’s got an approachable expression, one that is attentive, full of comfort, yet he’s also dressed as a risk — a temptation to indulge. like a sigh, a soft ache. jiyong induces sensations of anticipation and yearning that never see their end. it’s like falling in love, or falling in sin — none can tell. all that remains is a blur of cascading moments; glimmering in hues of an effervescent youth, and devilishly frisky smirks. they only see the side leaning beyond the curtain, one that dares them to inquire further with the promise to be cherished.

IDOL HISTORY

INCEPTION.

the design of trust is raw and vulnerable. their father constructs it impeccably, unveiling the directions and avenues it unwinds into, displaying the safety and ease of restraining yourself from its reaches. he basks in an asylum of silence; physically near, yet thoughts and emotions cast off into the distance. convenience is the method he employs in raising his children. a laid-back stance — hardly present. his role is vacant and memories with him are scarce. even under the chill of seoul’s winters, they’re more occupied with themselves than they are with each other. life is about selfishness; taking what your greed desires, and their life flourishes under that insistent mantra.

they find their father in intervals; bits of hope and passion stitched together, smoking a cigarette in the suffocating space of his recording studio. it’s an obsessive hobby, truly. his business hasn’t been profitable for years, yet he remains bound to it, like a religion, bringing his children into its worship.

it’s where the essence of jiyong is forged; a fixation with words contrived. his formative development is guided by puffs of smoke, and a heavy, exhausted voice. a focus is spent on poetry, on lyrics, and on the weight of certain words: how to say more than enough with much too little. two children grow up attuned to the sense of music in its complex existence and lonely absence. it’s something they experience often, but never well enough.  

METAMORPHOSIS.

the world runs on ecstasy. it’s a drugged up organization that passes their days as seconds and he’s dragged by its pull, never able to find his footing or keep up with the pace. jiyong is seventeen, in his last year of formal education, and not worthy of the demand of mundane society. he’s got nowhere to go.

that’s meant to change, however. his brother is a producer working for a small company, and upon noticing the riches of potential in jiyong’s prisoning hobby, he suggests an idea that shifts the younger boy’s uncertain future into a ravaging interest. there’s a chance that jiyong’s affinity for lyrics and poetry can land him a job in the field they know too well. it’d be a prosperous chance to indulge the full expanse of his musical ambitions — thought it can hardly be called that. for him, it’s an evolving obsession, a habit too hard to quit. it’s all he genuinely understands and acknowledges; drowning between the arrangement and beauty of words. phrases chase jiyong in the dark, they cling to his mind until he’s a puppet of their sinister reign, forced to fulfill their ultimatum. his grades can’t compete, so they don’t.

his search ends when a company responds to his application at last. 99 entertainment greets him with security, and then it begins. his youth is malformed, direction disjointed, but they can fix that. they can guide the rush of words that litter his pages and plague his mind. they turn shrapnel of ideas and mold them into solid concepts. jiyong slowly discovers his footing as a proper songwriter there, yet the words he writes next taste bitter.

they don’t feel like him, and it’s been hard to tell that for a while. perhaps it’s because he was never meant to turn his hobby into a profession or perhaps it’s because of the new environment that demands socializing skills. he’s always known isolation. for him, solidarity comes with no risks. working alone is the only way to ensure the mistakes made are exclusively his, but there are other plans 99 has devised which he can’t foresee yet.

he wonders what more he can be, and those curiosities are answered with a startling opportunity; a tempting consequence stemmed from his rap recordings of several guide tracks. it seems as if his company has always held different plans than jiyong had intended, because, after only three months, he’s encouraged to join a line-up of competitive, experienced trainees, thirsting for a chance he hadn’t originally fathomed. there’s a rising tide on the horizon. jiyong has always worked to better elevate his career, and with his agreement of their decision, imperial appears somewhere along the swell of that wave as a glimmering chance for his greedy heart to chase.

COMPLEX.

there’s resentment. he feels it creeping along his spine when he is introduced as another trainee the rest must beat. it digs inwards, sitting in his lungs; an inherent phantom swallowing the air he attempts to breathe. jiyong isn’t accustomed to the company of scrutiny or the stare of spectators picking him apart for the skills in which he lacks. in their eyes, he was unfairly picked with ease while they were vetted through auditions and harsh evaluations. jiyong is the unworthy contender and it makes his blood boil in a manner he hasn’t expressed before. a sort of annoyed rage that only motivates him to work harder to genuinely become the threat they’ve assumed of him. intense hatred is an aggressive manner that seeps into his persona and it doesn’t let go.

there’s anxiety. he feels it in every step as his muscles are molded into the rhythm of dance, his voice ringing until sore and identity falling apart by its threadbare edges. jiyong isn’t a fan of surprises, and the survival show comes as one that is terrifying and daunting in style. the fact that the already ruthless competition will only grow harder has him drowning in a turmoil of nervousness. he’s uncertain in knowing if he desires this, but then again, he doesn’t understand passion like others, only dismissing doubts and uncertainties as hindrances attempting to weaken his resolve. as long as jiyong knows what he wants, passion and yearning are not an issue. he will take what he believes is his, another step upwards in his obsessive progress towards success and a fulfilling career.

by the time the results are announced and the final decisions made, the nineteen-year-old is an exhausted carcass that practices for things he doesn’t honestly desire. he’s technically won, but he doesn’t feel like a winner with his identity shaped into a youth born of sarcasm and a hungry appetite for competition. the demands of management and the expectations of the public build him into developing tendencies he’s unfamiliar with, but it’s part of the transition. investing bits and pieces of originality, sacrificing time and habits, all for the hope of a greater return and a rewarding reception. not all of it is manufactured or catered for a false presentation, but it’s fake enough to have his teeth grit and his gaze slant.

he trains as the final installment to a boy-group; the unanticipated intruder; a thief that robbed others of their chance. in the archaic judgment of a man, he’d be one becoming; boy made machination, boy torn up into a prophetic villain. theirs to own, theirs to control, but jiyong is too insane to succumb to their discrimination. their loss isn’t of his concern. however, the public differs largely from the trainees who’d exchanged bitter verdicts behind his back. they say it to his face, and he can’t conceal himself into the background. the idol definition printed him physically before an audience, and not just metaphorically as he’d intended. jiyong may not be of others to possess and command, but he is also not his own. that fact begins to gnaw on him. the lack of control, the weight of unity and collective burden of individual mistakes — all wear him down faster than the criticisms.

there’s a mass that is dragged by idols; a lie of perfection to be repeatedly told for the sake of consistency. he doesn’t understand the need to be so loyal to it, but they’re all hostage to the group and lifestyle regardless, no escape once they’ve been born to the world for its entertainment.

APOTHEOSIS.

when his brother passes in a car accident, late into the following year, the worst is brought forth in jiyong. self-destruction becomes his clingiest companion, and while he’s been its prized subject for years, it grows tenfold until he’s a vacant vessel with only misery as cargo. jiyong barely knew him, he realizes. he was someone who spoke too much, yet his words never crossed the distance between them to reach jiyong. he wasn’t as good with them as their father. he was more similar to their mother instead, saying too much in attempts to compensate the trembling discordance in the air, filling it with more insecurity than draining it of the crippling tension hanging in the walls of their paper home.

jiyong tortures himself with the details of the death. he’s always been a subject of obsession, so he drowns in this too, forging guilt where there should exist none, clinging to a stick of sadness that rests heavy in his lungs. it’s no surprise that among his other habits, he falls into rhythm with melancholia as well. for a brief moment, he feels regret in his choices.

glancing over, he spots his mother. she looks to be near destroyed by the weight of loss. it’s unfair. she was always unhappy. taking on the role of a parent who only loved work and made up for her absence with too many incoherent and drunken stories. normalcy was a curse for someone like her. the darkness haunting their home both ruining yet sustaining the desperate creature nestled within the confines of her skin. she wanted to be something, he knew that, but her mind was poisoned by the same amber hues she drank into midnight. her body only occupied with scars of a world that meant to maul her. he used to catch glimpses of her sometimes. there was dialogue whenever she looked over, a gleam of rare interest, but jiyong doesn’t remember it. that was too long ago.

when a sob trembles from her lips jiyong holds onto her. he does so tightly, fingers gripping her arms, trying to cling onto something, but she’s as lost as he is, and he doesn’t find anything secure to grasp onto.

jiyong feels directionless. the man that lead him here is no more, and the future that’d once seemed vast, despite its various flaws, now hangs uncertain once again with the departure of a member. nothing makes much sense and he retreats further inwards, choosing what’s convenient, liberating himself from the expenses of trust by binding himself to shackles of isolation and committing to nothing but his sole interests. he insists on carrying his burdens and sorrow alone, confined to the walls of work as he tears into melodies, adding more to his schedule. the routine stings, but in a manner that hurts just right, reminding him of his intentions and keeping his head inches above a river of defeat.

HAMARTIA.

selfishness is what keeps people alive. jiyong reminds himself that as he paves a future solely for himself. he’s still filled to the brim with feelings of melancholy and hints of guilt. they never leave. it seems that everything he comes into contact with has a way of sticking around, including the delusional fans that worship his name and the same three faces littering the dorm. as time passes and the routine of their dazzling life dulls into a mundane chore, he relies on his drive to keep him awake throughout their idol reign, planning out one goal after the next to conquer. it’s tyrannical how he works, never sated, never fulfilled, sights always settled on something more; greedy and obsessive, his tragic flaws fuelling his future successes.

jiyong’s only been getting smarter, wielding his act in a manner to impress, in an attempt to get closer to attaining the things he wants. a charming and clean public presence makes him a reputable celebrity to host certain shows. his background in songwriting and his skill in rap are great in assisting his focus for a solo. he’s resourceful, aware of what connections to keep and which to discard.

for him, an empty mind is a devil’s cavern so jiyong fills his thoughts with tasks to fulfill, never allowing himself to indulge in a break. it’s too risky that way. he can’t focus on unraveling what he doesn’t understand about himself when it’s a nuisance to his progress. his personality is distorted between what is and isn’t authentic, it can’t be pinpointed which parts of him are genuine and which were constructed for him years ago. the dilemma of a blurring dichotomy is what could boil under the surface of his gleaming smile if he gave into that confusion, but jiyong resists. he isn’t bothered to discover those facts. maybe he’s never known who he is, maybe it’s something he’s yet to find out or something he lost long ago. however, upholding his charming facade is what’s currently convenient, so he folds into it and continues to proceed, whether it’s with imperial or not.

he’s only twenty-four, but his ending was destined long before. he’ll end up the same as he was when it all started; buried in a potter’s field with all his pennies spent.

[nadiineross]

Chlodine with kids!!!!!! Maybe Nadine’s little siblings I can imagine her having a huge family. Or Chloe having a secret son or daughter from her more wild days and Nadine not finding out for like years and being like !!!

imma do nadines family bc my thoughts on chlodine + kids are Complicated and also someone else wrote a fic abt chloe w/ a secret kid im waiting on an update !!! lots of e•mo•tions

this got rly long

Chloe Frazer is, without a doubt, an only child. Nadine had never assumed anything else and would’ve been very surprised if she learned otherwise, but as it stands, this is not the case. 

Nadine, on the other hand, has four siblings. She’s the oldest, having the responsibility of inheriting Shoreline and bearing the brunt of her father’s expectations. He wasn’t a bad father, all things considered. Sure, he had his faults like everyone does, but he never neglected her nor did he seek to pressure Nadine into a future with Shoreline. That was all on her and, upon realizing this, he had only tried to push her into it further, to support her. 

In the end, it didn’t really pan out, huh? 

No one in her family blamed her for the loss of Shoreline. In fact, they had all tried to pitch in when Nadine had truly hit rock bottom and did their best to make her feel better. The incessant phone calls and hugging, she accepted. Their money? She did not.

Now, two years after the fact, she finds that she’s much happier, lighter, in her new career path and her family seems to agree.

“Nadine!” her brother, Junior, hollers the moment she steps through the door. “You look great!”

He’s the second child, only two years younger than her at 30, and the one she is the closest to because of it.

She barely manages a greeting before she’s engulfed in a tight bear hug. Quickly, another weight is wrapped around her back and one of her legs is ensnared by a pair of smaller arms. Like moths to a light, her family.

The compulsory family reunion in their old family home in South Africa is something Nadine secretly looks forward to, though she would never say that aloud, lest she wants to be razzed to death by her siblings.

After Junior comes Mia, who turned 29 only last week (Nadine had flowers delivered and mailed her a beautiful bracelet she’d found snooping through old Greek ruins), and finally Grace, 24.

As it turns out, it’s Grace that barreled into her first. Behind her, her mother fusses with her hair and around her leg is Junior’s 6-year-old son, Blessing.

“Ma,” Nadine croaks out around a mouthful of Grace’s hair. “Leave me alone, I’m going to the barber next week.”

Her mother does not leave her alone. “You don’t call for three weeks and this is the first thing you say to me?”

Grace lets go, snickering at Nadine’s apprehension. Nadine glares.

After Junior and Mia get their turns hugging her, she ducks away from her mother’s grabbing, muttering a quick “love you!”, and scoops Blessing up into her arms. He instantly shrieks with glee, trying to claw up her arms and settle on her shoulders.

Junior’s wife, Vivienne, a plump Filipina with enough wit to beat Grace in an argument, presses a brief kiss to Nadine’s cheek as she passes by.

“Don’t mess with Auntie’s hair, boy,” she says, sternly. “Grandma will make you do the dishes.”

Blessing giggles, clearly unaware of what’s going on. Nadine rolls her eyes. “All right, all right. Where’s Rose?”

“She’s at a friend’s birthday party. It’s a sleepover. Apparently turning 10 is a really, really big deal.”

“2 months until you have to throw that party for her,” Nadine says with a laugh.

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

It’s then that Mia cuts in, only pausing to poke Blessing on the nose, and stands directly in front of Nadine just to annoy her. “Viv, I need pregnancy advice. Is it normal having to pee this much? I hate it. This is why I didn’t drink enough water when I was in high school.”

Well, that’s her cue. She elbows Mia sharply in the back before hurrying into the kitchen where her mother and Junior are to avoid retaliation.

They’re preparing to set the table, so she makes to hand Blessing off to Junior except he does an impressive job of wrapping himself around her back like a sloth on a branch. Junior bellows out a laugh.

“He likes you more than me.”

Nadine pulls a face. “Ma likes you more than me, so it evens out.”

Nadine’s mother thwacks her over the head. “I don’t play favourites.” Grace whisks by, picking up the plates as she does. Her mother follows after her with the rest of the plates. “Never mind, Grace is my favourite.”

Junior makes an indignant sound from the back of his throat.

“Can—Can you take a picture?” Nadine asks, gently removing Blessing’s entire hand from her face. “I’d like to show my— Chloe.”

“Sure,” Junior says, raising an eyebrow. “Your Chloe?”

“Shut up,” she huffs.

Blessing chooses this exact moment to sling himself over her shoulder, making her yelp and grab onto his arms to steady him. He laughs, waving his fists in the air like he has won something.

Chloe will love that picture.

“Eish, what are you feeding him?”

Junior tucks his phone away and grins a boyish grin. “Love.” Nadine wrinkles her nose. “Viv learned how to make some kind of pasta and he’s obsessed with it. We have leftovers still in our fridge.”

He stops disjointedly, in a way that makes it clear he expects a reaction from Nadine.

She frowns. “Okay?”

“Where’s Chloe?”

“Australia, with her mum. She flies in on Sunday.”

Junior hums and pushes a salt shaker with a single finger, looking too nonchalant to actually be nonchalant. “You and Chloe are welcome to come over for pasta, if you want and if you’re still around next weekend.”

Nadine, jaded from years of being the oldest sibling, is instantly wary, narrowing her eyes at him. “What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch.”

“Liar.”

Junior huffs, plucking Blessing out of her arms and setting him onto the island. “Seriously. No catch.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, cautiously, “We’ll come over for dinner next Friday?”

“Great! Show up at 6:00.” He claps his hands together. “Reheat the pasta and have a glass of wine, on me. Rose needs help with math homework and Blessing likes to watch Kim Possible, we have DVDs. Bedtimes at 8:30; Blessing usually passes out earlier. We’ll be back midnight at the latest.”

“You said there was no catch!”

“Does spending time with your beloved niece and nephew really count as a ‘catch’?” he asks, snooty, with air quotes to top it all off.

Nadine sighs. “Yes, but we’ll be there.”

She loves family reunions, really. Especially the fact that it’s only compulsory once a year, barring Hanukkah.

Chloe has met her siblings and her mother before. Not during the family reunion due to unfortunate timing, but on separate occasions over the year and a half they’ve been working together. She has never met Rose or Blessing.

Junior and Viv like her enough to have a group chat with her (one that Nadine has tried to join, but had been ruthlessly denied entry by her partner after a sharp cackle), so she’s not surprised that the first thing Chloe says to her after catapulting herself into Nadine’s arms at the airport is: “Heard I’m a babysitter. Try not to crush on me, china.”

Nadine had laughed into her neck at that, made a quip about how she smelled like an aeroplane.

Now, they’re on Junior’s porch, seeing the happy couple off on their date night.

“What are your intentions with Viv?” Chloe jokes, nudging Junior with a conspiratorial wink. Viv snorts.

“Curfew’s eleven,” Nadine calls after them.

“They grow up so fast.”

“Ja.” Nadine smiles then, leaning against the door so Chloe can pass through first. “Ready?”

“To eat good food, drink, and watch 2 kids for a couple of hours? Not that hard, is it?”

Nadine bends to take off her shoes, about to reply with something smart, but Blessing comes pounding down the hallway, blowing right past Chloe and taking an impressive leap onto Nadine’s back. He snakes his arms around her neck and wiggles his legs until she stands.

Nadine gives Chloe a look.

“All right, maybe I misjudged.” Chloe leans closer in, curious, face startlingly close to Nadine’s. “Hey, I’m Chloe. You’re Blessing, right?”

Blessing squints, puckers his lips, then gives one decisive nod, chin digging into Nadine’s shoulder. “This is Auntie.”

Chloe’s face dissolves into an endeared beam. “I know her!”

Nadine tries very hard not to flush out of pure adoration. She’s not sure if it works because Chloe doesn’t mention it.

“Where’s your sister, B?”

“Here,” Rose says, skidding down the hallway in her socks. “Who’re you?”

Chloe holds out a hand which Rose takes and shakes enthusiastically. “Chloe. I work with your Auntie.”

When she turns, Nadine furrows her eyebrows, hands tightening imperceptibly under Blessing’s legs. She tilts her head when Nadine brushes by, suddenly feeling bereft.

Before Nadine can disappear into a room, Chloe stops her with a hand on her stomach.

“Don’t tell, but I think she has a crush on me,” Chloe stage whispers to Rose. “I told her not to.”

Rose’s eyes grow wider. “Do you like her back?”

Chloe stands then, smiling at Nadine brilliantly. “I do.”

This time, Nadine’s certain she’s blushing and judging by how Chloe’s started to leer at her, she must look redder than usual.

Before Rose can ask any more questions, Nadine hikes Blessing higher up and moves towards the end of the hallway.

“C’mon, Rose. Let’s watch some TV while Chloe heats dinner up,” she says, jerking her head towards the kitchen door for Chloe. “Your dad said you need help with math?”

Rose lets out a very loud and long groan at that.

After Nadine is directed to the collection of Kim Possible DVDs and sets it up, she sends Rose off to grab her homework. Then, she pries Blessing away from his Barbies and props him against one hip.

Chloe’s humming a tune and opening random drawers when Nadine finds her in the kitchen. She’s got an apron hanging from her neck, even though she’s literally just popping something into the microwave and opening a bottle.

Blessing reaches for the counter, so she sets him down. “Chloe, I’m hungry!”

Chloe spins and catches Nadine’s eye briefly. “Yes, yes,” she says, “give me a minute, love. Impatience runs in the family, I guess.”

Nadine chuckles, crossing the distance and tugging the loose ends of the apron. “You’re one to talk.”

“Oh, hush.” She leans back a little, into Nadine’s warmth.

She turns after a beat, corners of her mouth tipped up, and catches Nadine’s mouth in a kiss. It’s nice, for about two seconds, then Blessing starts drawing out an “eww” and smacking his palms on the table.

Chloe pulls away, eyes still half-lidded. “I was gonna say they were adorable, but…”

Nadine huffs a laugh and narrows her eyes at Blessing. “What are you complaining about?”

“Rose does that when mama kisses daddy,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Hm,” she says, “keep doing that, champ.”

Chloe barks out a laugh, lightly slapping Nadine’s arm. Nadine grabs her wrists, kissing her chastely before pulling away completely.

“The forks are behind you.”

“Thanks,” Chloe says, not moving and hauling her back in. Nadine looks unimpressed.

Blessing groans again.

“What does the apron say, soldier?” KISS THE COOK. That’s probably Junior’s. She grimaces at it with great disdain. “So?”

In response, Nadine untangles herself from Chloe and places Blessing into his usual spot at her hip.

“Ah, figures.”

Rose is waiting in the living room when they all return, pasta in hand; one bowl each for the kids and a big plate for Chloe and Nadine to share. Fewer dishes to do this way. Plus, Nadine only has one hand to spare, the other keeping Blessing from wriggling onto the floor.

After setting the bowls down, Chloe presses play on the first episode and puts the volume lower so Rose can concentrate.

Poised over the couch, Nadine cranes her neck to watch Blessing tuck his face into her back, holding on stubbornly.

”Off! Off, off, off.” After a moment, he grabs tighter onto her shoulders. “No?”

Blessing shakes his head. “No.”

“You asked for it.” She grabs onto his legs for safety and starts to hop in place—once, twice, three times. Blessing squeals in her ear. On the fourth time, she drops into a squat, so that his legs are on the couch and scrapes him off her back. “Time for dinner, B.”

He pouts, eyes wide. “Aw, boo.” It takes her a hot second to resist that. Atrocious.

She pushes the lime green bowl and matching plastic fork into his hands. “If you want to grow taller than your sister, you gotta eat up.”

When she looks over to Chloe, she’s on the floor next to Rose with her homework out on the coffee table some ways away from the couch. She’s watching Nadine, jaw cupped in her palm, with a soft look.

Nadine, self-conscious, looks away and scoots closer to Rose’s other side. “What?”

“Nothing,” Chloe says after a beat, bending closer to look at Rose’s paper. Almost immediately after, she touches Rose’s hand before she can write something down and quietly points out her mistake.

They get through two episodes in relative peace before Blessing decides that he’s done with his dinner and bonks the bottom of the bowl lightly on Nadine’s head. Chloe stifles a laugh at Nadine’s exaggerated outrage.

She takes the bowl from Blessing, towering over him as he giggles madly into a pillow.

“This is my shield,” he declares.

Nadine crosses her arms. “That’s not fair. I don’t have a sword.”

“Victory!”

Chloe doesn’t try hiding her delight this time.

It’s only another Kim Possible episode later that Blessing calms down enough to sit still on the couch. Nadine scrapes his leftovers onto their shared plate.

Rose has picked her entire bowl clean and has been sipping at a glass of milk Chloe had gotten for her when Nadine had been busy entertaining Blessing. When Nadine offers her a second serving, she just shakes her head, brows furrowed at the question on her paper.

Finally, she turns her attention to Chloe who is, funnily enough, engrossed with the Kim Possible episode playing.

She jerks her head up when Nadine places her hand on her back, startled.

“Go eat on the couch, I’ll watch Rose.” She promptly shoves the plate into Chloe’s hands and plops down onto the ground, leaving no room for argument.

“Last one,” Rose says, tapping her pencil on the table.

Nadine leans over her arm to look at the paper. “Do you need any help?”

“Nope,” she replies, popping the p. She scribbles something down, then crosses it out. “Auntie?”

“Ja?”

“I think Chloe likes you,” she whispers, glancing back at Chloe who’s using Blessing’s head as an armrest while he squirms under her, mouth open in his best attempt at a roar.

Nadine tries not to smile, turning back to Rose. She fails. “You mean like-like?”

Rose puts her pencil down and scowls at her. “I’m not 8. I can say love.”

“You’re 9.”

Rose scoffs, pointedly going back to her homework.

Nadine feels nervous all of a sudden, and bizarrely, embarrassed. She’s 32, Chloe 35, and they have yet to say the L-word. Not that she can presume to know how Chloe feels, but she knows how she feels.

They’ve been officially together just over a year now. The months before it, they had spent sleeping with each other sporadically when they met up for a job. Back then, Nadine knew how she felt too. Her feelings hadn’t been quite as deep as they were now — maybe fondness. She felt that whatever they had, if they both allowed it, would last and for a very long time.

A year, they’ve lasted so far. She knows all the little things now. Chloe’s morning routine, her weird figures of speech, which side she sleeps on. She knows the important things and the unimportant things that Nadine cherishes equally to the former.

They have lasted and strengthened, taking Nadine’s feelings lightyears past simple fondness. She wonders sometimes, considering the trajectory, if she can find the words to describe it if her feelings stretched past love. For now, that word will do.

She loves Chloe, this she has known for months. Chloe certainly likes her in a way that extends past the shallow.

She drags a hand down her forehead. It’s one thing to think it, another to confront it head-on, but Nadine Ross has never been a coward. Cautious, yes, but not cowardly.

She puts her chin on the table, watching the top of Rose’s pencil wave in the air as she writes.

“I like Chloe too,” Nadine says, voice low because if Chloe overheard, she would never hear the end of it.

Rose finishes what she’s written with a flourish, then copies Nadine, putting her chin on the table. “Only like?”

“More than,” Nadine replies, pausing to gather her courage. Then, scandalously: “Love.”

“Ooh, Auntie,” Rose teases, mocking, in a whiny tone that you’d expect from a pre-teen boy sneering “cooties!”

“I thought you were mature,” says Nadine, reaching out to poke Rose’s cheek.

Rose turns her nose up. “I’m only 9.”

Nadine laughs. Rose is so obviously Junior and Viv’s child, she can’t help the sudden urge to hug her.

She gets away with swinging Rose into the air and carrying her over her shoulder, running twice around the room as she laughs and lets Nadine do this without complaint. Afterwards, they collapse onto the couch where Chloe’s got Blessing in her lap, the both of them watching the screen intently.

Rose gets comfortable, settled between Chloe and Nadine, while Nadine tries to sneak pictures of them all together.

She gets away with two before Chloe cuts away from Ron Stoppable in his tree house and looks directly at the camera. She gives Nadine a winning grin, tightening her arms around Blessing’s middle.

By 8:30, Blessing’s dozing off on Chloe’s sternum, snoring lightly. Similarly, Rose is nodding off against Nadine’s arm.

Sharing a look, they both get up, carrying a Ross in their arms. Nadine shushes Rose when she jolts awake, instinctively rocking on the balls of her feet in an attempt to get Rose to fall back asleep.

They go up the stairs to another hallway, Nadine leading Chloe to a door that has the letter R painted on it in baby blue. She sets Rose down in her bed, pulling the blanket over her shoulders and turning the A/C off in case it gets colder at night.

“The night light,” Chloe whispers. Nadine flips it on before ushering Chloe out, towards the door with B painted in mauve.

Chloe does the motions: tucking Blessing in, checking the A/C, and finding the night light.

Nadine leans against the doorframe, waiting for her to finish with the curtains. It’s weird, seeing Chloe like this. Not in a bad way, no. Nadine finds that she can watch Chloe do this for hours, fascinated.

There’s a warmth blossoming in her chest, the kind she feels when she’s come home for the first time in a while for Hanukkah and her family is gathered around the room, closer together because it’s cold outside.

Nadine is not entirely sure what she’s supposed to do with this.

In the end, Chloe finishes up and interrupts her introspection, shooing her away so she can close the door. As is natural by now, Chloe grabs her hand and gives it a pull towards the stairs. Nadine grips back before she can drop her hand away.

They don’t speak until they’re back in the living room, Kim Possible still playing on low volume. They won’t leave until Junior and Viv get back, in case the kids wake up again.

Out of nowhere, Chloe makes a thoughtful noise after easing onto the couch with a sigh.

Nadine examines her face, eyebrows hiking up when Chloe’s eyes flick to meet hers and discovers that they are arrestingly determined.

She uses her free hand to pull Nadine in for a languid kiss. It’s fairly innocent for them, so Nadine’s unsurprised when Chloe settles back into the couch after they part, focused on the TV.

“Liefie,” she says, waiting for Chloe to look over. “I think I like the babysitter.”

Chloe chuckles, pressing into Nadine’s side. “That’s convenient. I think I like the babysitter, too.”

It’s quiet then. Nadine’s content like this.

They get through three and a half episodes of Kim Possible before Chloe makes a really undignified noise at something that happens on screen and Nadine has to hide a laugh behind a cough. Chloe catches it and scowls at her.

“Hey now, Ross, that wasn’t—”

“Calm down, I won’t tell anyone that you’re a die hard Kim Possible fan.”

Chloe harrumphs, sprawling onto Nadine more so that she’s half on top of her.

Nadine winds her arm around Chloe’s waist and turns so her nose brushes Chloe’s cheek.

“Liefie,” she says again.

“Mhm,” Chloe replies distractedly.

“I love you.”

Chloe stiffens, and in quick succession, relaxes, tenses, and relaxes again.

She turns her head, swaying back so she can see Nadine’s face properly. Then, she smiles, eyes wrinkled at the corners and all, and says, “I love you too.”

Nadine can’t help but kiss her. This one is longer, more earnest.

And Chloe pulls away, sucking in a breath. “We should pick this up when we go back to the apartment.”

“Self-control? For once?” Nadine says against her jaw.

“I want to watch my favourite show: Kim Possible,” Chloe replies, voice light with mirth. “You’re just here for the commercial breaks.”

“It’s a DVD.”

Chloe blindly pats her face, mhms absentmindedly, and accepts a kiss to her cheek.

Nadine loves her for it.

[thesickbcy]

💛

💛- A memory that makes them feel angry

“What… what did you just say?”

Fae’s standing in the office of none other than the Reverend himself, face busted up and knuckles raw. He just got back from the job that was supposed to set in stone the hierarchy of his future. He spent months hunting down this high-end target, spent the past hour finally beating him to death for being stupid enough to show his face in a club, and now the Reverend has the audacity to call him up for a meeting and tell him…

It was staged?

“The fuck do you mean it was staged?”

The Reverend sits deep in the large office chair behind his large office desk in his large business office far, far away from his large church. Hands crossed, fingers knit together - he looks just about as holy as he does behind the podium, although this time it’s not his sheep he’s preaching to. Sharp shoulders (softened only slightly by the fancy drapes over his cassock) seem relaxed despite the aggression sent his way. Aesther has no intention of giving in, either: he’s used to Fae’s sharp tongue and mean attitude. It’s how he survives out there on the streets, dealing with lost souls and stray sheep. Nasty business, that. Not that the king pin would know exactly, but he was somewhere similar once (and never would be again). He understands.

“I needed to make sure you’d do anything I asked you too, no matter how long it took or how bloody it got.” Aesther’s voice is unrelenting, even when calm and gentle. “As my heir, you’re going to have to deal with things you won’t want to do, but you’ll have to do. No matter what your opinion on me or my orders are, you have to do as I say. You’ll also be leading a sophistocated group of smart individuals who won’t throw their loyalty to just anyone. I needed to make sure you’d be willing to go the extra mile for me and our men. To see if you could gain their trust enough to make this work out. And, as usual, you did not disappoint, Kairos.”

“Didn’t I already prove that with the, what, hundred or so years I’ve already served?”

“Well, let’s just say now it’s officially on record. It only took you a year to get everyone’s trust, yet you’ve been spending the years prior doing… whatever it was you do. Jumping off buildings, flipping my cops the bird, acting like a child. You’re not just a kid anymore though, are you? Now you’re an adult - one who can finally pull his own weight in this family. It’s about time.”

The smug look on his superior’s face is enough to get Fae’s blood boiling. He clenches his fists tight, angry that this man had the audacity to once more lead him on and string him out like some kind of cat, but the pain in his split magic causes his fingers to relax. Of course he would. Of course it was fake. The Reverend just needed more reason to make a fool of him, as if waiting until his dying breath to force a deal wasn’t humiliating enough.

For once, Fae has no words.

“Congratulations, my boy! You’ve successfully proven yourself capable of growing a pair and running a business like mine. You’ve led my men through a year-long stake out and not lost a single soldier. This is even better than I could have imagined. You’re really quite the leader, Fae, whether or not you think you are.”

There’s no paper making it official, no celebration or ceremony to congratulate him on straining his mind and resources to the brink. Just him, the guards at each of the doors behind and to the right of Fae, and the Reverend. Fae has half a mind to throw himself out of the windows behind his father just to stick it to him, but there’s no point. He’s finally worked himself hard enough to get the recognition he deserved. He’s not going to waste it.

But there’s something in Aesther’s eyes that tells him there’s something on his mind he has yet to say. What, does he want Fae to call him on it? The Reverend pulls out a bag of dust and a pipe from his desk and takes his time lighting it, focused momentarily on the glass in front of him before inhaling deep. The smell from the smoke’s rich and pungent; that must’ve been the purest Dust Fae had ever seen. He didn’t even know it came that pure, especially given the way magic sparked and glittered as the powder in the pipe burned. God damn.

“There’ll be a more official ceremony later. You’ll get your just desserts then. The whole flock will attend just to pay their respects. Should be quite a good haul; several of our boys would give their right leg if we asked for it. Feel free to ask for anything you want. Daughters, sons, dust, life savings. They’ll do anything for you now, or they’ll die. That’s how it’ll be from here on.”

But that wasn’t what Aesther was thinking, was it? God, Fae hated this stupid game he played. Make your son ask you directly, just to see him on his knees. Make him beg like the rest of your dogs since it’s sooo funny seeing him get his designer jeans dirty. Fucking unbelievable. Fae crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the ground before deciding to finally speak up. (It never got easier talking strong to his father, even if he was supposed to be family).

“What is it.”

“Hmm?”

There lapses a silence between them before he tries again.

“I know that look. There’s somethin’ else on your mind. What is it?”

A mumbled exhale is all the response he gets for a moment. The air’s so thick he could cut it if he pulled his knife out. The guards remained completely stoic, as if they were statues glued to the wall. Fae can’t see their thoughts on their faces, or read their bodies for any emotion. It’s completely eerie how good they are at remaining composed no matter what. At least the Reverend knew how to train them well. Must be real trusted to be in this office, hearing everything that went on. Including what the bishop was about to say, given how he adjusted in his big office throne.

“You remember the day we met a second time, Fae? The day your mother died.”

Fae’s quiet at this. His voice is low, cold, as if he’s trying not to let emotions flood his already aching body, “clearly.”

“Then you should remember the men who came after your family, right?”

“Absolutely.”

Oh, he did not like that smile on the bishop’s face. A terrified knot coiled within Fae’s stomach, turning his magic cold. Where was this going… no where good, that’s for sure.

“And yet here we all are, with you completely unfazed by standing in the presence of your parents’ murderers.” An exhale of glittering smoke left the bony lips of the boss as he grinned wider, needle-like teeth bore in absolute delight. “I’m surprised, Fae. Normally you’d kill people who threatened the ones you love in a heartbeat… but you’ve been working for them for a full-on century now.”

The news falls on closed ears at first. Fae’s too busy trying not to heave out of dread while his brain processes the meaning behind everything his so-called father just said. He’d say it came in waves, but it didn’t. The fury wasn’t cold like the ocean, but instead a meat freezer. He could feel it on his bones the second he walked into the Reverend’s office. It’s finally to the point where he’s shaking where he stands, eye lights completely black and knuckles bleeding fresh due to scabs popping open at the tight grip he holds. His head’s lowered, eyes locked on the man sitting before him until the guards nearby remove their sunglasses and expose their faces.

The same faces printed on the back of his skull the day he was supposed to die.

“W h a t   d i d   y o u   s a y.”

Aesther laughs, which forces Fae to suck in a breath.  “There’s the temper I’ve been waiting for! There it is! That’s what I expected the very first day I brought you up to this office. Yet here we are, years later, only just sharing the good news with each other.”

“Oldest trick in the Fae book, my boy. If there’s a deal you just can’t pass up… you make it happen any way you can. And you… you held such potential, such magical prowess that I haven’t seen since I first showed up on this ugly dead planet. See, I simply had to have you down here with me, as one of my own, since you’re the only likely candidate to become an Original when my time here is up. But your mom…

“See, your mom? Was wise beyond her years. She was one of the only mortals I knew who outsmarted every Fallen she encountered, just like her mother, and her grandmother, and so on so forth. Her entire family went up in flames around her, yet there she stood, tall and proud, with her husband and her three kids who-. Well, two, since one was stolen from her by us, too. Regardless, there she was… and there you were. A byproduct of centuries of wise women who could outsmart the Fae and even cheat death. A witch more powerful than any I’ve ever seen.

“And guess who inherited all of that magical byproduct? Of course… witches are smart to our tricks. So I had to act accordingly… to keep you on my radar before she could pass on the secret knowledge she possessed that would eventually make you immune to even an Elder Fae’s charms.“

Aesther leans forward onto his desk, giving Fae a small frown beneath laughing eyes, “you really should’ve burned that seeing eye stone you took when you had the chance, huh?”

There’s a phantom throbbing in Fae’s right eye. It’s the place where, at the beginning of this mission, Aesther had carved the paisley and floral patterns right into his skull. He told Fae it was just precautions, that he, as the Reverend’s son, needed a Mark to show the rest of the flock he was high ranking. Then came the Eye… a surgical proceedure also performed by Aesther himself. Something about cursing his eye, combining their magic so that he could pop up any time Fae needed him. But now Fae realizes the truth behind the Mark and the Eye.

They’re tracking devices. They let the Reverend see what he sees, know where he goes, they Mark him so that everyone in the entire underground and the entire surface knows who he is…

No.

Who he belongs to.

He had not only made a deal with the most powerful Fae in the underground thinking it was the only thing that could save his younger brother, but he had just about sold his soul to him as well. He had given literally everything to Aesther and he had no idea. Fae thought he had the upper hand, had the Original under his thumb by making him merge SOULs with Papyrus in order to save him. In reality, it was Fae who was the fool.

His mother was right. She’d be so disgusted with him if she knew… And to think, she would have taught him how to truly outsmart the Fae… if he had just. 

Just.

“Fuck. YOU. YOU FUCKING MONSTER! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU AND YOUR WHOLE FUCKING UNDERGROUND, I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU-”

“Put him in the cell. He’ll be unreasonable when he wakes, so he’ll stay there until he can learn to behave like a proper son again.”

Arms grab the younger Fallen before he can leap over the desk and grab the fixation of his ire. He’s screaming, spitting, thrashing, doing as much as he can to get all these pent-up emotions out of his system. The Reverend Bishop is ever calm as he watches his protege curse his name, smiling and inhaling a deep hit of Dust before exhaling that sweet rich smoke through his needle-sharp teeth. All it takes is a gesture of his holy hand to get a Guard to hit the butt of their weapon into the back of Fae’s skull, ‘curing’ him of that unholy rage of his enough to drag him off with ease.

He tries not to remember the rest of what happened. The cell remains one of his most unpleasant memories, right after this one.

[13ceremonialskrp]

                              STEP LIGHTLY, CHILDREN OF THE MOON

THE COVEN WELCOMES THE MIDNIGHT CEREMONIAL, KANA TAKEDA, A 27 YEAR OLD SCRYING WITCH

idiosyncrasy

+ authoritative, trustworthy, assertive

- dismissive, overbearing, presumptuous

proficiency

strength : she is gifted with a particularly strong penchant for finding things and people across great or short distances, through her mirrors and crystal balls– it’s how she’s come to find many of her coven members and how she manages to show up to places whenever she’s needed, or whenever is most unexpected.

strength : she has a way about her, something born of her spirit and the magic that has infused into every flake of skin, every flutter of eyelashes, every lilt of every syllable that cascades from her ruby-stained lips; there is an atmosphere that clings to her, a vibrating intoxication, the very gravity she wields as a weapon, hovering around her like an aura. it’s nearly tangible, threatening when she needs it to be, calming when others need it to be, a haunting presence she carries with her in each taken step.

ineptitude

weakness : divining the future has always been more difficult for this witch, the oncoming storm of events oftentimes becoming muddled or fuzzy in her crystals and reflective surfaces, and the harder she attempts to look into them, the more strenuous and painful it becomes. plenty of mirrors and crystals have broken or shattered under the weight of her pressure, her gravity begging to be given a glimpse of a future that plays coy with her.

weakness : she still filters her abilities through a netting of rage and coercion, still presses too hard to get what she wants from her powers, still fights with herself and her mirrors to wrestle the information she desires, and oftentimes it backfires on her in explosive, cutting ways. if a broken mirror costs you seven years bad luck, then kana takeda walks through her shattered hallways with millions of years left on her debt.

sanctions

penalty : most sideshow tricks kana employs don’t take much out of her, but heavier magics and spells require pieces of her soul not many would be willing to sacrifice; every time she gives herself to the magic, her powers breathing life and control over her, she loses a sliver of emotion, fades another step into apathetic despair, into a kind of death. she has died before and each new movement is simply another bill needing paid– eventually she will fade to the grey world altogether and be entirely lost.

penalty : her nights are forever plagued by nightmares, irregardless of how much or how little she sleeps, no matter what soothing tonic she swallows, no matter what spell she put herself under. dreaming will always and forever be a hassle for her, a curse marked upon the back of her neck by the dying fingers of her old coven’s high hand– the one she watched die in a heap of mud and grass.

memoirs

tw: suicide attempt

7. she stands on the cliffs with the winds at her back, the air tugging and pulling at her clothes like a begging lover, the uncharacteristically frayed robe and nightgown whipping at her body tightly, loud and wailing, the roar filling her ears despite the silence that infects her. the storm above her is some comfort at least, knowing that the sometimes the sky cries as well, knowing that sometimes the weight of water becomes too much even for mother nature, until eventually the dam cracks and rain must fall, tears must fall.

kana has been weeping for weeks straight now, the sorrow sinking in marrow-deep until it is all she knows, until it’s all she’s sure she’ll ever know; her hands empty, her life empty, the grey of the world whirling and surrounding her, a poison. it hadn’t taken long after the absence of their son for her husband to lock himself into his study and only come out on an ambulance stretcher, pills filling his gut, freezer-burn covering his eyes, his fingers, the stench of death wafting off him like a curse. she closes watery eyes and listens to the ringing of her eardrums, listens to the pounding of her heart howling against her rib cage, listens to the tides beat themselves against the shoreline, rising up to meet the challenge of the moon, hidden behind thunder. rising up to meet the challenge of her own personal gravity, her own personal hell, hidden behind exhaustion.

when she exhales and falls from the rocks, her shoeless, coatless form cascading downwards into the drink like a teardrop, the cold winds kissing her limbs, wishing her farewell, she prays to the triune goddess, prays for death, prays for the crashing sounds of the sea to swallow her down, down, down, and the crashing sounds of mirrors breaking to crush her, deep, deep, deep. prays for just one more chance to see her son again.

and receives none of it.

1. the mirror glistens cold in the midnight air and finally, finally, this she knows for certain: she is all storm and howling, she is all thunder and power, nothing delicate framed in the cut of her young cheekbones, in the dark of her eyes, in the way her reflection glares back into her like an abyss she no longer fears. her hair a maelstrom havoc from nightmares spent in drenches of sweat and stress, her nightgown torn askew, her soul torn asunder, a stain of red in her wake in the way all women burn scarlet at this particular age, and she decides white is no longer her color, no longer the bliss and innocence she will hide behind, no longer the shade of ribbons her nanny is allowed to tie into her long, black locks.

barely eleven years old, the witchling steps across the shards of the mirror her newly-awakened powers have shattered across her bedroom floor, and in the pieces strewn about, she glimpses her future, she watches her past, she opens the doors to ruin and inevitability, penning the course of her life without truly meaning to. divination shines through her chest and she likens it to a birth, begins screaming, begins breaking, the stars high above her shuddering in reverberating echoes and instinctively she knows: this is the last night of her childhood. from now on, she will adopt the vague apathy of her mother, the grey distance of her father, the frozen poison of her grandmother, and come next morning, she’ll learn why.

she’s sure it’ll have something to do with seven years bad luck.

2. strong magic floods through her veins, a direct lineage to the ancient sorcerers of old, back when the world was half shadow, half spirit, back when human and dragon could be fused into one, and kana believes she is a dragon, believes she is half shadow, believes this is the only explanation as to why she burns deep within herself, why she enjoys selfish magic so much more than anything ivory. she grows in her abilities as she grows in age, surrounding herself with blackened tales, banned guides, abolished spells, memorizing what she can, lavishing in what she wants, her family’s wealth and prestige affording her access to whatever her heart may desire. she’s the singular daughter of one of japan’s forefront fashion and design brands, her parents inheriting a luxurious empire from her grandmother upon the old hag’s death, kana raised amidst these stages and diamonds, limousines and velvet carpets, her appearance and technical prowess in the business granting her plenty of attention herself.

3. she’d assumed, wrongly of course, that somehow her accomplishments in both the fine arts of music and poetry, as well as the physical exertions of martial arts and combat training, would prove her independence enough as a woman capable of ruling alone, capable of reaching through the clouds and swallowing the stars themselves, capable of breaking the earth’s crust in the gravity of her heels, but not to her mother. nothing is ever enough for her mother. at eighteen years old, kana is given in an arranged marriage to a man eleven years her senior, the heir to an even bigger technological conglomerate, a man forever scented in cigar smoke and ink, a man with tired eyes and small burn scars on his knuckles.

she asks him one night across the stretch of silk sheets, the dimmed glow hovering around their bodies, where he’d gotten the scars, and he tells her that he used to own a pair of tiny dragons who’d scorch him all the time when he fed them. just like her. she snorts and looks away, but it’s the first moment she doesn’t outright despise him.

5. she glows with promise in the heart of her coven, a star in her own right, a sun on the horizon of life, her mother-priestess and the high hand naming her the maiden archetype, granting her the possibility of tutelage, of eventually becoming a priestess herself. she impresses them with her hold over her own abilities, her potency, her knowledge, her skill, the way she masters the basic practices, the way she convinces the world that she is a hurricane made flesh, a dragon brought home in the center of her chest. she harnesses her craft through anger and clenched teeth, through red lipstick and curled knuckles, through the half-shadow she drags by its ankles, the curses she breathes and the fire she bleeds, and she can almost feel everything she’s ever wanted in her grasp, all the power a sharded young girl could ever need, could ever have been wrong about in the pieces of shattered reflections across her bedroom floor. she’d never had any reason to be so worried– it would all be fine.

mirror mirror on the wall….

6. it is exactly the equinox of the spell, the midway point when she realizes she has been tricked, she has been fooled, she has made the gravest error of her life– or more specifically, she has failed in her trick of the others, the pin-needles all shifting suddenly towards her, the sharpened sting of betrayal and white-hot understanding flooding through her, icing her blood in a way entirely foreign to her. she’s been young before, been inexperienced before, been wandering and stretching and hungry before, but fear? fear is a monster heavy on her lungs in this moment, claws and jaws digging in and robbing her of breath, of sight, of atmosphere. fear is her reaction to being out of control, and in these two very separate thousand-year-moments, two beats that will forever define her and deform her from now on, she has never been more out of control.

the first moment is given to when they take the only thing she’s ever loved before away from her; the young toddler’s face seeping down into the immutability of stone, forever silenced and choked away from her, life shifting to earth; his tiny, reaching hands, his wide, teary eyes, everything melting down too quickly into permanent solidification, just before she can touch him.

the second is given to when she disappears into the maelstrom of hatred and boiling, tumultuous fury, when she lets her restraint finally, finally become swallowed up by the flames of her internal wraith; the darkness howling up from the unfathomable ocean of her soul, the likes of which had never been seen by her coven before. and would never be seen by them again, not after she’s grinded their bones into the earth they love so damn much.

betrayal tastes bitter, but not as bitter as the dirt and dust she crushes all the bones in their bodies into– all twelve of them writhing and gasping in simultaneous horror.

4. when she bears a child, a boy, her firstborn, she comes to the belief that he is the truest form of the sun incarnate, the belief that he is all light and all laughter, tiny hands and toes and eyelashes even longer than hers, and he’s the first boy she’s ever loved quite so much in her entire life. she was raised from one nanny to the next, but she’ll be damned if she lets anyone else so much as touch him for any extended period of time, insisting on raising him herself, insisting on hoarding all his first giggles and first steps and first words, dazzling him with the magic she becomes more and more involved with.

he is every golden memory, every reason to fall in love with life itself, every belief in the cosmos she’d never truly had before. he’s perfect and she occasionally has a difficult time believe he could have come from her.

8. when the men are finally able to revive her, rouse her from her drenched, unconscious state, she sputters awake like the lifting of a curse from her skin, coughing and hacking up mouthfuls of salt water, wheezing air into her lungs as though they’ve never felt so free before, as though she’s never felt so released before, her arms and fingers reaching and grasping onto anything sturdy enough to hold her. she is as wet as a fish, having been mistaken for a mermaid by a fishing crew and hauled up on deck in an effort to save her life, dressed in almost nothing, floating adrift in the middle of the sea currents that separate two countries from each other. she blinks at the faces of the men surrounding her limp, shivering frame, the sky as grey as she remembers it, and before one of them can manage to fetch her a towel or a blanket, she asks what’s happened.

“we found you in the water. you stopped breathing, we thought you were dead.” the man, presumably the captain, bellows in korean– which is all kana needs to know about where she is and where she’s heading.

“are we near a port?” she asks in perfect korean, having been trained in up to five different languages, beaten into her skillset until perfection.

“busan.”

busan. that’s it then. the veil of the world is drawn back for her in that instant, clarity finally descending upon her like a beam of light, a calling she cannot and must not ignore or refuse. the goddesses have seen fit to spare her life for a purpose and she knows what she must do, what she owes not just simply to them but also to the world at large– blood for blood. she has a debt now, a payment she must make in life for what she’s taken from it, for the havoc she’s wreaked, for the evil she’s lathered across her palms, spread over her flesh like ointment. the goddesses won’t allow her peace until she’s fulfilled her role, until she’s given back in the amount that she’s taken. balance.

busan.

[glitterandrocketfuel]

Okay, so I got tagged by @1833outboy​ for the ten most recent “first lines” thingy. So here goes. Not all of these are posted and some probably won’t ever see the light of day, but this is for funsies. Also, I don’t really do first lines so much as first beats. So you get a lot more than just a sentence. And I think everyone else has already been tagged, but if you haven’t, consider yourself tagged!

1. Captain Joe Trohman of the Fall Out Boy did not care for Loose Ends.

2. Patrick sits across from where Pete is securely fastened to a St. Andrews Cross. He's wearing the red suit so it must be Saturday. When open doors are open-ended and so are chest cavities. 

3. Rule number one in Fall Out Boy media is to Never expect Pete Wentz to pass up a chance to take the stupid answer for the lulz. But only slightly less well-known in the lexicon of “Things to Never Ever Under Any Circumstances Do” is Never assume Patrick Stump will not have his revenge when that answer involves him. 

4. Patrick knew it was a mistake to ever trust Pete Fucking Wentz when Halloween was involved. Or anything at all, really. Pete had been on this “perfect pumpkin” kick for over a week, and they were driving through October days having to listen to Pete throw out quotes from “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” for six days too long, in Patrick’s (correct) opinion. 

5. Patrick’s wrists are slick in the ropes, sweat stinging the abrasions he’s torn into his skin with the way he twists, arms stretched high above him. You wanted this, a small voice in his head hisses, while the other thing he wants–more than anything else in the world right now–remains tantalizingly out of reach by mere inches. 

6. Fall Out Boy's hiatus had been a good thing for all of them. The four of them got their chances to grow up, to spread their individual wings as musicians and as people, and to come back together with a little less drama and a lot less ego between them. But sometimes, Joe still felt underrated.

7. Patrick Stump has never been truly comfortable in his skin. Then again, is anyone? Pete crawls out of his skin and into his head on a regular basis, and that's a harrowing journey every goddamn time. Andy hides his fair ginger skin under ink and mythical creatures and a point so fixed in time, space, and morality that his moral compass could put an atomic clock to shame. Joe can go up in smoke or turn in on himself so deeply that he slides between molecules of obsession and compulsion, bouncing around like a free electron until someone dives in and pulls his head out of his ass. And Patrick? He's got troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match.

8. It's in the unguarded meditation of "canoodling" (no, not that kind, for that wound is still fresh and raw) that he brushes up against the heartwood of the blues, that liminal space where music exists in its own pocket universe in mythic form, where its narrative gravity exerts influence on the reality of the space found there--Patrick finds himself in that pocket-universe and thinking of his father, of all people. His father, who is a folk musician, who spoke about that place only in the oblique, edging around it with his fellow musicians but never his son the musician, but Patrick was never a stupid kid when it came to music.

9. With maturity comes self-awareness, and one of the most self-aware things Pete discovered in the Time Apart was that he was more than just an empty shell, throwing the world's reflection back on itself in distortion. His external actions brought external reactions, but carried an entirely different set of internal consequences. Part of that realization came from doing exactly as he'd been warned--and had warned others against doing--Googling himself too deeply. He fell down a rabbit hole of carefully-edited perspectives and distorted reflections of surreal illusion that were part of his own design...and found the truth.

10. Pete was twenty-one when he first spied, out of the corner of his eye, just off the stage of the Arma Angelus show, the slits in reality where the machinery showed through. High as a kite off performance adrenaline and his own fucked-up brain chemistry, he thought they were illusions, that he hallucinated the sub-aural ticking of springs and grinding of gears thanks to adrenaline, medication, and the atmospheric haze of whatever the audience was passing from hand to hand and pit to pit. He climbed an amp, ready to jump when the loose flap of the universe fluttered free just behind the drum kit and a little above it and for a frozen moment, the roar of the crowd, the beat of the drums, the scream of the guitar faded to white noise while a voice in his ear rang loud and so clear it could only have come from inside his head. "Would you give you for this?"

[relicta-amans]

Three days.

Three days and you get used to the nakedness. You get used to the exhaustion, the hunger, the cold. You learn not to trust the patter of the feet on the floor, as it may be the guards coming to fulfill the promises they made to you that first night.

The bracelet on my wrist meant nothing to them. It meant nothing that the son of the Council’s oldest member had the matching one.

No, once branded a whore that means you are of use to any man. Or at least talked about as such. I am not even cattle to these Warriors. My father treated his pigs better than I have been.

The only thing—the only thing—keeping you alive, is him. The faith that he will come back for you, take you in his arms and shield you from the gaze of the men gawking and the bitter cold of the stone cell. I knew, I was absolutely certain, that Sergius would return for me. He all but cried it out as they took me away.

The Warriors would have mocked me with it were he to have been imprisoned too.

But their whispers had gone deadly silent, as you can hear the key turn in the lock on your cell door. Three days is the holy doctrine, yet you still curl into a ball as if they intend to beat you or rape you. They have threatened it a thousand times by now. Perhaps it was to keep you compliant during the worst of the hunger pains and lifeless dread.

They touch nothing but your arms, your wings recoiling and straightening against your back, as if willing to fight them for you. The Warriors’ hands are warmer than your skin, and they do not mock you or even acknowledge you beyond slowly pulling you along.

I only realized why it was when they led me outside. The crowd had formed in the square. Every Angel who could be there must have been. There had not been a Condemnation in at least fifty years. There were students there I recognized, but none of them friendly faces.

The only face you would be looking for anyway was not there.

It was on the stage.

Sergius did not even look my way. His father... His father glared daggers at me, with his hands outstretched as if receiving me from the Warriors.

The Warriors do not come onto the stage, they simply hand your arm to Sergius, as if you were a bride on your wedding day. This was never how you dreamt of being given to the man you loved.

I searched his face for understanding as he pulled me to him. His hands trembled as he, so much more gently than any other, held me in place. It was almost an embrace before he turned my exposed body to the crowd and pressed me by the shoulders onto my knees. I was all but praying that something was missing. That I was somehow wrong. It was the holy day. They would not condemn someone on the day of rest, would they?

But then he spoke.

“Liviana Corvinus, you—” His voice broke as he must have looked at his father, who only nodded once before going to set the flames where I would be burning. “You stand accused of sexual immorality, including sexual extortion of an Elder Angel, solicitation of a sexual act, and public sexual indecency.” I could only see how badly his hands shook as I heard a sob ripped from his chest behind me. The fire crackled as it began to consume and grow.

It was going to happen.

And Sergius, the man I loved—the only man I had ever touched—would be the one to condemn me, potentially damn me, or kill me.

But Sergius could barely speak anymore. His emotions taking over completely, I could swear I saw the sky open as if Purgatory were already opening up.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” His voice was barely there.

I was in such shock that I could not even shake my head. I had not even met Sergius’ eyes. The man who for more than two years had told me I was his greatest blessing and convinced me not only to marry him but to let him lay with me... He was about to do the unthinkable to me.

His father stepped in front of me and shouted, “Do you have anything to say for yourself?!”

Only then did I begin to cry. What could I say? He convinced me it was love? I only wanted to share a bed with my future husband? I would not have been surprised if they held my arm over the flame to burn the bracelet off too.

I should have said a prayer. I should have spoken to his father, to God, to all the other Angels. But as my wings pressed to my body as tightly as they could, I turned to look up at Sergius.

“Please do not do this to me...”

It was barely a whisper. But my eyes finally met his, and the look of complete agony that stared back at me forced the tears from my eyes. I choked on the sobs that were taking over my breaths and sunk in place as I awaited my fate.

I did not see them bring out the sacrificial axe.

The mass prayer began once it was brought out and the blade heated in the fire. I knew all of the words myself, as did every Angel in the crowd. Half the crowd was entirely silent, as they must have been human or something else entirely.

I felt a great pull on my left wing. It was enough to make me yelp, but not enough to show the coloring.

Not until the first swing.

But Sergius did not cut my wing. He had missed, and had taken a large portion of flesh out of my upper back. I howled in pain as my wings revealed the dark blue and gold feathers that even Sergius had only seen once before. Half the crowd, the humans I assumed, gasped loudly at them. This would be the only time they would ever see Angel wings outside of soft shimmers, I hoped at least.

The axe swung again, without even being burned again. I wanted to beg him to not, to give me the simple mercy of heating the tool once again, so that I would not feel the pain so greatly. But he swung, and this time it did catch my wing, but the tearing of flesh and bone was so much more painful than the first cut that I fell to my hands, pulling the trapped axe as Sergius tried desperately to remove it. It resulted in more broken bone as my wing began to fold over onto itself unnaturally, causing another shriek to come from me. The wing had not been removed, just broken. I found myself wishing I was dead instead of this.

“No more! Burn the axe! Burn me alive if need be! Please! Oh, God help me! Please!”

I couldn’t help but scream, cry out, beg. This man had loved me, had he not? Why was it not at least as painless as it could be?!

His sobs became frantic as he could not control himself any longer. But he must have handed his father the axe, because it was a moment before the blade touched me again.

And when it did, it was barely better. A different kind of pain sealed the blood that had dripped from the uncauterized wound he had previously inflicted. The wing fell to the ground behind me and I cried out wordlessly upon realizing what I had lost, and the cold Autumn wind touching what was freshly exposed. I had only begun mourning then.

He handed the axe back to his father between swings now, but I felt as though reality were breaking in front of both of us. I could hardly breathe anymore.

It took four more cuts to take the second off, as if Sergius were trading depth and speed for accuracy. It was supposed to be quick, but this felt like it was ages and ages long. I could not scream when I was struck anymore. My body was taking everything in me to not collapse then and there. If he threw me to Purgatory while I was unconscious, I would never survive the Fall.

When it was done, Sergius spun me around to reveal the burning of my wings in the fire. I had no more tears to cry but the image sealed itself in my brain for good. He was on his knees now, as if it were his own wings that had been stripped from his body. I could barely feel the heat of his hands so close to mine that we could have been touching, but it was there. In any other moment, it would have been comforting. Instead, it was violating.

He looked at me with some combination of disgust, pity, and pain. But I no longer felt his suffering, only my own.

“Push me, Sergius. Let me die. If you ever loved me, let me die.”

And reality was lost to me as the blackness of Purgatory surrounded me.

[megamanx1994]

Steven Universe: The Gem Awakens Chapter 6

Chapter 6: The fight to end all fights (Disclaimer! I own nothing of Steven Universe or SVTFOE!) Akbar looked at Steven, Connie and Priyanka. “Get them,” he said. His forces chased them throughout the base. “We will finish this,” he said. Steven fought them back while protecting the others. “This is all my fault,” said Steven, “If I had actd quick enough…..” “Don’t blame yourself,” said Connie, “He sacrificed himself to save us!” “But I could’ve saved him!” said Steven, “I’m so useless….” “Steven Universe, you are not useless,” said Connie, “Not to me!” “Doug would’ve sacrificed himself for all of us,” said Priyanka. One of them fused gems caught Steven. It was a copy of Connie. “Help!!!” he said. Connie got out her sword. “Get your hands off my Steven!!” she shouted as she sliced her in half. “Your Steven?” she asked. She started attacking her and she dodged. More gems appeared. “Take them!” she said. “They keep coming,” said Steven. Pearl, Garnet and Amethyst jumped down and saved them. “You mess with them, you answer to us!” said Amethyst. “Steven, we need to get you out of here now!” said Pearl, “Let’s go.” She dragged Steven away but he refused. “No,” said Steven. “Excuse me?” she asked. “I said no,” said Steven, “I’m done sitting here and doing nothing.” “You are doing something,” said Pearl, “Something that involves you running from danger.” “I don’t care if its dangerous, I know I can do this!” said Steven. Star and Marco were facing off against Tom. “Give it up Tom, you know you can’t win this!” said Star. She shot a magic attack and he dodged and kicked her in the face. “Get away from her!” said Marco shooting a fireball. “Steven, you will do as I say,” said Pearl, “Or you will be in very big trouble.” “I said no!” said Steven, “I’m staying to help the others!” “You’re not ready, and you probably won’t be for a long time to handle this!” said Pearl, “You think you can do these things but you just CAN’T STEVEN!” “YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!!!” shouted Steven, “All you know is how to make me miss out on all the important missions, and you hide me from these things thinking I can’t do them!” “That’s because you can’t!” said Pearl, “Now let’s go right….” “No!” said Steven resisting, “This is MY choice! Not yours, not the gems, and not dad’s! MINE!” “Steven Universe, I….” said Pearl. “PEARL!!!!” snapped Garnet. Everyone even Steven was shocked. “You can’t make Steven’s decisions for him all the time, and neither can I,” said Garnet, “We don’t know what Steven is capable of, and only he does.” “But he’s just a….” said Pearl. “No he is not, he is growing up to be a brave gem, although he is 14,” said Garnet. “14?” asked Priyanka, “Well, age is but a number.” “Mom,” said Connie embarrassed. “Its time for us to stop shielding Steven from his responsibilities, and to start believing in Steven,” said Garnet, “I believe.” “I believe,” said Amethyst. “I believe,” said Connie hugging him. “I believe,” said Priyanka, “And your father would have too.” Pearl realized Garnet was right. “I….. I believe,” said Pearl. “Mom, I need you to run,” said Connie, “I’ll be back soon.” “Just be careful,” said Priyanka. “That’s a rule,” she said, “Steven, its time to fuse.” Marco was still fighting Tom. “I will have Star again,” said Tom, “Even if I have to go through you!” “Not gonna happen,” said Marco. Star charged at Tom and he dodged and kicked her. “That’s no way to treat a lady!” said Star, “Hot Sauce Bubble Blast!” Tom avoided the bubbles. “Looks like I’m too hot for you,” said Tom. He then kicked Star and she fell. “That does it!” said Marco, “No one hurts my Star!” He charged up for an attack. “Shinkyuu……” he said. “Oh no you don’t!” said Tom. He charged at Marco and stabbed him with his horns. “Marco!!!!” said Star. Marco fell off the platform. “Marco!!!!” said Star as she jumped. She caught Marco. “Star…” said Marco. “I don’t care if I die,” said Star, “As long as I’m with you! You’re everything to me Marco Diaz, and I love you!” She kissed him and suddenly her wings started to glow. “Well, I may have had to make some sacrifices, but at least Diaz is out of the picture,” said Tom as he grinned. “I think you forgot something,” said Marco. “You’re flying?!” said Tom, “That’s impossible!!!” Star charged at him and finished him off. “You lose Tom,” said Star, “Give up.” “Another day Butterfly,” said Tom, “Another day.” He vanished. “We have to move now!” said Peridot, “This place is gonna blow.” Akbar put one last gem into the cluster and brought it to life. “At last,” he said, “The weapon is finally under my control!” He put on some kind of motion suit. “Do….. as I command…” he said. The cluster followed his every movement. “Soon the world will be mine to control,” he said. “Not if we can stop you!” said Stevonnie. “You!” said Akbar. “Its time to end it,” said Stevonnie, “Shut down the cluster and leave our planet.” “I don’t think so,” said Akbar as he got his sword out. “Let’s do this!” said Stevonnie. She charged at Akbar and they started fighting. The cluster mimicked the moves of Akbar while trying to attack Stevonnie but she was fast. She then landed a punch on Akbar. “Not bad,” he said, “But you’ll have to do a lot better to beat me!” He did a kick and Stevonnie fell down. “I’m not giving up yet!” she said, “This is war!” She jumped at Akbar and did a spinning kick. “Who knew I had all these moves!” she said. Pearl and the gems were guiding Priyanka out of the base. “I hope she’s ok,” she said. “I’m sure she is,” said Garnet, “We must hurry.” They kept running. Other soldiers were evacuating the area. “Those crystal gems are escaping!” said Jasper, “Are we just gonna let them leave?” Stevonnie jumped up to another area where Akbar was. They kept fighting and Akbar was determined to win. “What makes you think that two gems fusing will stop me?” he asked, “I have a thousand gems across the universe, and you’re just two.” “We’re not two people, and we’re not one person either,” said Stevonnie, “We are an experience, and we’re gonna become a great experience.” She got out her shield and threw it and Akbar ducked. “Ha!” he said, “You missed me.” “Wasn’t aiming at you,” she said. “Wha….” He said. The cluster was shattered and fell on a reactor to the ship. “NO!!!!” he said. “Yes!” said Stevonnie. She kicked him and he fell down. Sirens were blaring. “We have to get out of here!” she said as she left. She fell and tripped on something causing her to unfuse. “Steven!” said Connie, “Help!!” “Hang on!” said Steven. He ran to her as the clock started counting down. Priyanka, and the others safely got back to Earth and saw the ship explode. “Connie!!!” she said, “No….” Pearl saw it all. “He… he’s gone,” said Pearl, “My baby’s gone…. And so is Rose.” There were tears all around. Everyone was saddened that Steven and Connie sacrificed themselves to save the Earth. “Your son was a good man Mr. Universe,” said Priyanka. A pink light appeared. “What?” asked Pearl. Lion brought Steven and Connie to safety. “Steven!” said Garnet. “Connie!!” said Priyanka. She rushed to her and hugged them both. “I’m so glad you two are safe,” she said. “Same with you Mom,” said Connie, “I’m so sorry.” “Its ok,” she said as she hugged her again and cried. “So long Yellow Clod,” said Peridot. “I can’t believe you can fly now!” said Marco, “So awesome.” “I know,” said Star, “Wait til Mom hears about this!” “What if Tom attacks Mewni next?” “If that happens I’m going there to stop him, and you’re comin’ with me,” said Star. “You bet I am,” said Marco as he kissed her cheek. Lapis laid down taking a breath. “Earth is safe at last,” she said. “Well it all worked out by believing in Steven!” said Steven. Everyone around him laughed. Later the dance at Connie’s school began. Everyone was having a good time, especially Steven and Connie. Greg was playing music for the band and had a lot of great ideas, including his hit “Drove a van into my heart.” “Its so good to finally relax and chill,” said Sapphire, “Isn’t that right Ruby?” Ruby was drinking some punch. “Hey little girl, aren’t you too young to be at a dance?” asked a boy. “So being a gem automatically makes me a girl?” he asked, “Is that it?” “She’s a guy!” said one of them. Star and Marco were at the top of the building dancing. “How cool is it to have a girlfriend from another dimension?” asked Star. “Very,” said Marco. “Steven, there’s something you forgot before we went to fight Akbar,” said Connie. “What’s that?” asked Steven. “This,” said Connie as she grinned. She kissed Steven on the lips. “Wow,” said Steven as he hugged her. They accidentally fused, but still laughed and had a fun time. Two people saving the world, made of love. How about that? And that’s how Steven won the heart of his best friend. Through the use of Flowers, and Chocolates. THE END I’m a Star by Olivia Olson I can't help it if I make a scene stepping out of my hot pink limousine I'm turning heads and I'm stopping traffic When I pose they scream and when I joke they laugh I got a pair of eyes that they're getting lost in I hypnotize by the way I'm walking I've got them dazzled like a stage magician When I point they look and when I talk they listen well everybody needs a friend and I've got you, and you and you So many I can't even name them Can you blame me? I'm too famous Haven't you noticed that I'm a star? I'm coming into view as the world is turning Haven't you noticed I've made it this far? Now everyone can see me burning Now everyone can see me burning Now everyone can see me burning The remains of Yellow Diamond’s ship landed in the middle of nowhere. From the ashes, Akbar escaped and in his eyes burned the desire for revenge. “You think you’ve…. Stopped me?” he asked, “I will have my revenge, Steven Universe… You… will… die….” He saw a strange figure approach him. “Akbar,” he said, “You never give up so easily do you?” He was too weak to get up. The stranger picked him up and carried him into a portal. “Its to resume your training,” said the stranger, “In due time, you will have the power to annihilate anyone and anything that comes in your way.” CLIFFHANGER!!!!!! Steven Universe, Connie, Star Butterfly, and Marco Diaz will return in the Peacekeepers Series This is War 30 seconds to Mars A warning to the people, the good and the evil This is war To the soldier, the civilian, the martyr, the victim This is war It's the moment of truth and the moment to lie And the moment to live and the moment to die The moment to fight, the moment to fight, To fight, to fight, to fight To the right to the left We will fight to the death To the edge of the earth, It's a brave new world from the last to the first To the right, to the left, We will fight to the death To the edge of the earth It's a brave new world, it's a brave new world (Whoa oh, whoa oh) A warning to the prophet, the liar, the honest This is war To the leader, the pariah, the victor, the messiah This is war It's the moment of truth and the moment to lie And the moment to live and the moment to die The moment to fight, the moment to fight, To fight, to fight, to fight To the right, to the left, We will fight to the death To the edge of the earth, It's a brave new world from the last to the first To the right, to the left, We will fight to the death To the edge of the earth It's a brave new world, it's a brave new world, it's a brave new world I do believe in the light, raise your hands up to the sky The fight is done, the war is won, lift your hands towards the sun Towards the sun, (it's the moment of truth and the moment to lie It's the moment to live and the moment to die, the moment to fight) Towards the sun, Towards the sun, (it's the moment of truth and the moment to lie It's the moment to live and the moment to die, the moment to fight) The war is won (to fight, to fight, to fight, to fight) To the right, to the left, We will fight to the death To the edge of the earth, It's a brave new world from the last to the first To the right, to the left, We will fight to the death To the edge of the earth It's a brave new world, it's a brave new world, it's a brave new world A brave new world The war is won The war is won A brave new world Priyanka was in the office and was fixing an injury that Greg got (Again). “I don’t know how you keep getting those injuries Mr. Universe,” she said. Someone approached her office. “IF you have an appointment you’ll have to take a number,” she said. “I’m actually here  looking for a Steven Universe,” he said. She stopped and turned to the person. “Who are you?” she asked. “Dr. Maheswaran, I can tell its been quite some time,” he said. “Once again who are you?” she asked. “And what do you want from my son?” asked Greg. “You’ll probably recognize me with this on,” said the person as he put on a green hat. “Nicholas Shay!” said Greg, “I haven’t seen you since you moved from Brooklyn!” “Its been a while,” said Nicholas. “15 years,” said Greg. “How have you been, you little rascal?” asked Priyanka. “Dr, looking as beautiful as always,” said Nicholas. (He had a bit of a crush on her when he use to go to the doctor a lot) “Narrator mind your own business,” said Nicholas. “Why thank you,” said Priyanka giving him a hug, “As flirtatious and sweet as always.” “So what brings you by?” asked Greg. “Well, I’m here on behalf of the agency, S.M.A.S.H,” said Nicholas, “And I heard stories of a boy who calls himself Steven Universe.” “Yah,” said Greg. “What if I told you we were building a team?” asked Nicholas, “And we think he will make an excellent candidate?” “A team?” asked Greg. Nicholas handed him some paper work. “Give it some thought,” he said. As he went to his car he noticed some files were missing. “What the heck?!” he said, “They’re gone!” He noticed a card. It was in the shape of a raccoon with a bandana on his eyes. “And I think I know who stole them,” he said.