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ellewritesathing · 4 years

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Faking It - IV

Summary: You’d done plenty of dumb things in your life, but the dumbest had to be picking Greendale’s latest bad-boy to pretend to be your boyfriend.

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Word-count: 3.4k+

A/N: this gif has nothing to do with this part but i thought it was cute and couldn’t find a kitchen gif that fit. hope you enjoy the drama lmao 💕

Of all the ways you saw taking Caliban’s hand the day you met, you hadn’t anticipated the very obvious outcome: that you’d develop feelings for him. Actual, real, not fake feelings. But it’s not like it was your fault - no, you blamed the blonde asshole himself. They just didn’t make guys like him in Greendale, so he completely blindsided you by being … well, himself.

He was intimidating enough that other guys left you alone, and - even though plenty of people found him as charming as you did - he made it very clear that he had no interest in any of them. He was infuriatingly good at everything he did and he looked good while doing it. He laughed at all your shitty jokes and actually listened to you when you spoke. How the hell were you supposed to not be attracted to someone who would sit with you while you worked on your art projects and quote poetry in an offhand effort to distract you?

Who the hell could even quote poetry in real life?

Not you. Not anyone that you’d ever met.

Caliban was just different in all the ways that made your heart race.

The fact that your friends liked him didn’t hurt either. Harvey still rolled his eyes whenever Caliban showed up or made the others laugh, but his anger must have subsided at least a little because you’d caught them joking around between practices. Theo loved Caliban; the two of them had inside jokes, knew each other’s lunch orders, and partnered up for chemistry. Roz would read a book and annotate it before handing it off to Caliban to read, and she liked that Caliban made you smile. Sabrina liked having someone to do dumb and borderline illegal stuff with. They liked him, and now you liked them. The fuckers.

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Sabrina asked, nudging you with her elbow. “You’ve been staring at the baseball field for like five minutes.”

“Of course I’m listening,” you lied. You sat up straighter and tugged your clothing back into place. “Quite frankly, I’m insulted you’d think that I wasn’t paying attention to The Great Kinkle Family Reunion.”

Sabrina tilted her head and smiled politely, that’s how you knew trouble was coming. “Then tell me what you should do when Uncle Tristan starts talking about horses,” she said.

“Uh …”

“Exactly.” Sabrina laughed and looked down at the field where Harvey, Theo, Caliban, and the rest of the team were running laps. “I’ve been to every family get together since I met Harvey, and they all end horribly. Caliban’s mom was really sweet to host one, but she’s in way over her head. Have you met her, by the way?”

“No,” you said. You couldn’t tell if that was weird or not. Were fake girlfriends supposed to meet their partner’s mothers? “But I’m kinda surprised she’s doing this given everything I’ve heard about her and the Kinkles. They weren’t exactly the most supportive of her.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why Harvey’s such a sweetheart when the rest of the family is … It was probably Tommy, now that I think about it,” Sabrina said. She shook her head and turned to look at you before taking your hands in hers. “I just wanted to check-in and make sure you’re ready for this.”

“Brina, I can handle this.” You squeezed her hands reassuringly. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a pretty mean right hook. Ask Colin Anderson. If there’s a fight, I’ll be golden.”

Sabrina laughed and let go of your hands. “I’m trying to prevent that fight, but good to know.”

You laughed and bumped her with your arm. “Looks like practice is letting out. You wanna head down?”

“Nah.” Sabrina put on her brightest smile and waved down to a very tired-looking Harvey. “Let them de-stink first.”

---

After two weeks of prep and cover stories, the day of the Great Reunion was here. You’d woken up disgustingly early in order to get yourself together and drive over to Caliban’s to help them set everything up.

You weren’t sure what you expected their house to look like, but clashed with the black BMW parked in the garage. It was a sweet, two-story house with a wraparound porch and balloons in the front yard. The house was painted a soft sunshine shade of yellow and had rocking chairs, hanging plants, and rose beds in the front. It was the picture-perfect house for anyone other than Caliban, but it still fit.

Different.

Gathering up your nerve and the rest of your belongings, you made your way to the door and pressed the doorbell. The tiny pothos plant felt as awkward as you did while it sat in your hands and waited for someone to open the door.

Thank God it was Caliban and not his mom.

He smiled amusedly at your plant before looking up at you. “Is that for me?”

“I know it’s a lame gift but I didn’t know if your mom was allergic to cut flowers and I’m not old enough to buy her wine,” you said in a rush. You frowned slightly and tilted your head. “Well, not legally at least.”

Caliban laughed and reached out to take one of your hands and lead you inside. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

You didn’t know what else to say as Caliban led you to the kitchen. The house was as much of a surprise inside as it was outside, and it smelled like freshly baked bread. It was colorful and covered in old photos. He seemed very at home here and lighter than you’d ever seen him elsewhere. No, not lighter. Happier.

“Wait.” You stopped dead and let go of Caliban to reach out for a photo of the cutest little boy with missing front teeth and a mess of blonde curls around his dirty face. “Is this you?” You couldn’t help the laugh that came out when Caliban looked pained at your discovery. “Aw, Abercrombie, you were so cute! What’s on your face?”

Caliban sighed and took the photo out of your hand, looking embarrassed for probably the first time in his life. “I was seven years old and I liked eating chocolate. Is that a problem?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” a woman said as she rounded a corner and laughed. She had the most beautiful long, brown hair and kind eyes. “You didn’t just like chocolate. If you came anywhere near it, you used to eat yourself into a sugar coma. I couldn’t bake anything around you without you eating the batter before it even got into the oven.”

She laughed and ruffled Caliban’s hair before smiling at you. You didn’t know anyone could ruffle his hair without losing a hand.

“You must be the lovely new girlfriend I’ve heard so much about,” she said. “I’m Isobel. Is that for me?”

Isobel pointed at your little pot plant and jolted you back to life. “Uh, yeah,” you said and held the plant out to her. Her hands were warm as she took the plant from you. “I wasn’t too sure what to bring but I didn’t want to come empty-handed.”

“Oh, not at all. This little guy is perfect!” Isobel lifted up the plant to look at it. “I’m going to give him some water and put him in the front. Do you guys want to get settled in the kitchen so long?”

“Of course,” Caliban said with a gentle smile. His mom gave him another playful bump and disappeared into some other part of the house while Caliban held a hand out to you. “Shall we?”

“Who are you?” you teased with wide eyes as you took his hand in yours.

You followed him into the kitchen and took a seat at the breakfast bar. They were here for maybe a month and their house already felt like more of a home than yours ever did. How they afforded it all, you had no idea, but Caliban never spoke about his birth dad and you didn’t want to push. All you knew was he gave Caliban his blonde hair and bone structure, nothing more and nothing less.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by the sight of Caliban in a sunflower printed apron. Clearly, your efforts to contain your amusement weren’t nearly as stellar as you thought they were because Caliban raised an eyebrow at you over all the baking supplies on the counter.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“I didn’t peg you for an apron guy is all,” you said with a small shrug, doing your best to sound nonchalant and not totally, completely chalant.

“I don’t like getting my clothes dirty,” Caliban said defensively. “Without an apron, anything can stain your shirt.”

“I think I’ll take the risk,” you said as you tapped the counter. “I trust myself and don’t think anyone’s going to splatter batter on me.”

“Batter, maybe not …” Caliban tilted his head to the side. “But flour?”

“Flour?”

Before you had the chance to ask what he meant, Caliban threw a handful of flour at you. He laughed at how shocked you were and you took that opportunity to reach across the counter and throw some flour at him. Soon enough the two of you were running around the kitchen, covered in flour, and laughing until your sides hurt.

Caliban wrapped his arms around you and scooped you up, ignoring your pleading and cries that were cut short by laughter. You were still mid-air with Caliban’s face close to your own when Isobel came back.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Isobel put her hands out to get your attention. “We have guests coming in an hour and the two of you are making a mess in my kitchen.”

Caliban set you down, but the two of you were still tangled up and filthy. You didn’t know what to say to the woman you’d met fifteen minutes ago and whose kitchen you’d subsequently ruined.

Isobel laughed and shook her head. “It’s my own fault for leaving this one unsupervised,” she teased, pointing a finger at Caliban as she made her way around to start cleaning up. “Go clean yourselves up. Come back when you don’t like friendly ghosts.”

Luckily for you, flour was relatively easy to get out because you weren’t wearing dark colors for once. It took a while to get it out of your hair and make it look presentable, but it was hard to be too mad at the mess when it was such a fun time making it.

When you got back downstairs, you could hear people laughing and talking in the kitchen. It was still too early for guests but it was clear that it wasn’t just Caliban and his mom.

You were right. You rounded the corner to find Caliban freshly-changed, his mom kneading some dough, and a very pretty redhead with big doe-eyes all laughing at some inside joke. It made you feel painfully other.

“Oh, Luce,” Isobel said when she noticed you come in, waving you over. “You have to meet Caliban’s girlfriend. She’s a gem.”

Luce ... As in Lucy? Lucy from California? Harvey’s first crush? Lucy.

This was going to end badly.

Lucy tilted her head as she turned to look at you. You could see the gears turning in her head as she looked you over. “Girlfriend?” she asked with a friendly (but fake) smile.

“The one and only,” you said with an over-confident smile as you walked over and interlaced your hand with Caliban’s. You wrapped your other hand around his arm, just like the first day you met. You introduced yourself with a friendly yet fake smile of your own.

“You guys moved up here a few months ago and Caliban’s completely forgotten about me,” Lucy teased to Isobel. She moved some hair out of her face and looked over at you again. “He used to tell me everything. We were like this.” She crossed her index and middle finger over each other with a smile.

You’d have liked to show her one of your fingers.

But you didn’t. All you did was smile and make some polite conversation while not letting go of Caliban. You weren’t sure why you were being so defensive. It’s not like you and Caliban were actually dating, but you didn’t like Lucy. Not only did she break Harvey’s heart and cause all the damage you’d spent the better part of two months fixing, but she also just rubbed you the wrong way.

“Okay, not to ruin all the fun,” Isobel said after a while. “But guests should be coming soon. Why don’t you kids make sure everything is set up in the back and keep an ear out for any early birds?”

“Sure thing,” Lucy said, hopping off her seat and leading the way to the backyard.

You started following when Caliban caught your arm and said something to his mom about getting more supplies from the garage. He didn’t say anything else as he led the way and neither did you, but that was mostly just because you were being petty.

Caliban led you to the middle of the garage and tugged on the old light to illuminate the dusty room around you. He lifted your intertwined hands and folded them over each other as he thought about what he was going to say.

You couldn’t wait that long.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Lucy? And I want the truth this time.”

Caliban laughed and shook his head as he looked up at the old light above you. He took a breath before saying, “Lucinda’s my best friend, pretty much my only friend before yours so kindly took me in. If I’d known she’d be here today, I would have said something.”

“Wait, you were best friends with the girl who broke up your family?” you asked.

“She apologized,” Caliban said. “And, besides, you’re friends with Harvey.”

“Harvey’s never made out with me,” you said, untangling your hand from his so that you could cross your arms over your chest.

Caliban narrowed his eyes slightly as he took in your newly defensive stance, and then he laughed without saying anything else. He looked amused when he met your scowling gaze again. “I can’t believe you’re jealous,” he said. “Don’t misunderstand me, it’s incredibly attractive but-”

“I am not jealous,” you said. “I couldn’t care less.”

“I’m sure,” Caliban said with a sarcastic smile. He rolled his eyes as he stepped closer and cupped your face before leaning down to be millimeters away from your face. “Forget about her, alright? I assure you, you’re the only fake girlfriend for me.”

Before you had the chance to say something witty in return, the garage door flew open and the devil herself stood in the opening.

“There you are!” Lucy said. “Cal, I need help with these streamers. I’m way too short to get them where your mom wants them.”

“I’ll be right out,” Caliban said without taking his eyes off yours. He pressed a kiss to your forehead before taking a step back and leaving you in the dusty and dim garage.

You shot a warning text to Harvey about Lucy before you went out to help the others. Though he never answered, he must have got it because he was surprisingly okay when he and Sabrina got there. You and Sabrina shared a look when Lucy got a bit handsy with her hello, but neither of you said anything.

That’s how most of the get together went; you and Sabrina sharing secret, sarcastic looks and staying out of trouble. Well, mostly. You still didn’t know what to say when Uncle Tristan started talking about horses, but Caliban came to your rescue and the rest was smooth sailing.

Until an hour went by when you couldn’t find Caliban anywhere. You asked around but no one had seen him, but his mom pointed you in the direction of his room. Isobel held onto your arm before you could leave.

“Um, I’m sorry if this seems a bit strange but I …” Isobel smiled and looked down at her hand on your arm before letting go, clearly trying to respect whatever boundaries you may have had. “Caliban’s been a lot happier since we moved here and I think that has to do with you. I just wanted to say thank you.”

“Oh, uh- It’s nothing. I’m just a girl and I’m sure Caliban’s brought a few of us around by now with cheekbones like that,” you said with a smile.

“No, Caliban’s never brought anyone home before,” Isobel said, looking like she was trying to remember anything to the contrary. “Sorry, hun, I’ve gotta go. Jan’s calling me over. Good luck with the search!”

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

Isobel disappeared into the sea of Kinkles and you made your way to Caliban’s room. You took your time going up the stairs, looking at all the photos on the wall as you did. It was nice to see that Caliban was just as angry and angsty now as he was at 14 years old.

It was strangely quiet upstairs compared to the rest of the house and the party in the backyard. Quite enough that you could hear someone giggling upstairs, someone decidedly not Caliban.

Roz would have told you to face it head-on and not to sneak around like a creep. Thankfully, Roz wasn’t there to say anything.

You tiptoed as casually as you could to Caliban’s room. The room felt more like the Caliban you knew than the rest of the house did: big windows without any blinds, a tornado of books and sketches on every surface available, and a very pretty redhead making out with him.

“She kissed you, huh?” you asked, echoing the story of when they were younger before turning on your heel and slamming the door behind you. Your heart ached annoyingly when Caliban called out for you as he followed behind you, but your brain told it to suck it up until you were out of the house.

By sheer force of will, you made it back downstairs without turning around, but then Caliban managed to get a hold of your hand and spin you around to face him.

“Would you please let me explain?” Caliban asked.

“No,” you said, pulling your hand away from him. “Look, it’s not like you have anything to explain anyway, okay?” He reached out for you again and you took a step back so you wouldn’t be confused by his touch. “You and me? We were a fake relationship. Maybe this is the universe saying it’s time it came to a real end.”

You knew what he’d say if you weren’t arguing. He’d ask you, with that annoying smile of his, when you started letting the universe tell you what to do. Or he’d make some comment about the universe being a bastard. But all he did now was set his jaw and look down at his hand.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying this is it,” you said. “Goodbye, Caliban.”

You weren’t sure why you expected him to say something else, to fight for your fake relationship, but all that expectation just led to disappointment. Caliban flexed his hand but didn’t say anything else as you pushed past him to get your stuff from the kitchen so you could rush to your car to cry.

Harvey was tapping on your window just before you started the car. Curse your five-minute breakdown for being long enough for him to notice you were gone.

“What?” you asked as you rolled down the window.

“Are you okay?” Harvey asked. “You ran out of there so fast-”

“You were right, okay?” You put your car in reverse before looking back up at him. “Caliban’s not a good guy and you warned me. Will you just let me go so I can cry somewhere that’s not here?”

“Hey, you know that’s not what I meant,” Harvey said softly, reaching through the window for you. “Let me come with-”

“No. Go have fun with your family. I need to get out of here.”

“But-”

“Harvey, move or I will drive over your foot.”

You didn’t think he was going to do it, but Harvey took a very reluctant step back and put his hands up in surrender. He wasn’t going to fight for you either, not that you’d given him much of a chance. Harvey was stood there, watching you drive away until he disappeared in your rearview mirror.

Music blared in an attempt to drown out your thoughts, but there was one you couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard you tried. Sabrina was right - every Kinkle family get together ended horribly.

Tagged: @miss--moose @marrypuffsstuff @harryscarolinaa @igorsbby @foji2000 @mschfavngz @artaxerxesthegreat @thxmagic @strawberriesandknives @xealia @hotmessindisguise @reheated-coffee @shelby-x @perseny-blog @millie-753 @luneerius @shizzybarnaclee @lettherebelovex @throughparisallthroughrome @ietss @thebookwormlife @mechanicalanimalz @mariamermaid @nqbmf @drrramaaaqweeen

#faking it #caliban #caliban imagine #caliban x reader #caos #chilling adventures of sabrina

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firewoodfigs · 4 years

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letters to a young poet

Summary: Riza Hawkeye, a young, aspiring poet, exchanges letters with her fiancé, Roy Mustang during his time in the military academy. He attempts to write her poems and prose about life and love, and occasionally sends her presents to remind her of him. Like his boxers.

read on ao3

(a/n: (i) title is taken from Rilke's book. (ii) tw: the timeline of this is largely based on yet another man's battlefield, so there are brief mentions of racism here. (iii) I recommend reading on ao3 instead because... formatting issues, again xD (iv) original poetry at the end)

for @royaiweek 2020 - thank you to the lovely mods for organising!! 💖

~x~

“Promise you’ll write to me when I’m away?”

“Of course, Roy,” Riza drawls idly as she adjusts his coat and ensures that his tie is neatly in place.

“Thank you. I’m going to miss you terribly, you know,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead before stretching his arms out invitingly. Smiling, she leans in and allows herself to be crushed to his chest in a warm, firm embrace.

God, I’m really going to miss her, he thinks, as he inhales her scent - a lovely mix of gunpowder and peonies and old books - and incarcerates it in his memory.

Roy steps back to admire her pretty countenance properly. Pride and admiration swells in his heart, and he can't help but run his fingers gently through her flaxen tresses once more before resting them on her lips.

“Let me be your muse,” Roy declares with a triumphant grin, pressing a hand to his heart with a melodramatic flourish that earns an amused eye roll from his fiancée. “For parting is such sweet sorrow, and -“

“Shut up.” She pulls him by his tie to kiss him roughly, before flashing a wicked grin and kicking him out of the door. “Get going, you lovesick, histrionic fool.”

Riza throws his belongings out and slams the door as he stares at the wood longingly with an endearing pout.

~x~

June 8th

Dear Riza,

How doth your literary endeavours come along? I hope all is well with thee. Whenever I close my eyes, I see you Like a midsummer’s night dream, exquisite And when I open my eyes to sunlight I cannot wait to see you once again.

All my love, Roy.

~x~

June 12th

Roy,

Stop trying to imitate Shakespeare and force all your sentences into iambic pentameters. It makes me shudder - in disgust, not delight, lest you misconstrue what I’m saying.

Anyway, my literary endeavours are coming along fine. I’ve been spending my time reading some of the books you got me for my birthday, and for someone who writes so incorrigibly you sure do have impeccable taste. All is well on my end. What about you? How are you adjusting to the academy?

Thanks for the pressed flowers that you sent over, by the way. They’re surprisingly lovely, though I’m sure all credit goes to Vanessa’s guidance.

I also enclosed a scarf that I personally knitted for you in case it gets cold at night. Because you have an uncanny tendency to misplace your things, I embroidered a few water droplets in blue at the bottom for clearer identification (if you lose it I’m never making you anything ever again, this took me days to complete).

Hopefully, they serve as a reminder to you that you’re useless in the rain as well, so that you’ll refrain from doing anything reckless or stupid in my absence.

All my love, Riza.

~x~

Roy tears the package open with all the enthusiasm of a child opening his presents on Christmas morning the instant it lands in his hands. His eyes light up appreciatively at the lovely scarf, laughing at the tiny water droplets at the bottom that she’d added as a personal touch.

When he reads her letter and realises its intended meaning, though, an indignant frown makes its way to his handsome features.

Nevertheless, he dons it on immediately, relishing in the warm comfort and how it smelt like her, like flowers blooming in spring (even if his fiancée didn’t appreciate his poetic attempts, he very much liked to believe he was capable of using a simile properly).

June 16th

Dear Riza,

Thank you for the lovely gift, although your harsh words wound me terribly. Nevertheless, I understand that underneath your acerbic tongue lies a tender heart full of love, and I am a lucky man to be the sole recipient of it. I’m glad you liked the flowers. One day I’ll buy you a carful of them, I promise.

Things are going fine here. I’m adjusting well to the ridiculous sleep schedule (you’re the only person I know who willingly wakes up at seven in the morning daily), and with the rigorous physical training we have to endure I believe you’ll have a glorious set of washboard abs to admire the next time you see me.

I must say, though, the food here is pretty bad. Spinach quiche is pretty much the only edible thing, but this man - I think his name was Huggles or something. Sorry, Hughes - had the audacity to take the last piece of quiche right under my nose.

(Per your commands, though, I refrained from trying anything stupid.)

What’s even worse is the racial prejudice. The other day I saw an Ishvalan getting bullied by a trio of ugly men, but they left before I realised what was really happening… So I helped him out after that. I can’t bear it, to this day - they picked on him just because of his skin colour, for goodness sake! It was completely unwarranted.

It’s only been a week but I already miss you terribly. Can’t wait till I see you again.

All my love, which extends from one end of Amestris to Xing, Roy.

~x~

June 21st

Dear Roy,

Sure, keep deluding yourself however you like if it makes you happy. You’re not the only recipient, by the way - I made a cute little scarf for Hayate, too, who has replaced your ‘snuggling spot’ in my bed, as you like to call it. Between the both of you I sometimes can’t tell who smells worse.

Also, don’t be ridiculous - what would I even do with a carful of flowers?

I’m glad to hear that things are fine on your end. Waking up at seven is a wonderful thing, especially when you get to see the sunrise, no? I look forward to seeing those abs, though with your drinking habits I’m sure you’ll probably end up with a beer belly in the foreseeable future. Don’t drink too much.

I’m sorry to hear about the quiche. I’ll make you one when you’re back. If it makes you feel better, though, I’ve sent some cookies I made the other day to you as well. Express delivery, in case they go bad.

Also, even if you haven’t already punched the Hughes guy I can already envision you slamming your tray down on the table, turning around to scowl at him like a petulant child and competing with him in just about everything you do.

All I will say is this: relax, it’s just a bloody quiche.

Good to know that you did that! The Ishvalans most certainly don’t deserve such treatment. No one does, of course, but it’s frustrating that certain ethnicities still continue to be singled out and ostracised in Amestris, despite the state’s proclamation that it’s a cosmopolitan society accepting of different cultures and whatnot… Until then, we have to stand with them, stand up for what’s right, and -- oh, I don’t mean to ramble. Just know that I’m proud of you, Roy. Keep at it.

If it does make you feel better I suppose a tiny part of me does miss you too. Just the slightest.

All my love, Riza (not interested in your silly competitions) Hawkeye.

~x~

Roy blanched at the bag of cookies she’d sent him and the thought of Riza’s quiche. Cooking had never been her strongest suit, and while she was talented in many areas somehow all of that seemed to go away every time she entered a kitchen.

Nevertheless, it was Riza who’d painstakingly made them, and because he appreciates his fiancée’s efforts he vows to eat every single one of them even in her absence.

He bites down on a cookie apprehensively, and is pleasantly surprised to discover that it’s edible. It bears emphasising that this is an incredible feat for Riza Hawkeye - considering how she’d managed to almost burn the entire kitchen down when she tried to make a simple pasta dish for his birthday.

(Fortunately, they’d managed to extinguish it, but afterwards Roy mentally designated himself as head chef for the rest of their lives.)

Deeply touched by the gesture, he wraps one of his shirts to send back as a gift. The thought of her dressed in his apparel has him grinning like the lovesick, histrionic fool that Riza said he was.

June 26th

Dear Riza,

Don’t say that, I definitely smell better than Hayate. And I know for a fact that you love me, although maybe not as much as I love you -- my love for you knows no territorial boundaries.

You could curate your own gardens with a carful of flowers, I suppose. And we could… Well, smell the flowers and procrastinate together?

It is - the sunlight reminds me of you, and I appreciate that. A lot. I also haven’t been drinking, so don’t worry - these glorious abs are definitely en route to you.

Thank you for the cookies - they were delicious, and I look forward to your quiche when I return. Baby steps, alright? I hope the kitchen will still be intact when I come home.

… It’s sometimes creepy how well you know me… But I think you’ll be pleased to at least know that I became friends with Hughes, after we confronted said trio.

We also made a new friend today - Heathcliff! He’s the Ishvalan I told you about in my last letter. He told us he joined the military because he wanted to change and empower the people’s perceptions of Ishval and its culture from a point of leadership. I think that’s an admirable dream - one that I’d like to assist in, too. He’s been a great friend, and I can’t stand to see him be the recipient of so many pejorative remarks. It’s completely unjustified, and you’re absolutely right on that point.

I take that as an admission that you miss me ‘most ardently’ - have you been writing poems about me in my absence?

On that note, you’ll be pleased to know that I have a break on the 8th of July for a couple of days. Want to do something fun? I know you’ve been dying to check out that shooting range, and I’ve been training in the academy for my victory.

All my love, kisses and glorious abs, Roy

P.S. I’ve also enclosed a token of my own affection herein for you - hopefully it reminds you of me whenever you wear it.

~x~

Riza stared confusedly at the oddly-shaped lump that surfaced after she opened the package. After reading his letter she was expecting one of his shirts, maybe one of his button-downs that would’ve been perfect as an oversized sleeping top on her, but she certainly wasn’t expecting his…

Boxers.

His boxers, of all things. She holds it up to scrutinise it in its full glory, and it’s peppered with little puppies - his favorite pair.

To say Riza is surprised is an understatement. She’s not quite sure why he’d sent her his boxers or how she’s supposed to even wear it, but she chucks it aside in the laundry for him to retrieve it when he returns.

July the 8th. The date's circled in bold, bright red on her calendar.

She’d never admit this out loud to any living person, not even her best friend Rebecca. The only person who’d heard her let out an almost-giggle (almost, because Riza Hawkeye did not do giggles) in excitement was Hayate. Because God, did she miss him terribly, and true to his predictions he’d been her muse for quite a number of her recent poetic endeavours.

July 3rd

Dear Roy,

Whatever, you insane idiot. I miss you and I love you too. That is all.

For the record, the kitchen is still intact, and will continue to be so. My cooking skills aren’t that bad.

That’s great to hear. You’re an honorable and intelligent (this is questionable) man, Roy, and I would definitely like to see that kind of change happening. I hope Heathcliff is well, too - send him my regards.

… I refuse to lower myself to drawing smiley faces on my letters, but you’ll see one on July the 8th in person.

And yes, it would be nice to check out that shooting range, though let’s be real - we both know you can’t defeat me no matter how hard you try. I do live up to my namesake, after all.

All my love, Riza

P.S I don’t know if it was intentional, but I never knew you had a thing for me wearing your boxers. Unfortunately, they are way too loose for me and I won’t be wearing them any time soon. Your underwear and I eagerly await your return.

~x~

The 8th of July finally comes around. Everyone in the academy is astonished at just how fast Roy Mustang is capable of running. He might’ve been the golden boy, and he generally outran most, if not all, of them during their training sessions, but now he looked like his pants were on fire as he made a dash for the gate and boarded the first train in a sweaty mess.

Roy continues running like a madman after alighting the train, desperate to reach their home as soon as possible to explain his predicament. He certainly hadn’t intended to send his underwear over, and was sure that one of the other men must have done so as a practical joke on him.

(Fortunately for the culprit, Roy didn’t manage to identify who he was, but there would certainly be hell to pay when he did so.)

As if on cue, Riza opens the door with a beatific smile adorning her features. “I can hear you panting all the way from the other end of Amestris, Roy.”

He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. “Well, I’m excited to see you, for starters. And, uh…”

“You want your underwear back?”

“Yes, of course I do.” He pants, struggling to catch his breath while trying to formulate a coherent explanation. “Look, I swear it wasn’t deliberate - I intended to send you one of my shirts, and I definitely don’t have a thing for you wearing my boxers. I don’t know which idiot in the academy substituted my shirt for my underwear to sabotage -” She lets out a laugh. It's loud, unrestrained. Roy thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s heard in a month. “You really are hopeless, Roy. It’s fine. Defeat me at the shooting range, and you can have it back tonight.”

~x~

In the end, his favorite pair of boxers sits at the bottom of the laundry for the rest of the day, because Riza Hawkeye is an indomitable force of nature at the shooting range.

She does, however, have a poem written for him, and he’s so enraptured by it that he forgets all about the underwear fiasco. “I’m back home, ma chérie,” he whispers as he runs his fingers down the groove of her spine, as if he’s tracing constellations on the canvas of her back while they lay together on satin, hearts thrumming in harmony. “I’d like to keep holding you close, too -” he recites, but he’s quickly interrupted by her.

“You sound best when you don’t speak, Roy,” and with that Riza silences him with a fiery kiss that rouses an overwhelming conflagration in him.

One that can only be put out by her.

Roy grins delightfully into the kiss, all too willing to oblige. Her lips are an inviting chamber of unbridled affection and unsatisfied desire, and he finds himself exploring her eagerly, fingers tracing her sharp cheekbones in reverent adoration.

Riza responds in kind, trailing a hand down his shirt and notes, somewhat gleefully, that he has indeed returned with said glorious abs. She makes a move to untuck his shirt, humming to herself in amusement as she feels his bare stomach quiver beneath her curious palm.

He’s quick to make a comeback, though. Unwilling to be teased by her Roy draws her deeper into the kiss - she’s utterly incredible, he thinks, as he cards his fingers through her flaxen tresses - and he tastes traces of eggs and pastries and -

- and spinach?

“You made spinach quiche?” Roy asks curiously, breaking away from the kiss for the briefest of moments.

“What on earth,” she huffs. “Way to ruin the moment, Roy.” A scarlet blush makes its way to her cheeks - equal parts breathlessness from the vigour with which he kisses her, and embarrassment at being found out.

He laughs, and quotes yet another line teasingly. “Didn’t you say you’ll even listen to my silly moonshine?”

Riza scowls. “I do regret writing that now. Perhaps I will -”

“No, no, please continue writing more,” Roy pleads in earnest, and before she can make a decision he’ll live to regret he kisses her again with such an ardent love, such a fervent passion that it completely derails her train of thought.

The quiche rests in the oven, burnt and forgotten.

~x~

adieu, mon chéri. may you fare well. in my heart, you will always dwell. (won’t you please come home soon, or will it only be after june?)

you write to me, letters (hidden within are flowers) to abate my need for you. i knit scarves in a room candlelit;

holding a heavy weight within from empty spaces on satin. i’d like to hold you close again -- hurry, love, won’t you run to the train?

i’ll let you place your weight on mine oh, i’ll even listen to your silly moonshine (come home to me, darling my soul is aching in longing)

~x~

*moonshine: foolish talk or ideas.

#royaiweek20 #royai #royai fic #royai au #poetry #royai fanfic #rhyme #I tried LOL #my first time writing in first person oops :"D

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kalinara · 4 years

Text

So I’m already thinking about how I’m going to do a Star Wars rewatch once the Rise of Skywalker comes out on DVD or streaming. Mostly, I’ve been thinking about the order I watch the movies.

I know George Lucas favors the idea of going straight chronological, but I’m not a big fan of that. For one, IMO, the Prequels drag in parts, and I don’t really want to wait for somewhere between four and six hours to get to my favorite characters.

Also, I think the jump in filming technology and techniques is jarring, even beyond the whole “going from a wealthy society into a dystopia” idea.

And I like to keep the impactful “Luke, I am your father” moment intact. Obviously I know the secret. But when I watch the Original Trilogy over again, there’s always a split second where I convince myself I don’t actually know that. I can’t do that if I start with the prequels.

At the same time, I don’t really like going in production order either. For one, going from OT to PT ends things on a downer note (admittedly, a bit alleviated by the Sequel Trilogy). But also the in between movies like Rogue One and Solo don’t really have any sort of real impact where they are. I don’t feel like watching Rogue One between TFA and TLJ really adds to the experience (beyond the fact that it’s a good movie.)

But some years back, someone got me into the “machete order”, in which you watch the OT and PT as: 4, 5, 1, 2, 3, 6. And that really worked for me. So I’m modifying it to include the other movies. (The tv shows are a rewatch for another day.)

So this is my proposed order:

1. Rogue One

I never thought I’d start with anything but A New Hope, but Rogue One does an amazing job of setting up the universe and the stakes. It’s grim, gritty and shows the Empire as the terrifying dystopia it is. It’s also pretty non-mystical. Chirrut and Baze are more subtle types of force devotees. There’s a nice peek at the Force as a religious element for ordinary people, not just Jedi. We get a context for the world Luke will emerge in, and we can contextualize why he’s so important. Also it makes Leia in A New Hope even more badass.

2. Episode IV: A New Hope

Pretty self-explanatory. I always start here, because it always feels the most fresh and new. There’s no baggage, and we learn the universe with Luke. This effect still works with Rogue One as a prologue, I think. And Rogue One adds context of letting us glimpse the Death Star from the point of view of the victims. And it gives a face to Bail Organa, personalizing Leia’s loss more. But the introduction of the Jedi, the Force, and Luke’s burgeoning connection with both is gradual.

3. Episode V: Empire Strikes Back

I will NEVER willingly put this after the Prequels. Ever. I already explained why. But the first time I encounter the idea of Vader being Luke’s father should come here, when Luke learns of it.

4, 5, 6: Episodes I-III: Phantom Menace, Attack of the Clones, Revenge of the Sith

That said, this is the perfect time now to introduce this trilogy, in which we get to see the human side of Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader. This is our first chance to see what exactly was lost when the Empire took over: we can appreciate the great spectacle of the Old Republic: the races, the costumes, the luxury and the scope. Many Prequels advocates argue that the Star Wars universe feels the most grand and open and expansive during this time and I think they’re right. And it’s on purpose.

The visual shifts work great here. We’ll have gotten used to the low budget look of the OT/Rogue One, so the Prequels’ visual splendor will be even bigger. And then when we go back to ROTJ, we’ll really appreciate how the low budget aspects reflect the fall of the society.

This also has the advantage of minimizing the flaws of the Prequels: particularly the dialogue. The concepts are good, I’ve always said. But I think everyone can agree that there are some issues with execution. But if we put the prequel trilogy here, it gets this almost mythic quality. The parts that get a little cartoonish, or hackneyed, are kind of glossed this way. The prequels are a flashback, an emotional memory of Darth Vader and/or the Force itself, and so maybe not everything in it is 100% literal. We remember emotions and the gist of conversations better than we remember exact dialogue. (And the actors do a great job with the emotions of the events)

This way, we ride the emotions. And the only reveal we ruin is that Luke and Leia are twins. And honestly, that reveal in Return of the Jedi was always a little disappointing. If we watch this way, the reveal comes when Padme gives birth. We expect Luke. We don’t expect Leia. OMG!

7. Episode VI: Return of the Jedi

Now this is the GENIUS of the machete order. Because whatever you say about Return of the Jedi as an individual movie (criticize it all you like, you’re wrong though. :-D), as a conclusion, it’s phenomenal. And when you watch it in this order, right after Return of the Sith, then Return of the Jedi plays double duty here.

You have the first thread: in which ROTJ wraps up the story of Luke, Leia, Han and the Rebellion.

And you have the second thread, in which it wraps up the story of Anakin, Palpatine, and the Old Republic. Luke’s triumph brings ALL threads home to roost.

I can see why Lucas argued for chronological, since ROTJ is an amazing conclusion. But straight chronological kind of ruins Luke’s own arc. An encapsulated flashback allows us to keep the momentum of the OT, add the PT for context, and wrap up both with a neat little bow.

8. Solo

Full disclosure. I haven’t seen Solo. @Ragnell really loves it and I trust her taste. But my interest in Star Wars was a bit of a nadir. It looks like fun though. Not deep.

I’m tentatively placing it here. I know it chronologically takes place first, but the tone doesn’t seem right for leading into the OT. And it also doesn’t really fit between Revenge of the Sith and Return of the Jedi. We can’t go from high emotion to fun and back like that.

But from everything I’ve seen and heard, this would work perfectly as a story that Han (or maybe Chewie or Lando) tell to Luke, Leia, maybe even little Ben. The more absurd parts could maybe be glossed away as part of the story, rather than literal. Unless it’s more fun to assume it did literally happen, and Han is getting teased relentlessly for it.

Either way, a bit of levity is good before...

9, 10, 11: The Force Awakens, The Last Jedi, The Rise of Skywalker

My final thought after the Rise of Skywalker is that I liked it. I won’t deny there’s a lot to criticize. And a lot of the behind the scenes stuff is very ugly. But in terms of a story and a conclusion to both this arc and the whole shebang, it worked for me. I’ll be interested to see how it influences my read of the Last Jedi.

Having Solo before TFA seems like it fits, given that Han is the member of the original trio with the largest role in that movie. And there’s kind of a nice bit of poetry here that Leia is the first member of the trio introduced in Rogue One, and she’ll be the last we see (alive) in the Rise of Skywalker.

Now, the only catch is going to be finding the time to actually sit down and watch. But at least I ought to be able to rope @Ragnell in as well.

(I’m leaving Clone Wars, Rebels, and the Mandalorian out of this line up, for a few reasons: Mainly if I tried to insert them into the movie line up, they’d definitely disrupt the flow. And I won’t be able to finish in one weekend. For me, the tv series count very much as supplemental canon. Like a book of short stories that connect to a novel series. They deserve to get their own follow up weekend(s), instead.)

#star wars #it's possible I spent way too much time thinking about this #but I like to plan my approach #I am the editor of my own experience

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imagineclaireandjamie · 6 years

Note

Hi! Will there be something new from HRH soon? I'm dying to know what Claire will do with Frank. Thank you 😘😘

Many thanks to @notevenjokingfic for walking through the bits of this that needed some help. She’s held my hand through some insecurity on this part and I appreciate her oh-so-much. xx.

Previously:

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)Part IX: A Queen’s Speech

It was tradition. Upon arriving in Scotland, there was to be a cocktail hour followed by adinner where Claire (as Queen) wouldspeak before the first course was served. The room would be filled withimportant people, naturally –– politicians and their wives, familiesperipherally related to her own on branches far up the family tree, somereporters, and the citizens. Among those she considered most important were thelast –– the people of her country.

Typically, her speech was a short thing, crafted by acommunications person in her staff –– how beautiful the country was, how herheart yearned for Scotland when she was not there, how prosperity would come tothe United Kingdom and that Scotland was there alongside its sister countriesas part of the deal.

Not this time, not this night. This time, she insisted on the speech beingher own in content and form. The communications person protested, but wasproperly chagrined as she raised a single eyebrow. “Am I not Queen?” she hadasked blandly, setting the fountain pen she was using down on top of the stackof correspondence she was signing, leaning back into the belly of her chair,and crossing her legs. “Is there something wrong with the message delivered byme likewise being crafted by me?”

“Of course not, but if you would like some assistance,ma’am, I––”

Frank’s words were ringing in her head. Dalliance. Those bloody calendars. The show that would make her his more thanwould make him hers. His presence in Scotland through necessity, not affection.

Raising a hand, she nodded as graciously as possible. “Asalways, I thank you, of course, but this is one thing that I cannot delegate.Not this speech.”

She thought of histouch –– the way she had allowed it, just to see if she could feelanything with him. It hollowed her out and made her see herself (really seeherself) for the first time in ages. Floating above her body, she realizedthere was no tenderness there.

Offering only the most cursory of bows, the speech writerhad ducked out of the room and shut the door a bit too forcefully behindhimself.

Stillness. She couldnot live with this stillness, the fact that did not care if Frank was withother women, just as he did not care about her being with other men.

She did not need to write the speech. She felt it singing inher veins. The usual speech would not do –– a few minutes followed by asmattering of slight applause. It wassimply a formality –– a box to check before a meal was served.

This time it would be different. This much she knew.

And now here they were.

Scotland.

Dressed what felt like a million layers of draped, fizzyfabric, Claire ran a hand over the three rows of jewels and tiaras that had beenchosen for her. There was an admitted beauty in the pieces, despite the excessthat she found fundamentally distasteful.

“The topaz would bring out your eyes,” Frank said mildlyfrom beside her. He was straightening the lapels of his jacket and fastening hisshirtsleeves with onyx cufflinks. Ones that she had purchased. She looked in the mirror and caught his eye,reaching for the sapphire earrings, not the topaz.

“Contrast does a better job of bringing out my eyes.” Frank made a small sound that was at once ofdisagreement and resignation.

“Let me help?” he asked as she picked up the bracelet thatmatched the earrings, taking a single step towards her. The click of the clasp beneath her fingertipsstopped him. “Are you feeling well tonight, Claire? You are acting very… strange.”

“Am I?” The distance in her voice surprised even her. She had no interest in him understanding her, of letting him in.

The night before had proven that to her –– the test she gavehim (failed), the way he had touchedher (without chemistry, cold and empty),the plan he had put into action to make her his trophy (one that she had yet to dispatch).

Early in their relationship,things had been easy. Stolen touches as he opened a door. Tea in bed from the kettle he secreted intoher suite. Smuggled moments of hushed laughter, splashing Earl Grey onbedsheets before the entire world descended upon her. Late nights when shesnuck down halls to join him in the visitors’ wing. Surreptitiously draftednotes lining the pockets of her robe when she made her way back (affections, coded promises, scribbledrecitations of his dreams or timeless poetry). In the mornings she had beenperpetually less concerned about who saw her, fingers curling around the paper.

And when Lamb died, Frank hadbeen the one to hold her and whisper comfort. He had joined her in thebathroom, smoothed away the creases left in her face by the tile floor. He wipedaway the salty tombs that her tears constructed around each of hereyelashes. When she had admitted, vodkadrunk, that she had no family, he had hushed and kissed her full on the mouth.“No, that is not true,” he whisperedwhen they parted, breathless, her tears on his cheeks. “You have me. We have each other.”

So she had unraveled herself tohim over the years. Purposefully, shehad shown him the parts of herself usually kept under lock and key. And he tookthem with what had appeared, at least then, to be great care.

But something shifted after hercoronation and their engagement.

At first, it was little things.

The way he said “hello” without looking up from hismorning newspaper.

The way he shaved with the doorclosed, where before he had stood with a towel at his waist, hip cocked andwatching her watch him.

The way she was left wanting,seeking and never finding. Her fingers reaching for him in the night and findingonly stone as he shrugged her away.

The way her fingers met only theseam of the pocket of her robe, the scraps of paper becoming few and farbetween.

The way his words to her becameflowers wilting after a first frost.

The way “not tonight” was his rote response on a series of nights over anumber of months.

She had asked him if he loved herthree times.

The first time had been early. Hisresponse had been enthusiastic, fingers drawing her close by the back of theneck and his mouth consuming hers before she could catch a breath. When he had pulled back, eyebrow quirked, hesaid, “Madly, my dear.” Her heart hadpounded, spiraled, and plunged as he kissed her again.

The second time, he had seemedmildly offended before saying, “Ofcourse, Claire.” Her heart had skipped only a beat before resuming itsusual rhythm. His lips had been dry on her cheek; her eyes had flutteredclosed.

The third time, he had quirked aneyebrow and muttered something about how she needed not to be so silly. Of all things the Queen was, silly was boundto be near the bottom of the list. She had felt nothing then –– neithersurprise nor disappointment, shock nor betrayal. It just was. And she wasprepared to live with it.

Weeks later, knowing her nightwould be sleepless, she had gone for her first ride in god knew how long.

And she met him.

Met Fraser.

Oh Christ, that man.

He was at once a challenge andeasier than anything she had ever known. He was the only one who had seen through the veneer and found herbeneath it. He was the moon on a clear night and the ground in a storm. He was unreserved in a way she longed notjust to emulate, but to be.

He was worth risking it all.

She had never asked Fraser if heloved her, but she suspected at a cellular level that he was not the type ofman she would have to ask. He would leave no doubt. He was nothing if notthorough and there would be no question about of his intention. She was certainthat she was headed into something with him from which she could never hope toreturn.

She had wondered whether she wasstrong enough to take the risk. But shehad realized, quite acutely, that there was no risk. She wanted more–– the movement that disrupts a calm existence, excitement and danger, themere chance to sacrifice herself for love. An outlet for the superabundance ofher energy.

Love.

She wanted it.

They had a sound, he’d said. The vibrations.

She wanted Fraser’s love –– to love and in return, be loved.

The promise of that love (being a part of it) was like a horseunbridled, exploding from behind an open gate. Its muscles taut with energy, itwould find freedom in the wind that it created.

No, there was nothing that shehad to give up for it.

‘But, but, but,’ her brain had stuttered on repeat as she preparedto close the book on Frank.

The burden loving her would puton Fraser made her ache and feel wild at once. His quiet life would bedisrupted so he could be along for the ride. And for what? His wings would be clipped,as hers had been. The mere act of lovingher would strip him bare of the things that blistered her belly and made herdizzy with wanting. She had been deniedthe opportunity to be the architect in her own life. She knew the same would be true for him if hewere to be with her –– really bewith her, body and soul, not as a fling or a dalliance (as Frank had put it).

Could she do that to him? Knowing what it was like. Living under glass(leaving fingerprints that someone else would wipe away) or confined to a cage(seated upon a perch and seeing the world through wire). Constantly slappingconcrete walls with bloodied knuckles, screaming until raw just to be heard. Knowingwhat she knew, could she let Fraser unwittingly join her in that?

For a time, she had herselfconvinced that she was doing him a service by holding back, keeping herfeelings in check. But the very thought of him was inside of her. He was in her lungs, mingling with herbreath. He was in her belly, drawing hertight and making her quiver for a release. A scream, a sigh, a moment with eyes closed to anything else in theuniverse. Just to be –– to be Claire, to know Jamie, to find the seam where livesknit themselves together.

“Are you about ready? That hairis about as well coiffed as it’s going to get.”

Frank gently placed the tiarainto the nest of curls pinned on top of her head. It a glittering, intricateweb of diamonds and sapphires and gilding. It was heavy and she sighed, herfingers adjusting it only slightly.

“I am ready,” she said,swallowing.

This speech.

The one she wrote herself.

This speech.

This was how she would claim whatwas hers.

She had no plan for what shewould do when her words ran out, when her conclusion was made plain to theentire room full of people. And Frank inparticular –– she would not be made to suffer as anyone’s fool, let alone his.

Standing at the door to thebanquet hall, she watched him straighten his sleeves again, clear histhroat. The production he was putting onjust to have some golf and notoriety was about to come to an end. Of that much she was certain.

“Ready?” he asked, giving her alook from the corners of his eyes.

“Oh, of course.” She hooked a single gloved hand through thearm he stretched out to her. “I am ready.”

#Anonymous #Royal AU #HRH #jamie x claire #outlander #;mod kate #Her Royal Highness AU

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ghoul-of-the-ghostlands · 5 years

Text

Existential Ramblings of a Mad Corpse

Tucked into Embryl’s footlocker is a thick, leather bound book with a plain red cover. Its pages are rough cut and the binding seems hand-made by an amateur, but despite the book’s well-worn appearance, indicating its age, it seems to have held up well over the years.

Inside the front cover, on the upper right-hand corner of the first page, someone has scrawled the name “Embryl”. The first two-thirds or so of the book is filled with hand-written poetry in that same script; occasionally there are notes or dates in the margins, but it is impossible to tell what any of them mean without the author’s context.

After the poetry, the script changes. A different quill has been used, and the ink seems fresher than before, perhaps by decades. In fact, it is dated only recently, and what follows appears to be a journal entry:

I’ve carried this book with me for as long as I’ve known this existence, but I’ve never written in it before. I don’t know why I keep it, exactly. I suppose there is some part of me that wonders if it is mine. Or if it was mine. In a way. Long ago.

I have no way to know, of course, and I cannot decide if it even matters. After all, who ever owned this book, whoever wrote these words that bring me comfort in those dark, lonely moments when I need to ease my hunger, they are not me. Even if they were me. Does that make sense? Or do I sound mad?

I know that I am separate from these people that make up my body. I must be, right? If I have none of their memories, none of their relationships, their possessions - I cannot be the same thing as them, surely? At least, this is what I’ve always told myself. When my mind wanders toward this strange existential dread, I remind myself that I am my own thing now. It doesn’t matter what I was, only what I am. And I get to decide that. Not them, who I was. Not the monster who made me. Just me.

But today I think I remembered something that wasn’t mine to remember. A hospital ward, during wartime. War against the trolls, perhaps? That feels right. And I was...a priestess.

Or, more accurately, my hand was. Or it belonged to. I just don’t know to explain this with words. I just feel this.

And although the memory - if that is what it was - stunned me, I shook it off. But now as I sit here and listen to the sounds of an army gathering outside I can’t stop thinking about what this means. Am I a thief? If I am not the person that this body belonged to, than have I stolen it? Or if I have this memory, this book - someone’s memories, someone’s book - can I still be me? Or am I them?

Or is it worse? Is each bit of me that I thought was only mine, does it belong to each one of them? Not my body - of course that belonged to them - but my mind. Is my personality, my existence, simply some warped chimera? The flechcrafters who found me estimated that I had been pieced together out of no less than nine women. Are they all inside me now?

No, not inside. Something else. But what? What is the nature of this thing that I call myself?

I cannot tear my mind from this question. I have to find that laboratory, and hope that there is something left. Something that will tell me who I am. Or what.

This madness goes much deeper than anything I’ve experienced before. I only hope it does not consume me tomorrow.

On the following page, the script has changed once again, although these words do not seem so much to be written as to be scratched into the parchment:

WHAT IS MY BRAIN MADE OF?

WHY IS MY BRAIN MADE OF?

WHAT IS MY BRAIN MADE OF?

WHO IS MY BRAIN MADE OF?

WHAT IS MY BRAIN MADE OF?

#world of warcraft #wra rp #forsaken #the diary #my fic//#my fic

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liesandarbor · 6 years

Text

Meera is going to wield Dark Sister *at least once,* and become the vehicle to move it to Arya.

Six years ago in King's Landing, Dunk had seen him with his own two eyes, as he rode a pale horse up the Street of Steel with fifty Raven's Teeth behind him. That was before King Aerys had ascended to the Iron Throne and made him the Hand, but even so he cut a striking figure, garbed in smoke and scarlet with Dark Sister on his hip. His pallid skin and bone-white hair made him look a living corpse. The Sworn Sword

Last night, @buskerlenny had an opportunity to ask GRRM a question at Worldcon, and boy, did she deliver for us: George confirmed that Bloodraven took the Valyrian longsword Dark Sister with him to the wall.

There was no ‘keep reading’, no ‘you never know’, but a simple yes. Those three letters opened up a whirlwind of ideas and questions. Is it now in the cave? Who will wield it? Why did he take it North?

Dark Sister possibly showing up in the Winds of Winter means more than the eye thinks - it supports the idea that Valyrian steel is coming even more to the forefront as Winter Comes in TWOW (see: Euron’s Armor).

So yes, it makes logical sense that one of the very few things that can defeat Others - Dragon Steel - happens to be in a cave North of the wall, where one of our heroes is currently wearing tree bondage and pretty much surrounded by snow zombies.

But I’m not here to worry about Brandon Stark. Bran’s Last Hero journey is, for the moment, surrounded by three protectors - and as Bran more than likely loses two of those protectors in TWOW (Hodor, Jojen), we can expect to see Dark Sister wielded by the end of the book.

I might also add that Visenya is the most likely of the two to garb herself as a warrior, and when so garbed, she would wield the Valyrian longsword Dark Sister, whose slender blade is designed for a woman's hand. GRRM

The many speculations about who’s hands Dark Sister will be equipped in generally circle in on one person, which is Arya Stark. And of course, Arya is a perfect candidate for Dark Sister. Visenya Targaryen, the warrior sister-wife-Queen of Aegon I Targaryen (not to be confused with her poetry, art-loving sister-wife-Queen, Rhaenys), serves as a great indicator for Arya’s ownership of (yes, we get it, it’s a Jon/Sansa/Arya parallel). It’s definitely an upgrade from Needle, Arya’s “childhood” sword, and a real-deal-Valyrian-sword; the perfect transition for Arya into “womanhood”.

This is all fine and dandy, but Dark Sister is currently sitting in a cave that will be overcome with ice creatures at some point, and for Arya to own Dark Sister, it’s going to have to come South. And who else could possibly be the perfect vehicle for that sword than the exhausted, ferociously loyal young girl helping to drag the Last Hero around, watching her brother slowly die North of the wall?

"He wants to go home," Meera told Bran. "He will not even try and fight his fate. He says the greendreams do not lie."

"He's being brave," said Bran. The only time a man can be brave is when he is afraid, his father had told him once, long ago, on the day they found the direwolf pups in the summer snows. He still remembered.

"He's being stupid," Meera said. "I'd hoped that when we found your three-eyed crow … now I wonder why we ever came.”

For me, Bran thought. "His greendreams," he said. "His greendreams." Meera's voice was bitter. "Hodor," said Hodor. Meera began to cry.

Bran hated being crippled then. "Don't cry," he said. [...] The floor was rough and uneven, and it would be slow going, full of scrapes and bumps. I could put on Hodor' s skin, he thought. Hodor could hold her and pat her on the back. The thought made Bran feel strange, but he was still thinking it when Meera bolted from the fire, back out into the darkness of the tunnels. He heard her steps recede until there was nothing but the voices of the singers. Bran III, ADWD

With Meera’s emotional state - and brother’s life - on the decline, we should see her fulfilling the Dark Sister role for a while indeed. Not only emotionally, but physically, too. Meera Reed is already known for her skill with a slender, long frog spear.

Meera moved in a wary circle, her net dangling loose in her left hand, the slender three-pronged frog spear poised in her right. Summer followed her with his golden eyes, turning, his tail held stiff and tall. Watching, watching . . ."Yai!" the girl shouted, the spear darting out. Bran IV, ACOK

But with Mikken slain and the ironmen guarding the armory, good steel had been hard to resist, even if it meant grave-robbing. Meera had claimed Lord Rickard's blade, though she complained that it was too heavy. Bran VII, ACOK

Meera notably finds carrying the heavy sword that had been Lord Rickard Stark’s, made for a grown adult male, difficult, but Dark Sister may be the perfect answer for her to fend off Wights as they travel South. And Meera more than has the ferocity to wield it.

"I dreamed of the man who came today, the one they call Reek. You and your brother lay dead at his feet, and he was skinning off your faces with a long red blade."Meera rose to her feet. "If I went to the dungeon, I could drive a spear right through his heart. How could he murder Bran if he was dead?" Bran V, ACOK

Bran backed away, bleeding, and Meera Reed was there, driving her frog spear deep into the wight's back. "Hodor," Bran roared again, waving her uphill. "Hodor, hodor." Jojen was twisting feebly where she'd laid him down. Bran went to him, dropped the longsword, gathered the boy into Hodor's arm, and lurched back to his feet. "HODOR!" he bellowed. Meera led the way back up the hill, jabbing at the wights when they came near. Bran II, ADWD

Transporting the Last Hero home is a hard job - and while some believe Bran, an incredibly important POV in ASOIAF, will be stuck in a cave forever sitting in this said cave having visions, eating blood sacrifices, maybe skinchanging a dragon once and that’s the end of his story, I know this sounds ridiculous to me too, please let’s get real, he’s going to leave the cave if his arc is going to continue , I tend to err that this is one thing that show may have gotten right. The ingredients are there - a cave surrounded by nothing but snow zombies and mythical, fantastical and dying out creatures in the middle of nowhere. It doesn’t exactly scream forever a safe haven. That cave exists because it is going to get fucked the hell up, my friends. Especially when you consider Bran’s role as a hero... if his companions die, his dog dies, and their other swords break in the cold.

So, what a perfect moment that will be. Ice zombies trickling up and down the halls, Meera’s frogspear breaks, Hodor sacrifices himself, maybe Summer even falls to Winter... and just when all is about to be lost, out emerges Dark Sister, and Meera’s hands grip the pommel of that skinny, gleaming blade, slashing it down Wights, and protecting Brandon Stark.

Jojen was so solemn that Old Nan called him "little grandfather," but Meera reminded Bran of his sister Arya. She wasn't scared to get dirty, and she could run and fight and throw as good as a boy. She was older than Arya, though; almost sixteen, a woman grown. They were both older than Bran, even though his ninth name day had finally come and gone, but they never treated him like a child. Bran IV, ACOK

Bran sees Arya in Meera on more than one occasion, and for good reason. Both are empathetic, and skilled with their choice of weapon. The likened traits he sees in the girls are a product of a little boy’s yearning to be reunited with his family, but also deliberate. Arya and Meera definitely have a lot in common. This makes the passage of Dark Sister from Meera’s hand to Arya’s smooth.

While Meera is strong and skilled, Dark Sister won’t be forever hers. Why? She just won’t want it. In fact, it won’t surprise me if she won’t want this lifestyle in any capacity any longer. She’ll return Bran South of the Wall, and eventually return home (possibly with her brother’s bones), tired, defeated, and ready to mourn. And her family probably won’t hold it against her - protecting Stark children is a hard job, and sometimes it’s near impossible; just ask Howland Reed.

BONUS, SHINY TINFOIL (that will never happen, and I’ve made my peace with this):

While Meera may not hang on to Dark Sister for more than a moon’s turn, wouldn’t it be neat if her basically-canonical-parentage-according-to-me, Ashara Dayne and Howland Reed, granted her more than Dark Sister, and wielding the Valyrian sword only lended her to embrace her proto-Valyrian bloodline, and she emerged the god damn Sword of the Morning, brandishing Dawn through delicately spun White Walker bones? OKAY, COOL, GLAD WE’RE ALL ON THE SAME PAGE, MEERA REED IS NOW THE SWORD OF THE MORNING.

#meera reed #worldcon 2018 #dark sister #asoiaf meta #meera meta #bran stark

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mysterioustransmissions · 5 years

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My favorite comics of 2017

Keeping with my new tradition of posting this list super late, here, on the last day of 2018, is my best comics of 2017 list. I can offer excuses -- my wife and I remodeled our house and welcomed our first child into the world this year, and I’m also unfailingly lazy -- but 2017 was also a killer year for comics, making this a bit larger of an undertaking than usual. Both Koyama Press and co-publishers Retrofit Comics and Big Planet Comics had absolutely stacked lineups. You’ll see them listed as publisher for many entries below.

I always struggle with how to order this list. I got serious about organizing my comics collection in 2018, and am running into the same problem. There, I’m thinking of dividing it into two -- a single-author section organized by author name (which ends up being mostly minicomics and graphic novels), and a multiple-author section organized by title (which ends up being mostly traditional-sized comics). Here, I’m essentially doing that same thing, but mixing them together; some entries are by title, and some author name.

Comics I especially enjoyed are marked with an *.

Allison, Matthew; Cankor: Calamity of Challenge #2 and #3 (self-published).

Berserker 1, edited by edited by Tom Oldham and Jamie Sutcliffe (Breakdown Press). There was a lot of anticipation and very specific expectations placed on this book ahead of its release, but no one seemed to walk away from the finished product satisfied. But it’s got a killer cover, great production design, and strips by some of the best cartoonists going. I hope Breakdown does another one.

* Booth, Tara; How to be Alive (Retrofit Comics & Big Planet Comics). One of the funniest books I’ve ever read. Booth’s drawings are a riot to look at, that the gags are also great is pure gravy. About as big as crossover hits get in my house. (I.e., my wife also loved it.)

Cardini, William; Tales From the Hyperverse (Retrofit Comics and Big Planet Comics). Cardini’s sci-fi world is made bigger and more engaging by the rapid-fire pace of this short story collection. His wild experimentation with color is always an inspiration.

Corben, Richard; Shadows on the Grave #1 - #8 (Dark Horse Comics). Not my favorite of Corben’s late-period Dark Horse horror books, but there’s plenty to enjoy. I was stunned by the sheer efficiency of the storytelling -- there are entire stories told with a single image and a few word balloons. A lot of these books sport great covers, issue #1 here, seen at the link for this entry, is one of the best.

Darrow, Geoff; The Shaolin Cowboy: Who’ll Stop the Reign? #1 - #4 with Dave Stewart (Dark Horse Comics). I was so bowled over by the experience of buying Shemp Buffet monthly that I initially scoffed at Cowboy’s return to more traditional narrative, but it turned out to be no less wild and no loss at all.

Davis, Eleanor; Libby’s Dad (Retrofit Comics & Big Planet Comics) and You & a Bike & a Road (Koyama Press). You & a Bike & a Road does something that’s often attempted and rarely successful -- it beats the audience down so it can then lift them up higher. Its success is due in no small part from its origin as a real-life journal. The visceral and emotional pain Davis feels on her journey is sincerely felt, and the lack of cynicism the storytelling choices are made with allow the reader to feel it whole cloth. And listen; it certainly doesn’t hurt that Davis is an amazing narrative storyteller besides -- Libby’s Dad is no less affecting.

DeForge, Michael; mini kuš! #43 'Meat Locker' (kuš!). I sleep on DeForge. I take him for granted. I feel like I’m not the only one? I see some excitement when his books come out, but no discussion. Blame it on the high volume and opaque nature of his work, the dearth of comics reviewers, and me, obviously. Also obviously, whenever something of his does find its way to my hands, I’m never sorry.

Estrada, Inés; Alienation #3 - #6 (self-published). The bundled version of this series, seen at the link for this entry, has the coolest book packaging I’ve ever seen in my life.

Expansion by Matt Sheean and Malachi Ward (AdHouse Books). I didn’t like this nearly as much as this same team’s previous Ancestor (due no doubt to its earlier and improvised creation), but damn, what a cover.

* Forsman, Chuck; Slasher #1 - #4 (Floating World Comics). I’d say the majority of my interest in Forsman’s work is in seeing how he presents his it and steers his career -- he’s among the best there is at that. Slasher is his first work I strongly connected with. It digs deep and gets wilder and wilder.

Ferrick, Margot; Yours (2dcloud). I’m a simpleton, so I was surprised at how deeply I was able to be moved by something this abstract. As always, grabbing 2dcloud’s whole line on Kickstarter expands my horizons and makes me a better reader.

Foster-Dimino, Sophia; Sex Fantasy (Koyama Press). I’ve actually only read the minis of this. This collection has the one I’m missing, plus some new material, but I love Sex Fantasy. It’s like a perpetual motion machine for thought -- you can just think about it forever.

Fricas, Katie; Art Fan (self-published). One of those things you dream of happening at a show -- picked this up at MICE not knowing anything about it, and was delighted by the artwork and knocked out by the “reviews of trippy art events”; particularly the first, about Duke Riley’s Fly by Night.

* Friebert, Noel; WEIRD6 (self-published), SPINE: I’ll Still Watch (Bred Press), Old Ground (Koyama Press). Sometimes when I have a fever, I can’t break loose of a single, circular thought -- I have the same thought over and over, only to realize once the fever’s broken that it was barely coherent. Friebert’s newer, decompressed work is like that. You turn page after page, and nothing happens. It’s the same characters still doing and saying the same things, again and again. You turn the pages faster and faster, almost in a panic, hoping to break the cycle and resolve the unease before you. But it’s no use.

* gg; I’m Not Here (Koyama Press), Valley (kuš!). I’m Not Here is one of a few books I recommended to people who were enjoying season 3 of Twin Peaks at the time. It doesn’t convey information so much as emotion, and rewards as much thought as you want to put into it.

* Hankiewicz, John; Education (Fantagraphics Books). I loved this so much I only read a few pages a night to make it last. Michael DeForge once called Noel Freibert an “astronaut” -- that applies to Hankiewicz also. No one’s ever done anything like this before, and if we didn’t have Hankiewicz I don’t think anyone ever would. Bringing poetry and modern dance (!!) into the language of comics, this was another book I recommended to watchers of season 3 of Twin Peaks -- you don’t understand the story by connecting facts, you understand it by connecting emotions.

* Hanselmann, Simon; Portrait, XMP-165 (self-published). XMP-165 was the first big payoff of the longform nature of Megg and Mogg, and it destroyed me. Also released this year was Doujinshi, Cold Cube Press’ gorgeous re-release of a Japanese Megg and Mogg fan comic.

Harkam, Sammy; Crickets #6 (The Commonwealth Comics Company). People talk about how good this book is, and I agree, but I’m not sure I could tell you why.

Haven, Eric; Vague Tales (Fantagraphics Books).

Hernandez, Gilbert and Jaime ; Love & Rockets Vol. IV #2, #3 (Fantagraphics). I made the terrible error after Love Bunglers to trade wait Locas, and for whatever reason they haven’t released one since. So I was way behind when this started coming out, but I bought and read it anyway. I initially found the story to be light, but I eventually realized I had a free ComiXology trial and caught up. It’s as great as ever.

Ito, Junji; Dissolving Classroom (Vertical, Inc.), Shiver: Junji Ito Selected Stories, and Tomie: Complete Deluxe Edition (Viz Media). Tomie may have come out in 2016 actually? I describe it to people as being about a beautiful woman who stands around until some total lech of a man inevitably murders her, then she comes back and annihilates him in the most unpleasant manner possible. Repeat ad infinitum. I don’t think the text 100% supports my reading, but that’s what it means to me.

Landry, Tyler; Shit and Piss (Retrofit Comics). The ephemeral, disjointed nature the single issue format served this story better, but it’s still extremely rad.

Loup, Celine; The Man Who Came Down the Attic Stairs (self-published).

Marcus, Ben; Crisis Zone 3rd Edition (Bred Press).

Mignolaverse and John Arcudi; Dead Inside #3 by Arcudi, Toni Fejzula, and Andre May, Lobster Johnson: The Pirate’s Ghost #1 - #3 by Arcudi and Tonci Zonjic, Hellboy: Into the Silent Sea by Gary Gianni, Mike Mignola, and Dave Stewart (Dark Horse Comics). Ignoring a few years in college when I was a lapsed comics reader, I’ve bought every Mignolaverse comic since I was about 13. That loyalty has slowly eroded over the last half decade about. I’m not alone in thinking the Arcudi-Davis run is one of the greatest of all time, and that the books started to go downhill after Guy Davis left. Beyond the departure of Davis, there are a few reasons for that, in my view.

First was the decision soon after to expand the line’s offerings. Doubling the line’s output and bringing in (inevitably) inferior creative teams was a no-win proposition for readers. Who wants more of something not as good?

Second, I think that Arcudi, a great writer, has shifted his focus from tightly-plotted five issue arcs to series-spanning character arcs. While I’m guessing this reads great in big chunks, it doesn’t spread out month to month, some months out of the year. I’m looking forward to a big re-read of everything after B.P.R.D. wraps in a few months, to see if this theory holds. Lobster Johnson: The Pirate’s Ghost came close to standing on its own, but was still rife with moments that I can only assume were big character payoffs because I didn’t remember enough to know. (Especially cool covers by Zonjic on these issues.) However, the non-Mignolaverse title Dead Inside offered the type of visceral, plot-based payoff his B.P.R.D. run with Davis hooked me with. I hadn’t been this thrilled by an Arcudi book since Killing Ground.

But third, and worst of all, has been the addition of writer Chris Roberson, whose books read like updates to the Mignolaverse Wiki. (The Visitor: How and Why He Stayed was okay, but pretty much solely due to Paul Grist’s fun art and layouts.)

I’m staying aboard the main B.P.R.D. book as it races to the finish line, and will continue to buy anything Arcudi writes, which seems to be mostly these Lobster Johnson comics. (Although even that’s looking increasingly, and sadly, unlikely to continue: https://twitter.com/ArcudiJohn/status/1075086925436874753) And I’ll certainly buy any more of these very sporadically-released Hellboy OGNs, like Into the Silent Sea, they decide to release -- the only real non-Mignola drawn Hellboy books anymore.

* Milburn, Lane; CORRIDORS (self-published). Sits comfortably next to Inflated Head Zone by Zach Hazard Vaupen, one of my favorite comics. They both forsake straightforward narrative in favor of theme-driven emotional impressionism, and do it with horror. This is catnip to me, and something I aspire to (although I’m far too boring to achieve it).

* Mirror Mirror II, edited by Sean T. Collins and Julia Gfrörer (2dcloud).

Now: The New Comics Anthology #1, edited by Eric Reynolds (Fantagraphics Books).

* Providence #12 by Jacen Burrows, Juan Rodriguez, and Alan Moore (Avatar Press). It came out months after, but it’s a safe bet Moore wrote this before Trump got elected, right? A more accurate depiction of the shell-shock of being thrust into a post-facts world I haven’t seen.

Roberts, Keiler; Sunburning (Koyama Press). Another big crossover hit in my house.

* Shiga, Jason; Demon Volumes 2, 3, and 4 (First Second). Demon became a book I wouldn’t stop showing to anyone who would listen. Like Gina Wynbrandt’s Someone Please Have Sex With Me, its hook transcends the normal comics reading audience -- you can show it to anyone and they get it right away. Specifically I would show people this amazing video https://youtu.be/NRxCTeM5pyU, which would clue them into what Shiga does enough to get them to read Demon. Demon has a story, but it’s more about rules -- establishing them and playfully subverting them with a level of inventiveness that regularly leaves you in awe.

* Terrell, Jake; Extended Play (2dcloud). This delightful book took me completely by surprise, an experience made possible by 2dcloud’s subscription model.

Tomasso, Rich; She Wolf: Black Baptism #1 - #4, Spy Seal: The Corten-Steel Phoenix #1 - #4 (Image Comics). The end of this second series of She Wolf approached the same hostile disregard for what came before as the end of Tomasso’s previous series, Dark Corridor. But where Dark Corridor acted on that impulse by simply burning it all down, She Wolf has enough respect at least to replace what came before by pivoting into a completely different comic. The freedom this affords the plot to dart in unpredictable directions is exhilarating. And it’s fun and beautifully laid out and designed, as always with Tomasso.

Tran, Thu; Dust Pam (Peow). Gorgeous!

Vaupen, Zach Hazard; Combed Clap of Thunder (Retrofit Comics and Big Planet Comics).

* Willumsen, Connor; Anti-Gone (Koyama Press). The part where the protagonists drive their boat past a window with a dog in it rewired my comics-making brain forever. This was another comic I only read a few pages of a night to make it last longer, and also recommended to friends of mine who were enjoying season three of Twin Peaks -- the plot is obfuscated in a similar way.

Yanow, Sophie; What is a Glacier? (Retrofit Comics and Big Planet Comics).

Yokoyama, Yuichi; Iceland (Retrofit Comics). Another comic I recommended to Twin Peaks season three fans. Similar to the residents of the Red Room, the characters seem truly of another world, their motivations and actions incomprehensible to us.

#best of the year

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dat-town · 7 years

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In chains of the Crown

The cast: Yan An (Pentagon) as Prince, later King Yan An Mark Tuan (Got7) as King Mark (also mentioned as Tuan Yien) Cheng Xiao (WJSN) as the female lead

Setting: historical au, royal au

Genre: romance, angst

Warnings: violence, blood, minor character deaths, implied mature themes

Summary: Under the weight of the crown, will you break or will you bend? (Inspired by: "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown" - Henry IV by William Shakespeare)

Word count: 14.5k

Notes: takes place in China, during the sixteen kingdoms’ times but has nothing to do with the actual history. it’s basically scenes following each other with time gaps between them because i imagine this whole thing as a historical kdrama, #sorrynotsorry. Also, long live Chinese/Taiwainese idols, they deserve more love.

I hope you love it, my dearest @restlessmaknae! Wish you the happiest B-day!♥

There is a courtesan house deep in the forest behind the mountains of Jianfeng. It’s hidden from common eye and only exceptional people know about its existence. The place is a safe haven for girls who were left alone after the war because their own families who sold them for money or rather because they became orphans. The place is an institute as well. The inhabitants are taught vital things about the cruel world outside. They are trained to be the centre of attention: to be unearthly beautiful and talented in various fields. They are still slaves in the eyes of the society but once bought they are on a higher level. They worth plenty of gold because they ought to entertain, pleasure and practice all kind of arts: music, dance, poetry.

But unlike any other courtesan training institute, this one teaches the art of killing as well.

“Don’t worry, your Highness, she’s our best. She will take the Crown Prince’s life without a problem when the time comes,” the owner of the house claims in a loud voice, proudly. His tone is honeyed while he tries to sweet talk their newest potential client into buying their services or even better, one of the girls.

One of the courtesans of blossoming age sits in her room, listening to the conversation that’s going on in the hallways in front of her closed door. Maybe it’s on purpose as if the owner wanted her to hear it. The unique beauty with her golden locks blinks towards the dull voices, unfazed. The master of the institute has wanted to give her away ever since she came of age so it’s nothing new. But she’s still here because the price he set on her is too high, even for such a talented and gorgeous virgin. So the girl stays still and silent even though the polite form of address and the Prince’s mention piques her curiosity. Not many royals dare to set their foot into a courtesan house publicly, much less to talk about killing a prince. What Crown Prince anyway? The royal family only has the King left.

“I want to see her,” a deeper, thicker voice speaks up and the young courtesan looks up from her book when the lock of her door opens with a click.

Two tall men figure steps into her simple room. It mirrors the other courtesans’ small chamber. It has nothing more than a bed, a candle, an ink container and some books. The few dress she actually has hang in a wooden wardrobe. For work or when they have performances she gets expensive clothes to wear but just for then. She doesn’t have an income, all the money people pay for her services as a ballad singer, musician or story teller goes straight to the courtesan house’s owner because that’s how he keeps track of the costs her training caused and how much is left until she can set herself free.

The peculiar golden haired girl isn’t ashamed of the little she has but when she recognizes the King’s notorious uncle in her visitor, the colour of her rosy cheeks drains.

“Bow before His Royal Highness!” the owner orders and she does as he says. She always does as she’s told.

She sinks onto her knees, not caring about worsening the condition of her already strained dress and bows until her forehead touches the ground. It’s common courtesy in times like this, symbolizing that the slaves can never be good enough to be on one level with them. They can’t even touch their toes.

“How old is she?” she hears the royal ask about her and she gulps, closing her eyes, fingers digging into the fabric of her skirt. She’s scared for a reason because everyone heard the gossips about the older man. He had experience with women, a lot actually and most of them included various things that weren’t for eyes of an innocent girl. What happens if he really buys her? Would he use her, hurt her and force her to kill the Crown Prince so the throne would be his heritage after all?

“Turned eighteen not long ago,” the owner answers plainly, fully aware that this is well past the age virgins are usually sold.

“Perfect. She even has the same hair colour as the King,” the royal man claims and the girl in question furrows her brows. She doesn’t understand why this detail is important enough to point out. Commoners usually don’t even know about the late king’s son’s appearance. “What do they call you, slave?”

“The Nightingale, your Highness,” she lifts her head up because being finally directly addressed allows her to do that but she keeps her gaze fixed on the floor. The name they gave her tastes sour on her tongue no matter how long she has it. She knows the meaning behind it, the bird’s beautiful song that can almost only be heard at night even if it sings during daylight, too. Does she dare to hope to be different? To be heard whenever she wants?

“How fitting,” the man clicks his tongue in a satisfied fashion and steps back, away from the slave but he still talks to her when he continues: “From this moment on, you are Cheng Xiao, Princess of the Tuan Kingdom.”

The name rings familiar in every Chinese person’s ear, recalling stories of the rebellion against the Tuan court twelve years ago. The princess was only six years old when displeased commoners attacked the palace shedding noble blood on the white marble. The Queen entrusted a maiden to help the child escape the kingdom, to raise her far away from the intrigues so she can come back when she reaches adulthood. People have been hoping for her to come home and fulfil the promise her parents made: marry the Crown Prince of Yan dynasty, end the war and create a Great United China again. But as years passed, there were no news about the youngest jewel of Tuan dynasty and the tension between the two kingdoms was worse than ever. Rumour has it that she was killed immediately during the escape. Others claim that the maiden sold her for gold. It’s just like a shot in the dark, nobody has facts, nobody knows the truth.

“The… the lost princess?” the courtesan croaks out taken aback by hearing this name and she recklessly commits the fatal crime of looking a royal straight into the eyes. Yet, the late king’s brother doesn’t seem to care, he just smirks as he stares back openly.

“Yes, we will make everybody believe you are her so you can marry in her place. If you play your part well and do as I say, you’ll live in riches for all your life and you don’t have to be a slave anymore,” he promises light-heartedly, offering her the whole wide world on a silver plate as she nervously sucks in a breathe. She’s waiting for the ‘but’ in dreadful anticipation. There’s always a ‘but’ part because nothing’s free these days and she isn’t mistaken. “If you don’t, I will personally make sure to take your pretty head.”

The Nightingale gulps, she knows she can’t afford to fail now. If they get caught by anybody, she can end up dead easily but she doesn’t have a choice, she never does. This deal at least can make it worth it. If she can become a Cheng Xiao nobody doubts. She smiles slyly at the thought, confidently. She isn’t their best for nothing after all.

She is given two days to prepare: to pack everything she needs and to transform into somebody who can be mistaken to be a princess. Since her mission is a secret and nobody should know about it, she does everything alone. Her long, wavy golden looks already bear resemblance to the rare blondeness that runs in the Tuan family but she cuts her fringe to look similar to the late Queen who died during the attacks a decade ago. She powders the scar on her wrist and wears the dresses the rich client sent her. Each bodice, dress and cape is made of expensive silk, the purest pearls brought from the deepest part of the oceans human can reach and decorated by gold that worth more than the courtesan house with everything in it. Maybe it’s the clothes or the gossip that started not long ago about the lost princess but everybody gapes at her in awe as she steps into the carriage sent for her. Even her fellow courtesan friends believe that she’s the princess miraculously found.

“First, we are going to see the King,” her buyer declares as they approach the royal palace in Xianyang. “You don’t say a word until you’re asked. And you absolutely cannot speak about the murder we plan.”

Tuan Yien is a kind-hearted and wise king despite being only twenty-four years old. He has gotten sick with weak heart condition since the wars between the sixteen kingdoms started and the search expeditions for her sister proved to be nothing but waste of time and money. It hasn’t even crossed the courtesan’s mind that he has anything to do with the evil plan.

The plan that, if carried out well, is worse than being stabbed into the back. Because the uncle doesn’t want her to marry the other kingdom’s Crown Prince, the soon-to-be-king, just to make allies but he also wants to poison him not long after his coronation so the Tuan King and the ‘Princess’ can unite the two biggest kingdoms of China.

So it’s hard, standing in front of the King and lying to him by not saying anything. But she’s selfish enough to not want to die.

“Is she the one?” the newly-crowned young king asks stepping down from his high podium, walking closer as the thumps of his steps echo in the throne room. The Nightingale knows where she belongs in from of the monarch and she doesn’t look into his eyes even if she should act like they are siblings. No, the client would definitely not approve that bold move.

“Yes, Yien, isn’t it marvelous? Even I would believe she’s your sister if I didn’t know better,” the man’s suggestive tone sends chills down the girl’s spine. Talking about the lost princess like this? How dares he?

King Mark, who is only called by his birth name by his closest relatives and allies, doesn’t say a word. He wordlessly observes the girl brought in front of him. Someone who has the same blonde hair and fair skin the rightful princess bore when she was only six and taken away from the royal family. He wishes he would remember her better but sometimes he’s even afraid of forgetting his own parents’ faces. Yet, there’s something about this girl, maybe the way she stands tall or the golden powder is hinted over her lashes but she’s nothing like the innocent little sister that lives in his memories. However, he doesn’t voice it out loud. At least, not with several people watching their every move.

“Can you leave us alone, uncle?” he asks politely, yet there’s firmness in his tone and it’s obvious that he doesn’t take no as an answer.

“As you wish,” the older bows slightly and then leaves with a smirk hiding his offended expression.

“You, too!” the king orders his soldiers authoritatively, slightly implying that questions asked aren’t appreciated. When even the last man leaves, there’s only the two of them left. But they can never be truly alone, in the palace even the walls have ears, after all. They cannot behave around each other like they used to. Not yet.

“It’s been a long time, your Majesty,” the girl bows again with a shy smile, testing out the new name, searching for his gaze.

The skinny boy she once knew has grown up well since they last met. He was merely a teenager then but now he’s a man, leading a country, more handsome and confident than ever. She isn’t sure how she should act around him: a slave like she is legitimately or an old acquaintance?

“It has. You have gotten pretty.”

Mark’s sudden compliment makes the girl blush furiously. It’s been a time since anyone said something like this to her. And coming from the king of House Tuan, it makes it even more special. “Thank you.”

The young man takes a deep breath as he doesn’t take his eyes off of the girl as if he has been seeing a daydream and she could disappear in a blink.

“Look I know uncle plots something but if you don’t want to…”

“It’s okay,” the Nightingale does the unforgivable and cuts off the monarch. He, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to mind, he’s rather interested in what she has to say. He hangs on every word that rolls off her tongue. “I just have to marry the Crown Prince. It’s the least I can do for peace.”

There are way worse ways than marrying a prince who will be a king soon. She would have settled for worse so she’s grateful. Even if it means she would have to kill to take what hers: freedom. In times like this murder is everyday occurrence, only the reasons vary: fear, anger or greed? People have them all and sometimes they act on instinct. If they don’t die in the war, they will be stabbed in the back. They live in cruel decades and harsh times have hardened the heart like steel of those who want to stay alive.

The courtesan gulps, thinking back of her training, every step and movement of defence and attack. But she doesn’t move when the King steps into her personal space and touches her wrist lightly.

“Do you still have it?” he wonders thumb sliding across the small scar that burnt permanently in her skin. She sucks in a breathe.

“It only fades with time but doesn’t disappear.”

Just like memories. It crosses both of their minds but they don’t say it out loud. There’s no need. The I’ve missed yous are lingering in the air. The older boy clears his throat as he steps back. His voice is formal again when he speaks up.

“I hope I can see you soon.”

The cold tone makes the girl shiver but she has to play her part well.

“We will meet at the wedding, your Majesty,” she promises, yet, it feels like goodbye and those always taste bitter. Maybe that’s why both of them prolong the last moments.

Something insecure crosses the man’s face and he’s biting his lower lip nervously. A bad habit he seems unable to grow out of.

“Xiao... Should I call you that?” His voice is significantly warmer and gentler than earlier when he forms the vowels and consonant of his sister’s name.

“It would make me delighted, Yien,” the girl smiles brightly, eyes sparkled and lies don’t sour her words. She should get used to it anyway.

According to the tradition, the bride should be carried in a sedan from her family’s house to the future husband’s. Since the distance between the two royal palaces has grown too wide, the journey takes days. Until then a messenger notifies the Yan prince that they found the princess, the one he was engaged with at an early age. Since the agreement is already made, set by the late Kings, there’s not much formality left. The wedding day can happen anytime soon.

Cheng Xiao is grateful because at least she gets to meet the groom before the ceremony. It doesn’t make her less nervous though. So when she steps out of the sedan and her gaze slides through the glamourous palace, she’s holding her breath in anticipation. And then, a boy, merely a man comes down the stairs walking over to her. First, she mistakenly thinks he’s only a servant since royals rarely do such things as greeting the arrived guests in person. However, he wears a traditional black attire with a golden dragon on it, the Yan’s symbol for their Crown Prince.

“Princess Cheng Xiao, I’m glad to have you here. Finally,” the prince bows a little and the girl does the same without saying anything. She’s still astonished by the man she should marry.

He is much younger than she’s expected him to be: an old crackled prince with dozens of wife already. Somebody ruthless and evil enough to make the kingdom starve and force every last capable man to die for him. Yet, Yan An looks like a kid with too heavy shoulders and too much responsibility on them. The sparkles in his youthful eyes are fading but with his delicate features as smooth as silk, sleek hair coal black like moonless nights and genuine smile that holds wonders, he’s still as handsome as the gossips whisper.

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Highness,” the girl bows down deeply, gripping on the edges of her breathtakingly pearl white dress.

“You must be hungry after such a long journey. You should join me on dining. Of course, we provide food for your men, too,” the prince hurries to ensure her about his hospitality.

The princess nods in gratitude and orders the soldiers who accompanied her to take a rest. She’s not afraid at all to stay alone with the Crown Prince.

He leads her farther into the gorgeous monument of building among massive towers and bright blue lakes and pastel green gardens until they reach a decorated common place with a large table and two settings. It looks like nobody else will dine with them and Cheng Xiao comes to know of the reason by the whispering maidens: there’s no other royalty in the palace, just them since his younger brother is down the southern front line and the prince has not yet married. The thought of being the first one scares her a little because then there would be nobody to hind behind, nobody to turn to with questions. On the other hand, it’s a soothing thought that probably he has never been with a woman either. Maybe the plan will be already over by the time he dares to lay a finger on her.

The dinner is quiet even though the prince is trying to broach a conversation relentlessly. He’s nothing but polite and understanding, kind and gentle, someone who would make a great king one day but maybe it’s all an act. So she stays silent.

After they are well-fed, they ought to take different paths, the new guest should explore her suite, change her travelling clothes and prepare for the night-time. But Yan An can’t seem to let her slip away without knowing:

“Are you really the princess?” he asks bluntly, chewing on the bitter taste of suspicion.

He has every right to doubt her even though it’s a dangerous thing to accuse a royal with lying. But special events require special approach. Isn’t it strange that after all these years, the princess was suddenly found now, when he’s supposed to take the throne after his father’s unexpected death. But he isn’t harsh or rude about the question and he bashfully looks away as he apologizes. “I’m sorry, I heard you were kidnapped and kept in a courtesan house. You probably still haven’t gotten over the fact that they freed you and now they practically sold you just to strengthen our allies. I understand if you hate me.”

The girl’s eyes widen in surprise. She has never expected him to genuinely care for her, about what the princess supposedly went through. She has learnt that people only care if they can use you.

So she says “No.” firmly and with all honesty.

She can’t hate somebody who seems so observant yet so naively trusting that he welcomes her in the heart of his kingdom not going back on the late Kings’ promise and not questioning the Tuans’ intentions.

“Pardon?” he looks up at her again, confused with creased forehead while his eyes bright up that she finally spoke up.

“No, your Highness, I don’t hate you,” she repeats and boldly looks straight into his almond eyes. “I feel sorry for you.”

The young prince doesn’t understand what it means. He doesn’t even suspect that she will stab him in the back or poison him the first chance she gets. The poor boy has no idea how it’s going to end for him. That the Nightingale will kill the prince once he carries the heavy weight of the crown on his head. By that time, as his first wife, the queen, it makes her kill the king.

They are bloody and dark times. The Great Chinese Empire on verge of falling apart. Splitting into multiple little kingdoms out of which only two had real power: the Tuan and the Yan dynasty. The two of them are having wars without end, without break, without sparing lives. When the Tuan king died a few years ago, the Yan king wanted to take advantage of the foolishly young new monarch and take over the country. Without a fair deal, King Mark refused and a new war started.

The Yan kingdom has the money but no real military force that could devour countries. The Tuans’ people on the other hand have been nothing but great soldiers without enough supplies. Both parties were struggling yet neither of them stopped this insane and meaningless battling. It was the matter of pride, it still is. So when Yan An’s father died in an accident (or who knows?), he tried to make reasonable choices, sign the peace but even his younger brother, the general thought that even without fighting, they can win if they wait until the other army weakens enough. The counsellors all supported the idea and Yan An as a new and inexperienced ruler had no say in it. He could only watch in silence as his people died.

So when he heard that the Tuans found the lost princess and they are willing to renew the marriage contract, he took the chance immediately. Because it meant the end of the war, finally the peace he yearned so much. Even if he thought it was merely a desperate attempt of the enemy to save their own people from dying of hunger, he didn’t care. Even if the princess wasn’t the real one. They just needed to become allies so together they can become the greatest kingdoms without putting a sword to each other’s neck.

They are in the middle of having breakfast when they get the news that the fights stopped at the fronts and General Sicheng is heading back to the palace. Since the coronation and the wedding both has to wait until him, the younger prince comes back, the royal court is waiting. Some think that only him who was born by the late Queen is the rightful heir of the throne while the oldest son, a bastard born out of wedlock shouldn’t claim the crown. A few counsellor hopes they can convince him to turn against his brother and lead the kingdom to victory in the Great War.

Yan An knows this, he is aware that even his people doubt his place on the throne but this is responsibility, his burden to bear. A promise he made to his father on his deathbed: he will protect his brother, everyone's favourite prince and he will let him form his own destiny instead of driving him into becoming a king too soon.

A week later, a group of soldiers arrive greeted by flowers and clapping commoners who think this means the end of the fights. Perhaps they are right or this is just a sweet delusion they cannot escape.

"Your Highness, we have heard the wonderful news. Will you really marry our enemy’s sister? Congratulations!" the second in command chimes ironically but he earns a sharp glance from the general for his disrespect.

“They are not our enemies. We merely fight over a misunderstanding. There shall be peace once they comprehend that they are wrong,” Sicheng says softly, his tone is much lighter than you’d expect from a soldier. He seems delicate and fragile, yet he’s mastered martial arts since young age to the point he can blindfoldedly defeat his master. His strategy skills are excellent and he cares for his people so he’s a perfect general just like his father has always wanted him to be.

“Brother,” he bows in front of the Crown Prince and the other man follows as Yan An acknowledges their presence in the throne room.

“How was your journey, General?” he asks politely, formally like he should no matter how much it pains him to greet his younger brother so coldly after he hasn’t seen him for so long.

“Great, thank you. How is your fiancée? Are you treating her right?”

The older boy smiles. So typically Sicheng, always worrying about the ladies. Especially, since this one will save him from having to rule. The younger has never wanted the throne and the crown to himself. His brother has always known this but being born like they did, counsellors tend to choose sides: favouring either the older but bastard son or the true-blooded but younger prince.

“She hasn’t complained yet. You can see her at lunch.” Yan An promises, his smile faltering a little as he thinks about the princess who walks the hallways pridefully and alone, not caring about dangers at all. Her quiet shyness during their meals also comes to his mind. She rarely speaks up but when she does all the attention is on her. She’s smart, she’s good at board games but doesn’t want to win. During all the time he was watching her closely, the prince has come to the conclusion that she’s watching him too. The first words they have exchanged still echo in his ears: I feel sorry for you.

“I can’t wait to meet my soon-to-be sister-in-law, our future Queen. I heard the rumours about her. They say she’s more beautiful than all the stars of the sky.”

Yan An takes a deep breath as he recalls the princess’ appearance, her fluttering lashes, the black holes of her almond eyes, those rosy cheeks and pretty, shiny lips along with the thick blonde locks framing her heart-shaped, lovely face. She can most definitely be compared with the wonders of the celestial sphere.

“She is,” he agrees and wouldn’t dare to take his words back even when Sicheng uses this against him not much later.

“Princess Xiao, you are just as beautiful as my dear brother said,” he coos as he kisses her hand when they finally get to meet. The Crown Prince catches himself blushing when the girl’s curious, dark eyes wander to his face.

The coronation along with the wedding is held on the feast of the God of harvest. The palace is dressed in the colours of celebration: red and gold. Dragon patterns all around and the double xi character for happiness and richness. Chinese people are deeply religious people in the age of wars and death, afterlife is just as important as their life here so to hope for a better era, a great dynasty, they have to make sacrifices of all kinds in front of the statue of the gods on the marketplace. The golden temple behind them is full of royal guests and other influential people who are eager to see the new ruling couple.

One of the guests is the monarch of Tuans, King Mark himself and his delegacy. Their presence is both feared and admired. A lot of ladies gush and swoon over the famous king’s handsomeness while grieving families of dead soldiers blame him for their sufferings. However, no matter the rage and hate, to bring the ruthless war to an end is far more important for now, so nobody dares to make a move.

The ceremony is like every other, vows and speeches on the newly crowned king’s part while Cheng Xiao sits beside him in silence. Everybody in the temple bows before them, even the other king nods a little towards their direction. Yan An, now a legal King, steals a glance at his wife, the Queen and he isn’t surprised that her gaze is set on her brother and uncle instead of him. They are the family she never really knew and she will be separated from again from now on after all. He hates to think about how lonely she must feel. Surrounded by these walls and gold but all alone. Just like him.

Long ago, once he had a bird, a beautiful songbird. It was supposed to die because it fell out of the nest and broke a wing but he kept it and took care of it. He personally nursed it, fed it and helped it to learn how to fly. Yet, he cried so much when the bird finally flew away. But aren’t they all trapped birds in a golden cage? Even if he doesn't know her that well, how would he feel if she just left? Like everybody around him.

“The time has come,” as a king, he declares. “Peace is here. Thanks to my marriage with the lovely Princess… now Queen Cheng Xiao, the two greatest kingdoms of China are now allies and we will fight side by side against any shared issue of ours but not against each other.”

The guests are clapping and there’s no faking in their relieved smiles. The war is over, they can finally breathe. However, there’s always somebody who isn’t quite satisfied and while the cheering crowd tastes the fine wine, a young, reckless soldier steps forward.

“You are not worthy of that seat, bastard,” the kingdom’s own second in command protests and everybody gasps in shock. Even the guards are taken aback, not knowing what to do but they point their weapons towards him to protect the king at any suspicious movement. It doesn’t help their case that the reckless warrior is a son of a nobleman, one that respects the sacred bone very much so it doesn’t take anybody by surprise that he wants the General as the king.

“Step down, Yifan. It’s an order,” Sicheng commands despite being younger and he stands up from his seat not far from the new king and queen. He keeps his hand hidden, probably ready to strike his friend if he threatens the newfound peace.

“Sorry but for the sake of true pure blood, I can’t let him rule,” the man shakes his head but starts to walk backwards without taking his eyes off of Yan An. His cruel, crazy smile seems out of place until a swoosh sound resonates through the temple and screams fill the void.

Only inches from the king's face, his younger brother catches the flying arrow aiming to take his life. Sicheng’s often lovely face changes to the one he wears on battlefields, cold and distant, as he turns his head towards the traitor. He waves his men to stand by and not interfere while he throws away the arrow cutting his hand.

“We learned everything together. You have to be better to beat me,” he shouts after Yifan who is now in a circle of armed and masked men. One of whom tried to end the king’s life, a deadly crime.

“You two, get out of here,” the General looks at the royal couple one last time and then marches into the chaos of scared crowd with the king's soldiers to seize the traitors. The Tuan guards join him but even though their number is greatly outnumber Yifan’s, the stubborn rebel doesn’t give up. They start to fire more arrows and on cue, the royals are ushered into safety.

It doesn’t matter how fast they move, farther and farther away from the temple, Yan An stops on his tracks when he notices the abrupt halt in the light steps following him. Looking back, he sees the Princess - the Queen, he has to remind himself - calming down a crying kid and searching for his parents in the midst of tossing, sweating mess of bodies. Her tiara is halfway down as her always perfect hair is tangled and falling in front of her face. She doesn't pay attention to her surroundings so she isn't aware of the archer and his arrow pointed at her fragile figure from afar.

They don’t know each other yet and Yan An knows there’s nobody a king should die for. But he isn’t only the ruler of his kingdom but also a husband and a honourable man. He can’t just watch her die.

“Cheng Xiao,” he cries out when the bow snaps and the metal is on its way to pierce through her heart. The girl looks up, startled. Maybe because she thought he left without her or because he called her by her name for the first time but she doesn’t move and Yan An doesn’t think when he hurries to her side.

He doesn’t feel the pain at first, it hits him only when he has fallen to his knees and blood paints his coronation outfit where the arrow hit him.

“Your Majesty,” she gasps in a panicky voice and hurries to help him. She’s looking around to find the attacker but there’s nobody on the rooftops, not anymore. He has probably already fled away. “Come on, let's go,” she takes his arm and puts it around her shoulder not even giving him a chance to say no. She pulls him closer so she can help him carry his weight.

Because of the blood loss Yan An dizzily wonders how she can be so strong. While he is painfully aware that this is the closest they have ever been and what a pity that it happens like this. He’s dazed, his sight blurred and he’s sure that he has fainted a few times already when he wakes up from this nightmare.

The characteristic aroma of aloe vera and alcohol fills his nostrils but the sharp pain is gone. He feels numb yet he remembers the blood. Is he dead or dreaming? Both can be true if an angel like his wife looks at him with such saddened eyes.

“Your Majesty, you are awake! Uhm… sorry for my inappropriate behaviour but I had to cut your clothing so I can look at the wound and...” she’s rambling and takes her hands off the the herb leaves placed gently on the side of his ribcage. For somebody who should be used to being washed and dressed by maidens before rituals and ceremonies, he feels naked without the upper part of his formal attire because now, there are Cheng Xiao’s beautiful eyes on him. On his pale and weak body, one that shouldn’t be a king’s. Maybe Yifan’s right and Sicheng should rule instead. He’s more capable for sure and everyone would accept him as a rightful heir. But he’s doing this for his sake, so that his brother can have everything he can’t.

“Thank you,” he interrupts the bashful girl in a raspy voice, trying to sit up while looking around. Since he doesn’t recognise this dusty, old place, they are surely not in the palace. “Where are we?”

“In a pharmacy close to the temple. The owner helped me get you here. He’s gone to the palace to tell the General you are here,” Cheng Xiao answers putting one last layer of cream on his aching chest. Yan An exhales slowly as he watches her work.

“Where did you learned all this?” he asks curiously because he has never seen a royal know about such things.

“I wasn’t brought up as a princess, remember?�� his wife reminds him with a soft smile and there’s something bittersweet in her tone. Her fingers don’t even tremble as she dress the wound and they brush against his delicate skin.

The king has to realize, again, that they don’t know each other at all. He knows it’s common with arranged marriages but he has never thought he would marry a stranger. If the princess hadn’t been lost all those years ago, they could have been raised together. They could have been friends. But what are they now?

“You should tell me about it one day.”

“Maybe, I will,” she says but it sounds like never. Something nobody dares to tell a king. Yan An knows that he has to be an iron-handed monarch if he wants to keep his place, if he wants his people to respect him and his choices. However, he doesn’t want them to fear him and it’s an almost impossible thing to do if even his own wife doesn’t tell him the truth. Maybe he will never know who she is for real.

“You are bleeding, too,” he blurts out too lost in her pretty features while she helps him arrange the pillows behind his back. She’s so close, he can almost taste the salt of her (or maybe his) sweat and blood but her flowers scent is the strongest, enchanting him. The king finds himself mindlessly moving even closer and his thumb brushes over the tiny wound on her rosy cheek.

Cheng Xiao doesn’t move, doesn’t avert her eyes and he feels his blood burning his veins as the starry night is looking back at him.

“You stopped to help a little boy. Somebody who wasn’t even your people. Why?” he asks, curious. Pure kindness of a heart was such a rare thing to see these times but the queen seems to have this quality. Even her answers sound sincere:

“They are humans, neither my people, nor yours,” she claims, oddly believing in the power of individuals. She seems fragile but also strong at the same time, hopeful and hopeless, a mystery of full moons as he stares at her. A riddle he may never solve.

“Why did you save me?” she asks pleading, barely above a whisper yet it sounds like a cry out in the silence settled between them. It's almost hypnotic, the intimate closeness of them and maybe between their immortal souls. too.

“You are my wife now, I have to protect you,” Yan An tells her, remembering his mother, a commoner artist’s words. She believed in goodwill and people and every year on his birthday when he could see her (until death did them apart), she told him to care about those who lean on him so in need, he can also lean on them. “But you saved me, too.”

“I barely did anything. The royal physician would have done much better job,” she protests but he shakes his head because he didn’t mean it like this.

“You could have left me there, on the square, but you didn’t.”

At that the queen turns her head to the side and walks away. As she stares out of the curtained window, she looks like the goddess of moon and Yan An is already dreaming when she whispers those fateful words: “Maybe I should have.”

But oh, the stars keep her secrets so well.

The Tuan king isn’t happy, to say the least, that his so-called blood sister was also endangered but he keeps a straight face at dinner. Luckily the rebellion got cut short as soon as they captured the instigator but they couldn’t earn safety and peace so easily. Fear and doubt poisoned the thick blood of people.

“My sister told me you saved her life. I wanted to thank you,” Mark breaks the uncomfortable silence settled in the gardens guarded by the temples of gods and guards.

Cherry blossoms are swirling in the air as if it was a day like any other but a lot of things changed since the morning. A prince became a king, a courtesan became his queen and they saved each other’s lives.

“No need to thank me. I didn’t do it because of our ally or some hidden intention. I simply don’t want her hurt.”

He is being nothing but genuine but in times like this, full of rage and blood, being so selfless is unheard of. Especially if the person is a king. They should be ruthless, strong-willed rulers, not caring about anybody before their country and themselves. But there’s a crack in Yan An’s perfection, a flaw so fatal, his enemies could strike him in one go if they knew: he cares too much and he bonds too easily. Because he’s trusting a traitor and a killer, the one who will draw his royal blood once a new chance arises. That’s the plan, right?

King Mark glances at the girl still dressed in her formal wedding clothes and watching the tint of blush on her cheeks while her expression is lifeless. Could she be the same girl they all have heard so much about? The best pupil in that courtesan house in the desert? Could she be the same he once knew? It feels like another life and maybe it was, looking at the distance between them. It feels as vast as the deep blue oceans and he’s not sure he can sail through the wild waves to set foot on her shores.

As things are currently, he might never find out the answer because being a King doesn’t mean he’s almighty. There are a lot of things he isn’t allowed to do, his hands are tied because of profane things like diplomacy and formalities. For one, having actual emotions is a luxury for people like him. They only complicate everything. But it seems, he isn’t the only one who is affected. Both him and the new Yan king are men of emotions unlike their brutal fathers. Maybe it’s the start of a new era, a peaceful one, he hopes but he doesn’t back out on their cruel plan. It’s for his people after all, for their safety he swore to protect.

It’s hard to say whether he could consider Xiao under his custody but he was more than delighted to hear that her husband means no harm to her. It also surprised him how gentle the boy was, especially in the way he looked at her. Oh a naive, young king, he will bring doom to his own kingdom.

It’s later that night, well after twilight when he can finally be alone. At least, almost alone since his guards are always following him in the shadows but in discrete distance. That’s all he needs because he doesn’t want anybody to disturb his conversation with the Queen of Yan kingdom. The maids before her chamber bow to him and fling the door open without question. The scene that welcomes him is dumbfounding and infuriating the least. He can see his uncle towering over the vulnerable girl ready to strike as a predator.

“I organized everything for you, but you still missed the perfect opportunity,” he growls and slaps her as quickly as a viper attacks its victims with a hit so hard, it makes her gasp. Before he could make another blow, Yien grabs his arm and twists it behind his back.

“Don’t you dare hit her again,” he snaps at him angered like a wild animal and grits his teeth, pushing his uncle away from the girl that’s supposed to be his sister. He is bitter and mad out of his mind which is certainly not good for his weak health.

The goodhearted king had no idea that it was his uncle who supported those rebels and didn’t even care about if the courtesan got hurt in the middle of the action. He even paid for them to make a chaos out of the celebration. Even better if she was targeted because then nobody would suspect that she’s his little doll. He never cared about those who are endangered, just him, only him.

“This little princess act isn’t the only thing what we got her for,” his uncle hisses and yanks his arm out of his nephew’s tight grip. His gaze is furious as if he was questioning how the younger dared to tell him off and humiliate him in front of a mere slave. Mark may be the king but his uncle has a big influence on his reign. He couldn’t just forget what he should thank him for and why he’s keeping him so close.

“No, but if he died without any other witness, everybody would suspect an attempt of dethronement. It wouldn’t help our reputation,” Yien protests calmly and shoos him away patiently like a parent would do with a child. “Patience.”

The man curses under his breath and strolls out of the suite like a madman. Neither the boy, nor the girl looks after him.

“Are you alright?” the king asks in a worried tone, stepping daringly close to examine the bruised area.

“Yes,” the courtesan answers bashfully, looking down so she could avoid saying the things she knows she shouldn’t. Like that if he didn’t come, she would have killed the older man. She wanted to slice his throat for humiliating her even if she knows she can’t. King Mark wouldn’t forgive her so easily if she did.

“He won’t stop until he gets what he wants. And now it’s Yan An’s head,” the king sighs disappointed because he spent the whole journey arguing with his uncle about the real plan he found out about. He wasn’t as stupid and naive as the older thought.

When the girl looks up at him from under her fringe, he looks so young. His blonde hair messily falling onto his forehead and his hand freezing in mid-air not sure if he should touch her or not. Would it be too inappropriate?

“Why is it so important for him?”

“Who knows? He just really wants me to unify the two kingdoms and to be honest, it would be better that way. We wouldn’t have to worry about wars anymore, at least not against an army as big as theirs,” the young man’s hand falls back to his side. “Are you sure you could do it? What he wants you to do?”

Before he could say another word, the girl moves. So quickly he can’t even react and in the next moment, there’s a sharp hairpin digging into the soft skin of his neck.

“Do you doubt me, Your Majesty?” she quirks an eyebrow, clearly not amused.

“Never, xiaojie,” he touches her cheek in endearment, fear never crossing his handsome face.

She smiles as she drops the pin and leans into his touch. “Good.”

King Yan An hisses in pain as the clothes detaches from his body tearing the skin and opening the wound again. Even if it’s only a surface scratch, thanks to his luck, it hurts and hardly heals. The royal physician is treating his bruise severely, taking it a lot more seriously than she should but maybe it’s understandable. Now, he isn’t just another crown prince in the line for the throne, he is the ruler of their kingdom. He shouldn’t be that careless to let it happen again but he doesn’t regret saving Cheng Xiao at all. If he let her get hurt, he wouldn’t be able to look in the mirror without despising himself. What kind of man that would have made him?

“Keep an eye on her,” Lady Meiqi warns him while changing the old bandage to a clean one after applying some heady smelling cream on the damaged skin. She doesn’t have to say the name out loud, Yan An already know who she’s talking about. Is it because of the recent events or that his wife is always on his mind nowadays? Who knows?

“Why?” he asks confused. Mostly because the physician doesn’t seem like she’s worried about Cheng Xiao’s well-being. More like that she’s worried about his, that maybe he will be stabbed in the back if he’s not looking. It’s an absurd assumption, isn’t it? What would she do to him? And why? Especially after she practically saved him? What’s more, the peace is a beneficial deal for both parties. So it just doesn’t make any sense.

“Don’t underestimate her just because she’s a girl, Your Majesty,” Meiqi explains vaguely and gulps. As the physician she was there when Xuanyi bathed and dressed her to the ceremony to examine her health. She saw the map of torture on her back: constellations made of scars. It was even more suspicious that she did an excellent job with the wound on His Majesty after the arrow hit him. How did she get those ugly scars? And where did she learn medical stuff?

“She isn’t our enemy, Lady Meiqi. Don’t forget, Cheng Xiao is your queen now,” the king warns her firmly with a slight edge in his usually soft voice. It isn’t a threat but it does sound like one and the girl bows deeply.

“I am sorry, I didn’t intend to make accusations,” she apologizes heartily and adds, even knowing her head could be taken for saying this out loud: “I just think you should be careful who you trust. The Tuans has never been trustworthy.”

Yan An opens his mouth to reply but nothing comes out, his words taste like bad wine and are swallowed by the dryness of his throat. After finished patching him up, Meiqi exits the room with a final bow, leaving him completely alone with his thoughts.

The palace is a colossus, big enough for two people to accidentally avoid each other but sooner or later, the king should meet with his legal wife especially if they didn’t consummate their marriage. They are both aware that they should soon since both kingdom is waiting for a heir, a future king to reign both lands with equal rights but Yan An busied himself with royal duties instead of husband ones. But they couldn’t keep it up forever. Weeks passed and rumours got around that the queen is always alone in her chambers. One day it even reaches the king’s ears and he’s ready to prove them wrong. Arranged marriages are always come to this point. Most of the times, sooner than later.

When he knocks on the gilded door, he’s surprised to be greeted by the queen dressed so little it’s almost obscene. He waves at the maids and guards to leave and they obey right away, pulling the door shut behind them.

Silence stretches in the spacious room as they look at each other. The king’s mouth is dry, the queen is fiddling with her clothes. Neither of them moves, not for a long time but then the girl is reaching out with her right hand, beckoning him closer. The silk robe she wears barely covers her breasts and only reaches her knees, showing off her ankles and Yan An can’t help but stare. He’s not sure how he’s still functioning when he takes her hand and let her guide him to the big, soft, baldachin bed.

“Did you...” he starts uncoolly and his breath hitches, “... know I was coming?”

Cheng Xiao looks him straight in the eye, standing up so they are only inches away. Her eyes seem blown and lips appear to be shiny and soft.

“The maidens, they told me to change. To look pretty for you.”

The king frowns bitterly, searching for her eyes.

“You are always pretty,” he says and he doesn’t lie. For him, it’s obvious just like the fact that the Sun is coming up every day. Yet, the girl looks taken aback as if she has never heard the compliment before, but she must have! A beauty like her should be showered with love.

She doesn’t answer. At least not with words as she leans closer and closer until there’s no more space between them and places her lips faintly on his. He trembles when she pulls back, catching her breath and Yan An automatically follows her body shift. It’s an entirely new sensation, something he hasn’t experience in all his life. Not even the innocent touch of lips.

Even as a prince, he has always been shy, never approaching any pretty lady while girls simply didn’t dare to approach him because of his lot higher class. He has only ever met with maids and relatives. He has never felt those sparks of flame when he looked into her eyes, his palms have never burnt to touch that honeyed skin of hers and adore her at the altar of her body. She tastes so sweet he believes he could get addicted on it, he’s already lightheaded when they fall onto the bed with a loud thud.

Cheng Xiao takes the side of his head into one hand guiding him to a better angle and Yan An couldn’t care less about the embarrassing noises he probably makes when she feels so good, so soft and warm against him. The smooth slide of their lips suddenly change into something more messy and desperate as she takes his hand into hers and places it on her bare thighs under the skirt and both of them gasps at the new feeling of hot skin on skin.

“Back then... did they force you to… you know...” Yan An’s panting barely an inch above her, searching for answers in the dark abyss of her eyes.

He’s selfish and he knows this but the thought of anybody else touching her this way makes him angry and sad. But otherwise, how could she know all this? That how and where to touch to make him all bothered? How to kiss him to take his breathe away?

“You mean to ask if I was a sex worker as a courtesan?” the girl mutters, not at all ashamed as she lies under him and receives a slight, uncertain nod as a reply. He may be the king but Yan An is just a boy, inexperienced with women, it’s pretty obvious. “They made me do a lot of things I didn’t want to do but my virgin price was too high for anyone. So no, Your Majesty, I was not.”

Everything she knows, she knows from stories of older courtesans and books a girl her age shouldn’t read under normal circumstances. But they made sure basically all her life that she was ready. However, she has always believed there would be no emotions, not even harmless fond ones.

“I’m sorry,” her husband whispers, a tight gut forming in his throat just from imagining what she had to have been through even if he didn’t know her back then.

“No need. You have every right to know,” Cheng Xiao shakes her head, her lips slightly brushing against his in the most intimate way, the puffs of her exhaled breath warming his already blushed cheeks.

“Not just that. But that you had to suffer,” the king corrects himself while stroking her jaw tentatively but oh so lovingly. “Now that you are here, I want to make sure you are happy.”

They live in such cruel times, selfless golden hearts are hardly heard of... but could it be? That the king of Yans is gentle like a cool breeze in spring? How could he rule a country then? How could she not getting weak for him?

“Why are you so kind to me?”

Don’t! You are just making it harder, she wants to scream at him from the top of her lungs but she can’t when he looks at her with those melancholic eyes.

“Because I know how it feels to be unwanted in the palace,” he says softly, genuinely and Cheng Xiao lets him kiss her everywhere, including that never-fading birthmark on her wrist.

Once upon a time, there was a golden haired girl. She had a tiara on her head, a brother by her side and crystal jewels all over her body making her a valuable target for any enemy. A victim or merely a show-off prey, because the more gold meant the bigger price on her head. So she was sent into hiding, waiting to reveal herself when the right times comes. But she had enough of lazing around, soon she will take back what’s hers.

"Have you heard the gossips, Your Majesty?" Chenle pries quietly at the next big family dinner. Relatives all over the continent from different kingdoms came back to congratulate on the coronation of the new king and discuss the tasks he had in mind for them. But somewhere along the way in-between drinks and majestic meals, the conversation’s topic soon changed.

"What?" Yan An looks up from his plate searching for the eyes of his second cousin. The younger doesn’t look at him, instead he shares a meaningful look with his brother, Yukhei who continues with a nonchalant shrug:

"They say that the Tuans just bought an orphan girl to play the part. That she’s not the princess we have all been looking and waiting for."

But yes, she is. The king argues silently. For him, she’s the one he searched for and didn’t even know. She was everything he ever wanted and more, a fair queen, a sincere but lovely woman and a passionate lover. He couldn’t help but fall for her. And the more times they spent together, the more he fell.

She’s still a mystery, an enigma nobody could ever solve. She’s quiet but observant, gives him good advice about not only household matters but politics, too. But sometimes, at night, she looks like the devil disguised as an angel with that fire burning in her eyes but he keeps letting her in to share a bed. Sometimes nothing happens, they just talk but on other nights, when the moon is out, they make love and he kisses each of her scars while telling her how beautiful she is.

"Never speak about the Queen like that, you hear me?" he fumes even though he is very well aware that the younger royal only voiced out the worry of people. They love their queen very much and maybe that’s exactly why they don’t want to acknowledge that she came from a house that led numerous wars against them. Still these kind of talks can be harmful, so Yan An would rather not have Cheng Xiao hear about these.

Since that night, the awkward tension between them has gone and been replaced by a different atmosphere. One that’s filled with fleeting touches and stolen glances.

"But... don’t you see? She has been manipulating you," Kun, one of his older relatives on a side-branch of Yan’s family tree, dares to add and everybody, even Sicheng eyes his reaction carefully. They all know what it means to have a puppet king controlled by a foreign queen. Maybe even the end of their kingdom.

“No, she hasn't,” Yan An objects and prorogue this ridiculous conversation by saying the wine tastes bad and it took away his appetite. Somewhere far away, the Tuans might smile in satisfaction because he really has no idea what they plan for him.

As the Moon Parade is coming up, Yan An suggests going to her home kingdom for the celebrations. Lately, he has seen Cheng Xiao looking quite down, so melancholically sad, especially after she read her brother’s letters. It’s only natural that she misses him, a sibling she only got back now and also lost him to the other king pretty soon. He just wants to make his wife happy, he reasons when he announces the journey to the eastern shore and the palace physician also approves. Meiqi told him that the queen is in good enough health physically to bear a child despite having being malnourished during her teen years and the reason why she hasn’t conceived yet may be in her head. The change of atmosphere might help.

But the queen is quieter than usual as they approach the place she was born in. She has sorrowful grey nostalgia in her eyes as she stares out of the carriages’ window, looking around, mapping the scenery as if she has never seen it before. However, Yan An doesn’t doubt her, doesn’t even want to. She has been lived away for more than ten years after all, these forests must be foreign to her even if she once knew the sprouts.

“Your brother...” Yan An’s gentle voice breaks through the silence and draws her moon eyes to him. “You two are quite close, aren’t you?”

Such a strange thing to ask, some might say but in royal houses tainted by the hunger for power, brotherly love is so rare. Not to mention that in their case, the miracle of finding his little sister was quickly followed by marrying her off. It was like he only used her as a property but the loving smile she kept just for him didn’t make sense.

“Yes, we are,” she whispers into the awaiting space and unconsciously touches her wrist. Now it's covered by her dress but they have spent together enough nights for the king to know that she has an ink spot-like scar there. “As a child, we played a lot in the gardens, just running around. I looked up to him, admired him but now we are both adults and we should stop playing hide-and-seek.”

That’s what you were doing? Hiding? Yan An wonders, marvelling at the lovely frame of her face. Of course, the courtesan house is the last place anybody would have searched for her. But… did it worth it?

The king brushes a thumb over his wife’s right cheek lovingly and she instantly leans into his touch, perfectly fitting like the yin to the yang. He almost makes the mistake of asking what it was like and how they found her but now and there it isn’t the time or place for questions like this.

“We are here,” the rider announces loudly as the horses halt and they make their way out of the carriage. The peasants welcome the royal couple with cheers.

Luckily, the reception is better than expected but they walk into the glorious palace with practiced smiles. When they are offered moonflowers in honour of the feast, Yan An takes both with a fond expression on his face and turns towards this beautifully dressed wife.

“May I?” he points at her hair that’s already decorated with diamonds and golden accerssories. What could a tiny white, trivial flower add to the sight? Still, she smiles, brighter than the Sun itself and nods.

Yan An’s fingers don’t shake anymore when he touches her. Yet, his breath still hitches when their eyes meet after he’s done with placing the flowers among her locks. The adornment she treasures the most out of all the jewels she wears.

The flowers are stepped on where they lay on the floor trashed and useless. Cheng Xiao is shoved to the ground as well while barbaric hands tear at her pretty outfit and the palace guards are nowhere to be found.

“Why can’t you just obey and do what you were ordered?” the man riots and the girl had always known that Mark’s uncle didn’t need much to snap.

Now, it seems like he certainly had enough of the games the courtesan played. Who did she think she was anyway? They had an agreement and if she didn’t keep her word and promise to fulfil her part of the deal, he might as well throw her into the dungeon she, as a slave, belongs. But he needed a plan, one that ensures that the reputation of the Tuan kingdom doesn’t get damaged. He wouldn’t want that merely because of a silly, silly girl. They can always make it seem like it was the Yans’ fault. But at those times they lived in, even a king killing his wife wouldn’t have been obnoxious So who cares?

“You can’t even do that much! I have to take the matter into my own hands, you stupid slut. You would deserve to have your tongue cut off for your lies and that bastard you protect so much, he should have an arrow through his heart before you could break it,” he growls into her face with so much spite, it makes her nauseate. “I made sure that he will be dead by tomorrow. Then Yien will rule and I will let you rotten in the dungeons. But first I will make you watch your precious husband die. Slowly. Painfully.”

The man grabs her hair and yanks it so hard she has to grit her teeth not to scream. But she won’t because she doesn’t need help. She has never been that weak, innocent thing they thought her to be.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” she glares at him just like a mad goddess full of fury and he doesn’t even feel the first stab, it happens so fast. He gasps and his grip turns into a desperate hold on her shoulders as he loses his balance. Blood already coats the girl’s hand scarlet red as she twists on the fancy hairpin, another gift from Yien, deep in his chest. Every tiny flick of her hand is emphasized by a word she hopes he will remember even in the afterlife. “I. Am. Your. Queen.”

She has fire in her eyes and a soul as black as the night. She’s the warrior now they raised up in the courtesan house. She’s like the man himself wanted her to be: a ruthless killer and she has become the ruin of him.

There’s still blood on her hands when the Tuan king finds her with a dead body at her legs. The guards following him draw their swords immediately but Mark stops them with the wave of his hand.

“I’m sorry,” Cheng Xiao looks at him pleadingly, not being able to read in his masked expression but the king calmly offers her a handkerchief. It’s white and clean. May it be the symbol of forgiveness?

“He would have never stopped,” he sighs looking over his glassy eyed uncle who has always been obsessed with the idea of their golden age. Look where it took him: defeated by a girl he dismissed.

“I know,” she agrees with a sigh and gets onto her two feet. Her left cheek is angry red where the man hit her earlier and the blow left scars across the pearl skin due to his rings. It will be so much trouble to cover it with makeup.

“You did the right thing. I don’t want war or rebellion. These previous weeks have been tranquil, we didn’t have it that way for so long,” the king says knowing fully well that his uncle worshiped chaos in the name of greatness. He would have done anything to take the throne from the Yans. No wonder why he despised the fact that the match for the marriage seemed prosperous.

Silence has never felt so odd between them before but now, they both are immersed in their own thoughts that somehow shift into the same direction.

“Will you tell him?” Yien asks and the queen knows right away that it’s not about the uncle anymore. Memories of big, bright, hopeful eyes appear in her mind and her heart threatens to break if that fond look turns into a frown. However, lately even him, the oh so loving Yan An seemed suspicious of her and he has every reason to be doubtful.

“I should. Even if it makes him hate me.”

Mark chuckles lightly.

“I don’t think that could happen. But just know that you’re always welcomed here,” he promises as generous as always but his serenity is sincere. He thinks of himself as someone who can read others well and he saw how the Yan king looked at Cheng Xiao. It would take a lot of him to push her away. Especially now.

“I have missed you,” she confesses, almost tearing up. She looks more like the 6-years-old girl that lives in his memories than a queen with cranberry red blood on her hands. Her beautiful doe eyes bore into his with the same adoration they held all those years before.

“I know. I missed you too, my little Nightingale,” he smiles at her sweetly and dips down to press a feather-like kiss to her forehead. Siblings should stick together after all, don’t they?

Another king stands tall in an all blue outfit in front of the wide window of the shining palace. His hands are curled into fists by his side, the letter he got earlier teared apart and burnt by the candles he found in the room. Chaos would arise as soon as its content got out and in this uncertain era, even a rumour would be enough to bring him doom. But what if it’s really nothing more than hearsay? Why should he believe somebody he has never spoken to? Well then why does he feel so unsure?

Maybe because the letter was right about a lot of things and suddenly everything makes sense. Still, he doesn’t want to believe it. Why would King Mark go through the trouble of paying for a high-level slave to marry him just to kill him? Why would he lie about his sister? But again it would explain a few things. For example, that mystery around her.

There’s no knock on the door, nor announcement, so he wouldn’t even heard the noises if he didn’t pay close attention. The girl comes from the shadows, like ghosts in old folktales but she’s real and solid like the marble she steps on.

“You are brave for coming here so boldly,” he speaks up firmly, not looking away from the window.

Nobody should disturb a king in his chambers without invitation. Nobody. So he tries to keep his tone cold but it sounds rehearsed instead. He doesn’t have to look, he has her portrayed in his head so detailed, he can literally imagine her standing in the corner in a dress fully black just as the night when there’s no moon up. Oh the irony.

Her long blonde hair falls onto her back and shoulder, the contrast so ethereal like a painting. Though, Yan An blames the gods that such beauty could even exist in human form. It’s weakening. Especially since she is here, it means the letter was right. Then why does he still has doubts?

He forces himself to stay put, accepting his fate but he has to ask that one tricky, heartbreaking question: “Are you here to kill me?”

The question takes Cheng Xiao by surprise and she almost slips. To the Hell with the slippery floors of these palaces. She tries hard not to tear her gaze away from his nostalgic form. He’s just standing there, not at all like a majestic king but a boy waiting for her next move. He doesn’t even try to defend himself or call the guards. Is it because he trusts her too much or because he’s okay with dying?

“Would you let me?” she asks fingers closing around the sin-tainted hairpin in her hand. It’s still wine red and sharp, ready to kill, yet her fingers tremble and her throat is closing in discomfort.

There’s nobody around. It would be the perfect opportunity to fulfil her original purpose but she can’t. She cannot bring herself to do it even though she did the same thing with cold-blood earlier.

Although Yan An has the answer on the of his tongue, he doesn’t reply but the slope of his shoulders goes rigid as he turn around to face the sudden visitor. There she is: oh so beautiful and more dangerous than ever.

“Why now? You could have killed me dozens of times,” the king inquires further, seemingly cannot drop the topic until he gets his own answers. He’s eager to know what happened, even if he doesn’t dare to hope that the reply will satisfy him. Especially if they only shoot questions back at each other.

“How do you know about this?” the girl furrows her brows, taking a few careful step closer, idly looking around in the majestic guest room her brother had prepared for the Yan king. Since only a handful of people knew about the plan, she wants to know who ratted them out. And what if he knows more?

“I got a letter from your uncle…” he says letting out an awkward laugh, “But he isn’t really your uncle, is he?” Yan An corrects himself quickly, back straightening. His voice is suddenly cold, formal and Xiao flinches at the unfamiliarity of it.

“What did he tell you?” she’s ignoring his question. Again, and it makes the king sigh exasperatedly. Always those damn secrets. It’s getting tiring.

“Just that you are an impostor,” he sums up the content of the letter he had read more than four times before burning it. The words engraved themselves into his brain haunting him, mocking him. They never found the real lost princess, just picked one of the girls who looked like her and paid her to play the part, the letter said and he wondered how could he love a liar?

Cheng Xiao takes a breath of air sharply at the accusation as the king watches her closely, drinking in every feature and wondering whether her smiles were genuine at all.

“Is it true?” he can hear that goddamn hope in his voice and he curses himself for being weak and love? But what if she says no and he’s being paranoid for no reason?

However, the queen has that sad look in her pretty eyes, It’s unfair, nobody should look so unearthly beautiful if they are guilty as charged.

“No,” she answers finally and looks straight into his eyes, voice steady and sure but isn’t all courtesans trained actresses, professional liars? Maybe she faked the whole thing just to trick him into loving her, getting high on her kisses and intoxicated by her scent. He’s burning in the inside to believe her but how could he? Where are the facts and proofs? And why would her uncle lie then?

“But he didn’t know,” she adds at last, answering his last silent question but the past tense makes the boy furrow his brows in suspicion.

“Where is he now?”

Despite the nonchalant look on her face, silence tells it all and it shatters into pieces when she drops the bloody pin.

“He was the one who wanted you dead, I had to,” she starts explaining when the tension becomes too much and too heavy on their chest. She isn’t that well put together queen anymore, she seems rather desperate to confess her sins. “I never really intended on killing you after I got to know you. If I did, you would be dead already. I just wanted back what I was taken away.”

“So you’re telling me that you’re the real princess but your uncle didn’t know and you went along with his crazy plan? Why would you hide in a courtesan house in the first place and why didn’t you just tell him you are the one? Why did you need me for getting back what was yours?” Yan An snaps at her, more confused than ever and he feels like yanking at his own hair in frustration. He should despise her for killing his relative since he shouldn’t love a killer after all. But it doesn’t matter at all because desperate times require desperate measures and everybody is a murderer on their own. He led a war against her kingdom that shed so much blood it could fill his bath. They are all monsters in the end.

According to King Mark, with the marriage offer they let him choose his own destiny. He could have rejected it and keep the rage and carnage going. But since he’s weak for young, pretty and innocent, his choice was obvious: he couldn’t say no to the lost and found princess who has been engaged with him since birth. He’s said to be a good man. He thinks he can save anyone but who will save him then? Will it be her?

“Once you asked me if I would tell you my story one day. I tell you now if you’re willing to listen,” she says slowly, hoping he would at least listen to her before kicking her out. He would have every right to do that and restart the war with their kingdom. Yet, he simply nods and ever so politely offers her a seat to take.

Cheng Xiao bows and sits on the sofa. Every movement of hers is tentative and respectful, with no intention to invade his place or offend him, so she doesn’t sit too close or too far. Still, it feels like they are strangers again.

“He wasn’t my uncle because I’m not the late king’s daughter,” she confesses the secret only a few people knew in the court. Affairs aren’t unusual in their class, but women keeping company for themselves seems a much more despicable thing rather than when men do the same. “But don’t worry, the queen was really my mother so it makes me a princess. I got my hair from her, Yien as well. Also, we both have a birthmark on our wrists here. That’s how he knew I’m really his sister,” she adds and to prove herself, she rolls up the sleeves of her dress to reveal her bare wrist. Even though she knows he has already seen it, he never asked what it is or why she keeps it hidden sometimes. But if it was the proof, wouldn’t it be the best to let the world see? What is she afraid of?

“I was never really lost, I was just in hiding,” the girl continues, gaze filled with nostalgia drifting afar. “When the rebellion broke out, a maid rescued me at my mother’s request. She took me to the courtesan house of Jianfeng because she knew the owner and paid him a lot of gold to keep my secret and train me. His job was to teach me how to protect myself until the time comes. So when Yien’s uncle came to get a girl to kill the Crown Prince, we knew my time is close but I couldn’t reveal myself, not until I was sure he or other traitors wouldn’t kill me if he knew the truth.”

“Why would he have done that?” Yan An suddenly interrupts her, confusion colouring his strict expression.

“Like I said: I’m not his brother’s child so I’m basically a danger to their bloodline if I claim the throne after Yien’s hopefully very far future death.”

“Alright, I get it,” the king nods and he really does but the little pieces still don’t make up the big picture. It seems too much work just to get him killed. “But... wouldn’t it have been easier to pay for an assassin to kill me rather than going through all this procedure to find somebody to marry me?”

Cheng Xiao gulps and looks at him sharply. It’s a warning look, the one that says he doesn’t want to hear the answer but he doesn’t take the question back. So she sighs.

“I think you know the answer already. If people believe that I’m pregnant with the king’s child, both kingdoms can be ruled by the Tuans.”

“Of course, it’s always about that damned crown,” the boy hisses looking wounded as if the words hurt him physically. This time, when he looks at her, he’s angrier than ever. Disappointment glowing in his eyes like never before and it’s a scary look on him. It might be the first time when the queen is afraid of him. “Did you feel anything for me or was it all just part of the plan, to bear a king's child?”

The blame burns and she retorts with equally hurtful words:

“And did you? Or you just wanted to become a king as soon as possible so you were okay with the first princess thrown at you?”

Yan An’s jaw tightens but he knows two can play this game.

“Well, somebody has to rule,” he says harshly because he won’t say sorry for doing the right thing no matter how selfish it sounds.

“And somebody has to fight for what they have,” the ex-courtesan argues, tone just as rigid.

They stare at each other, flames in their eyes, hearts beating fiercely and then the queen stands up. It happens so fast: she hears the movement of shuffling before she hears the bow’s snap and she turns, quickly like lightning and throws a small dagger, hidden under her sleeve, towards the unwanted visitor. It hits the masked figure straight in the chest and blood bubbles up from the dark haired girl’s mouth as she drops down dead. It’s been a while she had to use her skills but her aim is deathly, they used to say. It doesn’t look like it changed.

Cheng Xiao remembers the girl with glazy eyes from the courtesan house, always quiet and observant, great in archery but she also remembers the uncle’s words about making sure to end this. Of course, he didn’t do half work, he didn’t pay for only her to do the job. This is the reason why she doesn’t feel regret, only pity… and pain. A pain so awful that it makes her grasp and losing balance as her knees go out under her. It’s only then when she looks down on her own chest, staring at the dark dress getting darker and darker each passing second. The blood is like a waterfall going down, down, down and she feels like drowning.

“Xiao!” the king cries out in panic and crouches down beside her. With a hand holding her back, the other tries to suppress the bleeding from the fresh wound. “Somebody help!”

Even in the haze of pain, the girl feels warm all over. It’s not the first time he called her that but she considers herself lucky to be able to hear it again.

She coughs a little and her voice becomes raspy when she opens her mouth to speak. “They won’t come. I sent them away.”

The arrow just above her heart makes it hard for her to breathe and she’s grabbing on her chest to ease the sore but it’s like swimming against the current. Beyond reason.

“Ssh don’t talk, it’s alright. I will get help,” Yan An makes another promise he probably can’t keep but he cannot just sit and wait. He’s holding her close not wanting to let go and the frustration of his helplessness hits him hard. What’s the point of being a monarch if you can’t save those you care about?

“I love you,” Cheng Xiao forces out desperately, not to run out of time. She can barely keep her eyes open and her trembling fingers are closing around the king’s shirt as if he was her only anchor. Her blood-covered lips are quivering as she’s confessing. “You should know... It was a-all real. I loved you from the day y-you saved me. We are even now.”

She touches his face lovingly, a sad smile forming on her pretty features but instead of goosebumps, she’s only leaving bloody handprints behind.

“No. Don’t say it like you are saying goodbye,” the king, acting like a lovesick boy, can only protest and shake his head as he pulls her closer. No, it can’t be, it can’t end like this. There are still so many things left unsaid between them. “Please, don’t leave me. Not yet. I love you,” he whispers it like a prayer, kissing the words into her sweaty skin.

Maybe he has always loved her. The girl he was supposed to marry. But then he met her, the shy yet brave princess and when he fell, he fell hard. He knew it’s love when nothing could come between them anymore. When he read that letter and didn’t care who she was. For him, title doesn’t matter. She could be a queen, a courtesan or a commoner, he would love her the same.

“We are more alike than we originally thought, Your Majesty, we both have scars people can’t see,” Cheng Xiao mutters with her last breath hitting his cheek and then her lashes flutter closed. Darkness welcomes her with open arms as she loses consciousness, falling limply into the arms of the man she loved in secret but oh so dearly.

It’s a rare sight. The two kings in the same room, silent, waiting. Everything smells like herbs, even the heady air around them and it darkens the gloomy atmosphere even more until Yien can’t take it anymore.

“How is she?” he asks quietly but with loud concern. Without their crowns, they are just two young men who gave up a lot and lost even more in the process. Neither of them is ready to lose another loved one and nothing has ever brought the two kingdoms closer than their love for the same girl.

“According to the physician, it will take time but she’ll recover,” Yan An nods towards him, momentarily looking away from the unconscious girl lying on the cosy bedding. If there wasn’t a bandage on her chest, it would look like she’s only sleeping. Or hiding like summer’s beauty, the flowers, during the harsh, ice-cold winter.

“She is a survivor,” Yien notes relieved and turns to the younger king, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Take good care of my sister or I’m going to change my mind and agree with my uncle about killing you.”

He’s talking threateningly yet it feels like he’s giving his blessing and not only as the king of his country but also, as Cheng Xiao’s brother. It makes Yan An smile.

“We will take care of each other,” he promises and doesn’t let go of her hand.

Never again.

A year later, the Queen gives birth to a healthy son, the rightful heir of both Yan and the heirless Tuan throne. It takes almost two decades but with his reign, the era of sixteen kingdoms is coming to an end and they welcome the dawn of a new age. May it bring peace finally.

History books will remember the rule of Yan Yalun as one of the most flourishing era of China and the monument he built for his parents will make sure that people never forget: true love conquers all even under the weight of the crown.

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thataspdfeel · 7 years

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I'm curious, what are you most attracted to in your partners? Is it similar traits in all of them or different ones like their sense of humour etc.? Sorry if this is a weird question but you've said before you like when people ask about them so I thought I would.

i was so excited to get this and then forgot to answer it :/ im an idiot

also gonna put this under a cut cause this is gonna be hella long cause im a fucking romantic dork

god though i could wax poetic. they’re all so lovely. like they have traits in common but also are unique. they all have brown eyes but theyre unique. like my husband has these eyes that remind me of warm chocolate. like a chocolate fountain kind of warm chocolate. dark and smooth but reflect the light. my wife’s have tinges of gold in the irises like flecks of gold leaf. and theres a dark ring around the pupil and one around the edge of the iris. theyre fucking magical

my boyfriend’s eyes are almost black and very deep. darker than the night sky and full of warmth and mischief. but its like theyre never ending, like he can see the innermost parts of whoever he’s looking at, like your soul is written on your forehead

lmao i love eyes can you tell

they all have these goddamned sinful eyelashes and my boyfriend’s are the longest. theyre as dark as his eyes and when he’s embarrassed, he gets all shy and they brush against his cheekbones like how dare you sir. how dare you be beautiful even when youre embarrassed. i look like a fucking tomato. rude

my husband’s look gold at the tips with the way the light catches them. like yknow how fake eyelashes have purple or red at the tips? like that except gold. like what??? the fuck??? rude

they all have very soft hair though my boyfriend’s is the longest. i cant wait to get with him irl again cause i wanna braid it. he’s got a bony face and it frames it so well. it’s so dark brown its almost black and it’s fun to see him try to sweep it out of his face cause he refuses to tie it up

my husband has these wild curls. we were looking up how to take care of them and that’s how we found out hes ethnically jewish. (which makes sense considering he’s german) they get so thick and heavy and they’re so soft and lovely to nap in. which i do on a semi regular basis. its so soft and lovely and i love when he grows it out. he just doesn’t look right with shorter hair. and he has this beard that grows funny, makes him look like jedidiah if yknow what i mean. he has such a baby face without it and he loves beard scritches it’s so cute how happy he gets

bluh im bouncing all over the place i just??? love them?????? so??????????? much???????????????? there’s so much to talk about!!!

so i guess i’ll just try and make a list of the things i love about them

husband:

cheerful, bubbly, very sunny personality. the human incarnation of a very excited dog (which can be A Lot sometimes)

extremely kind. would give you the shirt off his back. often laments that he stopped carrying cash years ago every time he sees somebody who could use some despite the fact that we’re always broke

a proper southern gentleman??? like im fat so im used to people not holding doors open for me fucking ever and being really goddamned rude in general. he ALWAYS holds doors open for me, opens the car door for me both to get in and out of the car, and gets pouty if i try and carry my own bag. it’s so sweet??? ive literally never had that before and even after three and a half years, it’s still so charming

he will do literally anything the fuck i ask. he’ll say no and im like oh ok and he’ll tease like “finally! i said no! and got away with it!” just to make me giggle and then does it anyway

on this note, he also always cooks as much as absolutely possible. even though his spine gives him problems, he does his best to keep me off my leg

he’s always so concerned about my well being. like if there’s not a disability cart at the front of a store, he makes me sit down while he goes and chases one down. if im stiffer than usual due to a cold front, he’ll remind me to take pain meds every four hours

he’s trying to learn japanese because he knows i dont have anybody to practice with here in the states. just for me and not any other reason

adores animals. even if he finds a dog annoying, he’ll still fawn over it and give it as many pets as it wants and won't ever snap at it even if anybody else would. he’s got these large hands and he’s kind of clumsy but this goes away around animals. he’s just so careful and gentle like i never ever worry

drags me out of my introverted cave because he knows social interaction is also good

has introduced me to some of my favorite books and video games because he’s verious conscious about what somebody likes and works to be like “hey, i think youd like this” and is almost always correct??? amazing

has 0 sense of style but doesnt mind somebody who knows better keeping him from absolute disaster

dude is a damned good cook. ive gained like at least a solid 25 pounds since he moved in and started cooking regularly

SPEAKING OF COOKING, we met on the tail end of my anorexia when i was doing my best to recover and still slipping up. he never made me feel bad about it but always encouraged me to eat. he eats SO much (think shaggy rogers) that i always felt comfortable eating in front of him. he always reminds me to eat and asks if ive eaten that day. honestly, i wouldnt be at this level of recovery if it hadnt been for him

is amazing at caling me down holy fuck

wife:

met her first, of the three of them, ironically so ive known her the longest but been with her the shortest. we dated a few months in hs but there was a chick she wanted to date like right there (and i was in japan) so i was like oh go for it. well, they broke up and we got back together and it’s been lovely ever since

she has this snorting laugh that’s adorable to listen to and it makes me feel more comfortable laughing (because i think i sound like a damn goose)

SHE HAS SO MANY GODDAMNED FRECKLES ON HER CUTE LITTLE FACE THEY’RE ADORABLE AND AMAZING AND VERY FUN TO KISS BECAUSE SHE SQUIRMS

she has a goddamned button nose for chrissakes

and these really wide hips too like i felt bad about my hips years ago cause theyre p wide but shes adorable and has wide hips too. she kinda made me love them (even though hers are better)

she’s genderfluid so i get to be gay all across the gender spectrum (im agender) and she’s so beautiful and handsome and v amazing

we were both homestuck fans at the height of it (like we still are) but her cosplays are just really well done??? shes so talented

OH MY GOD SHE MAKES THIE CHICKEN SOUP WITH HOMEMADE NOODLES I WOULD SLAP AN OLD LADY FOR

i dont know about the rest of her cooking (sadly) due to limited time around each other but i cant fucking wait tbh. her cookies kill me tho i love them

an amazing fashion sense. im a dumpster compared to her

an amazing writer and artist and i die every time she sends me something like my soul fucking ascends

she loved me BEFORE meds which i think is amazing. like what a lovely human being yknow? im a dick without meds and she loved me anyway and i love that about her

she speaks german and she makes it sound beautiful and i cry

her singing voice is so angelic and it kills me when she sings because everybody should hear this lovely person sing

she is hyper empathetic and it makes her so lovely and kind and wonderful. she completely understands how i feel about things and why even when no one else does and is very good at de-escalating me when im upset

we’ve just known each other for something like 7 years now? like i dated her post my abusive ex and she lit up my whole world with happiness at being treated well. then her ex was abusive and just... we get each other? in a way where her husband and my other two partners dont. its a pain the others dont understand so we go to each other during these times of pain in a way we cant with other people. it’s a very special connection

she’s a goddamned goof and i love it

my boyfriend:

motherfucker is so skinny which is the opposite of me and for some reason it works?? idk like it worries me but it’s also unique. love it

we dated almost my whole senior year of hs but he broke up with me because he thought he didnt have the same depth of emotion as i did for him and didnt want to “hold me back” from somebody better. like??? can you imagine?????? how fucking kind

recently started dating again like it took him fourish years for him to realize SHIT I MADE A MISTAKE so he’s a little slow but he’s so very thoughtful

he’s a goof in a different way than the other two. dad jokes. never ending fucking dad jokes. and goddamned puns. he never stops. dont tell him i love them because then he’ll never let me tease him again (i pretend like its The Worst)

so. fucking. dramatic. always flips his hair in the sassiest way possible. its super gay (he’s bi)

he doesnt do a whole lot of romance or saying WHY he feels certain ways. he feels like it cheapens the emotion. but, on the rare occassion he doesnt let this bother him, his poetry he sends me about how he feels makes me fucking cry. it’s so beautiful. i love it

he works watering at a plant nursery and complains about how the bees always use him as a landing strip. it’s adorable

he’s so resourceful?? this is best seen when playing minecraft cause he makes some damn cool structures in some really nice places. i love playing it with him just to see what he builds and how (especially since im a boring, lets make this house a square kinda ho)

he’s so camera shy??? no selfies no skype at all. he’s so bashful and it’s super cute i love it

got me into DnD like yes thank you for this enjoyable nerdery

the sole reason i passed math in hs. like not only is he smart but hes also really good at explaining things to people? definitely a talent for teaching people things

he was my best friend for the longest time like all three of them are my best friend but he was the only one who was my best friend FIRST and then romance blossomed

like im demiromantic so i need a strong connection to fall in love like it was a solid few months of dating my husband before i began to love him. i knew my wife for awhile and got close so same general story. but my boyfriend and i were more friends to lovers and i love that about him

his dad is half italian so he talks with his hands and it’s so overdramatic that he hits people with them on a semi regular basis just gesturing. he once accidentally knocked my glasses all the way across a room cause i had walked behind him and he made a sweeping gesture. hilarious

one time, i had food poisoning and the pain was so bad, i had to crawl under his kitchen table until my mother came to take me to the base clinic. he sat with my head in his lap and brushed my hair out of my face and cooed gently at me to try and soothe me. it was so sweet and ive never forgotten about it

motherfucker, with the help of my sister, dragged me into homestuck

he’s so damn shy about affection that holdling his hand in public makes him blush. it’s even worse if i steal a kiss. fucking adorable

things all three have in common that i love:

good in bed. it sounds silly but this is important to me because while i dont necessarily need sex to form a close relationship to fall in love, it definitely helps

idk how this happened, i really dont, but somehow everything i like lines up nicely with everything they like??? and if im not into something, they can find it with each other and vise versa. lmao wtf how did this happen to line up idk

kind, generous, sweet, and helpful although all three show these qualities in different ways despite having them in common

love me??? like honestly it sounds so silly that id love that they love me but im such a flawed, terrible human being that it leaves me in deep awe that not only does one person love me but three??? how??? amazing people to find something in me to love and to keep on loving despite all my problems. beautiful

creative, smart, and inventive each in their own right. they fucking astound me and take my breath away

beautiful cuddlers (not being sarcastic, promise)

husband is a goddamned heater but boyfriend is a living block of ice. then wife is one of those who’s in between but she steals your heat and then hours later gives it back which is the worse option of the three. like it starts out all nice but then you end up surprised hours later because youre fucking dying of heatstroke

so we have two heatstroke, drowning in sweat options and then losing your limbs. it makes trying to set the thermostat a fucking nightmare

they all love to read and honestly? i couldnt be with anyone who doesnt like a good book

can hold lively, in depth discussions about things

hubby tends to lean more towards “would it be immoral to fuck a succubus” type morality questions and superhero dissection type things

wife is all over the place and can carry on a conversation about goddamned teapots if she so chose. no idea how she does it

boyfriend likes to entertain more morbid thoughts and psychology but also likes to analyze things. like homestuck. we still fucking dissect homestuck

very intelligent. blows my dumb ass out of the water. beautiful

like gaming various amounts and various kinds of games. hubs likes any and all. boyfriend likes dnd, monster hunter, minecraft etc kinds of things, not really one for cards or board games. wife prefers to craft but will occasionally engage in board games or cards, less so in video games but tends to stick to pokemon. it’s nice

they’re all very physically beautiful though in different ways. hubby is barrel chested and german with very strong arms and big hands, a bright and sunny smile. wife is small and round with tiny, artist hands and a sweet, pixie face. boyfriend is thin, long, and gaunt with pale skin and dark hair (kind of like damien from dream daddy tbh)

i could go on but ive been making this post for like well over two hours now and i figured maybe i should stop. it’s long as hell and idk if anybody else would have read this whole thing but basically i fucking adore my partners??? so much??? and there are so many things about them to love???

i just love them so much and could go on and on for hours about why i love each of them and how lovely they are and how they make me feel

ksdjrfgh im so sorry this is so long theres just so much to talk about //sweats

#mod vann #long post #text heavy #like this is obscenely long lmao #im so sorry #Anonymous #anon #vannswers

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deborahdeshoftim5779 · 7 years

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The Marvel of Trelsi (Part VII)

I’m back for more Trelsi mania. Today, I want to expand on the disadvantages for the High School Musical franchise that Troy and Kelsi received so few scenes together throughout. We know why their friendship is so damn good, and so the natural question arises as to why they didn’t capitalize on this when showing the protagonist, Troy Bolton, headed on his journey to finding himself.

Already, I’ve answered the following questions from my Introduction:

1- Who IS Troy Bolton?

2- Who IS Kelsi Nielsen?

3- What makes the Trelsi friendship and dynamic so friggin’ special? Why does it make me want to weep and write poetry? (Part IV, Part V, Part VI)

After some consideration, I’ve added this question before I get to exploring the potential of their relationship:

Question- Why are there so few Trelsi scenes? What is the effect of this? Where could we have seen more Trelsi?

It’s necessary to recap the main value of Trelsi throughout the canonical franchise:

1- Movie Message: Be true to yourself. Troy learns that performing is a part of his identity and embraces this. Kelsi learns that she has a talent worth appreciating and shouldn’t allow people to change her music as though they know better than her.

2- Character Development: Without taking the crime committed against Troy’s character development into account, the effect of hearing Kelsi’s words and lyrics spurs him to explore his new-found interest and apparent talent in performing. Once Troy shows Kelsi her worth, she becomes more confident, more assertive with her compositions and embraces the spotlight.

3- Plot: Troy gets his chance to prove himself as a performer after hearing Kelsi’s music; Kelsi in turn gains the acumen to write for more musicals and eventually pursue a scholarship opportunity with Juilliard. Troy’s accumulated profile in the Performing Arts thanks to Kelsi’s songs inform his decision to pursue Theatre after graduating from high school.

4- Character Balance: There is a notable and enjoyable contrast between Troy and Kelsi as people. Even though they have complex shades of their individual characters, there are still some key differences. Troy is more outgoing than Kelsi, more willing to put himself forward. He’s the guy who’ll be joking with his buds at lunchtimes, whilst Kelsi is huddled over her manuscript paper, scribbling away. This is even after she becomes more popular. Kelsi appears more of a disciplinarian when it comes to composing, as you often see her frowning and crossing out notes when dissatisfied. Troy’s performing style appears more spontaneous; I tend to think that he would be the one suggesting ideas to develop his interpretation of Kelsi’s songs. This is evidenced by his practicing style in HSM I (running round the practice room whilst singing the chorus to “Breaking Free) and his routine during HSM III for “I Just Wanna Be With You”.** Kelsi is talkative and Troy is, interestingly, not talkative. Indeed, he gets alarmed when Kelsi babbles on and on about her ideas. When Kelsi becomes more confident, she can steam ahead with her beloved “ideas”, whereas Troy is more hesitant. Kelsi is more spur of the moment, whereas Troy is more analytical (although he clearly does give in to creative impulses). There are some overlaps here, particularly when considering Troy as a basketball player; neither Troy nor Kelsi are clear-cut. But they are distinct in some key areas.

5- True Friendship: Troy and Kelsi rely upon each other as an unfailing source of support and never abandon each other when things get tough. They are completely loyal to each other. Remember, East High has a Drama Club. Kelsi is certainly not the only composer in the entirety of East High, and Troy has his pick of many other talented people who might write songs just as good as Kelsi’s or even better. Instead he sticks with Kelsi’s music even when initially unwilling to do another musical or show. When the future of each show is put into jeopardy thanks to Gabriella, Troy does everything he can to ensure the show will proceed after all because he cares about Kelsi’s hard work and understands the satisfaction she gets from creating music. It would be far easier for Troy to let Gabriella go her own way (as she tells us in HSM II); after all, he owes more to his girlfriend than to his friend. Insisting upon Gabriella’s performing in HSM III was significantly motivated by his loyalty and respect for Kelsi; hence the speech about how important his new-found friendships with less popular students in East High (and I’m sure he wasn’t just talking about Kelsi and Ryan, but probably other people he had befriended as well, whose names we don’t know). The respect is clear, as is comfort, unspoken understanding and affection. Thanks to the lack of concern shown to Troy’s other friends outside of Gabriella, no indication is given of whether Troy will remain in contact with Kelsi after graduating; obviously I think he would, but we can’t say for sure.

So why don’t we get to see more of them? I’ve thought about this at considerable length, and although it’s far too easy to blame the screenwriters for not seeing the value of Trelsi right under their noses, I think there is probably a less biased explanation.

Simply put; we don’t know very much about Kelsi Nielsen. Compare how much we know about her to Troy’s other important relationships: his “romance” with Gabriella and his friendship with Chad Danforth. We hear about Gabriella and Chad’s parents, their childhoods, their aspirations, their interests outside of their primary fields (science and basketball respectively), we know their flaws, we get to see day-to-day banter between these two and Troy on a regular basis. We know about their parents: Gabriella most probably lost her father, her mother has struggled between pursuing the demands of her job and giving her daughter a sense of stability. Mrs. Montez clearly earns a lot of money, and is an excellent cook. Mrs. Danforth loves Broadway, crushes on handsome actors and probably reads too many diet magazines. ([Chad] “One of her crazy diet ideas-- I don’t attempt to understand the female mind, Troy!”) Even other characters like Taylor get more depth even though she isn’t as close with Troy; we know about her older sister, her philosophy on life, her aspirations and interests outside of science. For example, it is notable that despite being scientifically-minded (Chem Club President), Taylor wishes to pursue a degree in Political Science. This is also the same for Gabriella, who wishes to study Law, although she is shown to excel in maths and science (particularly chemistry).

Consider by contrast how much we DON’T know about Kelsi Nielsen. Who are her parents? Does she have any siblings? What is her wealth status? (She mentions having a piano at her house, so can we assume middle-class?) Given that she was the composer of the show, why didn’t we get to see her parents or other relatives in the audience? With regards to the plot, how did she become interested in music; I have theorized that her deep commitment to the art stems from a pathological shyness that probably lasted for most of her formative years. What does she like doing in her spare time, or what are her other interests outside of music? We know in HSM III that she is more than a competent dancer and may have taken ballet lessons as a child. But this seems contradictory when considering her clear clumsiness in HSM I. By HSM III, she is incredibly graceful. Did she take lessons at some point? What other creative interests does she have? We do know she likes classical literature, as her favourite book is the (extremely boring) “Wuthering Heights” by Emily Bronte. (Credit to BoltonEvans). Her obsession with romance says a LOT about her-- where did this come from? I’m fairly sure that Jason was Kelsi’s first boyfriend, but did she have any other crushes beforehand? We don’t know things about Kelsi that go beyond the surface, like her fears and her lifelong ambitions. Sure, we can assume she might want to be a composer, but it’s VERY difficult to get well-paid, consistent work in the Performance industry, and no amount of talent can change that. Hence why I discussed her single-mindedness to her career and the disadvantages thereof.

Don’t get me wrong; we can infer a significant amount of things about Kelsi, as you can see from my hyperlink above. But so much remains unknown. Hence, Kelsi was simply not intended to be a very prominent or influential feature in Troy’s life. This is why Troy and Kelsi are never shown hanging out on a casual, day-to-day basis; almost all of their interaction is centred upon the titular musicals/shows and even though Kelsi eventually sits with the Cool Girls (Taylor, Gabriella and Martha) and the Cool Boys (Chad and Jason, with whom she eats breakfast during HSM II), she is never shown doing the same with Troy. In fact, this gulf between them when not near a piano or stage is so great that we don’t even get a final Trelsi scene after high school graduation, despite the fact that elements of Troy’s speech fit his friendship with Kelsi far better than his friendship with Zeke, Martha or his “relationship” with Gabriella. We get no indication as to whether they will keep in touch after graduation, and have to assume not from the canonical headline. It makes me weep and turn to drink, but my bias and wishful thinking only extend so far. In light of all this, it is simply astonishing that the film’s creators would go to all the trouble of 1)- linking Kelsi to the central character, Troy, 2)- creating a close and unique friendship between them, 3)- giving Kelsi roles and characteristics that should have been given to Gabriella, 4)- inserting Kelsi into the plot and character arcs to push things forward. They managed to be sloppy, careless and yet attentive at the same time. And though I lampoon them on a regular basis, I absolutely give them the credit for creating Trelsi. But their lack of concern for both characters is astounding, particularly since so many HSM fans love both Troy and Kelsi.

As a result of this, the film suffers from the following disadvantages:

1- Little comfort for Troy: Although there are standout moments where Kelsi comforts Troy, the paucity of Trelsi scenes means that for most of each film, Troy is either left floundering in a sea of self-doubt, self-criticism and denial, or unsuccessfully seeking understanding, loyalty and support from the wrong people. Had he spent more time with Kelsi, he would have gained a steady source of support throughout. It would not have reduced the conflict, because Troy would still face obstacles caused by Gabriella and his friends as well as by himself. It would, however, have built up his character in a realistic and consistent fashion. This was supposed to be Gabriella’s role, and as I will discuss later, she fails abysmally.

2- Promotion of unhealthy relationships: The less we see of the exemplary friendship between Troy and Kelsi, the more we see of the less exemplary friendships between Troy and the Wildcats, and the unhealthy relationship between Troy and Gabriella. Because Kelsi was not intended to have a significant influence in Troy’s life, there is plenty for room for Gabriella and the Wildcats to influence him in ways that inhibit his character growth and lead to a real decline in his ability to think autonomously. Kelsi reflects the complete antithesis of this, and thus her increased presence would provide an exemplary contrast to the drubbing Troy endures from those supposed to support him.

3- Stunts character development: The dynamic between Troy and Kelsi is thoroughly egalitarian. They raise each other up both literally and emotionally, and they have a largely unspoken way of doing so. Without this source of support, Troy has to look elsewhere, most often to Gabriella. Troy’s sense of self diminishes at an alarming rate as a result of her influence, which will be discussed in later instalments. Performing onstage and seeing Kelsi there as a source of encouragement increases his confidence and sense of self. Furthermore, potential scenes between Troy and Kelsi that weren’t related to the musicals would help Troy learn more about himself, as they clearly share much in common, a passion for the Performing Arts being one of the main commonalities.

4- Diminishes Kelsi’s value to plot: This is what annoys me the most. Even though Kelsi is the one who:

1- Composes ALL the music for said HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL,

2- Puts in HOURS getting the very best out of Troy and Gabriella,

3- Shows absolute devotion to her craft,

4- Can work with any type of performer, even difficult ones like Sharpay, who trusts her enough to keep performing her songs,

5- Arranged rehearsal times for everyone with recognition to their schedules in EVERY movie, which required excellent organizing skills,

6- Managed the entire school orchestra by herself, writing orchestrations and fixing charts, writing arrangements for different instruments,

7- Assessed the musical capabilities of characters who considered themselves non-musical or even uninterested in music so that she could include them in the musicals: (HSM II- ”...maybe Chad and Zeke can do backup and everyone can dance!”),

8- Took the generic and predictable Lava Springs Talent Show at an exclusive country club and turned it into a show-stopper (HSM II- “Kelsi’s got some great new ideas to SPICE UP the Talent Show!”)

9- Had a great understanding of each performer as an individual and could tailor her writing to suit their strengths, which is why she wrote differently for Sharpay as compared to Troy and Gabriella,

10- Made Chad forgive Troy in HSM II,

11- Provided constant loyalty and support to Troy throughout,

...she is considered a MINOR character by most accounts. This is inconceivable, unjust and patently ridiculous. Kelsi is the HEART AND SOUL of the movies. She brings everyone together***, and she is largely responsible for Troy’s magnificent transition on stage into a natural and engaging performer. To give her less scenes with Troy means that less attention goes to her and her incredible achievements and more attention to characters who have not even achieved one fifth of the above list by comparison. It sidelines a character in blatant contradiction to the whole aim of Kelsi’s character development, which was to give a shy and introverted character a VOICE. Recognition. What was the point in Troy reaching out to her in the first place if the script was just going to shove her back offstage despite everything she had done for Troy, Gabriella and the Wildcats? What was the point of Troy calling her and RECOGNIZING her as a Playmaker if she gets no credit for this either from the scriptwriters, Gabriella, the Wildcats or even Troy in his abysmal graduation speech? I reiterate: it was a crime for Troy to mention Zeke’s crême brûlée and Martha’s cheerleading, none of which had ANY effect on his character development whatsoever, but not make ONE mention of Kelsi’s music which propelled him to where he stood that day. Inexcusable. Since Kelsi was the ONLY other person described as a Playmaker, she should have received more attention. Thanks to the chronic inconsistency of both the screenwriters and Troy (too busy giving credit to Gabriella that she doesn’t deserve), the second Playmaker is routinely ignored where she should be getting the spotlight.

Sorry folks, but this makes me mad.

What kind of scenes could we have had between Troy and Kelsi that would add value to the franchise and lessen my inveterate anger?

1- Troy confiding his worries-- Although Troy and Gabriella’s first time on the rooftop is a better example of Gabriella being receptive to Troy’s concerns (”I’m sure it’s tricky being the coach’s son.../”Then they don’t know enough about you, Troy”), there’s no consistency in Gabriella’s concern. Throughout HSM II and HSM III, it almost vanishes on the spot. A scene where Troy confided his worries in Kelsi would result in Kelsi taking those worries seriously and providing solid, useful advice to help him progress.

2- Kelsi confiding her worries-- I refuse to believe that the process of creating a musical or show went off without a hitch. Despite Kelsi’s claims that everything would be fine, she must have had worries about this, and I can only see her being comfortable enough to share these with Troy, who believes in her and calls her Playmaker. That would get her back on track. But what about Kelsi’s worries outside of music? We could have had some very interesting discussions here.

3- Troy and Kelsi learning more about each other’s backgrounds-- When Troy shares some parts of his childhood with Gabriella, she just laughs in a condescending fashion and makes him feel like an awkward three year old. She doesn’t understand his dorkiness/nerdiness. Given that Kelsi shares a lot of Troy’s awkwardness, I can’t see her making fun of Troy for having a toy robot or a Batman cloak. In fact, in my headcanon, she’d quite like his treehouse. Why? Because Kelsi clearly values solitude to think and compose her songs. Troy values solitude to think as well, hence his love of trees. I can see Kelsi fitting in far better here as a companion in the treehouse. I think Kelsi probably valued her solitude as a child, and even though Troy mostly played with Chad when they were both boys, he clearly does use trees for thinking on his own. Also, because Troy always takes an interest in other people’s lives, and because he connects so well to Kelsi’s music, he would naturally want to know more about her background in this regard. (Assuming they got such a scene... *angry face*)

4- Troy and Kelsi banter-- Both Troy and Kelsi have a far more compatible sense of humour than Troy and Gabriella. Indeed, Gabriella is often incapable of taking a joke. Troy and Chad have a compatible sense of humour, but I don’t get the impression that Chad, who is more straight-forward and direct, would appreciate the value of Troy’s sarcasm, dry and self-deprecating wit. Kelsi definitely would, since she can poke fun of sensitive issues like her height: (HSM II, in response to Martha on what her summer plans are) “Grow, write music, grow.” Kelsi is quite good at making light of a serious situation with a comic understatement, as is Troy. There are some slight differences; it is Kelsi who is more prone to poking fun of others. With the exception of the hazing scene in HSM III, Troy rarely makes fun of anyone-- not even Sharpay. And we have already a little evidence that they find each other funny. Given that Troy becomes increasingly miserable in HSM III, he could have done with some of Kelsi’s light-hearted banter. So say I. :D

5- Deep conversations-- Kelsi’s songwriting reveals a maturity beyond her years. Troy already demonstrates himself as mature beyond his years, often bearing a lot on his shoulders. Gabriella, by contrast, is extremely immature despite her strong academic capabilities. Chad is too involved in either his own future, or trying to impose that upon Troy. He sees the world in black and white, with no nuanced shades of grey. Hence why Troy’s attempts to have serious conversations with Gabriella end with her pretending to listen/understand and then pulling the focus back to herself, and his serious conversations with Chad end in either mockery, sweeping generalizations and Chad once again insisting his views are correct. Therefore, it would be far more enlightening to see Troy having serious conversations with Kelsi. For example, they might discuss their futures; Kelsi is very ambitious, hence why she applied to Juilliard. What with her philosophy of pre-destination (it’s music all the way), and Troy’s philosophy of free will, they would have very mature conversations, discover more about each other and even learn from each other’s viewpoints. There’s a complementary contrast there, as both Troy and Kelsi showcase some of each philosophy in their future: Troy accepts pre-destination when he decides to keep basketball in his life, despite saying in HSM III, “Maybe I don’t see my life as a ball game anymore, man.” It would have been nice to see Kelsi being a little spontaneous when it came to her future too, given that it seems she was dead keen on attending Juilliard: “What? They got my letter?” Once again, we see Kelsi’s unmissable and scandalously underappreciated initiative.

On that note, I’ll be looking into the potential of Trelsi’s relationship next, in particular the line between friendship and romance.

TO BE CONTINUED

(*FOOTNOTE-- How tragic it is, that by the end of the film franchise, Kelsi is more confident, whereas Troy’s own confidence has withered to provide that truly horrendous ending we saw in HSM III. Read my fury about it here. Had Troy and Kelsi spent more time together she might have helped alleviate the effects of Gabriella’s negative influence upon him, and had she been Troy’s love interest, he definitely would have developed in a more linear fashion).

(**FOOTNOTE-- Of course, Troy is a disciplinarian when it comes to basketball, which underpins his skill in this area. Say what you want about Coach Bolton, he really knows how to get the best out of his son, and instils in Troy a laser-like focus on his goals. Now this does not suit Troy when he discovers his interest in the Performing Arts right on the cusp of an important game, but it does give the implication that Troy is a hard worker and is generally successful when pursuing his goals. Or, when he fails, he can pick himself back up again and try harder).

(***FOOTNOTE-- Once again, we see Troy’s astounding, though unintentional, blindness towards Kelsi and her achievements. How can he seriously claim that Gabriella is the one who “changed” East High, when it was KELSI who brought people to appreciate the beauty of music and performing through her excellent compositions?! Kelsi is the one he calls “Playmaker”-- “the one who makes everyone else look good”-- and not Gabriella, who simply has not achieved anything similar. All Gabriella did throughout the ENTIRE film series was simply be in the right place at the right time. She rarely ever took initiative, except to audition in HSM I, and to apply for Stanford’s Freshman Honors Program (which, whilst being commendable, has nothing to do with Theatre). Kelsi is the one who spent her time composing a song for Troy and Gabriella to sing in HSM II, most likely after she received her summer job from Sharpay. That’s real initiative. We will look at this in more detail later).

#Trelsi #OTP #Playmakers #TroyBolton #KelsiNielsen #LiterallyTroyandKelsiForever #AppreciateKelsiNielsenPeople #SheisSOImportant #Don'tSpeakToMeIfYouThinkTroyellaWasMoreImportantThanTrelsi #You'reFrickingKIddingYourself #ToBeContinued #IFrickingLoveThisShit

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