#anon i love u for showing me that i’m not the only one unnaturally happy about this lmao

[racetrackmybeloved]

we have returned from war 🫡

(i really hope u recognise what this means-)

THE WAR IS OVER <3

[woso-dreamzzz]

hey long anon back (another anon said they agreed w the “long anon” and that actually made me smile) here to apologize again out of courtesy of this long message even if you’ve said not to hehe (sorry for not listening to u)

WHAT THE HELL!!?!1!3?2?32 oh my lord. that ending is such a great way to leeway into what i assume will be the break point between jenni and alexia’s endings. thanks for already breaking my heart… again.

i was just wondering throughout this part if bambi was going to be considered for her own input on this decision. she’s obviously young but she’s ultimately going to be the one most affected by these decisions… but upon reflection i guess it would be hard to conduct that sort of conversation. maybe we can put bambi in an interrogation room and just straight up ask her who she prefers and connect her to a lie detector test (what’s another round of trauma going to do to her at this point? kidding. love u bambi i’m here for u and u only now) but seriously i feel like bambi’s rationale or input on how she’s feeling about either jenni or alexia is sort of needed… idk. maybe it’s just me?

eli telling alexia to think with her head and not her heart is so so real. both jenni and alexia definitely have their own opinions but i still do think jenni’s being more rational about everything—(hear me out alexia agenda) jenni has always wanted bambi and even if she’s expressed jealousy that she was alexia’s and not jenni’s… jenni ultimately has always thought about what was best FOR bambi. the argument that bambi is biologically alexia’s and thus should stay with her isn’t my cup of tea because it isn’t a matter of who claims the child… it’s a matter of who is the better caretaker. jenni’s proven to be just that. she’s had her pitfalls: not immediately realizing the signs of meningitis (even if it DID seem like she clocked symptoms but not what was happening… if that makes sense), inadvertently frightening bambi in the hospital. but what she does is always FOR bambi, and that manifests itself in her mindset and actions.

for alexia things seem unnatural. a lot in terms of bambi was sort of done for alexia and her own feelings/gain. injured i, for example—i sort of got the feeling alexia snapped at eli so she could hold bambi to regulate her feelings, to try and make herself feel better now that she’s lost her chances at playing in the euros. she comments that she’ll be able to spend more time now with bambi but that feels so bitter to me. putting bambi in football even if there were no results and then being disappointed was for herself too—it shows especially in her pride of jaume being a footballer later on. eli’s the one to suggest ballet and then alexia feels proud because bambi’s got alexia’s determination and drive. and it sucks she only truly sees this drive because she never used to spend time at the studio anyway. at the price of bambi’s happiness (to see her mother watching her at something she loves to do) alexia chooses to routinely run errands instead. buying her trains was probably the only thing done FOR bambi to flourish her interests and it makes me so upset bc even after all that i still feel bad for alexia 😭

again jenni is rational and knows her place. bambi is biologically alexia’s, and alexia has the last say. she’s respectful and won’t admit her deeper, darker feelings towards alexia’s now-tainted relationship with bambi. i like that her sole focus is bambi (the fact she’s thought through the ballet studio near her apartment and the fact that her club is good for childcare too has me so soft.) and while alexia’s made THE bad™️ mistake, and she IS trying to make things right… her rationale is to keep bambi for herself. to fulfill the perfect family picture she’s painted in her mind. there are instances where she admits jenni’s probably better (because she is) and so i’m lost again truly trying to imagine what it’d be like in alexia’s ending over jenni’s. would jenni still be present in bambi’s life in alexia’s version? can jenni move back to spain in either outcome? that way (again) bambi’s not uprooted from her entire family in spain and so jenni can ultimately be bambi’s primary caretaker and easily facilitate bambi seeing eli and alba <3

alright idk if i’ve made any sense… sorry if i didn’t 🫣 ps. thank you for treat you better iii <3 codi’s my most favourite person ever tbh. flowers for you and for codi! 💐 what’s your fav flower?

Bambi didn't get any input at all. It was completely out of her hands, mainly because she doesn't fully understand the situation she is in despite it all revolving around her. She doesn't understand the intricacies and just how close she was to having it affect her in a much more severe way. There's a chance that if they ask her then she'll choose whoever is her current favourite. She can't think about the long-term effects of her decision. But she should have gotten some input but Eli's right. Alexia (at the moment) has all the rights to Bambi so if she doesn't want to do something then nobody can force her to.

Jenni has always been in Bambi's corner from the very beginning but she definitely does have her pitfalls and the longer the situation goes on the more jealous and spiteful she gets. She's been caring for Bambi for at least a month now and Bambi's at that age where she mimics what she sees and all Alexia can see in Bambi now is Jenni. The only thing she has to grab onto (proof that Bambi is still her daughter) is that they're biologically related. That and Bambi having Alexia's drive is the only thing Alexia can think of that still gives her a connection to Bambi.

My favourite thing is when you guys pull in the wider context of the previous parts and the little things in the future too. Alexia in Injured is inherently selfish in her parenting style sometimes (it's something she works on in the future though). She is successful in football and she wants the other aspects of her life to be successful too and sometimes she's a bit blinded in her chase for her idea of a perfect family which is slightly what happened with Bambi. She was too busy showing off her perfect new child that she forgot about her other perfect child.

I mentioned it before but being a mother (at least to Bambi at first) didn't come easy to Alexia. She suffered severely from PPD after Bambi's birth and even when she recovered, those feelings (and guilt) were still there implicitly and they definitely come out sometimes when interacting with Bambi. Again, it's something she works on in the future because no matter what Alexia feels that she just can't be a good mother to Bambi sometimes (which is where she admits that Jenni definitely just does it better than her) but on the other hand, she knows she can be a good mother. Alexia wants to be selfish because she knows she can be the mother Bambi deserves but she also knows that she can't be too selfish because Bambi deserves the best chance at life too and that might not be with her.

Jenni would definitely be in some aspects of Bambi's life in Alexia's Version but to a much lesser degree. Her friendship with Alexia in that version never quite heals because she will never get over Alexia not letting her keep Bambi.

At some point in Jenni's Version, they move back to Spain but not immediately. Jenni still has commitments in Mexico and the distance from Spain and Alexia is probably good for Bambi at the moment.

Codi is my underrated fav. Her little badge tap when she lifted the trophy was so sweet. She's such a cutie. Jonas needs to play her more.

My favourites are tulips 💐

[dippindaz]

Hi Um it’s the anon from earlier with the Lester request

And I was wondering if u could write about Lester kinda realizing he has feelings for another man and ig how he and his brothers deal/react with that?

If u can’t/don’t want to it’s fine Bc the one u already wrote for me was so good

Alright! I’ll attempt writing this, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do it very well though. Thanks for requesting more! Also, I’m going to write this as long HCs and almost a more in depth look at the previous HCs. I’d like to do a short story or a oneshot of the idea but I’m not that confident in my ability to write this.

I was almost finished with this and then lost all my progress, of the end seems slightly rushed or not that well done, I apologize.

Warnings: Mention of knives and taxidermy, denial of being gay, slight homophobia, calling same sex relationships “unnatural”, mentions of homophobic slurs.

Unedited

In the beginning, neither Bo or Vincent understood why Lester wanted you around so badly. Even Lester himself didn’t, he just knew you seemed like a fun person. Which was definitely something Ambrose was lacking.

Bo had begrudgingly let you stay. By that I mean, he more of just gave up because Lester was persistent asf.

Originally you stayed in your own home. It was one of the smaller houses in Ambrose but you were happy with it. You didn’t want a lot of space anyways.

As the days went on you worked around Ambrose, though you spent majority of your time with Lester. You’d ride around in his truck with him and help with the roadkill.

Lester would even teach you about each of his knives and taxidermy in your free time.

You two became so close you were practically brothers! Right? Yeah, just brothers..

I think given where the Sinclair brothers live, Lester would be in denial for a very long time. I mean, he couldn’t love another man. It was unnatural, right? That’s just how he was raised.

I feel like after weeks of Lester being in denial and you hoping he felt the same as you. Lester would just be laying in bed and be like “I love em’.”

After that I think he’d be extra shy and awkward around you. He’d try extra hard to make you smile or laugh, but he’d act more distant towards you when his brothers were around in fear of his brothers not accepting his feelings.

Of course you noticed his awkwardness and how distant he was when his brothers were around. It worried you, had you done something wrong? So you decided to confront him about it.

The next time you were in his truck you just ask him out right “Did I do something wrong?”

“Wha? No! Why would ya think that?” He looked between you and the road with furrowed brows.

“I don’t know, you’ve just been awkward with me lately and kind of distant whenever Bo or Vincent are around.”

Lester stared through the windshield but his mind was far from the road. He didn’t know if he should tell you or not. Should he hint it? But he never was good at being subtle. “I- no, you ain’t done nothin’ wrong, I just, I like you a lot ya know? I worry ‘bout what my brothers’ll think.”

“So you’re distant and awkward because you’re worried about Bo and Vincent? They know we’re close, we’re like brothers.”

“Wel-well yeah, I know that, but... but I like ya more ‘en that. I really like ya, ya know? I just, I’s ‘fraid tellin’ ya incase ya tried to leave, ya know. Bo would make me kill ya and I won’t be able to.”

“Lester, are-are you saying? Do you, l-love me?” Your eyes were wide. Could he have felt the same way all along? Did he really love you too?

Lester gulped, “yea-yeah, I, uh, I think do.”

You smiled and directed your gaze to the road ahead, “I think I love you too.”

His eyes widened as his head whipped towards you, “Y-ya do?! Ya really love me?!”

“I really love you.” You chuckled, finally meeting eyes for the first time since you got in that truck.

Lester laughed, out of relief or joy he didn’t know, but began to laugh along too. Any fears or awkwardness faded and the same connection and joy he had always brought to you came back.

The two of you decided when you got home you’d tell Vincent and Bo. Of course, Bo would be after Vincent in fear of how he’d react.

Vincent honestly hasn’t cared much. He thought it was cute the amount of joy you brought each other. Yes, he found it slightly strange that you were two men but who was he to judge? He even offered to help you guys move in together!

It was an anxious few days while you and Lester procrastinated telling Bo about your newfound relationship.

Bo, however, was not so understanding. First came the rage and slurs. After he had stopped yelling he finally asked “Why the fuck are you tellin’ me this?”

You two explained to him how you wanted him to know and accept your relationship. How you both wanted him to accept you as a person.

This seemed to soften Bo a bit. It wasn’t enough for him to completely accept you but he suddenly didn’t hate the idea as much.

“Yeah, fine, if you’re askin’ to move in together you can I don’t give a fuck, don’t expect me to help you.”

Eventually, you and Lester did move in together, with a bit help from Vincent and even though he said he never would, Bo helped you out with a couple things. He always blamed it on a “you’re doing it wrong and gonna screw it up” excuse, but it showed you just how much he had warmed up to the idea of you two. Even if he never was completely comfortable with it. At least he seemed to be trying.

At first it was hard to be around Bo, even with him trying you’d get dirty looks and rude comments. As time passed though the comments lessened and the dirty looks stopped. He began to not only accept your’s and Lester’s relationship, but just you as you were. He learned having you around Ambrose wasn’t as bad as he imagined.

And the always goofy Sinclair brother only got more dorky and happy after he found out the one who loves, who he had sleepless nights over, loves him just as much.

✨Thanks for reading!💝

[commanderserwin]

heart says?

pairings: levi ackerman x reader

genre: modern AU; angst & fluff

request: Could u do a angsty fluff love triangle story pls? + I’m the love triangle anon and could you do it with Levi please? Like another male/female character it’s up to u but it’s ultimately ends up being Levi and reader? 🥰🥰🥰

a/n: here you go! i made it into a whole scenario so i hope this is okay! enjoy and thank you! ♡

It’s very flattering.

But it made you so guilty and confused because you didn’t want to break another’s heart. It wasn’t suppose to happen, being stuck in a confusing pile of love with two choices between them. It’s very flattering but it’s very confusing.

One is a friend. The other is a great friend. 

By great, it means thinking of doing things usual friend wouldn’t do. Be it kissing, cuddling, sex— but not all that. It was their affection that you craved. The lingering looks. The subtle touches. The words that reassures you. The more time spent together, because you wanted more and more of it. You like spending time with them, getting lost in hours just talking, walking together, even texting. The tingles because of the butterflies in your stomach. The rush of blood evident on your cheeks if they even move a little closer. The brush of hands as both of you walk down the street. All the little things. 

It was falling in love; being in love.

Hugh winked his way over, raising his hand in greeting while you did so. Levi avoided your eyes as he walked by. 

Hanji nudged your shoulder with theirs, winking just like how Hugh did. And it made you barf, because Hanji just over did it, and they ended up laughing beside you. 

“So who are we picking?”

“What?!”

“Oh, everybody knows.”

“Knows what?”

Hanji gave you a pointed, knowing look as they stopped chewing their lunch to give you that look. You followed Hanji’s eyes as they pointed at Hugh who was in line for food with a smile gracing their face as he talked animatedly to your co-worker; while Levi... Levi crossed his arms, waiting for his turn. 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“God.”

Your eyes moved back and forth towards them, like a hawk choosing its prey which is morbid because you have to make a choice. Nobody is forcing you but while you make this situation any longer, if you drag it any longer, people will get hurt. You will get hurt because the torture of guilt will corrupt your mind because you know who to choose. You weren’t ready with the responsibility of choosing. One will succeed, you’ll be happy, and the other would wallow hung their head low because they lost. 

Hugh was a friend. He clicked with you the from your first day at work. He ran through everything you have to do, lingered in your space longer than you wanted but you took it all in good graces. He was just showing you around, which is common courtesy for a new co-worker. As time goes by, both of your office hours would begin with a conversation that was left off from yesterday, continuing with such ease that you found yourself smiling and joking around with him. It was always like that, done in good graces and you enjoyed your time with him. Until one day, it clicked. His actions showed that he wasn’t looking for a friend, he was looking for something more and he made that very clear. But you steered off those actions, and tried to make it as you were oblivious to it. 

Levi was a great friend. It surprised you because the first day, he didn’t once speak with you. Then, it surprised you even more because you two were walking the same way home. He turned around, stopping in his tracks as his brows dipped in the middle, curious as to why you were walking behind him. Both of you were stumped that day, while you explained that it was your way home. Then it got too weird, because you followed his steps up an apartment, and the turn once more. He realized what was happening, and he brushed it off. Until, it has become a routine for the two of you. It’s either you who waits for him; or him who waits for you. No talks, just comfortable silence as your shoes hits the gravel with every step until two of have to break away to get inside their respective apartments. 

Then, you have to factor in the things that happens by being neighbors. It’s surprising when Levi was the first one to knock on your door to ask for some sugar or salt. Then it was your turn, who asks for a nearby take-out place. Then at some point, Levi gives you a beer, and leaves. So, the decent thing to do was to knock on his door, with the beer in your hand and a quick grab of the half-eaten chips on your pantry as you invited yourself inside his home. 

Levi was always quiet, but you weren’t dumb too. He was a friend, but it feels different with him. The minutes spent together feels like heaven, and you could only pray that it lasts forever. The lingering stares that you aren’t a stranger to, you wanted that. And as a hint, you gave it to him. It was probably the first time you’ve seen him blush as he does. The little knocks on the door, if he asks for something and when it was your turn, he’d eventually leave you be in his kitchen to grab whatever you would need while he browses his Netflix suggestions— and you’d be left stunned because he has plenty of salt and sugar.  

Or when he waits by the entrance of the building, or by the elevator to join you in the walk home. 

“Hey!”

“Hugh.”

“That’s me!” Hugh exclaimed, taking the seat in front of you and Hanji. He waved his hand in front of your eyes and you only raised a brow, “Thinking of something deep?”

“Oh, uhm,” you licked your lips, stabbing the salad with your fork as you blew a sigh, in a hurry to think of something. “No! No! I was thinking of... work.” 

“Boss got you doing more stuff?” Hugh asked, rubbing your hand with his thumb. It feels so weird, and unnatural that you used it to grab a napkin to wipe your mouth. Hugh brushed it off, starting to eat his meal. 

Your eyes followed Levi as he walked towards the table, but in perfect mask, he flung his head towards the other table, perfectly walking away from you. 

“I have to do something,” Hanji stood up, squeezing your shoulder in secret, as they smiled at you. “I’ll leave you two be.” 

Before you could stop, Hanji is off to Levi’s table, animatedly talking while Levi would only grunt and nod occasionally. 

Levi knew what it meant— and that Hugh was eating with you, again. He is always is too late, too slow, a big coward when it comes to you; and this is how the universe repays him. He wallows in his meal, chewing forcefully at how much he hates Hugh’s face. His whole being— dislike. A big dislike. Couldn’t Hugh take a hint that you didn’t want him? But whenever Levi thinks of that, he couldn’t help but cringe for thinking that— because he doesn’t even know if you like him like that. He’s too dumb for words so he settles for his actions. 

He likes being near you. He enjoys both your loud and silent company, for the days when work was fun and for the days when work was heavy. And whenever he isn’t around you, it makes him feel incomplete. It wasn’t in his book to fall, he just couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help that he finds you so endearing. Like a thread pulling him closer to you. 

But with Hugh? He’s a lost cause. 

Still, Levi finds himself waiting for you by the exit, just like any other day.

He buttoned his coat, waiting by the door as he watched you slip past the crowd with a smile reserved just for him— the one that says: ‘There you are.’ 

But it was cut short when Hugh appeared in the scene. Levi watched your eyes flutter to him, and back to Hugh, struggling to make up an excuse as he could see it in your face. Ultimately, Hugh has got his dazzling smile and an arm around your shoulder as he showed you the way to his car down at an another exit. Levi stayed watching Hugh drag you, until you raised your phone and mouthed: ‘Text you!’  

Levi walked himself alone, clutching his phone in his hand, waiting for you to text him. But you didn’t.

It was close to midnight when Hugh dropped you off at your building, thankful that you’ve got the day-off for tomorrow. You raced up the stairs, leaving a loud ‘Goodnight!’ towards Hugh, while you finally reached the top to open the door to the building. You almost slipped, making you clutch the railings in relief as well as the hot take-out you’ve got in your arms. You turned around the corner, avoiding your apartment door because Levi lives on the second flood, and relief flushes through you again, because he was still awake. 

You cleared your throat, fixing your hair as you prepared to knock with a smile. 

Levi didn’t even need to know who scrambled right in front of his door, because he could hear your loud panting across from it, as he opened the door right away from your hands. 

“Hi,” you breathed, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as Levi only stood there in his pajamas. “I… I brought food. Take-out from our favorite place?”

“Where’s Hugh?” Levi asked, never moving the door an inch wider as he stared at you. He shouldn’t feel bitter that you forgot about him, but his feelings are all over the place and he couldn’t pinpoint if its right or wrong. He’s in a debate if he should let you in or not, or whatever else is running through his mind. 

“Oh! He left. He dropped me off,” you answered, licking your lips as you breathed deeply. You waved the take-out in his face, with a wide smile, and brief desperation on your eyes when he didn’t move a muscle. “So? What do you say?”

“I say that you need to,” Levi started, clutching the doorknob, his thoughts in shambles as his heart was in thudded harder and harder. He read your eyes, and he almost opened the door wider, but he fought himself. Stay. “Go home.” 

“Are you sure?” You asked quietly, pushing the take-out through the small crack. He only followed your hands, “It’s your favorite.”

“I had dinner already.” 

“Oh, but... Right, right. It’s okay. Goodnight, Levi.”

Levi tapped his fingers behind the door, holding his ground. As empty his expressions are, his thoughts are the complete opposite. He scanned your face again, desperation on full display as you shook your head, pulling away from his door. Levi could only watch as you nod your head repeatedly, holding the food on your chest as you stepped away hurriedly. He closed his eyes, sighing as he listened to your footsteps fade into the hallway and down into the stairs, until he could hear the faint closing of your door. 

Levi couldn’t close the door. He couldn’t just stay there by his door, hanging on to the sound of your door closing. He went back inside his apartment, fiddling with his phone as he checked his notifications for something that could differ his attention away from you. But he couldn’t stop to see your face— on how it broke down the instant he rejected. The way he didn’t open his door any wider than he would look.

Perhaps, he was hurting himself for his sanity. He didn’t want to be tossed like rag-doll, get dragged like a rag-doll because he didn’t want to be dragged at where you thought it was possible. He doesn’t want to follow your every step just because he likes you. He doesn’t want for him to be tossed at any direction possible, but only towards at you. 

Maybe it was for the best. 

Maybe all he has to do was power through this, breathed through this— yet he found himself standing up from the couch, looking at the clock as it struck midnight, and like a prince in a movie, he follows you. 

Hugh understood. He could never compete with a guy like Levi. He read it from your face the moment your first day ended. He is just strung-up with the idea of you, and that idea has to vanish because it was never him. So, Hugh understood. That’s why he dragged you for a late dinner, fully knowing that Levi was watching. Because Hugh could instantly read what was happening, he just didn’t want to see it. But at some point, he understands so well that he had to tell you it. 

You held your breath like you were underwater when Hugh confessed. It was supposed to feel magical, the tingles, the blushes— but all you felt was flattery and admiration because somebody confessed to you like that. You wished you had the guts to confess like that. Hugh confessed his heart out, but instead of watching the eyes sparkle, it glinted hopelessness and bravery for doing so. 

“But, I know you like Levi,” Hugh ended his confession as he clunk your glasses together through the dinner. 

“Hugh…” you sighed, rubbing your temples with your fingers because it felt too nauseating, too real, that he said that. You blinked, mustering courage as you finally looked at him. “You’re a nice guy, but-,”

“I’m not Levi,” Hugh added, nodding to himself. He chuckled softly when you groaned before him, and because this was the only time he has seen you so disturbed at the reality. He softly voiced his thoughts, but it has rung the alarms in your whole being. “Go get him.” 

You lifted your head up, mouth parted as Hugh nodded. He rubbed your hand one last time, comforting as always, and you let him. He leaned in forward, raising his glass at you, ushering you to clunk them together, one last time. Hugh held his head up high, finally letting go as you stared in shock. 

“Go get him.” 

And you did, but he didn’t want to be get. 

The food has gone cold on coffee table, still wrapped up in plastic as you removed your shoes and jacket, chucking them on the floor and on the chair. The only company you have was the phone in your hand, and the deep ringing sound when it has been too quiet. It’s staring into an abyss, waiting for something to happen, because you wanted something to happen. 

Maybe it was your mind playing games on you, thinking that he likes you back. Maybe a figment of your imagination. Maybe you read the signs wrong. Maybe it was nothing. It is nothing, and you were right about that. 

“Fuck,” you groaned into your hands as you hung your head low back into the sofa, thinking of how embarrassing it was. “I’m not good at this.” 

The silent void filled you, coloring your thoughts into static, thinking of how it went so badly that you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. It went so badly that you wanted for it be vanish into nothing. “Oh, help me.” 

Somebody knocked on the door, making you jump up in your sit, scowling as it got your heart beating so fast, that you only stared at the door. Nobody knocks on your door at midnight. Even if you’re crazy enough for some guy, you weren’t crazy enough to open the door at midnight. They knocked again, and you only leaned into the sofa, closing your eyes as you waited for them to leave. 

“Oi.” 

Levi. 

“Open the door.” 

Levi. 

“I know you’re in there. Lights are still on.” 

You have never jumped so quickly out of the sofa, scrambling hard to get to the door. Your hand hovered by the doorknob, breathing hard if you have enough face to face him. 

“Open.”

The ever so demanding. 

“Hi,” you smiled, opening the door for him. 

He crossed his arms, eyes looking behind you, and he finally spotted what was supposed to be his conversation starter.  “Dinner is still on?”

“I thought you already ate.” 

“I did.” Levi pointedly looked, nibbling on his lower lip as he waited for your answer that felt like eternity. He could easily read your mind and you knew something was bothering you. Maybe this was a mistake. “Let’s eat.”

“Listen, Levi,” you whispered, leaning on to the door as it swung slightly open, trying to avoid his eyes. “About Hugh…” 

“Me?” Levi asked, taking a step backwards. It was a mistake. 

“No! Hugh! H-U-G-H!” You almost exclaimed but you caught yourself at the last second. “I… You! Levi!,”

Levi stopped, and tilted his head to the side, as you closed your eyes. He couldn’t believe his ears when you said it. He had to lean in forward as you mumbled your words again, finally opening his eyes to match his greys’ stares. 

“I like you.” You confessed, channeling Hugh’s bravery from the dinner. 

Levi only stood there, brows furrowed as he crossed his arms. He nodded, his face turning to stoic— just like from the first day. Just like when you followed him home, to realizing the two of you lived in the same building. Levi thought of all the princess movies he’s had knowledge from— watched, because at some point you picked the movie in his Netflix suggestions, and he couldn’t say no. He thought that if princes run after their princesses, happily ever after would magically appear. But in his sorry case, it didn’t. It was pathetic.

“Okay,” Levi sighed, eyeing the food again. If this was the last thing he could ever get to do with you, he’ll do it with shame and honor all horribly mixed into one. It wouldn’t go away anytime soon because he works with you. Lives in the building with you. Walks with you. So he focuses on his last hurrah, the last take-out dinner night. “Are we still on with the dinner?”

It was like whiplash. Levi nonchalantly pointed at the food, making you look all confused, because you don’t know what’s happening. He was supposed to blush! Stutter! Murmur his confession to you! But, he didn’t do any of those. 

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“You like Hugh.” 

“God,” you sighed, almost falling into your knees, begging for him to understand. 

Tears were falling from your face from confusion, and the feeling of the nonexistent patience you thought you had with confessing. Maybe you did have to kneel. You took Levi’s hands, turning them over in yours and the memories of having to brush them against yours for every walk you have to endure without exploding about him— it all came crashing on you. “You! L-E-V-I! I like you!” 

It finally dawned on him, and the tingles were back on track. For the amount of times he’s cleared his throat to cover up the absence of his words, he is sure he’d have no throat to use tomorrow. 

Levi stood there like a mannequin, and like a thread pulling him to you, he lets it guide him. Until he’s inches away from you, lips all parted, waiting for somebody to fill in the silence still. But maybe it wasn’t needed. 

You shudder with how close he was, and you’re drinking it all. His grey eyes traced your very features, he’s drinking it all. He shivered under your touch, as you placed a palm over his heart, and you smiled with how his heart is making up for his loss of words. His heart thumped underneath your touch, hard and fast, and you nodded. You looked for his hand, turning them over as you guided him to do the same. His hand was warm over your thin blouse, moving slightly to feel your heart thump the same. Beat the same as his, feel it ride its high with just being with him. 

Both of you listened, small smiles gracing each other’s lips as both of you let your hearts speak the same language. 

[fleurdeliszt]

this is ALL @abunnycotton ‘s fault. Pls direct all ur anon hate at her 

For those confused, it’a sequel to this https://kimcottonbear.tumblr.com/post/183332179653/so-this-is-all-abunnycotton-s-fault-she-wanted

Also it should go without saying that this is a work of fiction. There's a a lot of bad stuff in here and if you ever meet a guy like this irl, run.

Warnings : emotional manipulation, abuse

//

“Don't you think that idol from XX company is creepy?” (+34, -1560)

“ㅋㅋㅋㅋ you mean the leader of the new boy group yeah he has serial killer vibes” (+20, -1005)

“YALL MUST be kidding bc that is an actual angel??” (+2070, -12)

“What do i-fans know of Koreans? ㅋㅋ go back to your country instead of leaving comments on Naver” (+17, -172)

“His eyes are so cold it's like he has no soul” (+23, -78)

“that's kind of my type tbh” (+268, -89)

“Aren't those all XX idols? Their company idols are all robots” (+134, -76)

//

There are downsides to letting you debut. For one thing you're very much in the public eye and it makes it very difficult for him to reach you.

For another it has encouraged unsavory individuals delusional fantasies about how you belong to them.

//

“they say if you stalk XX gg you will die” (+451, -170)

“lol wtf” (+781, -53)

“you shouldn't be stalking anyone in the first place (+1704, -5)

“No but really, it's just one member.” (+561, -351)

“this is ridiculous you're all idiots, stop stalking celebs and get a life” (+2718, -198)

//

“Hyung.”

He turns around.

The same boy who 5 years ago grinned at him carefree and happy now has an odd expression on his face.

He smiles, settling down on the sofa and beckoning the younger boy closer.

To his amusement, the boy merely flinches.

“Is there something wrong?” His tone is gentle, and the wounded expression on the boy's face grows.

“It's nothing hyung.”

//

Recently he's found it difficult to focus. It might have to do with the numerous articles being released about you.

It might have to do with your rising popularity. Or your recent dating scandal.

Or the fact that you were no longer under his control.

His and your schedules barely ever overlapped and he found it increasingly irritating that you had a world tour coming up in the next few weeks.

He himself had his musicals and various other projects and was just plainly too busy to bother with you, but--

But.

It was infuriating and agitating for things to not go his way.

He would clench his teeth and bear it for a while. But not for too long.

//

There is another award show tonight.

He's sick of them.

Yet, he smiles at the cameras as he always does and locks eyes with you for a beat longer than necessary.

Lights blink and flash wildly around the both of you as you bashfully duck your face and turn away. He lets a smile touch his lips.

//

A magazine falls in front of him.

‘Netizens suspect popular boy group member A to be dating labelmate,’ the headline seems to jump out at him. He hides his smile behind his mug of coffee.

“Oh?” He raises his eyebrow at his group member, “What's this?”

“Trashy rumors,” his fellow member sniggers, “But manager still wants to talk you. Don't get into trouble hyung.”

A pause and then,

“It's not real, is it?”

He stands up and walks to the door to meet his manager without answering the question.

//

You sit there, tears overflowing onto your cheeks.

You have never looked more beautiful to him. He wants to wipe away the tears and kiss the tear tracks, all the way up to your lips. However, there are other important matters to attend to.

Like the disappointed looks your managers are aiming at you both.

“Why are you harassing her over some netizen comments?” His voice is cold.

“You know it's not like that,” his manager hastily assures him, “It'd be fine if it's just random comments. But somebody's been leaking pics of both of you. It looks bad.”

Of course it did. He leaked them himself.

The crying by his side gets louder.

“This is such a bad time to be in a scandal,” your manager sighs,”Couldn't you have been a little more careful?”

“We aren't dating!” You exclaim, “Please explain to them,” you beseech him and he sighs.

“We aren't dating,” he repeats and both the managers give you incredulous looks.

“You're kissing her forehead here,” he points it out at you, and you turn crimson.

“We're friends.” Your denial irritates him to no extent, but it doesn't matter. At least, not now.

“You can release a statement saying as such. That we're really close or something.”

Your manager sighs. “So much trouble over nothing. Nobody will believe this we're just friends excuse. At this point I wish you were dating. It'd be easier to explain.”

“We'll discuss it with the CEO. You'll probably be called soon as well.”

He ducks his head in apology even though he can't stop the smile stretching his lips.

//

To his irritation, his company just chooses not to acknowledge the issue.

It blows over after a while, like everything always does in the entertainment industry.

It does have added unwanted effect of making your popularity skyrocket.

You're casted on more shows, more collaborations. Your talent is finally recognized, as countless people comb through your fancams to find flaws and instead find an honestly endearing girl.

The nation is smitten.

Fantastic, he thinks bitterly, sipping his coffee.

//

“Do you think hyung is dating her?”

“They seem close.”

“Do they really though? They barely ever hang out after that news release of him and her.”

“Should I ask her out then?”

“Are you insane? What if hyung knows?”

“What does it matter to him? It's not like they're dating.”

His fingers dig into his palms so hard he can see indents.

//

It's time for drastic measures.

//

He didn't want to do it. Not really. He liked maintaining status quo.

You forced his hand though. Quite impudent of you, but that's why he liked you.

//

Your world tour is next week.

He's at your place, not the dorms, your actual house, where you lived with your parents.

“I didn't know you needed that music file so urgently!” You look bashful,”I thought I could take the demo home and practice a bit.”

“Yes well, it's the only copy so we need it.” It's the only copy because he has deleted other copies but you didn't need to know that.

“Please wait a minute,” your entire face is crimson and he likes it. A lot.

You hand over the USB to him, hesitating. He knows you like him. He knows you want him to spend a little longer at your place. He knows and yet he waits for you to speak.

“Uh- do you want to eat or drink something?”

Perfect. He smiles politely at you, nodding as you disappear into the kitchen.

It's time.

//

Your scream sounds like music to him and as it's abruptly cut off he sighs. Oh well.

Arranging his face into concern and fear, he moves quickly to spot you lying at the bottom of the stairs, your leg sprawled at an unnatural angle.

He had to actively stop his smile because this had gone exactly, if not better than his plans.

//

He rushes you to the hospital.

//

“He was at her place lol how much more proof do we need” (+5647, -234)

“I'm so worried for her, it looks like she really will have to take a break, her leg looks bad” (+1236, -367)

“what a bitch lol inviting guys to her place. Bet he's not the first one” (+657, -200)

“will her concert schedules be okay, I got the tickets after so long now I can't see her” (+749, -137)

//

He refuses to leave the hospital.

Even though it's him that's the reason for all of this, he feels an unfamiliar niggling in his heart.

Guilt.

It's for your own good, he tells himself sternly.

He's just not sure he believes it anymore.

//

“He stayed here all night.”

“What?” You almost sit up, but the pain that shoots through your broken leg makes you whimper.

“Don't push yourself,” your leader smiles, “He must really like you, though.”

“He's just guilty probably,” you sigh. “That's just like him though, to feel guilty over things that are out of his control.”

“Do you want to see him?”

“Am I allowed to?” You pout, “They probably won't let him in because it'd cause a bigger issue.”

“Leave that to your unnie,” she grins at you, and you grin back, feeling lucky to be so loved.

//

“Hi,” he waves at you, a bit awkward, and so very handsome that you blush.

“Hi,” you smile back, feeling like a 14 year old once again.

“Is that… Are you feeling okay?”

“I am,” you smile, “I'm glad I hadn't broken my neck. The doctor said it's a very real possibility.”

He looks alarmed.

“It didn't happen!” You wave your arms at him, laughing, “I'm fine now.”

“But you would have...died.” The last word is a quiet whisper.

You shrug, trying to make light of it despite your fingers trembling against your sheets. “It didn't happen so, don't worry about it.”

He looks at your a moment, and pulls you into a sudden embrace.

“I couldn't bear to lose you.”

Your heart pitter-patters in your chest. He's so close to you, you can feel his warm breath washing across your neck, his large hands that grasp your waist, the lingering scent of last night's cologne mixed with something more him.

“I really wouldn't survive losing you,” he whispers, and your head spins with the implications of his words.

He pulls back, his eyes bright with intensity. “I love you.”

//

“So they were dating.”

“I'm glad I didn't ask her out, hyung would have murdered me.”

//

IS this over? Idk.. Did he change in those last few minutes of the story? Uh no.. He’still crazy, hes probably always going to be that way lol unless he gets help. I was really really really inspired by Toma from amnesia (if any of u have played that pls feel free to hit me up!!! Absolutely in love with Shin and uhh Toma sgdjdk pls don’t judge) I haven't had this urge to write in so longgg omg 

[cecesf06]

Audacious~ Brett Talbot

Anon: Can you write a Brett Imagine where the reader really likes him but she's really shy so she ends up doing something bold like sitting on his lap and kissing him (while at Sinema) to finally get his attention?

A/N: I'd be happy too- here it is! Sorry it took so long!

(GIFS NOT MINE)

(I LOVE FREAKS AND GEEKS, SO..)

warnings: kinda smutty?

word count: 1.6k longish..

_____

"Y/N!"

Oh God, there it was. The voice that can make you go from calamity, to something akin to ten million butterflies fluttering around your stomach. The voice that can make all words you ever want to or even could speak evaporate like water on a hot stove, and there's nothing you can do about it- or want to do about it. Because while that voice causes tens of thousands of ways to self destruct, it also brightens even your most sour mood, and makes the long days feel a even a little better.

"H-hey Brett.."

Oh God, that was another thing that voice does. It makes your stutter come out full throttle, and you can't seem to stop.

Not that he appears to mind as he smiles down at you- man, that guy is a tree.

"So you'd say we're pretty close, right?"

And there it is- your heart beating out of your chest like it's trying to escape, and probably go to Brett himself, the lucky little thing actually having the courage to do so.

You could never make the first move. You can hardly control your blushing cheeks, and nervous stutter.

"U-Uh, yeah, I-I guess s-so.."

He's grinning at you, and man, his teeth are unnaturally white- it is not humanly possible to have teeth that white.

Oh, right, werewolf. You'd have to ask Liam about that.

"So you'll be my plus one at Sinema tonight? You can't just show up alone, and Cassidy, that girl who always invites herself along, you know her, bailed on me, thankfully, because now I actually get to take advantage of that little deal, and you, my friend, are the first person I thought of."

You're not sure why. You have a heap of anxiety equivalent to the amount of money the whole Devenford Prep school board has combined. You're also painfully shy- you're self aware enough to admit that. And let's not forget that blushing thing..

But going to Sinema meant spending more time with Brett, and as much as you were a wreck around the taller werewolf, you also absolutely adored spending time with him.

Besides, you can usually calm yourself after an hour or three..

"Y-Yeah, sounds great. W-What time sh-should I meet you?"

If you thought Brett was grinning before, he was absolutely beaming now, pure sunshine leaking from his features.

"I'll pick you up at eight!"

You managed a smile, and even managed to peek up into his stunning blue/ green (it honestly changed constantly, and you loved it, dammit.) eyes before you had to look away before your heart not- so- spontaneously combusted in your chest.

"S-Sounds great!"

Dammit, already said that.

____

Ten outfits, three showers, and seven different hairstyles later, you were on your way to Sinema. Brett was chatting easily next to you as he drove, and you were happy to listen, and he knew this. He knew you were shy, and he respected that, and honestly it made you love him even more.

Hayden snuck you guys in, and if you received a nasty look from her, you knew it wasn't personally towards you, just at the fact that you're Liam Dunbar's step sister, and she still hasn't forgiven him for the sixth grade. You honestly didn't even look at her, she intimidates you so much.

Brett offered you a drink, but you declined.

"It's plain coke, Y/N, I know you."

Well, now you have to accept it, not that you're going to drink it with the butterflies occupying your stomach again.

Brett was staring at you, and smiling, and normally when a boy does that it makes you uncomfortable, but not Brett. He's always had an effect on you no one else does.

"Y/N, you can say no if you want, or just do it later if you feel like it, but would you like to dance?"

Nope. Not at all. But he did.

But he'd never pressure you, and you just saw Mason on the other side of the club, and Liam was no doubt here, the little stalker, so you should probably investigate that.

"No, but you should."

Thank God he had werewolf hearing, because your voice came out so small it got lost with the bass.

"Are you sure? We can just stay here if you want.."

He wanted to dance, you knew it, it's the whole reason he comes here.

"I'm sure, Brett, I'll be fine."

You held up the little glass of coke.

"I got my virgin rum and coke."

He laughed, and you loved making him laugh. You loved when you could be comfortable around him and make him laugh.

"That's not a thing, Y/N, but yes. You'd be the kind of girl to sneak into a club and not even drink."

You blushed again, and he tilted your chin up to look at him, his fingers tingling where they touched your skin.

"Don't worry, I like that you're different. I like that you aren't pressured into it."

He was gone after that, and you were confused.

Liam scoffed from beside you, and you jumped, not even noticing his presence.

"What a jerk."

Liam hated Brett, and for good reason. Brett wasn't always considerate and kind, and he did some terrible things to that team.

You rolled your eyes at your step brother.

"Oh, go make puppy eyes at Hayden, would you?"

He rolled his own eyes, snorting.

"Right after you continue to give Brett mixed signals."

You tilted your head.

"Mixed.. what are you talking about? I don't-"

Liam held up a hand, speaking over you.

"Oh, spare me, Y/N, I can smell you chemosignals, and one second you're closed off, and uninterested, the next your ready to bend over for him."

You felt your face heat up in embarrassment, and Liam smirked.

"He's waiting for you to make a move."

Nope. Not me. I don't make the first move.

"Uh.."

Liam smiled softly at you, before his expression darkens at something over your shoulder. You follow his gaze, despite his attempts to distract you, and your heart plummets.

Brett was grinding hardcore on a pretty brunette by the dancing cages, and she was into it. They were close- super close, eye contact, and flirty hands and everything, and she was definitely bold, because soon they were also making out.

Your fists clenched at you r side. Now was when you'd run. You'd leave and either find a bathroom to lock yourself in, or a way home to hide at. But something about this girl and her bold kiss was stirring something in you.

"You know what, Liam, I think you're right."

Liam blinks, baffled.

"Uhh... you do?"

A smirk graces its way on your face.

"Hell yeah, I do."

____

So you may have downed a few dozen shots of liquid courage.

But no one can prove anything, except maybe Hayden, who supplied the tubes, and she eventually became Blurryface to you.

While everyone seemed to become Blurryface, Brett was still Brett, and he was sitting at the bar, wiping the sweat from his sexy abs, and why would he do that when you could just lick it off for him?

Man, he was doing this all wrong.

Well now clean- abed Brett was simply sitting, ocean eyes gazing around the Blurryfaces (seriously, they don’t even care what you think.) and he was sitting in the only open seat at the bar.

So where were you going to sit so you could show him how you really feel?

His arms were outstretched behind his head, and he sighed, closing his eyes, and his lap was open.

Ha- that'll show him!

If Brett was shocked you suddenly unceremoniously plopped into his lap, he didn't get the chance to show you because you grabbed the sides of his face, and kissed him, hard and firmly, like the bold girl did.

He was understandably still at first, but soon he was kissing back, and as the kiss stretched longer, going from lips to tongues and lips, and lip biting- of course- it evolved to him grabbing your butt where it sat in his lap, and wow, he was good at this.

Eventually, you pulled apart, and his eyes met yours, the blue/green totally obstructed by his dilated pupils.

"Y/N.."

His voice came out through breaths for air, and man... here comes sobriety, and your face heated up, and you moved to climb off of his lap, but he held you tightly around the waist, preventing you from doing so.

"Wait.. don't.. "

He was at a loss for words for once, and you couldn't help the small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

"I decided to be audacious."

He laughed, and you loved doing that. It'll never get old.

"I'm glad you did. I had no idea how you felt- one second you're friend zoning me, the next you're giving me heart eyes, and I just want to marry you- sorry.."

You tilted your head as his cheeks turn pink.

"Marry?"

He blushes deeper.

"Date."

"Date?"

"Yes, Y/N Geyer. I want to date you."

Butterflies. Butterflies. Butterflies.

"Well, good thing I want to date you too..."

He smiles, and pulls you into a kiss, and when it deepens, and your more sober with time, it feels so good.

"Y/N- Y/N- oh there she is."

"Damn, look at them go."

"SHut up Mason, that's my sister!"

When Brett pointed squeezed your butt, you couldn't help but grin at Liam's noise of disgust.

DOuble post omg not a regular thing at all lol.

Liam is up next, my baby, and requests are OPEN!

[abutterflyscribbles]

Those Chains That Bind You: Kidnapping AU Part 7

Anon prompted me:

[Strange Magic] au where kidnapping is a thing before courting. Marianne kidnaps Bog. Spiraled into an Political Marriage AU with lots of pining and extensive worldbuilding.

Prologue/Chapter One/Chapter Two/Chapter Three/ChapterFour/Five and Ao3

(please please please feel free to do a liveblog commentary, whether in a post, in my inbox, in chat, I would be thrilled by getting a blow-by-blow commentary of your feelings. And shoutout to @deluxetrashqueen and @jaegereska for beta’ing this)

“Boggy!”

It was not with the most receptive frame of mind that Bog greeted his sister-in-law. Dawn took no notice of his mood, barreling into him with a small shriek of delight.

“Hello, fluffy,” Bog said, resigned to the inevitable manhandling that came with the princess's affection, “I'm surprised Dagda let you come.”

“Dad thinks I can convince Marianne to come home,” Dawn laughed, finally releasing Bog.

Considering Bog's last conversation with his wife, he couldn't imagine that Dawn had been set a very hard task. Dawn and her party thrust their way into the castle like sunlight through the trees, sending the creatures of dark and dreams back into the shadows. The people of light were here to rescue their princess and she would gladly be reclaimed. Bog had no intention of trying to persuade Marianne to stay.

This resolution was tested when Bog caught sight of the blonde fairy guard strutting his way to the head of the gaggle of fairies to make an elaborate bow. Bog stepped forward, making sure the light of the lamps was behind him so that his sight was clear and that his shadow fell over the fairy.

Roland rose from his bow with less grace than when he had swept into it, eyes squinting at the king's obscured silhouette.

“What,” Bog asked the princess, “is this doing here?”

“Your majesty--” Roland began, infusing his words and manner with sickening charm and confidence.

“I was talking to the princess,” Bog snapped, sweeping his scepter to the side and cutting the guard off mid-sentence. The ingratiating smile on the guard's face became a little fixed and unnatural when his eyes uneasily followed the scepter's path.

“Forgive me, your--”

A sharp look from Bog cut Roland off again.

“If you'll come this way, princess,” Bog gave her a small bow, “we can talk privately.”

“Your majesty, I must insist--”

Bog had little enough patience to start with, even before the last few days had exhausted it. He turned on Roland, cloak sweeping behind him. He shoved his face in front of the guard's. Roland cringed, charm gone and replaced by open disgust at such a close view of Bog's face.

“What,” Bog asked, dragging the end of his scepter along the floor until it rested firmly by his feet, “is it that you must insist?”

The grating noise of the scepter across the floor had made the fairy cringe again, but he made an effort to recover himself when Bog finally stepped back.

“It was only . . .” he cast a look behind him at the other fairies that had accompanied the princess Dawn on the journey. Most of them looked nervous, some even frightened, but all of them looked scandalized at the goblin king's behavior. Roland seemed to gather encouragement from this, throwing back his shoulders and producing another gleaming smile.

“Bog King, I have been charged by King Dagda of the fields to deliver a message to you concerning the princess Marianne, after which I would see the princess immediately.”

The goblins in the throne room raised a soft growl of protest at the wording. Bog raised a hand and all fell silent.

“You forget where you are, messenger,” Bog swept a hand at the crumbling glory of the castle, “while you are here you are speaking of the queen.”

“You must forgive me, sire,” Roland waved a hand as he sketched a bow so slight that it was insulting, “for we who love Marianne have always, and always will, look upon her as our princess, above all else.”

“You should adjust yourselves to the change, for she will be queen of both kingdoms one day. The respect you show her should reflect that.”

“Sire, it is our respect and love--”

Bog was certain Roland was using that word as much as possible.

“--that bring us here to see for ourselves that our beloved princess is not suffering from the harsh winter, away from her home and her people.”

This jab backfired, making the goblins bristle at the insult.

“Not that we assume you, sire, are lacking in hospitality,” Roland hurried on, “or your castle in comfort.”

Several of the fairies sniggered.

“King Dagda, has every confidence in the safety and comfort of the princess in her visit to your kingdom, and his only concern is that of a father missing his daughter and wishing to see her again. His majesty wishes to inquire if his daughter would be ready to travel and return home with our party. And so I request an immediate audience with the princess, so that she can begin the arrangements for her departure.”

Bog did not let himself think about how eagerly Marianne would leave, even if she had to travel with Roland. Now was not the time for those sort of thoughts, not when half the castle was gathered around to watch their king deal with the fairies.

The primping creature did love an audience, Bog noted, not for the first time. Roland knew how to work a crowd. But only if the crowd were comprised entirely of fairies. In the few encounters Bog had endured, he had always been at the disadvantage of being in enemy territory and outnumbered.

Not this time.

And under the right circumstances Bog too loved an audience.

“The queen,” Bog's emphasis prompted a general murmuring of approval from his people, “will be told of your message.”

“Excellent!” Roland stepped forward, obviously with the expectation of being shown to Marianne's rooms immediately.

Bog blocked the way with his scepter.

“The queen will be told of the message,” Bog repeated, “and will send a reply to you at a time of her own choosing. You will wait here until she sends word indicating how she wants you disposed of.”

There was no doubt that Marianne would want to leave. There was also no doubt that she would be enraged to be at Roland's beck and call. Bog might have hurt her beyond forgiveness, but her could still do her the small service of keeping the yellow slug in his place.

“You'll have to forgive me,” Roland pushed the staff away with one finger, “I was told to deliver the message to the princess personally to make sure there is no miscommunication and to appraise her condition so that I may make a full report to the king.”

Bog planted the staff back into place with a bang.

The fairies flinched.

The goblins chuckled.

“Your insolence will only be suffered for so long, messenger. The Queen of the Dark Forest is not subject to your command, or even the command of her father, if she choses. Your message will be delivered. I cannot speak for the queen, I cannot tell you when, or if, she will see you. Know your place.”

“My place is fulfilling the king's commands, sire! If I am turned away at the door, how can I reassure him that the princess is well and happy, or staying here through her own choice--”

The snarls of the watching goblins drowned out the last few words of Roland's protest. The fairies were reaching for their swords, the goblins clawed at the floor.

Bog waited for the noise to die down enough so he could be heard when he spoke again. He leaned over Roland, knowing how he was a ragged shadow while the would-be hero was smooth and shining. The shadow was not the hero, the shadow was the villain and villains had no need for niceties.

“Messenger,” Bog rumbled, tapping a claw on Roland's chest, “if you once more use your clever little tongue to imply slanderous falsehood I will do you the favor of cutting it off at the root.”

There was a sharp screech. Bog's claw had cut a silver line through the green of Roland's armor.

The look on the gaudy little fool's face was unspeakably satisfying.

“Enough!”

Dawn swept between the two of them, cloak pushed back and hands on her hips. She jabbed a finger at Roland's scarred chest.

Bog jolted back, as if he had been dreaming. He remembered that his audience included a fairy envoy and that he shouldn't have indulged himself by terrorizing Roland. Yes, the primping fool was in need of being put in his place, but not at the cost of alienating the rest of the court. He could only imagine the horrified reports that would be taken back to the fields.

Still. That had been most enjoyable.

Dawn was in fine form, looking so displeased that the fairies grew visibly uncomfortable.

“That is absolutely enough. I can give Marianne the message and I can tell dad what's what. You just need to wait here for me and stop being so rude and insinuating. We are guests here, please remember, and we are not going to abuse the hospitality given to us by the king and queen.”

“Sweetheart,” Roland shook his head, as if laughing over the hopeless simplicity of a child. He seemed recovered from his fright now that he was on familiar ground again. “You don't understand--”

“That,” Dawn jabbed her finger again, “is not the point. The point is that this is the Bog King's land and his castle, which he shares with his wife and queen. Yo u have no right to interfere in how they do things. And even if I were a hopeless idiot I am still princess and you are still just a guard! What I say goes. Now, Boggy?”

Bog didn't even bother to correct her. The goblins were hooting with delight over this turn of events while the fairies looked uncomfortable and guilty.

“Yes, your highness?”

“I'd like to see my sister now, if she will receive me.”

“I have been assured she will.”

“Thank you.”

Dawn accepted the arm Bog offered to her and he led her out of the throne room.

It was easy to forget most of the time, he thought, that Dawn and Marianne were sisters, but when family resemblance did arise it is was striking.

Dawn breezed through Marianne's rooms, opening all the doors so the closeness of the castle was alleviated to some small degree. Over the fire in the little private sitting room Dawn brewed some of the tea she had brought with her which spread the warm scent of home.

The night had been long and uncomfortable for Marianne. She was still dragged down by her fading cold, but restless with inactivity and anxiety. When she did sleep it was a heavy, unrestful sleep. Throughout the night she would regularly wake up with a gasp and a jerk, startled by dreams she couldn't remember.

Morning found Marianne with dark circles stamped under her eyes and a fretful edge on her mood. She knew that the visiting fairies—Roland included—could only be ignored so long without taking offense, or starting rumors that Marianne was kept under lock and key by her goblin husband and forbidden to communicate with her own people.

Nor could she put off figuring out a plausible reason for leaving that would not cause offense to the Dark Forest. Because she was leaving. Bog didn't want her here and, more importantly, Marianne didn't want to be here.

“So,” Dawn sat down on the foot of Marianne's bed and bounced up and down to test the mattress, “You're a total mess.”

Marianne could not disagree with this assessment.

“I'm allowed to be. I'm sick.”

“It's not just that. From what Griselda tells me . . .”

Marianne found the thought of Dawn and Griselda conspiring to be unsettling. And they had had plenty of time to do it, Dawn roaming the castle throughout the day, making herself acquainted with her brother-in-law's domain.

Several of the winter sprouts had popped in to visit Marianne and show off the flower crowns that Dawn had made for them. Dawn had seen fit to bring a whole trunk of flowers and set about decorating Marianne's room with them, showering the excess on any goblins she came across in her tour of the castle.

Bee and Flo were decked out in flowers while they built a blanket fort out of covers stolen from Marianne's bed. They had both come down with the sniffles too and Griselda had asked to put them in Marianne's rooms. “So that I don't have to trudge from one end of the castle to the other to check up on all of you.” The number of sick sprouts invading Marianne's rooms was slowly growing and while Dawn bounced up and down on the bed, Marianne had a roly poly little sprout snuggled at her side and a prickly little fellow wedged behind her pillows.

“What exactly does Griselda tell you?” Marianne delicately removed the edge of her wing from the winter sprout's claws as he kicked in his sleep.

“Lots of things. That you and Bog made a complete spectacle of yourselves by trying to kill each other in the snow. Which I did not expect to happen, but I don't find at all surprising.”

“Hmph,” Marianne slid down on the pillows and pulled the covers up to her chin. The sprout behind the pillows squeaked.

“And apparently violence helps you work through your problems because you two started being all friendly and flirty again.”

“We don't—we have never--”

“Um, yes you did? Like, all the time before you broke up.”

“We didn't 'break up'. We were never together! Not like that!”

“But you want to be. You want to smooch and hold hands and raise adorable adopted goblin babies together. You were, like, halfway there last year. Then you weren't. And, as is the new norm for Warrior Princess Marianne, you won't tell me what happened.”

“I--”

“Can't? Just like with the Roland thing. You always refuse to talk about the important things! How am I supposed to be a good sister and help you figure things out if you won't communicate?”

Dawn flopped dramatically across the bed.

“There isn't anything important to talk about,” Marianne insisted, pulling her hand away from the sprout that was trying to chew her fingers, giving him a mouthful of blanket instead.

“You have obviously experienced emotional trauma and that is important,” Dawn sat up and took Marianne's face in her hands, “your feelings are very important and you deserve happiness and if you disagree with me I will have your sword melted down and made into silverware.”

“You wouldn't dare. Besides there really isn't--”

Dawn smushed her forehead into Marianne's, “Foul, filthy lies.”

Disgusted by all the noise and movement, the sprout finally pulled himself out of the bed and dropped onto the floor with a squeak before pattering away to where Bee and Flo were playing in the outer room. The sprout behind the pillows snored loudly.

“You are a captive, trapped in your bed, forced to talk about your feelings.”

“Get off!” Marianne pushed Dawn away, “I'm sick, don't bully me! I'm getting up!”

“Nope!” Dawn dropped herself across Marianne's stomach, her wing covering Marianne's face, “Time for feelings.”

“I don't have feelings!”

Dawn burst into laughter. She laughed so hard she had difficulty breathing and gave an explosive snort. It was so abrupt and ridiculous that Marianne started laughing too. It hurt, because she did not want to laugh. She had been taking care to hold herself together in front of Dawn and had not dared to risk the paper-thin facade with any extreme emotions. Because Marianne knew that if she felt anything she would feel everything.

From one breath to the next Marianne's laughter turned into a choking sob.

“Marianne? Oh, Marianne!” Dawn rolled over and tangled her sister in a hug, “What has Bog been doing?”

An overpowering need to be comforted kept Marianne from rejecting Dawn's hug and turning away to hide her tears. It was weakness to break down like this, especially in front of Dawn. Marianne was supposed to be the one who protected Dawn. Right now, though, so tired and sick, Marianne just wanted to be held.

It such such a relief to let go. Even if she hated being weak in front of Dawn, Marianne still knew she was safe. Her tears wouldn't be used against her, no one would say she was overreacting, hysterical. No one was watching.

In the fairy court everyone was watching. Casting disapproving looks at their wild princess that Marianne did her best to ignore, and when she couldn't she could at least make sure they didn't see that she felt the sting. She could not let her guard down, otherwise she would be tripped up by Roland and his kind.

In the Dark Forest Marianne was a representative of her people and had to strive to make a good impression. She had to be strong, decisive, willing to work hard without complaint so no one could call her a frail fairy.

Dawn . . . Dawn expected none of that. Dawn expected a big sister that hovered and worried and did her best to protect her, who went off on wild adventures and got married to a goblin king. She expected madness, chaos, and accepted the fact that this was how Marianne lived her life.

There was no princess, no queen, no warrior, there was only Marianne.

“It isn't Bog's fault,” Marianne said between sharp, painful breaths, “It's me . . . it's everything . . . it isn't his fault that I love him . . .”

She had said it. Finally said it. Somehow it felt like the world should have paused to take notice of this. It didn't. The sprout behind her pillows continued to snore, Flo was buzzing out giggles in the other room. The world was indifferent to Marianne's feelings. It was her own shortcomings that kept her from being indifferent too. Instead it hurt.

A fragmented account of the disastrous kiss was cried out onto Dawn's shoulder, interspersed with snippets of how afraid they had all been about the family trapped in the snow, Sugar Plum in the dungeon and how for a moment Marianne was scared of Bog, even a brief sketch of the almost kiss in the garden. And how Marianne tried and tried, but she was never going to be everything a queen of two kingdoms needed to be. Everything she had been holding inside and keeping secret came out of her in one sob after another.

“I am going to flatten Bog's nose,” Dawn vowed, having understood only about half of what Marianne told her, but enough to get an idea of what had been going on between her sister and brother-in-law.

“It's not his fault,” Marianne shook her head, “It's me. I make all the wrong choices, I've let him down, I'm letting everyone down. Peace and cooperation between the two kingdoms, it's so important, but I can't even keep peace with Bog--”

“I don't care! Bog made you cry and he needs to pay! I need a stick so I can pound a few facts into his dumb salad head! He's your husband and he needs to start treating you right.”

“It . . . it doesn't work like that. It's not a marriage, it's an alliance of two kingdoms. He married me for my crown and I married him for his. There's no other reason he—or anyone else—would even consider looking at me twice.”

Dawn gasped.

“You take that back, Marianne!”

“It's true! Everyone needs me to be things I'm not, because they don't like me. They like my crown, that I'm a princess, nobody cares what I am beyond that. So I'm stronger alone, because the only way I can be myself is if I'm alone!” Marianne leaned her head back and blinked away tears, “I don't need anyone. I'm not weak.”

Dawn administered another hug to her sister, “There is so much stupid in what you just said that I don't even know where to start. Anyone who doesn't think you're absolutely fantastic needs their nose tweaked. Like I'm gonna do to Bog.”

The thought of Dawn pinching Bog's long nose and the disconcerted look that would no doubt be on his face made Marianne cough out a brief laugh.

“You have the worst luck with guys,” Dawn sighed, rocking Marianne back and forth.

“No. It's not Bog's fault that he doesn't love me. My feelings are my problem.”

“Please, if he doesn't love you then he's been leading you on. And I'm not so sure he doesn't. I've seen him look at you—before you broke up. He looked at you like he can't believe someone so incredible exists.”

Marianne could only shake her head. Maybe Bog had liked her, but that was before he knew her very well. On further acquaintance he had changed his opinion, and not for the better.

“You need cookies,” Dawn decided, lifting up Marianne's face and wiping away tears with a rose petal handkerchief one of the handmaidens dropped into her hand, “And tea. You'll see sense once you've got something warm in your stomach.”

“I'm drowning in tea,” Marianne said thickly, “Everyone wants to pour tea and soup into me until I'm sloshing with it.”

“Well,” Dawn hopped off the bed, “if you insist on dueling in the cold and then running off to heroically dig a hole in the snow, you could at least fit in a few cups of tea and and a couple of minutes quiet here and there in your schedule. Now you have to catch up all at once. This is the price you pay for a disgraceful lack of moderation.”

A cup of tea and five minutes peace. Marianne and Bog hadn't even managed to fit that into their schedules, and now Marianne was plagued by an endless parade of tea mugs and more empty time than she could fill. It had been shaping up to be such a nice winter. Lots to do. Lots of useful things to do. No one expected her to don finery and sit around looking regally ornamental, speaking in modulated tones and keeping her temper in check. Now that was all ruined and Marianne was reduced to a useless lump that everyone poured tea into. At least she didn't have to be regal, Marianne thought, running a hand through the tangle of her hair, which she had not allowed the handmaidens to comb.

Dawn took the kettle to the fire in the reception area, tiptoeing around Bee, who was laying on her back and basking in the warmth.

“We are going to have a nice long talk,” Dawn said, “and I am going to tell you how lovable you are, even when you look dreadful.”

“You have a way with words.”

“Oh, let's put on your makeup! That'll make you feel better, once you've got your face on. And I brought you some books to read while you get better. I thought you might need some entertainment.”

Dawn left the kettle over the fire and opened on of the boxes she had brought with her. She gathered up an armload of books and dumped them on the bed.

“Well, where the entertainment?” Marianne asked, seeing the flashy covers of the books and realizing they had all been taken from Dawn's personal collection of sentimental garbage.

“Oh, ha ha.”

“You might as well have left them at home, we'll both be there soon enough.”

“Aw, don't be like that!

Marianne knew they were going home. She would remove her unwelcome presence from Bog's castle and hopefully maintain the chilly cooperation they had established in the past year. It meant having to travel back with Roland, which was an extremely distasteful idea, but at least it was an annoyance and not a sorrow.

“Why don't you read one while I get tea,” Dawn picked a book out of the pile, “this one has lots of sword fights.”

“Do any women sword fight?”

“Um, no, actually.”

“Then no thanks.”

Marianne turned over the books, her head full of unhappy thoughts about the sound of Bog's voice weaving into her dreams while he read from a tattered, old, very precious book. She couldn't remember how that particular story ended. No doubt it was with the hero and heroine embracing and swearing grand promises of love and eternal devotion. They always did. Still, she wouldn't have minded specifics.

“Wait,” Marianne wiped the back of her hand across her sore eyes, clearing her vision a little, “Wait . . .”

She rifled through the jumble of books, a half-formed thought compelling her to look for something that probably wasn't there.

But it was.

An almost pristine copy of Windswept.

It's world-worn sister lay in a drawer, the loose pages slipped carefully back into place while it waited for Bog to come back and fetch it. The forlorn book would have to wait until after Marianne left, because it was certain that Bog would not be visiting her rooms while she was still in them.

“Oh, that's a pretty good one,” Dawn looked at Marianne's chosen book when she returned with tea and a plate of cookies, “I cried at the ending.”

“You cry at all the endings.”

“True.”

“Did you . . . would it be okay if I took this, to keep? There's somebody who would like it, I think, unless you don't want to give it away?”

“Oh, sure! I can always get another copy.”

“Yes, I guess you could.”

So easy. Get another copy, just like that. They truly did live in a wealthy kingdom.

Marianne leaned over and put the book in the drawer with Bog's copy. She would give them to Griselda before she left, to spare Bog the trouble of having to see his unwanted fairy wife again.

She wished she could see his face when he saw the silly book, watch him flip to the pages where his copy had ended, his eyes taking in the white pages and empty margins. Maybe he would skim the pages then and there, answering the trivial little mystery of his youth. Maybe, if things had been different, he would pick up where he left off reading to her and she would listen to the fierce, terrifying Bog King read the sappy romance to her in that soft, accented voice.

Anyway, Marianne put down the book and that train of thought, it was nice to think that Bog would finally get to read the end of the story.

Dawn always cried over the end of stories, happy or sad, because the story was over and that little world was closed. Marianne was rather beginning to see Dawn's point of view about endings.

“Look,” Dawn said, pulling a shawl around Marianne's shoulders, “I can't speak for Bog's feelings. I mean, my record for noticing how people feel has been kind of atrocious.”

“Poor Sunny.”

“Yeah, exactly. Anyway, in my opinion Bog's besotted. And if he's not then he's an idiot. You're brave and strong and smart and you love really hard. You deserve someone who appreciates that.”

“I didn't—I don't want anybody. I didn't mean . . . for any of this . . .”

“But it happened. Warrior Princess Marianne fell in love and fell hard. And I think you two are a good match, if you can just get yourselves sorted out. You two have gotta sit down and talk.”

“We don't need to talk, I already know--”

“Oh, do you?” Dawn poked her sister's nose, “What has Bog said about all this, then?”

“He—he didn't exactly . . . he made it clear enough--”

“Nope! Not good enough! You gotta talk to Bog before we leave.”

Marianne saw the primroses crawling with shadows of unknown horrors. She had faced that fear, she had conquered it. She had to conquer this one too. Find out once and for all what was beyond the primroses. Good or bad, she needed to hear Bog say it out loud. And she had her own share of things that needed saying. She took a deep breath, preparing for the plunge into the unknown.

“I do,” she agreed, “I will.”

“Good!” Dawn squished Marianne in another hug, “I'm betting on an outcome that involves a lot of canoodling.”

Marianne smacked her with one of the romance novels.

The Winter Sprouts romped in the throne room, petals drifting free of the flowers given to him by the younger fairy princess. The sight of flowers in winter made Bog uneasy. It was unnatural. It also reminded him of confronting Marianne in the dungeons when she had so nearly found out everything he wanted to keep from her.

Yet, he did want her to know. She would finally see him as he was and stop being hurt when she tried to care about him. It would be best if she knew, let it be over with one blow instead of a thousand tiny needles drawing one drop of blood at a time over an agonizingly long period. It gave false hope, for the wounds were minor, the pain little, recovery possible. Until the next jab, the next drop, never time to heal.

But he didn't want her to know.

All day he waited for Dawn or one of her entourage to visit him to discuss the details of Marianne's return home.

No one came.

He spent some time prowling the corridors near Marianne's rooms to discourage any of the ingratiating slug's attempts to go where he was not invited. Perhaps Bog could finally find a legitimate reason to throw Roland out into the snow.

Roland must have anticipated something of the sort and remained in the room he had been shown to. Perhaps he had decided against alienating royalty of both kingdoms through any foolish tricks. Or perhaps he was merely preparing himself for a renewed attack on the next day. Either way, Bog had no one to take his anger out on except a few hapless goblin guards who got in his way while he stalked his way through the castle.

Once he had exhausted every excuse to be up and about, Bog reluctantly returned to his rooms for the night. The family that had been dug out from under the snow had been squeezed in with another family for the winter and were making the best of things. The fairies were safely tucked away for the moment, and the winter sprouts had been been put to bed. How long either the fairies or sprouts would stay where they had been put, that was up for debate.

Resigned to facing his empty rooms and being alone with his thoughts, Bog at least looked forward to the quiet dark where he could rest his tired eyes and ears.

Which made him tense up when he saw the glow of lamplight seeping through the crack under his door, and smelled the scent of flowers in the air.

Fairies.

Come to garner favor or pick a fight?

Bog felt more than a little foolish when he flung open the door, expecting to confront Roland or his cronies, but instead found the princess Dawn examining the bits and pieces on the shelf over his desk.

“There you are,” Dawn said, not at all bothered that she had been caught snooping, “I was wondering if you'd come back at all tonight. If I had known you were going to keep the boutonnières I would have made sure they were treated to last.”

She waved her hand at the dried flowers lined up in an orderly row on the shelf.

It was embarrassing to have been caught being sentimental, but any blushes Bog might have suffered were supplanted by dread.

The fluffy little princess was here to say Marianne was ready to leave.

To go home.

Because Marianne's home was not here. Not in the castle, not in the forest, and certainly not with Bog. She had looked so lost and alone among her own people, he had thought that if he could just bring her into the forest she would find the same solace he did.

“Hello, princess,” Bog said, leaning his staff at the desk and hanging his cloak by the door.

“Sit down, please, Boggy,” Dawn had brought a stool with her so she could sit by his desk while still leaving Bog's own chair for him.

“All the arrangements for your return to the fields can begin first thing in the morning, there will be no problem. We can discuss it all then.”

“Bog,” Dawn said, folding her arms, “sit down.”

He sat.

Dawn sat down herself, smoothing her skirt and wings, “I want to talk to you about your behavior toward my sister.”

“I--”

Dawn held up a finger, silencing him.

“Now, this seems a silly question to ask at this point, but what are your intentions toward Marianne?”

Bog was thrown by the question. That was happening a lot, as of late. Nobody wanted to react as Bog expected them to, so all the answers he composed anxiously in his head never got to be used and all his efforts were wasted.

“I don't . . . understand the question?”

“Where do you want your relationship with my sister to go? Because I can't figure out what you're at, with all this back and forth.”

Bog's stomach sank.

Marianne had told her about the kiss that shouldn't have happened. How much hurt and disgust there must have been in her story.

“I did not intend--”

“I don't care about what you didn't intend. I want to know what you do intend. Where are you going from here? Are you just going to ignore what happened and make both of you miserable again?”

“Haven't I don't enough already? I don't intend to annoy her again.”

“You're annoying her right now! Look, answer me this,” Dawn stood up, grasped the edge of the armrests of Bog's chair and leaned so close that Bog slid down a few inches in his seat, “When Marianne kissed you, did you kiss her back?”

The heat of embarrassment still refused to warm Bog's face. There was only the cold of dread and a sharp twist of anxiety in his stomach when Dawn put forth the question. The whole wretched business was being dragged into the open now. Soon both kingdoms would be buzzing with outrage at the Bog King's disgraceful actions. Marianne would never return to the Dark Forest.

“Yes,” Bog said, making himself look into Dawn's eyes and face the disgust that would fill them.

“Then what is the problem?” Dawn straightened up and threw out her hands, “She kissed you, you kissed her, it was an enjoyable exchange for all involved. So what is the deal? Listen, I'm here to find out whether or not you want to put your face on Marianne's face and kiss each other stupid again. Because Marianne is open to discussion on that point but doesn't think you are.”

Bog shot upright in his chair, blood rushing to his face, “What? But—but she was sick! She didn't know what she was doing—I shouldn't have—”

“Uh, yes? Yes, you should have! Like, a year ago! And Marianne kissed you first! That's a pretty clear signal that she kinda likes you. A lot.”

Bog was at a loss at how to respond or even what to think. He had done something unforgivable, acted just as that wretched blonde slug would have, and yet Dawn was here telling him that Marianne . . . didn't hate him? That wasn't possible. Somehow Dawn had misunderstood, or Marianne hadn't told her the whole story.

Bog wrapped his hands around the arms of the chair, his claws fitting into the grooves already etched into it, digging them a little deeper.

“Do you,” Dawn pointed a finger at Bog, “Like my sister? Like like. Romantically. I know you have the whole ban on love thing going on, but that's really besides the point at this point. Unless there's a clause about flirting being allowed, just as long as you don't mean it. Because if you've just been toying with her for fun I will tear the leaves off your head.”

Dawn's threat was so surprisingly fierce that Bog involuntarily put his hand up to his head. If anyone else had spoken to him like that he would have snapped back at them. Somehow it wasn't possible to do that to the living embodiment of sunshine and clear blue skies.

“I wasn't—I haven't been flirting.”

“Ugh!” Dawn threw her hands up, “how can you two flirt so outrageously and not even know you're doing it? Now answer the question! Do you like my sister?”

Yes. Excessively.

“I . . .”

I can't.

Bog stood up, building up the resolve to send Dawn away and end this uncomfortable conversation.

Dawn stood up and shoved him back into his chair. Bog was startled enough to let her.

“This is like pulling teeth! Marianne cares about you, do you care about her?”

“Your sister . . . if she cares about me then it's a mistake.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yes, why. Your fearsome evil king act is impressive, I'll admit, but you're really very sweet. I mean, if you really want to be thought of as evil then you shouldn't cuddle the baby winter sprouts. It ruins your whole image.”

Bog ground his teeth together and looked away.

“Look, Bog,” Dawn poked the tip of his nose, “Marianne likes you. You like her. And you'd better not be avoiding admitting it just to keep up your No Love policy, because if you're that stupid I'll—I'll scream! No! I'll stand outside your window all night and sing love songs at you!”

“That isn't it!”

“Then tell me why!”

It really shouldn't have been so terrifying to have Dawn's round, pink face so close to his, their noses almost touching. It was like being threatened by a dandelion, yet Bog found himself unnerved.

“I'm waiting,” the killer dandelion said sternly.

Bog wanted her to go away, for this conversation to be over. He felt cornered and panicked and upset. Marianne was leaving, she wanted to, because of what he had done, because--

“There's nothing in me worth loving!”

He was on his feet, Dawn was across the room. He thought he might have shoved her, sent her stumbling that far. He wasn't sure, his head hurt and his eyes blurred, and nothing mattered except that Marianne was leaving forever. He had to let her go.

“Boggy!”

Dawn sounded shocked and maybe a little tearful. Bog bowed his head and waited for her to burst into tears, run away, call her guards. But like all of Bog's expectations in the past week they were doomed to disappointment.

For the second time since she arrived at the castle, Dawn crashed into him for a hug, knocking the breath right out of him.

“Dummy! You and Marianne, you're idiots! Absolute idiots! How can two such amazing people be so stupid.”

The impact of Dawn's collision knocked a few tears loose from Bog's eyes. His hands hovered uselessly, undecided between reaching up to wipe away the evidence of his distress, or to unwind Dawn from around his torso.

“There's so much to love about you!”

“You . . . you don't even know me!” Bog broke away with a growl, “You think because I put up with you and kept a few flowers that I'm some soft fool?”

“That is not what I said.”

“Isn't it?” Bog snatched up one of the dried boutonnières off the shelf and crushed the brittle petals in his hand. The crackling pieces dropped to the floor, fragile and dead.

“Well,” Dawn said, hands on her hips, “that wasn't very nice.”

“Listen, princess, I don't need you sticking your nose into my business--”

Dawn pinched his nose and forced his head down so she could look him in the eye.

“I have had it up to my eyeballs with this nonsense! You don't get to be the big scary king of the Dark Forest with me! They day we met you smashed yourself into a tree to save me from that lizard! At my engagement party you let me cry all over you! I don't think any of that qualifies as evil. In fact, you're very sweet,” she gave Bog's nose a twist, “when you're not being a moron and making my sister cry!”

“Let go!”

“What're you gonna do? Snarl at me? Punt me into the hall?”

“I . . . I might!”

Dawn's fierce expression broke and she giggled, giving Bog's nose another gentle tweak before releasing it. He straightened up immediately to remove his nose from Dawn's reach. He didn't dare to take up a predatory crouch again and risk further indignity.

“You're not putting your heart into your act, Boggy. Probably because your heart is otherwise occupied.”

“I . . . I wish you would go away.”

“Not yet,” Dawn's hair fluffed gently as she shook her head, “First I have to tell you that you are a very lovely person with a crusty crunchy outside and a squishy middle. Why do you pretend to be all  . . .” Dawn clawed up her hands and waved them around.

“It isn't a pretense. It's simply who I am.”

“I mean, that must be exhausting.”

Bog wished that Dawn had not said that. He was tired. The winter was wearing on him already, the usual cares hanging heavy on his shoulders. The banter he shared with Marianne had lightened it, her presence at his side evidence that things were changing. The coming winters would not be so hard as they had been, the Dark Forest was not alone anymore.

Bog was not alone anymore.

That would last very little longer. Though he knew it was for the best, it hurt. There had been so many moments this winter that he had thought that maybe, somehow, Marianne . . . cared for him. But she couldn't. She shouldn't. She deserved so much better and if he hadn't agreed to this marriage she would be free to find it.

Yet the thought of her finding love elsewhere wrapped around Bog's chest like a cord being pulled tight. The only comfort was that he knew Marianne would never break her marriage vows. He hated himself for finding comfort in Marianne being trapped, chained to him in this way.

He was so tired.

“Your sister . . . deserves better.”

“She deserved the best,” Dawn agreed, “But that's relative. Listen, Bog, I just need you to tell me: do you love Marianne?”

Bog sank into his chair, the weight of this request too heavy for him to keep standing. Dawn reached out to take his hands but he pulled them away before her fingers could touch the scar across his palm. Right now that wound felt as fresh as the moment it had been cut.

A tear made a shining dot on the scar.

“Please, go away, Dawn.”

“Answer me and I will.”

“I can't.”

“You can and you will!”

“I can't . . . love her.”

“Why not?”

“It's . . . . it isn't allowed.”

“I don't speak cryptic, Boggy!”

Bog scratched his fingers anxiously on the armrests and kept his eyes lowered. He couldn't tell her, he couldn't tell her the truth.

Dawn sighed and gave his arm a pat, “Boggy, love her, can't love her, you have to talk to Marianne. Tell her why you supposedly can't love her and live happily ever after with sword fights twice a day. Just tell her. Dancing around the subject is making you both miserable. I expect you to come to see Marianne first thing in the morning or I'll drag you there by the nose.”

“Go away, Dawn.”

“First thing. Unless you want me wailing love ballads outside your door.”

Dawn bounced lightly out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Bog slumped in his chair and sighed deeply.

The door slammed open.

“I'm making you a new boutonnière!” Dawn said severely, “I'm making you two.”

The door slammed shut again.

“You look horrible.”

It mystified Bog how his mother managed to get into his room even when he was positive he had locked the door. Not for the first time he contemplated the possibility of shoving a shelf in front of the door before he went to sleep.

“I'm awake,” he rasped, shoving away the lamp his mother was holding up to his face.

“Good, then you can do something about those fairies. We keep catching them wandering around the castle by themselves. And you can go visit your wife and apologize before she decides to take herself back to the fields.”

“That's her choice,” Bog said dismally, shoving himself upright.

“I think you underestimate your influence, son.”

This struck Bog on the raw. He still couldn't imagine that Marianne would even speak to him, much less favorably consider his suggestions as to how she would spend the rest of the season. By now she must completely revile by every aspect of him.

Dawn insisted otherwise. Dawn insisted that Marianne . . . cared.

This thought, among others, had kept him up half the night, spinning around and around in his head. Everyone seemed so keen to tell him that his convictions were misplaced. How could so many people be wrong, all in the same way? And he felt the truth, knew it was rock solid, that there was nothing good in him.

It was indisputable.

Or should have been, anyway.

Thinking of asking Marianne to stay was like standing on the edge of the castle's bridge, looking down into the mist, unable to see the bog below. If he flew down he didn't know where he would land. He might slam himself right into the side of the cliff. Everyone kept telling him he would be fine, told him that the mist had cleared away and the path was visible, while he peered into an blank white expanse. He wanted to see what they saw, but to his eyes there was nothing.

And it wasn't allowed. Not for him.

Not allowed, not allowed, not allowed

The words pounded in his brain with relentless rhythm and would not be silenced. He was glad, for all his grumbling, that his mother had woken him. It broke him out of the cycle of worry and frustration. The cobwebs of the night were brushed away with a bright light and a sensible manner.

“Sweetheart?” Griselda put the lamp next to his bed and looked into his eyes as he sat on the edge of his bed, “Have you been crying?”

“Didn't sleep well,” Bog evaded the question, rubbing his gritty eyes so that his mother couldn't see his face. It was time to get up and face the day. He had to shove the anxieties of the night back into the darkest corner he could find so that there would be room for the day's tasks. The flaw in this plan was that the dark corner was growing. It was running out of space and all the hidden things were spilling out into the open.

Bog took a deep breath, hearing a rattle in his throat, and tried to push everything back. His throat was tight and his head felt like it was stuffed with moss, making his thoughts slow. It was time to stand up, but that order was getting lost somewhere between his head and his legs.

“You're a liar, son,” Griselda said affectionately, “And it sounds like you caught Marianne's cold. That's what happens when you go kissing her when she's sick.”

This jab was too much for Bog to take. He dropped backwards onto the bed and covered his face with his hands. He was too tired to deal with this knotted mess of feelings and politics. He was expected to present himself to Marianne soon, then deal with the fairies with some measure of tact and politeness. If Marianne stayed he would have to deal with the fairies' objections to their princess's rash decision. If she went Bog had to work out a reason for the departure that would not offend either kingdom.

Whether Marianne would stay or go would be decided after Bog had talked with her.

“Silly boy,” Griselda sat on the edge of the bed and knocked Bog with her elbow, “It's not as complicated as you make it.”

Still laying down, Bog took his hands away from his face and looked up at his mother. It had been so many years since he was still small enough to have to look up at her. When he was a tiny, soft-shelled sprout he thought her tall and fantastically strong. She raised him through terrible days, keeping him alive even with death threatening from all sides. Running and hiding, scratching the bare bones of a life in the dense thickets of thorns that Argos did not bother himself with, somehow they survived. Them and a handful of his father's people.

Even now his mother's presence brought a sense of safety. Irritating as she might be, it made Bog glad to have her in his life.

At least, until she opened her mouth.

“While pining away because of unrequited love is romantic, sweetie, pining away when your wife is ready to fall into your arms is just plain stupid.”

Bog just coughed.

“Poor boy,” Griselda gave his shoulder a pat, “You've had too much going on at once, haven't you? I wanted you to be sensible about this, I didn't want you to worry yourself sick.”

“I'm fine.”

Bog stood up, giving his stiff neck a crack. He felt sore all over. And heavy. He wouldn't be surprised if he wouldn't even be able to lift himself off the ground. Not that he relished the thought of flying. Just standing up quickly had made him dizzy.

“Another one lost,” Griselda shook her head, “is there anyone in this stump that isn't sick? Go talk to Marianne and when you're done you two can tuck yourselves up all cozy together and sleep this cold off.”

Bog walked into the corner of a shelf.

“You're too easy,” Griselda grinned. “C'mon, let's get some breakfast into you. Never do important things on an empty stomach if you can help it.”

Bog pulled his cloak on and let his mother lead him toward the kitchens. He knew if he ate a single bite it would all come right back up again. But going through the motions of obedience at least delayed talking to Marianne.

But only for so long.

Finally Bog had to go to Marianne's room. His shoulders heavy, his feet dragging.

He had to tell her to go. They would part and she would be disgusted, but at least she wouldn't know what kind of monster he truly was. Even if she was offering him love he had to reject it. Her feelings were misinformed. Better for him to reject it now than to have it ripped back out of his hands in shreds.

Bog was shocked, somewhere under the fog covering his thoughts, that he was actually thinking that Marianne really did . . . love him. He could not imagine how he had been so fortunate to be offered something like that. He wanted to deny the possibility, as he had always done before. This time, however, it was as if the thought had snagged on the spikes of his armor and could not be dislodged.

Bog's feet would only carry him to the point where the corridor branched off. He paced up and down, out of sight of the guards at Marianne's door. He could hear them playing cards with Thang for flower petals.

Soon enough Bog knew how many paces long the corridor was, and he still couldn't make himself turn the corner. There was heavy clouds of mist around that corner, and if he stepped into it he would plunge down into a muffled white that was more terrifying than any shade of darkness.

What if he asked her to stay and she wanted to go? It would be best to simply let her leave without asking at all. If she wanted to stay she would say something . . . no, no she wouldn't. He taken away that option, rebuffing her one too many times.

What if, for all the reassurances to the contrary, Marianne was indeed disgusted by that kiss? His behavior had been vile, almost as vile as it had been years ago when . . .

Bog shook his head, attempting to banish a memory of glittering pink and horrified screaming. It would not go. Bog sighed in defeat and leaned against the wall, wishing he had not gotten out of bed that morning.

The soft padding of feet, and their abrupt silence, had Bog standing up and turning around.

It was that elf with impossible hair. Dawn's elf. He was standing still as a rock, staring at Bog with huge, terrified eyes. Bog scraped around in his memory for the elf's name so he could offer a few words to get the elf moving again so he could pass by and leave Bog in peace.

Sammy? No, Sunny.

“When did you get here . . . Sunny?”

“H-hi, Mr. Bog—King—Bog King, sir. I came with Dawn.”

Bog couldn't remember seeing the elf among the gaggle of fairies, but that didn't mean anything. The elf could have easily been hidden from sight by the fairies, who were easily twice his height.

The sight of the elf made Bog prickle with annoyance. It made him think of primroses and love potions and things he would rather not ever recall. It irritated Bog and he decided that if he was so plagued the elf might as well suffer a bit too before he moved on.

“What are you doing, wandering around by yourself?” Bog asked the question with a subtle baring of his teeth, “Looking for more love potions?”

Sunny somehow made himself look smaller.

“No! No, I would never--!”

“Oh? Never?”

“I—I never actually made it into the forest! Dawn told me she told you, so you know that I--”

“Didn't manage to get past conspiring with your charming friend?”

“I-I'm sorry for that. I didn't mean . . . I wasn't going to . . . please don't shout at me, sir, Marianne already did it once!”

That made Bog cough out a harsh laugh, “She would.”

Sunny looked up, daring to hope a little that the ordeal he faced was not too awful.

“I'm not going to clap you in irons and toss you in the dungeons. I'd have Dawn after me, and something tells me I would be worse for the experience.”

Sunny risked a smile.

Bog didn't have the energy to try and crush it. The round-faced little elf hardly looked the part of a conniving thief. His face was so easily read that it might have been printed words on a page and all Bog could see was earnest regret. The elf looked like he had been slapped down too many times and now feared to put himself forward.

“And Dawn is too sensible to let herself be duped,” Bog admitted.

Sunny's smile grew a little brighter. Obviously Dawn was a favorite subject.

“People always think she's a little clueless,” Sunny said, “but she's not, really, sir, she just decides not to worry about things in front of people.”

“She's like her sister in that,” Bog observed. He could have ended the conversation there. He glanced at the branching corridor. Another minute or two would hurt no one.

“Oh, Dawn and Marianne are a lot alike, sir. I've known them since we were all little.”

There was a pause where Bog very carefully did not make any of the remarks that sprang to his mind.

Sunny coughed and went on, “They just sort of branched off in different directions in the past couple of years. But Dawn's tougher than people think, and Marianne, well, she's sort of . . . not soft, exactly, but nicer, I guess. She just doesn't like people to see it, because some of the people at court, they think that means she's weak.”

That was the way of it. There were always people looking to pick at weak points to bring you down. If no weaknesses were found then the rules were changed and virtue turned to vice. Resolution would be called stubbornness. Caution scorned as hesitation. A princess with a cheery disposition would be considered flighty and a princess who played their game of politics would be told she was reckless and did not understand the rules.

How did an elf fare in all this? A nobody with no presence or distinguishing skills. The only thing distinguishing about the elf was his hair.

“The fairy court loves elves almost as little as goblins. It is a singular thing you've been allowed a place at all.”

“Hah, well, sir,” Sunny fidgeted with the end of his scarf. Bog noticed the scarf was much newer than the rest of the elf's ragged outfit. He had a feeling it had been a gift from Dawn, “They sort of put up with me I guess. They think that Dawn will . . . get over me.”

“I see. The real difficulty begins when they see that it is otherwise.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sunny was an elf and he was not even an important elf. The marriage between Bog and Marianne had been tolerated because it was a useful alliance and because the fairies feared that so openly slighting the Bog King by rejecting the idea would bring war to their doorstep. Sunny had no such leverage. The road would be long and hard for Sunny and Dawn, and it seemed they were fully aware of this.

“She would do this, even after you intended to use a love potion on her?”

The question wiped the smile from Sunny's face, but he did not try to avoid the question, simply saying, “Because I was stupid.”

Bog raised and eyebrow. He had expected more elaborate justification.

“I thought that if Dawn didn't notice my feelings then she never would and she would never feel the same. I should have just told her and let her decide,” Sunny tugged on the scarf and looked ashamed, “I was afraid she would tell me she didn't feel the same and I was a coward. A love potion would have made sure she wouldn't say no.”

Oh, Bog understood that all too well.

“I know now it was stupid and cowardly. I wish I had never even tried, that I had stopped and just thought for a second . . . but I would never do it again, sir, I swear.”

“You don't need to,” Bog said sourly, wondering how the elf had gotten so lucky. Maybe it was because he hadn't managed to actually get his hands on the potion and throw the dust in Dawn's eyes. Marianne had stopped him in time. Oh, but it must have been nice to have someone to stop you from doing stupid things.

“Yeah,” Sunny agreed, “I wish I could take it all back.”

“She forgave you, didn't she. She's going to marry you.”

“I—I still almost did it. I still feel guilty.”

“Then . . .” Bog tried to puzzle it all out, “Why let her marry you?”

“I told her I would go away if she wanted,” Sunny sighed, “I tried to. But Dawn forgave me and-and she told me I didn't need to keep beating myself about it. Marianne just told me it was dumb to keep punishing myself for something I was really sorry for.”

Yes, Bog thought, it made all the different that Sunny had not managed to actually use the potion. Intentions were far more easily forgiven than actions.

“I really am sorry, sir--”

“Stop groveling, it's does nothing but annoy me.”

“That's really all I can do, usually, sir.”

That was a valid point. And despite all the groveling, Bog had to give the elf credit for standing his ground and confessing to something he could have easily tried to deny. Sunny was brave enough when it really mattered, it appeared. Perhaps that was one of the things Dawn saw in him.

It occurred to Bog that this under-sized elf had shown more courage in the whole business than Bog would have. The thought made his mood darken again and he started to grind his teeth.

“Get along,” Bog slashed his hand through the air, “try not to wander around alone.”

“Yessir!” Sunny scurried off, glad of the dismissal.

Bog indulged in a few minutes more of pacing, scraping his teeth back and forth while he resumed wrestling his thoughts into order. Out of the corner of his eye Bog thought he saw a flash of white. When he turned his head there was nothing, and having other things to worry about, he disregarded it.

Tell her everything.

Let her decide.

Some things were just impossible.

Bog turned and walked away from Marianne's rooms.

First thing in the morning Marianne was out of bed and letting the handmaidens fuss over her. They gleefully smoothed her hair and applied her makeup, glad to at last be given a chance to make their princess look presentable.

Marianne tipped her head back and forth to examine the coloring around her eyes. War paint, Bog had called it. It was like that, in its way. She was fighting the world every time she put it on, showing everyone she wasn't afraid to defy them and their rules. Today it was more of a mask to hide her nervousness and still sickly pallor. The handmaidens smoothed milky lotion under her eyes to hide the dark circles and they brushed a bit of powdered rose petals on her cheeks to give her skin some color.

“I didn't mean this early,” Dawn said, still heavy-eyed from sleep, “You look spectacular. No, don't you put on those boots. It's slippers for you, your majesty. And a blanket for your lap.”

“I don't—”

“Blanket or back to bed.”

Marianne sat and pulled the blanket over her lap.

The handmaidens began to brush Marianne's wings clean of the bits of fur and dust that had collected during her illness.

Speaking of illness, she felt like she was going to throw up. Bog would arrive soon and they would talk. Dawn would probably guard the door and keep them both from escaping until they did. Chances of escape were very low. Marianne considered making the attempt anyway. Maybe a feigned relapse. That would put off both the conversation and the idea of going back to the fields.

“I'll tie you to the chair if you keep fidgeting,” Dawn said, “Sit still. He'll be here any minute.”

But he wasn't. Hours passed and the morning was giving way to afternoon. Dawn was in a foul temper. She fumed underneath the pile of sprouts who had decided to nap on top of her. “I'm going to rip his stupid pine cone shoulders off.”

“Please stop making boutonnières.”

Dawn tossed another flower arrangement on a steadily growing hill by her seat. “I'm going to cover him with so many he'll look like a tree in full bloom and he'll be so pretty that he'll lose the respect of the entire Dark Forest.”

“He has things to do, Dawn.”

“I think the relationship between our kingdoms is kind of super important!”

“That's putting it too strongly.”

“He's trifled with your affections! He's trifled! I can't put anything strong enough!”

“You're going to wake the sprouts.”

“You are too calm!”

Marianne was not calm at all. Tingling waves of anxiety washed up and down her body. It wasn't as if she was waiting for something of vital importance, she reminded herself. The feelings of a queen were of little concern when compared to her duties. She knew that Bog would be in agreement that the alliance should remain, whatever happened. Marianne was acting like a silly little girl waiting to hear if her crush liked her back. It shouldn't feel so important, as if the whole world had rearranged itself to take up a slow revolution around these moments leading up to Bog's arrival.

A knock at the door made Marianne jump so sharply that the sprout abandoned her lap. Her heart had given such a leap it felt like it had bruised itself slamming into her ribcage. She wasn't so sure there wasn't a crack in her breast bone too.

Reen stuck her head in. “The Bog King awaits her majesty's convenience.”

“Let him in!” Dawn bounced to her feel, scattering sprouts, “In, in, in! And all you kids get out! Out!”

“Alrighty.” Reen gave a jaunty little salute and withdrew.

The sprouts were herded from the room in a growing, giggling mass. The handmaidens darted around the room putting things in order. Dawn gathered up her box of flowers and shoved it behind a chair.

Marianne would have preferred them not to make such an event of it. It set a weight of formality on the whole business. Her stomach tickled like it did before grand events in the fields where she had to make sure to present a dignified, composed manner at all times.

She wasn't ready.

Bog walked into the room anyway.

“You are late,” Dawn rebuked him. She followed that by dumping the collection of boutonnières into his arms. “Now get on with it. You'd better have a spectacular excuse to give Marianne. Now, excuse me.”

Dawn kissed Marianne on the cheek before she left and murmured, “Your sword is behind your chair, I fully approve of you using as necessary. Love you!”

After the door snapped shut there was silence.

Marianne sat in her chair, hands twisted in her blanket.

Bog stood there with his arms full of flowers, looking completely bewildered.