#parent death //?

[trippingthemoonlightfantastic]

I'm having a really rough day. I didn't get much sleep last night. Mice had a party and injured the power supply on the modem, which woke me up immediately because I have to have cartoons on a low volume to sleep. Anything with the Internet is a big deal because it's shared with therapists that do telehealth. I'm sure they think it's my dogs but it would have been much worse if the dogs had attacked it. They ate my hairdryer while I was spending the night in the hospital. It's an added stressor plus my Internet is pretty feeble just with my phone data.

The hospice nurse came. She said I was doing an awesome job with my mom's wounds. I had given my mom her painkiller an hour before the appointment and she slept on the front porch through most of it, there's a bench and I put a blanket and pillows. I wanted her to get some fresh air. She slept all afternoon.

The dogs did eat most of my paintbrushes during the appointment.

People kept asking if she was okay. No. She's dying but that's degenerative Alzheimer's. I wish people would let us be.

I'm really struggling with the inevitability. I really miss my mom, not her shell, but her.

She became extremely afraid about going back inside. I had to hold her up for 20 minutes in the threshold trying to convince her it was okay. My body hurts so much.

I want her to be present enough to hug and console me. No one else loves me unconditionally and when she goes no one will. I'll be alone. No family. No one who really LOVES me. I want her back, even as problematic as our dynamic may have been at times. She got me through two miscarriages. Let me be angry and blame her the loss too even though obviously she didn't cause them.

I paid my May rent. I don't have anything left for food now though. And my only remaining shoes were causalities of dog anxiety about twenty minutes ago. I really don't have a single other pair. I've never been a shoe girl so having one of all three pairs destroyed over the last 3 months made me shoeless.

Now I have to come up with June, phone, food, shoe, and paintbrush money.

I may be overwhelmed by the dogs but I can't withstand anymore loss even if it would be easier.

[gaycragula]

Hello there

Please could i request a child male reader (around 9-12, maybe younger idk you can choose) x 141. Platonic obv. Reader is being held hostage for reasons and they have to go on a rescue mission. When reader is saved he’s scared of them all except ghost who he just clings onto LMAO

cheers mate 🙏

Lost and Found

Pairing: 141 x Child Male Reader (Platonic!!!!) Warning(s): Heavy implication of parent death, politician family, child reader, locked in a basement, he gets fed i promise, i have no idea how the military works, angst? Word Count: 2069 Masterlist

The walls were an ugly, cracks running along them, and you’re sure there was mold growing in one of the corners. The only light in the room was a small lightbulb in the center of the room that was rarely left on. The only door leading out of the room was locked from the outside. You’re not sure you exactly wanted to leave the room. Not with the heavy thumps of feet that stomped through the first floor of the home.

It was a nice summer day when it happened. You’d just finished a nice dinner with your parents when the sirens began to blare. The sound cut your ears and you covered your ears, trying to block out the noise. You were whisked out of your chair by your dad before  you could get up yourself.

Hushed words were shared between your parents as they rushed through the home to the basement. Your father’s grip was tight on you as he toted you down the stairs, your mother right on his heels. 

Dad set you down in a corner, trying to keep you out of direct sight of the stairs. He pressed a loving kiss to your forehead, your mother doing the same. 

“Be good and stay here,” your mom whispers, giving you a pained smile. Her lip quivered as she pressed another kiss to your forehead. “Mom and Dad love you. We always will.”

. Then, they left you, footsteps receding back up the stairs into the home. You heard the door shut and a silent darkness covered you. The silence only lasted for a moment. 

Something crashed upstairs and loud bangs made you cover your ears again. You curled further into the corner, trying to make yourself as small as possible. More crashing and something heavy hitting the ground sounded before it fell silent again. It was over… right?

The basement door slammed open and you gave a full body flinch. A flurry of steps rocketed down the stairs. Way too many to be just your parents. 

Five or six men came into your sightline. Each of them looked like they were armed to the teeth and it sent a jolt of fear through you. These men just ran through your house. Where your parents were. Where were your parents? 

They scoured the basement, flashlights leading their guns as they searched. For what? You weren’t quite sure but you hoped they would just look over you. The fear surging through your body was almost unbearable. It was hard to breathe, each breath fighting to force its way out silently. You tried to stay hidden for as long as possible but their flashlights soon exposed you.

They said something you couldn’t understand before moving on and returning upstairs when they finished. You heard the faint click of the lock to the basement and you were left in the basement by yourself again. You tried to fight the tears that began falling down your cheeks as you curled in on yourself. It wasn’t a very long fight and your face soon became wet with your tears. It hit you then that you’d probably never see your parents again.

It had been a week since it had happened. The men would leave food for you at the top of the stairs. You spent the majority of your days sitting under the light in the room, playing whatever you could find. Trying to distract your mind. You were suddenly happy your parents kept a chunk of toys down in the basement for storage.

Totes of toy cars that you pretended to race with, some toy dinosaurs you’d gotten years ago, left forgotten in the basement until now. There were planks of wood you’d dragged over that you drew on with some chalk your parents kept down there. The chalk worked well on the walls as well.

Drawings littered the small walls of the basement. Cars and dinosaurs littered the floor. Your house.. Your home, your family. Where did it all go?

You’ve tried to talk to the men on multiple occasions but they only either looked at you with disdain or spoke in a language you couldn’t understand. 

On the eighth day of the occupation, you heard those loud bangs and the shouts of men again. You started crying again, you didn’t even have a chance to try to stop it as you scrambled  back into a corner in the room again, hopefully out of sight. Out of mind.

It felt like ages before the house fell silent again. You heard the doorknob wiggle, muffled voices coming from the otherside. Light filtered into the basement as the door creaked open. “After you, Sergeant,” a gruff voice huffs, a hint of teasing to the tone.

A short laugh followed the words before steps were coming down the stairs again, flashlights dancing over the walls as they descended. “Ohhhh hell, look at this, LT,” a second voice whispers, a light lingering on the drawings on the wall. Silence fell again as the sound of more boots started down the stairs, flashlights whipping around the room before one fell on your form. 

—-----------------------

Clearing the home was easy. The bastards inside weren’t expecting an attack for a while. A home far outside any city line would surely work as a temporary base, right?

They thought so at least. So when the Scotsman barged through the door followed by six others, the occupants weren’t prepared. The firefight was short. The men inside scrambling to get to their weapons as fast as possible. 

It was Roach who’d noticed the door to the basement, calling over the rest of the team. “What d’ya thinks down there?” Soap chuckles as Ghost takes a hand at picking the lock. “More guys? Prisoners they been keepin’?”

“If I had to take a guess, probably prisoners. Family who lived here was big in the political field here. Probably kept them as hostages for ransom,” Price says, gesturing for two of the guys to stand guard at the front and back doors. 

The door clicked open and slowly swung open with a nasty creak. “After you, Sergeant,” Ghost huffs, nudging the Scotsman forward. Soap let out a short laugh before starting into the dimly lit basement. Ghost close behind him. Soap’s flashlight scanned the floors and walls. He noticed dinosaurs and cars littering the floor around the bottom of the stairs. He initially thought nothing of it. They knew a young kid lived here. 

He was almost to the bottom as his light scanned over a big drawing of a home and a family of three drawn in chalk. 

He felt his heart drop at the image. Soap was no master in chalk or anything, but the drawing looked pretty new. “Ohhh hell, look at this LT,” he says, nudging the other. Ghost went rigid for a second before gesturing back up the stairs for the other three to come down quickly. 

Flashlights scoured the basement, Soap wandering towards the darkest part of the basement. His light danced over the stone floor before the body of a little boy was illuminated.

“Over here,” Soap calls out, almost missing the way the kid jerked in response to his words. Soap handed Price his gun before crouching down next to the boy. Your eyes were locked onto him, tear stains evident on your cheeks and fear clouding your eyes. “We’re here to help ya,” Soap says, trying to offer his hand to you.

“Back off the kid, Soap,” Ghost mutters. “He’s scared shitless.”

Soap let out a quiet, barely audible sigh as he stood back up and stepped back to join the rest of his team. 

Your eyes shot from man to man. Your breath was heavy in your chest and you could hear yourself wheezing because of it. “Where are my parents?” You almost sobbed. Your voice was hoarse, throat tight as you waited for an answer.

The men felt their hearts drop at the pure pain in your voice. This kid, no older than 11 or 12 had his life turned upside down in a matter of fifteen minutes just a week ago. 

It was Ghost who made the first, well technically second, advance towards you, much to the surprise of the rest of the team. Just as surprising was the way you sat up to be face to face with him as he crouched down. 

He pulled a small picture out of pocket and handed it to you. It was a picture of your parents and yourself that you’d never seen before. “I don’t know where your parents are, but I do know that if you remain here, you’ll never find them,” Ghost spoke lowly. Just loud enough for you to hear. 

You nodded in understanding, shoving the picture in your pocket as Ghost stood up. He went to turn back to the team but paused when your hand grabbed his. You avoided his gaze when he looked back at you but didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he picked you up and maneuvered you onto his back. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, laying your head down on his back.

Ghost turned towards his team who were all gawking at the scene before them. “Get goin’ and quit starin’ at me like that,” he huffs, nodding towards the stairs before turning to speak to Roach, Gaz, and Soap. “Get the kid some clothes and we’re gettin’ out of here.”

“Aye, L.T,” Soap almost stutters, pushing Roach and Gaz towards the stairs. Price chuckled to himself before heading up the stairs after the three, rounding up the other two that he’d stationed up there. 

“What’s your name?” Ghost hears you ask quietly.

“They call me Ghost,” the man answers as he heads up the stairs. He felt you nod against his back and you fell silent for a moment. “What’s your name?”

You tell him your name, which he already knew but he wasn’t going to tell you that. That started a short and quiet conversation between the two of you. You asked how long he’d been in the military, where he was from, what his family was like and Ghost answered you and asked you the same questions in return. 

It was a stark contrast to what the 141 was used to. Ghost was generally quiet on these kinds of missions. “It’s gotta be the kid,” Gaz whispers to Soap who nods in agreement. 

“Yeah but what about this kid is different from others we’ve found?” Soap whispers back, rubbing his jaw as he watched you and Ghost interact. Gaz shrugged in response before Roach chimed in.

“Maybe he reminds him of a family member? Younger brother or nephew?” Roach suggests and it was like a lightbulb went off in the other two’s heads.

“That’s gotta be it,” Soap nods. “Does anyone know anythin’ ‘bout his family?” 

Gaz and Roach shake their heads and Soap sighs. He opened his mouth to say something else, stopping when he saw Ghost shoot a look over his shoulder at him.

“Quit chattin’. Be on guard. We’re still in hostile territory,” Price mutters, ignoring the noise of complaint the three made before begrudgingly doing what they were told.

It was your first time on an aircraft. You were glued to Ghost’s side, eyes locked on the floor in front of you. Soap had tried to get your attention a couple times to no avail. If you did make eye contact with him, you were quick to look away as quick as possible. 

The others didn’t have much luck either. Roach had tried to speak to you while Ghost was carrying you and all you’d done was bury your face into the fabric of Ghost’s shirt. 

Price had been the most outward about it, asking to actually carry you so give Ghost a break. That was the only time you’d spoken to anyone besides Ghost. “No,” was all that came from your mouth as you shook your head. Ghost had chuckled and told Price he was good to carry you the whole way.

Ghost had given you his hand to basically ‘play’ with. You braided his fingers, bending them and whatever else you could do to keep your mind calm. The rest of the team couldn’t keep the smiles off their faces at the sight.

Who would’ve guessed. The big bad Ghost had actually a big softie.

[tangledinink]

griefaversary jumpscare.

it's officially been five years since the loss of my dad. i think that means i'm healed now, right? anyway, my dad is the whole reason i started tmnt: stabilize, so my brain and hands decided we'd draw splinter.

[embracingwild]

saw a mother and teenage daughter arguing in line at the grocery store and i just wanted to take the girl by the shoulders and tell her, please, these moments matter. don't waste it arguing. i know you don't know this and it's not your fault but one day going to the grocery store with your mom is going to be a moment you replay in your head a million times so you can remind yourself that it was real. the she was real. that she cared enough to argue. please. it will matter more than you can possibly imagine.

[wardenparker]

The King's Queen - chapter 4

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Prince Javier of the Balearic Islands has always known that one day he would have to follow in his father's footsteps to be the caring and steadfast king that his people deserve. What he did not know is that he would be stepping into the next phase of his life alongside a woman he has never met before - and amidst a rocky sea of unusual circumstances of every kind.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 11.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: arranged marriage, age gap, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, mentions of American politics, deceased parents* Illness/cancer, not the world's best father/son relationship, character death, parent death, hospital Summary: There is sad news to be delivered to the people and decisions to be made, but the one thing you can promise Javi is that you will be beside him while he makes them. Notes: Guys this is just...this is a really hard chapter, so we tried to keep it short and push through the topic respectfully. And, of course, gif choice has no reflection on the reader's physical appearance.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3

You are a godsend and Javi is happy you are with him, unable to think of what might have happened if you had not been there for him as chaos and confusion swirls around you both. His brow furrows and he shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

"The doctors will tell us what happened." Javi had told you that his father did not have much time, but from his reaction you doubt this is what he meant. "Can you tell me what happened?"

“I do not really know.” It seems almost like a blur. “My father had a meeting, and I was walking beside him when he suddenly froze and started to gurgle before he fell out of his chair.”

"And you had not been doing anything strenuous this morning?" You don't believe that anything he could have been doing would have caused that reaction from his father, but the doctors will surely ask and you want to be able to tell them in case Javi is too upset. "Did he seem upset or not himself while you were looking at rings?"

Javier’s eyes close guiltily. “No— but….” He sighs heavily and opens watery eyes to find yours. “The ring is…special.”

"Special...to him?" Trying to figure out if the king may have been upset or under some kind of stress isn't simple – not when you would hazard to guess that he rarely shows any real emotions whatsoever.

“It was…the ring my mother wore.” Javier admits. “My father was pleased with the idea. But urged that you should pick your own band.”

"It doesn't sound like he was upset about the choice, or that it caused any tension." Although you do squeeze his hand a little tighter. "You...you really want me to wear your mother's ring?" Your own mother's engagement ring is in a safe somewhere meant to be passed to your brother's future wife, so the idea isn't strange to you at all. In fact, it's reassuring. It shows just how sure about the idea of the two of you together that he has become. He would never even think of giving you something of his mother's if he thought badly of you in any way.

“I would love it. It is special and I think that you would wear it well. Treasure it as I do.”

"I will." You can promise him that without hesitation, and you bring his hand up reflexively to leave a kiss on his knuckles. "It does not sound to me like he was upset by anything that happened this morning. The doctors will tell us what has happened, and we'll go from there."

“I’m not ready.” Javi admits quietly. “I thought I had more time. I need more time. I need to tell him things.” There had been a time where he had imagined his father would always be there.

The unfortunate reality is that he may not have time. There is a chance that today is the day the king dies, and you hate to be the one who is detached from the situation enough to actually have that thought clearly. “Think of what you want to say to him,” you encourage him instead, trying for optimism. “When he has had some rest, I’ll leave you and your father to talk.”

“Please stay.” His eyes turn towards you, soft and begging. “He— he approves of you. Never would have allowed my mother’s ring if he didn’t. Please.” His fingers tighten against yours. “I feel so alone.”

“Okay.” Your free hand comes up to him, cupping his cheek gently, and you nod. It seems like that feeling of childlike fear when a parent is sick doesn’t change even as you get older and it breaks your heart to see him so sad. “I’ll stay. You don’t have to be alone anymore, Javi. I’m not going to go anywhere.”

“Thank you.” Javi sighs, shaking his head. “I know it seems ridiculous, but he has always been there. I had hoped the doctors were wrong. There could be some kind of miracle.”

“It isn’t ridiculous to have hope, or to love your father.” In fact, it’s fairly refreshing as political parent-and-child relationships go. “We’ll do this together. Whatever this ends up being.”

“It’s good you are here.” Javi had dreaded your appearance, but it seems like his mother had chosen perfectly when she had insisted that her friend’s daughter was perfect for him.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner." It's obvious to you, even after a day, that things have been difficult for him for a while now. It feels like a failing on your part, somehow, that you weren't here to be by his side much earlier.

“I do not know that you could have been.” Javi admits, looking down at your joined hands. “I don’t know if I would have been as accepting. But I am glad that I am.”

"I am glad, too. I wouldn't want to make your life more difficult than it already can be." There is quiet between you in the car for a moment as it speeds down the city streets. The hospital cannot be too far – the island simply isn't that large. "Your cousin is...forceful." You murmur, hating to break the silence with it but wanting to at least breach the topic in private.

“Hm?” Javi looks away from the road, his eyes fixed on the ambulance where his father is being transported.

"Lucas." You prompt quietly. "He seemed...very ready to take charge."

“He is always very eager to help.” Javier frowns slightly, the unease whenever he is brought up starting to make his stomach roll. He bites his lip and wonders what you thought of the man who had been deemed more worthy than he had been to marry Gabriela.

"Does he help you often?" It did not seem as though help had been first on his mind, but rather entirely railroading over Javi to take over the situation.

“He is more than willing to help, although my father normally assigns him tasks that take him away from the palace.” He tells you.

"I see." That seems like a deliberate choice, but you don't have enough information on the situation yet to determine more. Instead you squeeze Javi's hand gently. "Is it alright with you that I have chosen Gabriela to be one of my ladies? If it will make you uncomfortable, I fully understand. She just seems a very kind woman to me."

“She is a wonderful woman.” The bittersweet ache that normally occurs when he sees her or hears about her doesn’t come this time. “As long as you know our history and are okay with it, I do not see why you should deprive yourself of her company.”

"It's one of the reasons I chose her," you admit. "Because I know that she has been important to you and sometimes people like that are hard to find." There are plenty of women who would be worried that Javi might begin an affair or make her his mistress, but somehow you just can't see that as a possibility. He doesn't strike you as that kind of man to begin with – and if he is? Then he would find a way to take a mistress regardless of the situation. You would rather it happened with your knowledge and someone you know rather than as a trussed up little secret to end up in the papers.

He stares at you for a moment, unable to believe that you are so incredibly gracious. You will make an excellent queen, one that will be kind to his people and help him bring his country into a new era of health and prosperity. “Thank you.”

"I care about you very much," you tell him softly, already feeling the deep impulse to say more but knowing that this is not the time or place for such a confession. The car turns abruptly, following the ambulance around a curve and then tips downward as though it is going down into a tunnel. You have to assume that the emergency vehicle and your car are allowed under the hospital for security reasons and you're grateful that at least there will not be onlookers or cameras down here. "Whatever happens, I am right here," you remind him as the pulls to a stop.

Javi takes a deep breath and nods before he steps out of the car. His hand still in yours, he turns to help you out of the car and immediately turns to watch his father being rushed out of the ambulance.

"This way, your Highness." The guard that had been riding in the car with you is already following after the gurney and has a hand out to guide Javi alongside him. The look he spares you is polite but noncommittal, having seen the way you handled Prince Lucas at the palace. "His Majesty will be seen to immediately, but you will be able to wait in his room for news."

“Thank you.” Javier nods. “I want a media blackout in the hospital.” He tells the guard. “No news of my father’s condition is to get out until we know more.”

“Yes, your Highness.” The man immediately taps his watch to check a message, and you realize you have been wrong about this person’s job title. He wears a uniform, but a less elaborate one than the other guards and that seems to be for a reason. “I am ordering a blackout at the palace as well, until you are ready to deliver an official statement.” This must be the king’s personal assistant.

“Yes.” Javier nods, his jaw flexing slightly and his face suddenly a lot wearier than it had been. Weathered by the sudden onslaught of responsibility. “That would be best. Nothing is to come out until we have determined what our course is going forward.”

“Very good.” The man nods, continuing through the halls at the prince’s side until he glances again toward you as board an elevator together. “Your Highness, at the risk of being impertinent?”

“What is it, Julius?” Javier asks, frowning slightly. His father’s man has never been one to mince words and he knows that his father probably is more candid with him than Javier.

“The hospital officials will be reticent to speak in front of your guest,” he is doing his best to be polite, but this situation is slightly more important than basic manners would usual cover. “Do I have your permission to assure them she is to be treated as family?”

“Absolutely.” Javier turns towards you and asks permission silently. “Are you comfortable with that? I had— my plan was to formally propose tonight.” He admits quietly.

“I am perfectly okay with that. Formal proposal or otherwise, I’m not leaving your side.” You assure Javi, and nod to the man he has called Julius. “Whatever today holds, we will respond accordingly.”

“I was planning on making it special.” Javi murmurs sadly. “Having your favorite meal prepared and served out by the cliffs. Moonlight and fairy light proposal.” He chuckles. “One of my ancestors had a good sense of humor and there is a glass slipper in the royal collection. I was going to put the ring in the toe of the shoe.”

It sounds perfect, if you’re honest with yourself. Like a real life fairy tale. And you hate how defeated Javi looks over something so romantic. “It sounds utterly romantic. And we can still do all of that,” you promise him, voice soft and gentle to be reassuring. “A worrying day does not have to rule all of our decisions. And we can even decide to wait if you prefer.”

“I don’t know if that would be prudent.” Javi sighs, wishing that the king had not collapsed. “I am the next in line for the throne. My people need to see that I am strong enough to carry them.”

“You are strong enough, but I am here with you. And you know my answer.” It isn’t meant to be cruel or cold, and you squeeze his hand in yours as the elevator starts to slow. “If you had the ring with you, I would wear it immediately and we can have our romantic dinner as soon as timing allows.” It isn’t ideal. Not to either of you. But right now idealism matters much less than the reality of the situation.

His brow furrows a moment and it’s going against everything in his entire body to do it, but he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a surprisingly nondescript box. “I do have it.” He offers quietly. “Are you sure?”

“It may surprise you to hear it.” A glance to your left and you see Julius dedicatedly studying the elevator wall facing away from you. You turn a smile back to Javi and nod. “But I have no hesitations. Whatever hardships you face, I face them with you. Whatever joys we have, we have them together.” Years have come and gone where you had questioned if you had any ambition to be a princess. To be a queen. But the moment he smiled at you, the truth washed over you like a wave — your ambition is him. To be what he needs. And tonight or tomorrow or whenever he decides to formally ask the question, you’ll tell him then that you’ve started falling in love with him.

“I have had no question where my life was directed.” Javi admits. “Since my first breath, my path was determined and shaped for me. And even though you were also selected for me, I am surprised by how earnestly I look forward to our adventure together.” He smiles, not as brightly as the night before, but it is sincere. “That is what it will be. Our adventure.”

“I have always known it was an honour to be chosen,” you tell him honestly as he lifts the brilliant diamond ring from the small leather box. “But now that I have met you? I am excited for it.”

“I hope that you stay excited.” He hopes as he takes your left hand and starts to slide the ring onto your finger. “It will be difficult at times.”

"There are things worth fighting for." The heavy meaning of the ring isn't lost on you, but you watch him slide it into place with a feeling of deep, true pride. "I will always fight for you and at your side." The elevator stops almost as soon as you finish speaking, and Julius turns after softly clearing his throat. "God save the Princess of Mallorca," he intones seriously, though the smile on his lips belies him. He was listening to every word and he is glad to hear such honesty from you. "After you, your Highnesses."

It's nearly surreal, hearing 'the Princess of Mallorca' and for the first time, feeling as if this is his decision. He decided that the despite the personal termoil that is going on, he would go through with the plan that had been laid down. Modified of course, but the there was no hesitation on his part when he had time the think about it. "Get used to that." He warns you.

"For your father's sake, I hope to remain princess for a good long while." You promise him, but even in spite of that you can't help smiling slightly. Deliberately tangling your right hand in Javi's left means the ring on your left will be on display for anyone who catches sight of you ask the three of you walk swiftly down the corridor and maybe it's a little bit of that American 'image is everything' mentality that makes you think of it but that might not be a bad thing. Some things are symbols for a reason, and engagement rings are a very important symbol all on their own.

Javi smiles and applies the tiniest bit of pressure to your hand, although he doesn't think that will be the case. The very serious expression on the medical staff's faces was telling him more than anything else. They are all very concerned about the King. "You will be a beautiful princess." He promises.

"Your Highness." A tall man with shock-silver hair and a deliberately calm demeanor despite his solemn face approaches you and Javier with his arm outstretched. He is wearing a white coat with his name embroidered on it and a laminated badge that marks him as the head of the hospital's oncology team. "Your father is being examined. This way, please." There is medical staff and security everywhere, but no one speaks as you, Javi, and Julius are ushered into a room on the left side of the hallway. Once the older man shuts the door behind the four of you, a pinched if polite smile is the most he can manage. "I need to know everything you can remember about this morning and what happened when the king collapsed." The doctor asks, although it is urgent enough that it could almost be perceived as a demand. "Even the smallest clue may help us determine the course of his treatment."

Javier nods, frowning as he sits down. Starting to go through the entire morning slowly, mentioning every wince and shift of pain in the King's seated position in his chair. "He took his medication right before we left the royal safe." His frown deepens. "He does not like when anyone sees him take it. Even me, normally."

"He has the medication on his person?" The doctor has been listening attentively, nodding along with the prince's recounting of the morning activities. "We will put it safely with his things," he assures Javi when the younger man nods. "His physician is with the examination team. For now all I can tell you is that we are working to stabilize him."

"Does it— does it look dire?" Javi asks, almost afraid of the answer, but he also needs to know. "Do you think it was a heart attack? A stroke?"

"It does not appear to have been a stroke." The doctor pauses, clearly not wanting to deliver the news that the prince has asked for. "But it is very likely that it was a heart attack. A severe one."

Javier's eyes close and he sways slightly on his feet, absorbing the news and nodding after a moment. "If it was a heart attack, what are his chances?"

"We do not know yet." It would be impossible to guess, and this man is certainly not going to be the one to choose statistics out of thin air. Not when it is the king's life at stake. "We will do everything in our power to help him. But...it is probably best to be ready for unfortunate news."

As much as he doesn't want to hear it, Javier appreciates the candor of the comment. He reaches out and takes the doctor's hand and shakes it firmly. "Please." He asks, keeping his voice low so it doesn't break. "I know you will, but please do everything in your power."

"We will, your Highness." As solemn as the moment is, it is honest. And the doctor excuses himself from the room with a polite nod.

"Shit, shit, shit." Javi's head drops the moment the door closes and the three of you are alone. "It's— he's going to die."

"We don't know that." Immediately putting your arms around him, it's all you can do to rub his back gently and offer him a safe place to exist with however it is that he's feeling. "Heart attacks are not always fatal."

“The doctor did not seem very optimistic.” Javi sighs and looks towards Julius. “Did he?”

"I would say that he was cautious." Julius answers, not inclined to be very optimistic himself. "Your Highness, there are certain...protocols that should be observed. In the event of an emergency." While it is obvious that the prince does not wish to hear any of this, it is the man's job. "With your permission, I will have black clothing brought from the palace and retrieve the draft of the palace's formal statement that your father last signed off on, for you to make adjustments to as you see fit."

“Yes.” Javier nods solemnly and then looks to you. “Include a black outfit for the princess as well.” He instructs Julius. “If a statement will need to be made, I want it to be done from the palace. If the king is dying, I want him transported back. He should pass in his own bed.”

"Yes, your Highness." Julius nods in much the same way the doctor did before excusing himself from the room, already extracting a cell phone from the pocket of his suit.

“This is really happening.” Javi sags under the weight of it all and collapses down into a chair in the room. “He—” he can’t say the words and shakes his head, eyes closed and face pinched in pain.

"We're alone," you urge him quietly, glancing up at the door to make sure no one can see in and only seeing the back of Julius's suit guarding the entrance to the room. You immediately pull the second nearby chair up beside Javi and take up the soft circles you were rubbing on his back just a second ago. "Let it out. Now is the time." As far as you can tell, the next time the two of you leave this room, there is a chance that you may be bringing the king home to die. And if that is the case, you want Javi to have had a chance to vent his fears and frustrations in private.

The tears don’t come like he had thought they would, but he holds his head in his hands. “I should have more time.” He chokes out. “I need more time with him.”

"The doctors will find out what has made him worse." Certainly he looked ill last night at dinner, but not on the verge of collapsing. It is beyond you to know exactly what to say, but you hold on to him with everything you have and let him breathe as best he can.

“Sí.” Javier nods and is eternally grateful that you are here with him. He doesn’t know what he would do if you weren’t, probably collapse into a pile of worry and fear. “They must. Few know of his condition as it is, but his doctor is here.”

You are used to waiting hours for news from medical staff even in the case of an emergency. This is not, apparently, how it works when you are royalty. Or perhaps when it is just this specific situation. When the door to the room where you are sitting with Javi reopens some half an hour later, Julius and the silver haired-doctor are accompanied by another man – a physician in scrubs who looks like he has just aged a decade in the last hour. “Your Highness.” The man bows his head deeply, regret and respect lying heavily on his shoulders.

Javi knows that his father is either gone, or there is no hope, just from the tone of the man’s voice. He stands and takes a moment to roll his shoulders back, taking a deep breath as he walks towards the trio. “Sí?”

“It was a blood clot that caused the heart attack.” Despite being almost twice the prince’s age, the man seems reticent to make eye contact, and it is no wonder. No physician ever relishes delivering news like this to a family. Least of all when your patient is the king. “We detected a second very near to his lungs.” He swallows, hands already wrung out with worry. “But the king’s heart is already failing. I—I am afraid I cannot even guarantee that he will make it back to the palace before he passes.”

“I see.” It’s a miracle that Javi didn’t fall to the floor at the news, perhaps he has already accepted the fact that his father was going to die today. “If the king cannot be transported, he should stay and be made as comfortable as possible.” Javi tells the doctor. “Is he awake? In pain? Does he know?”

“He is awake.” The royal physician nods solemnly. “And mostly aware. Though he has been given an appropriate dose of medication to manage his pain.” With a nod to the door, all three men bow their heads. “He has asked for you, your Highness.”

“Take me to him.” Javi turns back towards you and reaches out his hand for you to join him. He knows you will come, and that you will make the king happy when he sees the ring on your finger.

The group of you is formidable as it moves down the hallways, turning together down a long passage and coming to a stop at a doorway blocked by two uniformed palace guards. They instantly move out of the way for Javi and the door is opened, allowing your party inside. The king in a hospital bed is not a sight anyone relishes. He is pale and visibly weak but seems to be aware as he turns his head slightly to see his son walk into the room.

“Papa.” Javi rushes forward with you, not caring about royal protocol. He cares about spending the last moments with his dying father.

“Mijo.” The pain of breathing has been eased by medicine, but it lurks somewhere in the background like a knowing predator. “Let Julius help you. Papers in,” He breathes deeply and it is obvious how much effort it takes. “My desk.”

Javier nods, reaching out and taking his hand. “I will.” He promises him. “I will make sure everything is exactly how you would wish it.” He knows that he has long disappointed his father, but he won’t let him down now. He wants him to have peace in his last moments.

“Be careful—” Miguel coughs, the inelegant force of it shaking his body. “With trust.” It is not precisely what he means but the medicine makes out frustratingly difficult to think of the right word to use and he frowns slightly. “Choose one person to tell your secrets.”

Javier frowns slightly and nods. He’s already decided to trust you and motions behind him to beckon you closer. “Mamá was your confidant.” He knows that because she had told him so as a little boy. “I will choose my wife, my queen as well.” He takes your hand when you stand beside him and pulls it forward gently. “It is done, papá.” It doesn’t matter that he still needs to formally propose, he wants his father to know that he is taking his future role seriously.

“You.” The king looks up into your face with such utter seriousness that you stand stock still in the face of it. “You will not fail my son.” It is clear it is an order, but somehow there is an edge of fear in the thought, as if he simply has forgotten – or maybe never knew – how to plead.

“No.” Shaking your head, your other hand goes directly to Javi’s shoulder and squeezes it reassuringly. “I won’t. I promise.”

“She has chosen her ladies-in-waiting.” Javi assures him. “She had chosen well, and will be well served for the crown and our people.” He smiles. “You have done well for me, father.”

“Stay.” Again the order seems like it might have once been a request, but the king has long forgotten how to make them. Instead he holds his son’s hand with what strength he has left and shakes with the effort of a breath. “Stay.”

“I am not leaving you, Papa.” Javier chokes out, tears swimming in his eyes. He’s not a doctor but he can tell that his father is about to draw his last breath. In just the last few moments his breath has become rattled and his skin taking on a waxy appearance. “Never. I am here.”

It will be recorded in King Miguel’s story that his last thoughts on this Earth were of his wife – the way he gasped her name before exhaling deeply one last time making you so utterly sure that he must have seen here there in front of him in the room even as he held Javi’s hand. Long silence in the space seems to have swallowed the hearts of every witness: the doctors present alongside Julius, yourself, and Javi all sharing a moment of contemplative grief in the room with the now deceased monarch.

Until Julius’s deep voice vibrates softly through the space. “The king is dead. Long live the king.”

Javier’s eyes close and he swims in his grief for a moment. Allowing himself to grieve his father, despite the monumental moment that is the beginning of his reign. “King Miguel rests. His reign is over.” He murmurs quietly, leaning in and kissing his father’s hand.

“God save the King.” Is a mighty sentence to be heard spoken by the men surrounding you, and you find yourself murmuring the words along with them like you have been swept up in the tide of the moment. It is as heartbreaking as it is groundbreaking, but you stand back and let Javi absorb it for himself for now.

Javi stands and lays his father’s hand over his chest. His shoulders roll back, and he straightens before he turns around. His eyes are still grief stricken, but his face is composed. “Handle his body with care.” He instructs the doctors, “thank you for your efforts in making him comfortable.” He tells the doctors before he steps closer to shake their hands.

The transformation is, sadly, one you think that his father would have been proud of. To see gentle, hopeful Javi feel the burden of the world on his shoulders only solidifies your resolve to be by his side. You listen as Javi gives his thanks and instructs again that the late king’s body be delivered to the palace with care.

“We will, your Majesty.” The doctor who had worked on the king nods and he slips out of the room to inform the discreet staff of the procedures.

Javi turns towards Julius. “My father’s statement, have someone bring it to me immediately. I wish to release the announcement within the hour.”

"If you would prefer to make the address from the palace, I will have your valet meet you with your change of clothes in your office." It is his now, as the office that once belonged to King Miguel has instantly become his son's. "I have an electronic version of the statement for you to read in the car, your Majesty." A few strokes of his fingers on his smartphone and the file is instantly sent to Javi's phone. That is all it takes these days. Julius had always had electronic copies of things kept at the ready even though the late king preferred paper.

“I believe that it would be fitting to have the address be from the office,” he agrees. “Have the mirrors covered with black drapes and find the official photograph from my father’s sapphire jubilee.” He orders Julius. “I will read the speech in the car and make any adjustments I see fit.”

"Yes, your Majesty." This transition may have come sooner than Julius had expected, but he is grateful to see that the prince's first steps as a king are outwardly smooth and confident – even if he does not feel it in himself yet. After a few keystrokes on his phone, no doubt sending directions to the staff at the palace to have things ready for the new king's arrival – the older man turns his head to you. "Flores has things ready for you on our arrival, your Highness. It would be prudent to report to your suite immediately, change, and be on hand for the king's address."

"Perfectly right." It is the thing that will benefit Javi the most, and that is what you're here for.

“Julius.” Javier turns towards the man who has advised his father for years in an unofficial capacity as his personal secretary. “I would like you to stay on in my staff.”

If he was expecting it or not, the small and nearly pleased small that graces the man's face temporarily is full of gratitude. Some new monarchs replace an entire palace staff in order to have things their own way. It seems the new king will not follow that path, and Julius nods deeply as you walk together. "It will be my honour, your Majesty."

Javi turns towards you, and takes your hand. “I do not want the joy of our announcement to detract from the nation’s mourning.” He explains quietly. “However, I want you there with me.”

"Perhaps having a new beginning to look forward to will ease the pain that comes with mourning." You hold onto his hand tightly, offering him the supportive smile that no one else around you can muster at the moment. "I'll be right beside you. I'm sure whatever Flores has picked out will be appropriate and I can be shown to your office immediately." Having promised him that he wouldn't have to do any of this alone, you intend to keep your word.

“Thank you.” His hand squeezes yours and he sends you a grateful smile. “This is not how I wished today to go, but I am grateful you are here with me.”

“Nothing is ever exactly as we plan it.” He is holding the hand is adorned with his mother’s ring, and the metal bites into both of your hands ever so slightly. Like the physical representation of the promise that binds you together. “But I would not be anywhere else.”

“I appreciate that.” Javi murmurs seriously, reaching up to cup your cheek gently. “Let us go prepare the country for bad news.”

******

The drive back to the palace is not quite as efficient as it was to the hospital, but when you return there is an air of questioning about nearly everything. Of course no one has been told much of anything beyond Flores and Javi’s valet having prepared mourning clothing, but you give his hand a squeeze in the hallway before you leave him to change your clothes. “I’ll be with you soon,” you promise, the look of solemn seriousness on both of your faces sure to alert some eagle-eyed staff to what is to come. “As quickly as I can be.”

“Take your time.” He insists. “Take a moment, I know it’s hard to deal with.”

“I’ll take a moment later, when we can take one together.” Your hand is on his cheek like his was on yours earlier, and you would kiss him if things were less public or less strained. But for now you swipe a bit of moisture away from his eye. “I will meet you in your office, and we will do this together.”

“Thank you.” He murmurs softly, showing his uneasy emotions to you for the first time since he has immediately become king. Unsure of why he has someone so amazing in his corner, it bolsters his confidence.

“You’re going to be wonderful, querido.” Something instinctive tells you that. A certainty you can’t name. “Go with Julius and change your clothes. Fix your speech. I’ll be back to you before you even remember I’ve gone.”

He nods once and turns on his heel to follow the man who is now his personal assistant through the wing to get to his rooms. Although he will be moved into the king’s chambers after the funeral.

As quickly as you can move down the hall to your suite without drawing attention to yourself, you’re eternally grateful to find Flores in your sitting room with your jewelry box when you come through the door. “We need to be quick,” you tell her, already unpinning the hat you had been wearing all day before now.

“Yes, your Highness.” She quickly takes the hat from your hand and moves to your dress and unzips it. There can be no modesty between you and your lady’s maid. “I have a Dutti black sheath dress laid out for you.” She explains. “They are a Spanish designer but have a design branch here in Mallorca.”

“I should not be surprised that things have already been acquired for me, should I?” No doubt the late king had your sizes on file and things ordered as soon as he sent for you. He was an efficient man and that was a virtue for him in his position. “Is it appropriate to work out of my own jewelry box for now? It’s not unlikely that the king will want me beside him when he makes his address, and I don’t know if having me in borrowed jewels right away would be seen as the appropriate choice or like an American is barging into the palace head first.”

“The piece from the royal family you are wearing will be very visible, but there is also a selection of jewelry that King Miguel, may he rest, had pulled to round out your welcome wardrobe.” She explains. “He had known you would pick your own style, but he had ordered that this be made available to you as a working example.”

“Flores, you’re invaluable.” As soon as your bright, floral sundress can be whisked away, her capable hands are directing you into a sleek black sheath dress that will hit just below your knees and make you look suitably official for your first appearance as the Princess of Mallorca.

Unlike other kingdoms, who might only have given you the title once you were married to Javi, here it is bestowed on the woman who is to be married to heir to the throne. There will be a small ceremony at some point – you have no idea when – where Javi sets a tiara on your head for the first time. And then you will be the Crowned Princess of Mallorca – the future wife of the king. It’s all based in medieval traditions and regulations, but since you have spent most of your lifetime making yourself aware of the traditions, at least you know what is coming.

“I think…before we get into the crowned jewels…there is something in my jewelry box I would prefer to wear.” Looking up at her in the mirror, the dress is immaculate but your eyes land on your maid’s face. “There is a little silver box that has a pair of pearl earrings and a matching bracelet. They were a birthday gift from the late king. It…would be nice to honor him that way.”

That would be perfect and the way Flores smiles and nods shows you that. “It would be most fitting, your Highness.” She agrees and moves towards the box that had been unpacked that contains your jewelry. “Shall we reset your hair or just your makeup?”

“Just makeup, I think.” The hat you had been wearing had the virtue of being small and not making much of an impact on the way she had styled your hair this morning. “I have no idea what the rest of the day will hold but it would be best to do something neutral, I think. Soft.”

“Yes.” She nods and gives you a small smile. “We will make you look both strong and soft. A welcomed haven for our King Javier.”

“He’s doing well so far.” For as few orders as he has had to give so far, he has been level-headed, reasonable, and gracious. “One of the most difficult days of his life and he has been nothing but kind to everyone around him.”

“He is a good man. A kind one.” Flores nods in approval. “Unlike some, he does not take the staff for granted or abuse them.”

"As long as we are on the topic." You have a feeling that you know precisely who she is talking about, and glance up at her again as you sit in the vanity chair for her to touch up your make up. "I know there hasn't been much time, but have the Countess and Dama Maisie been able to settle in?"

“They have, your highness.” She informs you with a small smile. “Unfortunately, the suite where the Count normally stays has been taken so he had decided to go back to his estate.”

"Oh, how unfortunate." But the knowing sparkle in each of your eyes when they meet in the mirror says otherwise. "I do hope the countess can be persuaded to find comfort and some relaxation without his presence."

“She seemed positively sublime when she was finished settling in and had a tea service sitting in front of her.” Flores giggles quietly.

"I am extremely glad to hear it." And really, you are. Whatever is happening with Gabriela and her husband, it cannot be allowed to get worse. A small shake of your head accompanies the thought and you reach for the earrings on the vanity in front of you while Flores attaches the bracelet to your wrist and hands you a soft, dusty rose shade of lipstick. "Shoes, and then I will be ready. Unless you see something out of place?"

“You look perfect, your Highness.” She tells you with a smile. “It is not the introduction I would wish for you to the country, but you will win their hearts with your respectful honor and kind heart.”

“I don’t think this is the introduction anyone wished for, but it’s the one we have so we must make the best of it.” That’s your mother talking, but you don’t mind it. Sometimes her voice comes through at the best of times.

There are a few extra touches, just to make sure that everything is perfect and then Flores steps back. “You are ready.” She announces with a nod of her head. “I shall walk you back towards the king’s office, unless you wish to go alone?”

"Between you and I?" You shake your head at yourself before smoothing your hand over the dress nervously. "I may get lost if you don't. It's a miracle I managed to find my own rooms on my own."

“It is confusing as first,” she agrees, quickly putting away the cosmetics and ushering you towards the door. “You will soon know it better than anywhere else you’ve lived.”

Setting off down the hall in all black does draw a bit of attention from those people who know who you are – but that number is still so slim that most of the palace staff still seems to considering you invisible. The five minute walk from the residential wing to the king's office is brisk, though, and the footman at the door is taking his job incredibly seriously today.

"The Princess of Mallorca." He announces in a somber and low tone, just as you walk past him.

Javier looks up from the speech and for a moment, he is breathless. You are dressed impeccably, not that he had any doubts that you would be. The dress is respectable and looks lovely on you. Standing, he motions you closer. “Come. I would like your opinion on the speech.”

"Of course." He has changed as well, as you knew he would. Gone are the linen shirt and loose pants that he had been wearing just twenty minutes ago and now he looks every inch a royal in a bespoke black suit. Even the square in his pocket is immaculate. Despite the tragic circumstances, he looks stunning.

He pulls out the seat for you, sitting you behind his father’s — his desk. “Please, give me your honest opinion.”

The page and a half long speech is eloquent, as you knew it would be, and concise. It addresses the handing over of power with clear love for the people. It assures of stability and continued progress. It even has a line deliberately mentioning the new king's intended which Javi has scratched at and edited in his own scribbling handwriting to include your name. It is very...official. And while that is not a bad thing, the bit of it with the most emotion seems to be the part that Javi has added in by himself. "You might make sure to mention that he passed peacefully," you suggest, indicating the paragraph where the late king's illness is mentioned. "It will give people comfort to know that he was not in pain or afraid at the end."

Javi nods seriously. “Yes, I will include that in the speech. Thank you.” Biting his lip, he looks around the office nervously. “Other than that, it sounds good?”

“Yes.” Your hand finds his on top of the desk and you repeat that gentle squeezing motion you’ve both become accustomed to so quickly. “It sounds very kingly. And comforting. The country may be shocked to learn of the loss but they should also feel like you have things under control, which is as close to perfect as we can hope for under the circumstances.”

As long as you believe in him, Javi feels like this might actually be possible. He’s not sure when you became such an important figure in his life, but it is clear that you are vital to his reign as king. “Then that is what we will go with.”

“Short and sweet, as we say in America.” You smile warmly, hoping to give him another moment of reassurance before Julius clears his throat politely.

“This will be an interruption of regular programming, sire, and it will be live. It will take only a few minutes to contact the news channels.”

“Okay.” Javier nods. “Make the calls. I want to be on the air in ten minutes.” He decides.

“Is there anything I can do besides be here?” Whatever he could ask, you already know you’ll do it. The deep initial connection between the two of you has been cemented in a way that no one could have guessed at but has so far made you nearly inseparable.

“Not that I am aware of.” Javi is grateful that you are so willing to jump in and do whatever is necessary. “Are you ready to become known as the Princess of Mallorca, officially?”

“I’ll do my very best to live up to the title.” Given that the last Princess of Mallorca was his mother, you don’t take the title or the responsibility lightly. “Perhaps tonight we can still enjoy a dinner together? Even if it isn’t as elaborate as what you had originally planned?” You know he’ll be exhausted emotionally and mentally after today, but the hope is to give him something to look forward to. A bright spot after a day that has held so much darkness.

“I think that would be nice.” Javi sighs softly. “It might be later than expected since I have to have a meeting with my cabinet and advisors.”

“You do what you need to do.” You promise him quietly. Julius is supervising the entrance of a woman with a television camera with the utmost seriousness and you wouldn’t want to distract him. “I still have an appointment to keep this afternoon and I have a few things to go over with Flores. When you’re ready for me, just call and I will be there.”

“Thank you.” Even though the woman is there, he’s leaning in to press a respectful kiss to your cheek, lingering slightly. “I hope you enjoy your appointment.”

"I think it will be significantly less nerve-wracking with Maisie and Gabriela there." Shifting away from his desk after you squeeze his hand tight in yours, you nod to the woman with the camera and Julius beckons you out of the way to stand by his side.

"If you would stay with me, your Highness," he murmurs quietly as the technician begins to set up the shot and speak to the king at his desk. "I believe it would do him well if he could see your face during the address. Sometimes the presence of the ones we love is all it takes to get through life's hardest trials."

Javi sits down behind the desk, fiddling slightly with his royal seal that is pinned to his suit jacket. He’s terrified that he will fail, but now the time has come that he cannot fail. The country is his to rule, the people his to care for.

A little fussing on the camera woman's part is all it takes, and the room is oddly full by the time the red light off to the right of Javi's desk begins blinking to signify the countdown to being on the air. A few members of the staff have filed in quietly behind where you and Julius are standing, silent as stagnant air but eager to witness this historic moment.

Once the light is solid, Javi begins to speak: “Today, I address you from the royal palace to bring you sober news.” He recites from the speech. “King Miguel has passed away peacefully this morning at eleven forty-three at the royal hospital following a medical event.”

The small group of people around you cross themselves or press their hands to their hearts. Even Julius nods his head. You never take your eyes off Javi, though, nodding to encourage him and breathing deliberately to remind him to do the same. The sort of things your mother used to do with your dad before campaign events.

“King Miguel led our country with compassion, wisdom and an infinite love for his people.” Javi praises. “His presence will be missed and our grief palpable as we move forward into a new time.”

He's doing so well. As far as you know it is the first televised speech Javi has ever made in his life and you give him a discreet thumbs up from behind the camera line.

“I understand that there will be worries about the future,” he personally shares those worries, but he can’t say that to the country. “Rest assured that the transfer of power had already been anticipated with the arrival of the Princess of Mallorca, future Queen.”

When he says your name you could not possibly stand any taller or feel any prouder. He had penned the words into the speech himself and the emotion behind them rings with intent, making your hand move to your chest with a very different feeling than everyone else in the room. Every end is also a beginning, and as devastating as that end may be for some, you cannot help but be excited for the beginning you and Javi face together.

“Tonight, we will remember King Miguel, celebrate his life and his reign over the people that he had dedicated his life in service to.” He looks into the camera solemnly and with a quiet pride. “He was a king, a leader, a diplomat, but he was also a man. A husband to his beloved wife and a father. The king took his last breathes with his wife on his mind.”

There is a shadow of a sniffle from behind you and one of the older members of the house staff crosses herself again. You can make out just the mouthing of a blessing from the corner of your eye. Queen Gloria was adored; you know that well.

“I will leave you with a message of hope and remembrance. Grief and joy. Mallorca is a strong nation and while we will remember King Miguel as one of the best monarchs of our illustrious history, the path forward will be forged on the service he has provided his people. Good day and God bless you all.” Javi signs off and holds the camera’s view until the red light goes dark.

You are the second to move, only stepping out from behind the camera when you see the woman operating it switch off the unit and look away from her monitor. "You did splendidly," you promise him, moving directly back to his side at the large mahogany desk.

His hand reaches for yours, for comfort and assurance. “Thank you. I was hoping that my voice was not wavering. I felt like I was about to cry.”

“No,” you shake your head. “Not wavering. You sounded moved, but not unsteady.” In fact, you smile at the honesty of the thought. “He would have been very proud.”

“You think?” He asks, his brows raised and his face nearly pleading with you to be serious. He still wants his father’s approval now, especially. He had left the care of an entire country in his hands. It was much more than a mere inheritance.

"I absolutely do." With no thought to the other people in the room, you bend down to leave a kiss on his cheek the way he did with you earlier. "That was a wonderful way to greet your people as their new king."

“I don’t feel like a king.” He admits with a rueful chuckle. “I thought there would be this moment where it just clicked, but there wasn’t.”

"Maybe there wasn't a time that you felt it." It is unexpectedly intimate, the way your fingers seems to develop a mind of their own and brush one tousled curl away from his forehead. "But the rest of us did." He had transformed almost instantly, and you had seen the different set of his shoulders and the way his head came up a little higher since then. "When you stood up from your father's bedside, every one of us in that room knew it had happened."

“My greatest fear is to let him…them—” he motions to the staff behind you and the rest of the kingdom. “Down.”

"That is not a bad fear to have, querido." You've settled into it. You like the little pet name for him and it seems as though he doesn't mind it either. "But we cannot let it make you too afraid to act. Be afraid, but do things anyway."

“You are very wise, margarita.” He murmurs, leaning into you for a moment and pressing his head to yours. “Very wise.”

“We both have things to do.” If you don’t remind yourself – and him – of that it would be all too easy to get wrapped up in each other. Instead you smile softly and let your hands linger on his arms for a second more. “But call for me and I’ll be there. Especially for our meal.”

“Sí.” He nods and would like to linger but Julius is giving him a discreet look. He needs to convene the council immediately. “I will see you later, Princess.”

Javi's day will be absorbed in policy and in ritual, but yours will be dizzying in a different way. Walking back to your suite, there is no mistaking the reaction that people have to you now. That broadcast went out to the entire country and as such the entire palace has been informed. King Javier I has stepped up to his responsibility and has announced the arrival of a new princess. You're met with bows and curtsies instead of disinterested looks, and the doors to your suite are opened for you a whole six feet before you could reach it yourself.

"Your Highness." Flores is beaming as she rushes towards you, her own station elevated by the news that you are the next queen of Mallorca, although she is more interested in your reaction. "How has the change been?" She asks. "Nearly instantaneous, sí?"

"Very much so." And as dizzying as that is, you are glad to see that Flores is only excited and nothing has changed here. Not in this room, at least. "How long do we have until the dressmaker arrives?"

"They will be here in ten minutes." She checks her watch. "Would you like to change into something else, or greet the dressmaker in your current outfit?"

"This will be fine." There is no need to change a third time only to have to essentially undress to be measured and fitted for new clothing. "Perhaps it would be prudent to have the Contessa and Dama Maisie brought in before her arrival?" You glance at the clock on the mantle across the sitting room and bite your lip when you look back to Flores. "And maybe a tray? I know teatime isn't exactly Spanish but we have all missed lunch due to the commotion."

"I can have a light fare brought in for you and your ladies, as well as the designer?" She asks. "Tapas?" She knows that today is a trying one for you and she wishes to make sure that you have everything you need.

"That would be wonderful." You have seen already how invaluable Flores is going to be to helping you navigate your way through things, but she seems to prove it continually. "I am..." You sigh, floundering as you look for the word, and ending up with just a shake of your head. "Scattered. I am scattered, I think." Without Javi to focus on, the threads of your concentration seem to just slip away like waves from the shore.

“You are not scattered.” She shakes her head and frowns at you. “You must select a personal assistant.” She reminds you. “Someone to keep your schedule for you and coordinate your needs.”

"I wish my brother was here," you admit quietly. "He would be able to manage everything beautifully." Despite your father's insistence that Sebastian would be a Senator just like him one day, you know your older brother. He is a far better hand behind the curtain than the man standing in front of it.

“The Princess can ask anyone to join her team.” Flores hums. “If your brother was willing, I know that there would be no reason to deny him. Although it is a very…personal position. Even keeping track of your menstrual cycle.”

For a second you almost ask why that would be necessary, but you swallow the question when you remember that royal heirs are a necessary part of the job. Because what you have isn't just a job. It is an entire life that is dedicated to an entire country. And just as Javi can't let them down, neither can you. "He has had to take care of worse," you acknowledge with a half-laugh. "I'm going to call him." The decision is instant, and you even feel a little lighter for it. "Would you be kind enough to see to a tray and have my ladies join me in a few minutes?"

“Sí, su alteza.” Flores nods and curtsies before she starts to hurry out of the room. She will make sure that the tapas will be enough to fuel you through the day and give you a selection of the chef’s specialties.

Taking a deep breath, you dig your cell phone out of the purse that you had left sitting on your vanity from this morning, and sit down in the beautifully crafted chair to select your brother's contact information and hit Send. As a staffer in your father's office you know he's busy, but hopefully not too busy to take a phone call. After all, two in the afternoon in Mallorca is 8 a.m. in New York City. He probably hasn't even left for the office yet.

“Hello?” He rattles off his name and title since he uses his cell phone for more business than anything else.

"Hey." You relax instantly at the sound of his voice. It's so easy to picture him standing in the living room of the apartment you shared until just two days ago, mixing his coffee. If you strain, you can even hear the spoon in his travel mug. "It's me."

“Hey!” His voice ticks up and he immediately stops to think about the time difference between him and you. “How is it going? The prince? Is he a jerk? Do you want to come home? I’ll hide you from dad and the whole Balearic Island kingdom.”

"Actually?" You sigh a little at the question. "He's a dream. Manners, romance, and insanely attractive to boot. I—" There's no use beating around the bush, and you don't really have time for it anyway. "Seb, his father died today. Barely two hours ago, actually."

“Oh god.” He’s not without compassion and he hums sympathetically. “I am so sorry. I— it hasn’t broken over here yet.”

"Javi just announced it on the air about twenty minutes ago." You're used to being close to a news cycle, but this is the first time you've ever been directly a part of a breaking story. "So, um...your sister is officially a princess... No doubt Dad will be annoyed that I told you first instead of him."

“What he doesn’t know.” Sebastian practically rolls his eyes through the phone.

Both of you laugh softly, knowing how true it is, and you nod against your phone. "I have a weird question for you, Seb."

“How weird could it possibly be?” He snorts. “You are in a modern day arranged marriage and it seems to be making you happy.”

"The thing is..." He's right, again, and you're glad for the little reprieve in what has been an otherwise stressful day. "There's a lot going on here. As I'm sure you can imagine. It's a lot to manage and my lady's maid is amazing but there are some things that are just...outside of her wheelhouse." For as composed as you have been with nearly everything else today, you are sitting at the vanity biting your lip as you tilt your head back and close your eyes. "I need to hire a personal assistant, Seb. And I honestly can't think of anybody who knows me better or can manage all the crazy stress better than you can. I mean hell, you've survived being Dad's assistant. There's no way literal royalty could be more demanding than that."

The pregnant pause on the other end of the line grows as Sebastian thinks. He knows the job would be stressful but rewarding. Plus, he would be able to see his sister, something he had missed in the short time you have been gone. Getting off dad’s staff would stop the comments about running for his seat when he’s ready to retire. “How soon would you need me?” He asks.

“As soon as you can get here.” The utter relief that runs through you has you sagging in your chair. “And if you decide you hate it or it’s too much, I will totally understand. But I—” You sigh down the line. “I really appreciate it, Seb.”

“Give me two days to settle my affairs here.” Already his mind is whirling and he’s making lists of things he needs to do. “I’m assuming the necessary visas will be available?”

“I’ll have Javi’s assistant make sure everything is in order, and we’ll send the jet for you.” The wheels in your mind start turning on other things, and you glance up at the clock again. “You’re the best brother in the world, you know that right?”

“Of course I am.” Sebastian chuckles, knowing you would say that regardless. “I’ll see you in three days, honey. Hold it together until I get there.”

"I'll get everything ready for you here." Whatever that will mean. But you'll find out from Julius everything that will be entailed. "I owe you, Seb. And I'll call Dad now so that you don't have to break it to him."

“Are you sure you want to do that?” He winces and figures that you are better off not dealing with the headache.

“How much yelling do you think there’s going to be?” You ask honestly, wondering if he might have a point. “I have an appointment in a few minutes.”

“Dad?” Sebastian snorts. “At least twenty minutes.” He rolls his eyes. “Plus a lecture and a tirade. You save yourself the trouble and I’ll tell him that I went to work for a Republican.” He jokes.

“You’ll be disinherited.” Huffing a laugh, you nod even though he can’t see you. “Thanks, Seb. And remind him before he decides to call and leave me a furious voicemail that I’m royalty now. So making me cry might be treason.”

He’s laughing as he says goodbye and hangs up, immediately calling his father to start the ball rolling on changing his entire life, just like you had. You calling him had been a godsend, he had been unhappy with his current direction and had no interest in running for office himself.

Your phone is barely down on the vanity when the doors to your suite open again, letting Maisie and Gabriela inside. They have changed into black clothing as well, in accordance with officially being a part of the royal household as of today, and you pull yourself up to standing when the door shuts again behind them. "How are you both doing?" You ask, not knowing how close either of them may ever have been to the late king.

“It is very sad.” Gabriela sighs and shakes her head. Even though she had been denied the pleasure of marrying Javier, she had tremendous respect for Miguel. “I think that the entire country will be mourning for a long time.”

"His reign was long and influential." Having taken the throne at just eighteen years old, being king was his entire life. And the people of the Balearic Islands would not soon forget him. "Although I am relieved to say that he was not in pain, at the end."

“Yes.” She agrees, nodding her head and folding her hands together in front of her body. “That is the most we can hope for.”

"Gabriella, if you need some time to yourself, I completely understand." Stepping closer to her, you don't want her to feel forced or invalidated in any kind of sadness she might be feeling. Especially when today has taken such a drastic turn.

“It is better to focus on the future than the past.” She smiles sadly and shakes her head. “Keeping busy will be good for me.”

“If you ever feel overwhelmed or like you need to have time to yourself, will you please tell me?” It can’t be something many princesses have ever said to their ladies, but if anyone expected you to be a ‘normal’ princess they have another thing coming altogether. “That is for both of you,” you insist, looking to Maisie as well.

“Thank you, your Highness.” Maisie nods. “I must ask, is there something you would like us to call you in private? Or would you prefer to keep to formalities?”

"I like nicknames," you admit, thinking fondly of even the few times that Javi has used your new pet name. "My mother called me Daisy, and I was always very fond of that."

She tilts her head and nods, smiling softly. “I like that. If you wish, it is completely acceptable for your ladies to call you by that.” She assures you. “Although, only in informal situations and when we are alone.”

"I would like that very much." In fact it's oddly comforting, and you're smiling when the door to your suite opens once more.

“Your Highness. My ladies.” Flores nods respectfully as she wheels a silver service cart into the room. Laden down with fresh squeezed lemonade, a pot of tea and three tiered displays of tapas for you to snack on while you are consulting with the dressmaker. “Please let me know if there is something you wish to have in addition to this.”

“Flores, you are a wonder.” Maisie hums happily.

“She is.” There is nothing that could possibly make you disagree with that, and you lend your maid a smile. “I called my brother, after we spoke. He’ll be here in a few days. Thank you for encouraging me.”

“That is wonderful.” She smiles and starts to set up the food and drinks. “José, the butler, will be escorting the dressmaker here when they arrive.”

"Then let us snack while we can." Maisie grins conspiratorially, shooting you a playful wink. "Before we must have ladylike manners again."

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit

TKQ: @storiesofthefandomlovers @mimimarvelingmarvel

My Masterlist!

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating fear — (XX)

The World Turns Upside Down

Alternate idea, changed after publishing this, the canon part XX link is here.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Kit was wary about following Ambrose down a very dark, a very concrete set of stairs. “If this is the fucking torture basement I woke up in initially—”

Ambrose waved the accusation away, as if it was daft for Kit to be wary. “It’s to the garage,” he told him, keying a code into the pin-pad beside the metal door.

Ambrose walked through the door and held it open, rolling his eyes when he noticed Kit still lingering at the top of the stairs.

“Come on.”

“I’m not going to willingly follow you into your torture dungeon.”

Ambrose blinked, tilting his head. “The sex dungeon is two floors down, Mallory.”

Ambrose laughed at the face that Kit pulled. “Come on. I can always force you to come if I want, and we’re kind of a time crunch here.”

Kit glared daggers at the man and begrudgingly walked down the stairs. He stopped at the last step, trying to get a peak into the room. Ambrose walked away from the door letting it close before Kit could. Kit lunged forward to catch the heavy metal door, but relaxed immediately when he saw it was in fact a garage.

Kit let out a long low whistle after stepping into the garage. The door shut with a buzzer after him. Ambrose opened a lock box with keys hung up in a numbered order.

He grabbed the keys named ‘01’.

“You’re such a control freak,” Kit snorted. “Do you have OCD or something?”

Ambrose shrugged, taking off through the cars covered by different tarps. The only car that wasn’t covered was the one closest to the garage door. The same car that Ambrose kidnapped Kit in last night.

He hated that Ambrose had a good taste in cars. He hated that Ambrose had this many cars when Kit couldn’t even afford one, nevermind a garage full.

Ambrose grinned at Kit over the roof of the Wraith as he unlocked the door. “If you like, I can give you one of the ones I don’t like.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “I thought I told you to stay out of my head,” he said, opening the door and climbing into the passenger seat. The cream leather was so comfortable under him as he put his seatbelt on.

“Seriously,” Kit went on, anger curling around him the more comfortable he became with all of Ambrose’s luxury. “Don’t you have any thoughts of your own?! It’s fucking creepy, man. Just ask questions if you want to know my thoughts.”

Ambrose laughed as he opened the garage door with a remote and they rolled out of the house and onto the road again.

“I mean, don’t you have any friends?” Kit demanded hotly. In all honesty, he didn’t know why he was getting pissed all of a sudden, it’s not like Ambrose invading his mind was a new thing, but now? It pissed him off. “Don’t you know how to talk to people?!”

“Relax, Mallory. You’re the only person I relay their thoughts to. It might shock you, but generally, people love when you know what they’re thinking. It’s why humans seek connection. To feel understood.”

“Okay, Socrates,” Kit grumbled. “It’s just fucking weird. I don’t like it when you do it.”

“All of a sudden.”

“Yes!” Kit snapped, glaring at the villain beside him as the forest zoomed past them. “All of a sudden!”

What had Ambrose seen? What parts of him did he know? Could he see everything or was it selective?

“After you found out I’m Mentor’s son,” Ambrose said pointedly. Kit scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring out the passenger window. They drove in a terse silence for a while, cause Ambrose was a psychopath and didn’t have the radio on.

“We have to talk about it, Kit.”

“Well, you already know my thoughts on it all, so enjoy having a conversation by yourself.”

“Mallory,” Ambrose said with a tired sigh, flicking on the indicator as they pulled to a stop. “I know it must seem like a weird coincidence to you, but I swear I didn’t know you were Mentor’s s—”

Kit’s hands tightened into fists. Son. He was about to say son.

“Prodigy,” he settled on, taking a right and messing with the gears until they were coasting again. The air seemed tighter. “I didn’t know that he meant anything to you. I swear— I just assumed that when you were scared of me turning you into him, that you had heard the horror stories in the academy, or Superhero told you. Not that you… not that you were personally affected.”

Kit’s eyes burned as he stared out the window, the forest growing sparser the closer they got to the city. “I didn’t know. You have to believe me.”

“And if you did?”

Ambrose hesitated.

Kit turned his head to look at him, studying the villain’s reactions.

“And if you knew that he was like a father to me.” Like a father, not an actual one. “If you knew how much it hurt to see a man who plucked me out of nothing be destroyed. Would it have been any different?! Or would you have laughed and rubbed it in like salt in a wound?”

“Kit—”

“Oh, come off it. There’s no one here, Rosey. It’s only me and you,” Kit said, his voice dripping with a horrible hysterical knowing. “You can be your usual sadistic, unfeeling, monstrous self and I can tell nobody about it—”

“Mallory—” Ambrose tried to interject but Kit spoke over him again.

“But you know the funniest part in all this? You already took away the one person who would have given a shit about this! About me, not the Hero. Me. And you made him a monster!” Kit roared, something wet hitting his cheeks and flowing like a stream down his face. “And now, because clearly God hates me, I have to team up with you of all people, to go and stop — the one man who ever treated me like a person — from becoming a monster like you.”

The silence was deafening. In some strange way, it was comforting. No electricity crackles or malfunctioning lights accompanied his breakdown with the power dampeners locked around his wrist.

It was cathartic.

They had just pulled into the main road that brought them to the outskirts of the city, the skyline visible over the horizon when Ambrose spoke.

“He wasn’t a hero to me,” said Ambrose quietly, almost imperceptibly. Kit glanced at him, but his eyes settled on the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

“Don’t fucking tell me you have daddy issues.” When Ambrose didn’t answer Kit let out a strangled laugh. Blinking in bewilderment, Kit raised his brows. “Are you telling me you have daddy issues? Mr Big Bad villain?”

“Oh fuck off, Mallory. At least I had parents.”

The words stung. They cut deeper than Kit would have ever admitted out loud or shown physically, but Kit knew that Ambrose was in his head after the villain winced.

Shifting in his seat, he said: “I’m— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off snarky. I just—” Ambrose let out a groan. “You just rub me up the wrong way.”

“Well who’s fucking fault is that, dickhead?!”

“Do you want me to explain, or are you just going to argue with me the entire drive to the hospital?” Ambrose snapped. “I can only do one of those things in our limited time, so choose.”

Kit clenched his teeth, glaring forwards at the car in front of them. “Fine. Tell me.”

“Mentor is my father. As you know, he only rose to prominence within our lifetimes, though you may be too young to remember. Before him, heroes and villains weren’t really a thing. There were a couple dotted here and there, but mostly they were vigilantes. The good guys and the bad guys.”

“Yeah. I remember learning about that in the academy.”

“Right. So after my father rose in public opinion and word of mouth, well the government started stepping in and trying to regulate it. Which they did and the rest is history, but he wasn’t the same heroic good man when he came home.”

Kit swallowed, tightening his fingers into fists. He didn’t want to hear this, he realised. He really wanted Ambrose to shut up and not tell him anymore, but he asked for this, didn’t he? To know the side of Mentor that Ambrose knew?

“He wasn’t abusive,” Ambrose said softly and Kit released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Not physically, anyway. When he discovered that I was born with powers he sought to train me, to make me in his image. A family of Superheroes. My Mom, she didn’t want that for me. She saw the toll it took on him to be the city’s saviour everyday, and that’s when they started fighting.”

Kit sat rigid in his seat, staring forward. He couldn’t imagine Mentor fig— well, no. He could, actually. How many times had Kit walked in on Mentor and Mr Silver arguing? Or Superhero trying to tell Mentor that the next step was a bad idea, that it was too risky.

“I trained hard. When he wanted me to push myself, I pushed myself. When he wanted me to commit 100%, I did 200%. It was never enough for him. None of it was. He wanted a son and a wife who adored him, who worshipped the ground he walked on, and instead he had a family. His ego was a problem.”

Kit cringed at that. Even he knew that Mentor wanted people to adore him, no matter who or why. He wanted to be the city’s saviour, the man on everyone’s tongue and in their thoughts.

Kit let out a breath of a laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“I guess… that’s why he adopted me, isn’t it?” Kit asked, his voice hollow. Ambrose didn’t answer, and that was answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? How could he not have seen that to Mentor, Kit was just some charity project he knew would always support him. Worship the ground he walked on, defend him even when Kit knew he was in the wrong.

Ambrose opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, setting his lips into a thin line.

“Mallory…”

“No. It’s okay,” Kit replied, letting out a long breath. “It’s fine, go on.”

Ambrose hesitated, fingers lifting from the steering wheel, before curling around them again. They passed the memorial garden in silence, taking the diversion around the square towards the hospital. They weren’t far away now.

“He started the Hero academy when I was twelve. A school for children with powers to develop their abilities to become heroes. I saw it for what it was though, incentive and resentment. He failed to teach me to control my abilities, and found a fault in me that I couldn’t rectify. My ability wasn’t flashy enough, or showy enough for him, for the great Mentor.”

“He wanted a child who would make the world stop and look at them. Someone who was as fast as him, as strong, but not stronger. In his eyes, I may as well have been born with strong charisma because you couldn’t see the effect of what I could do, only experience it.”

Kit looked down at his wrist, at the power dampeners locked around it. Lightning was flashy. Lightning gave Kit strength and strong reflexes, he was fast, he was flashy. He trained hard, to the point of exhaustion everyday in the Hero Academy. Not caring if he had no friends. Not caring if he passed out from pushing himself too hard. He just had to be the best. It was all he had. It was all he could do.

It wasn’t until he was beating people three years above him that Mentor started to pay him any attention. It felt good at the time. It felt like somebody finally recognised him for what he was.

Mentor made him feel seen. He saw that Kit had put his everything into training, because everything in him was all he had to give.

He didn’t have a family to worry about him getting hurt.

He didn’t have friends that would mourn him if he died in action.

All he had was being a hero.

Of course Mentor would latch onto that. Of course he would pick up on the fact that Kit was desperately trying to prove himself. Of course he would take pity on the orphan and bring him home like a trophy. Show him off to the world.

But that… that wasn’t the Mentor that Kit knew.

He brought him home, but it was after Kit denied him so many times. Told him to piss off, and asked if he was a pervert that prayed on boys his age. Kit had grown up on the streets, he knew what happened to skinny kids like him. One day they’re there, and the next, you never see them again.

Mentor was patient, and kind. He didn’t push Kit after Kit said no, told him he had everything he needed in the academy.

“Then my Mother got sick, and well…” Ambrose said, trailing off, pulling Kit from his memory and back into the car. “After she died it was like he… he didn’t even care. All he cared about was building the city up, saving everyone from possible Villains that lurked in the night. He didn’t sit with her in the hospital because he knew he couldn’t rescue her. He wasn’t there when she—”

Kit was quiet beside Ambrose, head tilted down. He knew what loss was like. He knew the absence a parent can leave behind, but losing someone who meant that? Kit didn’t know how to relate to that. When Omen destroyed Mentor’s mind, it wasn’t the same as if he died because Kit could still go and see him. Still talk to him, even if the Mentor he remembered was dead.

“I’m sorry,” Kit said softly. Ambrose cleared his throat, turning his head so Kit couldn’t see his face.

“Yeah,” he agreed, going rigid. “Me too.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence. It wasn’t far. Five minutes in the car, and two minutes to park.

“Are you…?” Kit began, then cut himself off when he met Ambrose’s black eyes. What was he going to say? Are you Okay? Alright with going into see the unfeeling man who wasn’t a good father? The man you cursed for being…

Ambrose shook his head, no. “Of course I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Kit said with an awkward shrug. They got out of the car, closing the door in unison. Kit thought nothing of it.

It was borderline awkward in the lift. Ambrose kind of just, stood there like a totem pole. His hands behind his back, standing straight up like a serial killer.

“Would you relax?” Kit said, rolling his neck. “You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m fine,” Ambrose said slowly, voice cold. Kit shrugged and said: “fine.”

He ahead and almost cried in joy when the doors opened to the ground floor. He stopped at the reception desk. Ambrose was walking and stopped when Kit stopped, two steps ahead and glancing back to see what Kit was doing.

He joined him a moment later, standing beside him and glowering at Heather when she turned and beamed at Kit.

“Hi Heather.”

“Hey, Kit. You goin’ up to—” her big blue eyes trailed to Ambrose beside him, who looked as if he was under a storm cloud, or extremely constipated. “Oh. Hi. Is this your brother?”

Kit’s eyes blew wide, but Ambrose didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Older. We’d like to see—”

“I didn’t know you had a brother, Kit. Of course, darlin’s, go ahead. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

Ambrose nodded stiffly and stepped back. Kit blinked, shaking his head, and smiled at Heather. “Oh, actually. Was there anything strange with him? Any new visitors or—”

“I’m sorry, hun. I’m just the receptionist for the main desk. You’ll have to ask the nurses up there.”

Kit nodded, standing up. “Thank you, Heather.”

“Anytime. And nice meeting you.”

Ambrose nodded at her. “You too.”

Kit clapped him on the back, a wide grin on his face. “Let’s go, bro.”

Ambrose made a noise and Kit had to stifle a laugh until they were in the stairwell. “What was that!” He barked, laughter bubbling up his throat.

“I— panicked.”

“I thought you weren’t nervous,” Kit teased. He was turning to walk up the next set of stairs when Ambrose slammed his forearm against Kit’s throat, shoving him back into the corner of the stairwell, pinning him there.

Ambrose’s nostrils flared, his eyes blazing with cold fury down at Kit. “Of course I’m nervous, you fucking child. Tch. Don’t you ever switch off?”

Kit pushed Ambrose’s arm off him, and to his surprise, Ambrose let him, running a hand through his hair and letting out a breath.

The realisation only dawned on Kit, his mouth opening into a small ‘o’.

“You’ve never been to see him.”

Ambrose straightened. The villain returning as he stared down his nose at Kit, a sardonic smile on his lips. “And why should I? He didn’t give my mother that courtesy.”

Kit put his hands up, showing Ambrose he meant nothing by it. “Hey. It’s your decision. Not mine. He’s your dad, not—” the words choked up before he could say them. Ambrose didn’t pry. He knew what Kit was going to say.

Ambrose stared for a moment longer before glancing up the stairs and nodding stiffly.

“Yes. Well.” He cleared his throat and started walking up again. “What floor is it?”

“The fifth,” he replied, starting up the stairs beside Ambrose. “Top floor. They don’t want anyone stumbling amongst the crazies.”

“Probably for the best,” Ambrose muttered. Kit had meant it as a joke, but, he didn’t disagree with Ambrose as they climbed the stairs. Thankful that their footsteps filled the silence he couldn’t in the lift. They knew something had happened when they got to the fifth floor.

Kit stepped in first, Ambrose craning his neck around the door into the hall. Police tape on the usually locked door and two police officers stationed outside it like sentries.

Kit’s eyes widened as he half jogged up to the doors. One of the officers placed his hand on Kit’s chest. “I’m sorry, sir. This ward is cordoned off.”

“Why?”

“I’m sorry sir—”

“Tell him.” Ambrose ordered, and Kit shot a glare back at Ambrose, feeling the familiar coldness of Ambrose’s ability brush past him to the Officer.

“There’s been a security breach,” the officer said. Before he could say anymore a hand snapped onto Kit’s shoulder and he whirled.

Mr Silver stood in front of him with a Doctor that Kit recognised was on Mentor’s case. This couldn’t be real. This… there was no way that…

“Hi Kit.”

“Mr Silver,” Kit replied, nodding at the doctor. “Doctor.”

“Hi Kit.”

“What is it? What happened?” Kit demanded, but Mr Silver’s eyes went to Ambrose and his expression changed. Recognition flashing across his features. Kit glanced back at Ambrose who looked away from the man in a suit, his jaw clenched.

“Oskar?” Mr Silver asked. Kit’s brows rose to the roof, eyes as wide as golf balls. Ambrose’s name… Kit studied the villain, assessing whether or not Oskar suited him. Why didn’t Ambrose make Silver forget? Make him overlook the fact that he was here? Did he want to be seen? To be known?

“Hello, Henry.” Ambrose’s reply wasn’t curt or cold. It was a little strained, but, Kit glanced between the two. Were they… friends?! What the fuck was going on?

Mr Silver was the first recover, shaking his head. “Forgive me. I just… never expected to see you both together. I never expected to see you here, Oskar.”

Ambrose’s smile was wry.

“Yes, well. Things change.”

Doctor looked between the three bewildered. “I’m sorry, I only know Kit. Are you related to the missing patient?”

“He’s missing?” Kit and Ambrose said at the same time. Doctor looked between them, then to Mr Silver who nodded.

“Yes. They’re his sons.”

Kit swallowed at the casual classification of sons.

“Yes,” Doctor nodded, his expression troubled. “Mentor has been missing since late afternoon, yesterday.”

“Isn’t this ward supposed to be locked? Doesn’t it dampen powers?” Ambrose snapped.

“It is,” Mr Silver replied, not at all bothered at Ambrose’s tone. “Which is why your father couldn’t have gotten out alone.”

“You think he’s working with someone?”

“He couldn’t be,” Kit muttered, raising his head and looking at Doctor. “I’m the only one who ever visited him. Can I see his visitor log?”

Doctor nodded slowly, his hand on his chin. “Yes. But I don’t think you’ll need to check.”

Ambrose cocked an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because Kit and one other person were his only visitors.”

“Who?” Kit asked, searching the gentle Doctor’s face. “Who else visited him?”

A muscle in Mr Silver’s jaw clenched as he raised his gaze to Kit’s, sliding a hand into his trouser pocket. “Superhero, Kit. He’s the only other person that visited him.”

Kit stared at Silver. A smile cracking his face. This was a joke. They didn’t seriously think that Superhero was helping Mentor be a villain, right? Right?

Kit glanced at the Doctor who looked uncomfortable. “You’re joking.”

“They’re not,” Ambrose said, and Kit stiffened beside him. Ambrose must have scanned their brains, going over every possibility, looking over the visiting logs.

Kit felt as if he was being punked. He reached into his jacket pocket, looking for his phone but he didn’t find it.

“Fuck! I must’ve left my phone at home,” he cursed, looking at Silver. He’d have Superhero’s number. “Mr Silver, can I borrow yours?”

Silver gave him a flat look. “He’s not picking up, Kit.”

“Well then, the Hero tower or—”

Ambrose pressed his phone into the hero’s hands. “Here.”

Kit glanced up at him, wide eyed. He nodded and walked to the stairwell, away from the trio. He dialled Superhero’s phone and like Silver, no answer. Then he dialled the Hero tower, but hung up when it went through to the automatic receiver. Ambrose had a civilian phone, it wouldn’t patch him through.

Finally, he dialled the number of someone he knew would answer, no matter what. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, trying to smoothen it down as he paced the floor below Mentor’s ward. Footsteps echoing against the walls.

It answered on the third ring.

“Hello.” A grumbling voice answered.

“Sawyer, it’s—”

“Mallory. Where have you been?” Sawyer hissed, tone changing immediately. “We’ve been trying to contact you since yesterday.”

“I don’t have my phone.”

“We thought the new Supervillain got you.”

“No— wait, what? Why?”

Sawyer hesitated on the other end of the line. Kit’s eyes hardened. “Why?” He pressed.

“Have you not seen the news? Supervillain has telekinesis, Mallory. He’s- well, we think it’s Mentor.”

Kit was starting to get really tired of hearing that, though he couldn’t deny that this looked… bad.

“I know. He has Tides. Have you spoken to Superhero since the attack?”

“No,” Sawyer snapped. “He’s missing in the chaos too. The tower is basically running on fumes, it’s like a ghost town.”

“What?”

“Look, Kit, I got to go. It’s fucking mayhem down here. If you find Superhero, call me—”

“But—”

The line went dead. Fuck! FUCK!

He had to get his phone, it was probably still at home and call Superhero and find Tides wherever she was being kept and clear Mentor’s name because there’s— there’s no way this was all Mentor’s doing. He loved the city, why would he want to destroy it now?

And if Ambrose was to be believed, he had double the reason to make sure it stayed perfect. Kit walked up the stairs, back out into the hall of Mentor’s ward.

“Well?” Mr Silver prompted, raising his brows. Only him and Ambrose were left, the doctor probably tending to his patients. They were leaning against the opposite wall, talking in hushed voices when Kit interrupted them.

“Nothing. Superhero is missing too.”

Mr Silver’s clever eyes glimmered. “Hmm.”

“I know what you’re going to say.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. You’re going to say that all this looks very suspicious but I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for it! Like—” Kit looked between the pair, searching for any kind of sympathetic glance. “Like the security cameras. Surely they must’ve—”

Mr Silver shook his head. “Wiped.”

“From the whole hospital?”

“Kit,” Mr Silver said with a sigh, pushing off the wall and approaching him. “Sometimes the most obvious explanation is the answer. Sometimes the only answer, no matter how much we wish it were different.”

Mr Silver put his hand on Kit’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Right now the most logical explanation is that Superhero has been working with Mentor behind the scenes to destroy the city. He broke Mentor out, and I will put a search warrant out for them both.”

“But—” Kit tried, but it was Ambrose who stopped him with a shake of his head. Kit deflated.

“I wish it was wrong, Kit. But it’s what we have to go on.”

Ambrose stepped off the wall too, approaching the pair. “Thank you, Henry.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“Come on, Kit. We should find your phone.” Kit stared at him, at the man who tortured him just yester-fucking-day, but was somehow the only person he could rely on at the moment.

Kit nodded mutely. He followed Ambrose back down the stairs and to the car. Ambrose didn’t offer any words of support, or anything frivolous like that. They just moved in silence.

Maybe he didn’t need to say anything, because Ambrose could probably read every thought going though his head anyways. It didn’t matter if he did or not. Everything Kit thought he knew or believed in or trusted, none of it mattered because everything was wrong anyways.

Mentor was a villain.

Superhero knew the whole time and helped Mentor plan it.

And now, well, he couldn’t even trust Ambrose anymore. The man who was making his life hell is the only fucking person who’s here with him right now, driving him home to find his phone so he can find some fucking sense in his life that was just flipped completely—

“Kit…” Ambrose said, his voice like thunder through the overwhelming silence that was choking Kit. “I can… I can quiet your mind, if you’d like.”

Kit almost burst out crying. Instead, he glared out the window. “Oh Fuck off, Ambrose,” Kit said without any real bite behind it.

“Offers open.”

“Yeah, you’d love that. Dickhead.”

“Alright,” Ambrose said, drumming his fingers on the wheel. He turned on the radio. Kit stared out the window.

“Thanks.”

Ambrose didn’t reply.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie e @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer r @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour @tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep @acer-whumpstuff

[theworldoffostering]

My MIL passed away this morning. She went on hospice a few days ago. It’s not unexpected, but in a way it is. I have not had contact with her for a couple of years due to some pretty unkind things she said about me to DH. You’d think that as a result this situation would be easier, but in a way, it’s not. It’s somehow more complicated.

I’m feeling deeply sad for DH.

[paperstorm]

I was tagged by @carlos-in-glasses @sznofthesticks @heartstringsduet @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut and @orchidscript. Thank you!

She likely isn’t supposed to relay a message to anyone else, but Carlos bets on his authoritative tone being enough to sway her and he wins that bet. In a regretful voice, she says, “I’m sorry to inform you that his mother has passed away.”

Carlos’s heart sinks. He’d been clinging to hope it wasn’t true, and the inside of his mouth goes dry as his mind tries to make sense of the fact that it is.

“She was struck by a bike messenger,” the woman informs him. “The ambulance came in about an hour ago but she hit her head on the pavement, she was pronounced dead shortly after the paramedics arrived.”

“Jesus,” Carlos whispers, scrubbing a hand over his own mouth.

In front of him, TK slowly crumples. Carlos watches at half-speed as the love of his life lowers himself down to the floor, feet tucked under him and hands braced on the ground.

Quickly, Marjan is moving toward him. She drops to her knees and touches his back. “Hey, talk to us.”

“My mom’s dead,” TK answers in a tiny voice, and Marjan’s gasp is sharp and her eyes are wide as she looks up at Carlos.

Tags under the cut!

Tagging @theghostofashton @birdclowns @thisbuildinghasfeelings @strandnreyes @reyesstrand @goodways @alrightbuckaroo @lightningboltreader @mooshkat @liminalmemories21 @lemonlyman-dotcom @whatsintheboxmh @inkweedandlizards @bonheur-cafe @reasonandfaithinharmony @thebumblecee @never-blooms@freneticfloetry @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @jesuisici33 @tarlosluvr @kiwichaeng @fallout-mars @honeybee-taskforce

[kerryweaverlesbian]

Godstiel and stanford era Dean where Godstiel went back because he thought Dean would be easier to break when he's younger and alone but this Dean also hasn't gone through any of the bonding with Cas OR any of his vulnerable immediate hell trauma so he just tries to kill him over and over again.

Godstiel tries to speedrun his bonding with Dean but he's already fucked it up so he goes "I am not a hammer, as you might think" expecting this to start the Great Pumpkin Sam Winchester disalogue tree and Dean's like "yeah I know?? You're a nuclear bomb. Go die in a hole!!!"

And ooooo I bet. I bet Godstiel goes and kills John. As a gift. To Dean. And as a way to try and kickstart turning him into the Dean he actually wants. Brings him his head on a silver platter.

[hungerpunch]

a lot of grief/mourning content i've seen or engaged with since my dad died really emphasizes this sense of not knowing what to do with the love that you had for that person. like it's a tangible thing they don't know where to put or place. like it's physically bottling up in them and its presence and the pressure of it is painful. i completely understand that. but at the same time, it's just... not been my physical or mental experience. no love is building up inside of me. there is no pressure. there is no compulsion to funnel a preexisting energy into something else. because when my dad died it felt like something got ripped out of me instead. when my dad died it was a hollowing of me, not like a cap over a valve. when my dad died it was like a huge and grotesque creature's claw gored into my body and stole all the life and love in me. when my dad died i wasn't left with the sense of what do i do with this, i was left with the sense of what do i do without this. and maybe, in part, that's because my entire identity and my entire life had been wrapped up in keeping him alive. so maybe that's what was different.

but the only thing that built up was excruciating pain and agony, as if i'd been physically involved in a collision with a semi-truck, and then finally, with relief, a great and gaping numbness. then new pain as i began to process. then more pain as i started having one emotion turn back on at a time, which all felt like plugging in fresh, raw, exposed nerves. i sort of wish i felt this overflow of love that i was struggling to put somewhere. or maybe i did, or am, but i haven't developed the meta-process to understand it for what it is. but i just wanted to give a shout to the people who stopped being people in grief. who had no function or purpose or mind or soul at all for a while. who feel robbed, or emptied, or cored, or carved rather than full. there is no standard way to grieve, there is no right or wrong way, you can't anticipate how it will feel for you or what you will do. but i want to say it just in case anyone else felt or feels that way. that there was or is no love left in any cell of their body. that in the aftermath, it takes a herculean effort of intentional labor to start stitching any type of love back into yourself.

[effielovesapples]

i didn't post the miserable brothers on here. here are my ocs aleksi (left) and edvard (right). theyre on artfight if you wanna draw them. haha

[antemyridiem]

zine

[tangledinink]

so like. you ever. like… start therapy after your twin brother dies in a horrific motorcycle accident and over the course of two years you slowly unpack your fucked up childhood and then eventually work up the courage to confront your mother (your only surviving parent) about your really awful and toxic relationship and ask if you can talk about it and try to work it out and then she ghosts you for two months and then you ask her if you can talk about it and try to work it out* (*this is now mandatory in order for this relationship to continue) and she says okay and then after struggling with that nightmare for several months you finally find a family therapist and start family therapy, which is cool because now it’s a lot harder for ur mom to gaslight you, and now you have two therapists, so you stay awake at night and wonder if your two therapists fought each other which one would win?

yah me neither.

[shivunin]

In Confidence

( Arianwen Tabris/Zevran Arainai | 2,392 Words | AO3 Link | CW: Fantasy racism, past parent death, emotional hurt/comfort)

“Where are you taking me?” Zevran asked, keeping pace with his Warden as they scaled the side of a building in the alienage. It was not a difficult task, though the state of the scaffolding they were climbing did give him pause. 

“You’ll see,” she told him, grunting slightly when she caught the board over her head and pulled herself up. 

Only fifteen feet separated them from the top—or so he hoped. Meeting her family had been trial enough on its own. He had not anticipated this sort of exertion afterward or he would have eaten far less at her father’s table. 

“Almost there,” she added, and there was the faintest note of an apology tucked beneath her usual impassive tone. If he had not known her so well, Zevran might not have heard it at all. 

“I am in no particular hurry,” he told her, and she stopped climbing to cast him a skeptical look. 

“Well,” Zevran amended, glancing below. “I must admit this is not how I thought we would be spending our evening.” 

Below, the vhenadahl swayed in the evening air off the Drakon River. People stood in clusters, their voices ringing off the stone, and food peddlers had staked out rival ends of the courtyard. It surprised him even now to see the condition of the alienage; he supposed that it explained something of his Arianwen that she had grown up in such a place. And yet—these people had built something here, among the ruins. He could see the bright hair of Tabris’s cousin bob through the crowd, pausing near one cluster of people and speaking for a time. They opened to her reluctantly, but even from this distance Zevran could see some of them begin to nod. Perhaps they would yet rebuild their community, even after what the slavers had done to them. 

“Are you coming?” Arianwen called down, and he realized that she’d made her way to the top while he’d looked below. Zevran climbed instead of answering, and reached for her hand at the top when she offered it. 

“We used to play here,” she told him, bracing to pull him over the edge and onto a wooden platform. “Shianni and I. Before and after it burned. It was our secret place, just the two of us. Poor Soris was never one for heights. He’d wait until he heard us climb down and then we’d all wander together. When his parents still lived, he’d grown up in the building next door. I used to hear his mother singing while she made dinner, back when I used to wander the streets looking for strays.”

“Ah—I see,” Zevran said, glancing around. 

The two of them stood in the burned shell of a house three stories from the ground. He had thought that they’d reached a platform at the top of the scaffolding, but he saw now that he’d been wrong. They stood on all that was left of a wooden floor, the edges blackened and crumbled away. Arianwen stood to the empty doorway, patting the wall beside it fondly. There was little else to see here—only the remnants of a bed, piles of fabric in the corners of the room that might once have been blankets or clothing, holes in the floor where the structure below had given way. He did not struggle to imagine two young girls finding this place out of curiosity, for he had done much the same when he’d been a boy. 

“Ready?” she asked while he was still considering this. She vanished through the darkness of the doorway before he could answer, so Zevran had little choice but to follow her into the hallway beyond. 

“How did this place burn?” Zevran asked, ducking a fallen beam and testing the floor before he went on down the hall. 

“Humans,” Wen said, and her face was shadowed when she glanced back at him. “It burned the night Soris’s parents died.”

There was a heavy silence then. She stopped long enough for him to catch up and caught his hand in hers. This was still new—Arianwen reaching for him, for comfort. Zevran did not know quite what to make of it yet. 

“She tried to escape the building after they set it aflame. One of them kicked her back inside. The man who—oh, nevermind. You don’t need the details,” she took a sharp breath, her hand squeezing Zevran’s, and went on down the dark hall. “A few days later, my ma was gone all night long. They found his body washed up on the river, cut to ribbons and bloodless. I didn’t realize until far later what that meant.”

“She was a fighter, your mother?” Zevran asked, for it seemed the safer topic of conversation. Tabris dropped his hand to climb under more debris. 

“She taught me everything I know,” she sighed, “I tried to forget it after she died. My body remembered for me. I’m grateful to it. But—here. Look.” 

They’d found the end of the hallway at last. Arianwen pushed the door open and revealed—

A closet. 

Zevran looked at her, brows arched high in question. To his surprise, she laughed. That was new, too—hearing her laugh when they weren’t in the heat of battle. It was a tired laugh, but that mattered very little in the run of things. 

“Watch,” she said, and turned the coat hook on the back wall. The wall fell away at the pressure of her hand, swinging open into the room beyond. 

“However did you find this?” Zevran asked, stepping into the room behind her. This room was lit by the lone window on the far wall, through which moonlight poured. In the cool light, he could see her clearly enough to read her face. Wistful—yes. She seemed wistful. 

“You know—I don’t remember,” she said after a moment. “I don’t know which one of us opened the door, or even when it happened. I only remember it being our place, Shianni’s and mine. Here.”

She lit a candle and held it up to the wall. Messy colors snaked up the crumbling plaster, handprints followed by rough drawings and holes in a familiar shape. 

“Throwing knives?” he asked, making his way to her side. Arianwen nodded silently, her lips parting and pressing tightly together again. 

Zevran knew that look. She was fighting some battle with herself, weighing what she ought to say to him. They would both be better served if he gave her space. 

“May I…?” he asked, gesturing to the room at large. Tabris nodded again, stepping closer to the marks on the wall, and Zevran slipped away. 

The corners held stacks of books here and there, all adventures set in distant lands or histories of Ferelden. He found only two that he supposed must have belonged to his Warden: a book about animal physiology and one about the care and keeping of various household pets. Zevran smiled at the sight of them, leaving a streak in the dust covering each volume, and moved on. 

Most of the wooden walls bore the marks of her blades. Many of the marks had been thrown wide from their fingerpainted targets. He could follow the progress of her skill by those holes, could trace the time spent in this room by the neatness of the circles they fell within. 

When he had met the Wardens on the road all those months ago, he had met a blade of a woman. She was hard and quick and sharp, flashing through the crowd of Crows like light through a fast-running river. There had been nothing of fear or weakness in her. She had seemed—impervious, somehow. As if nothing in the world could touch her, as if she had sprung into existence precisely as he saw her in that moment. 

Zevran knew better now, of course. He had seen her at her most vulnerable in the mornings when she slept, had watched her uncertainty upon seeing her father again. Two days ago, she had wept over Zevran’s body when she’d thought him dead by Taliesen’s hand. Today, standing in the dusty remnants of her childhood, he knew her better than he might have thought possible even a month ago.

Even so—it was surprising and endearing, somehow, to know that she had not leapt from her mother with blades in hand. Once, many years ago, she had learned her craft just as he had. Maker’s teeth, but sometimes Zevran wished they had known each other then, before the softness had been carved from them both. Who had she been? Who might he have been, in that other life that neither of them would ever live? 

“Here—this is what I actually meant to show you,” Arianwen said. 

Zevran blinked and found her beside him, though he had not heard her approach. She slipped her hand into his, lacing their fingers together, and pulled him with her to another door. When she opened it to the night beyond, cool air brushed over his cheeks. They had only been in the room for ten or fifteen minutes, hardly long enough to notice how still the air was. Even so, it was a relief to step into a fresher breeze.

“You can sit,” she told him, but leaned forward against a flimsy railing. 

They’d stepped out onto a narrow balcony of sorts. A broken pulley hung from the wall to their left and an alleyway stretched into the darkness of the alienage beneath them. It was wide enough for two chairs and little else, though the gleam of glass bottles beneath them suggested what this space had been used for most recently. 

“This was—” she sighed, and one fist thudded lightly against the wood of the railing. “I was last here on the night before my…before the wedding.”

Arianwen leaned forward until her shoulders hunched.  Her hands were joined into one fist, knuckles pale against the brown of her skin. Zevran breathed sweet night air and watched her. It was still difficult—to wait, to allow her to unspool whatever she’d been fighting. It would be easier to make some joke. Already, one stood waiting on his tongue. But—no. 

No, he found he rather wanted to know what she’d brought him here to say.

“Shianni was too drunk to climb down. I was too scared to try on my own. We dozed off here and dragged ourselves back home at dawn. I remember thinking that it would be the last time I ever came up here. I knew…I knew I would never want to share this place with a stranger. How could I?” 

Zevran nudged one of the chairs aside, wincing when he heard the bottles beneath tipping against each other. He found a spot beside her at the rail and rested his arms against it. Arianwen did not look at him.

“The night my mother died, I was here. I came home late because I’d argued with my father and I knew he would worry if I was out for too long. I was…punishing him. By the time I came back, she was already gone.”

A breeze brushed small, loose hairs over her forehead. Tabris reached up and pushed them back, frowning slightly. Zevran edged closer and leaned his shoulder against hers. After a moment, she bent to lean her head against his shoulder. 

“I don’t blame myself. It wasn’t my fault. This isn’t about that. This is—ugh.”

Zevran wrapped an arm around her waist, thinking hard, but there was little he could say. He had come to trust her slowly, had given himself over one careful piece at a time before he’d realized that he was doing so. It did not often pain him to tell her the hard things now. For her part, Arianwen had opened her arms to him readily enough once she’d begun to care, but it had taken longer to offer pieces of her heart to him in turn. Even now, he could feel her cutting them free for his perusal. 

“There is nothing that you must tell me. Yes?” he said, resting his shoulder against hers. “It can wait. A different night, some other place.” 

“No,” she said sharply. “I want to say—I’m glad you’re here. You should be here. I love this place and I hate this place and I miss it all the time. It was my secret, but now it’s yours, too. And that’s all.” 

Her eyes flicked up and away again, focusing on the dark alley below. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Zev,” she repeated quietly. “That’s all.” 

What could he say to this? Wen could be harsh and difficult and wore the intensity of her feelings like armor. Even so—she had brought him to this, the most vulnerable of places, the tenderest of wounds. She had brought him here and no other. 

Zevran swallowed around the thickness in his throat and nudged her hip with his. She looked up at him, the moonlight snared in her eyes, and what could he say? 

“Do you suppose any of these bottles still have wine in them? Some wine, a fine whiskey, perhaps?” 

Arianwen snorted, shoulders loosening slightly. 

“None that I’d chance drinking,” she said, but tugged a slim, dented flask from her pocket. “Here—I’ll share. But only because you asked.”

“You have my most sincere thanks, dearest Warden,” Zevran told her, voice smooth and dripping with charm. She snorted again, tapping his chest with the flask, and he took it. It was warm, held tight against her side all this time. He treasured the feeling of it as he unscrewed the cap. 

When they walked back to Eamon’s estate later, all but alone on the street, he sought better words. It was easier when she wasn’t watching him. It was easier when they were away from the place that had hurt and raised her. 

“I am glad I am here, too, mi vida,” he told her, watching the ragged road ahead. “Thank you.” 

Her hand slipped into his, palm warm and rough. Zevran wondered if she knew that the words were meant for more than just tonight. He wondered if she understood how far back the sentiment could stretch, that he was grateful for more than a secret shared and glad for his continued existence in a broader sense than glad could encompass. 

“Thank you,” she echoed quietly, and held on tight.

(For Zevwarden Week Day 2: Secrets, Kept and Told. Thanks @zevraholics for organizing this!)

[embracingwild]

grief is just like... you're doing a bit better, finding happy moments that fill you with light even if they only last a minute or two... and then you want to tell your person about those moments.... and you're right back where you started. again and again.

[blooeyedtroll]