#she had to try & use what she wants most peace & home & family &Ro the words she mocks the color science Terrasen Green and Kingdom’s of As

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 20 …

oh my gods chapter 20…

I am dead inside.

And somehow dying more per chapter.

Ow. THE NIGHTMARE DREAM SEQUENCE

"Do you know the story of the queen who walked through worlds?"

Seated on the mossy carpet of an ancient glen, one hand toying with the small white flowers strewn across it, Aelin shook her head.

In the towering oaks that formed a lattice over the clearing, small stars blinked and shimmered, as if they'd been snared by the branches themselves. Beyond them, bathing the forest with light bright enough to see by, a full moon had risen. All around them, faint, lilting singing floated on the warm summer air.

"It is a sad story," her aunt said, one corner of her red-painted mouth curling upward as she leaned back on her seat carved into a granite boulder. Her usual place, while they had these lessons, these long, peaceful chats deep into the balmy summer nights. "And an old one."

Aelin lifted an eyebrow. "Aren't I a little old for faerie stories?" She'd indeed just celebrated her twentieth birthday three days ago, in another clearing not too far from here. Half of Doranelle had come, it had seemed, and yet her mate had found a way to sneak her from the revelry. All the way to a secluded pool in the forest's heart. Her face still warmed to think of that moonlit swim, what Rowan had made her feel, how he'd worshipped her in the sun-warmed water.

Mate. The word was still a surprise. As it had been to arrive here at spring's end and see him beside her aunt's throne and simply know. And in the months since, their courting ... Aelin indeed blushed at the thought of it. What they'd done in that forest pool had been the culmination of those months. And an unleashing. The mating marks on her neck— and on Rowan's-proved it. She would not be returning to Terrasen alone when autumn arrived.

"No one is too old for faerie stories," her aunt said, faint smile growing. "And as you are part faerie yourself, I would think you'd have some interest in them."

Aelin smiled back, bowing her head. "Fair enough, Aunt."

Aunt wasn't entirely accurate, not with generations and millennia separating them, but it was the only thing the queen had suggested Aelin call her.

Maeve settled further into her seat. "Long ago, when the world was new, when there were no human kingdoms, when no wars had marred the earth, a young queen was born."

Aelin folded her legs beneath her, angling her head.

"She did not know she was a queen. Amongst her people, power was not inherited, but simply born. And as she grew, her strength rose with her. She found the land she dwelled in to be too small for that power. Too dark and cold and grim. She had gifts similar to many wielded by her kind, but she had been given more, her power a sharper, more intricate weapon-enough that she was different. Her people saw that power and bowed to it, and she ruled them.

"Word spread of her gifts, and three kings came to seek her hand. To form an alliance between their throne and the one she had built for herself, small as it might have been. For a time, she thought it would be the newness, the challenge that she had always craved. The three kings were brothers, each mighty in his own right, their power vast and terrifying. She picked the eldest among them, not for any particular skill or grace, but for his countless libraries. What she might learn in his lands, what she might do with her power ... It was that knowledge she craved, not the king himself."

A strange story. Aelin's brows rose, but her aunt continued on.

"So they were wed, and she left her small territory to join him in his castle. For a time, she was contented, both by her husband and the knowledge his home offered her. He and his two brothers were conquerors, and spent much of their time away, leashing new lands to their shared throne. She did not mind, not when it gave her freedom to learn as she would. But her husband's libraries contained knowledge even he did not realize was held within. Lore and wisdom from worlds long since turned to dust. She learned that there were indeed other worlds. Not the dark, blasted realm in which they lived, but worlds beyond that, living atop one another and never realizing it. Worlds where the sun was not a watery trickle through the ash-clouds, but a golden stream of warmth. Worlds where green existed. She had never heard of such a color. Green. Nor had she heard of blue-not the shade of sky that was described. She could not so much as picture it."

Aelin frowned. "A pitiful existence."

Maeve nodded grimly. "It was. And the more she read about these other worlds, where long-dead wayfarers had once roamed, the more she wanted to see them. To know the kiss of the sun on her face. To hear the morning songs of sparrows, the crying of gulls over the sea. The sea that, too, was foreign to her. An endless sprawl of water, with its own moods and hidden depths. All they had in her lands were shallow, murky lakes and half-dried streams. So while her husband and his two brothers were off waging yet another war, she began to ponder how she might find a way into one of those worlds. How she might leave."

"Is such a thing even possible?" Something nagged at her, as if it might indeed be true, but perhaps that was one of her own mother's tales, or even Marion's, tugging on her memory.

Maeve nodded. "It was. Using the very language of existence itself, doors might be opened, however briefly, between worlds. It was forbidden, outlawed long before her husband and his brothers were born. Once the last of the ancient wayfarers had died out, the paths between realms were sealed, their methods of world-walking lost with them. Or so all had thought. But deep in her husband's private library, she found the old spells. She began with small experiments. First, she opened a door to the realm of resting, to find one of those wayfarers and ask her how it was properly done." A knowing smile. "The wayfarer refused to tell her. So the queen began to teach herself. Opening and closing doors long since forgotten or sealed. Peering deep into the workings of the cosmos. Her own world became a cage. She grew tired of her husband's warring, his casual cruelty. And when he went away to war once again, the queen gathered her closest handmaidens, opened a door to a new world, and left the one she'd been born into."

"She left?" Aelin blurted. "She she just left her own world? Permanently?"

"It had never been her world, not really. She had been born to rule others."

"Where did she go?"

That smile grew a bit. "To a fair, lovely world. Where there was no war, no darkness. Not like that in which she had been born. She was made a queen there, too. Was able to hide herself within a new body so that none could know what she was beneath, so that even her own husband would not recognize her."

"Did he ever find her again?"

"No, though he looked. Found out all she'd learned, and taught it to himself and his brothers. They tore apart world after world to find her. And when they arrived at the world where she had made her new home, they did not know her. Even as they went to war, she did not reveal herself. She won, and two of the kings, her husband included, were banished back to their own world. The third remained trapped, his power nearly broken. He crawled off into the depths of the earth, and the victorious queen spent her long, long existence preparing for his return, preparing her people for it. For the three kings had gone beyond her methods of world-walking. They had found a way to permanently open a gate between worlds, and had made three keys to do so. To wield those keys was to control all worlds, to have the power of eternity in the palm of your hand. She wished to find them, only so she might possess the strength to banish any enemies, banish her husband's youngest brother back to his realm. To protect her new, lovely world. It was all she ever wanted: to dwell in peace, without the shadow of her past hunting her."

From far away, that ghost of memory pushed. As if she'd forgotten to douse a flame left burning in her room. "And did the queen find the keys?"

Maeve's smile turned sad. "Do you think she did, Aelin?"

Aelin considered. So many of their chats, their lessons in this glen, held deeper puzzles, questions for her to work through, to help her when she one day took her throne, Rowan at her side.

As if she'd summoned him, the pine-and-snow scent of her mate filled the clearing. A rustle of wings, and there he was, perched in hawk form on one of the towering oaks. Her warrior-prince.

She smiled toward him, as she had for weeks now, when he'd come to escort her back to her rooms in the river palace. It was during those walks from forest to mist-shrouded city that she had come to know him, love him. More than she had ever loved anything.

Aelin again faced her aunt. "The queen was clever, and ambitious. I would think she could do anything, even find the keys."

"So you would believe. And yet they eluded her."

"Where did they go?"

Maeve's dark stare unwaveringly held hers.

"Where do you think they went?"

Aelin opened her mouth. "I think —

She blinked. Paused

Maeve's smile returned, soft and kind. As her aunt had been to her from the start. "Where do you think the keys are, Aelin?"

She opened her mouth once more. And again halted.

Like an invisible chain yanked her back. Silenced her.

Chain—a chain. She glanced down at her hands, her wrists. As if expecting them to be there.

She had never felt a shackle's bite in her life. And yet she stared at the empty place on her wrist where she could have sworn there was a scar. Only smooth, sun-kissed skin remained.

"If this world were at risk, if those three terrible kings threatened to destroy it, where would you go to find the keys?" Aelin looked up at her aunt.

Another world. There was another world Like a fragment of a dream, there was another world, and in it, she had a wrist with a scar on it. Had scars all over.

And her mate, perched overhead ... He had a tattoo down his face and neck and arm in that world. A sad story—his tattoo told a sad, awful story. About loss. Loss caused by a dark queen.

"Where are the keys hidden, Aelin?" That placid, loving smile remained on

Maeve's face. And yet ...

And yet.

"No," Aelin breathed

Something slithered in the depths of her aunt's stare. "No what?"

This wasn't her existence, her life. This place, these blissful months learning in Doranelle, finding her mate—Blood and sand and crashing waves.

"No."

Her voice was a thunderclap through the peaceful glen.

Aelin bared her teeth, fingers curling in the moss.

Maeve let out a soft laugh. Rowan flapped from the branches to land on the queen's upraised arm.

He didn't so much as fight it when she wrapped her thin white hands around his neck. And snapped it. Aelin screamed. Screamed, clutching at her chest, at the shredding mating bond—

She screamed again. Screamed at her ruined arm, the unscarred skin, screamed at the lingering echo of the severed mating bond.

"Do you know what pains me most, Aelin?" Maeve's words were soft as a lover's. "It's that you believe I'm the villain in this."

Whenever that had been. If it had even happened at all.

"I have no doubt that your mate or Elena or even Brannon himself filled your head with lies about what I'll do with the keys." Maeve ran a hand over the stone lip of the altar, right through her splattered blood and shards of bone. "I meant what I said. I like this world. I do not wish to destroy it. Only improve it. Imagine a realm where there is no hunger, no pain. Isn't that what you and your cohorts are fighting for? A better world?"

The words were a mockery. A mockery of what she'd promised so many. What she had promised Terrasen, and still owed it.

Aelin tried not to shift against the chains, against her broken arms, against the tight pressure pushing on her skin from the inside. A rising intensity along her bones, in her head. little more, every day.

Maeve heaved a small sigh. "I know what you think of me, Fire-Bringer. What you assume. But there are some truths that cannot be shared. Even for the keys." Yet the growing strain cracking within her, smothering the pain ... perhaps worse. Maeve cupped her cheek over the mask.

"The Queen Who Was Promised. I wish to save you from that sacrifice, offered up by a headstrong girl." A soft laugh. "I'd even let you have Rowan. The two of you here, together. While you and I work to save this world."

The words were lies. She knew it, though she couldn't quite remember where one truth ended and the lie began. If her mate had belonged to another before her. Been given away. Or had that been the nightmare?

Gods, the pressure in her body. Her blood.

You do not yield.

"You can feel it, even now," Maeve went on. "The urge of your body to say yes." Aelin opened her eyes, and confusion must have glittered there, because Maeve smiled. "Do you know what being encased in iron does to a magic-wielder? You wouldn't feel it immediately, but as time goes on ... your magic needs release, Aelin. That pressure is your magic screaming it wants you to come free of these chains and release the strain. Your very blood tells you to heed me."

Truth. Not the submission part, but the deepening pressure she knew would be worse than any pain from burnout. She'd felt it once, when plunging as far into her power as she'd ever gone.

That would be nothing compared to this.

"I am leaving for a few days," Maeve said.

Aelin stilled.

Maeve shook her head in a mockery of disappointment.

Fenrys sat by the wall, concern bright in his eyes as he blinked. Are you all right?

She blinked twice. No.

No, she was not anywhere near to all right.

Maeve had been waiting for this, waiting for this pressure to begin, worse than anything Cairn might do. And with the collar Maeve now went to personally retrieve … She couldn't let herself contemplate it. A more horrific form of slavery, one she might never escape, never be able to fight.

Not a breaking of the Fire-Bringer, but an erasure.

To take all she was, power and knowledge, and rip it from her. To have her trapped inside while she witnessed her own voice yield the location of the Wyrdkeys. Swear the blood oath to Maeve. Wholly submit to her.

Fenrys blinked four times. I am here, I am with you.

She answered in kind. I am here, I am with you.

Her magic surged, seeking a way out, filling the gaps between her breath and bones. She couldn't find room for it, couldn't do anything to soothe it.

You do not yield.

She focused on the words. On her mother's voice. Perhaps the magic would devour her from the inside before Maeve returned.

But she did not know how she'd endure it.

Endure another few days of this, let alone the next hour. To ease the strain, just a fraction ...

She shut down the thoughts that snaked into her mind. Her own or Maeve's, she didn't care.

Fenrys blinked again, the same message over and over. I am here, I am with you.

Aelin closed her eyes, praying for oblivion.

"Get up." A mockery of words she'd once heard.

[bloodlegacies]

|Blood Legacies :Book one|

Synopsis:

You are the heirss of one of the most feared houses on the entire continent of El-lar, descended from cruel and powerful leaders and warriors, carrying your family's bloody legacy on your shoulders.

Your father's expectations are upon you, demanding perfection or the cruelty that comes from your ancestors. You, an ice elemental, must honor the power you were born with while still in your mother's womb, and your father's violent teachings that haunt you wherever you go.

Amidst nobles and commoners, there are threats hidden in seemingly friendly smiles, and next door is an ancient and equally powerful kingdom, filled with mages and ambitious leaders. If it weren't enough for the countless creatures, people and deadly intrigues that this legacy brings you, a threat arises from the past and threatens the relative peace that exists in the court of your kingdom.

Threatening your life, your home and your people. Who is it? Or what is it? It is not known yet, but what does it have to do with your family, oh that has.

Chapters: 3

170,000,000 words.

Demo Dashingdon 👇

Last update 12 dec /23.

Categories: Romance,high fantasy, Mystery, Drama, Young Adult, Medieval.

•17+ for violence, killing, toxic and abusive parents, innuendo sexual. Play and read by your own choice.

•Choose female, male or non-binary gender.

•Choose your symbol, house name and creature.

•Adopt a Creature.

•Control the ice and use it however you like.

•Customize your character as you wish.

• You can have a fake relationship at the beginning of the game (chapter 2) with three of the ro’s or be their best friends, evolving your relationship however you want, becoming just friends or having a real romance with them

•fight against other elementals, mages ,creatures or monsters.

• make your father proud by being the kindest or most feared heir.

•Your choices and personality influence some dialogue and how characters view you.

Blog With information about houses and a few other things👇

Kofi👇

Playlist 👇

Romantic options:

Cecília Marven: The oldest heir of the Marven house, Cecília is a person dedicated to her family and very protective of her younger brother Caio. She is intelligent but also quite brave, to the point of scaring most of the school, both for her protectiveness with her family and friends, as well as being one of the most strategists in the academy, getting some of the best grades. No wonder, since her family is military and had great generals and advisers who came from the Marven house. She spends a lot of time training on the fields and in the training rooms.

"I take care of mine." Cecilia Marven.

///

Nix Arren, from Akalis:

Heirs to the throne of Akalis, Nix is not only intelligent, with remarkable skills in runes and magic as a mage, but also has training and experience from their studies in Akalis. Boldness and determination mark their presence, carrying himself with a natural leadership combined with their strategic mind.

"Everyone wears masks, some better than others."

///

Caio Marven: Cecilia's younger brother, who, unlike his sister, is more passive and not as popular as her. He is calm, and rarely gets a chance to prove his worth to his family, as his father and sister are very protective of him. He really wants to prove himself useful. Although he is also quite intelligent, he is not very good at dueling, preferring to spend his time studying in the library.

" I'm trying my best." Caio Marven.

Elia Samuels: She's part of the academy's golden group, a wonder elementary of light, especially when it comes to healing. She volunteers in the infirmary of the academy where her older sister works, helping out whenever possible and spending her time there even if there are no patients and other people there. She is kind but also bold. When it comes to taking care of her patients, she can be extremely insistent on helping.

"I care too much, that could be a problem." Elia Samuels.

///

Hayden Elkar: Heirs to the throne of the Kingdom of Elkar, a little narcissistic, but no wonder. They are good at duels and very good at controlling their elemental powers, attractive and very popular at school, they have their own fans and great grades. The perfect heirs, or maybe not? One thing to mention about them is that they love to spend their free time in the stables and also alone somewhere quiet.

///

Tyler Krevan: Bastard son of Don Krevan, Tyler is a true sleeper, but curiously continues to get great grades. He enjoys parties but also his precious time in the art rooms. He knows how to use a sword but his specialty is Elemental manipulation. He is excellent at manipulating the air and knows how to use it like no other student.

" I have nothing to lose." Tyler Krevan.

[timextoxhajima]

Love Me A Little Less: Chapter 4 - The Guest

LOVE ME A LITTLE LESS CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Member: (3rd person pov) arranged marriage au with Lee Juyeon

Genre: angsty wangsty

Taglist: @sunwoowuvbot @hyunjaethereal​​​

“Get the guest out of my fucking office.”

Jang Won grimly knocks on the door, looking down to ensure Younghoon was carrying more than a fruit basket - a briefcase, worth half a million in cash, in case she needed to bribe a certain someone. Her eyes befall the apple sitting in the fruit basket, and she peels apart the wrapper to remove the bruised item, mindlessly hurling it into the trash can right by the lift. 

The door clicks open, the sound of the door chain reminding her that she needs to handle this one with care and caution.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hi Mrs Nam, I’m Kim Jang Won and this is--”

“I know who you are. I’m asking what you��re here for.”

“Straight to the point I see,” Jang Won cocks a brow. “Look, we don’t want to make things difficult for you, but we’d just like to find out if you happened to know anything about the body swap regarding your husband.”

Mrs Nam’s breathing gets stuck in her throat. She swallows, eyes flitting back and forth between Jang Won and Younghoon. 

“I know nothing. After he died, I visit him every month. I didn’t even know his body was moved until the news.”

Jang Won feels like she’s being strangled, all her nerves shutting down one by one like a tidal surge through her. But Younghoon tugs on the end of her blazer, out of sight, and shifts to talk to Mrs Nam instead.

“Do you mind if we come in and have a chat about it? We’d just like to know more about Mr Nam so we can figure out who did it. Don’t you at least want to know who shifted your husband’s body?”

A hint of curiosity and anger flickers in her eyes despite the slight hesitation. Mrs Nam subtly nods, head looking down but gaze still stuck to Younghoon as she gently closes the door.

“You don’t have to be in there if you don’t want to,” He murmurs, loud enough for her to hear while watching her in the corner of his eyes. 

Jang Won sniffles, finger rubbing the tip of her nose as she composes herself. The jingle of the chain being removed sounds through the door. 

“I’ll be in there because I want to, not because I can.”

The door clicks open, and Mrs Nam keeps it wide for Jang Won and Younghoon to enter. The apartment is rather neat and simple - a couple of single sofa seats around a circular table and a standing television. Pictures on the shelves framing the television. 

Drawn to the pictures first, Jang Won wanders to the photographs. 

A son, older than Younghoon, stands in most of the pictures. A degree in culinary sciences. A picture shot in Paris. Multiple pictures in Europe. A family portrait of him and his wife, Caucasian. 

Younghoon sits opposite Mrs Nam, who looks more tired and drained than anything else, like the anger from before has completely dissipated.

He glances through the pictures, aware that something must’ve caught his sister’s attention because Jang Won wasn’t being very focused now. “We just wanted to know more about him. He might’ve worked at Artemis and I’ve yet to check with his ex-colleagues but I just wanted to know if he was happy there, or if he wasn’t, did he have any... enemies?”

Mrs Nam takes in a deep breath, rubbing an eye before her hands come together on her lap. “No, he was happy, as far as I knew. The only thing he was upset about was my son moving to France and settling there. But otherwise, he was easy-going. Kind. Helpful. I can’t think of anybody who would want to deliberately shift his... body... because he had offended them.”

“I hate to be the one to suggest this but could your father have done anything to anger your son... to the point where--”

“No,” She says with such resolution, it finally tears Jang Won’s attention off the photos. “Never. Their love might’ve been tough but they’ll never do anything to hurt each other.”

Younghoon glances at his sister before returning to Mrs Nam. “So... nobody, huh?”

“None that I can think of.”

Jang Won blinks her emotions away, fingers fiddling with her rings as she looks to Younghoon. His eyes sink to the floor, licking his lips in slight anxiety as he realises they’ve hit a dead end. 

They leave the apartment with only the briefcase, and Mrs Nam closes the door before they can even walk off. The lift ride was exceptionally quiet, Younghoon merely watching Jang Won zip in and out of reality in the reflection of the lift mirrors. 

He looks over, watching the layer of tears thicken over her eyes. Reaching out and rubbing her shoulder, he contains the emotions he’s feeling, just by watching his cold-hearted sister reveal the hint of humanity in her. 

“I told you not to go in if you couldn’t.”

“And I could,” Jang Won clears her throat. “I don’t need you to baby me. It’s been a long time anyway. I’ll deal with it.”

The lift door dings open, and sees Jang Won walking out the doors, leaving Younghoon behind as she struts off. 

Unfortunately, this soft side of Jang Won remains short-lived, for Younghoon finds himself holding her back from tearing the skin off their father’s face when they reach home. 

“What the Hell is this?” Jang Won frowns, facial lines deepening in her skin when the staff is crowded in her office but none of them were moving. Her father, standing by her desk, looks up from the loaded query. 

“Ah, child! I was just waiting to--”

“Are you... moving into my office?”

Her father opens his mouth, lips wide enough for her to see her teeth when Mr Ro finally joins the party. 

“What is going on here?”

“Sir,” One of the housemaids lowers her head, almost like she was embarrassed. “Our guest-- Mr Kim... asked for us to help shift Miss Kim’s belongings out of her office. We were told not to tell you.”

Jang Won’s eyes almost double in size when she processes the words, the tips of her feet already turning to her father. Mr Ro looks up from his subordinate with distaste and disapproval, unable to believe the things he was trying to accomplish. 

“Just which part of June did you not fucking understand? Huh?” Jang Won takes one step forward, but Younghoon grabs her wrist and then wraps his palms around her upper arms. “Playing possum killed your braincells too?”

“No...! No! I wanted things to be early, smooth. So that you wouldn’t be pressured to shift out in June--”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll get it in June!” She hisses, harshly ripping herself out from Younghoon’s grip. “From now on you are a guest and a guest only. This is my house and you will touch nothing that does not belong to you.”

“Aw, come on, daughter--”

“Don’t--” She seethes, finger almost at his nose now. “Call me that. From now on, we just share the same surname... But if you want mercy on the account that I am something you created, then I’d rather you wait until I die.”

The staff in the room lower their head as she storms by them toward the door, and as dramatic as she is, she pulls the doors open and smiles widely at her staff. “A kind, kind reminder that all these people standing before you, Mr Kim Jo-Pil... they work for me. They answer to Mr Ro, and Mr Ro answers to me. So, shall you require any assistance in possibly fucking something else up... do get it to me through Mr Ro.”

She smiles sweetly, tilting her head to the side. “Now, get the guest out of my fucking office.”

The wind brushes through Juyeon’s hair relentlessly, his dark blue, almost black, locks ruffled and made messy in the wind. The yacht makes small jumps against the water, the sun reflected off the surface of the water and into his eyes, the motion of the vehicle spraying some of it onto his hands that were over the railing. 

“Are you sure you want to get yourself involved in this... Jang Won and The Board, I mean,” Sunwoo joins Juyeon by the cockpit, grabbing a bottle of Sprite and cracking the cap open. He takes a sip and smacks his lips, letting the wind do its job in his hair too. “I mean, I know it wasn’t your choice but... that stunt at the press conference last week? Damn, son.”

Juyeon smirks and scoffs, looking at Sunwoo through the lens of his sunglasses. “Maybe it was fueled by her, I don’t know... But I’d be lying if I said being at the same table with her doesn’t make me feel powerful. It feels like I could do anything I wanted as long as she was by my side and it’d... it’ll work, you know?”

“‘It’ll work’?” Sunwoo chuckles sarcastically. “You’re talking about the most powerful figure of The Board of your generation. Hell, it’s Hera’s Princess you’re dealing with here. I’m sure if you played by her rules a hundred percent, she’d buy you an island if you wanted.”

The continuous splash of the water just a few metres down the railing brings some kind of peace to Juyeon, despite the idea of being married to Kim Jang Won being tasteless.

“What about her brother? The Prince of Artemis, right? Kim Younghoon. He must’ve had something to say about Apple-Korea’s next director smooching his little sister on national TV,” Sunwoo snorts, taking another gulp of his drink. 

Juyeon shakes his head, apart from providing Sunwoo a patient smile. “I haven’t met her brother, actually. But word has it he’s the calmer of the two, which I’m actually pretty grateful for.”

“Maybe you should get acquainted with him. Get on Kim Jang Won’s good side by making friends with Kim Younghoon,” Sunwoo places the bottle back into the ice box, noticing the yacht slowing down to a halt. Juyeon peels himself off the railings, finally standing and giving his own limbs a big stretch. 

“Nah,” Juyeon shakes his head and pulls off his sunglasses, squinting away from the harsh sunlight. “The thing about Jang Won is that you shouldn’t indirectly find ways to get on her good side... you gotta do it in her face. That’s how she plays her games. Straightforward. Ruthless.”

“So like... borderline crazy and a control freak too, right?”

Juyeon snickers, pulling off his shirt to reveal the diving suit he’s got underneath. “Pretty sure if your dad came back from the dead and took over your life’s work, you would too.”

Sunwoo smirks, stripping the pieces of clothes off himself too. “Defending the missus already, I see.”

Rolling his eyes and pulling on an oxygen tank with a mask, Juyeon then glares at the younger. “Well, if she’s offering me all the cents I can count, I might as well work it to my best effort, right?”

He cocks a smug brow, giving his goggles one last adjustment before heading to the edge of the yacht. The hues of blue calm his nerves, already able to see the world of life beneath the surface. It has always been his paradise, and always will be.

“Today, we celebrate the love between two of The Board’s most powerful figures: Lee Juyeon, the next director of Apple-Korea, and The Board’s very own Hera’s Princess, Kim Jang Won. Just a last month, the return of Kim Jo-Pil shocked the country...”

Jang Won dips her finger into the glass of lemon-infused water, contorting the image of the television beyond the table and the space of the room. Still in her pajamas, she cannot find the motivation and strength to leave her bed. She can already hear the crowd bustling downstairs, getting ready for her hair, makeup, fittings--

Knock knock

“Oh, Mr Ro,” She covers her eyes, tired. The door clicks open and she groans to herself, refusing to open her eyes. “Please just kill me. I hate it. I hate all of this. Why did he have to climb out of his own grave?”

“I don’t know. His body was swapped, wasn’t it?”

The voice jolts Jang Won out of her laziness, and she sits up like she had been summoned from the dead too. 

“When did you get here?” 

Juyeon smiles, somewhat genuine, and leans against the door frame. He was already in a simple button up shirt, meant to be hidden under a gorgeous, white and silver blazer. His hair’s still wet though, his fringe covering his eyebrows and some portion of his eyes. 

Jang Won can’t help but soften at the sight of him half a foot into his room - if only Lee Juyeon knew how much her friends back in high school swooned over him. 

“Also, I don’t think killing you would be a great idea. Wouldn’t want to see you climb out of your own grave too. Family traits seem to run in the blood of the Kims.”

Jang Won rolls her eyes and crawls her way out of the bed that’s too big for her, feet finding her fluffy, cotton slippers by the bed and shuffling about the bedroom with her hair in a mess. 

“Not very good at answering questions, are you?” She sniffles, not bothering to close the bathroom door behind her as she ties her hair gracefully, pulling a hair towel over her head to keep her fringe out of her face. She hears the door click, and Juyeon appears behind her in the reflection of the mirror. 

The scent of mint from the toothpaste wafts through her nose. 

“Well,” He shrugs and leans against the doorframe again, brushing his fringe out of his eyes. “I answered yours.”

Jang Won chokes on the toothpaste foam, gripping the edges of the sink as she retches into the marble. “Your butler... Mr Ro, called me over. Offered to cover my fitting and everything for today. He said it’s on the house, or rather, yours, I suppose.”

Jang Won finishes up on her brushing, spitting out the leftover foam. “Still didn’t answer my question, y’know.”

Juyeon removes himself off the doorframe, watching her struggle by throwing her hair behind her shoulder. Some locks keep sliding back down around her neck, and her hands are already lathering some facial wash. She tuts in frustration, unable to get her hair out of the way.

Then Juyeon gently gathers her hair behind her neck, his warm fingers barely brushing against her skin. “Morning. Just about two hours ago,” He waits for Jang Won to squint at him, before she provides enough trust to shut her eyes and rub the lotion into her cheeks. 

“Mr Ro wanted to come wake you up, but something seemed to crop up with the tea and cake catering, so.”

“What? What’s wrong with the tea and cake catering? I paid good money for that bullshit,” She looks up from the sink, face smeared in some greenish-blue cream.

He grins, chuckling under his breath as she glares at him in the mirror. “Paying good money for ‘bullshit’, huh? How much did the ‘bullshit’ cost then?”

“Well,” She hesitates and frowns, creating lines in the lotion on her face. “Enough to piss me off if they don’t give me what I want.”

Leaning towards the sink, she runs her hands under the water and washes the lotion off her face.

“What company is the catering from? Need my help?”

She scoffs, waving his hand off her hair, grabbing a cotton towel and pressing it to her face. “To what? What are you gonna do? ‘Hey there, I’m the next director of Apple-Korea and I’d like my tarts and cupcakes this afternoon’.”

He leans his rear into the edge of the platform where the sink was built into, back facing the mirror while she carefully hangs the towel over the metal bar mounted into the beige marble wall. “What else would you want me to say, since that’s just exactly what I want?”

“I’on’t know, buy the company or something.”

He raises both brows in extreme shock, his lips pouting in disbelief that he should’ve been prepared for anyway. “What a solution.”

“Got a better idea?” She rolls her eyes, pulling a robe into the shower cubicle. “Also, are you going to stand there and watch me strip?”

Juyeon’s eyes flit off her instantly, hands pushing himself off the edge of the sink. “Could’ve just asked me to leave instead of being so crude.”

“Well now, I didn’t ask you to leave, I asked--”

“I know- I know what you asked-” Juyeon grimaces, blowing some air into the pockets between his teeth and lips. He sucks in a deep breath and exhales loudly through an ‘o’, giving Jang Won some kind of sadistic pleasure. “Do you ever get tired of that? Messing with people?”

Jang Won’s brown orbs rise to the ceiling, actually giving thought to the question. Her lower lip juts out as she shrugs. “Well... yeah. Yeah,” She finally nods. “But hey! I have different degrees of messing-with-people. There’s the I-kinda-wanna-mess-with-you-by-making-you-awkward kind and there’s the I-might-wanna-rebury-my-dad kind-”

“Alright, you have a nice bath.” 

Snorting, Juyeon waves her nonsense off and walks out the bathroom, sliding the door shut. 

[yahboobeh]

Metanoia chapter 2

A collaboration with @weaponsmistress​

AO3 | FFN | Insta

"And it falls and it breaks and it turns into something new" - Why can't we be friends? The Academic

She was 11 the first time she saw him. Gai had sent Lee and Tenten into town to pick up some food. Hyuuga Neji had walked past them with purpose as if he knew exactly how high above everyone else he was.

He stuck out like a sore thumb, as every Hyuuga did. His skin was pale, almost like milk, and his eyes were the most peculiar shade of lavender that Tenten had ever seen. Despite likely having been born on the island, he dressed like a foreigner, wrapped in the silk robes that were popular on the mainland.

"Is that a Hyuuga?" asked Lee.

"Yeah. I wonder what he's doing here."

Lee shrugged.

"Probably shopping, like everyone else."

"Don't they have servants for that?"

"Maybe he wanted some fresh air?"

Tenten crossed her arms.

"Do you always have to find the good in everyone?"

Lee shifted the basket of plums he was carrying from one arm to the other, weighing his thoughts before responding.

"There is good in everyone, Tenten."

Tenten looked over at the sweets stand and started walking. The stand was stuffed with cakes, dumplings, and every manner of pastry she knew. Her eyes fell on the skewers of candied fruits. Tenten stuck her hand in her pocket and counted the remaining coins.

"Should we split something?" she asked, pointing towards the fruit.

Lee nodded, before continuing on the lecture that he'd, no doubt, memorized from their father's ramblings.

"You need to take a closer look at people to find the good!"

Tenten paid, grabbed her sweet, and chewed on the first piece of fruit before passing it to Lee.

They took their time walking down the street, enjoying each bite when Neji walked past again. Lee elbowed her, and she looked up.

"What do you see?"

Tenten chewed, considering her answer while she took in every detail of him.

"I see a stuck up rich kid," she finally said, swallowing her snack.

Lee frowned.

"I think he looks sad."

Tenten rolled her eyes, sticking the empty skewer into her basket.

"What could he possibly have to be sad about?"

"I'm not sure," said Lee, "but there's good hidden under it."

Three years later, as Tenten sat across from Neji in their sitting room, she still thought he looked like a stuck up rich kid. It had been a month since the last inspection, and, much to everyone's relief, Tenten had stayed home without putting up a fight.

She crossed her arms and legs, bouncing her foot impatiently while the older Hyuuga instructed Neji as they ran down their checklist.

Gai had set a tea tray down on the table in front of them. Lee had eagerly joined him in pouring and handing out cups.

"How are you enjoying your new accommodations?" Neji asked, looking up from his notebook.

"They are lovely," said Gai, "we still have a lot of work to do, but with the general's permission, I would like to have the school ready to go by spring."

Neji nodded and added to his notes, pausing only for a drink of tea.

Tenten ran her thumbnail over the chip in her cup, feeling frustrated.

"Will our people be allowed to train here?"

Neji met her gaze and shrugged as if she'd asked him about the weather.

"It's unlikely."

"So, we're just supposed to train the enemy?"

"Tenten," Gai warned.

Neji put his tea down and turned his full attention to her. His back was straight, and his eyes narrowed.

"Yes, you are expected to train members of my family. And you will do so gladly."

Tenten clenched the arm of her chair with her free hand, trying to keep her mouth shut.

"You will do this," continued Neji, "and will cease to refer to my family as the enemy. That type of language is prohibited."

Tenten put down her cup and stood up.

"You and your family are my enemies," she spat.

Neji sighed, setting his tea down too. He moved to stand. Tenten turned her back to him and stormed out of the room.

She could hear Neji's voice, soft, casual, privileged.

"Maito Gai, where are her rooms?"

Tenten stopped dead in her tracks. Her stomach sank as she waited for Gai's answer.

"In the upper quarter, on the east side. Lee will show you."

"Thank you."

Tenten remained frozen in place as Lee guided Neji and Hoheto towards the back of the compound. As he passed, Tenten heard Neji whisper to her.

"Learn your place." And then they were gone. She felt Gai behind her as she fought back angry tears.

"Why would you do that, baba?"

"You left me no choice, Tenten."

"But my room?"

"Your room has been searched before, Tenten, and it will be searched again. Hoheto rarely ever checks as he trusts us. Neji does not yet trust us and, and you are making it more difficult."

"Why should he trust us? And why do you trust them?"

"What choice do we have, Tenten?" She felt the weight of his arm on her shoulder. "This is what our lives look like now."

"I hate it."

"I know, but we need to make the best of this situation. If you want me to train more than just Hyuuga children, we need to form a positive relationship with Neji. If we are seen as an asset instead of a threat, then presenting that idea will be met with less resistance."

Both were quiet for a moment before Gai continued.

"I know you're hurting. We're all hurting, sweetheart, but in order to heal, you will need to learn to let go of your anger. What happened to us was not Neji's doing."

"If he is complacent, then how is he any better?"

"Because he and Hoheto are doing what they need to survive. And surviving is much easier if we are all amicable towards each other."

Tenten turned around, still unable to meet Gai's eyes, and buried her face into his chest, hugging him around the waist. He stroked her back and hair whispering soothing words.

"I'm sorry, Tenten. I know you feel like your space is being violated, but it will be over soon."

She wept silently into his shirt while, across the compound, her room was turned over.

--

Neji sat at his desk, looking down at his scant notes about the Maito family.

The search of Tenten's room had turned up nothing unusual. Even the journal she'd tucked under her mattress lacked anything substantial. It would barely be worth mentioning, except that Hoheto pointed out that her behavior would have to be noted this time.

Neji sighed. There were plenty of families in town that were much more suspicious but still provided less resistance than Tenten.

She'd written about him in her journal. It was nothing unexpected, just a recounting of their first meeting (she'd called him a few choice words) and the dread of having to see him again.

Initially, Neji wanted to write down every detail of her behavior and confiscate her journal, but Hoheto had advised against it.

"She is hurting very deeply," Hoheto cautioned, "it would be best if you two could learn not to challenge each other."

"She needs to learn to respect me," Neji had retorted.

"Ah, but Neji, respect must be earned."

And so, when Neji wrote his notes, he carefully stated that the Maito family was amicable and looking forward to training the Hyuuga. He briefly mentioned that Tenten had been upset about the prospect, but a search of her room showed nothing suspicious.

She is likely struggling with her new station and curious as to why we have chosen to work with her father.

Neji wrote down a few more notes before setting down his brush. He stretched out his back and waited for the ink to dry.

Neji wondered what his father might have done in his place. He thought a lot about the advice his father might have been able to give, had he still been alive.

But having lost him at such a young age, the advice of Hyuuga Hizashi was sparse, and often Neji thought it was a miracle he could remember his face.

He would probably say the same things as Hoheto, Neji thought. But he also liked to imagine that Hizashi wouldn't be as complacent as Hoheto. That being the brother of a general, he would speak up when Hiashi overstepped his boundaries. There was a faint memory of a tattoo under a headband, marring the skin of his father's forehead. Neji never knew why it was there, only that his father was ashamed of it. He knew it was a punishment, just not for what, and so as a child he'd imagined it was for acting righteously.

Someday he would find out if that was the truth.

There was a knock at the door.

"Yes?"

The door popped open, revealing Hoheto.

"Have you finished preparing your report?"

Neji nodded and stood up, grabbing the notebook. He handed it to Hoheto, who checked it over.

"Good. This is well done, especially the part about Maito Tenten."

"Why do we go through such lengths to protect them?"

"You should know, Neji, a happy village is a peaceful village. If we toss people into jail cells for every outburst, we'll have another rebellion on our hands before we know it."

"So that's our job? Not just to seek out any plots, but to discourage them from happening at all?"

"Now, you are beginning to understand. This is why you must make Tenten earn your respect. People talk. She has a fiery personality. It won't be long before people learn about your argument and subsequent search of her room. She may have been in the wrong, but her people will always side with her."

Hoheto handed Neji back the notebook, with a slight bow.

"Now, if you are ready, your uncle is prepared to hear your report."

--

Tenten laid back in the sand, relishing in the heat from the sun. She'd waited for Neji to leave the compound before shutting herself in her room to make sure nothing was out of place. But she could still imagine him in her space, pawing through drawers and her closet, seeking out anything that he could label as suspicious. Tenten stood in the center of her room and looked around. He could have trashed it if he'd wanted to, but nothing was out of place. It made her feel sick. If he'd come through in a blind rage and knocked things over and emptied drawers, she would have had something concrete against him. She would have been able to look at Gai and say, "See? This is what happens!"

But her room was exactly as she'd left it.

Tenten grabbed her bag and left, needing distance from Neji. She stocked up with snacks and allowed herself to be seen by Gai as she left.

She spent the rest of the day there, only returning home after it was dark, and she was cold.

When she fell into bed, Tenten was too weary to give much thought to the earlier search, and for that, she was grateful.

--

When Neji arrived for the next inspection, Gai met them at the gate.

"If I may be so bold, Hyuuga Neji, Hyuuga Hoheto," he said with a bow, "Tenten has promised me today she will behave. I ask only that you recognize she has a tendency to challenge authority. We have been working on that with her daily prayers and meditations."

It was a warning, a plea. Please don't antagonize her.

"I am glad to hear she finds herself in better spirits today," said Neji, "I expect things will go much smoother."

I will do my best. Neji hoped Gai understood his assurance.

They strolled through the first courtyard as Gai explained how he wanted to use the space for training his students. Neji nodded and commented on the improvement.

"You must have been working hard. Last month the garden was overgrown and full of weeds."

"Ah, well, as you know, the Yamanaka family are avid botanists. I had some assistance cleaning up."

"How does the Yamanaka family feel about your new station?"

Hoheto met Neji's eyes and gave him an approving nod. They would make sure to question the Yamanaka family about the visit.

"They are pleased to see us rise," said Gai, "and are eager to get their hands dirty with the sweet earth that nourishes life."

When they arrived in the sitting room, Neji was surprised to see Tenten with a tray of tea, waiting for them.

She set it down on the table and began pouring as everyone took their seats.

Tenten offered Hoheto the first cup and Neji the second, meeting his gaze as she spoke.

"It's chrysanthemum today. I hope you don't mind."

Neji could see the strain at the corners of her mouth. She was trying to be pleasant, not to lash out.

"Thank you," he said, and she seemed to relax just a little. His cup today bore no chips. She'd taken care to make sure they had the best ones. Neji took a sip. "Did you brew this, or was it your father?"

Tenten pursed her lips, preparing a retort if Neji chose to mock the tea. She took a breath and straightened her back.

"I prepared it."

"It's good."

She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"What? No comment about it being weak or poisoned?"

Neji smirked at her and took another sip.

"Not today."

--

The inspections slowly grew less formal. Tenten had taken over the role of preparing tea, as it gave her something to do the morning of the inspection. She would try a new blend every month. Tenten had made tea every month for six months when she realized, with a sinking feeling, that she was starting to look forward to the visits.

She was at the market, looking at the various tea blends when it hit her. Tenten looked up at the older man minding the stall. He spoke, but she didn't hear him. Was she really looking forward to making tea for him? After everything she'd been through and the way, he'd first treated her?

"Miss!"

Tenten returned from her thoughts, and the man's face fell into focus.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't catch that."

"I asked what type of tea you would like today, miss."

"Jasmine," and even as she went through the motions of paying and accepting the package, Tenten's mind was gone again.

Her walk home felt surreal. Tenten felt separate from her body, watching from above as it wound through familiar streets. She looked guilty as if a packet of jasmine tea labeled her a traitor. Pleasant visits with Neji and Hoheto, were supposed to be a front, a facade, but she liked them. Was she betraying the memory of her parents? Of everyone else who had died in the rebellion?

Tenten thought she heard whispers about her and Gai, how their tea gave them away as traitors.

She shook her head.

Everyone loves baba; no one would say that.

She stopped at the familiar fork in the road. If she kept going straight, she would find her way home. If she turned right, she could walk the shoreline for a while.

While she struggled to decide, Naruto appeared at her side.

"Tenten! What are you up to?"

"Oh, hi, Naruto," she flashed him a brief smile, "I was just about to head home."

"Did you get anything good in town?"

"Just some tea. Our inspection is tomorrow, and baba insists we show them our hospitali-tea," she rolled her eyes as she placed the emphases into Gai's pun.

"Ugh, I hate inspection day. And the new kid, Neji? He's got a stick pretty far up his ass, huh?"

Tenten wanted to defend Neji but stopped herself. She wasn't supposed to want that.

"Yeah. I wish we could do something about them."

"Now that you mention it," Naruto leaned in close and lowered his voice.

"I head Kakashi talking last time Yamoto came over. There are people making plans."

"Plans?"

"Yeah. To get rid of them."

"The Hyuu—"

"Shhh!" Naruto pressed his finger to her lips, "There's meetings, I guess. I'm going to try and find out more about them."

Tenten felt something stir in her, a sensation she hadn't felt in years: hope. She took a deep breath and felt lighter.

"I want to know what you find out."

[supernaturallyobsessedchic]

7 Days to Die - Part 7

Survive

Pairing: Jensen x Reader, Danneel x Reader (Jenneel)

Warnings: Angst, fluff, implied smut, body parts exploded mentioned (SPN level gore, I don’t go into grave detail), scary situations.

Word Count: 1,752

Summary: After finding their way home, now it’s all a matter of survival. And the reader is going to teach what it really means to survive to the surrounding camps when the horde of all hordes makes its way to their camp.

a/n: This is the final part of this series, hope you guys enjoyed, happy halloween!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Main Masterlist

7 Days to Die Masterlist

Mobile Masterlist

~

It was for once, a normal day. The family heading to the Mass Hall to grab some Breakfast, the kids in school and preschool for the Twins. The couple having a day in.

Y/N finally woke up, having slept through the morning getting much needed rest. She walked out of the bedroom, in a shirt and underwear. Seeing her favorite people outside, enjoying the day. She heads back to the room to grab her some pants to put on, to look decent when she headed outside to join them.

“There’s our girl.” Jensen says, as she exited the cabin and walks over to them. Taking a spot in between them.

“Sleep well?” Danneel asked, hugging Y/N’s waist. Y/N wrapping around Danneel letting her sink into her side. She hums.

“Sure did.” She says with a content smile.

“When do you go on duty?” Y/N asks Jensen.

“Here in a few, just wanted to enjoy my time with my girls.” He says. Wrapping an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, bringing her to his side.

“Boss!” they heard.

“No Benny, too soon.” Jensen whined.

“Raiders, closing in.” He says. Jensen didn’t hesitate, he jumped to action.

“Baby, get the kids.” Jensen says.

“Jay Bird, Ro, Zep!” Danneel called out getting up.

“What do you want me to do?” Y/N asked.

“Follow Dee, they’re heading to a safe house we have, wait for us there.” Jensen ordered. Y/N nods.

“Baby come on.” Danneel pleads grabbing Y/N’s hand. Y/N follows.

 They heard the battle breaking out, some shots getting too close to home.

“God please be okay.” Danneel prays.

“Hey, look at this!” a raspy voice was heard on the other side.

Silent, quiet, hushed gasps were strangled as the people of the camp tried to keep their cool.

Y/N shoved the group back as far back as the building would allow, the building is roughly that of a small warehouse, but no upper or lower levels. And the main entrance was being messed with as the raiders attempted to enter the safe house.

Y/N readied herself for anything. For what she’s been through, she’s not ready for a group of raiders to take this away from her.

The door burst open, she lunged forward, tackling the male raider to the ground, taking his pistol from his holster. Roundhouse kicking the nearby female raider before she could take a shot at Y/N, earning a grunt and yell from the raider.

Y/N rises, gun in hand and ready to shoot. Gunning down the two raiders, looting their bodies for weapons she could use and hurries back to the safe house, shutting the door as best as she could.

She stays by the door, gun ready to shoot any raider who enters.

 “Look boss.” She heard Benny on the other side.

“Who did this?” Jensen asked.

Y/N opens the door to them. “I did it.” Y/N says. “They got in, and I fought them.” She says. As she did she turns on the safety on the gun stuffing it in her waistband at her back.

Jensen, a look of worry and concern flashed across his face as he brought her in a hug.

“At least you’re okay that’s all that matters.” He said, as he pulled out. Then looks to the scared women and children. “It’s safe to come back.” He says. And leads the rest of the camp back.

 “They just keep growing, the walkers outnumber the humans ten to one.” Osric says. Osric is best known for his role as Kevin Tran in Supernatural. Most of camp calls him Kevin or Kev.

“If there were a way to unite these camps I’m sure we could stand a chance.” Y/N says.

“Yeah, they’re more focused on themselves only. And even if they did band together, they’ll want something in return.” Jensen says.

“Then have a trade system. Open up trading, we need to start rebuilding, not continue to isolate ourselves from humanity.” Y/N says.

“I’m sorry babe, it’s not happening.” Jensen argues.

Y/N pouts, but also has that face she makes when she’s thinking hard and long. She walks back to the cabin while thinking.

A thought blipped in her mind. She’ll go herself.

What he won’t know won’t hurt him. She thought.

She packed up some clothes, even a white sheet.

She was always good at weaseling her way out of things. She was quite the escape artist. She wasn’t worried or scared for what she was about to do.

 She trekked to the nearby camp that had a scrimmage that took Jensen out for a week.

She approached cautiously, wearing the white sheet as a cape holding the corners in her hands as she held her hands up defensively.

The camp leader coming out. Revealing to be Mark Sheppard.

“So this is where you’ve been.” She says.

“Aye, what do you want.” He says harshly.

“Unite with us, a massive horde is making its way up here. Us alone can’t seem to do it, but if we unite as one, we could win.” She says.

“Yeah, and what are the chances of being stabbed in the back?” He asked.

“Mark, we have to rebuild as a community sooner or later, the kids need that. A stable community where they can feel safe, and not worry about a shootout again. You  have to put in an effort. And not be scared all the time.” She argues, almost as if she were fed up with the stupid shit going on between the two camps. Between multiple camps across Vancouver.

Mark pauses, thinking for a moment.

“And if you don’t side with us, if no one sides with us, you don’t even have a chance against this horde alone.” She adds.

“Okay, we’ll set up some forces. The horde will not get close.” He says.

“Thank you. We’ll work on a trading system that can benefit everyone.” She says.

“Yeah, same here. Like you said, we could become a community.” He says. She nods.

“See you later then.” She says, turning away to leave with a wave.

“See you darlin’.” He says waving her off.

 She visited more and more camps in the surrounding area, giving them a same argument. And they all agreed. The next generations to come need a stable community to grow and feel safe. And all agree to come to an agreement, and work towards a working trading system.

Word of the unity spread like wildfire. And when she returned back to camp, she noticed new faces coming and going. Including Mark.

She saw Jensen in the crowd, and he didn’t look too happy, and motioned her to follow him into the security cabin. He shut the door behind them as they entered. Letting her in first.

“At least I united them.” She says.

“I’ll give you that, but what’s to say they won’t stab us in the back?” he says. “How long will they keep up the good neighbors card?” he asks.

“Jensen, you can’t live in constant fear. ‘sides, you have to try before you can make that judgement.” Y/N argues.

“I don’t like it.” he says.

“Then try to survive the horde.” She argues.

His face softens.

“We have the numbers now. And other camps are getting the picture, uniting as one gets you places. Rather than being the lone wolf and looking out for yourself.” She says. “Besides, being united in one big community can be looking out for yourself. It’s having people you trust watch your back.” She adds.

His gaze on her holds until he looks away, trying to think. He lets out a sigh. He knows deep down she’s right.

“I mean, it’s how I let you and Jared in. I didn’t know you and you trusted me.” She says.

He nods. Casting his gaze down.

She walks over to him, a hand cupping his cheek. He leans in her touch. “I was just trying to increase our chances.” She says. “I didn’t mean to go behind your back and do this.” She says.

He shakes his head. His hand comes up to hers that cupped his cheek. Brushing his thumb along the top of her hand. “I’m just worried is all. It’s great they want to help us.” He says.

“Now, let’s prepare for a horde.” She says.

 A day had passed.

“Horde!” a shout could be heard.

Up in the high tower, Jensen and Y/N looked through binoculars to find a horde of zombies stumbling through the forest.

“Let’s hope this works.” Y/N says.

“Yeah.” Jensen says.

An explosion erupts, sending walkers flying, some body parts flying in the distance could be seen through the eyeglasses.

“The camp up there laid out land mines!” Y/N shouts.

“Awesome!” Jensen cheers.

And the fight was an easy one. Many camps did just that, laid out traps, explosives and land mines to shrink the number of zombies that were trudging through the forest.

Not long after sundown there were no zombies standing.

Camps in the distance cheered before Jensen’s camp broke out in the same rejoice in celebration.

Most camps didn’t have to sweat it, some shots rang out, but most explosives and traps did the trick.

“We did it!” Y/N shouted. Jensen hugged Y/N tightly as they rejoiced. “Humanity won!” she cheers.

Jensen bends down to kiss her passionately on her lips. She quickly returned the kiss. They pulled away to find Danneel.

She danced and cheered with their kids; happy they won the fight.

Danneel ran to her husband first, giving him a kiss, then moved to Y/N kissing her. “We did it.” she says.

“I know, this is the first step.” Y/N says.

“This calls for a celebration.” Jensen says, grabbing his lady’s by the waist.

 Months had passed, zombies have dwindled to nothing. Humans slowly began to rebuild and live in peace and harmony.

Vancouver became a small settlement, surrounded by other small settlements in the ragged Canadian terrain.

Jensen’s camp has grown over the months. And his family was about to grow, when he sees his girls walking the campgrounds, showing their pregnant bellies. He smiles, excited to see his newborn babies.

It wasn’t until months ago they found a pharmacy with still good pregnancy tests, Y/N and Danneel had to take them after days of feeling sick in the mornings. After being pregnant twice, Danneel knew. But this was Y/N’s first. She didn’t know what it was at first. She didn’t think she was pregnant until she saw the test reveal as much.

Now both women are excited to start this new chapter in their lives. Even if it’s in an Apocalypse World, they were excited, nonetheless.

~

Hope you guys enjoyed! Please give feedback however you can, like, reblog or send an ask letting me know how you liked it. Your favorite parts. Etc. Happy Halloween, stay home, stay safe. :)

~

Jensen Tags:

@luci-in-trenchcoats​, @supernatural-jackles​, @becs-bunker​, @mlovesstories​, @winchesters-favorite-girl​, @moonlight-on-her-skin​, @backseat-of-deans-67chevy​, @salt-n-burn-em-all

~

Copying and reposting someone else’s content is plagiarism and illegal. This work is property of supernaturallyobsessedchic. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. An electronic reference link to the original posted work may be provided for purposes of promotion or assistance of publication by the readers discretion, if proper credits are given to the author in the re-post. 10/31/2020

[valkyriesryde]

Sergeant Boinky

Pairing: Bucky x Reader but mainly platonic relationships with reader and Sam

Summary: Bucky’s got a new interest and Sam and Y/N are taking full advantage of it.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, embarrassed Bucks

Word Count: 1,853

A/N: Dedicated to @mrwinterr and inspired by this post that she shared, thanks for giving me an excuse to procrastinate my WIPs hahahah this is also not edited at all i apologise in advance

Masterlist

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was an average overcast afternoon at the Avengers compound. A quiet day, not a peep through the house, not even a mouse.

The members that were left were either relaxing or working. Each to their own.

Bucky Barnes lay on the couch in the common area, phone in hand, held above his head scrolling slowly but steadily.

Sam Wilson sat on the couch beside him. His feet were propped up on the coffee table he lazily leaned on his elbow as he played on his Nintendo switch.

Y/N Y/L/N lay on the couch opposite in a similar position to Bucky, they almost mirrored each other except she held a book to the side and was making her way through.

There was a comfortable silence between the three of them. Every now and then Sam would let out an annoyed huff or you could hear Y/N turning a page but apart from that, it was peaceful.

Then Bucky spoke.

“Hey what does ‘y/n’ mean?”

“Yes or no” Sam didn’t bother looking up when he answered and Y/N ignored them both.

Bucky read the sentence over again in his head, it didn’t make sense.

“That doesn’t work,” Bucky looked back to his friends more confused than before. This caught both Sam and Y/N’s attention. They looked up, first at Bucky and then to each other. There was only one other possible meaning and both knew what it was.

Neither were strangers to fanfiction, no one really is a stranger to fanfiction, unless I suppose you’re about 105 and missed the rise of it. Questions started spinning in their heads at what exactly was happening in front of them.

Was Bucky reading fanfiction?

How did he find it?

Y/N’s most important question was 'oh God did someone introduce him to ao3?!’

Sam’s most important question was 'who the hot diggity hell is he reading about?!’

They were freaking out in their heads so much that they almost forgot to answer him.

“What’s the context?” Y/N raised an eyebrow, surely it had to be something else.

“Uhh it’s in a story but I don’t know what it means"

"Your name,” Sam answered and Bucky nodded reading back over the sentence again.

'Bucky staring at Bucky’s eyes…'  that didn’t make sense still? Maybe he had to use another name?

Y/N and Sam had sunk low into their seats, both prayed that the world would open up and swallow them.

It was hours later and not much had changed. The embarrassment of earlier had passed and they were back to normal.

Steve Rogers had joined the gang in the common area and sat next to Sam with sketchbook in hand.

Bucky Barnes was now fast asleep with his phone resting beside him on the couch.

Sam Wilson was still playing on his Nintendo switch but was starting to get bored of losing the same boss fight over and over again.

Y/N Y/L/N had set her book aside and was now trying not to fall asleep herself.

Then she saw it.

The black shine of Bucky’s phone caught her eye and she sat up and took two steps towards it causing Steve and Sam to turn their gaze towards her.

“What are you doing?”

“Why are you staring at Bucky?” They both whispered to her, as not to wake him up and she just smiled and shrugged.

“I’m curious” was all she said before she plucked the phone quickly from his side and sat between the two men.

“Don’t you need a password to get into it?” Sam asked, catching on as to what she was curious about and he had to admit he’d thought about it too.

“This is an invasion of privacy you two realise that don’t you?” Steve wasn’t too thrilled with the idea of going through his friends phone, it’s not like there was a need to.

“Steve, this is a matter of life and death, now tell us his password.” Sam was straight to the point and though it wasn’t quite a matter of life and death per se, it was the deciding factor on how much embarrassment he was going to cause Bucky.

“It’s 0410 how do you not know that"

"How do you know that?” Steve questioned Y/N but she merely rolled her eyes

“It’s your birthday and then his, and he told me a while ago” she smiled innocently between the two but behind that smile was mischief and she quickly unlocked the phone in Sam’s hand.

Low and behold there it was in all its glory. Fanfiction. About himself. The two curious critters stifled a laugh as they read through the story. A classic enemies to friends to lovers. Everybody loves one of those. They kept looking, kept reading. Bucky seemed to have it all. Coffee shop au, roommates au, you name it he probably had it.

“Oh I’m gonna enjoy this”

“Enjoy what?” Sam locked the phone immediately and hid it from view as Y/N let out a small scream as soon as Natasha had spoken.

Natasha looked at the two questionably then at Steve who had been ignoring them and gave her a shrug.

Bucky sat up abruptly, his eyes wide open searching the room for any kind of danger after being woken up by Y/N’s scream. When he noticed nothing out of the ordinary Bucky fell back into the couch and rubbed his hands over his face.

“Why are you screaming?” He asked before getting up and making his way to the door.

“Nat scared the shit out of me, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

Bucky grumbled an it’s okay and walked out. As soon as he was out of sight Sam tucked the phone between the cushion and couch where Bucky had been and sat back in his seat.

“Should I be asking what you were doing?”

“It’s best to ignore them, that’s what I’ve been doing” answered Steve.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When Bucky woke up the next morning he couldn’t help feel content, happy even. He couldn’t help but think about the domestic life, the two story home with a cat on his lap and girl under his arm.

He’d spent half the night in bed reading through series on his phone of that domestic life. Imagining himself as a mob boss, a writer, a college student. And strangely he didn’t feel like he was missing anything. He didn’t wish that life was his, in fact, it made him more appreciative of the life he had. The one thing Bucky kept coming back to was how close he was with his friends in the stories, and they were pretty spot on, that’s how it was in his real life.

The only aspect he would probably change is the whole not having a girl under his arm. A specific one.

Bucky couldn’t help think of that domestic life when he walked into the dining room to see a group of his friends, his family, all chowing down stacks of pancakes and bacon and fruit.

And if that didn’t surprise him enough he went into a state of shock when he walked into the kitchen to see Y/N flipping more pancakes in her pyjamas.

He had to be dreaming? Or been thrown into an alternate reality where all of his domestic dreams are true?

“Morning Bonky,” Y/N flashed him a smile over her shoulder. Bonky? That was the nickname from one his fics he read yesterday?

“Bonky?” Bucky picked at the bacon on the bench trying to act nonchalant.

“Yea Sam and I came up with a couple nicknames for you last night, isn’t that right same,” Sam jumped to take a seat on the bench opposite them, a giant smirk on his face and that could only mean bad news for Bucky.

“That’s right indeed and boy did we come up with some great ones Bork,” Sam winked at Bucky who sighed in response.

“Oh what about Boinks!”

“Sergeant Boinky!” Bucky rolled his eyes as the two went back and forth but there was a nagging voice in the back of his head. These names were used in the stories from yesterday and he had a feeling they knew that. How embarrassing.

“Ooh I like that one,” she turned to Bucky and flashed him an innocent smile, “what do you think Sarge?”

Bucky gulped. So maybe some of those stories had chapters that were maybe not so safe for work. And maybe a common theme in them was him being called ‘Sarge’ or ‘Sergeant’. And then maybe he also had been imagining it was a certain girl who was currently stood in her pyjamas staring up at him like it was the most innocent act in the world. But there was nothing innocent going on in his mind.

“How um, how did you come up with these names anyway?” Need to get out, need to leave, this is an ambush. God Bucky wanted her to call him Sarge again, he wanted to hear her moan it in his ear and oh fuck he needed to get out of there.

“Online,” Sam’s smirk grew bigger and Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t touch my phone again.”

Y/N and Sam looked at each other then back at Bucky still trying to be innocent, but they knew they had caught him.

“I didn’t touch your phone, why would you think that?” Sam had never had so much fun messing with Bucky, but he needed to know who Bucky was picturing with him because it can’t have been himself!

“Is there something on your phone you don’t want us knowing about Sarge?” Bucky caught the growl in his throat before it could escape as Y/N finished cooking the last of the pancakes.

“No, nothing, not at all.” he shook his head and started making himself a plate of food to hide the red in his face from the two asshats.

Y/N shrugged and gave him a pat on his back, “whatever you say Bonky,” she winked at him before leaving the room. Sam came up next to him, leaning over the counter, stupid smirk still on his face, gonna smack that thing real soon Bucky thought.

“So who was it? Gal Gadot? Mila Kunis? Oh! Xena, Warrior Princess!?” Sam started jumping with excited as he kept listing off celebrities and characters he thought Bucky might have liked enough to read fanfiction about them, paired with him.

“None of your business,” he pushed past Sam and peered out the ajar door to make sure no one was listening. He didn’t need the whole compound knowing what he’s been up to.

“Oooh, or is it someone a bit closer to home perhaps?” Sam wiggled his eyebrows and Bucky rolled his eyes, plate in hand and ready to retreat back to his room.

“You know I can kill you right?”

“And yet,” he held out his arms, “here I stand.” Sam moved to step past Bucky and retreat back to the dining area but not before pausing, “don’t worry, I won’t tell Y/N.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And a big thank you for reading!

[movedvalkyriesryde]

Sergeant Boinky

Pairing: Bucky x Reader but mainly platonic relationships with reader and Sam

Summary: Bucky’s got a new interest and Sam and Y/N are taking full advantage of it.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, embarrassed Bucks

Word Count: 1,853

A/N: Dedicated to @mrwinterr and inspired by this post that she shared, thanks for giving me an excuse to procrastinate my WIPs hahahah this is also not edited at all i apologise in advance

Masterlist

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was an average overcast afternoon at the Avengers compound. A quiet day, not a peep through the house, not even a mouse. 

The members that were left were either relaxing or working. Each to their own. 

Bucky Barnes lay on the couch in the common area, phone in hand, held above his head scrolling slowly but steadily.

Sam Wilson sat on the couch beside him. His feet were propped up on the coffee table he lazily leaned on his elbow as he played on his Nintendo switch. 

Y/N Y/L/N lay on the couch opposite in a similar position to Bucky, they almost mirrored each other except she held a book to the side and was making her way through.

There was a comfortable silence between the three of them. Every now and then Sam would let out an annoyed huff or you could hear Y/N turning a page but apart from that, it was peaceful.

Then Bucky spoke.

"Hey what does 'y/n' mean?"

"Yes or no" Sam didn't bother looking up when he answered and Y/N ignored them both. 

Bucky read the sentence over again in his head, it didn't make sense.

"That doesn't work," Bucky looked back to his friends more confused than before. This caught both Sam and Y/N's attention. They looked up, first at Bucky and then to each other. There was only one other possible meaning and both knew what it was. 

Neither were strangers to fanfiction, no one really is a stranger to fanfiction, unless I suppose you're about 105 and missed the rise of it. Questions started spinning in their heads at what exactly was happening in front of them.

Was Bucky reading fanfiction?

How did he find it?

Y/N's most important question was 'oh God did someone introduce him to ao3?!'

Sam's most important question was 'who the hot diggity hell is he reading about?!'

They were freaking out in their heads so much that they almost forgot to answer him.

"What's the context?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, surely it had to be something else.

"Uhh it's in a story but I don't know what it means" 

"Your name," Sam answered and Bucky nodded reading back over the sentence again.

'Bucky staring at Bucky's eyes…'  that didn't make sense still? Maybe he had to use another name? 

Y/N and Sam had sunk low into their seats, both prayed that the world would open up and swallow them. 

It was hours later and not much had changed. The embarrassment of earlier had passed and they were back to normal.

Steve Rogers had joined the gang in the common area and sat next to Sam with sketchbook in hand.

Bucky Barnes was now fast asleep with his phone resting beside him on the couch.

Sam Wilson was still playing on his Nintendo switch but was starting to get bored of losing the same boss fight over and over again.

Y/N Y/L/N had set her book aside and was now trying not to fall asleep herself. 

Then she saw it. 

The black shine of Bucky's phone caught her eye and she sat up and took two steps towards it causing Steve and Sam to turn their gaze towards her.

"What are you doing?"

"Why are you staring at Bucky?" They both whispered to her, as not to wake him up and she just smiled and shrugged.

"I'm curious" was all she said before she plucked the phone quickly from his side and sat between the two men.

"Don't you need a password to get into it?" Sam asked, catching on as to what she was curious about and he had to admit he'd thought about it too.

"This is an invasion of privacy you two realise that don't you?" Steve wasn't too thrilled with the idea of going through his friends phone, it's not like there was a need to. 

"Steve, this is a matter of life and death, now tell us his password." Sam was straight to the point and though it wasn't quite a matter of life and death per se, it was the deciding factor on how much embarrassment he was going to cause Bucky. 

"It's 0410 how do you not know that" 

"How do you know that?" Steve questioned Y/N but she merely rolled her eyes 

"It's your birthday and then his, and he told me a while ago" she smiled innocently between the two but behind that smile was mischief and she quickly unlocked the phone in Sam's hand.

Low and behold there it was in all its glory. Fanfiction. About himself. The two curious critters stifled a laugh as they read through the story. A classic enemies to friends to lovers. Everybody loves one of those. They kept looking, kept reading. Bucky seemed to have it all. Coffee shop au, roommates au, you name it he probably had it.

"Oh I'm gonna enjoy this"

"Enjoy what?" Sam locked the phone immediately and hid it from view as Y/N let out a small scream as soon as Natasha had spoken.

Natasha looked at the two questionably then at Steve who had been ignoring them and gave her a shrug. 

Bucky sat up abruptly, his eyes wide open searching the room for any kind of danger after being woken up by Y/N's scream. When he noticed nothing out of the ordinary Bucky fell back into the couch and rubbed his hands over his face.

"Why are you screaming?" He asked before getting up and making his way to the door.

"Nat scared the shit out of me, sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

Bucky grumbled an it's okay and walked out. As soon as he was out of sight Sam tucked the phone between the cushion and couch where Bucky had been and sat back in his seat. 

"Should I be asking what you were doing?"

"It's best to ignore them, that's what I've been doing" answered Steve.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

When Bucky woke up the next morning he couldn't help feel content, happy even. He couldn't help but think about the domestic life, the two story home with a cat on his lap and girl under his arm. 

He'd spent half the night in bed reading through series on his phone of that domestic life. Imagining himself as a mob boss, a writer, a college student. And strangely he didn't feel like he was missing anything. He didn't wish that life was his, in fact, it made him more appreciative of the life he had. The one thing Bucky kept coming back to was how close he was with his friends in the stories, and they were pretty spot on, that's how it was in his real life.

The only aspect he would probably change is the whole not having a girl under his arm. A specific one. 

Bucky couldn't help think of that domestic life when he walked into the dining room to see a group of his friends, his family, all chowing down stacks of pancakes and bacon and fruit.

And if that didn't surprise him enough he went into a state of shock when he walked into the kitchen to see Y/N flipping more pancakes in her pyjamas. 

He had to be dreaming? Or been thrown into an alternate reality where all of his domestic dreams are true? 

"Morning Bonky," Y/N flashed him a smile over her shoulder. Bonky? That was the nickname from one his fics he read yesterday?

"Bonky?" Bucky picked at the bacon on the bench trying to act nonchalant.

"Yea Sam and I came up with a couple nicknames for you last night, isn't that right same," Sam jumped to take a seat on the bench opposite them, a giant smirk on his face and that could only mean bad news for Bucky.

"That's right indeed and boy did we come up with some great ones Bork," Sam winked at Bucky who sighed in response. 

"Oh what about Boinks!"

"Sergeant Boinky!" Bucky rolled his eyes as the two went back and forth but there was a nagging voice in the back of his head. These names were used in the stories from yesterday and he had a feeling they knew that. How embarrassing.

"Ooh I like that one," she turned to Bucky and flashed him an innocent smile, "what do you think Sarge?"

Bucky gulped. So maybe some of those stories had chapters that were maybe not so safe for work. And maybe a common theme in them was him being called ‘Sarge’ or ‘Sergeant’. And then maybe he also had been imagining it was a certain girl who was currently stood in her pyjamas staring up at him like it was the most innocent act in the world. But there was nothing innocent going on in his mind.

“How um, how did you come up with these names anyway?” Need to get out, need to leave, this is an ambush. God Bucky wanted her to call him Sarge again, he wanted to hear her moan it in his ear and oh fuck he needed to get out of there.

“Online,” Sam’s smirk grew bigger and Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t touch my phone again.”

Y/N and Sam looked at each other then back at Bucky still trying to be innocent, but they knew they had caught him.

“I didn’t touch your phone, why would you think that?” Sam had never had so much fun messing with Bucky, but he needed to know who Bucky was picturing with him because it can’t have been himself!

“Is there something on your phone you don’t want us knowing about Sarge?” Bucky caught the growl in his throat before it could escape as Y/N finished cooking the last of the pancakes.

“No, nothing, not at all.” he shook his head and started making himself a plate of food to hide the red in his face from the two asshats.

Y/N shrugged and gave him a pat on his back, “whatever you say Bonky,” she winked at him before leaving the room. Sam came up next to him, leaning over the counter, stupid smirk still on his face, gonna smack that thing real soon Bucky thought.

“So who was it? Gal Gadot? Mila Kunis? Oh! Xena, Warrior Princess!?” Sam started jumping with excited as he kept listing off celebrities and characters he thought Bucky might have liked enough to read fanfiction about them, paired with him.

“None of your business,” he pushed past Sam and peered out the ajar door to make sure no one was listening. He didn’t need the whole compound knowing what he’s been up to.

“Oooh, or is it someone a bit closer to home perhaps?” Sam wiggled his eyebrows and Bucky rolled his eyes, plate in hand and ready to retreat back to his room.

“You know I can kill you right?”

“And yet,” he held out his arms, “here I stand.” Sam moved to step past Bucky and retreat back to the dining area but not before pausing, “don’t worry, I won’t tell Y/N.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And a big thank you for reading!

Permanent Taglist: @starvinggaywriter @witch-of-letters @turquoisekokiri @harryngtonewithyourshit

Bucky Taglist: @bxrnsfeyson @brilliantbellesoares

[callboxkat]

Second Chances part 4: Puzzling it Out

Author’s note: ...Hello. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? So you guys know, you don’t have to read or reread the previous parts to be caught up for this one. I know that six months is a long time, so I’ve included a summary at the start. Enjoy!

Warnings: nervousness, food mention, talk of homelessness, fear of being kicked out

Word count: 6038

Masterpost!

...

Up until very recently, Roman had been a homeless man.

He’d been on his own for some time, staying in a homeless shelter in the city he lived in. It hadn’t been great—certainly not luxurious—but he had had somewhere to stay. Or at least, he had until just over a month ago, when the shelter had filled up and he had been forced out onto the streets. After that, he had started making do with sleeping in slightly less comfortable accommodations: the local park.

Only a week later, twenty-seven days ago, Roman had been effectively banned from the park he had been staying in. A less than friendly police officer had forced him to leave on the grounds that he was disturbing the peace—even though it had been the middle of the night at the time. He had been left with little choice but to simply wander the streets after that, with nowhere to go and no one willing to help him.

Then, twenty days ago, Logan—a former high school rival of Roman’s who had certainly not been his friend—had found him digging through his trashcan. To Roman’s shock and embarrassment, Logan had invited him in for some food. That had somehow turned into him being invited to stay at his home, at least until Roman found a job and somewhere else to live. Logan’s boyfriend, Patton, had been welcoming and even excited at the prospect; but Logan’s sister, Val, had been… less eager, suffice to say. She had actually moved out, going to stay with her friend Dahlia to wait until her brother wised up and kicked the formerly homeless man back out onto the streets.

In the meantime, Roman had settled in as best he could and started looking for a job. After a little more than a week of this, eleven days ago, Roman had finally landed a job interview. It was for a position working for a friend of a friend of Patton’s who managed a coffee shop.

Eight days ago, the same day as Roman’s interview, Val had finally agreed to having dinner with the family, giving Roman a chance to prove himself to her. It had gone well, and one week ago, Val had moved back in with the family. The very next day, Roman had gotten a job offer.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow was Roman’s first day as a barista at the Sanders Café.

So, naturally, Roman was freaking out.

He was sitting on the couch—the very same couch he’d very dignifiedly passed out on the first time Logan invited him inside—rocking forwards and backwards just slightly, his hands rubbing into his thighs. The television was on, but it was nearly muted, and Roman could honestly say that he had no idea what was playing. He didn’t know how long he sat there like that, silently panicking about how it was all going to go wrong, before Patton was suddenly there, sitting down next to him.

“What’s eatin’ ya, kiddo?” he asked, putting a hand on Roman’s shoulder. Roman’s repeated motions stopped immediately.

“It’s… nothing.”

“If it’s nothing, why do you look so upset?”

Roman blew air out through his nose. “It doesn’t matter, it’s just—I’m nervous, okay? It’s like before a performance, just pre-show jitters is all….”

“Well, you start your new job tomorrow! That’s exciting! But I can see why it would make you nervous, too.”

“I just….” He swallowed hard. “I don’t want to blow it. You and Logan have been so nice to me, and I want to pay you guys back, but if this doesn’t work out then I can’t do that and you’ll both be so disappointed and then Val will make you kick me out—.” And I’ll be alone again.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Patton interrupted, squeezing Roman’s shoulder tightly. “Let’s slow down, there. Breathe, Roman. Where’s this coming from all of a sudden?”

Roman didn’t look at him, for this really wasn’t sudden at all. Patton’s gaze softened in realization; but then he sat up straighter, a fire in his eyes.

“Look at me.”

Roman swallowed. After a second, he lifted his gaze to meet Patton’s eyes.

“You are going to be just fine. Here’s what’s going to happen: You’re going to go to your job tomorrow, and you’re going to do your best, and it will be good enough. You aren’t going to blow it. And you know what? Even if this job doesn’t work out, you’re not going anywhere. You are going to stay right here, with me and Logan and Val, because we want you here, and because you deserve to be happy.” Patton looked suddenly shy. “At least, as long as you want to stay here with us.”

Roman swallowed. “I really do,” he whispered. He hadn’t really meant to say that out loud. Realizing what he’d done, he felt his face begin to burn.

Patton just hugged him. “Then you will.”

Roman sighed.

“Feeling any better?”

“Immensely. Thank you, Patton.”

“Of course, kiddo. If you ever want to talk, you can always come to little ol’ me.” Patton pulled back to let him get up if he wanted, but Roman made no move to do so.

“I, um, I really appreciate what you guys are doing for me.” He didn’t say that enough, Roman felt, as often as he did say it.

“I know,” Patton said gently. “It’s really not a bother.”

“I guess I didn’t really give Logan much of a choice,” Roman admitted, laughing slightly. “Showing up like that. I was quite a mess. Probably would’ve passed out on the sidewalk if he hadn’t let me in.”

“Well… he didn’t have to help,” Patton shrugged. “Letting you stay wasn’t just out of some moral obligation or whatever. He has a heart; it’s just that he seems a bit stiff sometimes to people who don’t know him as well as I do.”

“Oh—I know, Pat, of course. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s okay. I know you two didn’t used to get along so well.”

Roman hesitated. Patton certainly wasn’t wrong about that. Finally, he cleared his throat.

“He said he let me stay because of you, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He said that he saw me and was reminded of you. I don’t know why, exactly; I’m certainly not the same… soft little puffball you are,” Roman said, smiling uncertainly. He hoped Patton wouldn’t be offended by that assessment of his character. Thankfully, Patton didn’t seem to mind.

There was a short pause.

“I used to be homeless,” Patton said quietly. “As a teenager.”

“I know,” Roman admitted. “Logan told me.”

Patton nodded. “I figured. How much did he tell you?”

“Not a lot,” he was quick to assure. “Just that you were, you know, and some stuff about that lady who helped you and your mom.”

Patton sighed, looking thoughtful. “It was hard,” he admitted. “We were in a shelter most of the time, but it was still hard. For a while I thought they were going to try to take me away from her. That was scary.”

Roman nodded understandingly.

“We made it through, though. Both of us did,” he continued, smiling at Roman. “And now here we are.”

“Here we are,” Roman couldn’t help but agree.

“Hey, Ro, since we’re on the topic already… Can I ask you something?” Patton asked. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards briefly. “Another thing, I mean.”

“Um… I suppose so.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to answer, kiddo. I don’t mind.” He took a breath. “But… how did you become homeless? Logan said that you were some kind of big theatre star in high school, that you were talking about a big scholarship you’d gotten from some fancy school; and then you just disappeared. I’m just a bit confused about what happened, if that’s okay?”

As soon as Roman realized what Patton was going to ask, a cold feeling spread through him. He was silent for a long time. He wasn’t sure that he really wanted to get into all of that right now. Not only did the thought of sharing that make him hesitate, but he also wasn’t sure how he felt about Logan talking about his high school self with Patton; he wasn’t that guy anymore, not really. He supposed it made sense that Patton would want to know more about the random homeless guy who’d started living with him, to be sure they hadn’t let in some criminal or amoral parasite or some other unsavory ne’er-do-well; and perhaps Patton and Logan especially had a right to know what had happened; but the idea still made him uncomfortable. Was it just because he didn’t like being talked about behind his back? Was he bitter that things didn’t turn out how they were supposed to? Or was it just out of regret for his mistakes, in what had happened and in how he had treated Logan?

The silence stretched on.

“Do I have to talk about it right now?” he finally asked, his voice cracking.

“Nope! We can drop it right now,” Patton said, to Roman’s surprise. “Forget I asked.” He rubbed Roman’s shoulder reassuringly. “How about we do something else? Just sitting here worrying about tomorrow won’t help anything.”

Roman smiled in relief.

…

They heard the door opening about an hour later. The clacking footsteps on the floor told Roman that the newcomer was Val, unless Logan had recently taken up wearing heels.

“Hi, Val!” Patton called out, having made the same deduction, barely breaking focus to do so as he sifted through a pile of bits of cardboard.

He and Roman were sitting on either side of the coffee table, working on a large jigsaw puzzle. Most of the edges were in place, as well as a few clusters of the middle.

“Hello,” Valerie said, stepping into the room. She didn’t advance much past the doorway. “What puzzle is that?”

“It’s called…” Roman picked up the box, “Raining Cats and Dogs.”

“Sounds accurate,” Val commented, studying what they had completed so far.

She and Roman had been getting along more amicably lately, although things were still rather awkward. Roman could tell that she was trying, though; and it wasn’t as if he didn’t understand why she hadn’t wanted him in her house. It meant a lot to him that she was giving him a chance.

But actually talking to her? That was still difficult.

“How was work?” Patton asked. He snapped a puzzle piece into place, then looked up at her with a smile.

“It was fine—,” she started to say, only to be cut off as Patton hopped up and hugged her. She sighed, patting his back a couple of times. She glanced towards Roman, still in Patton’s arms. After a second, she asked, “You start your job tomorrow, right?”

Roman’s little smile slipped slightly. “Yeah.”

“Well, good luck.”

Patton pulled back. “He’s gonna do great, I know it.”

Roman rubbed the back of his neck.

Patton clapped his hands together. “Anyway, should we start dinner, soon? Logan should be home any minute.”

“I’ll help,” Roman said immediately, getting to his feet. Val glanced at him, but she just shrugged and walked back towards the kitchen with Patton. Roman followed after.

They got started on dinner, which consisted of roasted red potatoes and baked chicken. Patton didn’t eat meat, so they made a vegetarian version for him.

“So, do you and Logan do puzzles often?” Roman asked as he cut the last few potatoes.

Val, who had just put the chicken in the oven, snorted. Roman paused, confused.

Patton let out a giggle. “Actually, Logan’s not allowed to help me with puzzles.”

Roman, of course, only became more confused at this response. “Why not?” he asked, returning to his potatoes.

“You’ve never seen him do a puzzle,” Val guessed. She sounded amused.

“…No? Am I missing something here?”

Patton was grinning. “We have to make Logan do one when he gets back.”

“Well, clearly,” Val agreed. She had a mischievous glint in her eyes that Roman had never seen before.

Roman raised an eyebrow, regarding them both suspiciously. What’s going on? he wondered. Should I be worried about this?

Before he could ask, the door opened, catching everyone’s attention. That had to have been Logan arriving. Patton bounced off to greet his boyfriend first. Val turned back to the oven, and Roman grabbed the roll of aluminum foil to cover the dish of potatoes with.

Patton and Logan came back arm-in-arm, Logan’s cheeks slightly flushed, and Patton looking very pleased with himself.

“Thank you all for starting dinner,” Logan said, turning to hug his sister. He offered Roman a polite nod. “Work kept me late.”

“What happened?” Val asked. “Anything interesting?”

Logan sighed a world-weary sigh. “There was this woman—a “Karen”, my colleague called her, if I remember correctly—She wanted every single book we had about the ‘rudabagel’.” He shook his head, seeming mystified. “She was very resistant when I suggested that she might have been thinking about the rutabaga, but my colleague eventually got her to finally accept a book on root vegetables, I believe, and a baking cookbook, as a compromise.”

“I’d like to see her face when her ‘rudabagel’ isn’t there,” Val commented.

“What even is a rutabaga?” Roman asked.

Logan sighed again, and Patton covered his mouth to stifle his giggles.

…

They sat down together for dinner. Roman, Logan, and Val all enjoyed their chicken. Roman looked suspiciously at the tofu-based concoction that had replaced it for Patton’s main dish, like he expected it to be poisonous or some kind of wet cardboard masquerading as food, but Patton seemed pretty happy with it; so it was probably fine.

The potatoes had turned out pretty well, if Roman did say so himself. Granted, roasting some potatoes in the oven was pretty simple, but he’d cut and seasoned them all! Let him live. Roman speared one of them on his fork.

“Were you serious?”

Roman looked up, confused, to see Logan regarding him thoughtfully.

“What?”

“About the rutabaga. Were you seriously asking what it is? I surmised that it was likely a joke, but I also frown upon denying anyone seeking knowledge.”

“Oh—oh, uh,” Roman stammered, a bit taken aback. “It was mostly a joke, I suppose. I know it’s a vegetable, right? But it’s not like I’ve ever seen one, that I know of.”

“In that case,” Logan said, straightening his tie; and Roman realized that that was definitely the Teacher Voice that Logan had used to use as the dramaturg of their theater productions in high school, “allow me to describe it to you.” Oh no. Roman didn’t sign up for this. But it was too late: Logan’s switch had officially been flipped to Teacher Mode.

“The rutabaga is a root vegetable with origins in Scandinavia and Russia, resulting from a cross between the turnip and the cabbage—”

“Really?” Val wondered aloud. “Why would you cross those in the first place? You don’t even eat the same part of the plant.”

“Please do not interrupt,” Logan requested.

Val smirked and mimed locking her mouth shut and throwing away the key. Patton pretended to fumble to catch it, grinning.

“As I was saying,” Logan said, “The rutabaga is a cross between the turnip and the cabbage plant, most likely accidental or spontaneous.”

Val nodded, her question answered.

“For many years, the rutabaga was often carved in much the same way we would carve a pumpkin for Halloween nowadays. In some regions it is also called the ‘swede’, the ‘neep’, or my personal favorite, the ‘snagger’. Although, interestingly, the name ‘rutabaga’ comes from Swedish, literally meaning ‘root lump’. It was introduced—"

“Okay, honey,” Patton said, pawing in Logan’s direction. “I think that’s enough for now. Your dinner’ll get cold.”

Logan broke off, blinking. “Right,” he said, looking down at his chicken and potatoes. “Apologies for the tangent.”

“Don’t worry about it, nerd,” Roman assured, grinning. He hadn’t seen Logan go full-on-nerd in years. Usually it was annoying, but he had to admit now that it was rather funny, too.

“You can tell me more about it later, okay?” Patton assured his boyfriend. Logan, still looking at his plate, smiled slightly. It was, objectively speaking, adorable. (Roman, however, would have denied this to his dying day.)

“Why do you even know all that stuff? You’re not a botanist,” Roman asked.

“Well,” Logan admitted thoughtfully. “I may have done some quick reading of my own, just as a refresher out of spite for the ignorance of that ‘Karen’ today.” He did actual finger quotes around the name ‘Karen’.

Learning out of spite just might be the most ‘Logan’ thing I’ve ever heard, Roman thought, amused. He didn’t say that, though, and instead just shook his head and went back to his food.

…

By the time dinner was over, Roman had almost forgotten about the plan to have Logan do a puzzle, but as soon as Logan got up to clear his plate, Patton started bouncing in his seat.

“Oh! Oh—sweetie, before I forget. Roman hasn’t seen you do a puzzle before! You have to do one tonight, so he can see.”

Logan paused, then turned to look in Roman’s direction, who froze, having been about to put a chunk of chicken in his mouth. There was a glint in Logan’s eye. “Do I, now?”

And so, five minutes later, Roman found himself sitting on the living room floor along with Logan and Val, the sofa and coffee table pushed off to the side. Roman was a bit surprised that Logan had agreed to sit on the floor—germs and all—but he supposed that if anyone’s floor was clean, it would be Logan’s. He vacuumed every day. Every day. You could probably eat off of the carpet, assuming Logan didn’t kill you for getting food on it.

Patton came in with a new puzzle box—1000 pieces, he noticed, twice that of Patton’s and Roman’s puzzle—and a stopwatch in hand. He handed the cover of the box to Logan, who studied the design for about two minutes.

He handed it back with a nod, ready.

Patton turned and grinned at Roman, looking almost manic with glee. Roman felt his eyebrows shoot up. Patton’s grin only widened as he hit the ‘start’ button on the timer and dumped all of the puzzle pieces on the floor in a cascade of colors.

…

Twenty-seven minutes and fifteen seconds.

Logan put together a 1000-piece puzzle in twenty-seven minutes and fifteen seconds.

At first, Roman hadn’t seen what the big deal was. So, Logan had started flipping over all the pieces so that they were right side up, so what? That was what everyone did—either that or collect all the edge pieces. He didn’t understand the grins on Patton’s and Val’s faces as they settled near him to watch the show, or the glint in Logan’s eyes.

But then Logan, upon having all the pieces set out and right side up, started assembling the puzzle. He moved rapid-fire, snatching up pieces and snapping them into place. Watching him, Roman’s mouth fell open. He started in one corner, quickly working his way up the sides, through the center, and to the opposite corner. Like he could just visualize where all of the pieces went. He even made it look easy; the nerd hadn’t looked rushed at all. Roman wondered how fast he could go when he really was trying to put it together as fast as he could. Patton was bouncing up and down the whole time, cheering on his boyfriend. Val also looked highly amused, but she was clearly long used to these kinds of antics.

When the puzzle was finished, Patton let out a loud cheer and announced how much time had passed. Val just smiled, and Logan sat back, straightening his tie. Everyone looked at Roman.

Roman sat in a stunned silence for a solid minute after Patton read out the time.

“Um, yeah,” he finally squeaked. “I can see why you don’t let him do puzzles with you.”

…

Patton and Roman sat together on one side of the coffee table, finishing their own puzzle at what seemed like a glacial pace compared to Logan’ earlier display. It was getting rather late, and Roman found himself yawning. Patton, at his side, kept rubbing at his eyes as he picked through the remaining pieces.

“You’re really good at distracting people,” Roman mumbled, snapping a piece into place. A cartoon dalmatian took shape, grinning up at them as it swung down from the sky with a red umbrella.

Patton smiled slightly, humming. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right… Thanks anyway.”

Patton paused to check the time on his phone. “We should probably go to bed soon,” he said.

“We only have like a dozen more pieces,” Roman pointed out. Truthfully, they had more like twenty; but this close to the end of the puzzle, that wasn’t a lot. They were putting them in place pretty quickly.

“Well… okay. We’ll finish the puzzle and then, bed! Can’t have you falling asleep at work tomorrow morning, can we?”

“Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty of coffee around to wake me back up,” Roman joked.

…

Roman was really glad that Logan had shown him how to work the alarm clock in the guest room. There was no way that he would have woken up in time for his 6am shift without it.

Even with the alarm clock, he very nearly fell back asleep; but he caught himself just in time and forced himself to get up. That was close, he thought, mildly horrified. Unfortunately, if he had fallen asleep, no one would have known until at least an hour later, when Logan would get up. Patton, who had a few weeks off before his classes resumed, had offered to drive him to work today; but Roman could walk the distance pretty easily; and he didn’t want to make Patton get up so early just for that. Patton hadn’t seemed happy about it, based on his impressive pouty face, but he’d respected Roman’s wishes.

So Roman was on his own to get himself to work this morning.

Roman showered, brushed his teeth, got dressed for the day, and grabbed a banana (it had a post-it note with a poorly drawn heart stuck to it, probably from Patton). Within fifteen minutes, he was ready to walk out the door. Logan’s second spare house key was in his pocket along with a slip of paper with Logan’s and Patton’s cell numbers written on it, just in case Roman needed to contact them. Not that Roman actually had a phone (his had stopped working some time ago and hadn’t had service anyway); but they assumed that there would be one he could use at the café.

Roman set a brisk pace and reached the Sanders Café in only fifteen minutes. He must have been going pretty fast, since he’d expected to get there in twenty. Probably nervous energy. Nervous excitement, he corrected himself silently.

As he approached the building, Roman could see a figure moving within the café itself. He opened the door that he’d been told would be unlocked, pleased to find that this was indeed the case—he’d have hated to make a fool out of himself right off the bat by trying to open a locked door. Roman stepped inside and straightened his back, striding forwards with his most charming smile.

“Ah, hello! I’m Roman; I’m the new hire starting today,” he announced with a confidence he did not quite feel, but which he would readily fake.

The other worker jumped slightly, nearly dropping the broom he held in his hands. They had probably not expected such a grand entrance, poor thing. They regained their composure and turned to face Roman, leaning casually on the broom handle.

“Oh,” he simply said, as if Roman were an unexpected but not necessarily welcome arrival, although he had surely known that Roman was coming. Roman looked the figure in front of him up and down, admittedly a little surprised himself.

The young man in front of him looked like he had never moved past his middle school emo phase. He was incredibly pale, his makeup and dark clothes only accentuating this fact. Most of his hair was dyed black, the bangs a pastel purple. He had half-centimeter black gauges in his earlobes, in addition to various other piercings in his nose, eyebrow, and the cartilage of one ear. He had on a black long-sleeve shirt under his uniform shirt even in summer, and when he walked around to the other side of the counter, Roman saw that he had on ripped-up black jeans, combat boots, and silver-painted fingernails. If Roman had to guess, he’d say he was about Patton’s age. Maybe a little younger. It was hard to tell, what with all the makeup.

The man in question raised an eyebrow at Roman, who realized with a jolt that he had definitely been staring. No one had the right to look that sassy just by raising an eyebrow, but this man did it with ease.

What a great way to start his new job.

“So, you must be Roman,” the young man drawled, as if Roman hadn’t already introduced himself. He didn’t offer his own name, Roman noticed. “Come on, I’ve got your uniform back here.” He turned and headed into the back room, waving lackadaisically for Roman to follow. Roman did, after a short hesitation. Hopefully this Emo Nightmare wasn’t trying to lure him into some kind of dungeon back there. Was this really who he was going to be working with?

In the back room, the young man put the broom away and then thrust a bundle of fabric into his hands. Roman shook it out and held up the uniform shirt quizzically. It looked a couple of sizes too big.

“Can I get this in a smaller size?” he asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

“Nope,” his young coworker—Terrence, his name tag said—answered, popping the ‘p’. “Don’t worry, nobody lasts long here anyway.”

What the heck was that supposed to mean?

Terrence(?) flicked something else at Roman, who caught it against his chest. “Here’s your fancy new name tag. Don’t lose it, or I’ll steal it for my collection. No returns or exchanges.”

What?

Roman was getting more and more confused by the minute. “Is Bradley here?” he asked.

“Dude, Bradley comes here like once a month, if that. He’s got like ten of these cafés across the state. He does the interviews, but that’s about it. He prefers his cushy office.”

“So, what, we don’t have a manager?”

“Bradley’s the owner. Our manager is Thomas. He’ll probably show up later to meet you, but he usually doesn’t come in on Mondays unless he has to.”

“Oh—okay.”

Terrence rolled his eyes, grabbing a pair of aprons. “Come on, then, I guess; we’ve gotta open.”

“Wait, wait, just like that? You’re not even going to show me how any of this stuff works?”

“Do you not know how to put coffee in a cup?”

Roman huffed indignantly and glanced at the machines behind the counter, which looked way too complex for being fancy coffee-makers. He was admittedly apprehensive. “I’m just not… familiar with this equipment.”

Terrence sighed like Roman had just ruined his whole day. “Alright, just go on the register then. Do you at least know how those work?”

“Yes!” Roman was relieved to say, even if he was getting more annoyed by the second.

“Good. Go on, then.” Terrence tossed an apron at him and made a shooing motion.

…

Overall, it wasn’t as bad as Roman had started to fear it would be. Most of the people who came in in the early hours of that first day were too preoccupied with their cell phones or how tired they were to pay Roman any mind as he punched in their drink orders. Some of them were rather impatient, but Roman just chalked that up to pre-caffeination grumpiness. Perfectly understandable; he’d been the same way in high school.

Terrence—or maybe not actually Terrence, seeing as he switched his name tag to one that read ‘Enrique’ halfway through their shift—was the one actually putting together the drinks. Twice that day he got one small step of a very complicated drink order wrong, bemoaned his existence, and had to start over. One perk of this was that they couldn’t sell those drinks, so the two workers got to have them instead. Terrence or Enrique or whatever his real name was had given the first drink to Roman, claiming that decaf was “a mortal sin.” Roman wasn’t complaining, but he got the idea that his coworker’s second mistake, which happened only about ten minutes later, might not have actually been an accident. He looked rather pleased with himself, sipping his free cappuccino during a brief respite from the crowd of coffee-seekers at the counter.

Two hours before their shift ended, Roman had gotten to meet the manager, who luckily arrived during another lull in customers. He hadn’t realized who the man was at first: he just wore a flower print t-shirt and jeans, not a uniform, and he didn’t wear a name tag. Roman was understandably confused, therefore, when he had strolled right up to the register, waited for the woman currently paying to leave, and then smiled at the bewildered barista like they were old friends.

“You must be Roman!” he said, grinning.

“Um… yes?” Roman replied awkwardly, a little alarmed at this stranger knowing his name. He knew he was wearing a name tag, but this guy had never looked at it.

“Oh—right, sorry, I’m Thomas, the manager.” Thomas turned to grin at the other barista, who offered him a peace sign and a duck of the head as he worked on putting together some kind of elaborate frappe. He looked almost shy. Roman wondered if it was just for show.

“Oh, oh, of course,” Roman quickly said as the manager turned back towards him. “He—uh,” Roman still didn’t know his coworker’s name— “He mentioned that you would be coming. Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting….”

“Me?” Thomas asked. Roman was briefly mortified at his own phrasing, but Thomas was smiling, looking amused. “That’s alright. I actually have today off! Just thought I’d stop by to check in. How is everything so far?”

“It’s…” Don’t overact, Roman. “It’s fine.” He’d almost said something more grandiose, before he remembered the awkward moment at the dinner with Val a week before when he’d made himself look like a fool doing much the same thing, acting like a teenager in his first high school play. He didn’t need to repeat that.

“Well, that’s good, I suppose. Getting along all right with our thundercloud over there?”

“Thomas,” said thundercloud whined from where he was handing a bored teenager their drink.

“Yeah, he’s alright,” Roman said. He wished the guy would talk to him more, and not act like Roman would be gone within the week; but it could have been worse. Plus, he wasn’t exactly about to bad-mouth his coworker on the first day. Roman wasn’t an idiot.

“Oh, that’s good!” Thomas glanced over his shoulder as the bell over the door chimed, a group of people all making their way into the café. “Well, I should let you two go. Nice to meet you, Roman.” He then reached forward and shook Roman’s hand, waved to the other barista, and left the shop, greeting the new customers along the way.

...

“Is it always that busy?” Roman asked, hanging up his apron in the back at the end of their shift. Their replacements, a pair of high schoolers, were already at work at the counter. It wasn’t nearly as busy now, being the afternoon, but a few people were in the café studying.

“Hm?” his coworker asked, clearly not having expected Roman to talk to him. “Um… Yeah, I guess,” he begrudgingly admitted, scratching at some stubble on his chin with chipped silver-painted nails. “On weekdays, at least. Monday mornings are the worst, though.”

Well, that was a relief. That meant that the hardest day of the week was already over with.

“See you tomorrow?” Roman asked. His coworker was already halfway out the door.

“Yeah, whatever, Princey.”

“Princey?”

The other young man paused, glancing back. “You look like a Princey. Deal with it.”

Well, okay. Apparently Roman was Princey now. He was still a bit bewildered, but he decided not to fight it. There were worse nicknames.

As Roman walked home that afternoon, he couldn’t help but think about his new coworker. He was… something else, it seemed. Roman would have to figure him out, like putting together a complicated puzzle. Perhaps he wasn’t as freakishly good at those as Logan, but he’d make friends with the guy—he was determined to, if for no other reason than to make sure working at the café didn’t turn into a nightmare.

The first step, he supposed, was to find out his name.

…

When Roman got home, Patton was waiting for him, jumping up and down just past the doorway.

“Oh—Patton, how long have you been standing here?” he asked, bewildered, as Patton all but tackle-hugged him.

“Not long,” Patton assured, his voice muffled. He pulled back and smiled. “How did it go? Did you have fun?”

Roman let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, Patton, it was alright. I didn’t spill any coffee on myself, so I’d call that a win.”

“What about the person you work with? Are they nice?

“Uh….” Roman made a high-pitched, not-exactly-a-yes sort of sound. “He’s… something. I don’t know him that well yet, I guess. He might’ve been having a bad day.”

“Oh,” Patton said, his expression falling slightly.

“I did meet the manager, though. He stopped by to say hi. He’s basically a human ray of sunshine.”

Patton’s grin returned. “Well, that’s good!” He stepped back. “Want to go sit down? I can make you a snack.”

“Yes, please,” Roman sighed. He’d been on his feet since five-thirty in the morning, after all.

They walked into the kitchen, Patton continuing to ask eager questions about Roman’s new job.

…

That evening, Roman, Patton and Logan were sitting together in the living room. Valerie wasn’t home yet, out with friends somewhere. Logan was reading while Patton colored in a coloring book. Roman was theoretically watching the television, but really he was just sitting there, listening to the scratch of Patton’s colored pencils and the occasional, almost rhythmic turn of pages in Logan’s book. He was thinking, debating with himself.

Finally, he cleared his throat. Patton’s colored pencils paused and Logan glanced up at him before he turned the page in his book.

“Hey, guys…” Roman started awkwardly. As Patton and Logan both turned to watch him, Roman felt as if a spotlight had been suddenly shone upon him. “So, I’ve been thinking, and… you two have been really, so incredibly kind to me. And I’m—I’m so grateful for that. But… it really isn’t fair of me not to tell you… why I was homeless. You deserve to know. So, um, if you guys still want to know, I’m ready to tell you.”

The two men’s reactions to this offer were quite different from each other. Logan simply regarded him with an unreadable expression, fitting a bookmark into his book and closing it. Patton, meanwhile, quickly set his coloring book and pencils to the side. “Oh, Roman, you don’t have to do that; I wasn’t trying to push you.”

“No—it’s okay. You guys deserve to know. Is—is now an okay time?” He sure hoped it was. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to summon the courage again.

Patton’s eyes were soft as he nodded. Logan’s expectant look was enough of an answer from him.

So, Roman took a deep breath, in and out, to ready himself. And he told them.

[lovelyhuntrcss]

Ro Intro

〔BARBIE FERREIRA, TWENTY, CIS FEMALE,〕╰ ROSÀLIA “RO” CARVALHO just came over half - blood hill . you know , the CHILD OF APHRODITE / HUNTER OF ARTEMIS who was claimed FOUR years ago ? i've heard chiron say that she is INTELLIGENT & RESOURCEFUL , but if you ask the aphrodite kids , they'd say they're SARCASTIC & CLOSED OFF. i'd say they remind me of finding ones self, leather jackets, silver combat books, self love, disappointed looks from parents, a confident smile , especially since they're FOR THE NEW CABINS .

basics .

name : Rosàlia Carvalho.

nicknames : Ro

birth date : April 14, 2000.

gender : female .

pronouns : she/her .

ethnicity : Brazilian

nationality : American

hometown : New York, New York

demigod abilities : .Eternal Youth, Archery expertise, enhanced physical prowess, zoolingualism

cabin number & godly parent : Cabin 8, since she is a hunter of Artemis, but her godly parent is Aphrodite.

how did their godly parent meet their mortal parent?

Raúl Carvalho was a Brazilian fashion designer from New York. He was in France, the city of Love, for an internship with some top of the line designer. There was a model there named Amorette, who was beautiful, and Raúl found himself enraptured. 9 months later, outside his New York City Apartment, was a baby girl, no note, nothing.

Family Life: (tw: mention of fat shaming)

- Ro is Raúl’s only child and his model, so because of this, he didn’t want her to be “poisoned” by child/teenage nonsense. She was home schooled her entire life, and rarely went out, besides things her dad dragged her too.

- he often made comments about her weight, telling her she needed to be thinner and tried to often make her go on diets so she could “look better”.

- She doesn’t like her dad, and hasn’t spoken to him since joining the hunters.

- She left her father after a monster attack during a small photo shoot. Apparently, the photographer was a saytr and brought her to camp.

- When anyone brings up her father, she gets angry and ignores the subject. Most people who know her know not to bring him up.

muse appearance .

faceclaim : Barbie Ferreira .

height : 5’6”

hair colour : dark brown .

eye colour : black.

dominant hand : she is ambidextrous.

distinguishing features : She has a tattoo of a dragon on her upper arm.

dress style : She dresses in a comfortable grunge fashion. Lots of flannels, jeans, and either converse of boots. She spent too much of her life all dressed up, that now she likes to tone it down.

Camp related

go - to weapon : Her Bow and Arrow.

ambrosia : like a good cup of coffee, her favorite drink in the world.

favourite camp location : the arena or the woods. She spends a lot of time at the arena but feels peaceful in the woods.

their opinion of their godly parent : Okay so she doesn’t really like Aphrodite. She doesn’t really know her mom, like she has never met her, and her dad rarely talked about her. She definetely doesn’t like the expectations that got placed on her because Aphrodite was her mother. Now she sees Artemis as kind of that big sister/ motherly role, and she really respects Artemis, and values her opinion.

age they were claimed : She was claimed when she was 16, a couple months after she arrived at camp. how they were claimed : it wasn’t anything fancy really. She had been at camp for a couple months, chilling in the Hermes cabin when it happened. If she was being honest she wished it hadn’t.

stance on the new cabins : she is for the new cabins.

reason for their stance : She doesn’t believe that anyone should ever be made to feel like they don’t belong.

their opinion on lyssa pentelute : A lot of curse words is the first thing that comes to mind. She doesn’t like her what so ever, and wishes she would just leave everyone alone.

quests : She has gone on 2, a quick and easy one about 10 months after arriving at camp, pre becoming a hunter, and one after.

personality .

positive traits : Intelligent, Cunning, Resourceful, Bold, Courageous, Funny

negative traits : Closed off, Untrusting, Argumentative, Aggressive, Sarcastic, Snarky

- Ro tries to use humor to cover her nerves and insecurities. She is loud and proud, but find that humor is better than facing the things she still does not love about herself.

- she is very closed off with people she doesn’t know, and is very skeptical of people’s intentions. She seems to be a completely different person once she is around her friends.

- most of her life people have expected her to be something she wasn’t. She tried so hard to be what they wanted but fell short each time. Now she doesn’t try to anymore. If you don’t like her, she could care less. She likes her and that’s all that matters to her.

mbti : isfp-t The Adventurer

alignment : chaotic good

hogwarts house : gryffindor

kinsey scale : X. She has no interest in any form of relationship, sexual or romantic, and she is good with that. .

archetype : persona: The Joker, self: The Hero.

what candle scent are they : watermelon lemonade

goals & desires : Ro desires to be the best hunter she can be. She also desires for her dad to accept her for who she is, and to love her even though she isn’t what he wanted.

fears : she fears being rejected from the hunters, she fears going back to what her life once. She is scared of loosing herself. .

hobbies : she enjoys practicing with her bow and arrow. She likes to read. She likes to hang out with the other hunters. When she is really bored she likes to go to the woods and just explore, getting lost is half the fun.

habits : Some of Ro’s habits are nail biting, she wears a black rubber ring that she messes with when nervous or bored, like a stress ball. She has a bad habit of talking with her mouth full.

Wanted connections

- someone who came to her for romance advice, before she joined the hunters. She gave them really horrible advice, and this person is still pissed at her for how it ended.

- old friends. People that she met at camp when she first arrived, and each time she returns she always makes sure to catch up with.

- annoyances. She gets annoyed very easily, and is likely to get pissed. These people know how to push her buttons.

- unwanted attention. Someone that just won’t leave her alone, who keeps trying to talk to her.

- Quest buddies - people who either went on her first or second quest with her.

- nightly strollers. Whenever she is at camp, she likes to walk the edge of the woods before going to bed. She always seems to be joined by this person, they don’t always talk, but she doesn’t mind their company.

- ride or die. Her best friends. She would literally die for these people. They don’t have to be hunters.

[crayolacrayonhalloweenpacks]

Lo Stesso Tempo

Summary: Logan Berry and Roman Gold are equally ambitious and skilled pianists. Unfortunately, those ambitions are not necessarily compatible. Competition ensues.

Words: 6045

Notes: Alrighty! This is my first Sanders Sides fic, and the first fic I've ever posted in a public space, so please don't murder me if they're super out-of-character or some parts are super rushed or whatever. (Which they are, lmao.) But I really enjoyed writing this, so I decided to post it anyway, because that's the only way to ~grow~ and whatnot. Have a nice day! :)

Read on: Archive of Our Own, Wattpad

Ms. Anne Berry had always wanted to be a musician, and when she grew up without achieving her aspirations, turned to trying to raise one. In her childhood daydreams, she entered a shining hall, hung with crystal chandeliers and gold sconces. A stage was set before a sea of black velvet chairs, upon which hundreds of elegant aristocrats sat on the edge of their seats in anticipation. On the stage was a sleek black grand piano. She walked out to ear-splitting applause and cheering, but the audience hushed immediately, eager to watch the virtuoso at work, when she placed her hands upon the keys. Those dreams turned to dust as she aged. She attended law school, became an attorney, worked so tirelessly she never had time for music. In her new dreams, the baby in her womb grew up to play sold-out shows in those beautiful halls to hordes of admirers in her stead, so that she could at least be at peace with her former ambitions.

In that spirit, she had selected a wonderful name to encourage her future child’s musical inclination. It that of many great composers, graceful, and refined. Clunky, awkward, unexceptional Logan was not the name she would have chosen for her child, but her husband insisted on it. The Berrys had been bickering over this since they found out she was pregnant. It was practically routine.

Ms. Berry would list off notable musicians who bore her chosen name. (“All I’m saying is that it has a fantastic musical significance.”)

Mr. Berry would argue for his family’s honor. (“And Logan has a wonderful familial significance. My grandfather was a--”)

She would dismiss this argument every time but the first. (“Yes, yes,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You’ve given me your little spiel already.)

He would point out what an absurd name it was. (“We cannot name our son Johann.”

“And why not?”

“Are you kidding? You’re going to get him bullied!”

“Johann is an excellent name. No one in their right mind would mock it.” “They’re kids!” Mr. Berry threw up his hands. “None of them are in their right minds!”)

Then the two would stalk off to their respective ends of the house and not speak to each other until dinner, upon which they would smile and nod politely as if nothing had happened.

~

The Golds went grocery shopping every week, just a walk to the store with a list of items they had to buy. Roman was in charge of keeping track of what they had in the cart. Tomatoes, check, chicken, check. He pointed out that it would be much easier to lug the bags back home if they took the car and didn’t have to carry all the bags, but his mama insisted it was barely half a mile, and besides, they had to get their steps in somehow.

It was a path they’d tread many times before, but this time, there was something unfamiliar in the way. Well, not in the way. Even though it was on the sidewalk, it was pushed near the entrance of the nearest shop, leaving a wide berth for pedestrians to pass by. It was new, nonetheless. Roman jabbed his mama’s arm. “Look!”

She glanced down, amused. “Yes?”

“Why is there a piano on the road?” He had only ever seen them in movies. They were huge, glossy black, and, according to his moms, expensive, so even though this one was brown wood and hardly in mint condition, he couldn’t fathom why it would be left out in the elements.

“It’s a public piano, darling,” explained his other mom. “There’s a music shop right here,” she said, pointing to a sign reading SANDERS MUSIC. “They’re probably the ones who put it out here. People just put them out in the open so anyone can play them.”

“Anyone?”

"Yes, anyone. Do you want to play?”

Roman’s eyes lit up. “Yeah!” He plopped down on the bench and pressed down on a key. Roman’s breath hitched. He pressed it again, just to listen to that sound. It sang out over the street like sunlight, bright and brassy and warm. He looked up at his moms.

His mama smiled. “Go on.”

He plunked the key below it, and then the one below that. His head shot up, and he replayed the keys, stuttering his way through “Mary Had a Little Lamb”. “Look, mom!”

“Lovely, Ro,” his mom said, ruffling his hair. He beamed.

"Hey, that was pretty neat!” A brunet man with multiple black cases strapped to his back and dangling off his arms jogged up to them. “You’re a natural.”

Roman rolled the word over in his head in delight. He was a natural. “Thank you!”

“Of course!” He held out a hand to his moms. “I’m Thomas. I own the shop.” His mom shook his hand. “The piano was a new idea my friend pitched, and I wasn’t sure about it at first, but it’s really been a hit so far!”

Roman jumped up from the bench. “You own the store?”

“Yep! Family business.”

“Mama, can we get a piano?”

She chuckled softly. “Honey, those are expensive.”

“How expensive? I have a lot of money saved.”

His mom smiled sadly. “A lot more than what’s in your piggy bank.”

"But I wanna learn!”

His mom flushed red and turned away from Thomas. “Those are expensive too, darling,” she explained.

Roman’s eyes stung. “How much--”

“A lot more than we can afford.”

Thomas cleared his throat. “Your moms are right,” he said when they looked over. “Lessons and pianos cost a lot of money. It’s not a decision to be made lightly. But,” he continued quickly when Roman’s face fell, “I teach group piano lessons at most schools in this area. If you want to go to our school for details, they can give you a registration form. Most are held after school hours, but it’s completely free.”

“Can I go?” Roman pleaded. “Please?”

“I don’t know--” his mom began.

His mama shushed her. “I think we’ll be doing that soon,” she said brightly. “Thank you so much for the information, Mr. Sanders.”

“Of course. Always happy to help.”

“Thank you.” His mom nodded after a moment, then took Roman with one hand and her wife with the other. “Let’s go get some bread, huh?”

Roman skipped all the way to the supermarket and back. He couldn’t wait for school to start.

~

There was a specific story his mom particularly enjoyed telling, and would to anyone who would listen, from relatives at dinner to total strangers in the audience. As she told it, while pregnant, she had purchased a CD of classical music off a website that proclaimed the amazing effects of prenatal musical immersion on later intelligence and academic performance. She played it daily against her belly. A few months later, Logan Johann Berry was born, and at the ripe young age of six, he began playing the piano, beginning his transformation into the gifted musician he was today.

His mom liked to leave out the part when every major news source in the country debunked the website’s claim and she was delivered a ten-dollar refund alongside a note of apology. Once, Logan had chimed in with this fact while his mother told the story to an audience member at one of his recitals and received nervous laughter and a death glare in return. He never attempted it again after the incident. He supposed it somewhat diminished the dramatic effect of the story.

Regardless, it was at this age, during the lesson, that he met Roman. His mother had enrolled him in the after-school program’s piano lessons as soon as she heard. The teacher, Mr. Sanders, had left briefly for the restroom. Before he left, he instructed them to practice playing a C scale using the method they learned--tucking under their thumbs to play F. Logan had already mastered this technique, but supposed a bit of practice couldn’t hurt.

Out of curiosity, he glanced over to the child seated in the middle of the bench and frowned. He had decided to play the first five notes with his left hand and the last three with his right, going against Mr. Sanders’s explicit instructions. “Hey,” he said, “You’re doing it wrong.”

The boy glanced over at him, shrugged, and played the scale again.

"No, like this,” he supplied helpfully, giving a short demonstration. C, D, E, tuck, F.

The other shrugged again.

Irritation growing, he pointed out, “You can’t do it like that, it makes no sense.”

“Yeah it does.”

“No, it doesn’t. What if you wanted to play two different things? You’d need one hand for both.”

“Maybe I have four hands,” he contested.

“Hey, guys, maybe--” the boy on the other end of the bench interrupted.

“No, you don’t.”

“Don’t be mean--”

“How do you know? You’ve never seen them.”

“Because you can’t have four hands, that’s not how people work!”

“Please, can we--”

“Maybe I’m not a person, then! Ooooooooh!” he said, wiggling his fingers.“Maybe I’m an alien!”

“That’s not what aliens say, that’s ghosts--”

“Whoa, whoa, okay!” Mr. Sanders stood between them, holding out his hands cautiously. “Let’s break it up, alright?”

Logan looked down, picking at the keys. “Sorry,” he muttered, but his gut was still boiling. He was just trying to help.

“Mr. Sanders?”

“Yes, Roman?”

“Is this right?” And he proceeded to play the scale in his completely, totally, utterly, infuriatingly wrong way, topped off with a triumphant sneer at Logan when he finished it. That halfwit. Logan dug his nails into the bench.

Mr. Sanders’s face twisted. “Well. That was certainly…”

The two boys looked at him expectantly.

“Well. Hm. And how are you doing?” He turned his attention to the child on the other end of the bench.

Logan grumbled. He was right! And he was just trying to help! Why wouldn’t Roman, or Dolan, or Rolan, or whatever his name was just take his advice when he was clearly the correct one?

The lesson ended, and the three children filed out to be picked up by their parents. On the drive home, his mom asked, “So how was it?”

"Good--”

“How were the other kids? Did you do well?”

“Better than the other boy. He wasn’t doing it right, and he didn’t even listen when I tried to help him!”

“Oh, really?” His mom was more than happy to commiserate, seeming positively ecstatic at the news of his classmate’s failure.

~

Roman practically floated off the stage as the next act was announced, unable to keep the triumphant beam off his face. He had killed his rendition of the Moonlight Sonata, chosen specifically to outdo Logan, who was always being praised for the beauty of his pieces. Well, see him try to beat a piece so lovely it reminded a critic of “moonlight on Lake Lucerne”. His moms and Mr. Sanders had thought it was pretty, too--they were all smiles while he practiced it on the piano in the music shop. And the whole audience applauded a little more enthusiastically after his performance, too. Certainly more than they had for the parrot trainer and that kid who had just hula-hooped for ten minutes straight. So, admittedly, the bar was low. But that meant he had just set it higher--so high that Logan couldn’t even dream of touching it with the barest brush of his hands. Actually, maybe he’d gotten some of the notes wrong--he hadn’t had lessons since a few years ago, before the after-school program was discontinued--but no one would be able to tell unless they’d memorized the whole piece. He was satisfied. That talent show trophy was his.

The act was dismissed to dim applause--some kid with an instrument that looked like a giant violin? How weird--and Logan started heading to the stage. Roman clapped slowly, not bothering to stifle a sneer when Logan passed by his chair. What was going to upstage the Moonlight Sonata? His precious scales couldn’t help him now. The announcer told the audience the name of the piece he was playing, and Roman’s smirk widened. What on Earth was “Shoe-bert” and his impromptus? More like Snooze-bert.

Logan began playing and the audience fell silent. He laughed quietly, earning himself a jab in the ribs from his neighbor. This was Logan’s piece? It barely had anything beyond a basic melody! And there was so much repetition--had he learned anything beyond a couple lines? Anyone could play that. He leaned back in his chair. And here he’d thought he’d get more of a fight. Then, his eyes widened and he nearly fell off his seat.

What-- How was-- It couldn’t be. Was Logan playing a two-against-three rhythm? It was so difficult! Whenever Roman tried to do that, his right hand kept trying to catch up to his left and he would end up with a mess of ugly, clashing notes. Roman could never get that right. Never. But apparently Logan could. He ground his teeth. Before he knew it, Logan’s performance was over. He smirked back at Roman as he walked past.

Roman’s heart dropped even lower when the winner was announced. Hint: he got a participation award.

~

Roman was a high-school heartbreaker, although not in the traditional sense. At his last performance, he got the entire audience bawling into their neighbors’ shoulders. He played with incredible expression, drawing tears of joy and sorrow alike from his listeners, filling them with every emotion possible, from anger to flights of fanciful passion.When Logan played, people just clapped. He hated Roman for it, but there was a sliver of him--which he shoved safely into the back of his brain, because Mom always said he couldn’t afford distractions--that admired it. Logan’s strength was in technique. He had spent countless hours studying Czerny and Hanon, scribbling reminders on all of his pieces, drilling even the shortest measures ruthlessly if he felt there was the tiniest imperfection. It would have to be enough. It had to. There was only one pianist spot in the entire orchestra, and Logan was determined to claim it as his own. His mom had done nothing but encourage his hard work, and the look in her eyes when he told her he wanted to play for the orchestra was so bright he feared his whole world might go dark if it disappeared.

He happened to be directly after Roman in the audition order. Roman eyed him up and down as he approached. “What are you doing here, oper-awful?”

He rolled his eyes. “That makes no sense. I don’t even sing.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Auditioning, like you. Although, on second thought, hopefully nothing like you. I don’t want to play remotely like the guy who’s probably going to try to “Moonlight Sonata” the judges to death again.”

“Is that so, Moz-fart?”

“How juvenile.”

The doors swung open. The student who had just auditioned was smiling broadly until he saw the two death-glaring at each other. “Um. How are we?”

Roman sniffed haughtily. “Well, I’d better get in. Don’t want to be late.”

“Good luck!” the boy called. He turned to Logan as he walked down the hallway. “And to you too!”

Roman disappeared behind the double doors of the audition room, but not before Logan caught a glimpse of his piece. “Papillons.” A common nickname for one of Chopin’s etudes--a rather easy one, at that. Sure, choosing Chopin was playing to his strengths, but Logan thought he’d play something more difficult. Not that he was complaining.

He peered in through the window, and it was only then he realized that what Roman was playing looked nothing like the etude. His stomach twisted and he ducked away from the window. Of course it was the other Papillons--the notoriously difficult piece by Schumann, so difficult that some parts as short as a few measures were learned as separate pieces. Roman came out two minutes later. “How’s that for juvenile?” He brushed off his shoulder. Logan didn’t respond. “Good luck. You might need it.”

Logan lied to his mom for the rest of the year.

~

The New York State Musician’s Association’s annual charity recital was about the great cause they were fundraising for--bringing music education to more schools. And of course Roman cared about that! How could he not? Having a proper music education certainly would have helped in his endeavors as a pianist. However, it was undeniably also about victory, and glory, and basking in the light of the aforementioned. He, like every other reasonable musician in the room, was vying for the Junior Musician Recognition Award, the most prestigious music award for high school students in the tri-state area. The orchestra position was fantastic, as was passing the audition and performing at the recital, period and he was wholly glad he’d earned those opportunities. But this was something to finally prove his talent, the central gem in his crown of achievements. And the fact that he could lord it over Logan didn’t hurt, either.

Logan was the current performer, playing something Roman didn’t recognize. The audience whispered to each other in hushed, pointing out a particularly good bit. He rolled his eyes. Wasn’t speaking during a performance supposed to be rude? He poked the contestant--excuse him, performer--next to him, a Victor or something who went to his high school. Roman distantly recalled him playing cello in the back of the orchestra. “What do you think of that guy?”

Victor jumped. “W-what?”

“What do you think?”

“I--who are you?”

“Roman? The orchestra pianist?” he said impatiently.

“Oh. Yeah.” He glanced at the stage. “He’s good. Is that Bach?”

“Yeah,” he snapped.

Victor raised his eyebrows. “Whoa, dude, chill. I was just asking.”

Roman closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. I’m in my happy place. I’m in my happy place… “Right. Sorry,” he muttered and turned back to the performance.

“Well, what about you?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you think he’s good?”

Roman looked back to the stage. Logan’s posture was perfectly straight, elbows perfectly out, every note perfectly hit. The longer he watched, the more impressed he was. Ugh. His playing was technically flawless. His fingers flowed over the keys as easily as water. Every movement was deliberate but delicate, gliding like a figure skater. He made everything he played look elegant and effortless. Maybe, Roman realized, that was why he had always underestimated him. What had really gone into making the masterpiece before him? How devoted was Logan to his craft that he had this kind of skill?

“Well?” Victor prompted.

"He’s fine,” Roman spat, a bit louder than he intended.

Victor cringed when the people sitting behind them glared. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“He’s fine,” he said, lowering his voice. “Just. Fine.”

The piece concluded with a final chord and he bowed, catching Roman’s gaze across the room. Roman suddenly became very invested in adjusting the buttons of his shirt.

Logan was not fine. He was good. He was a good musician. Really good. Great, even. And also… He swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek. He’d studied his piece for so long. Even if he wasn’t as talented as Logan, at least he could fake it with his hard work. His effort had to mean something. It couldn’t be for naught.

His turn was approaching. He adjusted his buttons shakily, hands damp and clammy, and made his way up to the stage. The crowd applauded politely. The announcer was calling his name and piece. The stage was empty, the keys  alien on his fingertips, unwelcoming and cold as ice. He shook his head, trying to focus. Focus. It would not be for naught.

Well.

He admitted it to himself.

And also, Logan was better than him.

~

Logan was still swooning from the adrenaline. He was certain he’d messed up the trills--his hands kept slipping off the keys, and his heart thundered faster just thinking of it. But there was no use worrying about that now. He took a deep breath and glanced over at his parents. His mom was grinning broadly,  nudging the person next to her, mouthing “That was my son!” He exhaled. It was done. Finally.

The boy next to him seemed even more anxious, bouncing his leg and fidgeting with the edges of his blazer and his tie. “Are you alright?” he asked.

The boy looked over and gave a nervous chuckle, wiping his forehead. “I’m going next so… Whoo. Stage jitters.” His eyes lit up with recognition. “Hey, don’t we go to the same school?” He stuck out his hand. “Patton Baker.”

He shook it. Patton’s hand was damp, and Logan tried to wipe it on his pants discreetly after he let go. “Logan Berry.” He frowned. They were supposed to perform in alphabetical order. “Shouldn’t you have gone already?”

“Oh, no. I’m doing a duet, and my partner’s all the way over there.” He pointed down the aisle.

“Neat. What are you playing?”

“Oh, just a little--hey! Isn’t that the orchestra pianist?”

Roman was onstage. Logan’s gut clenched. “Yeah.”

“Is that Chopin?”

Yes, it was. One of his waltzes--A-flat major, if he wasn’t mistaken. Roman evoked joy perfectly, of course. But he didn’t look the part--actually, he looked rather downcast. Logan always thought he just played what he felt, but that couldn’t possibly be what was happening here. Now he realized how well thought-out his interpretations were, down to the most minute detail. Roman played with skillful subtlety. The tactful shift between staccato and legato, delicately plucked highs and elongated lows evoked grand, golden, glowing joy perfectly. Even when he was miserable, Roman was happier than Logan had ever been. Logan never stood a chance next to someone like him.

~

All the musicians had performed, but Roman hadn’t paid attention to any of them. He’d been too busy wrestling with the thought. Logan was better than him. He imagined Logan snickering with the other orchestra kids after tricking Roman into thinking he had even an ounce of talent, watching him parade around and brag while knowing the whole time what an absolute moron he was. His eyes stung. His heart sank.

"Folks, it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for!”

Roman glanced up.

“All of the young musicians here tonight are extraordinarily talented, and we celebrate that with the Junior Musician Recognition Award!”

Applause.

The announcer cleared his throat. “This award is given annually to one student or performing group to celebrate those who have shown themselves to be valuable members of their musical communities as well as exceptional artists.”

Roman tried to hone in on what the announcer was saying but just slumped back into his seat. Come on, Roman! Isn’t this what you’ve been working for? This was what he wanted. A chance to prove he belonged here with everyone else, that his relentless dedication had paid off somehow. But he couldn’t bring himself to feel like he had before.

~

Valuable members of their communities. Logan would have laughed if he wasn’t afraid of disturbing the anticipating hush that had fallen over the crowd. All his music was just him, holed up in his room, ignoring everyone else so he could...what? So he could keep his mom happy? So he could have a reason to feel superior to everyone else? He didn’t think he qualified as a team player.

~

And what if he got the award? How would that feel? He wanted to get out of the room and never have to know the answer. He was afraid the award would make him feel exactly what he had wanted it to.

~

How much of this was because he enjoyed it? There was a time when he loved music, right? Wasn’t there?

~

He was also afraid of feeling nothing. That everything really would have been for naught.

~

“Would Patton Baker and Virgil Grayson please come to the stage?”

He clapped as Patton, a surprised but ecstatic grin on his face, joined Virgil on the stage to accept their certificates. The audience applauded, and then they were dismissed.

When he got home, he took a step back to examine himself. He felt...fine. He wasn’t upset about the award. He was worried about his mom, though. The car ride home had been spent in silence. He tried to glimpse how she was doing, but each facial feature had been carefully schooled to stony neutrality the whole way. Other than that, he felt oddly calm. Relieved, even. He collapsed on the bed, trying to bury himself in the mattress.

He thought about the piano against the wall of his bedroom. His mom had bought it when he was ten and proved that it would be worth the investment. The piano, new sheet music, lessons, audition fees--it all felt like she was giving a gift to herself. He had always wanted to put a bookshelf there.

What he had thought earlier. That there was a time when he had loved the piano. If he dug deep inside himself, he could find what something that resembled it--the satisfaction of a perfect run-through, the intense concentration that overtook him while learning a piece, the relief that came with the end of a recital or the ecstatic look on his mom’s face after he played. Piano was just another part of his routine. He couldn’t find so much as an ounce of himself that played just for playing’s sake.

~

The most talking they got to was arguing during an audition. They never had a proper, civil conversation until a few days after the recital. A knock came at the door while Roman was wrapping up his practice. He got up from the bench and opened it. “Oh. Hi.”

Logan nodded. “Hello. Um, can I come in?”

“Uh--”

“I-if you don’t, I understand completely. I wouldn’t like for my practice to be interrupted either, I just didn’t know where to find you, but the sign on the door outside said this room was reserved for you, so I figured I may as well take my chances.”

“I was going to say sure.”

“Oh.”

A moment passed before Roman stepped to the side. “Come on in.”

Logan closed the door and seated himself at a desk near the piano. Roman faced him. “What’s up?”

“I…” Roman saw his throat move as he swallowed. “We’ve never spoken.”

“Yeah…”

“And I just wanted to say. You were really good. You are really good, actually. Duets aside, you were the best person there.”

Roman scanned him for any sign of snark, but he seemed genuine. “Oh.”

“No, w-wait.” He took a deep breath. “Your technique is good. But your dedication and love for your music really shines through. You just...blow life into everything you play. I can’t imagine how meticulous you are.”

“I… Oh.”

“Actually, how did you go about learning the Papillons a couple years ago? That was very impressive. I’ve never tried to learn them, but I’ve been meaning to.”

Roman straightened. He could talk music. This was much more familiar territory. “I just picked a couple pages to learn,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Seriously? That’s it? No other tricks or methods?”

“If there are such things, I don’t know them.”

“Really? None of that? Your teacher didn’t teach you how to drill a piece?”

“I don’t have an instructor.”

His jaw dropped. “You’re self-taught?”

“The last lesson I took was that program in elementary school.”

“Wow.” He stared at Roman, wide-eyed and quiet.

“I just practice a lot, I guess.”

“Do you usually do that here?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. When the room isn’t available, I usually go down to this music shop. The owner lets me use the piano there.”

“That’s incredible, Roman,” he said softly. “Sincerely.”

Roman’s face flushed with heat, and he looked away, chuckling. “Well, you’re not bad yourself.”

“Thank you.”

“No problemo.” He stuck out a hand.

He raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to give you a handshake.”

“Why?”

“You seem like the handshake type. Now. C’mon.”

He rolled his eyes but shook his hand. “Anyway, I’m glad that Patton and Virgil got the award. I’ve seen them perform together before the recital. They’re quite a duo.”

He braced himself, but the mention of the recital didn't hurt him like he expected it to. His loss wasn't nearly as harrowing as he'd expected. After giving up on being better than Logan, it ceased to matter to him, but even now that he was feeling better, it didn't affect him. A part of him was even glad to have avoided the potential conflict after Patton and Victor-- He gasped. “Virgil!”

“What?”

“I just remembered, I’ve been calling him Victor for a year!”

Logan snorted. “And he never noticed?”

“I guess not? I should apologize!”

“Yes, you should,” Logan snorted.

Roman grinned. “You know, we could be quite a duo as well. With your talent and my dashing good looks, we’d be unstoppable.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, you’re talented--” he began.

Roman had already stood up, striking a dramatic pose that sent Logan into another laughing fit. “Maybe that’s why the universe made us rivals. Our combined gifts would be too powerful.”

“Rivals? I wouldn’t go as far as that, there are tons of pianists at this school.”

“But how many are on par with you and I? The brightest of our age?” Roman tucked his sheet music under his arm.

“I--I can’t say I know,” he stuttered as he was tugged to his feet. “Quite a pair we’d make,” he mused.

“Dynamic!” Roman punched a fist in the air.

“Vivace,” he suggested.

“That doesn’t alliterate.”

Logan laughed, and Roman along with him. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. And he could use someone to talk music with.

~

It became a regular occurrence for Logan to visit after school while Roman was practicing. However, Roman didn’t always practice in the same location. After walking a few blocks, they entered Sanders Music, the bell on the door dinging brightly. Logan glanced around. It would have been small to begin with, but the instruments and accessories adorning the walls furthered that effect. He watched his surroundings warily and stepped gingerly, hoping with all of his pounding heart he didn’t knock something over. His mother would not be happy if she had to pay a damage fine. Despite the worry-inducing surroundings, Roman strode in, spun around, and, with a flourish of his hand, announced “Welcome to the birthplace of my musical career.” What a place to begin. “It’s…” He hesitated, trying to pick through his words carefully.

Roman rolled his eyes fondly, clapping him on the back. “I know it’s cramped. And a bit stuffy. And probably not as fancy as what most musicians are used to, but this is really a place of magic. The kind of magic that turns a clueless little boy with nothing but fantasies of being extraordinary”--he placed a hand over his heart--“into a man with ambition and skill. Plus, Mr. Sanders is super chill.”

“Wait.” The name sounded familiar. Logan scoured his memory for it. “Mr. Sanders from elementary school?”

“Indeed!”

“Oh, no.”

He frowned. “What? Did I say--”

“No, no, it’s not you. I was just...absolutely insufferable as a child.”

"Technically, you’re still a child.”

"I suppose I could still be insufferable now and not know it. Am I?”

“A little.”

“Thanks."

“No problemo, andanti-nerd.”

“That wasn’t one of your better ones.”

“It certainly wasn’t,” he agreed. Roman pulled out the piano bench, sat, and rummaged through his bookbag, presumably for his sheet music. “So, what’re you learning now?”

“Me?” Logan said.

“I don’t see anyone else here.”

“Well, I haven’t really decided on a piece,” he admitted. “I think my mom’s still really upset after I didn’t...you know. With the award. So I’m trying to find something she’ll think more impressive and appropriate for a performance of that magnitude.”

“What do you want to play?”

His stomach twisted. “What do you mean?”

Roman looked at him, deadpan, and stopped rustling his papers. “As in, what have you heard lately and thought, ‘Hey, that’s cool, I want to play it’?”

He looked away and shrugged, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

He raised an eyebrow. “Alright,” he said, and resumed, shuffling his sheet music and placing it on the stand. “Okay. You’re really into technical stuff, right? You seem like the type.”

“I guess?”

“So what’s your practice situation like?” He barely disguised a chuckle, turning his head away to face the piano. “Do you have, like, a schedule? A timer so you can make sure you do exactly an hour, or whatever? I bet you don’t move around as much as I do.”

“I guess not,” he muttered, picking at a loose string on his shirt. “My piano is in my room, so I stay pretty stationary.”

Roman’s jaw dropped. “You have a piano in your bedroom?���

“Yeah. Against one of the walls.”

His jaw dropped even further and gasped, reeling back. “You what? Nobody puts a grand piano in the corner!”

“Baby grand.”

“Regardless! I can’t believe you have an actual piano and you just...shove it in a spot like that.” His voice was tinged with bitterness. “Totally ruins the acoustics.”

“I...suppose.” Logan knew the physics of sound, but to be honest, ruining the acoustics had never really crossed his mind. Maybe he just didn’t care enough to realize that would be an effect. He took a deep breath, leaning against the wall for support. “Can I tell you something?” he said quietly.

“Sure.” His irritation softened.

“I don’t...I don’t believe I want to continue playing.”

“Whoa, what? Is this because of that stupid recital?” Roman stood up, his sheets swept off the stand in his wake. “Because you should know, they totally got that wrong. You were by far the best person there. I don’t see how--”

“No, it’s not--it’s not that. I just...I don’t know.” He sighed, glaring at the floor. “I don’t really...like. It. That much.”

“Then why would you do it for so long?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Roman gave him a knowing look.

“I--I guess. My mom. She really wanted me to…” He trailed off. He hated stuttering, how unsure he was of his words.

“Seriously, is it the award? Because you have serious talent, and it would be so wasteful to just throw it away like that--”

“No!” It came out louder than he intended. Roman flinched. He took a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m--sorry. I just… I don’t know. Why do you play?”

“What?”

“Why do you play?” he repeated.

Roman blew out a long exhale. “I guess...I love it, but it’s not just that. It’s like a part of my identity. If someone took that away from me, I don’t know what I would be.”

Logan stared at the ceiling. “I don’t feel that way. I don’t think I ever have.”

“Oh,” he said softly.

He nodded.

“What’s your mom going to say?”

“I don’t know.” He hadn’t thought that far. “I don’t think I’m going to break it to her yet. What with the recital having happened so recently, it wouldn’t be an ideal situation.”

“Well. Whatever you decide, I...support you.” He leaned over awkwardly and patted Logan on the shoulder. “You’re actually pretty cool when you’re not, you know, roasting my taste in music--”

“Gee, thanks.”

“--and you’ll continue being really cool without the piano. It’s not a part of you. You don’t need it to be anything. You’re just...really good on your own.”

Logan swallowed thickly. His eyes stung, and he willed himself to hold back tears. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Roman smiled warmly. Logan's lips curved in response.

It was impossible for Logan to know what would come next. How his mother would react, whether or not he and Roman could be friends given their history. But for now, it was nice to be here, enjoying the company of someone who was willing to move at his same pace.

[calenheniel]

The Lost Prince, a frozen fanfic | I.

Frozen | Hans, Elsa | Fantasy, Drama | G+

Legend tells of the lost kingdom of Arendelle, and history records the many, many adventurers lost in search of it.

Follow updates: #TLPFrozen

Author’s Note: Based on an anon prompt, “every word’s only to please.” An AU somewhere between Frozen and The Snow Queen, and it’s supposed to read more or less as a fable. Started as a drabble and then turned into this; I recommend reading the original fairy tale for a refresher, before getting into this one. Big thanks to @yumi-michiyo​ for beta-reading, @jii-ro​ for initial thoughts and friends IRL for reading, too.

I should also note that I am trying something different with this fic: I will be publishing it in serial form on Tumblr (Dickens-style), and then finally as one complete one-shot on FF.Net, AO3, etc. This should give the piece the proper room to grow and breathe and evolve, so your feedback will be critical in developing it further. Please do reply, reblog, and send me asks or PMs with any questions or suggestions! 

Prologue

Legend tells of a once-great kingdom in the North, upon which befell a most terrible fate.

Legend tells of a mysterious and powerful Snow Queen, who covered all the lands in ice with a single breath.

Legend tells of a heart, brave and true, that has the power to break the curse of eternal winter.

Legend tells of many things, but only to those who would believe them.

I.

Hans didn't look back once on the day he left for Arendelle.

It was his twenty-third birthday, though few knew or cared to remember the occasion. Red-haired and olive-eyed, he was the youngest of thirteen boys born to the Westergards, a noble family with roots dating back to the beginning of the first settlements in the Southern Isles. As one son among many, he had often been overlooked, ignored, and sometimes forgotten altogether.

Where his brothers thrived on competing and fighting with one another for their late father's praise, Hans recoiled from it. Where his brothers embarked on military and trade careers of great renown, Hans hesitated. Where his brothers found suitable wives (and then lovers) to bear children that would carry on the Westergard name, Hans waited, and was alone.

And so he found himself at the port town of Flakstad on a crisp and bright morning, carrying only a large knapsack with him. He was dressed plainly, wearing a dark brown jacket over clothes thick enough to withstand a journey by sea. The only things he saved from his previous life were his fine white kid-skin gloves and his sword, both of which he wore on that day. They had been his mother's last presents to him before her passing the year before, and they were the only items about which he felt even remotely sentimental.

From his perch by the dock, he looked over the trade ship upon which he had booked passage. It was not elegant or grand, like the ones his brothers commanded in the Navy, nor was it sleek and new, as he could tell from the numerous places where holes had been repaired in the hull and beak. Nevertheless, there was something exciting about it to him. Perhaps, for example, it had survived many rough storms at sea, or been attacked by pirates and looted. He imagined all of these scenarios with a small grin, and they took his mind off home.

He had some time before the ship was set to leave port, and checked over the contents of his sack. He realized that his compass was missing and frowned, asking a nearby stranger where he could purchase another in spite of the early hour. The man pointed to a shop on the other side of the road, and when Hans saw it, his frown deepened.

It was a dark and dingy old wooden house, with black markings on its sides after years of collecting soot and grime from the chimney. How anyone could call it a "shop," he thought, was questionable. Nonetheless, he knocked on the door. "Hello?" he called, though no one answered. He walked to the windows, and saw that no lights were lit inside. He sighed, assuming defeat, and began to walk away.

It was then that the entrance creaked open, and a crone as old and dilapidated as the house itself appeared in the doorway. "Did you knock, young man?" she asked, offering a mostly toothless smile to him. Her right hand, resting on a cane, shook with the effort of holding herself up.

Hans considered lying to her, but upon remembering his need, he pushed away his reticence. "Yes," he replied, and instinctively plastered on his largest, politest smile. He observed her frayed and unkempt gray hair, as well as the liver spots dotting her skin, and swallowed his distaste. "I'm sorry to come so early, ma'am, but I was told I might be able to purchase a compass from you?"

The crone's dark brown eyes, cloudy with the beginnings of glaucoma, regarded him with curiosity. She paused, and then nodded, at which he felt relieved. "Yes, yes, I have just the thing," she said, and motioned for him to follow her into the house. She placed her cane against the wall, and her hands shook as she drew out a box of matches from a drawer in a side table by the door, then opened the cover of a lantern atop the table.

Hans grew impatient with her struggle. "Here, let me help you," he offered in a gentle voice, and she made a small noise of thanks as he struck the match and lit the candle inside, lifting the lantern so that she could see. His smile felt painted on. "That's better."

"How kind you are," the crone complimented, and took her cane again as she led him further and further into the dank and dark clutter of the shop, kicking things out of their path every so often. He saw only glimpses of what was inside - torn maps on the walls, books with pages falling out of their spines, a mounted reindeer head, a staff and orb - but it was far too dim to make out anything clearly. He struggled to keep from holding his nose at the stench inside, which reminded him of rotting fish.

"It's just back here—ah, yes," she said, "right there, in my desk." The smell got worse the closer they got to the back of the shop, until Hans could not help but cough when the crone finally bumped into the edge of her desk. She laughed a little to herself, mumbling about her clumsiness in old age, and he continued to hold the lantern for her as she put her cane down again, and rifled through the various drawers.

He squinted down discreetly at his pocket watch, surprised when he read the time, and without realizing it, his foot began to tap against the ground.

"In a hurry, are we?" she asked, chuckling as he stopped his foot and blushed in embarrassment. "That's all right, that's all right," she reassured him, "you are young, after all. I was impatient, too, at your age."

She continued to mumble on about youth and folly and other things, and though Hans kept smiling at her, he had long since tuned out of the conversation. It was only when she paused in her rambling and shuffling around in the drawers that his attention was drawn to her again. "Have you found something?" he asked.

"Yes, and it's what you're looking for, I believe." She held up a compass to the lantern light, and he grimaced when he saw its barely-legible face. She rubbed a wrinkled palm across it, moving the dirt to the side. "Ah, there it is!" she exclaimed, pointing to its arrow. She moved the compass from side to side, watching as it pointed due north, and then nodded as she handed it to him. "Still works as well as the day I found it."

He looked at the item with skepticism, though he had to admit that it did, indeed, work. "How much… do you want for it, ma'am?" he asked at length, making her laugh.

"That depends on what you intend to use it for," she answered with a spry twinkle in her dark eyes. She glanced at the white gloves that covered his hands. "Are you off with the Navy lads? Or on your own adventure of some kind?"

Hans thought of his brothers and father, and went stiff. "On my own."

"To find your own place," the crone said, and nodded. "Oh, yes. I understand."

Hans's eyes widened, and he gripped the compass so hard that if it were any flimsier, it might have broken. The crone had voiced aloud something he had only ever said in his private thoughts—but it was impossible, he thought, for her to have known that. He reassured himself with the idea that it was mere coincidence, though his grip on the compass did not loosen.

She smiled her dreadful, toothless smile at him again. "But where are you going, dearie? That ship you intend to board is going north, isn't it?"

His lips pressed into a firm line. "Indeed it is, ma'am," he replied. "To the Northern Countries." Without knowing why, he added: "Though I'll be disembarking at Farsund."

Her brow lifted as her hands, which had been shaking until then, became still. "Farsund? How odd. Small town, poor people," she commented, looking thoughtful. "Why there? You won't find what you're looking for in such a place."

He was irritated by her presumptuousness. "Well, I'm not staying there," he told her, keeping his voice even. "But it's the closest I can get to—"

He stopped, realizing he had said too much, but it was too late. "Arendelle," she finished, and sighed. She shook her head. "You intend to go and find the lost kingdom." There was warning in her gaze as she continued: "It is a fool's errand, my boy."

Hans rose to the challenge. "It is what I intend to do," he affirmed, "fool's errand or not."

"The Snow Queen of the North Mountain rules those lands," she said, "beautiful and fierce, but with a heart of ice." The crone became more animated as she told the familiar story. "If not for her, Arendelle would still be there, and the young princesses ruling in peace—though, of course," she added with a gleam in her eye, "there are some who say that it was the elder princess herself who brought the Snow Queen to her kingdom."

His ears perked up at this detail. It was one he had not heard before, and in spite of his inclination towards disbelief, he was curious. "Brought her to Arendelle? But how?"

The crone shrugged. "No one knows," she replied, "but it is said that when she was born, the princess was cursed by trolls with a strange sickness, and so was kept hidden away for many years in the castle. Then, when the young princesses' parents died suddenly at sea, she was to be crowned Queen. But on the evening before her coronation," she went on, her eyes wide, "terrified that her curse would be discovered, she sought out the Snow Queen, whose powerful magic she thought could heal her." She sighed, and rested against the desk. "But the Snow Queen only brought destruction, and the two young princesses were never seen again."

She looked wistfully into the distance. "Now, only one with a heart that is brave and true can—"

"'Break the curse of eternal winter,' yes, I know," he cut her off, making her frown. The crone's ridiculous talk of trolls and curses and mysterious illnesses made him remember his purpose there. "I've heard the legends, and I'm not afraid. There must be a logical explanation for Arendelle's disappearance, and I intend to discover it."

"At what cost?" the crone asked. "Your life? You have many years in you yet, young man. Don't let the Snow Queen take them from you."

He shrugged. "She will do no such thing, because she doesn't exist, and I'll prove it." He placed the lantern down on the desk, and held the compass out to her. "Now, how much did you want for this?"

She pushed away his outstretched hand, pressing the compass to his heart. "Nothing, boy," she replied. "You'll be needing it more than I ever did, if Arendelle is what you seek." Her hand dropped from his, and grasped the handle of the lantern. "Now go, before your ship sets sail without you."

Hans nodded and mumbled thanks to her as he walked briskly out of the shop, wincing as vibrant daylight greeted his green eyes. He looked down to check his watch once more and picked up the pace, running to the docks. The ship was already boarding, and its passengers - mostly tradesmen and deckhands - were making their way up the gangplank. He followed suit, and then paused when onboard, examining the ship again.

Where the rough edges and stained masts had charmed him before, he now saw them with a sense of foreboding. He scrutinized every patched-up tear, every creaky floorboard, and every unfriendly look from the other men at his clothes or sword with a wary eye. Finally, he turned his gaze to the compass the crone had given him - still pointing due north - but noticed it had stained his fine white gloves, and frowned.

He thought of her cautionary tale, and looked back at the shop—but whatever light had shone from the lantern had been extinguished, and it was just as dark as when he had first arrived.

[sammy-writes-stuff]

The Stranger, Ch 26

Chapter Twenty-Six: Rapunzel

Start.  Previous.

TW: Blood, violence, dying, death mention, tears, pain, swears, attempted suicide mention

Carrie lay back on the couch and tried to follow Joan’s instructions exactly. Talyn had put on low calming music and was busy drawing the curtains.

“…So, if you’ve ever seen Sherlock, it’s kinda along the same lines.” Joan explained carefully, sitting on the ground next to the couch. “You have to literally construct a space within your mind that you can escape too.”

Carrie frowned and shuffled a little, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to relax. She took a steadying breath and thought of her room at home.

“Imagine every detail, build the room from the ground up.”

Her bed in one corner…her overloaded desk in the other…

“Imagine several more doors along one wall. Each of these represents a different part of your mind: one door for memories, one for emotions…things like that. Whatever feels right to you.”

Memories were behind a red door. Emotions behind a blue one. Another random purple door popped up without her even thinking about it.

Carrie lay there for ages, constructing every detail of the rooms and really feeling her way around her mind.

“You’re doing really well.” Joan said, after what felt like hours. “Now it’s time to try and retreat there entirely, out of Thomas’ body.” Their voice was gentle, but firm. Carrie swallowed, but nodded.

“Okay.” She muttered. Carrie began constructing herself there, focusing clearly on how she would fit in this space, when something strange started to happen. “Wait…”

“You can do it.” Talyn said encouragingly. Carrie just frowned harder as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

“There’s…there’s a hole in the wall behind me.” She was shocked that she hadn’t seen it before. The wall looked like it emptied into a void full of…nothing. Breath-taking abyss. Peace.

Her hand rose up to touch it, craving its safety, its promised solitude, its inherent relief.

She jerked her hand back like it had been shocked and gasped sharply as an image flashed across her mind…

Carrie had been crying.

She had failed something.

She was running home with her tail between her legs.

Rounding each corner faster and faster…

“Someone is…screaming…” Carrie muttered, trying to pinpoint the high-pitched noise that seemed to have started.

“Screaming?” Joan asked warily.

Carrie pushed the grim memory away just before she could see herself yanking the wheel, feeling sick. She looked around in her mind palace once more, and for the first time noticed how grey and drab it all seemed. The wall with the hole was spreading before her eyes, bits flaking off and flying away. She turned to her memories door and bit her lip, wanting more than anything else to run in there and lock the door. Surround herself with the comfortably numb security of the past…before she had decided to throw it all away...

Stupid. Dumb. Reckless...Deliberate? The crash was her fault.

The screaming grew louder.

“Joan…she’s crying…” Someone said, Carrie couldn’t tell who.

“Open your eyes…Carrie open your eyes…”

Carrie turned, and finally started to comprehend the hand she had been dealt.  

The screaming was coming from the purple door.

This wasn’t Heaven or Hell. It was Purgatory.

The abyss was beckoning behind her. Carrie had a feeling it would take her home.

Carrie looked at her hands…really concentrated on them…they swam a little under her scrutiny.

Not real.

She took a step towards the purple door.

Purgatory…time to pay her due.

~

That moment was so full, it seemed to last a lifetime. It moved in slow motion, but so much happened that it made Roman’s head swim…

Or maybe it was the sword sticking out of his chest.

Several things happened at once, but Roman only had eyes for the man at the hilt of his beloved sword.

There was screaming. His bed was in pieces all over his room, a dark pulse of energy having burst forth from Virgil in his panic. The real Logan and Patton had been thrown back by this display also but seemed conscious. Virgil stood in the rubble, panting hard. Roman couldn’t connect the dots exactly, all he could focus on was the burning pain in his chest and the way he felt like going to sleep…

“Thomas get out of here.” Virgil screamed, in his unholy voice. Thomas, who looked beyond utterly confused, scared and hurt, obeyed instantly – closing his eyes and sinking out…

“What did you do?!” Apathy hissed, changing back into his classic form.

“Roman was DYING! Actually DYING! He was vulnerable and without him the connection will break down regardless! We don’t have to faff about with Thomas!” Deceit shrugged. He began to twist the sword buried in the Prince’s chest before he was tackled by the raging force that was Patton.

Glasses blown away by Virgil’s blast, cardigan long gone, the man in the polo shirt screamed and punched Deceit in his borrowed face. Watching Patton fight his double was almost such an odd sight that Greed didn’t see Logan coming for him until he also was on the ground and receiving a few choice blows.

Apathy just put his hands up when Virgil turned to look at him.

Roman chuckled a little as his vision filled with stars. His family…they had won…they had saved Thomas…

Logan had Greed and Apathy tied together in one corner, then turned to aid Patton in his struggle with Deceit who had by now returned to his dapper form.

Roman tried to stand. He wanted to look dignified, after all.

He just keeled over on his side, but someone managed to catch him and lower him to the ground gently.

“SHIT…SHIT…RO NO!” Someone sobbed. Roman smiled blearily back at the dark blob above him.

“Virgil, stop!” Another said. “You can’t remove the sword, it’s holding everything together for the moment…just put pressure around it.”

“Son?”

It was quiet, measured. Roman frowned. Why did these people sound so…god what was the word for it? He couldn’t think.

“Did we win?” Roman looked around at the three-people cradling him. Logan grimaced and used a spare cloth to wipe some of the blood away that was leaking from Roman’s mouth.

“Yeah, kiddo. We won. You won. It’s all going to be okay…”

“Oohhh PATTON’S LYING!” Deceit called, bitterly laughing from his spot with his accomplices. Patton raised his hand sharply and they disappeared.

“M’sorry.” Roman started coughing and Logan lifted him slightly, so he could rub his back.

“You’re so stupid…”

“Virgil.”

“NO! WHY…I DON’T UNDERSTAND!” Virgil yelled in frustration. “WE’RE A TEAM AND YOU HAD TO DITCH AND BE THE FUCKING HERO.”

“I was already bad.” Roman closed his eyes in a grimace.

“What…what do you mean?”

“Carrie…” Logan muttered. “Carrie was starting to see through Roman’s creations and imagery. She spent the most time in your room, besides her own…which you created in the first place…all those nights you spent in Carrie’s room too…”

“My room didn’t feel good.” Roman nodded, not really able to string his thoughts together coherently and sending himself into another blood-splattering coughing fit.

“That doesn’t matter now.” Patton cooed, brushing Roman’s hair out of his eyes. It was a peaceful act, but it made Roman start to feel how vulnerable he was.

He let a few tears slide out of his eyes, and he dimly registered Logan getting up for the first aid kit and to go find a book on the topic.

Forever the nerd.

Roman laughed.

“I think I see an angel…” He muttered, staring blindly upwards.

Virgil bit back a comment on the dramatics. If Roman would live…he would never comment on his dramatics again…

Roman reached up to try and grab the hand stretching down towards him. It was bathed in silver light.

“What are you doing?” Patton sounded less calm now.

“She’s not Alice.” Roman muttered.

There were hurried footsteps as Logan returned with the first aid kit, his glasses fogged and cheeks red from his own tears.

“He’s…he’s actually…” Virgil sounded like he was in shock. “No....”

“Roman look at me.” Logan said, gripping a pair of scissors nervously. “You guys hold him down, I have to cut his shirt away.”

Someone grabbed his elevated arm and Roman whined softly.

“No, she’s going to help me…”

“Ro, please…” Someone tearfully pleaded, keeping his arm firmly at his side as he tried to struggle.

“I’ve nearly got it…okay let go…” Logan pulled away the front of Prince’s ruined shirt and sash, leaving the sword sticking out just above his stomach. “Put pressure around the wound but don’t bump the sword…”

“I love you guys.” Roman lifted his arm again with the last of his strength and gripped the hand. It was warm and smooth under his calloused grip, and he let his arm slacken in her embrace.

“RO!? LOGAN WHAT’S HAPPENING???”

“I don’t…I don’t KNOW!?” Logan sobbed.

“She’s not Alice.” Roman repeated, a little firmer, as the warmth in his hand started to spread down his arm. “She’s Rapunzel.”

There was a blinding flash of white light that made Logan, Virgil and Patton scramble back from the Prince.

When it faded, the Prince was lying there alone, shirt still tattered, torso still bloody, but the sword plainly absent from his chest.

Next.

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Bite Me | Bloodlines

The car smelled thickly of leather, leather and off brand cologne. I thought a man with more money that he knew what to do with could actually buy the real stuff- but somehow, this suited Damon. It seemed to go hand and hand with the old sports car.

"I thought you were supposed to protect her." Damon said, glancing away from the long stretch of road that was in front of us. The engine hummed and hair hung thick, cold from the constant blast of AC.

"She was with Stefan." I spoke softly, pushing my head against the window. The glass was warm, something that didn't aid towards the headache I carried. "I'm lucky you were there to help her."

He stared at me for a few shocking moments, his hair falling into his gaze. I didn't understand his sudden acts of heroism; saving Elena from a flipped car being one of those moments. It had overturned a few hours before- Damon's sudden urge to do good being masked by him kidnapping the unconscious girl.

I wasn't sure why he had her, but he would never give her up. Not to me or Stefan. So I relented, getting in the car with him before he did something stupid and drove her over more than a few state lines.

"She's going to be furious with you." He spoke, voice like gravel.

"Why is that?"

"Because she knows."

I stopped pressing my forehead against the window, my eyes widening slightly as he nodded briskly. My mouth was dry and tasted of metal from my last meal, a quick one that was interrupted by a knock on my door.

"Is that why you wanted me to come along?" I scoffed, "To watch this blow up in my face?"

Elena grumbled as she shifted in the back seat, Her eyes fluttering slightly as I spoke with intent. My own gaze was trained on the rearview mirror, a dark brown stare hitting mine as she sat up quickly- pulling air into her lungs with a bit of a start.

The girl winced in pain, something that saddened me to see. She was scared, a long hardened cut caked with dried dirt and blood split against her temple, a few other bruises forming on visible skin. She was panting, fingers searching around Damon's leather seats as I watched her carefully- not able to make a move as her gaze turned to malice.

"Where are you taking me?" She hissed, feeling her jean pockets for her phone. "Forget it. Stop the car."

Damon gave me an odd glance, one out of curiosity and maybe even approval. I just shrugged my shoulders- not exactly sure where to take this. He let out a thick sigh and eventually pulling his old car along the side of the road.

Elena quickly opened the door, once again feeling the pain of the accident she had just been in. The air was hot along the highway- asphalt reflecting the heat as she slammed the door behind her and started walking the way we came.

"Better go get her," Damon said.

I wanted to protest, but I knew she wouldn't listen to Damon. At this point, I wasn't even sure she would listen to me. These past few weeks had been fine between us, but then Logan came back, and from what I could tell- Stefan didn't cover his tracks very well.

"Elena!" I said as I slammed my own car door behind me. She huffed, stumbling over her own feet a bit as she continued to walk, not even turning back. I stopped for a few seconds- letting out a sigh as she trudged forward.

Having enough of this, I flashed forward, the girl running right into me as she let out a startled cry. She was quick to try and pull away- but I held her elbow gently, her strength not up enough to fight me back on this.

"You lied to me," She snarled "Both of you fucking lied to me."

"There is an explanation." My voice was steady and calm, trying not to upset her any more than she already was.

"Oh, I would love to hear what you pull out of your ass this time."

She shoved past me, walking towards a sign that read 'Welcome to Georgia.' We were pretty far from home on a rural road; one lined with poppy flowers and large stalks of corn. The sun hung high above our heads, keeping my skin warm, almost to the point of a burn.

"You need to know why you look like her," I called out after Elena. She stopped dead in her tracks, fingers curled up into her palm as her head hung low. Her jaw was clenched and eyes dark. She resembled my sister here- driven to this anger instead of inheriting it. "You'll never find out if you go hitchhiking in the middle of nowhere."

She let out a long sigh, turning to face me as I shoved my hands in my pockets. She was beyond upset- she should be- a necklace not hanging from her neck anymore where it always sat. The scent of vervain that she carried gone.

"Get in the car, Elena." I told her, "I'll explain everything when we get there."

"Get where?"

My eyes flicked towards the sign once more- outlined in a white that contrasted with a deep green. There was only one place in Georgia that I knew of. One that Damon had ties to, anyway.

"We're going to Bree's."

Alcohol slid down my throat with a familiar burn, one that made my eyes water and stomach churn in the best way possible. I didn't mind it- the slight buzz that it provided was enough to get me through this conversation.

A bar tender had given me a beer, Elena staring blankly at hers as I messed around with a plate of fries and a burger that was left untouched. I thought that maybe some greasy food would settle my stomach- the old comfort of the matter usually doing the trick.

But this time, as Damon sat across the bar with a woman who I had only heard of by the word of mouth, I wasn't getting any peace. I bit down on the end of a fry as Elena finally rose the drink to her lips- cringing away from the alcohol.

"I thought you couldn't eat people food." She grumbled, scratching at the scab that was formed over the cut on her temple.

I scoffed a bit, "What's the point of living forever if you can't enjoy the simple things in life like a good burger?"

She nodded. Not asking the question she really wanted the answer to. She was quick to quiet down as soon as we got here- realizing that maybe she didn't want to know the truth. Or at least not right away.

"I was looking through an old book." Elena let out a shaky sigh, "The pages turned until it got to a bookmark. One of those really old ones. The kind of portrait that one takes with a family in the 1800's. No offense."

"None taken,"

"She looked exactly like me... I-I look exactly like her Rowan."

I cleared my throat, not exactly sure what to tell her. A lot of this was up to Stefan. He had been keeping things from her more than I had. He saw a lot more than I did- including the accident that ultimately ended up killing her parents.

"Katherine had that portrait taken to immortalize her legacy and her looks." I told her, raising the bottle of beer to my lips as I finished off the rest of it. I wanted to get a buzz, my goal making it easier on me to tell Elena everything I knew. "I find it tedious considering she was immortal. Is, if she's still in that tomb that Damon's trying so hard to open."

"Is that why we're here?" Elena picked up a fry from the edge of my plate, taking a bite. She cringed away from it, food not able to help settle her anytime soon. "For the tomb?"

"I assume so." I nodded, eyes meeting slightly with Bree. She flashed a smile as I lifted my chin slightly. "That woman over there is a witch. A powerful one at that. If there is another way to open that tomb, she'll know it."

Elena nodded silently, messing with the label on her drink. She was sad, more sad than angry at this point. Her jaw clenched as she looked up at me. "Was it hard for you to lie to me like this? To pretend that I didn't look like your evil little sister?"

I chuckled bitterly. "Elena, you are nothing like her when it comes to the compassion that you have. I knew that from the moment I met you...The truth is a lot darker than I would like to admit. I want you to be prepared for that."

"I am." She whispered "Ro, you may be able to protect me physically. But keeping secrets like this isn't going to get us anywhere. Emotionally I'm strong enough to fight."

"Right," I nodded, turning to face her slightly "You're right. Which is why I'm going to tell you everything I now. But I need you to go to Stefan when we get back home. He's not 100% honest with me either. But he will be with you. Okay?"

She nodded, swallowing roughly.

I let out a rough sigh in response, placing my hand on her knee slightly to comfort her.

"It didn't make sense for me either at first. You look exactly like her. So I did some digging. I looked through family tree's and lineage. But nothing showed the Gilbert family line passing with the Pierce's."

"So what are you saying? You're a Gilbert?"

I shook my head, a bit sadly "No, I'm saying you're not."

My back rested against the edge of the building, a warm breeze overtaking most of my senses. My nails dug into the edge of my palm as I rested my phone against my ear. It was hot, making the side of my face sweat as I stood there in absolute silence.

The dulled rock music from the bar was taking up most of my thoughts, the dying engines of a few charter trucks took up the rest of my attention. A lot of people had filled the bar as the day went on, the night dark and my patience dwelling.

"I'm telling you, they're fine." I said, a bit of exhaustion in my voice. "He's inside with her right now."

"He's what?" Stefan almost shouted as I pulled my phone away from my ear a bit. "Rowan, you can't leave my brother alone with her. He's not stable."

"Neither is she." I shot back, "Not after the way we lied to her. I figured she could use a little fun before returning back to reality."

"So she's drunk?"

"She's buzzed, Stef." I said with a thick sigh "I do my job well, okay. Nothing is going to happen to her. Not like that car crash."

"That was an accident." He responded, his voice a bit softer than it had been earlier.

I bit the inside of my cheek, a coppery taste dancing across my tongue before I spoke. "I'm not so sure. Elena swears up and down that someone stepped out in front of her car. But she was upset- It could have been her imagination."

Stefan was quiet for a moment, my focus on the sounds around me- the heat of the night and the woman who had supernatural powers right behind that door. Something about this was wrong- the amount of time we had stuck around seeming unnecessary.

The sound of trashcan knocking over rung in my ear, the metal louder than anything as I winced away from the sound. It was easy to tune most things out, but now when I was purposefully listening for something.

"Oh, shit." I cursed, "Listen, I gotta go. We'll be home soon, just don't wait up."

I closed my phone out before he could object. I was staring towards the sound of the trashcan. It was probably just a cat- one that was picking through old garbage in an alley. This place was next to some airplane hangar, or warehouse. I couldn't really tell.

"Rowan, there you are." Elena came out of the bar, a blast of cold wind hitting me as she stumbled a bit. A small smile pressed against my lips as I grasped her elbow, holding her up in order to keep her steady.

"How many beers did you have?" I chucked slightly, knowing she needed to blow off a bit of steam.

"I lost count after five." She slurred, "It's okay. I'm okay."

"Mmhm," I nodded, biting the edge of my lip. I didn't have much time to think before another loud bang rushed through the air. Elena's gaze whipped up, sobering her up a bit as she let out a sharp sigh. "Stay here, El"

"What? No!" She clutched onto my arm. "I refuse to be the dumb bitch who dies first in the horror movie. Okay?"

"Okay," I said in a soothing voice "Just stay behind me then."

She nodded as I walked forward, the bright golden glow of a streetlamp gave us enough vision to see the two men that stood right in the path of light. My mouth was dry, Damon clearly being one of them. He was in a compromising position, seconds away from a steak being driven through his heart.

The other man that held him was bigger, but dirtier. His beard was unkempt and rough, skin pale and fingernails coated in what I could only assume was dirt. He looked like a junkie, one that had a hankering for blood a dark black veins spread under his eyes.

"D-don't come any closer!" The man shouted at me, digging the tip of the steak into Damon's chest. He let out a long groan, blood starting to seep through the fabric of his shirt.

"Lee," I spoke, Elena's nails digging into my shoulder.

"You know him?" She whispered, almost fully sober as I nodded slightly. The man's eyes softened as I stepped forward a bit, boot crunching against the gravel. Elena stayed behind, watching us carefully.

"You're Lexi's boyfriend right," I was closer than ever to him, close enough to pull Damon away from him, but not without a steak rushing though the mans heart. Stefan would never forgive me, but at this point, I don't know if I would forgive myself either. Not with the good behavior lately.

"I was," Lee almost sobbed, "Until he killed her."

"It was for a good cause-"

"Shut up!" Lee and I both said at the same time, his a little rougher than mine. I lifted my chin slightly as the man panted. "I need both of you to stop talking."

I nodded at first, tears streaming across his face. He wasn't dirty, or covered in grime. He was just broken. The love of his life, the girl who had turned him was murdered while visiting Mystic Falls. If that had happed to me, I would do the same.

"I remember you," he swallowed roughly, loosening his grip slightly "Lexi loved you, she... she talked about how you saved each other more than once. The way that she helped you."

"She helped you too, didn't she Lee?" I asked, knitting my eyebrows together. "She helped both of us because that's just the type of person that she is. That she was. And she wouldn't want this, not for either of us.

He stared at me intently, but let me wrap my fingers around his. They were cold and clammy, he was shaking. This had ruined him. He was upset, almost collapsing into my arms as he threw Damon to the side. I wrapped my arms around him, steadying the man I had only seen in pictures.

"She loved you," I whispered to him, Damon scurrying away to be next to Elena. She cringed away but continued to watch Lee and I. He nodded into my shoulder, my fingers gently against his back as I pulled away. "Prove everyone wrong, okay? Lee, start fresh. You have the time."

He laughed, almost bitterly. "I see why Lexi liked you. Both of you could talk me down."

[calistapledger]

Practice Challenge 2: Legally Blind

Special Mentions: @devonmuerner @lady-fiona-rossi @margarita-acosta-cruz @marifer-rivera @madalenacruz @evadne-leventhorpe @berklee-boyer

I was completely at peace, it was one of those rare times in the Ledger household where everything was silent and stilled. My only companions were the gentle ticks and clicks of gears falling into place and my hammer tinkering against the mental of the music box. I brought the music box close to my face, my nose almost touching it, to examine it. I wore my satisfaction as a smile. It was perfect.

“SEPHY!” Just like that, the perfect illusion of peace was shattered. I grit my teeth and was cautious not to let my anger take control and smash the music box. I set it down and flipped out my retractable walking stick to make my way to the living room. I usually didn’t need my aids around the house seeing that I’ve spent 18 years memorising every inch of it but today was a tiring day and my vision was worse than usual.

I’ve learnt in the past 18 years not only do people have visual tells which I could never pick up on, they are also made of sounds. I was overwhelmed the moment I stepped into the room. Not only was the television playing in the background but I picked up on all of my family’s auditory tells. Everything about my mother was soft and gentle, the soft swishing of my mother’s hair when she turned to me put me at ease. My father was all scruff, his fingers scratched against his beard as he moved his head to me.  The quiet creak of Boreas’ spectacle hinges as he adjusted it, Notus scratched his scruffy beard like Father, Eurus running his fingers through his long hair mimicked the sound of waves crashing. All of these various sounds came to me scattered from across the room. My youngest brother, Zephyrus, however was always the quietest. I could never get a sound out of him so he simply announced,

“Listen to the TV!” “Miss Calista Ledger of Bonita, Three.” Unlike my mother’s hair that hushed like blankets, mine was a whip and I grazed my neck from turning my head to the television so quickly. Audible gasps from my family all around. I heard shoes skidding across the corridor outside our home. We all knew it was our favourite Uncle. “YOU GOT IN, BETEE! Uncle Ro breathed heavily as he pulled me into a bone crushing hug. Despite his underarms overflowing like a foundation, I hugged him back.

“When did you apply? I thought you said you didn’t want to.” I was dreading his droning voice. Listening for the slick smooth movement of Boreas adjusting his glasses, I turned to face his general direction. “Not that it is any of your business, but I changed my mind.” I glare at Boreas’ blurry silhouette for dramatic effect. I was going to pull ‘my eyes are exhausted’ card but I knew he wasn’t going to let me off the hook without a thorough interrogation. Sometimes I hated the military man within him.

“You never change your mind. You said you hate all the drama. Don’t tell me you think Prince Dom is worth it.” My eldest brother scoffed. How does he always manage to make me feel like a child? I closed my eyes, willing the nystagmus away. I could do without the rapidly moving eyes right now. I hear whispers - surely by now they know I can hear even the quietest of murmurs - and Boreas’ figure leaning over to our mother, I identified her by her essential oils. They always calmed me down.  He sighed loudly with disdain when she was done telling him off. He’s supposed to be the eldest? What a baby.

“I won’t bother you, go sleep on it.” “I will do just that and for your information, I do think Prince Dom is worth it.” I was tempted to use the nickname we gave him but I could sense Nots was not in the mood to break up a fight. Before I left for my room, I turned to my parents, trying to gauge their reaction to me being Selected. The phone rang and Father immediately picked it up. “We’ll talk about this in the morning, betee.” Mother assured me and I nodded. I swayed my hips for Boreas as I walked away. I wanted to show him he couldn’t make me feel inferior.

On the way to my room, my little brothers walked with me. Zephyrus - or as we called him Zephy was glued to my side and saying congratulations while Eurus just ruffled my hair and told me to send the eliminated girls his way. “E, they are way too old for you.” I tell him bluntly and I can practically hear his lips rubbing together to form his signature pout. I ruffle both of their hairs playfully before sending them down the corridor to their rooms. What a day. Well my day was fairly normal, what a night. The Selection was such a big event here that my mother made the excuse to have Boreas over, I wish she hadn’t. I missed the old Boreas who wasn’t a Bore Ass but whatever I couldn’t think about him at a time like this. It was finally hitting me that I’m officially a Selected. I could hear my heart thumping in my ears. Boreas was right, I did drastically change my mind. I entered for the wrong reason; to be relevant and known rather than falling in love. Yet the more I thought about it and realised how I could change Illéa for the better, I realised I could make a great Queen. Sure, I wasn’t in love with Prince Dom but that’s because I haven’t met him. Love can always come later. I crawled into my bed and laid there, the thought of tomorrow keeping me up.

The next week was nothing but chaos. The Ledgers hadn’t had this much attention since Uncle Ro built his automatons. The week went by like my eyesight, in a blur. I vaguely remember the boys being on their best behaviour and officials from the Palace - their constant footsteps coming back and forth felt like a stampede - swarming our cottage to brief me on the rules and regulations of being in a Selection. I’ve read countless books on the history of Illéa, which for most part covered the Selection so I was barely listening to the officials.

I could have kissed someone when Friday finally came. The clockwork of phone calls and Palace Officials one after the other invading our home had finally come to an end. My secret project concerning the Royal Family was the only reason I hadn’t gone mad. I was happy to tinker away at my workshop whenever an Official wasn’t shoving another contract down my throat.

I twisted my hands together as my family escorted me to City Hall to have the entire province send me off. While I was looking forward to this day since I was Selected, I was apprehensive. As the wind tugged at my stray hairs, I realised tucked away underneath my excitement was fear. When I stopped twisting my sweating hands, I fidgeted with my blouse, smoothing it over every chance I got.  It was going to be a whole new environment with strangers who I would have painstakingly learn new auditory tells from. I was going to miss the familiar. I stepped back from the podium, wanting to ditch it all. Were they nuts? Letting a blind girl travel to the other side of the country. I wasn’t ready for this new adventure in my life. I thought I was but - Notus caught me with his sturdy form before I could finish the thought. I knew it was him because of his distinct camomile scent that always calmed his patients down.

 “Aw come on, sis. You’ve already made it this far.” I bit down on my lip and before I could make a decision, the mayor introduced me. Just he did, there was an explosion of colour, quite literally - they shot up colour bombs into the air. Bonita loves a good party every now and then. I was mesmerised by the colours and Notus used the distraction to his advantage and escorted me up on the podium next to the Mayor. I glared at him, hoping to burn holes into his head. 

“I present you Bonita’s proud Daughter of Illéa, the beautiful daughter of Aeolus and Nandini Ledger, Lady Calista Ledger!” Party horns were blown and I smiled in the general direction of the audience. The mayor whispered, asking if I wanted to say a few words. My father had prepared me for this. I nodded and he carefully placed the microphone in my hands. I kept my voice leveled, steady and genuine as I spoke.

“People of Bonita, I hope I can make you proud by flourishing in the Selection. I understand that most of you feel disgruntled that this isn’t going to fix our housing problems in the rural areas of our beloved province. This is why my family and I have come to the collective decision to donate my Selection allowance to the funding of building better living quarters for our people. With that I wish our province the best in this new endeavour!” The crowd was cheery before but now they simply erupted, I heard all sorts of cheers hitting me in all directions. My ears were thumping hard, all these different sounds were overwhelming. I smiled tightly, focusing on looking my very best rather than wanting to cover my ears to keep out the sensory overload.

 “Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in sending off Calista Ledger, our favorite Daughter of Illéa!” the mayor announced, taking control of the situation once again. I was grateful. Behind me, a small band played the national anthem. After we sang it loud and proud, I was escorted away to my car. It was going to be half hour ride to Paloma and I was glad to have some time to myself. Before I slipped into the limousine, I was allowed my final goodbyes. I turned to my family and I surprised when tears sprung into my eyes. I promised myself and Father that I would not get emotional today. I rolled back my shoulders and straightened my posture - as if it could get any straighter.

I walked to my Father, he was the easiest to identify since he was towering over the rest of our family. I have no idea why but my hand moved mechanically and I gave him a salute. It seemed appropriate. I heard his bushy eyebrows raise but he decided to humour me anyways and returned the gesture. I sensed his hand before it even landed on my shoulder. He squeezed it and it was like I was already gone. It was his way of saying goodbye. I swallowed the tears.

“I’m proud of you, my dear daughter and I know you will make me even more proud when you come back with a crown on your head and a ring on your finger to invite us to the Palace. Do not disappoint me. Go say your goodbyes to your mother and brothers.” Speaking to my father was always a roller coaster of emotions. He went from being proud to dismissing within a matter of second and the swift change didn’t even hit me until I was standing in front of my mother.

My sweet mother who smelled of her distinct neroli essential oils hugged me. I closed my eyes as I took every detail of her in. Her neroli scent, the smoothness of her dark hair, the way her soft hands felt when she rubbed my back soothingly. “Don’t listen to your father, betee. I just want you to be happy. If it’s with the Prince, then I’ll be happy for you. Enjoy yourself, Calista.” She kisses me on the forehead. I hold our hands together a little longer before I pull her into another hug. “I’m going to miss you so much, Ma.” A tear leaked out. Dammit. I wipe it away before Father could see.

Uncle Ro comes to my rescue as always, hiding my tear streaked face from Father. My uncle is amazing because he knows I could only detect vague shapes and colours so he always wears something obnoxious to stand out. Today is a red nose and I start laughing, easing my homesickness.

“Hello, my favourite niece! “Uncle Ro! I’m your only niece.” I burst out laughing. This is our routine inside joke. On cue, he ruffles my hair and I grin up at him. I wait for his usual word of advice but it never comes, instead the old man dumps a heavy briefcase in my hands. I momentarily lose my balance and sway giddily. Uncle Ro giggles before steadying me. I carefully run my hands over the case, trying to figure out what it was. My fingers finally settle on a button of some kind. I click it and am startled when the case opens. I feel more buttons and then I freeze when I feel familiar bumps. I stare up at my uncle, gaping.

“Uncle Ro, you shouldn’t have!” I could hear his grin, he was a very noisy person and I loved it because it allowed me to identify how he was feeling very easily. He opened his arms to accept my hug as a thank you. “Promise you’ll write me, betee.” I nodded into his chest. I was going to miss him most of all.

Before I could say anything else, I hear a cough behind me and it’s from Isla, my royal aide. I said a quick I love you to my uncle and sped up my goodbyes. My brothers must have gotten the memos because they are all ambushed me with hugs all at once. Except Boreas and it hurt how I had expected that. No girl should ever expect for her older brother to abandon her.

“Do you think you can put in a good word for me with your pen pal Dev?” Eurus nudged me playfully and I rolled my eyes in response. I was grateful that he was trying to make me laugh in the midst of Boreas being distant. “Start looking for girls your age, baby brother.” I teased him before giving my other two brothers my love. Notus was sniffling so I assumed he had tears in his eyes and he was the type of man who was very in touch with his emotions so I was not surprised. I hugged him, comforting him rather than him comforting me.

“There, there, Nots. I will write to you everyday.” He wiped his face as he pulled away. He placed his hand on my shoulder reassuringly like Father but Nots was a warm blanket on a cold night. “I’m just worried he’ll break your heart. Boreas might be more vocal about his opinion on the Prince but I agree with our eldest brother. Prince Dominic is bad news.” I frowned, I never knew Nots felt this way. I knew Boreas and Eurus were more against the monarchy but I always thought that Zephy and Nots respected the system. “I’m a big girl now, Nots. I’ll be fine.” He patted my hair - I’m starting to realise our family has a fixation with hair - like he always does when he wants me to know that he’s proud of me.

“Tell Prince Dom that you have 4 brothers who are ready to take care of him if he hurts you.” He cracked a wicked smile. “Brother! That’s treason.” I titter lightly and he kisses me on the head before sending me to Zephy. Surprisingly, my youngest brother ambushes me with a hug. He wasn’t the emotional kind and doesn’t do hugs often.

“Whoa there, where is my littlest brother?” “I’m right here. I’m going to miss winning arguments against you.” He mumbled against my white blouse. It was starting to get wet. I just pulled him closer, savouring my last moments with my baby brother. Isla taps me on the shoulder and I knew I had to go. I smiled at my family before giving my final goodbyes. Just as I was about slid into the limo seat, Boreas stopped me. I rolled my eyes. 

“What is it, Boreas? I’m running late.” I spat, I was in no mood to deal with his nonsense now. “Put in a good word for me with the Prince, won’t you?” I grit my teeth, it took a huge amount of self control not to slap him. I can’t believe just before the moment my life was about to change for the better, he was triggering my anger issues. They stemmed from being frustrated at my incapabilities. I was able to subdue them in the last few years after Uncle Ro introduced me to inventing. There was just something about creating that made my shortcomings fade to the background. I didn’t answer my eldest brother and slammed the car door in his face. That will show him.

Being alone with my thoughts, I was able to reevaluate my life up to this point. Becoming a Selected, no one would have any pre-notions of me. I could become a whole new person. The Selection would be a chance to reinvent myself (pun intended). While my love for writing stemmed from my mother, I had been dabbling in inventing with Uncle Ro. I’ve been more comfortable writing because I had Braille keys on my typewriter so it was more convenient. Inventing was more tricky; you needed designs which was my least favourite part of inventing since I couldn’t draw to save my life. With inventing, every detail counts so if you miss out a single screw, the whole contraption could fall apart. Inventing requires me to be even more thorough than I am usually. It can be very taxing. If I do become Queen, I hope to make Illéa a more accessible place with my inventions for people with special needs. I’m willing to work harder for my people. 

“We’re here, Miss.” Isla said softly. I nodded as I pulled on my shades - which functioned as more than just shades they helped described my surroundings to me through a bluetooth - and took out my folding walking stick. The chauffeur opened the door for me. I flipped out the walking stick as I walk out to greet my fellow plane mates. I wasn’t the biggest fan of small talk but unfortunately so that is how you get know someone so with these girls I was going through the motions. I was in and out of the conversations but I was able to distinguish one girl from the other. Fiona was the easiest to pick out, she loves giving hugs, smelled of flowers and had bright red hair in the midst of four dark skinned and dark haired girls. I couldn’t lose Madalena in a crowd even if I wanted to because she was always screeching about Prince Dom despite never having met him. Lady Márifer and Lady Margarita were the quietest out of the group. The only moment that made me notice Lady Margarita was when I accidentally held out my hand in the wrong direction when introducing myself to her. I started focus more when Fiona showed up and ambushed me with a hug.

“Hi Calista!” I was startled and was knocked out of air. She was a bear hugger. She smells of flowers and home. Her hug was very comforting. “Oof, is that a friendly Golden Retriever or Lady Fiona Rossi? I’ve heard about your amazing hugs I’m so glad to have experienced them firsthand. Lady Margarita you have to try it!” I teased her and she was one Selected I had been looking forward to meeting because she is so lovely. I was not disappointed. Márifer laughs, agreeing with me.

“It’s Fiona! Try what?” Her laughter was like bells. “Your hug of course!” Márifer answered for me. “Oh that makes sense. Well Margarita, if you decide you end up wanting one, my arms are always open.” Our Flower Girl offered. “Thank you.” Margarita gave her a civil response. Then my ears perk up, identifying a new sound. It sounded like an engine.

“Is that the plane?” I ask the girls. Fiona gulps. “I’m a little nervous. The car was a first for me, but I’m also so excited. I don’t see it yet…Oh wait there it is! Amazing ears Cal!” I beam proudly at that compliment. This was the first time that I’ve been able to impress someone with my condition rather than have them pity me for it. “You know how they say, when one of your senses is lost the others become better.” “At least there is a benefit to it.” Fiona’s presence just seems to make everything feel better. We boarded the plane one by one. There were two sets of paired seats facing each other while there was a bigger lone seat beside them. I opted for the bigger seat because I had a little more baggage. I let the girls talk amongst to themselves while I kept to myself. They were all nice girls but it was overwhelming to be around girls my age for the first time.  

“How were all of your send offs?” I tuned back in when Fiona directed the question at us. Even though I didn’t vocalise my fear, it was my first time flying as well and take off formed a pit at the bottom of my stomach. I hated the way the air pressure made my ears pop, dulling another one of my senses. Talking about the send offs distracted me from these annoyances that plane rides brought. I had dreamy look in my eye when I answered. My send off was probably the happiest I’ve seen of Bonita.  “There were colours everywhere. Bonita loves a good party every now and then.” I remember the reds, greens, blues and yellows all overlapping to form a myriad of colours just for me. “It was so great! They gave me a super suit that can fly and shoot flames and stuff!” That was rather..impressive of Dominica.

“No wonder you want to jump out of planes, Madalena.” I say dryly. “Mine was lovely, I hadn’t even known that many people even lived in Honduragua before today.” I could hear a smile on Margarita’s face. “Oh mine sounds pretty lame compared to all your guys’. I don’t really get along with my parents and where I live it’s very desolate. Big farms and all, so there weren’t many people there.” Márifer putting herself down made me pity her. That was no way to go about it. Before I could assure her it was good, Fiona spoke, the cheer in her voice had disappeared.

“People were mad at mine. Apparently if you come from a poor city people don’t take the idea of knowing the royals are hosting a reality show instead of fixing the problems.” I leaned forward to listen to Fiona while Madalena went on about her suit. This was not the time, Madalena! Ignoring her, I reached out to pat Fiona’s hand comfortingly. “Oh dear, I’m sorry that happened, Fiona.” “It’s fine. I understand their frustration, it was just depressing to see it again.” I nodded in understanding. That was the partial reason why I donated my allowances to the housing problem. I genuinely cared for it and I knew it would appease the people whereas my father used it as a publicity stunt to show character. I relayed this to the girls, leaving out the part about my father and his publicity stunt. The girls took it very well.

“That’s fantastic Calista!” Márifer was filled with awe and I grinned without thinking. I liked that I had that effect on her. “That’s such a wonderful idea! I had no idea we got an allowance of some kind.” I raised my eyebrows at Fiona, wasn’t she briefed? “We do, the amount of times I was briefed on rules and regulations…I could read it all back to you.” I wasn’t even kidding this time, it was ingrained into my mind.

“You know, you’ve inspired me. After providing for my sister (which is a long story but whatever) my selection allowance will go to helping struggling farmers in Paloma. The harvests have been bad for the last couple years, and the coffee prices keep going down, so I know it’s needed.” I let out a little ‘awh’, my day was made better knowing that I’ve helped one more province improve its standard of living.

“Wow.” Was all Madalena had to say and I wasn’t quite sure how to take her tone. Then we started sharing about our lives in our respective provinces. They all talked about how they missed their loved ones. While I was more emotional than my brothers, I always came across as logical to other girls. I preferred offering solutions rather than dwelling on the problems. So I suggested that they write to their families and friends to ease the feeling of missing them. While I let them talk further, I pulled out my letters. I turn over my ring and utilise it to rereading the telegrams I exchanged with Lady Devon who had reached out in the past week. My heart sang as I read them, I was glad that she wrote to me and I knew in my soul, she would be a great friend.

A friendship lasting longer than a month. Those words echoed in my mind as I was told we were landing. I swiftly packed away my letters and looked up to observe the other girls, they were all knocked out, evident by their soft snores. I pulled out the walking stick and navigated my way out without the hassle of the girls blocking me. I let their aides wake them up. The moment my feet left the last step, I was whisked away into the Palace. With every room we passed, the Palace seemed to get bigger and bigger. It did not help with my phobia of large spaces, I was more prone to lose my way. Thankfully, Isla was with me every step of the way and she guided me to what they called the Women’s Room. She described the room to be prepped for our mandatory makeovers so 35 make up stations were set up 7 by 5. She held my arm as she navigated my designated station.   “All the best, miss and when you are done, take the second stairwell on the right up to your room, in The Grace Hall. For tonight you will be taking dinner in your room.”

“Thank you, Isla. You have been such a delight.” I gave her a dazzling smile as she dismissed herself, taking my bags up to my room. Another figure came up to me, I could distinguish them by their bright red hair. With the shades I was able to identify him as a middle aged olive skinned man who wore gold eyeliner so I guessed him to be my make up artist.

“Take those off.” He gestured dismissively to my shades. I slid them off slowly, I felt incredibly vulnerable without them. I only ever went without my shades around my family. Now he could see my rapidly moving eyes. He let out a little ‘ah’ when he noticed them.  “You’re the girl with visual impairment I’ve been reading about. My nephew has the same condition. Our entire family sees you as an inspiration. That Jason can finally have a normal life.” I was grateful that he didn’t make an offhand comment and used the term impairment instead just writing me off as that blind girl. A photographer came up to me to snap the Before picture and then moved on to the next girl.

“I’m flattered, sir. He could always had an ordinary life, he just needed the right tools. I’ll write to my uncle to see what we can do for him.” I tell him kindly, he thanks me before we get to work. There was nothing much to do with me unlike the other girls. I was very meticulous, having washed my hair the day before so it had full dark waves. I made it a point to have my nails manicured at all times, Uncle Ro would help sometimes. I wasn’t one to wear make up and that’s where Alfred the make up artist comes in. We both agreed that I don’t need to cake my face so we settled on highlighting my features such as high cheekbones and adding colour to my lips. He also worked on curling my hair. While he worked on me, another Selected took her seat next to my station,  she smelled vaguely of cookies and her hair brushed against her neck as she turned. Turns out, she had moved her head to face me.

“So….. does my month start now or when we sent those letters?” Her sly voice catches me off guard, making me jump in my seat. Alfred reprimands me and tells me to sit still. Her voice was low, almost seductive and definitely foreign but I instantly knew who it was. I had to test the waters.

“Um…wait Dev, is that you? Oh my goodness DEV!” Without thinking, I lean over to tackle her with a hug. Alfred hits my head with hairbrush and I snap back into my seat. I obediently sit and stare in front so that Alfred could do his job . “Oh god. Chill, please, I’m just a person no need to get too excited.” She deadpans. I giggle as Alfred brushes my cheeks with the blush brush. I could feel and hear each bristle against my skin which made the whole experience even more ticklish than it should have been. “You are a very lovely person who wants to be my friend which is a first for me so of course I’m excited to see you.” I could barely contain my grin which made Alfred tap my head with the brush once more since he was trying to apply lip gloss. He finally finished highlighting my face and moved on to my hair so I could speak to her freely without getting hit with other foreign make up equipment. “Still, just a person, can’t take too much squeezing or I’ll die, then I can’t make I past a month.” She teased, referring to our deal. “Oh no, I wouldn’t want you to die.” I’ve been joking quite a bit today and I liked this new funny me. I vaguely see Dev gesturing to my face as she asked about my makeover. “You letting them do much to you with this makeover? Or staying as you are?” “Well I have never really seen my face, for as long as I can remember, it has been a dark blur in the mirror so I just told the artist to keep it natural and highlight my best features which are my high cheekbones and lips.” “Oh yeah, of course you haven’t seen your face…. that’s too bad - you’re pretty.” I blushed at the compliment. I never had anyone but my mother tell me that. She’s my mother so that was a given. “Aww thank you, Dev. My sunglasses and brothers have described me to you. You sound exquisite and I think my younger brother Eurus may have a crush on you.”

“Alas I’m probably too old for him. Always good to know I have options though.” She was really funny and I knew she was going to be a great role model for me throughout this Selection. From what I had read about her before, she had just graduated from college with a double degree in political science and business. She was a self-made woman, I wonder why she would want to enter the Selection?

“I know, he’s 17 I told him off for being too young for most of the girls here.” I giggled remembering how Eurus had drooled over her when the Selected had been first announced. “It’s only what, four years between me and him, and I’m the oldest one here. I’m sure he could find someone in this crowd of he tried. He probably won’t though, too distracted by when he can never have.” “Ahahah exactly and I think I heard whispers of Prince Percy fancying you.” I was never one to indulge in gossip but there was just something about being around 35 girls, that made you want to be one of them. Gossip entails in that. “Another seventeen year old who won’t ever have a chance with me, much too young. He’s probably just distracted by my looks.” She scoffs and I hum in agreement. “I am not surprised. It’s odd that most boys always want what they can’t have.” This made me worry if Prince Dom might be the same way. There was no point worrying about it now since the first introductions weren’t until tomorrow morning. “Don’t we all.” She sighs dramatically making me crack a smile. Like my favourite Uncle Ro, Devon was a noisy person and I loved it because it allowed me to read her cues better. “You have a point, my friend.” “You’re good to go, lady.” Says Alfred at the same time. He didn’t bother showing myself in the mirror. We both knew that wasn’t necessary and I trusted that he made me look spectacular. I smile brightly at him and thank him. The same photographer from before comes to take the After picture.

Then I turn to Dev. “Well I was instructed to go to my room to set up everything and have dinner, so I’ll see you at the sleepover?” “Unless either of us commits treason and gets kicked out before then.” I laugh till I’m snorting and I quickly cover it up. “Well don’t commit treason until then! See you my friend.” I wave in her general direction before hopping off my seat, grabbing my stick and heading up to my room. Isla said to take the second stairwell on my right and it should lead straight to the Grace Hall, where my room would be. I walk up the stairs carefully and let out a heavy breath of relief that I made it.

“Miss?” I whipped my head around to see a familiar dark figure. “Isla! I was just about to go looking for my room.” I was so lucky to have ran into her, I was rather exhausted to be going around feeling up door plates to locate my room. Sometimes my condition was a curse and inconvenience. “Your room is right here, they made sure you had the most accessible room.” I was so grateful to whoever did the room arrangements. Isla efficiently guided me in and I settled in. I was confused when Isla didn’t leave. As far as I knew, aides were just there to escort us from our home province to the Palace, helpers were the ones who stayed to help as much as they could.

“Isla, don’t you have somewhere else be?” I asked, trying to phrase it in the most polite manner. Really, there is no way to ask that nicely. “Oh I’m your maid, Miss. Your original aide had fallen ill and since I was assigned to you already, they sent me in as a replacement.” I cringed at the word maid. I found it degrading, my mother raised us to call them helpers. I pushed that thought aside and grinned, widening my eyes with excitement. I didn’t have to go through the anxiety inducing introductions. I rush forward to hug her and I feel her reluctance. I let her go quickly and apologise.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Miss.” “I’m just happy you’re my helper, Isla. Makes this place seem more familiar and less intimidating.” She bowed and offered to unpack my bags for me. I declined, since I was always used to doing things myself. Dinner soon came after and I read the various magazines that were lying about while I ate. The Royal Family interviews featured in Illéa Weekly were especially of interest to me. My previous doubts of surviving the Palace were slowly fading. I had Isla and Dev to rely on and from the interviews, I trust that the Royals would take care of me. This is the adventure I’ve been waiting for. Finally I can set myself free and mingle with girls my own age - the plane wasn’t the best start but it was a start nonetheless - instead of shutting myself away from the world and hanging around with my four brothers. I don’t know how I made it out alive from that testosterone filled household.

I heard paper sliding against the floor. I perked up and tried to identify the source. Isla noticed my sudden movements and she made her way to the door and picked up the culprit.

“Shall I read it out to you, Miss?” I shake my head and she hands it over. I turn over my ring and run my finger across it. It was an invitation to a Selected Sleepover hosted by Lady Evadne and Lady Berklee. I was honoured that they thought to invite me. I finished my dinner swiftly and made my way two halls over. They were in Lady Evadne’s room, the last room down Amberly Hall. As I waited for Isla to deposit my dinner plate to the kitchen and bring back the calamari rings for the sleepover, I changed into the Palace issued pajamas which were comfy and decent enough. Once Isla was back with my province food, I skipped off to the sleepover.

It was a blur of events and I don’t mean that literally, I just remember feeling so so lonely. I was brought back to the horrible time my parents thought I could fare well in public school. I was ridiculed and shut out from the cliques. I promised myself I would never put myself through that again. This was slightly different because these girls were nice enough and it wasn’t their fault that my condition held me back. I knew something was going go wrong when I walked into the room late. It was because of one Ruby Stones who knocked into me and I almost lost my way. As if being tardy wasn’t bad enough, I realised I didn’t have my sunglasses to help me identify who everyone was. I was in a constant state of confusion and for my first sleepover, it was not fun because of all the voices overlapping and meshing together. The cacophony of voices wrapped around my throat, choking me. This coupled with the feeling of being left behind because I couldn’t tell what was going on and who was saying what. I just knew I had to get myself out of there. I wore a smile, tight as it seem to me, the girls bought it. I bid them goodnight, using my exhaustion as an excuse to cover up my sensory overload. The moment they knew of that, they would treat me like I was fragile. Calista Ledger was anything but fragile.

By the time I escaped the room, the tears I had been holding back escaped with me. I heaved short breaths. I pushed down my panic attack as I rushed back to my room. Isla jumped from her spot when I entered the room.

“Miss? Why are you back so soon?” I lifted my shameful head at her and she sees my red rimmed eyes. Instinctively, she hands me a handkerchief. I dab my eyes.

“I’m fine, Isla.” I say as a final word before she could fuss over me. She understood my boundaries and let me be. She was going to make my journey so much easier. I completely wipe away my tears and I feel reborn. I was no longer going to be the sobbing girl alone in her room. Tomorrow, I will make a good impression on Prince Dom.

Calista Ledger was many things but she was not fragile.

[twruniversity-blog]

Accepted Romania!

Welcome.

Get your shit in within the next three days.

OOC;

Name:  Ro

Age:  21

Pronouns:  She Her The Alimighty

Activity: 8

Contact: monsterinthelookingglass

Ships for Muse: anything and everything

Timezone: CT (Canada)

Triggers/Sensitive Subjects:  Space (RIP)

Any Concerns?:  I am sorry my characters will be 98% memes

IC;

Character: Romania

Full Name / Preferred Name:   Dragomir Radu     (Close friends can call him Dragoş)

Age: 18

Birthday:  December 1st

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He him

Housing: Whio Lodge  (He probably wrote up a very long essay about Strigois and Morois telling the readers on the similarities with a heavy focus on the differences and just a tasteful amount of Twilight bashing)

Pets: He doesn’t have any pets at the moment, though he does have an odd knack of collecting creatures, and probably will get his hands on something at some point in time. He himself practically counts as a pet or a pest if he has a roommate, poor soul.

IC - In Depth;

Magical Branches:  Fire and Blood  

He is weak to Water branches, finding them the bane of his existence. He claims that he hates getting soaked, when in reality he doesn’t know how to swim.

Ahurei (Unique Ability): necessary Shapeshift: Able to shift his form into any creature he can picture clearly in his head. Most of the time though, he needs to be able to study the creature in order to know what they look like with ease, taking hours of his free time to learn the full anatomy of the creature. At times, his abilities will spike and get triggered causing him to sometimes shift when not meaning to and be stuck in the form until he calms down. He is unable to shift into anything larger than a wolf at the moment. Other times, he may be too emotional to be able to properly shift (fear being the strongest and can cause him to freeze up)

Major/s:  Double Major in                 - Study of Magical Creatures                 - Destruction  > Fire              

Minor/s:  Science                - Biology              

Type of Degree:  Bachelors, aiming for a Masters if he can get the motivation

Clubs:

-Magical Creatures -Roleplaying games -Photography

Appearance:  

He’s fairly tall and lanky, standing at a height of 5'9 being just a bit taller than the average height in his country. He has short shaggy strawberry blonde hair, that shines a bronze or red tint in the sun. His eyes are red, and though he hates to admit it, he does require glasses for reading. Having red eyes also causes him to be a bit light sensitive, and in sunny locations he often sports black shades. 

His skin is paler due to having anemia, something that he often forgets to take the iron supplements he’s suppose to. If this wasn’t enough of a reason for people back home to joke about him looking like a Strigoi, then the added fact of accidently chipping one of his teeth just puts the icing on the cake, making it appear like he has one sharp fang.

Headcanons: -He loves any type of magical creature or creature, having an odd obsession with being able to study them in the field. He also has a tendency of wanting to capture said creatures and learn everything there is to learn about them, wishing to help show the world that some creatures deemed bad or villainous isn’t as bad as rumours or legends state.

-He doesn’t know how to swim. He owns a pair of adorable yellow duck arm floaties though. He absolutely won’t tell anyone that he doesn’t know how to swim however. That will probably be his last words before he sinks in the ocean or something.

-He has a huge sweet tooth. Especially to chocolate cake of any kind.

-He enjoys talking about home (the mountains, the creatures and sights) but refuses to talk about his family or anything of the magical society that he is from. He does not share the same beliefs as them nor is he entirely proud of the branch of magic that is passed through their blood, quite literally. Because of this, he absolutely refuses to acknowledge the second branch of magic that he is capable of. It doesn’t exist to him.

-He has a small sketch book which he sketches animals and creatures he sees, often times putting any kind of feathers or fur samples he finds as well as pictures he takes in the book as well. It’s kinda his creature encyclopaedia, used to remember forms of animals and such.

Personality:  

A rather, spunky character, he loves to joke and play pranks on others. Though he never means any harm, at times things can go overboard. Especially if a magical creature is involved. His goofy and carefree nature makes him easy friends, though few close ones and though he is quite intelligent, he often lacks the attention span or focus and will lose interest quickly. Because of this, he often forgets about assignments and manages to do them last minute, just scrapping up to a C at best when he could very well get a B or A (though if it has anything to do with magical creatures or any creatures you will see him very easily getting an A and being very much interested in the lecture)

One odd thing to note about his personality, is how eager he seems to be to forget certain things. When talk of family, he is quick to change the topic, and if people continue persisting on knowing more about his home and personal life he will get short with them. Any topics relating to family, where he comes from besides the country he lived in, and blood magic gets him very antsy and quick tempered.

He can be rather protective of those that he cares about, showing a blatant disregard to his own safety in order to ensure the safety of those he loves and cares deeply for. It is only in times like this that he will do anything to win, even if it means using the magic that runs through his blood. Other than that, he is as carefree and dramatic as possible, never really caring to win in any sports or contests. Unless the prize is a dragon tooth, then he cares.

Strengths:

-Loyal -Brave -Energetic, always trying to boost morale and keep people smiling. -Protective of those he cares about

Weaknesses:

-Burns easily in the sun and is sensitive to the light -Is a little too rash when making decisions, which often times can lead him into dangerous situations -Scared of water -Stubborn -Enjoys playing pranks way too much -Hard to get him to do things that doesn’t interest him

Backstory:

Born in a secluded magic society, hidden deep within the Carpathian Mountains, Dragos always felt different. He never shared the same ideals or goals as his father or most of the other magic users. To him their ways seemed almost barbaric. But he never once questioned his father’s rule. If a child was not born with any magical talents, they were then to be left in the forest, or given away in a “inferior” village, where those without magic could possibly take care of the child. Dragos wished to say that the later happened more often than the first, but he knew for a fact that was not the case. He grew up with the tales of those without magic killing and burning those with magic, forcing them into hiding for survival, but never quite believed that. He always wondered why they let the past rule their future but each time he brought it up he would be scolded. His mother however, was the only person who really understood him, and helped him divert his attention on other things. On creatures that roamed the forest, and legends and tales of epic poetry. She told him stories of times where all of the Earth’s children intermingled with peace, assuring him that their way was not the only way. And it filled his heart with hope.

But sadly tragedy struck and his mother grew ill. No one wished to help, believing it to be a poison of her blood, a punishment for something Dragos did not understand, and so she passed away. Grief ridden, Dragos fell into seclusion, seeking company with the creatures of the forest more so than with his own people. He would spend hours in the form of beasts, seeing the world through the eyes of another, keeping the sketchbook from his mother close to him at all times.

He grew ashamed and angered by the usage of blood magic, at the worship of it that seemed to rule over the people of the society he lived in. The small sacrifices, the usage of it to talk to the dead, and he pledged never to use the branch of magic. His father had hoped for his son to be like him, and had all intention of having him learn their ways and he had the right combination of magic to do it. Both Fire and Blood.  So when Dragos mentioned his interest in learning somewhere else, his father was ashamed, telling him that he was not allowed to. Furious, Dragos shifted his form and fled to the forest. For days he roamed, until a friend of his mentioned hearing about a strange school across the ocean that accepted both those with magic and those without. And so Dragos sought out the school, hoping to prove his father wrong and to make his mother proud.

Sample RP:

The same sky, painted gold from the sunset, the same sun setting, the same moon rising. Funny, he couldn’t help but smile at how strange and mystical the Earth seemed to be. How different this place was from home. The air seemed different, more heavy than the light fresh air of the mountains, saltier, a lot more dense than on the top of the mountains. The forest was familiar, welcoming, and yet here the ocean was terrifying and threatening. Complete opposites yet still beautiful in its own way.

Dragomir couldn’t help but take off his shoes, feeling the sand beneath his toes, almost unsure on if he liked the sensation or not. Suddenly a thought flashed through his mind causing him to look over his shoulders a few times to see if anyone else was around. Thrilled to find that no one was there, he closed his eyes in concentration, feeling his body shift as suddenly sand filled between the toes of his paws. His tail waged as his sense were flooded, overwhelmed. A sharp bark escaped his throat as he bowed, digging his front paws into the sand before leaping and bounding off, chasing the lapping waves against the beach. He threw himself into the sand, rolling in it, legs kicking up in the air. More and more happy barks echoed as he dug his snout into the sand to throw some up into the air, running around his luggage.  It was the start to a new life. A scary one, but one full of wonder and magic and fun. One that Dragomir couldn’t wait to start.

[creativitytoexplore]

[RO] Cursed Words https://ift.tt/3x4RYJZ

Some people have what the kids call ‘resting bitch face’. I have the opposite. Something about my face, something I can’t put my finger on, makes people want to engage me in conversation. My mother says it’s the family curse. My grandmother says it’s a blessing and I should be grateful. Either way, even when it’s 8am and all I want in my waking coma is coffee, another hasty grab-and-goer will make a comment about the weather or the increasingly poor service of British railway lines. I nod and smile because I like to think of myself as a polite, reasonable human being. Yes, it’s raining again, yes all week, yes hope the sun comes out soon. Oh, your train was late? Mine too, it’s terrible, simply terrible, did you know in Japan they apologise if the train is so much as thirty seconds late? Why don’t we do that here, it’s just an outrage, it really is.

If this city had an emotion it would be ‘simmering disappointment’.

“We’ve met before, haven’t we? I could swear I saw you at Jim’s party,” says a bloke with a briefcase. The pair of us jostle for prime position, as close as possible to where the train’s carriage doors jolt to a stop. I clutch the cardboard sleeve of my coffee cup, ridges digging into my fingers.

“I don’t know anyone called Jim.” I smile distantly.

“Really? Oh. Well. Did you see in this morning’s paper-”

I am the queen of small talk. It’s a crown I never wanted. On the plus side, I never have to check the news. There’s always someone eager to tell me what the prime minister’s gone and done now, or which celebrity recently got pregnant. I nod along to what the bloke is saying, agreeing that the country really has gone to the dog’s. It’s just easier not to argue. The train draws in with a chuffing screech. I get my elbows ready, even as I step back to let out a trickle of people with backpacks and rollalong cases.

I board. There’s not so little room I’ll be left standing but there are no free double seats either. I’ll have to choose someone to sit next to. Getting the same train at the same time, I spot all the usual suspects. There’s the old lady with the grandson studying in Sweden. There’s the schoolboy who plays football and scores practically every goal, don’t you know? On the other side of the carriage is Mary. I know her name is Mary because she is unapologetic about using her speakerphone to have loud arguments with her boyfriend, rolling her eyes at me whenever he’s talking. Behind her there’s a pair of men too old to be lads but still eager to talk about laddish things like Top Gear and the FTSE 100. Today I am not in the mood for guessing if a Lincoln Continental Mark V Landau is a car or an investment fund.

At the very back, I see someone new. She’s dressed for the office in a prim grey skirt and sheer black tights, but her feet are clad in chunky trainers. I spot a pair of heels jutting between the handles of her handbag. Her eyes look dreamy and far away. The moment I spot the white gleam of earbuds, my mind is made up. Earbuds buys me two minutes of quiet. Maybe even five, if I’m lucky.

I hurry to claim the seat next to hers. I have my pinched smile at the ready, a weapon to deal with the awkwardness of sharing personal space with a stranger. Pretending someone isn’t there when your knees are almost touching is one of the weirdest phenomenons of public transport. She doesn’t look up. I allow myself a slow exhale. I watch the other passengers board, the way they carefully scan the seats for the most favourable option. Someone’s put their bag on the seat next to them. There’s something wonderfully satisfying about the “Is anyone sitting here?” they get for their efforts. Etiquette on trains demands irritation be disguised as perfect, placid politeness.

I wait for my new neighbour to pop out her earbuds and ask what stop we’re at. She doesn’t. I wait for her to comment on the weather or the increase in train fares. She doesn’t. I actually get to drink my coffee before it gets cold. Between sips, I peek at her out of the corner of my eye. I decide it’s her eyes that make her pretty, the colour of the sea on a sunny day. I wonder if she’s going to get off first. We’ll have to perform the awkward train shuffle when I get up to let her out. I’ll accidentally stand the side closest to the doors and she’ll need to squeeze past me, making the whole thing even more excruciating. The thought’s enough to put me on edge. I sip my coffee and try to discern which carriage door makes for the most sensible exit.

Thankfully, I am spared by being the first to leave. It must be the only silent train journey I’ve had in my whole life. I am so grateful I want to say thank you. The only thing holding me back is knowing how resentful I feel when people ignore the fact I’m wearing headphones. Even the biggest ear dustbins in the world do little to neutralise my curse. So I say nothing.

For once I’m not exhausted before the day’s even started. It’s easier to bear the good morning chatter of my colleagues without having to sip cold coffee. I whizz through the day’s customer complaints, managing to sound sincerely contrite on the telephone. Amazing how much difference a quiet morning makes!

The arrangement becomes regular. Every day she’s on the train with a free seat next to her. I don’t hesitate for a second, ignoring any attempts to make eye contact and/or conversation on my way there. For the first time, I realise peace somewhere away from home. I get to drink my coffee. I start to bring books now I have the quiet to read them in. We’ve never spoken and yet I look forward to seeing her each day and claiming a few precious minutes of silence. Well, not really silence, not with the chuff of the train and the ringing of phones, the rumble of wheeled bags and the flat automated pronouncements of “The next station is-”. But the closest I’ll get to it in the middle of the city.

I wonder what my new seat buddy is like, where she’s come from, which office she’s going to. I briefly consider sweeping social media to see if I can find any trace of her. I surreptitiously scan her for details – a badge, lanyard, a branded carrier bag. It’s at the point when I’m sneaking glances at her phone to see if I can discern whether she’s an Apple or an Android girl that I realise I may be a little obsessed.

Then I start to consider if there’s a reason she won’t talk to me. Is it because I’m ugly? Unfriendly? Have I offended her in some way? Maybe she overheard me saying something she didn’t like. Maybe I’m not cool enough for her to talk to, which overrides any curse I may or may not have.

I decide, for the sake of my sanity, to sit somewhere else.

“Hello, love. Haven’t spoken in a while.”

Oh, help. I remember this lady, she’s always tanned from long holidays in the Mediterranean. I make ‘mmm’ noises. I stuff my book into my bag.

“Nice to see the sunshine, in’t it? Just last year I went to Spain and-”

I make the required impressed noises. I wonder what it would be like if I told her I wasn’t interested. But that just isn’t what you do, is it? Anyway, it makes her happy to talk about her holidays and I don’t have the heart to put her off. I feel my coffee growing cold.

She gets off at the next stop. I hear someone else on the search for a seat and brace myself, wondering what I’ll end up hearing about next.

I blink, stunned. The quiet girl takes the seat next to me. I should say something. But she doesn’t look at me. She sits and taps at her phone. She’s still wearing earbuds. Her getting up to sit here was a purposeful decision, she was already on the train. I should say something. But what? I don’t start conversations, other people start them for me.

For the rest of the journey, words gum up my throat. Everything I come up with seems stupid. When we reach my stop, she gets up without me having to ask. And she smiles. I smile back, utterly dazzled. Then I have to run to get off the train before the doors close.

I spend the rest of the day thinking of conversation starters. I scribble questions on my notepad, only half listening to angry customers. I come up with a shortlist. I cross out half of them. I list categories: weather, news, TV shows. I strategise what path to go down for each topic. I try and guess her responses.

The next day, I square my shoulders. I am ready. I even rehearsed, watching my face in the mirror to check my expressions. I take my seat. As usual, she’s listening to something.

Why isn’t she talking to me? I can’t take it anymore! I have to hear her voice. Just to check she isn’t some strange hallucination. If I make a complete embarrassment of myself, I can always start boarding a different carriage. Or maybe I’ll just walk.

“It isn’t raining today!” I blurt out. “We might even get a glimpse of sunshine.”

She blinks at me. Her eyes look darker when she’s actually focused on something. Someone. Is every word supposed to be this gut-wrenching? Is this how it feels for all the people compelled to talk to me? I used to think people liked to prattle on and on about nothing. Now I’m not so sure. Maybe this is just a safe way to get started, a tentative check to see if the other person wants to chat. Please talk to me. Please.

She nods. “Only because I brought my umbrella. Forgetting it means it’s guaranteed to rain, carrying it around all day brings out the sun.”

Her voice doesn’t sound like I imagined. It’s lower but sweeter, soft on vowels. She parries my lame line about the weather perfectly. I thought she might be shy, but maybe not. Already the plans I spent hours on have become useless. She takes out her earbuds, watching me curiously.

“You must be cursed!” Then I laugh, high and nervous. She looks at me, opens her mouth, closes it again.

Silence. Awful, awkward silence.

“The train’s busy today, isn’t it?”

Why did I say that? The train is busy every day and it’s certainly no busier than usual. I cringe into my coffee cup. My strange gift has left me extremely lacking in conversational skills. This may just be the most painful train ride in history. I think it even beats the time an old man insisted on telling me all the ways I reminded him of his ex

“Yeah.”

She leans back in her seat, looking away.

“I work near Farringdon. Customer complaints.”

“I’m closer to the Barbican. Office admin.”

It’s clear she’s only being polite. I struggle and flail and pity the numerous individuals who have ever felt the same way. I could ask her more about her job, but her face tells me she’s not particularly interested.

I take a gamble and ask a question I genuinely want to know the answer to.

“Do you mind if I ask what you’re listening to?”

Her face comes to life. “A thriller about an alcoholic stalking her ex. Not sure if I like it.”

“Oh. Why not? Is it not exciting?”

“Well – “

We have a conversation about novels. A perfectly passable conversation where I sound halfway intelligent. I make her laugh. I want to do it again. I feel ridiculously light, as if I might fly away like a carrier bag on a windy day.

I didn’t realise a single conversation could mean so much. I briefly worry it’s a fluke and she won’t want to sit with me again. But I’m wrong. Each morning, we smile at each other and say hello. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes I’ll open my book and she’ll put in her earbuds, both of us welcoming a quiet journey.

“I don’t even know your name,” I blurt out one day, rain-damp hair stuck to my cheeks. My coffee cup sleeve is soggy. I check her bag for the bulge of her umbrella. It seems to be missing.

“Lou,” she says.

It’s about a year since we began sitting together on the train. I mention this to her and she laughs and says I have a good memory. Lou laughs. I can talk about her. I can think about her as something other than the girl I sit next to on the train.

It’s a Tuesday morning and I’m looking forward to sitting down. I want to tell Lou about this one customer who insists on using a Nokia phone he bought the year of the millennium, but is outraged it ‘doesn’t do Skype’.

I bounce onto the train. Look around to the two or three seats Lou favours – window, slightly to the back of the second carriage.

She isn’t there.

It’s fine. She’s probably on holiday or maybe she’s sick, though she didn’t mention anything about travelling to sunny climes or coming down with a cold yesterday –

I sink into the nearest seat, mind racing. I don’t have her number. I don’t even have her second name. There didn’t seem much point as we saw each other every day. But what if she never comes back?

“You alright?” asks the chap in the seat next to me. “You look pale. Do you want a drink of water?”

“My friend isn’t here today,” I tell him. “I hope she’s alright.”

His glasses have thick black frames a fraction too big to be trendy. He launches into a rant about the lack of carriages on the train and I tune him out. I’m thinking. Plotting. How do I find one woman in the near infinite depths of the city? Maybe it won’t come to that. Lou will probably be back before long.

A week passes. Then two. Maybe she really is gone. Without even a goodbye.

Is this related to the curse? I don’t know what else to do. I scroll through my contacts to find a number I should dial more often than I do. I dial. No answer. She’s probably left the phone in a plant pot or next to the sink. I don’t bother with voicemail. I dial again.

“Hello?” a deceptively feeble voice says.

“Hello Grandma. How are you?”

“Why are you calling me? You never call me. Your mother says you don’t have time for idle conversation. Are you still living in that horrible mousehole?”

“Yes but – “

“You need to get onto the landlord, you must be so embarrassed whenever you have people around.”

“Grandma, I need to ask you about-” I lower my voice so I sound less crazy to my fellow passengers. “The curse.”

Silence. Has she dropped the phone? Accidentally hung up while trying to work the volume?

“It’s not a curse!” she suddenly squawks. “That mother, putting ideas in your head -”

“OK, fine! The blessing then. I met someone it didn’t work on. She didn’t talk to me. And I think she might be cursed – or blessed – as well. It always rains when she forgets her umbrella.”

“Ridiculous. Witches these days have absolutely no imagination. When I was young, they had fire in their bellies. Old Tommy, he said – ”

I have to interrupt her or I’ll be here all day. One mention of Old Tommy and it’s all over.

“Grandma, do you know how to break the, um, blessing?”

“Why would you want to? Before I met that nice witch I spent all my time chatting with people because otherwise we’d all sit in silence!”

I imagine my grandmother yapping the ears off anyone who would listen with her never ending stream of dramas, just like she does now. The young witch must have thought she was being oh so clever with her curse, not realising my grandmother would revel in it. In stories, curses can be broken if the person mends their ways. My grandmother was eighty-nine. I didn’t have a hope of her changing.

But maybe that was fine. If she didn’t want to tell me all about her neighbours Messy Margerie and Sly Simon I would only worry something had gone terribly wrong.

I listen for as long as I can before lapsing into friendless despair softened only by copious amounts of ice cream.

The next day, I decide I’ve had enough of despair. I don’t have to be friendless, not when people come to me so effortlessly. Lou might be gone but I can make another friend. Maybe.

I try hard for the rest of that week and the next. I ask earnest questions about paella from the Mediterannean and relate anecdotes about my mother’s holiday infatuation with a waiter named Luca. I learn I really should consider investing in a stocks and shares saving account if I ever want to buy a property. I urge Mary to break up with her disappointing boyfriend because she deserves better than someone who can’t properly pair up socks.

I feel better. I feel connected. I feel like people’s smiles are more genuine and maybe my grandmother is right, my ability isn’t so bad after all.

Although. I can’t quite quell my longing for quiet. Even one morning a week drinking coffee and sharing a pair of earphones with Lou would be enough. My head spins with new names – I wish I’d found out hers. I wish I’d followed her on Twitter or asked for her Instagram or if I were really bold maybe even her phone number. So many ways to connect and I couldn’t use a single one of them. I try typing her name into Google and Facebook but do you know how many Lous there are in one city? Too many for one tiny screen to handle. You can probably scroll to infinity. Even then I’d have to hope for an up-to-date picture without a hat or sunglasses on.

I board the train. I decide to sit next to Mary and see how her boyfriend hunt is going. But just as I am about to head over, I catch a flash of a familiar face.

“Hi!” says Lou.

I stare at her, wondering if she’s real. Someone behind me sighs loudly when the train doors bleep a warning. I am hustled onto the train by the impatient throng behind me, to the empty seat next to Lou.

My heart thunders in my mouth. I don’t know what to say to her. I’m pleased to see her and desperate to know where she’s been and on top of all that I feel a tiny bit betrayed.

“It’s nice to see you,” says Lou. “I missed the smell of your coffee in the morning. Always wakes me right up.”

“…Are you back now?”

“Not really. There was a flood in the office and I got relocated. Maybe permanently.”

“Oh. So I probably won’t see you around as much then,” I mumble.

“That’s kind of why I’m here.” And then she gave me the most adorable look, simultaneously beguiling, sheepish and shy. “I really miss you.”

“I missed you too. I wish I’d asked for more than your name.”

“Are you asking now?” she laughs.

And I did. And then question after question after question. We miss Lou’s stop. Then we miss mine. We ride the train all the way to the end of the line and by the end I glow, warm and happy and sated by a conversation I want to have with all my heart.

After that, a strange thing happens. People stop cornering me everywhere I go. I am no longer burdened by the chatter of strangers. I get the odd person every now and again, but they no longer seem compelled to talk to me. Questioning my grandmother gets me nowhere but I have a sneaking suspicion I know what broke the curse – a genuine interest in my conversational partners, a return of their efforts to connect.

The only downside – I have to start buying newspapers! And I carry an umbrella everywhere, because if Lou forgets then it rains.

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