#they absolutely sing along to certain songs together on the road though | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

koolades-world · 1 year ago

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the inspiration behind this idea came from one of my favorite vocaloid songs from back in the day. rediscovering the song gave me some great inspo. the songs is about gukapo, whose likely playing a character for the purpose of this song, the purple haired man in the thumbnail, who sees a girl he’s immediately enamored with after she runs into him at a party. after following her out of the venue, he sees her with another man and kidnapped her. her holds her captive and later kills her lover. at the end of sing, she rejects his advances and it’s implied he hurts or kills her. I love vocaloid :)) at one point in the songs he's like "i'll just cut off your legs so you can't run from me" and that screams barb. dark vocaloid is one of my fav genres

had a tough time picking between belphie or barb, but you guys decided for me!!

quick warning! the beginning of the song is a little loud and scared me the first time I listened. it’s just some rain and glass breaking but just know not to have it too loud if you do listen. also general warnings of yandere themes, kidnapping, bodily harm to both parties involved, and blood.

alright i've rambled enough now! If you couldn't tell i was very excited to write this. please enjoy!

Destiny

"You didn't notice? It has been written in the stars that we were to be together since the beginning of time. It's just a shame we faced so many 'bumps in the road,' on our journey where our paths converged to one, as he always put it."

It wasn’t supposed to be this way, and he knew it.

You’d noticed his gradual changes in behavior. At first, it was nothing to you. Finding excuses to see you throughout the day with small tokens of his affection, and brief moments spend hidden in closest together to avoid being seen by Lucifer or Diavolo that turned into more, despite the fact that he had no need to hide from them. You suspected he treasured these moments, just like you did, so who were you to object? He treated you like the crown jewels, and you weren't even certain he was this close to Diavolo.

His obsession gradually grew slowly, and you were none the wiser, like a frog set in a pot of water that had yet to be turned to boil. "It was just Barbatos being Barbatos" you thought as he began to show up in your room any night you weren't staying at a palace with treats made specially for you. "It's just because he cares" you thought as he started to fend off demons he deemed as untrustworthy in all parts of your life. "He's so sweet" you thought as he began blocking off portions of his day for time with you, and only you. "He must really care! I'm so lucky to have him in my life." These thoughts are exactly what he had intended to plant into your head all along.

Unbeknownst to you, despite his signature air of indifference, Barbatos had been taken with you from the start. He had hoped you'd come to live with him in the palace, but unfortunately, the Young Master has wanted you with the brothers instead. It wasn't a problem, however. He made sure to make an effort to make his way into your life even if it was somewhere he didn't belong. Despites his efforts though, you grew much too close to Solomon for his liking. He often opted to go out of his way to separate the two of you, so he could keep you all for himself.

But what did that damned sorcerer have that he didn't? His humanity. Although it was long gone, he knew what it was like to be human. The thought of this infuriated Barbatos. The fact that something as simple as human mortality was keeping him away from Mc absolutely would not do. Of course, it wasn't something he couldn't fix. His hatred for the

He could just swap to the timeline where he was the apple of their eye, without all the playful dancing around what he so desperately wished for, but where was the fun in that? Good things came to those who waited. He of all demons would know. Besides, it would bring him great joy to make Solomon suffer. He was nothing but trouble and Barbatos would revel in his absence.

The way Solomon swept you off your feet in a way he just couldn't almost made him drop his facade several times. The moments the two of you had shared in the broom closets now became you and Solomon vanishing when he came searching for you. You were at the House of Lamentation less frequently, and were always out with that human. When you two finally made it official, and began dating, he knew Solomon had tried his best to keep the news from reaching his ears. But nothing escaped Barbatos, not when it was about you. He always thought it was ironic his favorite and least favorite human had found their way together, but it was just a road bump, as he heard Solomon refer to his problems. Barbatos always thought it was annoying.

After lots of meticulous planning, he finally decided he was ready to have you all to himself. He was done sharing what was rightfully his with Solomon. He called you, saying it was urgent and that you needed to come over to the palace right away. After saying something about how it concerned your family and that you were to come alone, he set his D.D.D. down and waited. He knew you would have told Solomon, or whoever you happened to be with, which would give them the excuse he needed to get you away from the others.

When you showed up, he invited you into his room with little words. It was strange of him to be so silent. He also had his usual, sweet smile on his face, but it seemed more intense that usual. You just couldn't understand how he looked so calm when he'd had a sense of urgency in his voice not even ten minutes ago when you'd spoken to him on the phone. After you stepped into his room, he closed the door behind you, and shut the lights off. You'd never been more terrified of the demon you'd come to love.

Before you knew it, you were waking up in a human sized cage in the corner of Barbatos' room you hadn't noticed when you'd entered. Besties being locked inside, there was also an ornate choker around your neck you could only describe as a collar. After sitting up, you began to look around for Barbatos. As you searched, he emerged from dark spot in the room, the same intense grin on his face from earlier.

"Barb? What's the matter?" You placed both hands on the bars and squeezed.

"Nothing, my love." He took a seat on his bed, and just started at you, unblinking.

"Can you please let me out then? Don't we have to go see my family? If they need my help, I want to be there for them." You got to your feet, only to hit your head on the ceiling of the cage.

"You're best kept here, where you're safe and away from Solomon." His eye twitched slightly at the name of your lover.

"Open the door. Barbatos, this isn't funny." You tried to shake the bars, trying to find the Barbatos you'd loved. He just stared. It was beginning to get very creepy. "Please. I don't like this. What have I done?"

"Nothing, and that's precisely it, dear. You're too precious for this world, and I've decided it's best you stay here, with me. Where better for you to be?" He finally blinked, and the gentle smile you knew well returned. For a moment, you thought the joke had finally ended, and he was about to open to cage door to let you know it was all for a surprise. But, he didn't. Instead, he got up and walked towards his door. Before he left, he spun back around to speak to you a final time. "I'll be back later with dinner. Sit tight, and I'll answer more of your questions later." He opened the door just enough to leave, and slipped out.

You were alone. You knew better than anyone else that his room was soundproofed, and that screaming was pointless. You tried to escape for what felt like hours and cried for some portion of that too. Nothing you tried worked, even summoning any of the brothers with your pact. Did he always want to just keep you in the corner of his room, like some trinket, from the very beginning? You had millions of questions.

When he returned with a plate of food, like he'd promised, you didn't know how long it had been. Your back was to the door, tears caked on your face. "My darling, I brought dinner, like I promised." You didn't want or feel like moving to face him.

"Why?" Your voice was raw, and you weren't sure if you were more upset about the seeming betrayal, or the treatment you were receiving, as if nothing was wrong.

'Why? I thought I told you this. You know how much I hate redundance." The loving lilt in his voice dropped.

"You lied to me. To think I ever loved you." You whipped your head around to meet his gaze, letting the emotions seep their way into your words. He looked more dull and empty than you'd ever seen him. He didn't respond. He moved towards the cage, causing you to scoot back, suddenly afraid.

"I know you tried to escape. I don't appreciate that, love. That's what the point of your necklace is. I work quite hard on that." He opened the door and yanked you towards him by your ankles, causing you to fall flat on your face. In his other hand, he held a knife you'd never seen before.

"What the hell are you doing? Put that away." You kicked your legs, but he and his gaze remained unwavering. He rested the knife on your knee joint, and slid his gloved hand up your leg so his thumb rested next to the blade. It was a touch that was all too familiar. He seemed to feed of your fear, and a small smile grew on his face.

"If you apologize right now, I'll have no reason to cut your legs off." You could feel the blood draining from your face. He'd never been violent with you before, but you knew he could if he wanted to. "Well? I haven't got all day."

"I- I'm sorry, Barb. Please put the knife away." You're relieved at how his expression softens and how his hands slide back down to your ankles. However, much to your surprise, he slashes the bottoms of your feet with the knife before letting go of your legs suddenly. Your scream was equally one of pain and shock. Blood began to pour out of the cut. You cradled your legs closer to yourself, now facing him as he turned around to get the first aid kit he happened to have on hand.

"You won't be going anywhere now, will you?" He hummed as he pressed a cloth around your feet to stop the bleeding. You could only stare at him in horror as he tended to the wounds he'd created. "You can sleep with me in my bed tonight. I'm sorry, but it had to be done. I can't have you leaving me." He smiled as he would at the Little D's but you would never see it the same again.

As the days went by, you began to wonder just how much of the outside life you were missing. What where they doing in RAD? How long did they expect you to be gone? Did Solomon miss you? Your only company was the soft pulsing of the portals that were somewhere nearby when Barbatos wasn't in the room. The only way to tell what time of day it was, or how much time had passed was the routine meals he brought to you like clockwork. He would consistently mention, especially nightly when he would drag you out of the cage to bed with him, about how this is how things were meant to be, and that how this was your mutual destiny. He'd never mentioned that before, but now it seemed like it was all he wanted to talk about. It was strange, but if he was happy, you could’ve cared less. Most of the time, you just remained silent, unless he directly inquired you. He was his charming self again, with the empty Barbatos returning rarely. He’d broken your trust, but didn’t seem to care. He treated you just like he had before you got with Solomon, like the days where the two of you acted like children with crushes on each other. He wanted to go back to the days of chaste kisses and long nights together, but you couldn’t get past what he’d done. You never tried to refute his claims, but deep down, it disgusted you.

He didn’t hurt you too badly, or too often, but that didn’t take away from the constantly fear. Seemingly, if he felt like it, he’d get the knife back out and threaten you with it in a very violet way, before only minorly hurting you compared to what he’s just threatened to do. Once, he said he was going to stab both of your eyes out if you didn’t stop crying so much, becuase he hated seeing you upset. Instead, after you promised to stop, he danced his blade on your face and left some minor injuries. The entire time, one of his hands was on your chin and he was looking directly into your eyes. At one point, he even threatened to carve his name into your neck so you’d never forget who he thought you belonged to. Sometimes, you thought he enjoyed seeing you suffering more than just physically, because he'd keep your D.D.D. charged and leave it in your sights while he was gone. You could see all the texts and incoming calls, but powerless to respond, just to let them know you were in their backyard. Solomon called the most, but your group chat with the brothers seemed to continue as normal.

After another afternoon of tears while Barbatos was gone, he returned earlier than expected, leaving you no time to clear up your tears. Without any words, he dropped something next to you. Through tears, you tried to make out what he'd dropped. When you looked up, you saw him expectantly smiling down at you. You looked back down to try and figure out what he'd left. You grabbed it through the bars, studying it.

"He's finally out of the way, dear. You don't need him. That wretched sorcerer only caused us problems. You were happy with me, so you can be happy with me again." With horror, you realized you were holding a fragment of Solomon's wand. The very same wand that been the source of many of your problems, but also love, together. You'd polished it many times. The piece you were holding was part of the tip where the cute star rested.

Barbatos knelt down beside you to open the door, but you didn't move. But you had finally had it with him. You almost didn't want to know what he did to your lover and refused to even think about the possibilities. Gripping the wand piece in one hand, you balled up the other and socked Barbatos as hard as you could in the face. You hit the center of his face, and he stumbled back a little. He touched his nose gently with his hand, and both of you saw the blood trickling down onto his white glove. You made eye contact, and you saw the sweet Barbatos leave you along with any ounce of courage you'd mustered up to do that, for Solomon.

Nobody ever did see you, or Solomon again.

i wrote this all in one sitting!! not in love with it since I don't think I'm great at writing action but i really like the beginning!! hope you liked this bc this was so fun to write

#oneshot #gn reader #not proof read lol #obey me #obey me!#obey me x reader #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me beel #obey me levi #obey me belphie #obey me barbatos #omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date #obey me solomon

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gryffindors-weasley · 4 years ago

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All Along

Young!Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: The moment your friends knew there was something more between you and Sirius.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: mentions of smoking, fluff

Drives. It was an unspoken tradition amongst countless others that you and your friends had created for yourselves. Every Saturday evening was reserved for a drive to wherever the road took you, most often leading to the open plains of the clearing you’d found by accident when searching for a place to camp—that or to the lake on the hottest summer days. They were always cathartic and fun, always an opportunity to roll down the windows and feel the wind on your skin, to sing to songs on the radio as you take turns driving down winding streets and back roads. And it was on one of those drives that they knew. James, Lily and Remus knew that there had been more than just a friendship and habit of bickering between you and Sirius.

The sun had nearly set into the horizon as Lily drove, the sky colored with the deepest shades of blues and oranges and the moon rising higher amongst the clouds. The air was warm yet the breeze was cool as it streamed through the open windows, sweeping over your skin and sifting through your hair. The radio was turned down, ABBA playing softly in the background now that Lily’s got control of the choice in music. James couldn’t complain, though, he’s got a soft spot for that band thanks to you and heard and he was itching to turn up the radio but he couldn’t. Not with three of his friends nearly out cold after a day at the lake.

It’d been a good day; any day spent with your friends was bound to be memorable, bound to be better than the last though you were beginning to think it couldn’t be possible. Even with Lily having brought up Sirius at least a dozen times, and James and Remus having brought you up, it was only a minor annoyance in the rest of your trip. It wasn’t really even annoying per say, not on their end. What had been was the inevitable smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth each and every time you’d heard his name, something promptly masked by an eye roll. The inevitable flush in his cheeks at the mention of you that’d been passed off as the summer heat with the addition of an aguamenti spell in retaliation.

Despite that obvious poking and prodding from your nosy friends, it was another moment spent that you’d come to cherish.

They knew—they all did. They knew there’d been something going on between the two of you and that was something that simply wasn’t up for argument. They weren’t sure when they’d come to that conclusion or even how, but they knew something was there, something was different.

Your friendship with Sirius had always been one that was never dull, and to someone who hadn’t been familiar with the pair, one might even say you hated each other. To be quite honest even your own friends had thought you seriously did by your sixth year. You were always arguing about something no matter how trivial and insignificant, though most all of them had been accompanied by smiles and eye rolls, laughter and huffs. You were always the one stealing the cigarettes right from his very lips and putting them out just for the sake of seeing him get annoyed. He knew the reasoning behind it very well, he could even see it coming, but he still couldn’t find it in him to keep you from doing it because your smile was far more worth it.

There were times when you’d actually get mad at the other, where the two of you wouldn’t speak because you both were too stubborn to admit when you were wrong. But everyone would notice that without fail, you would never go more than a day or two without speaking. Lily is fairly certain she’s never heard or seen either of you ever apologize, not once, more so a mutual forgiveness in the form of an eye roll and a smile that couldn’t be hidden a moment longer.

There are times when it always seems to be just the two of you. When you’d sit together in the Great Hall, and you’d walk to class. Even in the most crowded of rooms you could find your way to each other with a certain ease that had made it far too obvious to ignore. Even now at twenty years old, you both were still just the same.

But, most of the time it’d been an undeniably constant state of back and forth banter over things the three of them had started to tune out for the last three years. One of you always had something to say while the other always had a quick witted response lined up in return. Even that day, for that matter. The moment he’d stepped foot out of that lake he’d transformed, and it was all for the sake of shaking water onto you and your book just to hear you complain. He was a pain, really, but not enough to be able to stifle a laugh.

It was inherently obvious that there was more than just a mutual desire to get under each other’s nerves, there was more than just two friends who swore who could never quite see eye to eye on the most trivial of things. Their bets became abundantly clear.

It was James who had noticed it first on the drive home that evening. He’d gotten stuck in the middle in the back seat of Lily’s Volkswagen, Remus on one side and Sirius on the other. You had been sitting up front with Lily, on the brink of falling asleep in the passenger seat much like Moony had been. The trip had been much quieter than it had been earlier, the chaos having died down and making it far easier to notice the little things.

His best friend’s legs had been stretched across his lap haphazardly, head leaned back against the window as the steady breeze blew strands of black hair around his face. Sirius’ gaze had been focused out the window, at the darkened colors of the sunset and each and every time he blinked he swore his eyelids grew heavier. A smile was on his lips, one that was softer than James had ever seen his best friend have before. He didn’t know what the reasoning behind it was, though he had his guesses. But it was a question soon answered when his gaze cast downward.

There, grasped lightly within the raven haired boy’s hand had been your own that dangled comfortably tucked between your seat and the door. James couldn’t see it but he knew you’d had a smile to match Sirius, and he was right. Even half asleep you’d had a lingering smile on your lips when his fingers entwined with yours in a near featherlight touch at first, a grip that had tightened without being aware of it.

Perhaps the thing that made it most difficult for James to refrain from disruptively alerting his friend of the profoundly exciting event was the way he’d brushed his thumb over your hand. It was something so simple yet so wordlessly endearing, something much softer than he’d ever seen him do. It seemed to be something done without thinking about it; it was obvious that’d been just so and he was starting to wonder how many trips had the two of you done this very thing, how long it’d been that you’ve done this. Surely this wasn’t the first time.

In that moment James had swatted Remus’ shoulder, a finger raised to his own lips immediately after he’d stirred to quiet him down. It was then that he grasped his groggy friend’s attention and nodded in your direction.

“They’re holding hands!” He whispered.

“They’re what?”

James gave him a nudge when he tried to lean over him to see, risking a glance in the other direction to check if they’d been far too noticeable. Lily of course noticed—it wasn’t hard to see the two dorks having been up to something in the rear view but James would tell her later. It would be a difficult task to hold it in but he’d manage. But when Remus finally saw just what he’d been talking about his smile was immediate as he swatted at James.

They knew it was only a matter of time before it happened, they were just waiting for it to be so. You thought you had them fooled with every eye roll and every scoff, with every frown and every quip. Sirius thought he could hide behind witty comebacks and stares passed off into a joke about something having been on your face. Truthfully, you had gotten under the other’s skin a number of times. You very much mean it each and every time you say he’s a pain, and you’d steal his cigarettes and put them out a thousand times over just to hear him grumble. Just the same as he means to snatch your books from your hands and steal your sunglasses; he did it all just to see you smile and maybe, just maybe, to see that frown of yours that you don’t really mean.

But they knew. They knew better than to believe that you hadn’t fallen for one another, no matter how stubborn and absolutely mad you drove them with your antics. As you sat in the passenger seat with Sirius just behind you, hands loosely enveloped with the hopes that it just might go unseen—

They knew all along.

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Tags: @vogueweasley @gxtitobxby @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @snitches-at-dawn @dracosathenaeum @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @writeroutoftime @medalloway-blog

#sirius black #sirius black fic #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #sirius black oneshot #sirius black imagine

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ellewriteswrongs · 4 years ago

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picking favorites (a @tsbandau drabble)

if y’all aren’t emotionally invested in @underdog-arts ‘s band au, idk what y’all are even doing /j

anyway, here’s a wholesome family drabble insp. by the band au and my (not-so) subtle obsession with remus and janus. also subbing to their patreon is the best $5 i’ve probably ever spent, no joke

“Honey, you can still pick up Ry, right?” Janus called down the hallway, carrying a basket of laundry on each hip before depositing them in the hallway to put away later. Remus was seated in their shared office catching up on emails as Janus began packing up leftover pasta into containers to take to their show scheduled that night.

“I told you I got ‘em,” he agreed, banging the last clumps of his protein shake into his mouth with the heel of his hand. “I’m gonna’ jog to V’s and grab the van.”

Janus nodded to themself out of instinct before faltering, their brow furrowing.

“Wait—Re, that’s like three miles,” they challenged, dumping the dirtied dishes into the sink. “Just take the fucking car.”

Remus’ snort laugh was audible from down the hallway.

“They asked for the van!” Remus cackled. “And I, for one, do not disappoint. Apparently making my kid’s friends think they’re cool is worth a three-mile jog.”

Janus rolled their eyes, albeit fondly. This was, unfortunately, not news.

Riley was having an…interesting phase. It wouldn’t be abnormal for kids their age if it weren’t for the fact that their parents were ridiculously competitive, and all of their parents’ friends were eager to get in on it.

As soon as Remus attended career day in Riley’s first grade classroom, resulting in the entire class of six-year-olds marveling at the fact that their friend’s dad was a “rock star.”

Janus loved that conversation over dinner that night.

They weren’t jealous. No, in fact, it was probably overdue for Riley to have a bit of a “Daddy’s kid” phase, considering how joined at the hip they were with Janus for multiple years now. But they wanted to win.

Riley could make their own decisions about picking a favorite parent. As long as that decision was Janus.

“You’ve gone so-oft,” they sing-songed, smirking as Remus appeared in the kitchen behind them, wrapping one hand around their hip and pressing a kiss to their temple. “Ry’s got you wrapped around their finger.”

Remus have a flash of his crooked grin.

“Yeah, well…at least I know where they get that from.”

Janus rolled their eyes, trying to hide their reddening face.

“Sap,” they grumbled fondly. “Hurry up and get on with your run before you’re late to pickup. And tell V I said hey.”

Remus gave an exasperated chuckle and affirmation, but pocketed his keys and wallet nonetheless.

The jog to Virgil’s apartment wasn’t a particularly strenuous three miles, being downtown and all, and Remus was far from out of shape. Still, three miles was three miles—especially in the late afternoon sun. Needless to say, Virgil wasn’t thrilled to have a giant sweaty man on his doorstep, but he handed over the keys nonetheless.

The van was old, still clinging to its axels from when Remus himself purchased it from an old neighbor and declared it the band’s “tour bus.” It was nice enough at the time, especially for the price he paid, but it certainly wasn’t still around for anything more than sentimental value.

Mainly just Remus refusing to get rid of it.

That, and the fact that, for whatever reason, Riley thought it was the coolest thing ever.

The drive wasn’t long, only the sitting in traffic of other parents in minivans trying to get into the school parking lot. He…wasn’t a fan of that part of being a parent, that’s for sure. He could do without any other parents, thank you very much, but at least it was fun to see how obvious all of them were in their distaste of both him and Janus, compared to how much their kid absolutely adored them.

A fact that was only proven when Remus eventually made it to the parking lot and exited his van, only to be met with ear-splitting squeal of “daddy!” and an armful of six-year-old.

He can’t deny how, even after all these years, the title still makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Like…he is a dad. That’s his kid! How fucking rad is that!

He happens to spot a few other parents, along with some of Riley’s friends that he recognizes, and he offers a quick wave with the hand that isn’t mussing up his kid’s hair.

“You brought the van,” Riley points out with a toothy grin that Remus can’t help mirroring. He can’t help the knot in his throat when he spots the gap in their teeth from their first ever lost tooth—which only meant they were getting much too old and Remus would really appreciate it if they would slow the fuck down.

“I told you I would, didn’t I?” Riley nods, bouncing on Remus’ hip just a bit out of excitement. “I gotta’ warn you though, JJ’s getting pretty jealous.”

Riley laughs before sticking out their tongue and making a fart noise in Remus’s face.

Remus is, for the thousandth time, bewildered at how Riley couldn’t possibly be more like Janus if they tried. And mostly smitten. He has the coolest kid on Earth, after all.

“They can suck my butt!” Riley squeals and Jesus Christ, Remus is going to have a heart attack right there in the parking lot. He’s gonna’ have to grill Jan again to make sure those two aren’t secretly biologically related.

“Hey, your words not mine, squirt,” he smirks, opening the van door and strapping them into the car seat. “And your early bedtime if you let JJ hear any of that.”

He finishes with a pinch on their nose before closing the van door and getting back in the driver’s seat.

Riley, as soon as the radio turn on, starts protesting very aggressively to listen to “your songs, daddy! Play your songs!”

Thankfully, he has a CD burned with some of their…cleaner songs for that exact purpose.

Riley, for lack of a better word, was ‘singing’ along at a volume that Remus would’ve otherwise found hilarious and impressive if it wasn’t right in his ear. Still, there was a certain fondness that came with watching his kid’s excitement over his work—something that, as usual, was paired with thrashing within the confines of a car seat and headbanging their little heart out.

Along the drive Remus made every attempt to stop the barrage of the screamo singer in the making, but all were ultimately unsuccessful. At least…until he pointed out one particular building out of a strip mall assortment.

“Hey, you see that store right there? The one with the red sign?” He spoke up, catching Riley’s eager attention in an instant. They placed both hands on the van window to look out.

“What is it?” They asked, squinting to try and read what was on the sign.

“You know the snake on my leg?” Riley nodded, quieting down. “That’s where JJ took me to get it.”

They paused, seemingly putting some pieces together in their head.

“How come you only have one?” They asked, still kicking their legs against their seat. “JJ has lots, how come you don’t have lots too?”

Remus chuckled, continuing along the road as the light turned green.

“‘Cause I don’t need another one. They’re very expensive, you know.”

“Is it ‘cause you’re a wimp?”

Remus choked on his own spit.

“N-no,” he choked out, laughing. “No I’m not, I just think it looks better this way.”

He didn’t bother looking into the backseat to see what Riley thought of that answer, but if the return to karaoke that followed was any indication, they were not impressed. Still, he’d probably take the teasing over the screaming, but kids are kids.

Even as they pulled into their driveway, Remus had to strategically dodge Riley’s flailing limbs in order to un-fasten the seatbelts on their car seat and actually get them in the house. Apparently the music was not as vital to the ‘sing-along’ as he’d hoped it was when he turned the car off.

“Alright, alright, calm those legs down before you knock my teeth out, will ya’?” Remus teased, placing Riley on his shoulders where they instantly took fistfuls of his hair to hold on. Riley toned down the velocity, but otherwise did not stop. “Careful, squirt, if you wanna’ kick so bad, I’m signing you up to play soccer.”

Riley stopped almost instantaneously, gripping Remus’ hair even tighter as they headed back inside the house, Riley’s tiny backpack slung around Remus’ forearm.

“Nooo,” they wailed, half punctuated by laughter that echoed through the house.

“What are we complaining about?” Janus spoke, leaning against the doorway across the room with a fond smile.

“He said if I kick him in the teeth I have to play soccer,” Riley whined, attempting to climb down from Remus’ shoulders on their own. Janus snorted a laugh before swiftly crossing the room to collect their child and place them on their hip.

“Wow, your daddy’s so mean,” Janus agreed, raising a challenging eyebrow as they stood in front of their husband. Remus pouted before bending down to steal a kiss.

“Gross,” Riley giggled, pressing a hand on each of their parents’ faces to separate them.

“Gross?” Janus smirked. “Well in that case, maybe your dad was being a bit unfair.”

Riley turned to Remus to stick out their tongue at him.

“I mean, soccer? That’s just ridiculous,” Janus continued, a mischievous glint in their eyes. “We’ll obviously have to sign you up for football instead. A punt like that has got to be put to good use.”

Riley immediately went back to their dramatized complaining, this time reaching desperately for Remus to get him to take them back from Janus—to which Remus just held up his hands in mock innocence.

“No can do, kid,” he smirked. “The punishment has to fit the crime, after all.”

Riley continued their attempts to wiggle out of Janus’ unyielding grip.

“Never!” They declared, trying a different approach of reaching over Janus’ shoulder to escape from behind. “I won’t! I won’t do it, I promise!”

Remus and Janus both knew they wouldn’t actively try to hurt either of them, but sometimes it was just more fun to assert rules when it came with shrieking laughter and climbing their parents like a jungle gym.

“Well, now you know where we stand,” Remus spoke in false authority, reaching for one of Riley’s tiny shoes and holding it up to address it as if it were in control of their legs. “I better not see you around these parts again, ya’ hear?” He added in an over-the-top western accent, gesturing to his face.

Riley squealed with laughter as he held out his hand for a handshake and they shook it with their accused foot.

“Alright, alright, you two,” Janus intervened with fond exasperation. “Snacks are on the counter, take it or leave it.”

Riley whipped their head around to peer into the kitchen, cheering when they spotted two plates on the kitchen counter, each with a toaster waffle piled high with blueberries.

“Second…breakfast!” They cheered, drumroll-ing on their leg before whooping and slinking out of Janus’ grip and climbing up onto the kitchen barstools. Remus, giving a fond eye-roll at the enthusiasm, turned to drape his arms over Janus’ shoulders from behind, perching his chin on top of their head.

“They get it from you, you know,” he mumbled, smirking at the scoff it earned him.

“Shut up,” Janus grumbled, the smile evident in their voice. “That is all you.”

“Babe, sports are a threat in this house,” he teased. “You’re telling me that came from me?”

“Yeah, I’ll take that one,” they chided, turning around to face their husband. “As long as you’re aware that the energy, the volume—honey, that’s all you.”

Remus quirked his brow with a proud smirk.

“Or maybe it’s the fact that they sleep for fourteen hours and we haven’t even had eight in the last six years,” he challenged knowingly. “You know, I happen to remember that back in the day…that bed was hardly even for sleeping.”

Janus snorted, their face reddening slightly.

“Is it bad to think of those as the ‘good old days’ already?”

Remus swept a piece of their hair out of their face.

“Hell no, dude. We lived like kings back then,” he chuckled. “How ‘bout this—I’ll get Ro to take ‘em to the park or something this weekend and I’ll dick you down just like old times, ‘kay?”

Janus sputtered out a cackle, smacking Remus on the chest before covering his mouth with their hand.

“Fucking christ, they’re like two yards away,” they hissed, still laughing. “I am not going to be the one fielding questions about what getting dicked down means, oh my god.”

“You say that like they listen to anything when there’s food in front of them,” Remus countered, nodding in the direction of their kid as Janus rolled their eyes with a chuckle.

“Now that, is from you,” they grinned, jabbing him in the side with their elbow.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re serving up delicacies like toaster waffles,” Remus said, raising his hands in mock defense.

Janus gave him a look before crossing their arms.

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I know you can’t go two hours without food. Go on, there’s one for you, even if it’s probably cold by now,” they teased as Remus excitedly kissed their forehead before practically running to the kitchen. He hopped up to sit on the counter, folding each toaster waffle like a blueberry-filled taco before funneling them into his mouth.

Janus followed close behind—at a normal pace, thank you very much—and took the actual seat next to their kid, sipping at the cup of tea they had left on the counter before the two had returned home as they listened to Riley regaling their day at school.

———

Realistically, Remus probably should’ve seen it coming. He was a couple days past his previous record of days as Riley’s “favorite” and he knew he likely didn’t have much longer before Janus dethroned him again, but he certainly hadn’t expected the scene he walked in on that night.

He had heard hushed laughter coming from one of their house’s bathrooms that evening, assuming at first that Janus was just handling Riley’s bath or something like that, but as he cleaned up the mess from their dinner and finished washing the rest of their dishes, he was surprised to find they were still in there. So obviously he had to investigate.

He knocked on the door, rolling his eyes fondly as shushing and giggles came from within.

“Everything good in there?” He teased, leaning against the door. “I gotta’ say, I’m a little hurt I didn’t get invited to whatever club this is that hangs out in the bathroom.”

More giggles followed by the oh-so familiar sound of Janus’ shushing.

“I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself what all the fuss is about,” he sing-songed, slowly creaking open the door before letting out a snort laugh at the scene before him.

Janus was seated on the edge of the bathtub, wash cloth in hand, as Riley sat on the sink counter, covered on all limbs with temporary tattoos. At least the pieces of tape that Janus had cut into circles and colored black to look like ear gauges were admittedly cute.

“Oh, I see how it is,” he smirked from against the doorframe.

“JJ said you’re a wimp,” Riley proudly announced. “I was right.”

Janus stuck their tongue out and made a spitting noise and…yeah, that was their kid alright. Not that Remus would have it any other way.

#anyway.......i would die for them #my writing #tsbandau #sanders sides #ts remus #ts janus

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butterflies-dragons · 4 years ago

Text

Eugénie Grandet and Sansa Stark

Art credit: 1) Chinese Book Cover for "Eugénie Grandet" by Margarita Winkler; 2) Lady Sansa by Batata-Tasha

She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother's queen.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Channeling my inner Sansa Stark in order to avoid the terrible reality of late, I lost myself in some of the French, Spanish and Russian classics. Eugenié Grandet (1833) by Honoré de Balzac was one of them.

Eugenié Grandet is a book that Sansa Stark would love:

They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

Eugénie (23) and Sansa (13) are kind, generous, eager to please and extremely romantic girls.

Although they are both dutiful daughters, they have a strained relationship with their fathers and at some point they defy them out of love.

The main different between Eugénie and Sansa, aside their age, is their education. While Eugénie is a provincial girl from Saumur with almost zero formal education, Sansa, a northern girl, comes from high nobility and has been educated to be the perfect lady and queen.

Eugénie and Sansa aren't exactly the same, but while reading Balzac's novel it's very difficult not to find them similar. Even Eugénie's house in Saumur resembles Winterfell and the North, the same way Eugénie's walnut tree from her garden resembles the Heart Tree from Winterfell's godswood.

I'm sure that GRRM knows about Honoré del Balzac, however I have no certainty if he has read Eugénie Grandet. But I would not be surprised to know that he did read the novel, and in that case I would even suspect that Eugénie inspired him, even a little, while creating Sansa.

It could all be just a coincidence, of course.

FAIR WARNING : EUGÉNIE GRANDET SPOILERS

Saumur / The North & Winterfell

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

There are houses in certain provincial towns whose aspect inspires melancholy, akin to that called forth by sombre cloisters, dreary moorlands, or the desolation of ruins. Within these houses there is, perhaps, the silence of the cloister, the barrenness of moors, the skeleton of ruins; life and movement are so stagnant there that a stranger might think them uninhabited, were it not that he encounters suddenly the pale, cold glance of a motionless person, whose half-monastic face peers beyond the window-casing at the sound of an unaccustomed step.

Such elements of sadness formed the physiognomy, as it were, of a dwelling-house in Saumur which stands at the end of the steep street leading to the chateau in the upper part of the town. This street—now little frequented, hot in summer, cold in winter, dark in certain sections—is remarkable for the resonance of its little pebbly pavement, always clean and dry, for the narrowness of its tortuous road-way, for the peaceful stillness of its houses, which belong to the Old town and are over-topped by the ramparts. Houses three centuries old are still solid, though built of wood, and their divers aspects add to the originality which commends this portion of Saumur to the attention of artists and antiquaries.

(...) The whole history of France is there.

(...) The house in Saumur, without sun, without warmth, always in shadow, melancholy, is an image of her life.

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

The vast and frigid realm of the Kings of Winter, the Starks of Winterfell, is generally considered the first and oldest of the Seven Kingdoms, in that it has endured, unconquered, for the longest. The vagaries of geography and history set the North apart from their southron neighbors.

It is often said that the North is as large as the other six kingdoms put together, but the truth is somewhat less grand: the North, as ruled today by House Stark of Winterfell, comprises little more than a third of the realm. Beginning at the southern edge of the Neck, the domains of the Starks extend as far north as the New Gift (itself part of their realm until King Jaehaerys I convinced Winterfell to cede those lands to the Night's Watch). Within the North are great forests, windswept plains, hills and valleys, rocky shores, and snow-crowned mountains. The North is a cold land—much of it rising moorlands and high plains giving way to mountains in its northern reaches—and this makes it far less fertile than the reaches of the south. Snow has been known to fall there even in summer, and it is deadly in winter.

—The World of Ice and Fire - The North

Robert snorted. "Bogs and forests and fields, and scarcely a decent inn north of the Neck. I've never seen such a vast emptiness. Where are all your people?"

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

The rising sun sent fingers of light through the pale white mists of dawn. A wide plain spread out beneath them, bare and brown, its flatness here and there relieved by long, low hummocks. Ned pointed them out to his king. "The barrows of the First Men."

Robert frowned. "Have we ridden onto a graveyard?"

"There are barrows everywhere in the north, Your Grace," Ned told him. "This land is old."

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard II

Sewing and Embroidery

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

By the window nearest to the door stood a straw chair, whose legs were raised on castors to lift its occupant, Madame Grandet, to a height from which she could see the passers-by. A work-table of stained cherry-wood filled up the embrasure, and the little armchair of Eugenie Grandet stood beside it. In this spot the lives had flowed peacefully onward for fifteen years, in a round of constant work from the month of April to the month of November. On the first day of the latter month they took their winter station by the chimney.

(...) Mother and daughter took charge of the family linen, and spent their days so conscientiously upon a labor properly that of working-women, that if Eugenie wished to embroider a collar for her mother she was forced to take the time from sleep, and deceive her father to obtain the necessary light. For a long time the miser had given out the tallow candle to his daughter and la Grande Nanon just as he gave out every morning the bread and other necessaries for the daily consumption.

(...) In short,—if it is possible to sum up the effect this elegant being produced upon an ignorant young girl perpetually employed in darning stockings or in mending her father’s clothes.

(...) "and your cousin (...) who will spend her life in darning towels.”

(...) Her treasuries were not the millions whose revenues were rolling up; they were Charles’s dressing-case, the portraits hanging above her bed, the jewels recovered from her father and proudly spread upon a bed of wool in a drawer of the oaken cabinet, the thimble of her aunt, used for a while by her mother, which she wore religiously as she worked at a piece of embroidery,—a Penelope’s web, begun for the sole purpose of putting upon her finger that gold so rich in memories.

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

Sansa's needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. "Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands."

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Underestimated

"We will try to relieve the monotony of your visit here. If you stay all the time with Monsieur Grandet, good heavens! what will become of you? Your uncle is a sordid miser who thinks of nothing but his vines; your aunt is a pious soul who can’t put two ideas together; and your cousin is a little fool, without education, perfectly common, no fortune, who will spend her life in darning towels.”

(...) “Not at all, monsieur l’abbe. This young man cannot fail to see that Eugenie is a little fool,—a girl without the least freshness. Did you notice her to-night? She was as yellow as a quince.”

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

"I … I had not thought, my lord." "Your Grace," he said sharply. "You truly are a stupid girl, aren't you? My mother says so."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

The king studied her a moment. "Perhaps you're not so stupid as Mother says." He raised his voice. "Did you hear my lady, Dontos? From this day on, you're my new fool. You can sleep with Moon Boy and dress in motley."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

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

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

Sansa reddened. Any fool would have realized that no woman would be happy about being called "the Queen of Thorns." Maybe I truly am as stupid as Cersei Lannister says.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

The woman that calls Eugénie a "little fool" is Madame des Grassins, who despite underestimating Mademoiselle Grandet, wants her to marry her son Adolphe.

In a similar way, Cersei Lannister underestimates Sansa, believing her unworthy of her beloved son Joffrey.

Romantics

They were able to examine Charles at their leisure without fearing to displease the master of the house. Grandet was absorbed in the long letter which he held in his hand; and to read it he had taken the only candle upon the card-table, paying no heed to his guests or their pleasure. Eugenie, to whom such a type of perfection, whether of dress or of person, was absolutely unknown, thought she beheld in her cousin a being descended from seraphic spheres. She inhaled with delight the fragrance wafted from the graceful curls of that brilliant head. She would have liked to touch the soft kid of the delicate gloves. She envied Charles his small hands, his complexion, the freshness and refinement of his features. In short,—if it is possible to sum up the effect this elegant being produced upon an ignorant young girl perpetually employed in darning stockings or in mending her father’s clothes, and whose life flowed on beneath these unclean rafters, seeing none but occasional passers along the silent street,—this vision of her cousin roused in her soul an emotion of delicate desire like that inspired in a young man by the fanciful pictures of women drawn by Westall for the English “Keepsakes,” and that engraved by the Findens with so clever a tool that we fear, as we breathe upon the paper, that the celestial apparitions may be wafted away. Charles drew from his pocket a handkerchief embroidered by the great lady now travelling in Scotland. As Eugenie saw this pretty piece of work, done in the vacant hours which were lost to love, she looked at her cousin to see if it were possible that he meant to make use of it. The manners of the young man, his gestures, the way in which he took up his eye-glass, his affected superciliousness, his contemptuous glance at the coffer which had just given so much pleasure to the rich heiress, and which he evidently regarded as without value, or even as ridiculous,—all these things, which shocked the Cruchots and the des Grassins, pleased Eugenie so deeply that before she slept she dreamed long dreams of her phoenix cousin.

(...) In the pure and monotonous life of young girls there comes a delicious hour when the sun sheds its rays into their soul, when the flowers express their thoughts, when the throbbings of the heart send upward to the brain their fertilizing warmth and melt all thoughts into a vague desire,—day of innocent melancholy and of dulcet joys! When babes begin to see, they smile; when a young girl first perceives the sentiment of nature, she smiles as she smiled when an infant. If light is the first love of life, is not love a light to the heart? The moment to see within the veil of earthly things had come for Eugenie. —Eugénie Grandet * * * All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs.

(...) It was a great honor to ride with the queen, and besides, Prince Joffrey might be there. Her betrothed. Just thinking it made her feel a strange fluttering inside, even though they were not to marry for years and years. Sansa did not really know Joffrey yet, but she was already in love with him. He was all she ever dreamt her prince should be, tall and handsome and strong, with hair like gold. She treasured every chance to spend time with him, few as they were.

(...) He took her by the arm and led her away from the wheelhouse, and Sansa's spirits took flight. A whole day with her prince! She gazed at Joffrey worshipfully. He was so gallant, she thought. The way he had rescued her from Ser Ilyn and the Hound, why, it was almost like the songs, like the time Serwyn of the Mirror Shield saved the Princess Daeryssa from the giants, or Prince Aemon the Dragonknight championing Queen Naerys's honor against evil Ser Morgil's slanders.

The touch of Joffrey's hand on her sleeve made her heart beat faster. "

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I Sansa rode to the Hand's tourney with Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, in a litter with curtains of yellow silk so fine she could see right through them. They turned the whole world gold. Beyond the city walls, a hundred pavilions had been raised beside the river, and the common folk came out in the thousands to watch the games. The splendor of it all took Sansa's breath away; the shining armor, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind … and the knights themselves, the knights most of all. "It is better than the songs," she whispered when they found the places that her father had promised her, among the high lords and ladies. Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling. They watched the heroes of a hundred songs ride forth, each more fabulous than the last.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

She loved King’s Landing; the pagaentry of the court, the high lords and ladies in their velvets and silks and gemstones, the great city with all its people. The tournament had been the most magical time of her whole life, and there was so much she had not seen yet, harvest feasts and masked balls and mummer shows. She could not bear the thought of losing it all.

[…] They were going to take it all away; the tournaments and the court and her prince, everything, they were going to send her back to the bleak grey walls of Winterfell and lock her up forever. Her life was over before it had begun.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

Eugénie and her deep infatuation with her Parisian cousin Charles Grandet, reminds me a lot of Marianne Dashwood and John Willoughby from Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility.

Charles was a prince in Eugénie's eyes, with all his dandy manners and Parisian refinement. Charles was the South and the pretty songs for Eugénie, the same way Prince Joffrey and even Ser Loras were the South and the pretty songs for Sansa.

Dressing well as a weapon

An early riser, like all provincial girls, she was up betimes and said her prayers, and then began the business of dressing,—a business which henceforth was to have a meaning. First she brushed and smoothed her chestnut hair and twisted its heavy masses to the top of her head with the utmost care, preventing the loose tresses from straying, and giving to her head a symmetry which heightened the timid candor of her face; for the simplicity of these accessories accorded well with the innocent sincerity of its lines. As she washed her hands again and again in the cold water which hardened and reddened the skin, she looked at her handsome round arms and asked herself what her cousin did to make his hands so softly white, his nails so delicately curved. She put on new stockings and her prettiest shoes. She laced her corset straight, without skipping a single eyelet. And then, wishing for the first time in her life to appear to advantage, she felt the joy of having a new gown, well made, which rendered her attractive. —Eugénie Grandet * * * "Do remind her to dress nicely today. The grey velvet, perhaps. We are all invited to ride with the queen and Princess Myrcella in the royal wheelhouse, and we must look our best." Sansa already looked her best. She had brushed out her long auburn hair until it shone, and picked her nicest blue silks. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa I Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa II "I will need hot water for my bath, please," she told them, "and perfume, and some powder to hide this bruise." The right side of her face was swollen and beginning to ache, but she knew Joffrey would want her to be beautiful. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI Knowing that Joffrey would require her to attend the tourney in his honor, Sansa had taken special care with her face and clothes. She wore a gown of pale purple silk and a moonstone hair net that had been a gift from Joffrey. The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey's gifts as well. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa I I have to look pretty, Joff likes me to look pretty, he's always liked me in this gown, this color. She smoothed the cloth down. The fabric was tight across her chest. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa III

Here, while Eugénie uses the business of dressing to try to impress and gain the affections of her cousin Charles, Sansa uses the same resource as a shield against Joffrey's ill temper and to cover the bruises left on her skin by Joffrey's ill temper.

Complimenting someone's name

“Is anything the matter, my cousin?” he said. “Hush!” said Madame Grandet to Eugenie, who was about to answer; “you know, my daughter, that your father charged us not to speak to monsieur—” “Say Charles,” said young Grandet. “Ah! you are called Charles? What a beautiful name!” cried Eugenie. —Eugénie Grandet * * * "I don't even know your name." "Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower." "That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. "Is it Craster who frightens you, Gilly?" —A Clash of Kings - Jon III "I . . . I could call myself after my mother . . ." "Catelyn? A bit too obvious . . . but after my mother, that would serve. Alayne. Do you like it?" "Alayne is pretty." Sansa hoped she would remember. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

Kissing Cousins

“My dear cousin—” “Hush, hush! my cousin, not so loud; we must not wake others. See,” she said, opening her purse, “here are the savings of a poor girl who wants nothing. Charles, accept them! This morning I was ignorant of the value of money; you have taught it to me. It is but a means, after all. A cousin is almost a brother; you can surely borrow the purse of your sister.” —Eugénie Grandet

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

When the two lovers were alone in the garden, Charles said to Eugenie, drawing her down on the old bench beneath the walnut-tree,— “I did right to trust Alphonse; he has done famously. He has managed my affairs with prudence and good faith. I now owe nothing in Paris. All my things have been sold; and he tells me that he has taken the advice of an old sea-captain and spent three thousand francs on a commercial outfit of European curiosities which will be sure to be in demand in the Indies. He has sent my trunks to Nantes, where a ship is loading for San Domingo. In five days, Eugenie, we must bid each other farewell—perhaps forever, at least for years. My outfit and ten thousand francs, which two of my friends send me, are a very small beginning. I cannot look to return for many years. My dear cousin, do not weight your life in the scales with mine; I may perish; some good marriage may be offered to you—” “Do you love me?” she said. “Oh, yes! indeed, yes!” he answered, with a depth of tone that revealed an equal depth of feeling. “I shall wait, Charles—Good heavens! there is my father at his window,” she said, repulsing her cousin, who leaned forward to kiss her. She ran quickly under the archway. Charles followed her. When she saw him, she retreated to the foot of the staircase and opened the swing-door; then, scarcely knowing where she was going, Eugenie reached the corner near Nanon’s den, in the darkest end of the passage. There Charles caught her hand and drew her to his heart. Passing his arm about her waist, he made her lean gently upon him. Eugenie no longer resisted; she received and gave the purest, the sweetest, and yet, withal, the most unreserved of kisses. “Dear Eugenie, a cousin is better than a brother, for he can marry you,” said Charles.

(...) After the kiss taken in the passage, the hours fled for Eugenie with frightful rapidity. Sometimes she thought of following her cousin. Those who have known that most endearing of all passions,—the one whose duration is each day shortened by time, by age, by mortal illness, by human chances and fatalities,—they will understand the poor girl’s tortures. She wept as she walked in the garden, now so narrow to her, as indeed the court, the house, the town all seemed. She launched in thought upon the wide expanse of the ocean he was about to traverse. At last the eve of his departure came. That morning, in the absence of Grandet and of Nanon, the precious case which contained the two portraits was solemnly installed in the only drawer of the old cabinet which could be locked, where the now empty velvet purse was lying. This deposit was not made without a goodly number of tears and kisses. When Eugenie placed the key within her bosom she had no courage to forbid the kiss with which Charles sealed the act.

“It shall never leave that place, my friend,” she said.

“Then my heart will be always there.”

“Ah! Charles, it is not right,” she said, as though she blamed him.

“Are we not married?” he said. “I have thy promise,—then take mine.”

“Thine; I am thine forever!” they each said, repeating the words twice over.

No promise made upon this earth was ever purer. The innocent sincerity of Eugenie had sanctified for a moment the young man’s love.

—Eugénie Grandet * * * How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?" —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI Before she could summon the servants, however, Sweetrobin threw his skinny arms around her and kissed her. It was a little boy's kiss, and clumsy. Everything Robert Arryn did was clumsy. If I close my eyes I can pretend he is the Knight of Flowers. Ser Loras had given Sansa Stark a red rose once, but he had never kissed her . . . and no Tyrell would ever kiss Alayne Stone. Pretty as she was, she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. —A Feast for Crows - Alayne II "I don't want you to marry him, Alayne. I am the Lord of the Eyrie, and I forbid it." He sounded as if he were about to cry. "You should marry me instead. We could sleep in the same bed every night, and you could read me stories." (...) She put a finger to his lips. "I know what you want, but it cannot be. I am no fit wife for you. I am bastard born." "I don't care. I love you best of anyone. " (...) "You must have a proper wife, a trueborn maid of noble birth." "No. I want to marry you, Alayne." Once your lady mother intended that very thing, but I was trueborn then, and noble. (...) "The Lord of the Eyrie can do as he likes. Can't I still love you, even if I have to marry her? —The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Eugénie and her cousin Charles's brief romance is nothing like any of Sansa's experiences with suitors, but it reminds me a bit of Sansa and her little cousin Robert Arryn interactions.

Despite looking at his provincial relatives with disdain at first, after knowing about the financial disgrace and death of his father, Charles gets use to the humble and monotonous life of Saumur and especially gets fond of Eugénie's kindness and generosity.

In a similar way, despite the violent events from Sansa's snow castle chapter in A Storm of Swords, after the the death of his mother Lysa, Sweetrobin clings to Sansa/Alayne as a mother figure and later love interest.

Charles is nothing like Sweetrobin though, he is more similar to men like Harrold Hardyng and John Willoughby from Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility.

At the end, similar to John Willoughby's actions, Charles Grandet chooses to marry a girl he doesn't love to re-gain his high status in Parisian society and a nobility title, unbeknownst that Eugénie had become extremely rich, richer than him and his new bride combined.

Harrold Hardyng is not Sansa's cousin but Robert Arryn's cousin and heir. Harry consented the betrothal to Alayne only to gain the political support from Petyr Baelish.

And while cousin Charles's kisses mean love's kisses to Eugénie, cousin Robert's unrequited kisses remind Sansa of another forced and unrequited kisses from the past that left only trauma and fear in her.

But despite all her awful experiences from unworthy suitors, Sansa still longs to know kisses of love, and she associates those with Snow and she happens to has a cousin named Snow. More about this later.

You will know it some day / You may learn that one day

It was a death worthy of her life,—a Christian death; and is not that sublime? In the month of October, 1822, her virtues, her angelic patience, her love for her daughter, seemed to find special expression; and then she passed away without a murmur. Lamb without spot, she went to heaven, regretting only the sweet companion of her cold and dreary life, for whom her last glance seemed to prophesy a destiny of sorrows. She shrank from leaving her ewe-lamb, white as herself, alone in the midst of a selfish world that sought to strip her of her fleece and grasp her treasures. “My child,” she said as she expired, “there is no happiness except in heaven; you will know it some day.” (...) Terrible and utter disaster! The ship went down, leaving not a spar, not a plank, on a vast ocean of hope! Some women when they see themselves abandoned will try to tear their lover from the arms of a rival, they will kill her, and rush to the ends of the earth,—to the scaffold, to their tomb. That, no doubt, is fine; the motive of the crime is a great passion, which awes even human justice. Other women bow their heads and suffer in silence; they go their way dying, resigned, weeping, forgiving, praying, and recollecting, till they draw their last breath. This is love,—true love, the love of angels, the proud love which lives upon its anguish and dies of it. Such was Eugenie’s love after she had read that dreadful letter. She raised her eyes to heaven, thinking of the last words uttered by her dying mother, who, with the prescience of death, had looked into the future with clear and penetrating eyes: Eugenie, remembering that prophetic death, that prophetic life, measured with one glance her own destiny. Nothing was left for her; she could only unfold her wings, stretch upward to the skies, and live in prayer until the day of her deliverance. “My mother was right,” she said, weeping. “Suffer—and die!” —Eugénie Grandet * * * "Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow." —A Game of Thrones - Sansa III "Life is not a song, sweetling," he'd told her. "You may learn that one day to your sorrow." —A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI The moment came back to her vividly. "You told me that life was not a song. That I would learn that one day, to my sorrow." —A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

This is a parallel but also a contrast between Eugénie and Sansa.

Eugénie's mother wasn't happy with her husband. Monsieur Felix Grandet was an awful husband and father. His only love was gold. That's why at her hour of death, Madame Grandet envisions a destiny of sorrows for her daughter, knowing well that not only the Cruchots and des Grassins coveted Eugénie's inheritance, but it was her own father, Monsieur Grandet, the most dangerous threat to Eugénie's welfare.

On the other hand, Catelyn Stark, Sansa's mother, was very happy with Eddard Stark. Ned was a good husband but a terrible father. Being aware of her good luck in her marriage, Catelyn said this to his firstborn son Robb: "We're all just songs in the end. If we are lucky." —A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V.

Catelyn's words of hope to her son contrast to Petyr Baelish's words of sorrow to Sansa, not only because the bad omen, but because he is an active player in the sorrows that await Sansa and her family.

Strained relationship with their fathers

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

On the morrow Grandet, in pursuance of a custom he had begun since Eugenie’s imprisonment, took a certain number of turns up and down the little garden; he had chosen the hour when Eugenie brushed and arranged her hair. When the old man reached the walnut-tree he hid behind its trunk and remained for a few moments watching his daughter’s movements, hesitating, perhaps, between the course to which the obstinacy of his character impelled him and his natural desire to embrace his child. Sometimes he sat down on the rotten old bench where Charles and Eugenie had vowed eternal love; and then she, too, looked at her father secretly in the mirror before which she stood. If he rose and continued his walk, she sat down obligingly at the window and looked at the angle of the wall where the pale flowers hung, where the Venus-hair grew from the crevices with the bindweed and the sedum,—a white or yellow stone-crop very abundant in the vineyards of Saumur and at Tours. Maitre Cruchot came early, and found the old wine-grower sitting in the fine June weather on the little bench, his back against the division wall of the garden, engaged in watching his daughter. —Eugénie Grandet * * *

He had only to look at Sansa's face to feel the rage twisting inside him once again. The last fortnight of their journey had been a misery. Sansa blamed Arya and told her that it should have been Nymeria who died. And Arya was lost after she heard what had happened to her butcher's boy. Sansa cried herself to sleep, Arya brooded silently all day long, and Eddard Stark dreamed of a frozen hell reserved for the Starks of Winterfell.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard IV

Monsieur Felix Grandet and Lord Eddard Stark were awful fathers to Eugénie and Sansa. They both used their daughters for their own business but they never tried to understand the girls. They both could only watch them from apart not knowing how to approach them.

The severity of Père Grandet and Lord father Stark towards their daughters made Eugénie and Sansa defy them for the first time when they fell in love with Charles and Joffrey.

Ned was not the awful person that Monsieur Grandet was, though. Despite all his flaws as Sansa's father, he gave his own life in order to save Sansa from the same fate.

Melancholic Beauty

When his daughter came down the winding street, accompanied by Nanon, on her way to Mass or Vespers, the inhabitants ran to the windows and examined with intense curiosity the bearing of the rich heiress and her countenance, which bore the impress of angelic gentleness and melancholy. (...) “Mademoiselle, the best way to stop such rumors is to procure your liberty,” answered the old notary respectfully, struck with the beauty which seclusion, melancholy, and love had stamped upon her face. —Eugénie Grandet * * * Their litter had been sitting in the sun, and it was very warm inside the curtains. As they lurched into motion, Tyrion reclined on an elbow while Sansa sat staring at her hands. She is just as comely as the Tyrell girl. Her hair was a rich autumn auburn, her eyes a deep Tully blue. Grief had given her a haunted, vulnerable look; if anything, it had only made her more beautiful. —A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

Although it is a bit morbid to find beauty in someone's grief and misery, this image of our heroines being graceful while in disgrace got my attention.

This regard of Eugénie and Sansa comes from two men that wanted to reach them and gain their favor. Monsieur Cruchot, the notary, wanted Eugénie to marry his nephew, President Cruchot de Bonfons, while Tyrion Lannister, already married to Sansa, wishes to get her affections despite their forced marriage.

This is the point of view of two men that wanted to play the hero of a damsel in distress, but they are not the heroes that those fair maids wished for.

Love's kisses / Lover's kisses

Her imprisonment and the condemnation of her father were as nothing to her. Had she not a map of the world, the little bench, the garden, the angle of the wall? Did she not taste upon her lips the honey that love’s kisses left there? She was ignorant for a time that the town talked about her, just as Grandet himself was ignorant of it. Pious and pure in heart before God, her conscience and her love helped her to suffer patiently the wrath and vengeance of her father. —Eugénie Grandet A pure world, Sansa thought. I do not belong here. Yet she stepped out all the same. Her boots tore ankle-deep holes into the smooth white surface of the snow, yet made no sound. Sansa drifted past frosted shrubs and thin dark trees, and wondered if she were still dreaming. Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

While Eugénie's love to Charles gives her strength and dignify her in her tribulations, Sansa, in front of a beautiful winter scenery, feels soiled by her southern experiences. She feels that she doesn't belong in that pure, innocent world, as white as Snow.

Yet Sansa, defying her supposed maculated fate, embraces the beauty of the falling Snow that reminds her of home, and compared the sensation of the snowflakes brushing her face to lover's kisses.

The calling of the Snow at dawn was too powerful for Sansa to resist it. It was like the Snow telling her, you are wrong, you belong with me, let me kiss you to prove it.

"Jon Snow?" she blurted out, surprised.

"Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose."

She had not thought of Jon in ages. He was only her half brother, but still . . . with Robb and Bran and Rickon dead, Jon Snow was the only brother that remained to her. I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. But of course that could never be. Alayne Stone had no brothers, baseborn or otherwise.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

No one will ever marry me for love

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

Only six individuals had a right of entrance to Monsieur Grandet’s house. The most important of the first three was a nephew of Monsieur Cruchot. Since his appointment as president of the Civil courts of Saumur this young man had added the name of Bonfons to that of Cruchot. He now signed himself C. de Bonfons. Any litigant so ill-advised as to call him Monsieur Cruchot would soon be made to feel his folly in court. The magistrate protected those who called him Monsieur le president, but he favored with gracious smiles those who addressed him as Monsieur de Bonfons. Monsieur le president was thirty-three years old, and possessed the estate of Bonfons (Boni Fontis), worth seven thousand francs a year; he expected to inherit the property of his uncle the notary and that of another uncle, the Abbe Cruchot, a dignitary of the chapter of Saint-Martin de Tours, both of whom were thought to be very rich. These three Cruchots, backed by a goodly number of cousins, and allied to twenty families in the town, formed a party, like the Medici in Florence; like the Medici, the Cruchots had their Pazzi.

Madame des Grassins, mother of a son twenty-three years of age, came assiduously to play cards with Madame Grandet, hoping to marry her dear Adolphe to Mademoiselle Eugenie. Monsieur des Grassins, the banker, vigorously promoted the schemes of his wife by means of secret services constantly rendered to the old miser, and always arrived in time upon the field of battle. The three des Grassins likewise had their adherents, their cousins, their faithful allies. On the Cruchot side the abbe, the Talleyrand of the family, well backed-up by his brother the notary, sharply contested every inch of ground with his female adversary, and tried to obtain the rich heiress for his nephew the president.

This secret warfare between the Cruchots and des Grassins, the prize thereof being the hand in marriage of Eugenie Grandet, kept the various social circles of Saumur in violent agitation. Would Mademoiselle Grandet marry Monsieur le president or Monsieur Adolphe des Grassins?

(...) “If I had a man for myself I’d—I’d follow him to hell, yes, I’d exterminate myself for him; but I’ve none. I shall die and never know what life is. Would you believe, mamz’elle, that old Cornoiller (a good fellow all the same) is always round my petticoats for the sake of my money,—just for all the world like the rats who come smelling after the master’s cheese and paying court to you? I see it all; I’ve got a shrewd eye, though I am as big as a steeple. Well, mamz’elle, it pleases me, but it isn’t love.”

(...) She (Eugénie's mother) shrank from leaving her ewe-lamb, white as herself, alone in the midst of a selfish world that sought to strip her of her fleece and grasp her treasures.

(...) (Eugénie) Madame de Bonfons (sometimes ironically spoken of as mademoiselle) inspires for the most part reverential respect: and yet that noble heart, beating only with tenderest emotions, has been, from first to last, subjected to the calculations of human selfishness; money has cast its frigid influence upon that hallowed life and taught distrust of feelings to a woman who is all feeling.

—Eugénie Grandet

* * *

“If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

A pity Ned Stark had taken his daughters south; elsewise Theon could have tightened his grip on Winterfell by marrying one of them. Sansa was a pretty little thing too, and by now likely even ripe for bedding. But she was a thousand leagues away, in the clutches of the Lannisters. A shame.

—A Clash of Kings - Theon IV

It came to her suddenly that she had stood in this very spot before, on the day Lord Eddard Stark had lost his head. That was not supposed to happen. Joff was supposed to spare his life and send him to the Wall. Stark’s eldest son would have followed him as Lord of Winterfell, but Sansa would have stayed at court, a hostage. Varys and Littlefinger had worked out the terms, and Ned Stark had swallowed his precious honor and confessed his treason to save his daughter’s empty little head. I would have made Sansa a good marriage. A Lannister marriage. Not Joff, of course, but Lancel might have suited, or one of his younger brothers. Petyr Baelish had offered to wed the girl himself, she recalled, but of course that was impossible; he was much too lowborn. If Joff had only done as he was told, Winterfell would never have gone to war, and Father would have dealt with Robert’s brothers.

—A Dance with Dragons - Cersei II

“I will be safe in Highgarden. Willas will keep me safe.” “But he does not know you,” Dontos insisted, “and he will not love you. Jonquil, Jonquil, open your sweet eyes, these Tyrells care nothing for you. It’s your claim they mean to wed.” “My claim?” She was lost for a moment. “Sweetling,” he told her, “you are heir to Winterfell.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

“Yes. You are a ward of the crown. The king stands in your father’s place, since your brother is an attainted traitor. That means he has every right to dispose of your hand. You are to marry my brother Tyrion.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

“The girl’s happiness is not my purpose, nor should it be yours. Our alliances in the south may be as solid as Casterly Rock, but there remains the north to win, and the key to the north is Sansa Stark.” […] “She must marry a Lannister, and soon.” “The man who weds Sansa Stark can claim Winterfell in her name,” his uncle Kevan put in.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion III

“How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?” The thought made Sansa weary. All she knew of Robert Arryn was that he was a little boy, and sickly. It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love. But lying came easy to her now. “I … can scarcely wait to meet him, my lady. But he is still a child, is he not?”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

As you can see, Monsieur Grandet's banker des Grassins wished Eugénie to marry his son Adolphe, while his lawyer Monsieur Cruchot wished Eugénie to marry his nephew President Cruchot de Bonfons. Both, the Cruchots and des Grassins, coveted Eugénie's inheritance.

In a similar way, the Lannisters, the Tyrells, Theon Greyjoy, Petyr Baelish, Harrold Hardyng, and even Lysa Tully in the name of his son Robert Arryn, coveted Sansa's claim to the North and Winterfell, with all the lands, money, armies and political power that come with the name Stark.

So, when I read these lines, 188 years after Balzac wrote them:

(...) and yet that noble heart, beating only with tenderest emotions, has been, from first to last, subjected to the calculations of human selfishness; money has cast its frigid influence upon that hallowed life and taught distrust of feelings to a woman who is all feeling.

I couldn't help but think about Sansa Stark and one of the saddest quotes from the ASOIAF series:

It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love.

Walnut Tree / Heart Tree

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

When the two lovers were alone in the garden, Charles said to Eugenie, drawing her down on the old bench beneath the walnut-tree,— (...) I cannot look to return for many years. My dear cousin, do not weight your life in the scales with mine; I may perish; some good marriage may be offered to you—”

“Do you love me?” she said.

“Oh, yes! indeed, yes!” he answered, with a depth of tone that revealed an equal depth of feeling.

“I shall wait, Charles—Good heavens! there is my father at his window,” she said, repulsing her cousin, who leaned forward to kiss her.

(...) When Eugenie placed the key within her bosom she had no courage to forbid the kiss with which Charles sealed the act.

“It shall never leave that place, my friend,” she said.

“Then my heart will be always there.”

“Ah! Charles, it is not right,” she said, as though she blamed him.

“Are we not married?” he said. “I have thy promise,—then take mine.”

“Thine; I am thine forever!” they each said, repeating the words twice over.

(...) In the mornings she sat pensive beneath the walnut-tree, on the worm-eaten bench covered with gray lichens, where they had said to each other so many precious things, so many trifles, where they had built the pretty castles of their future home. She thought of the future now as she looked upward to the bit of sky which was all the high walls suffered her to see; then she turned her eyes to the angle where the sun crept on, and to the roof above the room in which he had slept. Hers was the solitary love, the persistent love, which glides into every thought and becomes the substance, or, as our fathers might have said, the tissue of life.

(...) Sometimes he sat down on the rotten old bench where Charles and Eugenie had vowed eternal love; and then she, too, looked at her father secretly in the mirror before which she stood.

(...) At the beginning of August in the same year, Eugenie was sitting on the little wooden bench where her cousin had sworn to love her eternally, and where she usually breakfasted if the weather were fine. The poor girl was happy, for the moment, in the fresh and joyous summer air, letting her memory recall the great and the little events of her love and the catastrophes which had followed it.

—Eugénie Grandet

As you can see, Eugénie's walnut tree is the heart of her house in Saumur. In the old wooden bench beneath that immense tree, the cousin lovers Eugénie and Charles Grandet exchanged vows of eternal love. As Charles said later, beneath that walnut tree they got married.

Eugénie sat in that same wooden bench for years, remembering and waiting for her lover. Charles, on the other hand, forget his promises of eternal love, broke those vows and married another woman.

In a similar way, the weirwood trees are called heart trees, the weirwood from Winterfell's godswood is called the Heart of Winterfell, and godswoods are a sacred places for praying and meditation, under the weirwood tress lovers kiss and make promises, and heroes vows to protect the realms of men:

At the center of the grove an ancient weirwood brooded over a small pool where the waters were black and cold. “The heart tree,” Ned called it. The weirwood’s bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy, the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap and strangely watchful. They were old, those eyes; older than Winterfell itself. They had seen Brandon the Builder set the first stone, if the tales were true; they had watched the castle’s granite walls rise around them. It was said that the children of the forest had carved the faces in the trees during the dawn centuries before the coming of the First Men across the narrow sea.

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn I

The sun was sinking below the trees when they reached their destination, a small clearing in the deep of the wood where nine weirwoods grew in a rough circle. Jon drew in a breath, and he saw Sam Tarly staring. Even in the wolfswood, you never found more than two or three of the white trees growing together; a grove of nine was unheard of. The forest floor was carpeted with fallen leaves, bloodred on top, black rot beneath. The wide smooth trunks were bone pale, and nine faces stared inward. The dried sap that crusted in the eyes was red and hard as ruby. Bowen Marsh commanded them to leave their horses outside the circle. "This is a sacred place, we will not defile it."

When they entered the grove, Samwell Tarly turned slowly looking at each face in turn. No two were quite alike. "They're watching us," he whispered. "The old gods."

"Yes." Jon knelt, and Sam knelt beside him.

They said the words together, as the last light faded in the west and grey day became black night.

"Hear my words, and bear witness to my vow," they recited, their voices filling the twilit grove. "Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."

The woods fell silent. "You knelt as boys," Bowen Marsh intoned solemnly. "Rise now as men of the Night's Watch."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon VI

Robb bid farewell to his young queen thrice. Once in the godswood before the heart tree, in sight of gods and men. The second time beneath the portcullis, where Jeyne sent him forth with a long embrace and a longer kiss. And finally an hour beyond the Tumblestone, when the girl came galloping up on a well-lathered horse to plead with her young king to take her along.

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

In contrast to Eugénie, who fervently clung to her walnut tree that became the symbol of her vows of eternal love to Charles, since Sansa left Winterfell, she only found godswoods without a weirwood tree:

The night the bird had come from Winterfell, Eddard Stark had taken the girls to the castle godswood, an acre of elm and alder and black cottonwood overlooking the river. The heart tree there was a great oak, its ancient limbs overgrown with smokeberry vines; they knelt before it to offer their thanksgiving, as if it had been a weirwood. Sansa drifted to sleep as the moon rose, Arya several hours later, curling up in the grass under Ned’s cloak. All through the dark hours he kept his vigil alone. When dawn broke over the city, the dark red blooms of dragon’s breath surrounded the girls where they lay. “I dreamed of Bran,” Sansa had whispered to him. “I saw him smiling.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard V

She awoke all at once, every nerve atingle. For a moment she did not remember where she was. She had dreamt that she was little, still sharing a bedchamber with her sister Arya. But it was her maid she heard tossing in sleep, not her sister, and this was not Winterfell, but the Eyrie. And I am Alayne Stone, a bastard girl. The room was cold and black, though she was warm beneath the blankets. Dawn had not yet come. Sometimes she dreamed of Ser Ilyn Payne and woke with her heart thumping, but this dream had not been like that. Home. It was a dream of home. The Eyrie was no home. […] When Sansa opened her eyes again, she was on her knees. She did not remember falling. It seemed to her that the sky was a lighter shade of grey. Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. But who could she pray to? The garden had been meant for a godswood once, she knew, but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root. A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Even the gods were silent. The Eyrie boasted a sept, but no septon; a godswood, but no heart tree. No prayers are answered here, she often thought, though some days she felt so lonely she had to try. Only the wind answered her, sighing endlessly around the seven slim white towers and rattling the Moon Door every time it gusted. It will be even worse in winter, she knew. In winter this will be a cold white prison.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

But despite the absence of a weirwood tree, those empty godswoods became a metaphor of Sansa herself, lost in the south and longing to come back home:

A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

But Sansa Stark has started her journey back home, she is going back North to take back her heart:

But when Brienne asked about Sansa, she said, “I’ll tell you what I told Lord Tywin. That girl was always praying. She’d go to sept and light her candles like a proper lady, but near every night she went off to the godswood. She’s gone back north, she has. That’s where her gods are.”

—A Feast for Crows - Brienne II

A veil of courtesy / Courtesy is a lady's armor

She appeared in the evening at the hour when the usual company began to arrive. Never was the old hall so full as on this occasion. The news of Charles’s return and his foolish treachery had spread through the whole town. But however watchful the curiosity of the visitors might be, it was left unsatisfied. Eugenie, who expected scrutiny, allowed none of the cruel emotions that wrung her soul to appear on the calm surface of her face. She was able to show a smiling front in answer to all who tried to testify their interest by mournful looks or melancholy speeches. She hid her misery behind a veil of courtesy.

—Eugénie Grandet

What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady's armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, "I'm sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

Courtesy is a lady's armor. You must not offend them, be careful what you say.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

"Courtesy is a lady's armor," Sansa said. Her septa had always told her that.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

A lady's armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face. No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Agency, richness, power... And loneliness

At the end, life gives Eugénie her revenge, especially against the people that always coveted her vast wealth.

Eugénie was at last free, independent, rich and powerful, but she was very lonely. Her only comfort was the company and loyalty of la Grand Nanon:

Eugenie Grandet was now alone in the world in that gray house, with none but Nanon to whom she could turn with the certainty of being heard and understood,—Nanon the sole being who loved her for herself and with whom she could speak of her sorrows. La Grande Nanon was a providence for Eugenie. She was not a servant, but a humble friend.

—Eugénie Grandet

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

La Grand Nanon was often compared to a loyal dog and she was in charge of the wolf-dog that protected the old Grandet House in Saumur.

Nanon did everything. She cooked, she made the lye, she washed the linen in the Loire and brought it home on her shoulders; she got up early, she went to bed late; she prepared the food of the vine-dressers during the harvest, kept watch upon the market-people, protected the property of her master like a faithful dog, and even, full of blind confidence, obeyed without a murmur his most absurd exactions.

(...) Like a watch-dog, she slept with one ear open, and took her rest with a mind alert.

(...) Nanon went to bolt the outer door; then she closed the hall and let loose a wolf-dog, whose bark was so strangled that he seemed to have laryngitis. This animal, noted for his ferocity, recognized no one but Nanon; the two untutored children of the fields understood each other.

—Eugénie Grandet

La Grand Nanon and the wolf-dog remind me of the Stark children's direwolves, of course. Loyal companions and protectors until the very end.

After the deaths of Monsieur et Madame Grandet, only Nanon remains to Eugénie. Then, thanks to the new financial independence of Mademoiselle Grandet, La Grand Nanon became rich as well, and she even got married to her old suitor Antoine Cornoiller.

Illustration by René ben Sussan for Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac - Heritage Press, 1961.

The day on which Maitre Cruchot handed in to his client a clear and exact schedule of the whole inheritance, Eugenie remained alone with Nanon, sitting beside the fireplace in the vacant hall, where all was now a memory, from the chair on castors which her mother had sat in, to the glass from which her cousin drank. “Nanon, we are alone—” “Yes, mademoiselle; and if I knew where he was, the darling, I’d go on foot to find him.” “The ocean is between us,” she said. While the poor heiress wept in company of an old servant, in that cold dark house, which was to her the universe, the whole province rang, from Nantes to Orleans, with the seventeen millions of Mademoiselle Grandet. Among her first acts she had settled an annuity of twelve hundred francs on Nanon, who, already possessed of six hundred more, became a rich and enviable match. In less than a month that good soul passed from single to wedded life under the protection of Antoine Cornoiller, who was appointed keeper of all Mademoiselle Grandet’s estates. Madame Cornoiller possessed one striking advantage over her contemporaries. Although she was fifty-nine years of age, she did not look more than forty. Her strong features had resisted the ravages of time. Thanks to the healthy customs of her semi-conventual life, she laughed at old age from the vantage-ground of a rosy skin and an iron constitution. Perhaps she never looked as well in her life as she did on her marriage-day. She had all the benefits of her ugliness, and was big and fat and strong, with a look of happiness on her indestructible features which made a good many people envy Cornoiller.

Eugénie became so rich that she was considered a Queen and the sovereign of her own court:

It seemed unlikely that Mademoiselle Grandet would marry during the period of her mourning. Her genuine piety was well known. Consequently the Cruchots, whose policy was sagely guided by the old abbe, contented themselves for the time being with surrounding the great heiress and paying her the most affectionate attentions. Every evening the hall was filled with a party of devoted Cruchotines, who sang the praises of its mistress in every key. She had her doctor in ordinary, her grand almoner, her chamberlain, her first lady of honor, her prime minister; above all, her chancellor, a chancellor who would fain have said much to her. If the heiress had wished for a train-bearer, one would instantly have been found. She was a queen, obsequiously flattered. Flattery never emanates from noble souls; it is the gift of little minds, who thus still further belittle themselves to worm their way into the vital being of the persons around whom they crawl. Flattery means self-interest. So the people who, night after night, assembled in Mademoiselle Grandet’s house (they called her Mademoiselle de Froidfond) outdid each other in expressions of admiration. This concert of praise, never before bestowed upon Eugenie, made her blush under its novelty; but insensibly her ear became habituated to the sound, and however coarse the compliments might be, she soon was so accustomed to hear her beauty lauded that if any new-comer had seemed to think her plain, she would have felt the reproach far more than she might have done eight years earlier. She ended at last by loving the incense, which she secretly laid at the feet of her idol. By degrees she grew accustomed to be treated as a sovereign and to see her court pressing around her every evening. Monsieur de Bonfons was the hero of the little circle, where his wit, his person, his education, his amiability, were perpetually praised. One or another would remark that in seven years he had largely increased his fortune, that Bonfons brought in at least ten thousand francs a year, and was surrounded, like the other possessions of the Cruchots, by the vast domains of the heiress.

Later, after knowing about Charles's betrayal, Eugénie chooses to marry President Cruchot de Bonfons under certain conditions. It was a sham marriage, only in name, but never consummated:

(...) “Monsieur le cure,” said Eugenie with a noble composure, inspired by the thought she was about to express, “would it be a sin to remain a virgin after marriage?” (...) “Monsieur le president,” said Eugenie in a voice of some emotion when they were left alone, “I know what pleases you in me. Swear to leave me free during my whole life, to claim none of the rights which marriage will give you over me, and my hand is yours. Oh!” she added, seeing him about to kneel at her feet, “I have more to say. I must not deceive you. In my heart I cherish one inextinguishable feeling. Friendship is the only sentiment which I can give to a husband. I wish neither to affront him nor to violate the laws of my own heart. —Eugénie Grandet

And even when President Cruchot de Bonfons was waiting to Eugénie's early death, he was the one that died and made his widow even richer by adding the Cruchot's fortune to the already vast Grandet's fortune:

Nevertheless, Monsieur de Bonfons (he had finally abolished his patronymic of Cruchot) did not realize any of his ambitious ideas. He died eight days after his election as deputy of Saumur. God, who sees all and never strikes amiss, punished him, no doubt, for his sordid calculations and the legal cleverness with which, accurante Cruchot, he had drawn up his marriage contract, in which husband and wife gave to each other, “in case they should have no children, their entire property of every kind, landed or otherwise, without exception or reservation, dispensing even with the formality of an inventory; provided that said omission of said inventory shall not injure their heirs and assigns, it being understood that this deed of gift is, etc., etc.” This clause of the contract will explain the profound respect which monsieur le president always testified for the wishes, and above all, for the solitude of Madame de Bonfons. (...) Endowed with the delicate perception which a solitary soul acquires through constant meditation, through the exquisite clear-sightedness with which a mind aloof from life fastens on all that falls within its sphere, Eugenie, taught by suffering and by her later education to divine thought, knew well that the president desired her death that he might step into possession of their immense fortune, augmented by the property of his uncle the notary and his uncle the abbe, whom it had lately pleased God to call to himself. The poor solitary pitied the president. Providence avenged her for the calculations and the indifference of a husband who respected the hopeless passion on which she spent her life because it was his surest safeguard. To give life to a child would give death to his hopes,—the hopes of selfishness, the joys of ambition, which the president cherished as he looked into the future. —Eugénie Grandet

But Eugénie's vast riches were an empty victory for her. The avarice of her father marked her life.

Due to the frugal life style imposed by Monsieur Grandet, Eugénie was never attached to money and gold like her father was:

In spite of her vast wealth, she lives as the poor Eugenie Grandet once lived. The fire is never lighted on her hearth until the day when her father allowed it to be lighted in the hall, and it is put out in conformity with the rules which governed her youthful years. She dresses as her mother dressed. The house in Saumur, without sun, without warmth, always in shadow, melancholy, is an image of her life. She carefully accumulates her income, and might seem parsimonious did she not disarm criticism by a noble employment of her wealth. Pious and charitable institutions, a hospital for old age, Christian schools for children, a public library richly endowed, bear testimony against the charge of avarice which some persons lay at her door. The churches of Saumur owe much of their embellishment to her. Madame de Bonfons (sometimes ironically spoken of as mademoiselle) inspires for the most part reverential respect: and yet that noble heart, beating only with tenderest emotions, has been, from first to last, subjected to the calculations of human selfishness; money has cast its frigid influence upon that hallowed life and taught distrust of feelings to a woman who is all feeling.

“I have none but you to love me,” she says to Nanon.

The hand of this woman stanches the secret wounds in many families. She goes on her way to heaven attended by a train of benefactions. The grandeur of her soul redeems the narrowness of her education and the petty habits of her early life.

Such is the history of Eugenie Grandet, who is in the world but not of it; who, created to be supremely a wife and mother, has neither husband nor children nor family.

—Eugénie Grandet

Eugénie was meant to be a wife and a mother, she wanted to love and be loved, but life only gave her sorrows and riches.

This sad ending reminds me a bit of Show Sansa's ending. She was a Queen of an independent Kingdom, but she didn't get any of her siblings with her at Winterfell.

But, unlike Eugénie that only knew the likes of Charles Grandet, the Cruchots and the des Grassins, and even if Sansa doesn't know it yet, there is someone who despite being offered Sansa's claim, had chosen her over Winterfell and the North and the name Stark:

“By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon I

Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IV

Unlike Tyrion, Willas, Theon, Littlefinger or even little Robert, who pursued Sansa’s claim over her, Jon Snow chose Sansa over her claim. Among all the high lords interested in becoming the Lord of Winterfell by marrying Sansa Stark, the bastard Jon Snow refused to despoil his sister Sansa of her rights, even if her claim is the one thing he has wanted as much as he had ever wanted anything.

Jon Snow is not some fancy suitor from the South like Charles Grandet was to Eugénie, like John Willoughby was to Marianne Dashwood, like Joffrey, Loras and even Harry were/are for Sansa/Alayne. Jon Snow has Stark blood, he was raised by Ned Stark, he worships the old gods, and he knows very well that you can't make false promises in front of a weirwood tree:

Jon said, “My lord father believed no man could tell a lie in front of a heart tree. The old gods know when men are lying.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon II

So, there is hope.

The end.

[This post is very personal and was written during somehow convulsed times. So, if you have come this far, thanks for reading.]

#sansa stark #jonsa #eugénie grandet #honoré de balzac

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otvlanga · 4 years ago

Note

What would happen if Lucien Flavius and Cicero met? No one has answered this question and I need hcs 🥺

I HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS a lot more than I’d care to admit. They both radiate the same energy, just on two VERY opposite sides of the spectrum. Buckle up, this will be kind of long.

Honestly, I think Lucien would be absolutely freaked out by Cicero. He does not like the idea of the Dark Brotherhood, or travelling with a mentally unstable assassin with a weird identity crisis. However.. the Dragonborn is his friend, so he tries to suck it up for their sake.

Cicero would totally be able to tell how uncomfortable Lucien is around him, and would 100% fuck with him. Crawling through a dark crypt? Cicero will sneak up behind him and start giggling. Camping out somewhere at night? He’ll start singing a creepy song in the dark. He’d probably poke and prod Lucien and throw an arm over his shoulder while singing about murdering someone’s family.

Lucien would bite back by shadily insulting Cicero. It would be concealed under a lot of fake politeness, but Cicero isn’t stupid. He knows he’s being insulted, but he takes it as a challenge, so he doesn’t snap at Lucien and attack him. He just ups his game to the point where he’s basically indirectly threatening Lucien. I think eventually the Dragonborn would have to step in and tell them both off and threaten them. “If you two don’t stop fighting and just get along already, I’m shouting you both off the Throat of the World.”

Lucien, being the tolerant sweetheart that he is, reluctantly agrees to try to give Cicero a chance. Cicero wouldn’t dare do something to upset his dearest Listener, so instead he just agrees bites his tongue when Lucien sends him a dirty look.

Trying to get along is hard for the both of them, but they’re both too stubborn and committed to their promises to insult each other from then on. Their interactions would be mostly strained, clearly faked and full of exaggerated politeness. It’s almost worse than them arguing and insulting each other.

I think that eventually though, after time, they would both grow a begrudging tolerance for the other. I believe Lucien would honestly be quite impressed by Cicero’s very extensive knowledge of the Dark Brotherhood’s history, as well as his love for poem and song, as morbid as they may be. His theatrics, while off-putting and dark, are at least somewhat entertaining at times, and well, some of the creepy rhymes and tunes he sing can be quite catchy...

I honestly could see them singing a couple of songs together on the road or while resting at camp, though it would probably be more likely to happen if Inigo was around to join too. They may enjoy writing new rhymes together from time to time, though Cicero probably wouldn’t like it so much when Lucien would try and change his song about murder into a song about friendship.

Honestly, they probably wouldn’t ever really be friends in the sense of opening up to each other, or trusting each other with their lives. Lucien knows that really, if it wasn’t for the Dragonborn being the Listener, Cicero would probably leave Lucien to die somewhere if he was ever gravely wounded. Lucien wouldn’t put a lot of effort into trying to form a genuine friendship with him, because he knows Cicero isn’t all there in the head, and isn’t sure if he’s even capable of forming genuine relationships like that outside of his commitments to the Listener.

I think it would be possible for them to have something somewhat genuine, but it would take a long time. Cicero would have to open up to the Listener first, purely out of his own desire to do so, and not out of his obsessive loyalty to them. When he’s 100% certain that Lucien won’t disgrace the name of the Night Mother, he’d be a lot more genuinely polite and tolerant of him.

TL;DR They’re much too different to ever be compatible friends, but mutually getting along as travelling companions isn’t out of the question. They’d get used to each other’s bullshit after a while.

#cicero #cicero skyrim #lucien flavius #lucien skyrim #dark brotherhood #skyrim mods #headcanons #fool of hearts #skyrim #tes #elder scrolls #lucien mod

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paisley-print · 4 years ago

Text

3:00am : George Strait Sang It Better.

About: The two of you make your way home from the bar...

Rating: SFW

Word count: 1635

Characters: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Warnings: HEAVY ANGST I AM SO SORRY (no I’m not hehehe), Curse words, fluff, mentions of death, grief, mentions of alcohol, mentions of vom*t ,implied age gap.

NOTE: Not me making myself cry....not that. Also I love country music y'all can square up on me if you like. I find it funny how I am turning this satire of a character into a Nicholas sparks protagonist. Wild.

MIDNIGHT MASTER LIST

3:00am : George Strait Sang It Better

“I’m not drunk.”

Jack had you slung over his shoulder “I don’t believe that’s a correct statement.”

“Are you proud of me for beating all those guys at pool?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I am sugar, you know…. I think the whole bar was lookin’ to take you home after that.”

Jack had spent most of the night sitting back and watching you interact with the other patrons. How you flitted about like a little fairy; all giddy and flushed from the alcohol. He enjoyed seeing men and women ogle over you. The looks on their faces when he scooped you up to leave was priceless.

“Wha?! No! Only you can take me home!”

He smirked “that is right babygirl- only me.”

You giggled and whispered to him, “Jack?”

He whispered back to you “what?”

“May I smack your ass please?”

You heard him chuckle “only cuz you asked so nicely.”

You gave his ass a light tap “boop”

“Excuse me mam I said smack not a boop. My ass is too incredible to have it booped.”

“Well, I booped you- watcha gonna do about it?”

“Might not help you take off your makeup when we get home.”

You gasped dramatically, “you wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me honey,” he shot back.

You cleared your throat, “wait, put me down.”

His brows knit together, “you gotta throw up?”

You hummed in response.

He took you by the waist and placed you down, keeping his hands there to make sure you didn’t take a header into the brick wall.

Before he could react you flashed him a bright grin, broke from his touch and proceeded to skip down the street. It took him a second to realize he had been conned; he had to jog a little to keep up with you. “Girl, where in the hell do you think you’re goin’?....... y/n?”

“Do you hear that?” You asked, rounding the corner onto a totally empty side street. This side of town was mostly strip malls and county buildings. A record store was playing music from inside...it floated through the street and echoed lazily into the humid June night. “My father used to sing this song to me.”

The song was a cover of ‘Cross My Heart’ written by George Strait but sung by Dierks Bentley. “God I haven’t heard this song in years” you breathed, making your way into the street and laying down under the streetlamp. You sang along, “I cross my heart And promise to, Give all I’ve got to give, To make all your dreams come true.”

Jack stood off to the side, getting more and more frustrated. “I’m not gonna scrape you off the sidewalk if you get hit.”

You laughed, unable to see that he was upset…. “hit by what? All the cars?” The street was completely deserted, most everybody was home in bed. “You will always be the miracle, That makes my life complete, And as long as there’s a breath in me, I’ll make yours just as sweet.”

Jack shook his head, shifting uneasily on his feet.

It was an absolutely beautiful night- full moon, warm, not a single cloud obstructing the sky. You gasped and sat up “Jack please dance with me!”

“I’m tired, put your shoes on- let’s go-”

You gave him the puppy dog eyes “but it’s perfect! The song is almost over anyway-”

He snapped, losing his temper and shouting at you. “What part of I’m fucking tired do you not understand? Come get your shoes and stop acting like a goddamn child!”

You stared at him wide eyed while the music played on. The two of you had little spats in the past….but you had never seen him do anything close to that. Sobriety struck you in an instant. You held tears back and pulled yourself from the asphalt. Silently, you took your shoes from him and placed them on your feet.

His tone was still a little harsh but not nearly as bad as before, “you want me to carry you?”

“No” you said quickly “I can walk - thank you.”

Jack pulled the car to a stop at an empty intersection and waited for the light to turn green.

You were the first one to speak “sometimes I get too excited and act stupid... I apologize for not listening to you when you said you wanted to go. I’ll listen better next time.”

He sighed and hesitated, “I’m sorry I didn’t dance with you.”

You shrugged, “it’s okay, you were tired...plus George Strait sang it better anyway.”

“No, it’s not that-”

You could tell that he was fighting something, but you didn’t know what. His lack of verbal communication frustrated you at times, however it was something you had been learning to accept. Each day you noticed his tells and from those you would peace together how he was feeling. He would get boisterous when he was nervous, silent when he was focused, chatty when content...so on and so forth.

Although you would rather him tell you these things, you understood that he was a man raised in a way that forbade overly emotional declarations. He was getting better the safer he felt with you and it was okay that he wasn’t perfect with it just yet. Jack had spent years shutting people out, it was going to take time for him to break the habit.

“-that was my wedding song,” he confessed.

You nodded slowly, showing him that you were listening.

“You looked so fuckin’ beautiful and just - happy…….” he sighed again. “It’s uh- do you know that the two of you share the same birthday? I didn’t realize it until the other day when you mentioned yours …...three hundred and sixty five days in a year, what are the fuckin’ odds?”

The light turned but he didn’t move, he was staring transfixed at the road - his mind somewhere far. You watched him remember her and a life that no longer existed. He always had a certain look about him when he was thinking of her. You couldn't really put it into words; he just seemed so at peace with the world….like the burden of loss wasn't weighing him down.

His hands gripped the wheel tighter “the birthday you have coming up will make you one year older than she ever got to be…. It’s like one day I woke up and twenty-four years have come and gone overnight.”

He started to choke up a little, but fought against it. “ I don’t know why it just hit me all of a sudden. I can go weeks, months, without feeling upset. Then one little thing just sets it off and everything comes rushing back at once…. and it hurts the same way it did then.”

His breathing hitched in his chest, you could tell that he was probably on the verge of a panic attack.

You placed a hand on his leg “hey-”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you. That wasn’t right….. I’m not that person-”

“It’s alright-”

“No it’s not. I’m sorry if I scared you and I’m sorry that I’m talkin’ about this. I know you probably don’t want to hear it-”

“Jack” you spoke softly in an attempt to stop his spiraling. “I always want to hear about what you’re going through. No matter what it is…..your wife, she sounds amazing.”

He reached down to take your hand, squeezing it gently.

You brushed your thumb across his knuckles. “If you ever need to talk about her you can, I hope you know that. And what you said about it all rushing back….grief is not linear. It's not something that has a start and end...instead it’s like a box with a little ball inside. Every time the ball hits the side of the box you feel upset. Like tonight-”

Your other hand reached up to tuck a little strand of hair behind his ear, while you went on… “At first the box is tiny and the ball hits the sides of it often. However as time goes on the box gets bigger. Meaning that the ball has much more space to travel until it hits the sides.”

You paused for a moment to let him follow along. “You grew up with her; she is literally woven into the fabric of your soul. You are allowed to miss her and miss her deeply. Even after all this time. It is okay. In the same breath though, you are also allowed to be happy. I know you carry around guilt - I see it in you constantly……. but there was nothing you could have done Jack.”

You placed a finger under his chin and turned his head to face you, “and you didn’t scare me. You just caught me off guard is all.”

“I wish I danced with you,” he said softly.

“We’ll have plenty of time to dance, Jack.”

He looked so utterly exhausted; you dropped your hand to let him focus back on the road. “Yeah” he agreed, then lifted his foot off the break to continue on.

The open windows let wind rush through the cabin. He kept a tight hold on your hand, it was the only thing keeping him grounded at the moment.

An idea surfaced in your mind…. “I think we should include her this year. We can pick up some flowers - maybe a little toy for the baby, and have a picnic. I’ll make cupcakes and we can blow out a candle for her as well ….would that be something you want to do?”

He rubbed his eyes and nodded.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Thank you.”

You smiled softly “you don’t have to thank me Jack.”

#Jack Daniels x you #Whiskey x you #Agent whiskey x Reader #Agent whiskey x you #Agent whiskey fanfic #Kingsmen Fanfiction #Kingsmen Fanfic #Pedro fanfic #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Pedro Pascal Fanfiction #long live the queue

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girlboss-molina · 4 years ago

Text

Be Who You Are (No Compromise)

A Julie and the Phantoms Modern Royalty AU

Chapter 8: Rules of Engagement

AO3 Link

Words: 8988

-----

Julie POV

…

Julie remembered the day they’d first announced the marriage. She, Ray, Carlos, and Reggie were visiting Tambor, before Queen Claire and King Xavier had sprung the question on them. Ray had vehemently disagreed, but they’d insisted that he raise it to the council. And when it passed, Julie remembered the exact green glow of the screens reflecting on her dad’s face, and she’d shaken her head, stormed out of the Tamborian royal office with Alex right behind her, angry tears streaming down her face as she’d ran back to her room.

She and Alex were pissed. They were angry, scared, sad, horrified, and betrayed. Alex especially. He’d never come out to his parents, but he’d still explained how horrible he felt, as if his parents were doing it to spite him.

There had been lots of not-so-royal language used that day, and today was no different.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Julie shouted, not caring if her walls weren’t soundproof. She’d stayed silent the whole walk back to her room with Alex and the brief passing of Reggie, who’d gotten the details from Alex. Now it was her time to freak out.

“I’m officially ready to fake my death, Lex,” she decided, fists by her sides. She hated this. Since when did they get to control her life? It was her life, for God’s sake! Princess or not, nobody should have to be in an arranged marriage.

Her voice choked.

“I’m not, really,” she admitted, “but I want to. If it means we get to run our own goddamn lives, I”ll do it.” She tore a hand through her hair and blinked back tears to no avail.

“I’m so sorry,” Julie finally said. “You don’t deserve any of this.”

“Neither do you.” Alex mussed his hair and sat on the end of her bed as she paced. “It’s majorly fucked up.”

“It really is! I didn’t choose to be Princess Julie Molina, Heiress to the throne of Dahlia.” She said her own long title in a faux posh voice, gagging at the sound and bile rising in her throat. She walked into her bathroom, fixing her hair to be natural and down, nothing braided or tied. Angrily scrubbing tears away, Julie stalked to her closet and changed into sweatpants and a big t-shirt, not bothering to pick up her suit off the floor.

“We have to raise major hell for the council members who voted for this,” Alex decided as she walked back out.

“As much as possible,” she agreed.

Worn out, she flopped next to him. He wrapped his arm around her and she squeezed him in a friendly hug, letting his head rest on her shoulder. She felt a tear soak through her shirt, but didn’t care. He needed this.

“Fucking hell,” he said.

“Amen to that.” That elicited a halfhearted laugh, and Julie smiled a bit.

“It’ll be okay,” she finally said.

“No, it won’t. But we’ll survive.”

“Yeah.”

…

“Ow, Mira!” Julie exclaimed, trying not to move as Mira quickly moved the pin by her side as she marked the fabric for the outline of her wedding dress. It was a very tedious process; Julie looked like she was wrapped in giant pieces of fabric and lace… because she pretty much was. Mira and two other tailors were taking exact measurements to make sure the dress fit perfectly, then they would sew it and make adjustments as needed.

Unfortunately, that meant Julie had to stand very, very still and hope she wouldn’t get stabbed by the needles.

She wasn’t having much luck.

If she’d counted correctly, Mira (and the other girls, Soleil and Jenna), had accidentally poked her twelve times, in varying places, but generally around the side, waist, and shoulders.

“Sorry!” Mira said through her teeth. “Just trying to get this fitted properly.”

“It’s okay,” she sighed, doing her best not to slouch. MIra’s hands fell.

“If you want to talk about it…”

“Thanks.” In all honesty, she did not- especially since she didn’t know Soleil or Jenna very well, and didn’t want to spill her guts about hating the wedding when they were around. Plus… talking about it just made it more real.

“Your highness, this dress is going to be stunning on you,” noted Soleil excitedly, further proving her point.

“I bet,” she said with as much faux enthusiasm as she could muster. “You guys are incredible.”

“Aww, thanks!” replied Jenna. Julie gave a smile, but it looked more like a grimace than anything else.

…

After the grueling process of getting legally stabbed by her best friend over and over with tiny blades for the purpose of creating a goddamn wedding dress, Julie changed into more comfortable clothes; a t- shirt and jeans.

There was going to be a storm blowing in tonight, so she figured she may as well go outside before she would end up soaked. But, who would she find sulking in the field but a certain snarky gay?

She stood for a moment, watching him pick at the grass, before finally sighing.

“Why don’t we go work on a song?” she suggested. “I can get Luke and Reggie, plus the rest of the group if you want, and we can work out some stress.” Alex shrugged. Julie waited for a few minutes, hating how depressed he was. She was too, of course, but what kind of friend would she be if she let one of her best friends sit alone and feel sorry for himself? Besides, she was aching to work on song.

“Alright,” he finally replied, and Julie smiled.

“Awesome.” She stuck her hands in her pockets

“Let’s go, drummer boy.”

…

Playing the piano had always been therapeutic for Julie, until her mom passed away. Then she’d hardly been able to listen to any music without being reminded of her. But she was back on her groove, and the keys were familiar in the way you could sink into your best friend’s arms and know you were home.

She played the opening chords and began to sing, closing her eyes and feeling like it was just her and the piano in a universe of music and colors.

When Luke, Reggie, and Alex jumped in at the chorus, she opened her eyes and jumped up with the mic, dancing around as she belted out each note with more conviction than before. She walked around the room as she sang, dancing with Reggie, Alex, and Luke. She wandered over to where the rest of the group was sitting and dancing along, and she gave Willie a high-five as she passed him.

Luke sang the second prechorus with her, and the smile on his face only grew. THey harmonized each note, voices melding together as the music rose and Alex jumped in with the drums as they went into the next chorus, singing an ode to hope and persistence.

During the bridge, Luke held her gaze the entire time, and her heart soared as she belted out the last bridge note, riffing as the others held the background vocals.

When the song ended, her hair was frizzy and heart pounding, but she felt alive and free. She fistbumped Reggie, grinning, and hugging Flynn, who told her over and over that they were incredible, and that she was assigning herself the role of band manager. Carrie had automatically volunteered to be the costume designer, and Mira had taken offense to that, because “I’m literally her lady-in-waiting, Wilson!”

Julie couldn’t help but laugh at her friends.

“Okay,” Flynn finally said, “girl time.” Julie laughed but agreed, waving to the guys as she wrapped her arms around Flynn’s and Mira’s shoulders, Carrie on Flynn’s other side.

They walked out of the studio and wandered all throughout the palace, chattering mindlessly about everything and nothing. Mira insisted that mint chocolate chip ice cream was the superior ice cream, to which Flynn retorted “totally! Like, are you ever eating chocolate and you think ‘hey, you know what would go great with this? Toothpaste!’” Carrie had promptly lost her shit, and Julie was the only one on team rocky road.

“Personally,” Carrie said, “I-”

“We know, you like neapolitan you fucking lesbian,” Flynn said with a grin. Carrie gasped in mock offense.

“Hypocrisy at its finest! You’re just as lesbian as they come.”

“I never claimed to not be a hypocrite,” Flynn defended. Carrie huffed and crossed her arms.

“I’m breaking up with you. We’re broken up now.”

“Fine, but I get custody of Julie!”

“Wait, since when am I your child?”

“Since we’re both older than you,” they told her in unison.

“Uh huh, yeah, by a couple weeks! I’m a legal adult, and neither of you get custody of me.”

“I’m disowning you,” Carrie declared.

“Me too,” agreed Flynn.

“Me three,” Mira chimed in.

“Oh for the love of-”

Their playful bickering continued for at least an hour, wandering the long halls of the palace, weaving in and out of corridors and dragging their hands along railings.

The wedding never crossed Julie’s mind once.

Despite the whole situation, they still managed to be lighthearted and have useless arguments, bicker and love each other all the same. Julie hugged them closer, relishing the warmth of having them close to her. Carrie’s strawberry shampoo was faintly there and she breathed it in, calming immediately. Flynn linked their pinkies together, and Mira kept her hand on Julie’s shoulder. Julie didn’t realize she was crying until Flynn asked if she was okay.

“Yeah,” she said, and it was strangely true. She wiped her eyes. “I’m not even upset right now, but I’m still crying. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I do,” Carrie informed her.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Absolutely nothing.”

-----

Reggie POV

…

Reggie sat in the studio, suit vest draped over an empty guitar stand as he sat on the piano bench, sleeves rolled to his elbows and hands on the keys, silent but arranging themselves in chords. He hummed to himself quietly, sighing and closing his eyes.

As he played the first chord, soulful and melancholy, he started to sing.

“We’re no strangers to the dark

Every time we find the light

But no matter how much it hurts

Glowsticks have to break before they shine.”

He closed his eyes, letting the chords play only from muscle memory. Normally, he didn’t do much songwriting on his own, but this song, Glowsticks, was one that he’d written for Julie after Rose’s passing. He’d never gotten around to giving it to her, though, because of how much her love for music was affected. For a year, she hadn’t played or sang a note, and he knew that it would’ve been too painful.

Eventually, he’d forgotten about it.

But when he’d seen the heartbroken look on her face the hour before, coming back from the royal office with dry eyes but hollow and chipped, the memory of the page he’d torn out of his journal and stuffed in a drawer came flooding back.

And now here he was, like it was only yesterday he’d written the chords, shaky with tears but determined. This time, his eyes were dry and his hands steady, but his heart ached for Julie, for Alex, for Luke, for Willie.

His voice started out lighter and airy, with a slight rasp as he played the soft melody along with the base, but as he reached the second chorus, his voice sank to his chest, belting out the lyrics and playing the piano strongly, chords echoing in the soundproof room, the acoustics bending his voice to all angles until he was wrapped in a song of tragedy and pain and strength and hope, earthy and rich but airy and light.

“So breathe

Just breathe

You're already shining

You can break

You’ll be okay

I'll keep you safe until you rise.”

His breath shook as he flipped the last word from a powerful chest voice to a soft, airy falsetto, sighing as he played the last, low chord.

Reggie left his eyes closed, slowly taking his hands off the keys, resting his elbows on his knees and turning, finally letting the light pierce his eyes.

…

“Your highness,” called a palace staff member. “If I could steal you for a few minutes, could you give your opinions on possible place settings for the wedding?”

“Yeah sure,” Reggie replied, standing from the large leather couch in the palace living room, doing his best to smile at the young man. He was tall, and muscularly built, but his freckles, wide brown eyes, and messy red hair were proof that he was probably the human embodiment of sunshine.

“We were thinking white with gold accents,” he said, swiping through a few photos on his tablet. Reggie did his best to pay attention; they were, admittedly, beautiful. Soft white tablecloths and napkins lined with plates, each plate with gold paint on the rim, the wine glasses clear cut crystal, the same golden lining as the plates.

“That’s beautiful,” Reggie agreed. “Julie and Alex would love that.”

“I’m glad you think so! My advisor was skeptical, but I think it’s a nice scheme.”

“I do too.” He looked away, hating that he was giving suggestions for his sister’s unwanted wedding.

“Your highness, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he assured him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Sure,” he said softly. “Did you have any thoughts for flowers?”

“Dahlias,” Reggie said after a moment. “They were our mom’s favorite, and they’re Julie’s favorite too. I think she’d like purple.”

“Purple dahlias,” the man repeated. He opened an interior design modeling app, dragging tables around the virtual room and adding glass vases with bouquets of dahlias, plus the occasional orchid scattered throughout. Reggie stared in awe; even though it was just a digital rendition of the ballroom, it was gorgeous. The crackled marble floors shone in the light of lanterns and string lights, adorned with pillars and tables arranged in neat rows. He felt like he was in the ballroom, getting a peek at the future.

And yet, his heart sank.

It seemed to do that a lot lately.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Reggie met the man’s eyes. “You seem pretty down.” He sighed.

“I am, but I’ll be okay.”

“Alright. I’m Elliot, by the way.”

“I’m Reggie! Nice to meet you.”

“You too!”

…

“Dad, are you sure there’s no way to stop the wedding?” Reggie had gone to see Ray in the royal office an hour ago, to discuss an assortment of things, but always returning to the wedding.

“I’m sure. I hate it as much as you do, believe me, but I’ve explored every option.” Reggie shook his head.

“There has to be something-”

“Mijo, you can look all you want, but there’s nothing we can safely do. Even though there are multiple ways to stop the wedding, it wouldn’t be safe. There would be tension between Dahlia and Tambor, maybe even Krypto. Best case scenario would be rumors and unrest in our own kingdom, but even with that, Julie and Alex would be the subject of a ton of scandal for the rest of their lives.”

“I just hate it.”

“Believe me, I do too. I’ve done everything in my power, but I can’t endanger millions of people.”

“I know. And Julie wouldn’t want you to, either.”

“Exactly.” Ray pulled him into a hug, and Reggie buried his head in his shoulder. “Mijo, I’m so sorry. You’re a good brother.”

“Thanks,” he whispered. Ray nodded.

Someone knocked on the door. Reggie pulled out of the hug and, when Ray nodded again, he opened the door to see a short woman with pale skin and straight, dark hair reaching her shoulders, and bangs brushing her eyebrows. Her wide eyes were behind round glasses, and she gave a bright smile.

“Ah, Prince Reginald, just who I wanted to see! I’m Esther Pearlridge of the Dahlian Times. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions regarding your sister’s upcoming wedding?” Reggie glanced at his dad, who didn’t object, but gave him a look that seemed to say, it’ll be okay.

“Sure.”

“Your majesty,” Esther said to Ray, “you’re welcome to come along.” He agreed, and Reggie was eternally grateful.

…

“Your highness-”

“Please, call me Reggie,” he told her. Esther smiled.

“Reggie, the news of the wedding’s date being moved up came as a pleasant surprise to everyone across Dahlia, and surely Tamborian citizens as well. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

“Well,” he began, clearing his throat. “It’s definitely a unique situation. And while it is exciting, what a lot of people don’t consider is how stressful it must be for Princess Julie and Prince Alex. I mean, Alex is my age, Julie about a year younger. Arranged marriages are already very fraught situations, but this one especially.”

Ray smiled from his position behind Esther, letting him know he’d played it well.

“Of course,” she replied sympathetically. “That is a perspective that not many people consider.”

“Yeah.”

“How do you feel about Prince Alexander?”

“Oh, Alex is great! He’s quickly become one of my closest friends. Although, his taste in Star Wars characters is questionable. Everyone knows Han Solo is the best, right Esther?”

“Obviously! Though, I was always partial to Leia, myself.”

“Valid,” Reggie agreed.

“Moving on to the next question, what do you think will come of Prince Alexander becoming the Dahlian Prince Consort as your sister, Princess Julie, ascends to the throne?”

“Well, Dahlia is currently doing amazing. Homelessness rates are at an all-time low and still dropping; at this rate, they’re projected to reach zero by next Summer. Wealth equality is stabilizing even more, and our education system is constantly being revised and reviewed by scientists and historians to make sure the content is correct and unbiased, as well as by child psychologists to make them good learning environments for students. And our environmental status is one of the best in the world, second to the Republic of Isala. Greenhouse gases in our region are extremely low, and the CO2 levels are dropping as our reforestation teams plant more and more trees along the grasslands.

“Knowing my sister, and Prince Alex, I have no doubt that they will lead our country further into the future. Especially Julie; she may be a princess, but take it from her brother: she’s stubborn as all hell, but always about the right things. She and Alex will face struggles, as all people do, but I’m positive they’ll do great things.”

“That’s so nice to hear. And from other people, we’ve heard that they expect Princess Julie to be the best, most connected ruler in Dahlian history. Do you think this is true?”

“I would expect it to be, yeah! Julie really tries to connect with people, and tries to see things through others’ points of view. She’s always done that. She doesn’t want to stay secluded in a palace; honestly, I doubt anyone could keep her here if they tried.”

Esther laughed. “If I may ask, how are preparations for the wedding going?” Reggie fought the rising sadness in his chest.

“They’re going great! Although I’m pretty sure Julie’s gotten stabbed a few hundred times by the needles her lady-in-waiting is using to fit her dress.” Esther laughed again.

“Well, that’s all the time we have. Thank you so much, your highness. Always a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Yeah, you too! Thanks.”

As Esther rushed away, laptop under her arm and a pencil over her ear, Ray gave Reggie a warm smile.

“You did perfect,” he told him. “Excellently played.”

“Thanks. I just wish I actually felt as optimistic as I sounded.”

“It’ll be okay. I’m sure of it.”

-----

Willie POV

…

Willie’s phone buzzed with a text from Julie, with a request for their group to meet in her room, and if her tone was any indication, it wasn’t good. He ran to his quarters, doing his best to brush the flour Lilian had thrown at him after a witty remark out of his hair. Changing into a sweater and jeans, he made his way up the curving staircase and down the long hallway before knocking gently at Julie’s door.

“Come in.”

He walked in, heart sinking when he saw the upset look on Alex’s face.

“What happened?” Carrie asked from behind him, walking in with Flynn by her side. They were soon followed by Luke, Reggie, Erik, and MIra.

“They moved up the wedding,” Julie finally said, her fists curled. Willie’s heart dropped all the way to the ground, leaving his veins pumping blood made by nothing more than an organ beating rhythmically, called the heart but only doing what was necessary for physical survival. His actual heart, his emotions and love and memories, all froze, and he shook his head vigorously, forcing it to settle back in the center of his chest, taking a deep breath.

“Why?” he had to ask. Alex snorted.

“My parents gave an ultimatum disguised as helpful advice.” Each word was dripping with venom, but there was sadness behind it. Willie took his hand, feeling him clutch back as if he were the only thing holding him together.

“And there’s nothing you can do to stop it?” Flynn asked. “I mean, you and Jules are the Prince of Tambor and Princess of Dahlia. There has to be something you can do… right?” Julie shook her head.

“Nope. There’s been so much buildup and excitement that there might be riots and tension between our countries if we called it off so abruptly. We can’t risk anyone getting hurt.”

“Okay, but-”

“Mira, treason would definitely get people hurt.”

“Jules,” Mira said, “you have a good heart. It’s super annoying.” Willie cracked a grin at that, as did Alex.

“Even then, though,” Alex cut in, “my parents clearly want this. And they’re super influential. I wouldn’t even be surprised if they threatened trade routes but made it seem like it was for the ‘greater good.’”

“I hate to admit it,” Reggie said, “but he’s right. Sweet words can be even more dangerous than declarations of war. Especially if they twist the blame.”

…

After another hour of scheming, ranting, and trying to lighten the mood, Alex fell asleep near the wall in Julie’s room, curled up against a pillow. Willie watched him softly breathe, looking so much more peaceful in rest.

“We should let him rest,” Julie said. “It’s not like our group hasn’t done slumber parties before.”

“Yeah,” Carrie agreed. “He needs sleep.”

“All of us do,” Erik pointed out. Willie nodded, sitting next to Alex and putting his hand on his shoulder. Everyone found a spot and drifted off, and Willie had a feeling he was the last one awake. But, soon, he was able to curl up against Alex and find himself in a deep, dreamless sleep.

…

Willie had never been so grateful that he hadn’t been asked to bake.

He wasn’t sure if he could handle baking wedding cake samples for this situation. Any other time, sure, but not when the guy he was in love with was being forced to marry their other friend, neither of whom were interested.

He stared at the mirror, eyes blank. He hated the numbness overtaking him. He’d done his best to stay positive, to remember all the tips he’d picked up for focusing and not getting dragged under, and while they’d worked to some extent, he couldn’t deny the fracture in his heart. They were powerless; ironic, considering they were all either royal or close acquaintances of royals.

But, even with all of that supposed power at their fingertips, they couldn’t do the one thing they wanted to.

He wasn’t sure just how long he stared blankly at his reflection, but when his phone buzzed with a text from Julie, telling their group that they were going to practice in the studio, he made himself plaster on a smile and go join them. He hadn’t seen Alex play a full song before; this should be fun.

When Julie started the song, her powerful piano playing moved the whole room, voice strong and bright as she sang the first verse. Then, in the prechorus, she led into the big, adrenaline-pumping beat with a riff and belt,before finally going into the chorus. But all Willie could see wasAlex, whose face was a bit red from playing the drums, hair falling in his eyes,his pink t-shirt rather tight against his biceps. Willie was sure he was blushing, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

As Alex held the beat, Willie tapped his foot and grinned, letting the upbeat song envelop him despite their melancholy circumstances. Julie and Luke belted out the lyrics, harmonizing with such grace that Willie wasn’t convinced that soulmates didn’t exist; if they did, Julie and Luke fit the model. And Alex and Reggie sang the background vocals flawlessly, adding depth to the song with their steady music.

When the song ended, Willie’s heart was pounding. He clapped with the rest of the group, standing up, but unable to speak. God, Alex had such an insane effect on him. Normally he was smooth, able to recover and flip around. He’d thought it impossible to fluster him; but, then again, Alex had a rather annoying habit of making the impossible seem like child’s play.

Then, Alex ran his hand through his hair in an unfairly hot way - the inconsiderate bastard. Willie did his best to settle his blush, but to no avail. He giggled as Alex tried to brush off a compliment but finally accepted it.

He stammered through a compliment, hating how flustered he was. And then, because the universe had it out for him, Alex pulled him in and kissed his temple. If Willie hadn’t already melted, that would’ve been the tipping point.

Somehow, though, he found the ability to breathe again.

…

“Dude, I can’t say this enough,” Willie stressed, “that was amazing! You guys seriously need to go on tour.” Alex’s musical laugh filled the air.

“Flynn has already assigned herself band manager. With her ‘in charge,’ we’ll probably be playing gig after gig- well, you know, when Julie isn’t busy running a country.” WIllie laughed.

“Yeah, fair point. But still! Your guys’s song is going to be stuck in my head forever.”

“Forever?”

“I have ADHD, ‘Lex. Don’t underestimate the song sticking.” It was true; ADHD had its pros and cons, but one aspect that seemed to be both was his brain’s innate ability to have twenty-nine songs stuck all at once, and the strange fact that the How to Train your Dragon main theme, Kahoot music, Beethoven’s 5th Symphony, Roses by The Band CAMINO, and Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) could all be combined to the same tempo- and the fact that it slapped.

As they walked through the long, windowed corridors, Willie got an idea. He grabbed Alex’s hand.

“Follow me!”

“What? Where are we going?”

“You’ll see!” They raced all the way to the west side of the palace, where Willie led him up a narrow flight of stairs, pushing open a door to reveal-

“Whoa,” Alex gasped in awe. “The roof?”

“The roof,” Willie agreed. “Cooler than you’d expect, huh?”

“Way.” Willie grinned; it was a beautiful view. The river curved and rushed around the bases of snow-capped mountains with forests decorating their slopes, and as he turned, the capital city of Dahlia was nestled between rolling hills, thousands of lights sparkling in houses, apartments, shops, restaurants, and offices. Headlights danced along the highways, and the striking comparison of the bright lights versus the dark, cloudy sky made for a dramatic view.

“Storm’s blowing in,” Willie observed as it began to pour, soaking his hair. Alex cracked up.

“You sure?” he asked. “This is the best weather this side of Constantinople.”

“Ah, but remember, now it’s Istanbul- not Constantinople.”

“Well, why did Constantinople get the works?” Willie giggled.

“That’s nobody’s business but the Turks.”

“You are such a dork,” Alex informed him, pulling him closer.

“I know!” He had to raise his voice over the rain, and Alex’s cheeks were flushed with the cold. Willie felt a calm rush of confidence wash over him with the falling rain, and he stood on his toes, reaching up to hold Alex’s jaw as he kissed him. Alex kissed back immediately, and sparks shot down Willie’s spine.

As he deepened the kiss, thunder rolled across the mountains. The clouds were practically black, but it gave a sort of calmness and confidence with it, like the soothing darkness of night cloaked with clouds of expectancy, waiting and hoping and understanding that love finds comfort in the dark, that there are risks in life, but that they had to be taken, because while the world might not have been made for them, they were made for the world. People, caught up in dreaming about what could be, lost sight of what is; so determined to be right and prove that someone else was wrong that they drive themselves mad.

“I’m gone on you,” Willie finally whispered, eyes closed and forehead against Alex’s. Alex didn’t respond, kissing him again. He sank into it, holding him close and letting the rain wash over them and combing his fingers through Alex’s hair.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he heard sizzling.

Without thinking, Willie jumped and tackled Alex, turning so he hit the ground and Alex landed safely on top of him. The rain blurred his eyes, but he heard crackling and felt the heat of the lightning striking the roof a hundred feet away from them.

“Son of a motherfuck what just happened?!” Alex asked. Willie could hear his heart pounding in his ears, but he couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped his lips.

“I think you fell for me,” Willie joked. Alex rolled his eyes. He grinned; Alex was still laying on top of him, and Willie’s back was soaked by the puddle they’d landed in, but they’d avoided being struck by lightning, which was decidedly a good thing.

“That was too close,” Alex decided. “We should probably go inside before anything else happens.”

“Probably.” Neither of them moved for a moment, until Willie leaned up and pecked Alex on the nose, who immediately turned bright red, even visible in the darkness between the rising night and falling clouds.

-----

Alex POV

…

Alex had known his life was never his. If you’re born into royalty, unless you leave the royal family, you’re stuck there, and it influences your life forever.

He knew that.

And yet, until the wedding was moved up, it hadn’t really hit him.

His life wasn’t his, and it never would be.

He would be forced to be in the public eye, forced to marry a girl he wasn’t in love with, forced to live the rest of his life away from the person he was in love with, forced to watch the girl, one of his best friends, pretend to be okay as if she wasn’t also being separated from the person she loved. He would be forced to plaster on a smile, forced to live with this so that chaos wouldn’t erupt in Dahlia and Tambor.

So that he and the people he loved wouldn’t be exiled.

Alex was tired of being strong. He’d always been told by his friends that he was strong for dealing with this, strong for bearing the stresses of being put into politics so young, strong for hiding who he was from his parents because he knew it would only bring more pain, strong, strong strong. He wished he didn’t have to be.

“Hey, Alex?” Julie eventually asked, directing his attention away from his thoughts and his glazed eyes half-scrolling his Instagram. They’d been sitting for over an hour as the sun set outside Julie’s window, not speaking much aside from angry rants when they’d just gotten out of the royal office.

“Yeah?”

“Should we text the group chat to meet here so we can update all of them? Or would you rather not?” Alex sighed.

“We probably should. Not like we can hide from it.”

“Yeah.”

treason buddies

juju: Hey guys, some shit went down. Meet in my room?

flynnigan: oh fuck, do we even want to know?

juju: Probably not, but you should.

speed bump: i’ll be up in a sec, i’m trying to get flour out of my hair alkjdfskjldf

Me: skjlsdfkjlsdf lilian i assume

speed bump: yep, the bastard

rockstar mcsleeveless: i’ll be there in a sec. are you guys ok?

juju: Not really, but we’ll live

care bear: omw

short stack: same

personal stylist: i’ll be there in a minute

Alex clicked off his phone once the typing bubbles had all disappeared, blowing out a tired breath as he flopped backwards, half-hoping the fading sunset would let him dissolve with the growing twilight, let him become another fleck of light in a vast abyss that was somehow both cold and vast yet full of curiosity and glowing stars. What would it be like, floating in nothingness, waiting for someone to find you yet dreading the day your solitude ended?

Maybe he’d be part of a constellation. What one? Would he add to one that already existed, or would he be part of his very own? What would it look like? Maybe he’d be an owl, a drumstick, a wisp of a wish, floating in the air taking no shape at all, a shimmering question piquing the curiosity of anyone stargazing who happened upon his star, a gentle hope carried by a breeze, full of life and loss and wonder and apprehension.

Or maybe he’d be a shooting star, flying across the atmosphere in the blink of an eye, there, then gone in an instant, burning brighter as his fleeting life ended. Technically, they weren’t stars at all, they were tiny meteors the size of a grain of rice, only visible because of their dramatic, fiery demise. But maybe that was fitting. It wasn’t a star, and neither was Alex. He was more visible now than ever because of the marriage, bringing demise to his hopes like a burning scar, beautiful but painful to the individual.

It wasn’t a star, and neither was he. But shooting stars were meaningful, too. People wished on them; children, usually. But what a wonderful feeling it would be to have the hope of a child in your light.

The thought didn’t necessarily comfort him, but he didn’t feel as alone as before, didn’t feel quite as worthless.

…

After enduring the grueling process of venting and explaining the new situation to the rest of the group, trying to hold back one stubborn tear that kept fighting, Alex finally fell asleep. He wasn’t sure how “asleep” he actually was; he heard vague whispers of “we should let him rest,” and “all of us should.” But he couldn’t move, and he didn’t want to, either, so he left his weary eyes closed and slept, barely feeling someone’s hand on his shoulder and faint warmth next to him.

…

“Your highness,” a butler said, rushing up next to him with a tray, with tiny bites of cake arranged neatly across it. “Would you mind tasting these and telling me which three are your favorites?”

“Hm? Yeah, sure.” Ignoring the numbness fighting to grow in his chest, he tried each one, finally deciding on a few, and promising he’d sample the frostings later. Wedding cakes really weren’t something he wanted to be thinking about at the moment. He’d already had to stand still for hours while his suit was fitted, text Julie a million different pictures of flowers, to which she’d replied “just pick whichever one is poisonous so we can fake our deaths and leave it on our plates.”

He felt sick.

He did his best to avoid other people as he made his way out the back door of the palace, tearing a hand through his hair as he made his way to the field where he’d been with Willie, admiring (and despising) how much progress they’d made on the palace reconstruction. It was almost done, which was incredible, but horrible for him, since it meant they were almost done with the giant ballroom in which he would have to marry Julie.

All things considered, though it was beautiful; the creamy white pillars were identical to the ones on the other side of the palace, which had been repainted so it didn’t look patchy. Intricate flower beds were arranged at precise intervals, and the crystal-cut windows reflected sparkling mosaics of light onto the pathways. Lanterns hung on every pillar, unlit during the day but glowing with soft, gentle flames by night.

Alex sat in the middle of the field, picking at a stray blade of grass and relishing the warm sunlight on his neck, even though he was probably getting a crease on his crisp vest from how he was sitting, slouched as he sat on the hill, elbows on his knees.

After he’d sat and sulked for a considerable amount of time, Julie’s voice snapped him out of it.

“Why don’t we go work on a song?” she suggested. “I can get Luke and Reggie, plus the rest of the group if you want, and we can work out some stress.” Alex shrugged. He knew he was being immature, just sitting there and feeling sorry for himself, but it felt good to be immature. He should really do it more often.

But… there was a lump in the dirt that was giving his butt a bruise, and he didn’t feel like getting up just to sit back down, so he supposed he could go to the studio.

“Alright,” he finally said.

“Awesome.” the sadness in Julie’s voice was tangible, but she masked it well as she smiled and stuck her hands in the pockets of her baggy jeans, between the chain, and squared her shoulders.

“Let’s go, drummer boy.”

…

In the few days since he’d drummed, Alex had somehow forgotten just how therapeutic it was to bash a bunch of drums on a steady beat but still adding variety to spice things up. Julie had convinced him to let her invite the whole group- which, of course, included Willie, who was intently watching him play.

He bit his lip, breathing heavily, cheeks flushed as he kept going. A reluctant smile broke out on his face when Julie started singing the chorus and he jumped in with the toms and crash, flipping his hair out of his eyes and keeping the beat going. Reggie’s rhythmic bass playing combined perfectly with Luke’s chords and riffs, and Julie’s angelic voice tied it all together as if their music was a gift with a shiny bow.

When the bridge started, and Julie and Luke did their Thing™ (the whole dramatic, lovestruck staring-into-each-other’s-eyes move), Alex held the beat with a quiet, rhythmic tapping on the hi-hat. He and Reggie shared a look, and he swallowed the rising sadness in his throat, refusing to let some stupid marriage ruin this moment. They were in perfect harmony, bright with life and love. Then, when Julie went into the final belt, he came in strong with the drums, lip between his teeth and a huge smile begging to break free.

When it finally ended, Alex stood up excitedly, setting down his sticks and leaping across the kick drum to fistbump Luke.

“Alex, dude,” Luke said, “you were smoking.”

“Nah,” he deflected. “You guys-” he gestured to him, Reggie, and Julie “-were the ones on fire.”

“Dude.” Reggie lightly punched him on the shoulder. “Could you just own your awesomeness for once?” Alex rolled his eyes, but it was clear he wasn’t backing down.

“Alright, I was killing it.”

“Yeah,” Willie agreed from behind him. Alex whirled around, having forgotten he was there. He was sure his face was bright red, but hopefully he could blame that on the physical exertion that came with playing the drums. Willie, however, was blushing quite a bit, and Alex felt a bit of accomplishment bubbling up inside him.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he said with a grin.

“Are you kidding? I loved it.”

“I’ll say,” Flynn stage-whispered to Carrie, and Alex decided once and for all that Flustered Willie was his favorite. Willie cleared his throat.

“Yeah, I, uh-” he cut himself off, and Alex bit back a laugh, pulling him in and kissing him on the temple.

Alex knew there was a bubble of numbness and depression fighting to take hold of him, but at least for now, it was under control. He was filled with adrenaline and had their song stuck in his head, the feeling of his arm on Willie’s shoulder anchoring him like a ship in a harsh storm, letting him drift but holding him close.

They would make this work. Somehow.

“Should we run through it again? I was a little shaky during the second verse,” Julie said. Alex nodded.

“I’m down.”

“Same!” replied Luke and Reggie, and the rest of the group eagerly sat and watched. Alex grinned, raising his sticks.

“One, two, three, four!”

-----

Luke POV

…

“I’m so sorry,” Luke whispered. They’d moved up the wedding. The wedding that nobody wanted any part of, the wedding forcing the girl he was in love with to marry their friend, neither of whom were interested. They were already hurting so much, but there was nothing they could do anyways, then to add insult to injury, they’d moved up the wedding six weeks sooner. They didn’t even have two months, just a measly two weeks, and Luke could already feel them ticking away, feel his time with Julie ending, feel Alex’s heart breaking with each minute.

He reached up to hastily wipe away a traitorous tear rolling down his cheek, before wrapping Julie in a hug as she stood and walked to him. She buried her head in his chest, and his hand found her hair, combing through her thick curls.

…

At some point through the night, Alex had worn himself out venting and scheming plans to get out of the wedding and eventually fallen asleep. They’d considered waking him, but he was exhausted and really needed the rest. Luke still had his arm around Julie, leaning against the end of her bed sitting on a pile of pillows. Willie curled up next to Alex, and soon it had turned into another slumber party, but much more somber.

Julie’s soft breathing leveled, indicating that she’d fallen asleep as well. Luke smiled sadly; this was peaceful, but under horrible circumstances. But the gentle part of her lips as she breathed and the lack of a crease between her eyebrows made it worth it; she deserved any brief moment of peace she could get.

He traced soft circles on the shoulder of her t-shirt, running his finger over the hem rhythmically, a song playing in his head as he closed his eyes.

Golden specks flew around in the darkness as Luke whirled around, disoriented. A melodic voice in the background that he recognized but couldn’t place taunted his mind, flashes of brown eyes blinking by in an instant, a retreating curl of hair that might not have been there in the first place.

The ground solidified under his feet, metaphysical but firm for him to stand on. It was all black and glittered faintly in the soft light from stars that were somehow so close he could feel their heat, yet so far that they were like flecks of light in the endless black sky.

The packed black sand cracked beneath him with the sound of a woman’s gasp, sending him hurtling through the void, falling faster and faster as the sliver of light from the cracked ground above him faded until it was so small it wasn’t even visible anymore. The darkness was suffocating and hot as fire, yet thin and cool like a light sheet in the air, whispering silent nothings into his mind.

His back hit a new surface, knocking the wind out of him even though he couldn’t breathe at all. It was all black, the ground invisible, but a soft fog rolled across it, apprehensive but inviting and cool.

“You have to fight for what you want,” a voice whispered, and Luke was able to place it as the same voice as his mother when he was nervous for a competition in sixth grade.

“Things don’t always come easily,” another voice reminded him, the familiar sound of his father’s voice sending a shiver down his spine.

What was he supposed to fight for? There was nothing in this vast black expanse but him and these voices, plus a warm tingle to his right side that felt imaginary, but had a weight to it that he couldn’t help but relish.

The voices disappeared, even though they’d been silent, Luke could feel their absence. The smooth, invisible ground under his feet faded, leaving him floating as the fog disappeared, phasing into particles like stars that floated around him like fireflies as the world shifted to a regal, royal purple, swirling like a galaxy, the faint sound of a piano barely registering among the stars.

…

When Luke woke up, the warmth on his side made sense, because there was Julie, her head on his chest. He glanced over, seeing Willie and Alex sitting with their heads resting together, scrolling through their phones and occasionally showing their screens to the other and laughing quietly. Flynn was asleep on a chair, where Carrie was squished next to her reading a book. Reggie was scribbling something in a notebook and tapping his foot, with Mira leaning on his side weaving braids into Erik’s hair. Julie, meanwhile, was still asleep.

He gave half a smile to Alex, who returned it with a quick sign of “you okay?” He nodded, gently taking his hand off of Julie’s shoulder, who didn’t stir.

Yeah, I’m okay. You?

Pretty good, all things considered. Alex glanced up at Willie, who looked confused, and whispered an explanation as to why they were using sign language. Julie, Flynn, and Erik were asleep, and Luke didn’t want to move and get his phone.

What time is it? Luke signed, and Alex checked his phone, signing back that it was 08:12. Luke glanced back down at Julie, who was still fast asleep.

When did I fall asleep? Alex signed back to him with an inquisitive look on his face.

Around eleven. You were exhausted, and for a good reason.

Yeah. I’m still so angry. I just want to… he trailed off, thinking. Luke guessed he was trying to remember a sign word. In the end, he just mimed crushing something very violently. Luke stifled a laugh.

I’m right there with you. Neither of you deserve this. He glanced down to Julie as he said it.

Neither do you, Alex reminded him. Or Willie. His face turned forlorn as he added the last part.

Yeah. It just sucks. Alex rolled his eyes.

You can say that again.

…

Luke tapped his fingers on his knee, anxiety coursing through him, which was very strange. He had no idea how Alex handled it. Anxiety was not something he was used to; what was he supposed to do with the nervous energy rushing around him when he couldn’t do anything but wait?

In hindsight, the brief text he’d sent Julie to meet him in that one hidden corner of the gardens because he needed to talk to her probably wasn’t the best way for him to go about it, especially since now the grey clouds hung over the sky like death hovered in a cemetery.

He’d rehearsed what he was going to say a million times, but it hadn’t ever seemed perfect; not that it would have mattered, because when Julie walked towards him, a smile on her face, hair down with frizzy curls bouncing over her shoulders, all of his thoughts drifted away, never to be seen again.

“Hi,” he said pathetically. She gave a halfhearted laugh.

“Hi. Is… everything okay?” Luke nodded. Then, he shook his head. A stray raindrop hit his face, the storm slowly crying itself out.

“Julie, I…” he sighed. “This probably won’t be half comprehensible, but I just need to get it off my chest.

“I know that we can't be together. I know that life just wasn't on our side, and I hate it. but I love you.” his heart both lightened and sank with the confession. “I love you, and I want you to know that, no matter where either of us end up in life, with you as queen and me as some guard, you will always be in my heart. you will be my heart in its entirety, wholly and truly.

“I tried to come up with the perfect things to say, tried to articulate and rehearse my feelings, but I guess that’s the thing about emotions. They can’t be described in an accurate way; especially love and pain. I’m not even sure there’s a difference between the two; love hurts, but it’s exhilarating; pain burns, but it makes you feel alive. But they both demand to be felt. And they’re so intense, so beautiful and full of fire and fury in their own regard that I’m not sure they can be described at all. Only with comparisons, but it’s never the exact same, because while pain demands to be felt, love demands to be seen. It’s why it hurts so much to hide it; that hurt, that pain, it demands to be felt, like fire demands to burn and the ground demands to quake and the rain demands to fall.

“I don’t want you to have to feel that pain your entire life. I don’t want you to love me and have to hide it. One illusion of false love is hard enough; but having to mask another layer, for me or you, would be impossible. So I think it’s best you forget me.”

“Luke, what are you-”

“Julie, we’re a grenade. People will get caught in the crossfire, and we’ll be burned completely.”

Tears streamed down his face, but it was impossible to tell with the rain now pouring, serenading his misery with its torrential downpour.

“No,” Julie said, shaking her head back and forth. “No. Luke, you’re going out of your mind. I’m not just going to forget you. If you think I can do that, then you don’t know me at all. Besides, acting as if something never happened is just a form of mental editing, purposely erasing things you regret. Well, that’s not how it works. If you want to break up with me… then fine. But don’t expect me to forget you, because that won’t happen.”

“Julie, I don’t want to break up with you.”

“Then don’t.” Luke looked up and pressed his lips together, even though his tears would be indistinguishable with the rain.

“I’m not. But I don’t want to cause you more pain.”

“I don’t care! Sometimes you have to fight for what you love. And as much as I wish we could lay down our arms, we can’t. I won’t. Not if it means I have to lose you.”

You have to fight for what you want.

Things don’t always come easy.

Luke shook his head, shoving his parents’ dream voices out of his head. He’d tried and tried, but now it was too late. He needed to cut losses so people didn’t get caught in the crossfire.

“Julie, I-”

“No! Aren’t you the guy who says you have to ‘smash those stupid rules out of people’s brains?’” Luke looked away.

“This is different.”

“Is it? Because you’re the most stubborn, bone-headed, amazing guy I know. You’ve never given up on anything in your life, so don’t you dare start now. I’m not giving up on you, either. So are you going to keep trying to make me? Or are you going to make it worth it?”

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Well, news flash, people already have, and will continue to get hurt, because life isn’t all butterflies and glitter. So if you want to minimize the hurt, don’t deny your feelings. Don’t try to make me deny mine.”

“But that’s the point! People have already gotten hurt, and will continue to, because of this. Because of me. If people found out about us, there would be collateral. Probably our friends.”

“Don’t pretend you’re doing this for them,” she snapped. “Don’t try to act all heroic. Luke, you’re amazing and selfless and kind and strong, but you’re only doing this because you’re afraid. I’m afraid too. But this? This isn’t how we need to go about things.” Luke tore a hand through his hair.

“Don’t you get it, Jules? I love you. I love you, and I hate that I’m part of the reason you and Alex are going through all of this pain.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. You didn’t suggest the arranged marriage. I know you just want people to be safe, I know you’re trying to protect me, but I don’t need to be protected. I can take care of myself, but I want you by my side.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” she said, “but we’ll figure it out. I’m not giving up.”

She stepped forward and laced her fingers with his, and his heart softened. He gently cupped her jaw and brushed a raindrop off of her cheekbone, and she leaned up to kiss him.

“Please… stay.”

Luke didn’t want to hurt her. He knew staying would only make things harder, more dangerous.

And yet, he closed his eyes and nodded.

“Okay.”

#blue writes #bwya #bwya tag #be who you are (no compromise)#tuserjules #tracklu #usernell #userzuha #jatp #julie and the phantoms #netflixwewantjatp2

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claraswritings · 4 years ago

Text

I fell in love (with you) in stages - CH20- FINALE

Pairing: Steve Harrington x HendersonReader

Warnings: Series typical violence, language and spoilers for all seasons

A/N: Sorry for the delay. I have just been through a break up (my choice but still a hard choice) and it kind of put everything else on the back burner for a while.

Tags: @hannarudick @felicityofbakerstreet @sledgy14 @kiara-uwu @lookalivesunshine-x @loulouloueh @loco-latte @mikariell95 @queenofthehairharrington @lovelydaydreams15 @anonymousonion23 @mochminnie @prettysbliss

A few seconds later and the car collided with the side of Billy’s Camaro t-boning it and stopping it in its tracks before it reached the others. You felt yourself lurch forward then slide sideways into Steve.

The car came to a halt and Steve looked up, loosening his grip on the steering wheel

“You okay?” he asked, concerned turning to you almost immediately. He reached over to push your hair back. The worry over you was evident , the last thing he wanted was for you to be hurt due to his crazy idea.

“Never better,” you gave him a wry smile. “Are you?”

“Are you sure,” he asked again

“Steve.” you pressed. “I promise i’m fine, i’m just glad your idea worked, you are...amazing” You cupped his face with your hands and gave him a quick kiss.

The two of you sat for a second, catching your breath, before the smell of smoke coming from the Camaro, diverted your attention. Jonathan pulled up beside the now immobile Toddfather and gestured for you and Steve to get in. You didn’t even hesitate, scrambling in with your boyfriend following. He’d barely pulled the door shut before the creature leapt down with a roar and took off after the car, advancing after you.

You had barely taken your eyes off that...thing in hot pursuit of the vehicle. It was only the crackling of the radio made you jump and the sudden sound of an unfamiliar girls voice and your brothers perky tone told you it could only be one person.

“Wait. She’s real?” Steve turned to look at the radio too, clicking on at the same time. “Huh...gotta say I thought he was making her up,”

“I wish,” you rolled your eyes “He’s got some imagination but not enough to go on about her for as long as he did,”

If Steve thought hed had to listen to Dustin’s “Reasons why Suzie is great” monologue, he was in for a surprise. He had only heard the start of it. In the car journey back from the camp, you’d had hours of it. Not that you’d begrudge him, his first ever teenage romance. You were happy for your brother, after Max and Lucas had got together and Mike and El, you’d worried he’d be left behind.

Steve looked to be considering your reply “Eh yeah makes sense,” he shrugged. As a surprisingly melodic voice began floating through the radio. Steve wondered for a second if he was still drugged. It wasn’t until you spoke that he realised...nope, that really was Dustin singing.

“Is he singing? The song from Neverending Story?” your jaw was slack at the sheer madness of the situation. Being chased by some huge monster, in a car with your best friend who’d become your boyfriend in the past hour, his ex and your brother who had chosen now of all moments to start serenading his girlfriend over a radio.

“Is that one with the big white dog?”

“I think it’s supposed to be a dragon, Steve” you bit your lip, pointing out his mistake quietly. He was adorable when he was oblivious.

“Really” his brow knitted as Suzie began to join in with the singing. “They’re still going,”

“Are they going to do the whole song,” you remarked. “Don’t know if Dustins forgetting it’s kind of urgent” your face pulled into a grimace, and for a second your eyes flickered back to the monster.

Stomach churning, you looked away again, deep down, you feared the car would run out of fuel before you reached your destination and there was absolutely no way you’d outrun it on foot.

“Do you want me to sing to you” Steve offered casually. He sensed your discomfort and worry and even though he was freaking out himself, he hoped his lame attempt at humour would make you smile.

You snorted “Absoutely not...If you even try I’m throwing myself out of this car,”

“Even with that,” Steve gestured at the creature from the back window, pulling a face, as the love struck duo finished their song.

“I’ll take my chances,” you teased.. as Steve took his turn to scan out of the back window.

“Erm....” he poked you in the arm after a second “Why is it stopping, why is it turning around?” Before you could speculate, Steve leant forward tapping the others and sticking his head through to the drivers side to alert Jonathan.

“Guys that thing is turning around, It’s stopping, it must be going somewhere else,”

Jonathan eyed you both in the rear view before sighing, spinning the car, making a lurching U turn and following it back

“I can’t believe we’re actually going back, we must be dumb” You remarked under your breath

“Yeah i’ve been coming to that conclusion myself” he replied

“We should take Dustin to see her,” you commented as Jonathan began tailing the monster being careful to keep a reasonable distance from it. “We can make a road trip out of it, we’ll stock up on the nougat for Dustin and we can get a big bag of sours for us, we’ll get a motel along the way, obviously we’ll get a room to ourselves, i’ve got enough from working at the video store flat out, we can take your car, it’s nicer than mine and it’ll make Dustin look cool in front of Suzie. He’s probably told her all about you, y’know”

You were aware you were rambling but it was anything to take your mind of the idea that you might not have a tomorrow to think about as soon as you got to where that thing was going.

Steve nodded, he couldn’t quite say how much he liked the idea of getting a road trip with you, about how much he’d love to drop Dustin at Suzies for the day to let the young love birds catch up and for you and him to go out somewhere just the two of you, maybe even stay in a motel, order room service and make out. Instead he just leant over and gave you a kiss. In that moment he decided, If you were about to rush into probable death he wouldn’t let it happen without telling you.

He didn’t care anymore that Nancy or Jonathan could see if they glanced over their shoulder.

“I love you, I’ve been in love with you for ages” his tone was low, just enough for you to hear.

“I love you, Steve,” you kissed him again. The way you said it was different to how Nancy used to say it. You didn’t hesitate to return the sentiment, your eyes met his when you said it and you gave him a smile in spite of the beyond dangerous situation you were barrelling towards.

“We go together right,” you asked.

You didn’t need to ask. Steve knew.

“What? The road trip or certain death?” he quirked his eyebrows.

“Both,”

Lucas had briefed you all outside of Starcourt on his plan, and handed you all a fair amount of fireworks each. You’d break into sections; and surround the creature on the top, meaning El, Max and Mike wouldn’t be stuck fighting from the lower mall. His plan was basically “light, throw, grab another, throw again”.

Being completely to the point, you weren’t sure it would work but hell. It was the best you had.

Together you’d crept up the metal stairs of the fire exit, trying hard to stop your legs shaking. You could hear the low frequency roars of the monster from where you stood. It sounded like it was coming from all sides.

Once you made your way out of the door and on to the top level, there’d be no turning back.

You took a breath before resting your shaking hand on the door handle. The others had headed to the other entrances to the upper floor.

“Hey, we’ve got this” Steve who was only one step behind you, sensed your apprehension “Remember what you said. We stick together. You’ll have me with you the whole time, I promise I won’t let anything happen to you,”

You nodded and as you pushed open the door and crept to your positions, you could see the monster climb down through the wide open ceiling and advance towards El, who was trying to edge away from it as Billy watched expressionless.

Steve caught Lucas’ eye and nodded. The monster stilled, it’s mouth expanding.

“Okay [Name.]. Now” Lucas called over to you both, standing up and lobbing the firework directly into its side.

The creature let out a pained growl

“Flay this, you ugly piece of shit,” the younger boy called, his next firework hitting it directly in the mouth as it snapped around to the source.

“Nice aim” you called over

The mall lit up in a series of greens, yellows and reds as you broke away from taking turns throwing from different sides to bombarding from any direction.

“Erm guys,” Steve shouted over the crackling of the fireworks “We’re almost out over here,”

“I know” Will shouted back, his voice loud over the exploding “So are we!”

You threw one of your last large fireworks, and whipped around to Steve “It has to be now,” You told him, tossing your radio over before turning back to the dwindling pile. “I’ll keep throwing, call it in,”

Wasting no time, Steve forgone the call signs and scrambled for the radio “Dustin! We’re out of time!”

You could only vaguely hear your brothers reply. The crackling and banging from all ends plus the blood thumping in your ears was overwhelming everything.

Beneath you, you could see Billy had wrestled El to the ground and despite her struggling, hed gained the upper hand.

You fumbled back to the bag at the same time as Steve and you both reached inside, but your hands only found one firework left.

Shit.

His eyes met yours. “You or me,” he asked, a little breathless.

“You. You’ve got better aim” you rushed back, grabbing the lighter and lighting the fuse for Steve to lob the final firework.

From your glance over to Jonathan and Nancy you could see they had also ran out.

“What now?” you shouted, over the noise. The smoke trails of the fireworks were clearing and through the wisps and sparks, you could see Billy grapple with El as the monster inched forward.

“It’s not enough, we haven’t done enough,” you pressed your hands to your face. “Shit we need to do something,”

Steve glanced over at the floor below, he could see Billy stand up, as the creature let out a deafening roar.

“Come on come on come on, close the gate already” he muttered.

Billy’s arms shot out in an attempt to stop it, only to scream out in pain when it latched on to him.

“Fuck” you cursed. “What the hell is he doing? Should we help him?,” you turned to the others, your eyes wide. Jonathan looked pale white and Nancy shook her head

“I don’t think we can,” she bit her lip. “I don’t think we can do anymore,”

The monster took one last stab at Billy before dropping him, leaving him bleeding heavily on the floor of the mall. Max let out a loud scream that you could hear from your positions above even over all the chaos and you felt your heart break for her. Billy had never been the nicest brother to her but he was her brother nonetheless and he’d clearly sacrificed himself to save El. In spite of everything, he’d given himself up to save one of the kids.

Only a moment later and you heard an almighty screech and saw one of the many limbs flailing towards you, careening into the railing beside you.

“Get back” Steve turned towards you and pulled you back towards one of the walls and away from the edge, just in time.

With a groan and a thud that shook the whole mall, it fell to the ground with a weak snarl.

“Did...they? did they...” Steve couldn’t get the words out, as they fumbled over his lips unable to quite form a full sentence. One hand was still gripping the radio so hard you were surprised it hadn’t cracked, the other holding on to yours.

You could hear your brother and Erica on the other end but your ears were still ringing, and you could barely make out what they were saying.

You could only nod. “I think so”.

By the time, you were checked over, things had slowly started to set in, you’d been asked by about three men in uniform

what the hell had happened, and given the same version of events each time.

After that they’d given you a blanket and you’d joined Steve on the back of the ambulance, who wrapped in his own blanket had rested his head on your shoulder.

The two of you sat in silence, watching everyone mill around in the wreck that once was Starcourt. The skies had opened to rain for what felt like the first time in ages and you couldn’t help but turn your face up to the cool mist.

“I think I’m ready to go home,” you muttered to him, after a few moments. “We should get some sleep”

“Don’t. I... uh-,” Steve paused “I don’t want to be alone, not after all that,” he grimaced. “My dads out of town and...l”

“You won’t be alone, silly, you’ll be with me...and Dustin,” you reached for his hand in a small comforting gesture. “You didn’t think I’d leave you alone after all that, did you,”

Steve lifted his head off your shoulder and looked at you, taking in every detail of your face, the way the rain had plastered your tussled hair to your face, the wide eyed gaze focused on him, the curve of your nose and the tweak of your lips. You were without a doubt, in his mind, the best person he had ever known.

“What?” you eyebrows piqued.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he leant in pressing his forehead to yours.

Your heart broke a little at that. Your brave, bright, upbeat Steve didn’t even see how wonderful he was. How sweet he was, how kind he was to the kids, how dorky he was and how much you loved when he just embraced it. He looked completely drained.

You moved your hands up to cup his face. His cuts had been cleaned by one of the paramedics but he still sported a fairly nasty black eye. You kicked yourself mentally for having left him and Robin to the Russians, even though you knew if you’d attempted to take on a Russian soldier, you’d likely have gotten into a lot worse.

“Steve...”

“I seriously don’t know what I’d do without you,” he carried on.

“You’d be fine,” you traced his cheekbone, softly as not to put pressure on the bruises. “You’re better than you give yourself credit for”

“I really wouldn’t,” he broke your gaze for a second before you tilted his face back up to place a kiss on his lips. “Even still I wouldn’t want to ever be without you,”

“Well you don’t have to be without me, I’m not going anywhere,”

Steve offered his hand up only holding up his pinky “Promise?,”

“Forever and ever,” you kept one hand on his cheek before linking the pinky on your free hand with the one he had held up to you.

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things

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officerjennie · 4 years ago

Note

Hey Jennie!! How about 6 or 37 from the prompt list for the witcher? Have fun!! Also, I love your writing ❤️❤️❤️❤️!!!

Since you didn’t mention a ship and I’m feeling Curious about one, I’m going with 37 “Wanna dance?” with Jaskier/Aiden :3 Hope you don’t mind the ship!

CW: Rated T. No real warnings? Some roughhousing between Lambert and Geralt. Aiden being a little shit. Lambert, too, being a little shit. Pretty tame flirting. Meet Cute Mischief. WC 2.6k+

It wasn’t every day that they ran into one of Geralt’s fellow witchers, let alone two.

Jaskier had watched, at first in horror, as a rather feisty fellow had hurdled himself towards Geralt and tackled him to the ground just outside of the village. They had just taken a contract over some odd noises and mysterious events surrounding an abandoned keep, one the villagers themselves had insisted on them taking despite how many times Geralt had told them he doubted it was anything - apparently it sounded much less like a monster and much more like a secret getaway for the young folk about but the innkeep had been certain something foul was afoot.

At the very least, Jaskier thought it would make an amusing tale, already crafting lines and lyrics as Geralt tied Roach up in the stable and went off towards the keep (allowing Jaskier to tag along without complaint for once, considering it shouldn’t be dangerous).

Which is one reason Jaskier was rather startled, to put it lightly, when he was suddenly witness to one of the toughest brawls he’d ever seen Geralt take part of. Geralt had grunted and then snarled when he hit the ground, rolling and grabbing for the other man’s limbs, them both rolling while Jaskier clutched at the strap that held his lute to his back, some rather undignified squeaks escaping him while he struggled to keep up with their movements.

But he couldn’t just stand there stalk still while his nearest and dearest friend was fighting for his life. He jerked his arm into motion, grabbing for the dagger Geralt had tried to convince him not to buy half a year ago at one of the southern markets, and managed to fight it out of its sheath and hold it at arms length, waiting for just the right moment to throw it at the accoster.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, darlin’.”

He jumped and whipped around, dagger first, and the man who’d snuck up behind him didn’t quite duck in time to completely miss the blade. It cut into his cheek, a drop of blood slowly dripping down, cat eyes staring at him in a way that made him freeze.

A smirk that Jaskier really wasn’t sure was from amusement or a promise of death stretched his lips, showing off some very sharp teeth.

“G-Geralt?”

“I’m busy, Jaskier.”

A thump from behind him allowed Jaskier to jerk his head around, seeing Geralt pining the other man face first into the dusty road - but the other man was laughing, even as Geralt’s face was twisted into a snarl, the both of them dirty and scratched up from their fight.

“Damnit, Lambert,” he gave the man another shove but then got off of him, and Jaskier almost squeaked out that that was very much not a good idea - but then Geralt was helping the man up, the anger fading from his face as he dusted some of the dirt off of him.

Dusted...the dirt off of him, yes, because that’s something completely normal for enemies to do with one another. Help clean them off. After fighting. Maybe Jaskier had never woken up that morning after all and this was just some strange dream? Would explain the way the other other man leaned forward into his face sudden, nose twitching as he sniffed, a thoughtful frown tugging his lips down as Jaskier leaned away from the invasion.

“Smell like lavender, but not the flowers. Fancy your oils, huh?”

“Do you know these men, Geralt?” He took a step back away from the one that was once again giving him that smirk, beating a hasty retreat to his friend’s side. Geralt, for his part, finally looked away from the man he’d started to exchange some pleasantries - or what counted as pleasantries for his dear witcher, which was mostly grouching - and turned to look at the other witcher.

He cocked his head, and Jaskier knew before he said anything that Geralt didn’t know that one. “Lambert, one of my brothers.” He slapped Lambert in the chest with the back of his hand, passing the hit off as handing him back the weapon he had gripped in that hand. The man - Geralt’s brother, apparently - took it and buckled it to his side, though not without shooting Geralt a shit eating grin. “The other one I don’t know.”

“Oh, I’m wounded, Lamb.” The man practically purred the words before bowing with a flourish. “Aiden, not necessarily at your service.”

“Don’t call me Lamb, kitty cat.”

“Watch who you call kitty cat, sweets.”

From the increasingly dangerous looks on the two witchers’ faces, Jaskier thought it best to interrupt them then. “Jaskier, long time sufferer of all the hmms and grunts that Geralt passes as communication - though perhaps we could save further introductions for later? We have an, ahhh, rather important contract to be getting done.”

It wasn’t a contract they ended up doing alone. Lambert and Aiden followed them with little hesitation, the promise of shared coin more than enough to garner their interest (though Aiden made a few faces at the correct of a small amount of coin). Really it wasn’t all that surprising, after all; though Geralt was a rather closed book about a lot of his personal life Jaskier had learned over the years that his brothers were very near and dear to him, and he saw them very little throughout the year - winter being the one big exception.

The two brothers spent most of the journey trading snarky remarks and the occasional shove, Geralt doing his best (and utterly failing) to seem like he wasn’t as into the roughhousing as his brother. With those two rather busy catching up it left Jaskier to follow behind them, wondering what tales those two had to share, what journeys they’d spent together, what hunts they’d conquered.

“Didn’t know what I expected,” Aiden mused, suddenly next to him, his silent steps making Jaskier jump when he finally noticed him. “But it wasn’t what I see, ya know? Big hero and all that.”

“Huh?”

“Suppose anyone could seem a hero, if the right bard sings of them.” He gave a wink, his arms crossed behind his head as he walked, the silver beads in his tight braids glittering in the sunlight. It took a moment for Jaskier to catch up with what he was saying but finally he did, turning back to look at the brothers that walked ahead of them, both looking very much like the heroes to him.

Who else would carry such broad swords so proudly on their backs, wear such armor, but the heroes? Maybe not all witchers would be quite as heroic as Geralt but Jaskier was firm in his belief that they were all capable of such, like so many of his own kind seemed to sniff at in disbelief.

“You’ve not met him before,” Jaskier said a little tightly, trying to not get too defensive of his friend. “No one looks like their proudest moments but he exemplifies them nonetheless. As much as he loves to blather on about not getting involved he puts himself right where he needs to be, even when no one would think to thank him for it.”

“No one but you.”

Jaskier blinked at that, not really sure what Aiden was on about. But he didn’t have time to ask, Geralt motioning for them to come to a halt now that they’d reached the keep, the group of them going quiet for now.

It was, as it turned out, not just a gathering place for the young folk. Aiden was the one who found the mountain lion kits and quickly shooed the rest of them away, sniffing about the rest of the place himself without their help and coming back with a shrug. Nothing but cats and ghosts.

“And not the fun kind of ghosts.” Aiden tossed a coin idly into the air, a rather dirt caked one he’d found during his scrounging. “Just old smells, tattered fabric, a faded painting or two. No monsters here, dear pups.”

“Then what about the noises?” Maybe he sounded a bit whiny but Jaskier had walked all the way here for essentially nothing if it wasn’t even a romantic getaway; his feet were tired and his muse demanded fuel.

But Aiden just flicked the coin in the air again, letting it land in his palm as he said, “Ever hear a mountain lion scream, little bird?”

He had not, and when Aiden made them stick around til he did he regretted admitting as much. Jaskier was very glad to make it back to the inn, empty handed or not.

The innkeep, however, was very reluctant to let go of any coin, even if there were now three witchers and a disgruntled bard there to stare him down. In the end Jaskier managed to convince him to part with some of what he’d promised though not all, and to make up for the rest (to keep that anger he saw flash in Lambert’s eyes at bay) he promised to perform and earn enough coin to keep the gull flowing.

It was a real shame he didn’t have any ballads yet for the other two. His performances went as well as usual, the crowd eating out of his hands, the general mood shifting from hot tension to easy fun. As the night went on he saw even the witchers easing into their corner, the innkeep pleased enough with the promised production that the gull was soon free to the three, something that brought a brilliant smile to Jaskier’s face and a new wind to his songs.

There had been a rather shy woman near the edge of the room at the start of his performance, who left sometime through but came back later in the night. In her hands was a lute of her own, and in-between a brief breather between songs she came up to him and asked, if it wasn’t a bother, if he wouldn’t mind, would it be all right if she joined in as well.

And who was he, honestly, to say no to such a quiet and hopeful request?

She was an absolute talent and Jaskier had nothing but praise for the music she weaved with her fingers. It was a bit of a fumble at first, them not knowing the same songs, eventually crafting some new ones just for this particular crowd to enjoy. Because she was so shy and hesitant Jaskier had to admit he was worried the room of rather drunken bar tenants might not take kindly to her attempts but he was pleasantly surprised, and after a time he even left it to her, bowing out to marvel at the pride and confidence that held her shoulders straight now.

There was no doubt about it, she had talent. He leaned back against a wooden pillar in the room, his breaths a little heavy from exertion, his heart light in his chest. Oh, what a time to be alive, to witness the youth come into their own.

No matter that he was still young himself. He could have wistful, old man thoughts if he liked.

“You seem to do that to people.”

“You seem to love to sneak up on others, you daft-” Jaskier cut himself off, startled into his sass and nearly falling over when he jerked away from the pillar. Aiden now leaned his shoulder into the side of it, one dark eyebrow raised, his eyes alight with amusement - which just made Jaskier wish he hadn’t stopped his sass, if he were honest.

“Startle easy, little bird?”

“What do you mean?” He ignored the second question, for now settling back into his spot, habitually checking that his lute was indeed still on the table to his right where he’d placed it a little while before.

“Bring that out in them.” Aiden nodded his head towards the woman, but his eyes didn’t leave Jaskier. “Whatever you’d call that. Confidence. Belief in their self. Their proudest moments, you have a knack for bringing those out, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” He sniffed delicately, but did add, “Though I suppose I am a rather decent influence. Hard to be around such talent and not seek it out yourself. And I do have quite the air of confidence I’ve been told.”

“And your smart, and beautiful, and have the single best taste in fashion, and are oh so modest to boot,” Aiden drawled, that dangerous smirk coming back, and this time perhaps it was the atmosphere around them - the belly laughter from the crowd, the smell of drink in the air, upbeat and cheerful music kept in time with the stomping of boots on the floor - but that smirk made Jaskier’s heart flutter dangerously in his chest.

Despite the implied insults. Or, fake compliments. Or assumed bloated sense of self that Aiden was suggestion - there were plenty of ways to take his teasing but Jaskier was certain it wasn’t meant to be harmful.

Mostly certain.

“Do you usually travel with Lambert, then?”

He wasn’t really sure what possessed him to ask that. Before he had much time to think on it he flicked his eyes away from that dangerously handsome face - handsome face? - and focused instead on his newest pupil, who had taken a request for a dance piece that was apparently popular in the area. A few in the crowd started to push some tables aside drunkenly, saved by the few sensible not drunk patrons, and soon her fingers were plucking away and the place became twice as lively as it had before.

“Yes, I do, little bird.” Jaskier dared to glance over at him, able at least to not get distracted by the beads in his braids, now nearest to the side Aiden kept shaved. “Lamb and I have been through quite a lot over the years. He’s got my back and I’ve got his, no matter the circumstance.” Something dangerous flashed in his eyes but it was gone when Jaskier blinked next, cat eyes focusing on him again instead of off into the distance on memories he had no knowledge of. Yet. “He is my friend, and I don’t say that word lightly.”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

“The bird threatens the cat now?”

“Oh are we speaking in third person now?”

He really wasn’t sure what had come over him, but something about Aiden - something about that look in his eyes, how the gold in his eyes seemed to glow against his dark skin, how the even darker freckles dusted his cheeks beckoned his fingers to brush against them-

There was just something about him that drew Jaskier in.

Aiden cocked his head, studying him, and for just a moment Jaskier felt very much like the birds he loved to compare him to, trapped in a cat’s gaze. But it wasn’t fear that made him lean forward just so, towards the man he’s amazed he’d never even met before halfway through that day.

And then Aiden’s gaze softened, just for a moment, and he said so softly that Jaskier could have been entirely mistaken that he heard it at all: “You’ll do.”

Before he could ask him to repeat himself, the softness was gone, replaced with a mischievous grin that looked like it belonged on those full lips. “Music’s picking up, little bird. Care to dance?” And before Jaskier had even registered he’d said yes he found his hand snatched up lightning fast, whirled into the crowd of men and women and others who remained faceless to him - because the only face his eyes could see was the one with that sharp grin with teeth, owned by the man who danced with cat like grace and a body that was deceptively lithe, whose eyes never once left him in turn.

#aidskier #aiden/jaskier #jaskier/aiden #jaskier x aiden #aiden x jaskier #the witcher #fanfiction #mywriting #proofreading who? don't know her #persony-pepper #jaskier #aiden

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latin-dr-robotnik · 4 years ago

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So, the end of the year is practically upon us, and I wanna ask the question I ask pretty much every year: what are your favorite videogame tracks from this year?

You know me, I’m a big advocate for video game music being just as valid as any other type of music, and most if not all of you I know here also think the same way. So, why don’t we cut to the chase? Let yourself loose and talk about those tracks that made you vibe a lot this year. I’ll leave mine after the break.

Starry Night Act 1 - Sonic Megamix Mania [SHC 2020 Demo]

What can I say? I’m completely in love with this track. You take what’s probably my all-time favorite Sonic track and remix it with a pretty clear Future Funk vibe (fun fact: I used to listen to a lot of FF back in 2015-2018), and what you get is a latin-dr-robotnik in love so hard it feels like my first middle school crush all over again. Megamix Mania is fucking amazing, and this track is just in another level.

City Outskirts Act 1 - Sonic Megamix Mania [SHC 2020 Demo]

Okay, this is another remix from the OG Megamix 5.0, but what I said the first time I heard it still stands: this mod is trying to out-mania Mania, and it’s succeeding at that. Listen to that funky beat, that loud bass... it’s nuts.

vs. 1010 (EDM Version) - No Straight Roads

You might know I’ve been following Funk Fiction since the Sonic Before the Sequel days (2011/12), and I simply cannot get enough of his style. He did kick off this year carrying a banger of a remix in the form of Sun’s Song from December last year, and then an amazing remix of K.K. Cruisin’ with none other than the man Lopes himself. But his work on NSR has been nothing short of incredible. Around my birthday I used to listen to a lot of vs. DJ Subatomic Supernova, but since I learned the existance of this remix I literally dropped everything else. You could interchange this mention with the base version from James Landino (I also follow him since the BTS days), but this version speaks personally to me as a Funk Fiction fan. NSR has a top tier OST, though, so don’t sleep on it.

vs. SAYU (Base Version) - No Straight Roads

If you haven’t listened to this but you follow my work, then you might find a lyric or two familiar. James always had a particular style that made him stand up quite a bit after the Sonic BTS/ATS days, and for a couple of years now he started doing some vocal tracks with Nikki for Cytus II that in my opinion were simply amazing. Then 2020 came along and the duo suddenly drop this song, this fucking song.

I remember reading the song title, reading James and Nikki’s names and then thinking “yeah I know what this gonna be like”, and I wasn’t wrong at all. It’s everything great with Bullet Waiting For Me times ten. It’s cute, it’s catchy, it’s the culmination of years of their work together. It deserves to be so massively popular.

Main Theme - Streets of Rage 4

Before NSR and before Mania Megamix, Streets of Rage 4 was the biggest candidate for OST of the year to me. Don’t get me wrong, I actually voted for this game on the Steam awards (Since NSR won’t be on Steam till next year.)

SOR 4 is a return to form in every single way: great gameplay, a fun little story featuring most of the characters we know and love, and the triumphant return of Yuzo Koshiro and Motohiro Kawashima as composers (among many others, though!) This main theme tells you everything you need to know: the 90s never ended, just took a small 26 year break before coming back strong as ever. This is such a beastly song. Yuzo Koshiro is still a legend among VGM composers.

Rising Up - Streets of Rage 4

Lead composer Olivier Deriviere had his work cut out for him: he had to compose for the return of a series whose last entry was 26 years ago, and do it also with the tall shadow of Yuzo Koshiro linging over him. But he did it, he knocked it out of the park.

Y Tower is your typical tower gauntlet you know and love from SOR. This is a long, tough level that will take you from ground level to the top, and surviving this gauntlet was made a lot better thanks to this absolute masterpiece of a track. During the final elevator section the synthwave kicks in, and my goodness it feels so fucking good, every single time.

The Commissioner - Streets of Rage 4

This is quite the underrated gem, just take a listen to that nasty, NASTY bassline, or them punchy drums. The second half of this song kicks harder than a mule.

Good Riddance (Eurydice Solo) - Hades

Y’know, Hades is my pick for Game of the Year 2020, and this music certainly lives up to expectations. Think about it, you’re fighting your way room by room at a frantic pace, just to arrive to a small chill checkpoint with Eurydice singing this piece. It’s so soothing, so beautiful. Of course certain things change later on, but I won’t say anything...

The Painful Way - Hades

There’s something I love about most tracks in Hades, and it’s the fact that these songs start pretty chill, pretty Greek-like, but then at certain moments they tap into their inner DOOM and suddenly they turn into massive rock bangers. This track and Scourge of Furies are some of my favorite examples. Rip and tear until--oh, you’re dead already, well... try again then!

Final Fall - Fall Guys

Hey, Fall Guys is still a great time. Y’all just left it for Among Us but ya boi is still kicking everyone’s ass at Hex-a-gone on a weekly basis. That’s what happens when you let a big platformer fan play on a competitive game about platforming your way to victory. :P

This track has a wicked bassline and it’s full of adrenaline for the final rounds. What else can I say.

Well, that’s all from me. I’d be surprised if anyone actually read everything. If so, then tell me if any of these tracks got your attention!

#video game music #gaming #take this post as a free pass to freely talk about game music :p #almost all of us here have at least that one vg track that kept us going this year so...

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peace-coast-island · 4 years ago

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Diary of a Junebug

Rock and roll the night away!

What better way to escape than getting lost in music? Headphones on, thoughts off - nothing like some good bops to help get you through the day.

KK Slider's been looking into expanding his musical repertoire so he's been playing around with different genres in hopes of creating a brand new sound. And that's how rock and roll night came to be!

Joining us on this musical adventure are Sonja, with her siblings Robbie and Tiffy, and cousin Bubba. It's been ages since Daisy Jane and I have last hung out with Sonja so it's nice that she and her fam dropped by for a visit. I've hung out with Robbie and Bubba a handful of times while this is the first time I've met Tiffy.

Sonja's been meaning to stop by the camp for a while but life has gotten busy. She also wanted her dad and stepmom to come along too but then something came up so they were unable to make it at the last minute. Same thing for her grandma, though to be honest, camping isn't really her thing so it's probably for the best that she didn't come.

Old Thelma Lou may come across as a cantankerous old lady but she really is a nice person once you get to know her. Underneath that rough exterior is a protective, dedicated, and tough mother figure who wants what's best for you, even if she kinda has a hard time showing how much she cares about you. We video chatted with her before the concert and she's still the same old Thelma Lou, keeping an eye on her children, grandchildren, and their friends in her own unconventional ways.

We also chatted with Buzz and Skeeter, both who are doing well. The reason why they weren't able to join us at the camp is because Skeeter's pregnant again. She and Buzz were going to have a boy last fall but there were complications and the baby was stillborn. So far things are moving along smoothly, but to be safe, Skeeter's on strict bed rest. In about four months, Sonja, Robbie, and Tiffy will have a little sister!

Sonja has been busy working on her graphic novel, which she plans to release in the fall. She's a freelance graphic designer and illustrator, known for posting relatable and funny comics online. I love her art - it's got a sketchy and loose style that's sorta minimal yet super expressive. When I got into digital art, I took some inspiration from Sonja's work by using pencil brushes for line art and the gouache brush for coloring.

After working in the studio for hours on the book over the past several weeks, Sonja felt she could use a change of scenery - which was the main reason why she wanted to come to the camp. She also wants to get back into using traditional mediums like painting so she brought along some canvases and paints. The great outdoors is perfect for finding inspiration when you're in a rut!

Robbie runs a fix-it shop in Elmstown with two of his friends. His specialties are clocks and anything that has a lock thanks to his grandma and dad - Thelma Lou likes collecting clocks and Buzz's a locksmith. He's the reason why the family saves so much on repairs - Robbie and his friends can pretty much fix anything! Elmstown is pretty far but I'm keeping his business card in case I need something fixed like my computer since that'll be more cost effective than sending it to the store where I'll probably get overcharged.

It's a good thing we have Robbie here to help KK Slider with the equipment. He had some old amps and guitars that he'd been meaning to get fixed but since they were custom made, it's hard to find parts that need replacement. Thankfully, Robbie never leaves home without his toolbox and with his magic, we were able to improve the stage setup.

Bubba's still living with Thelma Lou, though he's in the process of moving out to his own place. He's not leaving Rayetown though, just moving to the other side of town so he can be closer to the post office. Along with delivering packages for the citizens of Rayetown, Bubba's also a drummer and occasional lead singer for The Cogwheels, a local band that regularly performs at the Chili Bowl.

Thelma Lou and Bubba have a sweet relationship. He's the oldest of the Harp grandchildren through Thelma Lou's daughter. His parents pretty dumped him on Thelma Lou's doorstep when they moved halfway across the country, which wasn't very nice of them. His mom and grandma have a stormy relationship so that explains why Thelma Lou's kinda overprotective of him, and in return he respects her a lot. Recently though, Bubba and his mom have been keeping in touch sporadically - thanks to Uncle Buzz and Aunt Skeeter. As for his dad though, since he walked out on his mom, he hasn't heard from him in years, which he feels is probably for the best.

And there's Tiffy, the youngest (so far) of the grandchildren. She's seven and a half years old and likes to sing and dance. This is her first time being away from home for a couple days so she's pretty excited about it. Plus, she gets to spend time with her siblings, something she always looks forward to since they live far from home. By the time she was born, Sonja and Robbie had already long moved out of Rayetown. Up until Tiffy came along, Sonja and Robbie rarely visited home, a deliberate choice that they both kinda regretted but at the same time felt it was necessary.

Tiffy's looking forward to the new baby - and she's absolutely certain that things will work out this time. She was really bummed about what happened with her brother, especially since she always wanted a little sibling. Buzz and Skeeter had been trying for years to have another kid - they didn't have Tiffy until about six years into their marriage - and that was after being told many times that they missed the boat. It's a good thing they didn't give up or else Tiffy wouldn't be here today!

While helping KK Slider set up for the concert, we also went sightseeing outside the camp. Now that the weather's warming up and the sun's staying out longer, we can venture further out. The first place we went was the mountains, where Sonja was inspired to pull out her canvases and paints. She's been working on landscapes and backgrounds so it was the perfect opportunity. Since she had a lot of fun doing that, I figured we could do the same in other places outside the camp like the woods or the meadows.

As they were testing out the equipment, KK and Bubba were jamming out while Tiffy danced. She definitely inherited Buzz and Skeeter's dance skills! Tap dancing and ballet are her favorites and she definitely wants to branch out to other forms of dance. Her parents are looking into more dance classes for Tiffy, which she's excited for. One of the reasons why she's looking forward to having another sibling is so she can have a dance partner in the future. Imagine, Tiffy and her little sister, dancing together!

Later, Robbie joined in on the jam session, playing the bass. Apollo, Static, and Cherry joined in as well, and before we knew it, all of them were writing new songs that eventually became the setlist for the concert! Sonja later got into the jam session after Daisy Jane showed her around the cabin and her studio. I sense a collaboration between the two in the near future...

Around 5 we finished setting up for the concert and began preparing for a barbecue dinner. By the time all the food was set up, it was time to rock and roll! I have to say, KK and the campers really outdid themselves with the stage setup. It was a mix of performances by KK Slider and jam sessions by us. The concert was an awesome experience!

In the span of one hour, Bubba and KK wrote Road Ode. KK came up with the intricate melody that's a perfect fusion of his signature sound along with elements of classic rock. Bubba came up with the lyrics, taking inspiration from his relationships with his mother and grandma. Easily one of the highlights of the night.

Apollo sang lead on a number he co-authored with KK Slider titled Old Man Blues. It's a bluesy rock and roll tune with a catchy guitar riff that's stuck in my head as I write this. The light show visuals really add to the vibe of this song, elevating it to another level.

Static and Cherry performed Heavy Metal Ballad as a trio with KK Slider - another song that was just finished today. The song was actually three different compositions that merged into one. Cherry has been playing around with a cool heavy metal beat for a while. She had a good thing going on but had trouble turning it into something, so she put it aside in hopes of finding the right spark to kick it off. Static came up with lyrics for the chorus, originally through a little ditty he called Lightning Muses. And like Cherry, he had something but couldn't figure out what direction he wanted to take it. Then along comes KK Slider, who saw the potential in these two wildly different compositions. Somehow, with his verses and additional melodies, he created an instant hit!

In an unexpected surprise, KK Slider got Daisy Jane and I on to perform a new KK original as well as a couple songs from Lilac and the Cadillacs. The new song, Sky Blue Twilight, is a collaboration between me, Daisy Jane, and KK Slider. It was something we came up with a while back, and I had almost forgotten about it until today. I'm pretty rusty from songwriting but working on this piece was pretty fun! I really should get back into writing music...

Sonja, Robbie, and Tiffy also joined Bubba on stage for another new song, titled All That Rock 'n' Roll. Tiffy sang lead vocals with Sonja on the keys and Robbie on bass. Along with being a fantastic dancer, Tiffy's a great singer! I filmed the whole thing for Bubba so he can send it to Thelma Lou, Buzz, and Skeeter. I have to say, KK Slider and Bubba make a great songwriting team!

Another fun song is Violet Blaze, an upbeat rock and roll tune by KK Slider, Candi, Kabuki, and Spike. KK Slider really outdid himself on that guitar solo! With riffs like that, there's no other song fitting to be titled Violet Blaze. What one can't put into words, music expresses it - one just has to listen and feel.

And of course, in between the new songs were KK Slider classics, but remixed. It's amazing how changing up the genre can give well known songs a fresh makeover! That's what I love about KK Slider's music - the versatility. In terms of reinventing his sound while staying true to himself, I'd say KK Slider succeeded with flying colors!

Aside from Tiffy and the early risers, the rest of us have been rocking and rolling way past midnight. I'm still a bit buzzed from the concert, which just ended less than an hour ago, so I'm gonna unwind for a bit before going to bed.

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #Diary of a Junebug #headcanon ramble

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coeurdastronaute · 5 years ago

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Essays in Existentialism: Kiwi 10

previously on Kiwi

As grueling of a schedule as it was, there was a bit of normalcy to the routine of it all that was an almost welcomed addition to her life. Each day had an itinerary, had a designated time for everything, nearly down to bathroom breaks and time to think. The entire operation was efficient and orchestrated a year in advance. At a very very recent point in her life, Lexa didn’t like the sanctity of the routine and often balked under the weight of it, rejecting regularity for sleepless nights and people who broke her, and for too much manufactured joy that came at the end of a straw or bottom of a glass. Strung out and hung over, she performed without remember, and found herself missing the joy of it all, digging a deeper pit into her own body and soul that she could ever fill up.

But she was finding a way to make up for it.

It started with her sister, as most things seemed to always. It started with apologizing and promising and fixing a lot of things she once thought to be irreparable. And once that was mended and blossoming, Lexa watered different parts of herself, allowing a small bit of her own forgiveness and honesty to shine through.

There was rehab and therapy, of course. And more apologizing and promising and setting realistic goals and avoiding stressors and things that would make her weak. But from that was a kind of strength, and people saw it, the improvement, the urge and need to be good, to be an artist. That was what saved Lexa’s life, at the end of the day, her overwhelming urge to create and interpret and give back something to the world.

Tour was debated hotly for an entire month before it could be completely agreed upon between the bandmates, but in the end, it was the absolutely gruelling schedule that Anya decided truly was the best way for her to keep an eye on her sister. She couldn’t do drugs if she didn’t have time.

And even though Lexa found herself missing someone, something she hadn’t originally planned on experiencing, she welcomed the road life with open arms, hitting meetings in every town almost, and talking to a girl on the other side of the country almost non-stop. When she wasn’t bugging Clarke, she was writing, practicing, working out, or performing, and in the end, those were almost the only things that truly mattered.

Deftly, Lexa’s fingers moved along the frets of her favorite guitar as she lounged on the couch in her suite. She knew she was in Texas, but not entirely sure which city, and she didn’t mind. She had the sunset and she had a great view. In a month she’d be in Europe before festival rounds, and then back on the second half of her tour until the fall. There was a schedule.

Without noticing her sister approaching, she hummed along to a melody she’d been stuck thinking about but not sure what to do with entirely. The album they were touring on was heartbreak and pain and partying. It was some of her favorite things because she loved seeing those who understood her and the words. But it scared her to write something different and new. And as many times as she promised an ode to Clarke’s ass, she was afraid to write something so loving. So she strummed along and already felt a different kind of grit sneak into her words. She sang a few lines and wrote in her notebook, pausing and reworking and thinking out loud. She recorded a few bars on her phone before putting it together somewhat.

No one would say she was unprofessional when it came to her work. It was important that she got things out, and she came with a full idea, formed and ready to be put together, a concrete idea that she was always eager to capture. Her words got a little better and the process got a little easier when she was sober, something she feared at first, if she was being honest. She didn’t need the crutch. Her entire last album was a way to heal.

“Sounds good,” Anya finally offered, pushing herself from the wall where she leaned. “Different,b ut good.”

“I thought we discussed your lurking.”

“I lurk out of love.”

“Hm,” Lexa grunted, tossing her pencil down on the notebook. She kept working on the guitar though, trying to get it right.

Anya took a seat on the coffee table her sister’s feet were propped up on, and she grabbed the notebook, carefully skimming through the words jotted there in a deceptively neat hand despite how quickly they were laid upon the page.

“I like this a lot, actually. Powerful.”

“I don’t want to wri--”

“I know, I know. The basics. Universal human emotion with killer guitar. Nothing personal, blah blah,” the drummer muttered, hunching over as she flipped a page and looked at another idea, waving away the inevitable diatribe she’d already heard.

“I don’t want to write sad songs anymore,” Lexa shrugged. “At least… I don’t know. I can’t say never. I just-- singing these songs, it’s been heavy. I kind of want to bring back some fun. Remember our EP?”

“A lifetime ago.”

“Yeah, but like pure rock’n’roll right? Like gritty guitar, quick fucks, bad drinks, having fun. Dirty but something to sing along to.”

“Except you don’t do any of that.”

“No, but I miss… Do you miss having fun up there?”

“I always have fun,” Anya shook her head, pushing aside her mane of hair as it fell in her face. “I have fun playing with you.”

“I do too, I just… Clarke said something-- before you complain,” she interjected as Anya began to roll her eyes, “She said that she could see me enjoy certain songs more, and a lot has to do with who they were about.”

“You’re afraid to write about Clarke.”

“No… yeah, I mean. No one tells you that when you write about people, you’re stuck with the song, even when they’re not around.”

Lexa sulked slightly as she fiddled with her strings and looked away from her sister with the confession.

“You like her a lot,” Anya observed after a few moments of quiet and flipping through the pages until she caught something she liked.

“Yeah, obviously.”

“Good. I like her too.”

“I think I might invite her out again before we head to Europe.”

“You should.”

“Is this…” Lexa took a deep breath and stilled her movements, almost a complete statue as she tried to formulate the proper words. “Is this what it feels like to exist, like normal?”

“Relatively, yeah, probably,” her sister snorted a laugh and smiled as Lexa’s face twisted slightly. “You’re so used to living at extremes, but what you don’t realize is that life is exceptionally average most of the time, and my favorite things are moments of beauty in the most mundane spaces. Aiden smiling at me when he pulls my hair and bites my chin because that’s how he kisses. You, holding him. You and me on stage when we are perfectly in sync and the world is right. The best bite of a piece of pizza. Watching you the past few months, come alive. Fighting with Luke about not having enough wipes in the diaper bag. There is nothing wrong with feeling those moments and realizing they’re enough.”

Lexa grit her jaw and nodded, still unflinching and unwavering, afraid to move an inch because she was certain the dream would end, and perhaps this was one of those moments, because the sun was setting, and her sister looked beautiful and alive and not like she was ready to commit her, but like she actually enjoyed being her sister again.

Anya didn’t mean to say as much, but she closed her mouth and looked down at Lexa’s notebook again.

“Invite Clarke for a few days. Let her get a feel of your life here. She won’t break your heart.”

“You’re psychic now?”

“No, but I think she couldn’t hurt to offer you a muse, even if you don’t want that.”

“I can’t write about her.”

“I think you already are.”

“Nah,” Lexa disagreed, back to plucking the strings haphazardly.

With a victorious smile, Anya picked one she liked the most and read it a few more times, attempting to hear what her sister had beneath it all.

“I like this one,” she finally offered, handing over the page, bookmarked and dogeared in a way she knew would piss of her sister. “Tell me how to hear it.”

Lexa took her time, looking at the page and debating as her sister looked on expectantly. This would be the moment, she was certain, that they began the next album in earnest. That alone was a journey that made her wary, which was why she hadn’t approached her sister with anything finished yet.

“Low and singular at first, up to the first bridge and then BAM you come in, hard and heavy, just a beat, a heartbeat. I want it to be a blast, a catharsis, an unleashing.”

“Fitting,” Anya agreed and nodded as she read, dashing a note here and there, drawing lines to indicate the swelling.

“See, I can write songs not about girls.”

“You can, I just think you want to write about a girl. So just let yourself.”

“It’s hard, being away and stuff. Kind of a weird time to start a relationship.”

“When have you ever done anything the easy way?”

As much as she wanted to argue, Lexa stopped herself and agreed. It didn’t matter. She knew her sister was right, and maybe that was okay this time.

XXXXXXXXXX

Even though it was nearing the end of her shift, the bar still felt full of people in a way that weighed on her. She was hoping to leave at a mildly reasonable hour to crawl into bed and get a reasonable amount of sleep for the first time in a long time. The universe didn’t seem aware of that plan as she tried to re-read the letter left in her letterbox the day before.

“You going to grab that order at the end?” Raven interrupted her thoughts.

“Why fucking not.”

Struck by her sour demeanor the entire night, Raven debated how to handle Clarke. There were different moods for her that required different responses. She wasn’t quite sure which kind of friend she had to be for the evening.

Even though she couldn’t admit it yet, Raven saw that Clarke seemed oddly different after meeting Lexa Woods. She was driven and happy and doing more. She was content and afraid of the future, but for different reasons.

“Are you being a little crabby because you miss your girlfriend?” Raven sang, clearly aware that she was annoying her friend.

“She’s not my… well maybe-- no wait. That’s not why I’m-- And I’m not crabby,” a flustered bar tender shook her head, processing all of the words and how wrong they all were.

“You miss her.”

“How can I miss someone I never had?”

“Oh, you have her,” Raven rolled her eyes and crossed her arms as she watched her friend huff and be annoyed at the common knowledge. “She’s flying you out again to see her, for a few days and two different cities of tour dates. You’re dating Lexa Woods.”

“I think I would know if I was.”

“I’m honestly not sure you’d know.”

For the rest of the evening, they worked and waited until the bar cleared out and they could wrap up the hard part. Raven poured them both a drink when the door was finally locked and sat down across from her friend, unperturbed by the sticky bartop or the cleaning they were about to do.

With a flick of her head, Clarke took the shot and hissed against the feeling of the painful liquid on her throat.

“They’re tearing down my building,” Clarke sighed. “I’ve got a month.”

“No wonder you’re in a snit,” Raven nodded.

“And I haven’t gotten laid in a few weeks.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“It’s just… It’s just… It’s just... “ she sighed and shook her head before pausing to pour herself another drink and taking it back. “I think I’m getting ahead, right? Like if life is broke up into categories, love, money, job, happiness-- and I can’t get all of them to be okay at the same time. It’s exhausting.”

As she spoke, Raven finished counting the cash and carefully handed over the split from the tips, handing a pile over to the barback that wiped down the tables while they stood there, veterans and exhausted by the night, no longer excited to keep drinking and stay up until about four. Clarke braced herself on the counter and stared at the empty shot glass, watching a droplet drip down the side slowly then all at once.

“So what do you have together now?”

“Hm?”

“Out of those things, what is working for you now?” Raven asked. “I mean. You’re dating a rock star. You have a great internship and you are somewhat decent at it. You have to move and that’s it.”

“It’s a pretty shitty thing. I can barely afford the shitbox I live in now, let alone another place.”

“Come live with me.”

“In your studio? No thanks. We’re close, but I don’t think we can be that close without killing each other.”

“Why don’t--”

“I’ll figure it out,” Clarke sighed. “I can’t think of solutions tonight.”

“We can drink, if you want.”

“Yes please.”

“And,” her friend grinned, complete and utter mischief and nothing good at all as she dug behind the counter and pulled out a magazine. “We can read all about a sexy singer and a mysterious blonde she’s been seen with.”

“Are you kidding me? Where did you get that!”

Even though she moved as quickly as possible, Raven dodged Clarke’s advance, wiggling her eyebrows as she surveyed the pictures and laughed, enjoying her friend’s discomfort. Stretch as she might, Clarke couldn’t grab the offending image and she groaned, growing agitated in a way that her friend enjoyed.

“I’ve just been saving this to enjoy when I had a free moment. Thinking about how much I could make by telling them who the cute blonde sucking on Lexa’s Woods’ neck is.”

“I wasn’t-- They didn’t-- We weren’t--”

“Hmmm interesting,” Raven mused as she opened the magazine and Clarke got a glimpse of the front cover for the first time.

Completely mortified, she blanched, the blood disappearing from her ears and face as she saw a grainy image of the two of them out to a lovely late dinner post-concert last time she visited. It was a good night and she thought they were alone. She also just really liked to kiss Lexa and she didn’t want to wait.

“When aked about the new friend, the singer simply smiled coyly and said she was very happy,” the bartender read before flipping another page. “And my horoscope is trash.”

“Give me that,” Clarke finally snatched the paper, flipping through the rag before coming face to face with herself.

There was no way for anyone else to know it was her, at least not really, but Raven knew as she slipped her beer and started sorting the receipts. She knew and she knew the right thing to say most of the time, too. It only took a few moments of flipping for Clarke to toss the magazine back ont eh counter and shake her head before pouring another shot.

“You’re going to be fine, Griffin,” Raven promised. “You’re ready to be happy.”

“I don’t know how to be happy.”

It wasn’t quiet in volume, but it was hones and quiet in its purpose. Clarke took the shot and slumped slightly under the weight of the honest and the feeling of maybe trying to believe how her friend’s suggestion could be real.

“You do.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Defeated by the rain and the past week, Clarke adjusted the bag that hung on her shoulder and leaned slightly against her large suitcase in the lobby the chic high rise. No one else was around save for the attendant at the desk who casually watched her without actually looking, keeping an eye on the happenings for very important people lived in his building, and he took his job very seriously.

It was an act of utter failure and somewhat dependence that Clarke despised above all else. She never wanted to need anyone, and she never wanted to be a burden. When it came down to the fact that she needed help, she recognized a kind of guilt and shame that made her rile against herself, as if her own bones were bending and getting smaller.

With an uncoordinated effort, she made her way to the elevator when it arrived in the lobby, and she tried not to think too much, instead looking forward to a good bath and a good sleep to get her head back on straight.

She was going to make short business of needing someone’s help. She wasn’t keen on being given charity, and she certainly wasn’t ready to make Lexa feel like she was being used. That scared Clarke more than anything.

As soon as Clarke stepped into Lexa’s empty place, she was afraid she’d gone into the wrong place because it was not actually empty, but rather warm and alive. The warm lights and candles glowed against the dark of the windows, while a sound of sizzling and the smell of garlic came from the kitchen. A record scratched in the corner.

“Hey, I was wondering when you’d get in,” Lexa smiled and reached to grab the bottle of wine. “I was afraid you’d be later and it’d get cold.”

The bags dropped.

“What are you-- Wh-- How?” Clarke furrowed and shook her head. “You’re supposed to be in Philadelphia.”

“I play there tomorrow. I thought you were a real fan.”

She was putting the finishing touches on the small dinner prepared and plated on the dinging room table, but Lexa was every bit comfortable, as if she hadn’t been on tour for the past three months and not anywhere close to New York.

“But what are you doing here, now?”

“Came to welcome you to my place, well, your place, our place? No, your place.”

“It’s your place, Lex.”

“Yeah, but it’s yours when I’m not here, so tonight it’s ours, I guess.”

Happy and cozy, bare feet moving around and finally standing in front of her girlfriend, Lexa smiled and towered there in Clarke’s confusion.

“Did you miss me?” Lexa grinned, and despite all of the feelings and the anger and the self-hatred, Clarke melted at it.

“Why are you here?” Clarke shook her head, feeling bad still. “I didn’t--”

“I wanted to make you feel welcome. Nothing less welcome than a dark place, with no food. I wasn’t even sure I’d left the heat on to be honest, and it’s been cold the pas--”

Without meaning to do it, Clarke lurched forward and hugged her girlfriend tightly. She buried her face in her neck, making them both wobble slightly but leaving her undeterred.

“I got you a key made,” Lexa whispered, surprised by the outburst. “I want you to be comfortable here. I like… I like the idea of you being in my bed.”

“Even if you’re not here.”

“I’ve never had someone to come home to.”

It was quiet and honest and even though dinner was on the table, and even though the record was done on its side and it stopped, creating a silence that prevailed the many tired thoughts that possessed both, they stood there.

“You’ve been having a rough time. I know I can’t be physically here that much, I want to be around for you,” Lexa whispered. “I made you room in the closet.”

“I won’t be here long.”

“You can stay as long as you want. I mean it.”

“It’s been a real shit month.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Aren’t you tired? Weren’t you in DC last night?”

“So you are a real fan.”

Clarke laughed even though she didn’t want to. Lexa’s arms stayed around her as she pulled away and she sighed because she had no other alternative-- there were too many feelings and thoughts that left her frazzled and she needed to hide all of that to savor this moment, regardless of the fact that she’d lost her home and was desperately missing the girl that cooked for her.

“Want to come to my show tomorrow?” Lexa asked. “You can come up with me for the night and we could have two consecutive days together.”

“Two? Wow, you must like me.”

“I don’t just let every Tinder hook up house sit for me.”

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cherry-moonlight · 5 years ago

Text

Life Could Be A Dream - Chapter Four

{NOS4A2 - Charlie Manx x Reader}

{A/N} He’s hereeeeeeeeeeeeee! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and what's to come! Thank you for being so supportive <3

Warnings: A bout of depressive thoughts.

Chapter Four - Christmasland

“Did they ask for me?” Vic’s voice was low and rough as I put the phone back in its place.

If looks could kill, I might’ve died right there in my shoes. Still, I nodded reluctantly. Before I had time speak again, she spun around on her heel and stormed out, grabbing her helmet once more.

“Wayne?” She called out.

Silence.

“Wayne!” She shouted then, fear gripping the tone of her voice in a way that almost frightened me.

I watched as Lou followed her out, looking exasperated the moment she’d gotten on her bike in a huff. He threw his hands up in the air and she was gone.

Approaching him carefully, I kept a polite enough distance. Having no idea as to what was going on, I tried not to make anything worse. Was a random phone call really that menacing? Pushing away the fact that the cord was still dangling from the pole, usually rendering any other phone useless, was proving to be harder than I expected.

“Where’s she going?” I asked gently.

He took a moment to respond, his gaze seemingly stuck down the road as he stared after her, but Victoria wasn’t anywhere in sight anymore. His face was clearly pained when he finally turned to face me.

“She just.. went to go look for Wayne,” he sighed, padding to the shop again and grabbing his keys off of a caddy on the wall. “I’ll be back.”

And with that, he was gone, too. I guessed they’d trusted me enough to leave me alone with the shop, even if it was supposed to be closed a few moments ago. Sitting alone, it didn’t take long before I felt absolutely gutted that Wayne was missing and I hadn’t even noticed that he wandered off. A strong urge to help them in their search for him plagued me. They’d been so kind and welcoming to me, and I owed it to them.

The garage door closed with a bang when I locked it. I had no car or really any means of transportation, but I noticed keys to a truck that had been dangling on the wall as well. While I had no idea who they belonged to, I didn’t care. Before I locked the shop up, I’d swiped them from their spot. The air was crisp as I ran over to the vehicle, helping myself and hoping the owner would never figure out I used it.

Not having a car had been the bane of my existence as a teenager. I couldn’t go anywhere or do anything. The only reason I was even able to get my license was because my mother wanted me to run errands for her. The engine roared to a start and the radio kicked on, the haunting song from the shop and my dream suddenly playing through it. This struck a slight pang of uneasiness within me. The song sounded just as sorrowful as it had in my dream. With a hard swallow, I reached for the knob and pushed the power button carelessly as I began to drive off the lot.

The song still played.

I pushed again, then again and again.

The radio was off, but the song still played. I could’ve killed the engine in the middle of the road, just to be sure, but I decided against it.

“Must be broken..” I tried to convince myself aloud instead, as though it might go away if it heard me.

Something was clearly wrong with me, I thought.

Hearing songs that don’t exist when no one else could hear them.. Lovely. I’d always heard trauma did strange things to the brain. Maybe it was something like th—

It was then that something large behind the treeline beside me caught my eye. I wasn’t too far from Carmody’s yet, making me even more compelled to examine it.

From what I could see it was large and wooden and resembled something of a tunnel or a bridge. There was no peeling my thoughts from the sight, forcing me to keep glancing over at it. I couldn’t not investigate what I was seeing, and a part of me wondered if it was truly there thanks to the incidents with the ghostly song I kept having.

But I couldn’t resist. I pulled over immediately and stared at it from the car, blinking a few times just to be sure.

It was definitely there..

Maybe I’d just overlooked it like I had overlooked Carmody’s all of this time.

Shrugging into the jacket I wore, I hopped out of the truck and closed the door before standing still for a moment-- just listening.

Nope. No song.

But it had already gotten stuck in my head.

Not wanting to work on that crisis before figuring out what was hiding behind the trees, I decided there was no harm in humming it to myself. The sensation of mystery ran thick while I made my way down into the wooded area, pushing my way through dry branches and prickly pine needles. The air grew even chillier and the gray sky turned just a bit darker the further I went, making me wonder if going into the woods was a good idea at all. But I owed it to Vic and Lou to help them look for their son, who had been nothing but sweet to me since I’d met him.

“Wayne…!” I called, though not as loudly as I probably should have as I approached the large structure.

My brow knit together. That tunnel was not there before, of that I was certain. It seemed to lead to nowhere, which was intriguing and eerie at the same time. The lyricless song in my head seemed to swell with passion, making me sing along to the notes that hung in the air just like it had in my dream.

My dream.

Maybe the tunnel had something to do with the dream I had, I thought, walking towards the entrance. My feet continued to carry me forward, still not close enough to see inside. It almost seemed as though no matter how far I walked, I could never get close enough to even begin to close the distance. Snow began to fall from the sky then, something the weather forecast hadn’t called for at all in the week, and as I continued on, the colorless flurry grew heavier and heavier— the melody in my head and on my lips almost taking the place of any other noise I might’ve heard.

“Wayne?” I cried out in between singing, huddling into myself from what was turning into bitter coldness.

I ducked as a few black bats that stood out against the vastness of white flew out from the slowly disappearing structure and towards me. The snow had picked up so much I wasn’t sure I would even be able to get close enough to it to take cover. The sudden whiteout was disorienting, not only because of the blankets of snow clouding my vision, but because it just didn’t feel possible to happen all at once. It came out of thin air, making me feel as though I were detached from reality.

My better judgement told me I had to get back to the truck as I was surely losing sight of my surroundings with every moment passed. I knew I hadn’t wandered far, yet I felt as though I were isolated from everyone and everything I’d ever known in the place I stood, the feeling hanging heavily around me, pulling me down until it was a chore just to breathe.

The air whipped around my trembling frame, stinging my cheeks and chilling my bones as I continued my singing, trying to keep myself from a full blown panic attack. Singing had always soothed me. Even though my voice was weak from competing with the sound and force of the wind, it kept me from losing my mind despite the fear that filled my heart and seeped into every fiber of my being.

The song continued on strong through what felt like chaos surrounding me, causing me to feel it on a level much deeper than before. A stark realization settled in that I was truly alone in the world, and it was being shown all around me in some kind of sick, wintery metaphor. I couldn’t carry on anymore. I felt my body go limp and my mind go blank, the lack of control in my life revealing itself to me. My voice fell silent as I stopped singing and fell forward into the freezing abyss that consumed me, a soft sob escaping my cherry red lips as I came to terms with my situation more than I ever thought I would.

My heart screamed, pumping beat after beat with nothing but pain.

My blood boiled, burning my insides through the numbing cold.

All I’d ever wanted was to be loved.

Appreciated.

All I’d ever wanted my whole life was to be cared about.

Why wasn’t I deserving of that?

And it was in that moment of silence that everything else in the world came to an unforeseen halt as well.

A beat passed, maybe two, and I opened my eyes from being squeezed shut in anger and hurt. Mascara-filled tears left streaks down my cheeks as I kept my gaze down at the shining white ground, tiny black droplets melting the patches of snow beneath my face where each drop fell like blood. It was considerably darker than it had been before the storm, but the light was different, too. Almost scared to lift my head, my eyes trailed from their spot on the ground cautiously, my {H/C} hair falling in front of my face.

The sudden silence was utterly deafening as I tried to listen for any sign of life. No sounds of nature; no song. But it was then that I noticed each and every delicate snowflake hanging in its place in the air like crystal droplets hanging from a chandelier. It was as though time and space had stopped around me.

Am I dead?

My eyes widened in astonishment, taking in my new environment as I scanned the small area I found myself in.

Where am I?

I exhaled, a small white cloud hanging off my lips. I’d been holding my breath without my knowing. All around me were tall walls of white and blue ice, casting glacial shadows across what looked like hallways within their confines. The snowflakes that hung around me began to disappear like fireflies into the night while I stumbled to my feet again.

Ice.

It was all ice surrounding me, and the song that haunted me everywhere I went had not returned. Shuddering gently, the cold touched me here, but it didn’t chill me the way it had in the woods. In fact, despite the snow, there was a sense of warmth that radiated from every corner. I didn’t feel as hopeless and alone as I had on the ground just minutes before, the grave shift in emotions so quickly almost throwing me into a mild form of shock as I found my bearings again.

The familiarity of the place hit me like a ton of bricks as I began to walk. It was like my feet knew exactly where to take me; running my fingers along the ice that stood tall enough to keep anything that might’ve come across the place out — or in. Parts of the enclosure arched over me with large icicles that made everything feel like a dreamscape; the cold of the crystalline walls on my sensitive fingertips began to hurt. But in the moment, there was no care to be had about the pain.

The grin that tugged slowly at my snow kissed lips couldn’t be helped as I began to run, letting my heart carry me through what I quickly remembered to be a maze. Sure, I couldn’t remember how I knew, but somehow, I knew exactly where I was going. Something in my mind told me I was going to be the victor if I reached the entrance, keeping my focus on nothing but chasing my own intuition through the labyrinth’s twisting and turning glacial halls.

From my head to my toes I was awash with giddiness, a giggle escaping from my lips at every new turn, a childlike wonderment becoming me, replacing the sorrow that I was sure wouldn’t leave me alone only moments before. The snow kicked up around my feet, and I could see the light in the distance, indicating the entrance I was so after. Shifting into a sprint, it was as though I knew I had something to get to at the end, but couldn’t place exactly what.

But when I finally reached my destination, I was met with a world of fragmented memories that came flooding into my mind all at once, the familiarity delving deeper than just a passing wonder. I could’ve sworn there was an impact on me physically as I caught myself, leaning back against the large wall that made up the entrance with strength I didn’t know I would need to keep myself up as I sorted through my thoughts.

Sprawled out before my curious eyes was the most wondrous thing I’d ever seen. Christmas trees and houses that looked like life sized gingerbread cottages. Blinking lights were everywhere, complete with a large Ferris Wheel and a rollercoaster that wound its way around the entire parameter. There wasn’t a patch of ground that snow didn’t cover, and I could hear laughter in the distance. My heart suddenly ached with fervor, and I clutched at my chest as though that might stop the gnawing that radiated deeper than I would’ve liked. I was thrilled and pained all at the same time. But how could I feel as though I so deeply missed something I couldn’t even remember properly?

There was a certain romance to everything I set my eyes on as it shined in the lights, casting technicolor shadows over my face. I didn’t want to look away, in fact, I was sure I couldn’t as I let myself linger on the sights before me. I wanted to explore, to find myself in every nook and cranny this place of wonder offered.

Emotions began to overwhelm me as I finally came to the conclusion that I’d been here before long ago. It wasn’t something I’d simply made up or only dreamt about. The lights in my dream, they were leading to this. My brow furrowed as I tried to remember; tried to search the depths of my mind for any memory that would give me more than just a fuzzy clue.

My feet pounded against the ground as I ran again.

I ran and ran and ran; through the carnival games and rides that offered more flashes of hazy memories and past the houses that did just the same. When I reached the edge of what looked like a Christmassy plaza, I saw two people standing across from each other, both in defensive stances as though they were in the middle of an intense row. As I peered in for a closer look, I gasped.

What was Vic doing here?

She was in a stand-off with a tall man in a navy blue jacket and a deep red cravat. His dark brown hair matched the darkness of his trousers and shoes, and I noticed all too quickly that he had a face no one should ever forget.

When my eyes set on him, I was terribly wounded that I had forgotten his face at all when I immediately recognized him-- even if I couldn’t remember how, exactly.

Charlie Manx.

Father Christmas.

Whatever anyone called him, that was who my entire being was being pulled towards through the maze and down the snowy pathways. I knew it when my gaze found him, the ache in my chest dulling, but not completely gone.

But why? Who is he to me? There were more questions than I had words.

No one noticed my appearance as I made my way towards them with reckless abandon, interrupting whatever was happening before me. My heart pounded in my chest as I opened my mouth to speak, but when they both turned to look at me, I couldn’t say a word.

Their facial expressions were that of shock. But Charlie looked at me with a hint of surprise and wonderment that made every nerve ending in my body sizzle with fear and tension.

Everyone fell silent, words escaping us at the strange situation we found ourselves in until Charlie finally stood a bit taller, speaking loudly into the open air.

“Well… If it isn’t little {Y/N}.. Not so little anymore, are we?”

Wait...

“You know each other?” Vic questioned, anger and adrenaline thick in her vocal chords, her face turning to stone as though I’d committed treason in the highest degree.

I recognized him, but how did he know me? I wanted to ask what was going on, to explain myself to Vic - or what I could figure out of myself - and ask why I was back here again, or what I had done here in the first place. I wanted to scream at my splintered memories that only let me remember where I was and that I’d been here before, but not much of what happened or for how long. They were all a hazy blur of lights and games, children and sweets.

Everyday was Christmas Day.

Every night was Christmas Eve.

But I couldn’t— I physically couldn’t make a sound.

My hand clutched my neck as I realized my voice was completely missing from my throat like some Brothers' Grimm tale in a Disney-esque wonderland.

Charlie made a noise, as though delighting in the fact that I couldn’t speak.

“I see your voice has brought you here once again,” he continued, his velvet voice dripping with honey tones. “Rightfully so.. As you find yourself, technically orphaned, don’t you, {Y/N}?”

My focus was on Charlie Manx, and his focus was on nothing but me as my line of sight drifted towards the deep night sky, peppered with stars and a moon that seemed to welcome me warmly. My gaze met his again, and for a moment, it was as though no one else and nothing else existed but the two of us. His chocolate eyes pierced through me with an intensity that made me feel as though he could pull my soul from my body and do what he wanted with what remained. The spectral sensation forced me to avert my eyes towards the sparkling lights that hung from every object one could perceive instead.

Children began to poke their heads out from behind snow covered trees and bushes then, holding large things like scissors and knives in their hands with menacing, but apprehensive expressions that rested on their features. It looked all too familiar to me.

“Do you remember me? All of your brothers and sisters here at Christmasland?” he asked, a gloved hand reaching out to gesture towards the hiding children.

But all that rang through my mind was:

Christmasland.

A flash of large candy cane and iron gates topped with a sign that read “Christmasland” stood out in my mind, but I shook my head a bit, an attempt at shaking the thought and bringing myself back to his brief line of questioning. To nod would have been a lie, so I gave it my best shrug, lifting my shoulders and teetering my faintly trembling hand from side to side.

“Pity” was all he said with a solemn expression, his deep register soothing and unnerving all at once.

He then turned to face Vic, who was now missing from her place on the other end of the odd triangle positioning we’d all been a part of.

His countenance turned to a scowl, clearly vexed by the fact that she’d disappeared, and then frustrated by his own careless mistake of letting it happen. I watched as his hands balled into tightly knit fists, frightening me on the inside as I tried to keep myself together. I couldn’t remember much, but from what I saw, there was a darkness about the entire situation. Between Charlie Manx and Christmasland, to the children with weapons and the ominous atmosphere that seemed to linger in the air, I wasn’t sure what would become of me if I made a sudden movement to run.

Charlie immediately ordered the children to begin a game through gritted teeth, one that I couldn’t recall, but felt as though I should. They all scattered at the shouted command, leaving us both truly alone in the wintery plaza. All that could be heard were the sounds of faint sinister giggles and crunchy footsteps as they drifted further into the distance until I began to hear my heart beat in my own ears thanks to adrenaline laced with dread.

It seemed as though he pushed away his anger for my sake, causing me to wonder why I was suddenly so important. His entire demeanor changed as soon as his smoldering eyes set on mine again, and he approached me slowly, every footfall cautious, as though he felt like if he came too close too quickly, I’d disappear.

Staying in place before him, the closer he drew to me, the more I felt as though I just might.

“Never mind her,” he assured me as he caught me glancing around for Vic in a slight panic.

What were they going to do to her?

He seemed to relax, as if this was going to make me feel any better. His features softened, like when one recalled fond memories before he lifted a leather clad finger into the air for just a second.

“You were such a fantastic addition to the family, {Y/N} Manx.”

The name caught me off guard. He must’ve been able to tell.

“Oh..” he drawled. “Now, you should remember that. You signed it in my book yourself.”

And then he smiled.

Oh god— did he smile.

There was nothing like it. When he smiled, it was as though the whole world around me lit up with the same delight. The act was infectious, and I felt myself smiling right back at him in a vague stupor. That was, until I wiped it off my face the moment I caught my lips curving, which proved to be more complicated than I would’ve liked.

What was wrong with me?

I had to remember that Vic was here too somehow, clearly in the middle of a scuffle with this man. No matter what kind of spell it seemed like he could put anyone under with his undeniable charm, there had to be a reason for Vic’s visit. Moreover, he’d sent children who carried objects that could be used as weapons after her.

Being disarmed so easily wasn’t like me at all, especially in such a strange place with such a strange person that I really barely knew. I had to get out. There was more at work than I could’ve even begun to wrap my head around.

Everything was so new to me— there were no answers, only more things to question, including how either Vic or myself got to Christmasland. But I couldn’t conceal the fact that I was worried for her and if only a little, myself. I was unsure if he would take the same approach with me should I fight him or try to run, and I felt far too weak from what I was sure could only be the past several minutes that felt like a whirlwind. Up to this point, I’d barely had reason to fear him myself anyway, and all I wanted to do was find out why I remembered the man, but nothing about him or how we were connected.

I tried to speak again but couldn’t. His expression turned quizzical before the damned smile eased its way back onto his lips. Albeit briefly, I had to look away if I didn’t want to be caught up in it again.

“I didn’t realize you hadn’t used your gift since we last found you here..” he voiced in realization. “It comes at a cost, my dear. Once you use your voice, you lose it for a while. But that’s nothing a hot cup of peppermint tea with lobs of sugar can’t fix, can it?”

His smile this time was small, but still enough to disarm me all over again.

Peppermint tea -overly sweetened- was my favorite. My brow furrowed as I tried to pull the memories from my brain. How long had I been here before? He’d sure made it sound like a while between dubbing me an addition to whatever “family” this was with his last name and knowing the way I liked my tea.

There were still a multitude of questions bouncing around in my mind. But without a voice, I had no other option than to go along with what he was saying. It wasn’t only that I couldn’t remember how to leave, but I was also deeply intrigued by everything I saw— from Christmasland to Father Christmas himself. It surely couldn’t hurt to spend a little time, and while I did, maybe I’d get my voice back enough to finally figure out what was going on. If my voice brought me here, surely it’d be able to take me out. I just had to discover how.

And besides, maybe he was onto something with the tea. It had been a while since I’d indulged in a simple pleasure like that for myself. The feeling of being out of touch with reality drifted through my body and in my thoughts again. It was like I was slipping into a kind of contentment I’d never felt before. Not wanting to give into that, I fought the feeling off. I didn’t deserve it, I thought.

Slightly defeated by not being able to counter his offer, I nodded meekly, stepping closer to him. He hastily stepped backwards, keeping the same distance as his intense stare held mine for - to anyone else - what might’ve been a little too long. Deep down, I wondered if I should’ve figured out how to get away to find Vic instead.

“Come,” was all he said then, turning around and leading me to a house just behind him, the outside decorated just as to the nines as the rest of the area and the small cottages that resided within it.

A warm yellow light flowed out across the snow as he opened the door, enticing me even more to follow before he disappeared inside. The door swung closed behind him, and as I approached it myself, my inner dialogue was still fixated on just how I knew Christmasland, and why Victoria was here being what seemed like taunted by Charlie. It wasn’t until my fingertips grazed the icy doorknob that I was being pulled backwards, a hand -I assumed instinctively- being cupped over my mouth to keep my already silenced voice even quieter. Trying to fight back proved to be useless as I tried to dig in my heels into the snow to no avail. I was being dragged backwards against my will as I tried to wriggle free, quickly giving up the fight once I heard my captor speak.

“Don’t say a word, I’m gonna get you out of here,” Vic whispered in my ear gruffly.

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