#(which is actually red. in case you were wondering. the gold on this picture is Red.)

[blogparanormal]

Paranormal (Data Dump) 3B

* One night after a cruise to the Bahamas, I searched for pictures of George Washington. I wanted to make a poster to hang up on my wall. The poster represents taking initiatives. I took the initiative to write this book and I wanted more motivation. So I made this poster. I invited George Washington or any other spirits to come into my room as I sat on my bed. Within seconds I saw a ghost uniform. It looked as if it was on a manikin because I saw no human body or head. What impressed me was the detail of the uniform. It was olive green and had tons of decorative stuff all over it. The shoulder tops had a gold rectangle with the decorative frayed string things, which you should remember as epaulettes. It had decorative patches and medals attached on the front uniform jacket. However I do not remember the shapes of them that well. Within about 10 seconds the uniform vanished.

* On 8/18/18 before my UFO Sighting, I saw multiple ghosts. As a part of my in-depth research I continue to conduct field tests to try to understand ghosts, spirits, and the dead. I am fascinated by this subject so it makes allot of sense to take the initiative to try to find out answers even if it results in more questions than answers. I invited the spirits to go on a walk with me like I usually do and proceeded with our walk. I saw ghost human shaped entities. I saw a white one, a light gray smoke colored one, a dark gray almost black one, a royal blue one, and a ginger-ale colored one. The white was on the road on the cul-de-sac. The light gray smoke one I saw in a person’s empty driveway. The blue one I saw next in a person’s drive way on a different road. On this same road I saw the ginger-ale colored one stand on the grass as I walked passed it. The only ghost I saw move was the last one. The dark gray almost black ghost was at the circle at the end of the street there was not a dead end road. It floated past me faster than I could walk. It appeared at the circle then glided to the other side of the road and disappeared. I walked another lap before having my UFO sighting.

I am sure there will be skeptics in my future that will criticize because it always seems like skeptics are flapping their gums saying ridiculous things like “I don’t believe in it so that must not make it true.” My grandmother told me that. In this case my grandmother is the skeptic not making any sense to me.

* One of the best sightings I had was when I was walking on the boardwalk right in front of the ice cream stand walking to the north. The weather was cloudy then turned to drizzle. I would say that this object was 2 ½ feet at its widest width. It was shaped like↓

It was see through and rounded like a blown bubble. The most incredible thing was it actually had a red iridescence on the corner like a real soap bubble; however the object seemed structurally sound as it flew right over me on the boardwalk. Next it flew at an incline over the roof of the condo south of the ice cream stand then disappeared. Immediately as this thing disappeared while the drizzle is wetting my face; two white orbs a little larger than base balls, more the size of softballs, flew the exact same flight pattern. The spheres looked like glass balls with white sparks inside. The orbs flew side by side as if they were attached to each other, but I could not see anything attached. I immediately remembered a “Blue Man Group” performance. I learned that human eyes can only pick up red, green, and blue spectrums of light. I wondered to myself if I saw a full single UFO and the other part of the UFO is in a spectrum of light that humans cannot perceive. Maybe it was two separate UFOs following a certain flight path. Then I remembered that everything I heard was silent from the UFOs, but I could hear droplets of rain on the boardwalk as I saw them. These things were odd to see under the clouds about only 10 feet above my head while standing on the board walk.

[richmond-rex]

Hi! Can you tell what was hair colour of Edward iv, Elizabeth Woodville, Elizabeth of York ( it's disputed whether they were blondes of redheads), Henry vii, and Elizabeth's and Henry's children. Thank you!

Hi! I’m afraid it’s impossible to answer everyone’s hair colour with 100% certainty. We can speculate about some of those, but some of them will always remain a matter of speculation. For the sake of not letting this ask sit in my inbox for too long, first I will say what I think was the hair colour of two people you mentioned: Edward IV and Henry VII. Hopefully I’ll come back to this post in the future and talk about other people.

I’m starting with Edward IV because I think his hair colour is the less debatable of them all since we have actual samples of his real hair taken when his tomb was opened in 1788. When Emlyn and his group opened the king’s casket at Windsor, they found his complete 6′3 feet tall skeleton laying there, with some brown/‘dark long hair’ near its head and some by its neck, perhaps the remains of a beard. According to the Guide to Windsor workers took hair, fingers, fabric and samples from the liquid pooling at the feet of the casket. St. George’s Chapel holds a contemporary diarist’s account of being presented with Edward’s hair and some wood. A lock of his hair is now kept at the Society of Antiquaries of London. Those samples look like this:

It looks like brown hair to me, even if not quite dark, but I’ve seen an antiquarian on youtube called this same lock of hair ‘blond’, so you get why it’s so difficult to talk about a certain historical figure’s hair colour when poeple have so wildly different perceptions of colour. In any case, I think it’s quite different from the famed ‘red-gold Plantagenet hair’ that so many pop historians/novelists claim he had. Another interesting thing is to compare these samples to depictions of Edward IV in contemporary manuscripts—I’m not going to comment on his portraits since they are all posthumous anyway.

I would say the hair samples match the first manuscript best. What’s interesting to me is that in some of these illustrations Edward has the darkest hair to be found in the picture, which leads me to wonder: was it a case of pictorial convention, where the king is depicted with dark hair because that was the beauty ideal for men at their time (as opposed to light hair for women)? Or it is a case that the eumelanin (the brown pigment) in his hair has already degraded somewhat, and that’s why it doesn’t look quite so dark now? 

Henry VII’s hair colour is more complicated even though it seems to exist a popular consensus that he had brown/dark hair. Contemporary manuscripts tend to favour the theory that he had brown hair too, even if not quite so dark as Edward IV’s as depicted in the illustrations above. Interestingly, in some of these, Henry’s eyebrows are depicted as lighter than the hair on his head, which I think matches his most famous portrait as well. 

We can’t do the same we did with Edward IV and compare these illustrations with Henry’s own extant lock of hair. Even if we were to open Henry VII’s casket, he died at an older age than Edward IV, at a time when his hair was described by Polydore Vergil as ‘canum’ (aged) meaning either white or grey. What about during his youth? Frustratingly, we don’t have a contemporary written description—which I rather trust more than manuscripts or portraits—of his hair colour when young. 

The only description of his hair colour near his lifetime that we get is from Edward Hall’s chronicle published in 1548. His hair is described as ‘yellow’, coincidentaly, the same hair colour Elizabeth of York was said to have at her coronation as described by a herald of arms. Now, I believe ‘yellow’ actually could mean a range of colours. Perhaps it could mean light brown hair, as well as blond? Interestingly, we do have manuscripts where Henry VII’s hair colour is depicted as some shade in between.

The manuscript that I like the most, though, and that I also tend to trust more, is the Vaux Passional at the National Library of Wales. It’s that one manuscript where we see a young Henry VIII weeping at his mother’s empty bed after her death. I love the details in this manuscript, including Henry VII wearing blue (the royal colour of mourning) and violet (another colour associated with mourning), and the presentation of a book with a blue cover—we know Henry VII ordered his books to be bound in blue velvet after the death of Elizabeth of York. Well, the same illustration that presented a red-haired Prince Henry shows this Henry VII among a variety of hair colours (so I wouldn’t say it’s a case of making everyone look the same):

What colour would you describe his hair to be in this manuscript: light brown, dirty blond? His hair seems to be streaked with grey too in this illustration. Anyway, however you would describe that colour, I think it’s still perfectly compatible with Hall’s ‘yellow’ description, if that’s not meant to be read as literally yellow but some shade of blond and near-blond. I think it’s also compatible with other contemporary and near contemporary depictions of Henry VII, namely the Torrigiano bust and his family portrait with St George and the dragon.

It’s ironic, then, that Henry VII’s hair colour was probably some shade of light brown or perhaps dark blond hair—possibly some lighter shade than Edward IV’s hair even—but he’s known in popular fiction and popular history as a man of dark features, the completely anthesis of the Tudor redheads that came after him. Antonia Fraser, for example, when comparing Henry VIII to his father and grandfather, says this:

Certainly the resemblance between Henry VIII and his grandfather Edward IV is remarkable, if one compares their portraits at the relevant ages. Here was another fine figure of a man, renowned when young for his ‘beauty of personage’, and his daughter Elizabeth of York inherited his blond good looks; while Henry VIII’s father, with his much darker colouring, narrow face and small beady eyes on which all observers commented was general considered by his contemporaries to look more French than English. No less than Edward IV, Henry VIII had the advantage of looking like a king.

Setting aside Edward IV’s alleged ‘blond looks’ and Henry VII’s alleged ‘much darker colouring’ as claimed by Fraser, I’m still to find a contemporary that said Henry VII looked physically French — it was remarked that he spoke French well and with ease, and that he would like to govern England as the French king did France, but nothing, as far I as have seen, about him looking like a Frenchman.

Another irony is, of course, that according to late medieval standards the beauty ideal for men was dark hair — we can speculate if certain kings really had brown hair as depicted in their manuscripts or if those were simply following convention. Just think about Chaucer’s lying, effeminate, cowardly Pardoner and his ‘yellow as wex’ hair, for example, to realise that ‘blond looks’ in men weren’t exactly ideal. Incredibly, authors have ignored Edward IV’s portraits, manuscripts, extant samples of hair, and even medieval male beauty standards to make Edward fit our contemporary ideas of beauty. 

[protect-namine]

hmmm don't really want to reformat the thread here for archiving, with pictures and all, but I'll write a bullet point version of my thoughts/theories so far.

some "givens" that I'm basing things off of:

khaenri'ah's solution against the elements when they wanted to fight celestia was to use experiential substances (memory, wish, soul, persona, reason) in alchemy. the narzissenkreuz ordo used this knowledge to create the holy blade of narzissenkreuz via magic.

khaenri'ah flipped the citrinitas and rubedo stages of alchemy and it looks like they were really fixated on "gold" but "red" should still be the final stage of the magnum opus that leads to the philosopher's stone

teyvat is going through its own samsara cycles (I actually somehow missed the note about this one during my playthrough but it's not really surprising tbh)

the quest "in the wake of narcissus" explains the whole narzissenkreuz ordo deal and there's a lot things going on with dreams, waking up from a dream of your own making, and affecting reality with "belief" and having a powerful "will"

okay, so now my thoughts. speculation time!

"fiction" is used in genshin not just as a way to preserve the truth in case irminisul rewrites history again (think of it like encrypted data), but perhaps it serves other functions as well. one would be that fiction affects humanity, thereby generating or refining more "experiential substances" (e.g. memory, will, etc.) which we already confirmed to be active ingredients kharenri'ah used in their alchemy and the narzissenkreuz ordo used in their magic. the second function goes a step further: what if fiction (stories, songs) are themselves spells or blueprints for affecting reality? "imbue meaning into the world" is treated as actual magic, so...

a powerful "will" can rival a world, can create and destroy worlds and remake them. we already know the traveler is a person who possesses such a will.

the holy blade of narzissenkreuz can cut and unite wills from water. I do believe that the traveler's "sword of descension" is like their own holy blade, but on the scale of stars. seriously, read the description of that sword again

actually, jakob specifically says that the holy blade can "accommodate both the primordial, and that of order" and if we're going to categorize substances, I think the elements are the primordial and the "experiential substances" (memory, will, soul, persona, reason) are order. "order" is khaenri'ah's solution against the primordial elements

khaenri'ah's alchemy (khemia) is incomplete or incorrect because they flipped the alchemy stages of rubedo and citrinitas. albedo said that rubedo is the "refining of feeling" and citrinitas is when the true value of the object being transmuted has been brought to light, thereby imbuing it with "meaning" (from his ascension voice lines). all of this points to the refinement of the experiential substances but what if... there's something missing here? is that really the end product of alchemy? actually, I wonder if this is the assignment rhinedottir wanted to leave albedo with...

rene in rene's investigation notes likens the khvarena to khaenri'ah's [redacted text] which I now think is "gold" (speculation). kinda makes sense if you think of order and the primordial as opposing forces. khvarena came from the goddess of flowers who was a seelie, while "gold" is created from uhhh. alchemy? khemia? but rene notes that though they oppose each other, they have similar properties (the ability to assimilate materials and energies it comes into contact with)

teyvat is going through samsara cycles, accumulating these experiential substances and reusing them as they remake teyvat each time loop. for example, we know that memory is baked into everything, literally everything in teyvat. or, perhaps, recreating a world / resetting a samsara cycle / resetting a time loop requires both order and the primordial? after all, you're recreating a whole world. you need the experiential and the physical.

the traveler is going around the seven nations, resonating with each element. they are also accumulating so many experiences and we are constantly told by zhongli and venti that the journey matters more than the destination, to bear witness to everything and make memories. to challenge a "world" (like the sword of descension says), to "heal the hurts of the world" (from the concert glider), what if this is what the traveler needs? mastery over both the primordial elements and the experiential substances of order?

and what if, the combination of this, is the actual magnum opus of khemia. the product of rubedo... man those cubes that we saw in the genshin prologue look kinda red, don't they?

edit: okay for the last one, I'll add pictures

edit again: so I also just realized. we're on the 4th samsara cycle of teyvat. there are 4 alchemy stages to create the magnum opus. the twins are often being associated with the color "gold" (gold haired, golden butterfly, golden nara, etc). do you see what I'm getting at here

gah. I haven't done the book of esoteric revelations yet or finished the AQs. man... my head is already spinning but there's sooooo much more lore I'm not updated on...............

[sunfoxfic]

Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.

— Robert Frost

(ID: A digital painting of Catwalker from Miraculous Ladybug. The shot is a redraw of the scene where Catwalker stands in front of the moon, holding one hand out and smiling gently.)

Thought of this poem. Thought of Catwalker. Had a breakdown. Bone apple teeth.

[timextoxhajima]

Accelerate [Dana’s 600 Special]

Track: Feel It by Michele Morrone / Drunk-Dazed by ENHYPHEN / Insanity by THE BOYZ

Member: I swear he’s not even my bias

Genre: i-ion know-

Word Count: it’s pretty damn long so please don’t make me write a part two

Taglist: @hyunjaethereal​ @lsangyeons​

The first time you laid eyes on Lee Hyunjae, you were both in Italy as he was being blinded by a billion flashes in his face. The light reflects off his dark hair - which was once a brighter color - as he maintains that polite, miniscule smile on his face. Most of the photographers and interviewers were male, for the sole reason that female photographers and interviewers would be too stunned to continue at their job. 

Not that the males rushing to get a shot of his face or a string of words out from him now weren’t stunned themselves. 

Despite being hailed for looking like every woman’s wet dream, Lee Hyunjae was more known for being South Korea’s youngest first class F1 racer. Sure, if he ever bothered to utter a single syllable of speech to you, you could pass out on the spot. 

But right now, all you wanted was to get an exclusive modelling contract from Louis Vuitton to his manager. Not Lee Hyunjae, not his bodyguards, his manager.

“Lee Hyunjae! Do you have anything you want to say before your final race of the season? How do you feel about being so close to coming out top?”

His manager stands a step behind him to Hyunjae’s right, and gives the racer the green light to respond. The flashes and sounds of clicking from the cameras were so overwhelming, it’s impossible for you to even imagine how it felt like being in the spotlight.

But the celebrity couldn’t receive the question any less gracefully, and offers one of those swoon-worthy smiles before leaning into the microphone.

“I feel nervous but I’ve prepared for this. Consistency is key and I believe in myself, so if that answers your question...” 

“Do you have any other plan other than racing? Word has it that you’ve received offers to be the face of Gucci and Louis Vuitton!”

The contract in your briefcase is still ironed out safely in its file when you pull it behind your legs, away from plain sight.

Hyunjae turns to look at his manager when the question posed obviously isn’t one of those in the list prepared, so the manager steps forward, and coincidentally spots you at the back of the crowd. He recognises you from the meeting he had with your higher-up.

“My apologies but Mr Lee isn’t permitted to answer to any of these, so if this is all then we must be going. Thank you for coming to the conference tonight.” 

Lee Hyunjae and his manager step back away from the microphone and bow for the press to continue their aggressive, merciless snapshotting. You wait patiently for the duo to disappear behind the conference area, and for the press to switch their attention to the pictures they have on their camera before you make your round backstage. 

The 5-star hotel is grand in all the ways possible: chandelier, white wines and champagnes being served in waiting areas and water was served sparkling. Finally fishing out the tag that you were given at the registration for entry to the event, you hand it to the lady at the meetings’ conference registration counter.

You wonder how the Louis Vuitton logos on your clothes and briefcase had gone unnoticed earlier at the showcase. Even on the tag, the ‘LV’ logo was so apparent. How far does the company need to go in order for them to have the logo printed in some shiny, golden print on the tag-

“Welcome to the F1 internal press conference and meeting, Miss l/n!” She pulls a sticker off a page and presses it onto the tag below the LV logo. “If you need anything at all, please just approach one of our staffs. All waiters and staff concerned will have a red tie tonight.”

“Alright, thank you,” The tag gets slid across the table to you. “Where’s the nearest washroom?”

“Oh, she’ll show you the way,” The lady gestures behind her for one of the staff members with a red tie to accompany you. 

“Oh-” Slightly taken aback by the aggressive escorting, the younger female grins at you before holding out her arm in the direction of the washroom. “Thanks.”

The hotel’s grandeur only gets more and more apparent as your heels click through the hallways and corridors. For an event night, the hotel’s pretty desolate. Then again, the press conference happened outside where all the photographers and journalists were. The one you were here for was an internal press meeting, and last you checked, there were fewer than 10 names on that list. 

“I can find my way back to the main hall after,” The slight panic in your voice humors you when the staff member seemed ready to wait outside the washroom. “Thanks.”

She bows and takes her leave only after you enter the bathroom; you can tell from the sound of her shoes echoing down the corridor. The scent of lavender is so overwhelming, you could almost taste it. Walls of cream and silver strokes cut through the tiles, a vase made of bronze sits in the corner of the platform where the sinks were, filled with roses.

The crisp reflection of yourself stares down at you in the mirror; it’s one of the few times you were dressed in branded goods head to toe. None of the articles of clothing you were wearing right now, you owned. Usually, you’d be gaping in awe at how beautiful these places where - after all, you were in a five-star hotel in Italy. 

But no, after almost five years of working with Louis Vuitton as a brand ambassador and subsequently becoming an assistant model-scout has numbed your habit of wandering eyes. 

The LV briefcase gets set on a dry area of marble, your fingers automatically clutching the edges of the sink as the jewelry on your ears, neck and hands twinkle under the fluorescent lighting. The makeup looks close to perfect - because someone had done it for you. Your clothes and shoes fit right down to your skin - because they were tailored for you. 

You were more upset you couldn’t sell it off and donate the money over having actual ownership of these fabrics. 

News of the orphanage had reached you hours after you touched down in Italy, and your heart yearns to stop the ache that seeps through you. They had run out of funds to continue the orphanage, the kids already enrolled would be split and sent to other organizations instead. 

What you had once called your home was going to be non-existent in another years’ time. Those whom you called your teachers, mentors, parents... were going to be in places you were not familiar with. The children that you always bring back food, clothes and toys for were going to be separated into different cities and states. As if not having a family was not bad enough, the people you now called your family was going to be split apart. 

You hadn’t noticed your eyes were closed until you opened them, the weight of the makeup on your face urging you to rub your eyes and skin but the discipline written into your hands stop you from doing so. 

Standing back to fix your posture, your eyes land on the one garnish on your body that doesn’t belong to Louis Vuitton - the ring on your middle finger. A gold band that looked more like a wedding ring than anything else. 

It had the name of the orphanage engraved on the inner side, so it feels lighter on your hands than it would otherwise be. 

A deep breath expands your chest as you take your briefcase and step away from the sink, attention scrutinising yourself more than you actually would.

The corridors of the hotel collect you back into its wealth again, drawing the thickest line between the realities of people like you and those who enjoy the luxurious life. 

The racer’s manager was sitting at the end of the meeting table when you enter, and you immediately recognise half the list of names you had seen before. Gucci’s manager was here personally. Another racer and his manager were here too. Stefano Domenicali and Michael Masi were here. 

Why were they here? Their names weren’t on the list.

“Ah, Miss l/n!” Masi gets off his seat and holds out his hand. “Such a pleasure to meet you!”

“Honor on my part,” Reaching out a palm, you smile the most graceful smile you can find in the muscles of your face. 

“Can I get you a drink? We’re still waiting for Mr Lee before we begin our discussion on the collaboration.”

Collaboration?

“Pardon my ignorance but... I thought I was here for a sponsorship or a model-contract request for Mr Lee... I wasn’t expecting your attendance or... a collaboration.”

Domenicalli chuckles heartily at his seat as he whirls around to gesture to one of the staff members in the room. “Will you get her a Mojito?” 

Then he stands up and pushes his glasses up his nose bridge. “We’ve been looking for a company that’s willing to do a three-way partnership with us and Mr Lee’s agency. Right now, it’s boiled down to both Louis Vuitton and Gucci so... it depends on which contract Mr Lee’s agency is more interested in.”

“Oh... Um, if that’s the case then I’m not entirely sure if the contract I have with me right now is appropriate-”

“Oh, it’s not. LV has already told us you’d sell them better unscripted than if planned,” Masi leans forward and mutters away from your ear. “Don’t tell Gucci though. Their manager’s only here because they panicked.”

He pulls away and before he can say anything else, the door clicks open with a staff member pushing the door open for the star of the night. 

“My apologies,” He’s changed out of his formal suit and is in a more comfortable set of hoodie and baggy pants now. “Did I keep everybody waiting?”

“No, not at all!” Masi throws his hands up into the air and beckons you to meet Lee Hyunjae. “Might I introduce... Miss l/n from LV. She’ll be the one pitching the collaboration for LV today.”

Hyunjae’s eyes are wide and clear, despite his fringe covering his eyelids. “My pleasure,” He holds out his hand and you take it to shake, but he doesn’t stop there.

Lifting the back of your hand to his lips, the contact is soft and gentle on your skin. 

Your hairs stand against your will and goosebumps erupt all over your neck when he pulls away, eyes now locked with yours. Nobody else in the room bothers to provide a reaction - it’s like he’s done this before and it’s perfectly normal. 

The rest of the evening is spent listening to your own pitch, and Gucci’s, but you couldn’t really keep your head in the game when... all that was in Lee Hyunjae’s head was... you.

You’d be lying had you said you were comfortable with how much he was glancing at you across the table, obviously not listening to Gucci’s pitch at all. His manager was the one busy jotting down all kinds of things, almost like it was an act of dictation. But the racer’s eyes fail to leave you for any longer than five seconds, and it was becoming glaringly obvious that he wasn’t really paying attention to the pitch. 

Gucci’s pitch finally finishes, giving you some kind of escape because now his manager is pummeling him for not listening to the benefits provided as Gucci’s ambassador. The contract document from LV was sitting before you, very single term and condition now inapplicable because you had just pitched something that wasn’t in the instruction manual.

God help me not to get fired.

“Mr Lee has some to a decision,” Masi claps his hands together, earning the attention of everybody in the room. “The Formula One federation would like to officially welcome Lee Hyunjae as the brand ambassador in a stellar collaboration... with Gucci.”

The Gucci ambassador scout smiles with triumph as the room provides a round of applause, you included. 

“Thank you so much, Miss l/n, for coming down. Your pitch was nothing short of commendable and I will make sure your manager will hear of that, alright?” Masi and Domenicali take turns shaking your hand. In your peripheral vision, you watch the Gucci ambassador shake hands with both Lee Hyunjae and his manager. 

Masi and Domenicali finish up with you, and Lee Hyunjae’s manager approaches you for the handshake with his client behind him. “That was a stellar... impromptu pitch, Miss l/n.”

A gentle chuckle rolls off your tongue as you pull your hand away, tightly clutching the briefcase. “I work better when things aren’t planned, so...”

“We’ll... we’ll keep in touch, LV. You’re an excellent scout with marvelous presentation skills. It makes me sad Mr Lee didn’t choose you.”

Your eyes drift to Hyunjae’s and he’s already looking at you like he hadn’t eaten in three days and you were a bowl of soup.

“Of course we’ll keep in touch. He’ll still be valuable asset and ambassador after his contract with Gucci ends,” Ignoring him, you return your attention to his manager. 

“Now, let’s hope the Prince of Korea doesn’t screw anything up, yeah?” His manager grins as he pats Hyunjae on the back. “Anyway, it’s been a mighty pleasure. We’ll be in touch.”

You lower your head as a small nod, turning on your heels to exit the room. Even then you can feel his eyes on your back. 

By the time you’re back in your hotel room (which was in the same hotel as you had the internal meeting), your feet are half dead from the heels you were wearing and the makeup on your face was starting to wear off. It took a nice, warm bath and a rather long conversation with your own manager on the phone as he congratulated on pulling through an impromptu pitch. 

He finally finishes, and you drop your phone into the towel by the bathtub as the steam fogs up the mirror. But your peace is cut short when someone rings the doorbell of your room. 

“Room service for Miss l/n!”

Tightening the robe around your waist, you pull open the door and watch the hotel staff hold out a bottle of wine and an envelop. “Mr Lee Hyunjae sends his regards, Miss.”

Surprised, you receive the bottle. The hotel staff bows and leaves, letting you turn around and the door click shut. 

To: Miss l/n

I apologise for the inappropriate staring earlier this evening. This is an attempt to compensate for my behaviour. I’ll be leaving Italy the day after tomorrow so if you could do me the pleasure of having dinner with me tomorrow... I’d like to be acquainted.

I’ve made a reservation at La Terrazza for 7pm. I’ll meet you in the guest lobby downstairs at 6.30 to pick you up. 

Love, 

Lee Hyunjae

You can see how the material of the paper trembles a little between your fingers. The thought runs, So he’s a creep and a national treasure. He can’t hurt you, right?

Again, the evening gown is more than fitting on you. It’s been tailored to hug all your curves at your chest and your hips and thighs and it exposes your leg where the slit is. It’s like LV knew you had an important evening appointment coming up and had you pack all these different sets appropriate for the event. 

The usher standing by the guest lobby nods when you head for the door, and he pushes it open to reveal only one person in it: Lee Hyunjae. 

On the phone, he whirls around when he hears the doors swish against the carpet flooring. His eyes are glimmering under the soft, rosy lighting and the glossy collar of his suit looks like plastic from the reflection. 

“I gotta go, I’ll call you back.”

The phone clicks to black before he opens his blazer and slides it into his inner breast pocket. 

“I’m gonna guess that’s your manager,” Your fingers wrap around the clutch tightly as he takes a few steps toward you, obviously very stunned by how different you looked compared from the previous day. 

“Uh, no, actually,” That million-dollar smile gleams at you. He reaches up to his forehead and scratches his brow. His hair is styled upwards so seeing the glory of his forehead was pretty enticing. “My mom. Making sure I’m doing well and fine here.”

He stops a safe distance away from you, finished with taking in whatever of you his eyes and memory can allow him. “Not gonna lie, I thought you were gonna stand me up.”

“I think LV would fire me if they knew I stood the Lee Hyunjae up.”

Hyunjae licks his lips then purses them together, attention finally peeling off your face as he reaches for your hand. He presses his lips into the back of your palm, then casually hooks your arm around his while he walks to your side. “Ready to go?”

At a loss of words for his flirtatious mannerism, all you can afford is a nod.

But as if your vocabulary bank wasn’t already exhausted, you can’t help but stare in complete astonishment when you are led to the matte black Sian Roadster already waiting at the drop-off point right outside the lobby. 

“Have them send the Dior package to Miss l/n’s room by 9pm,” He instructs the bell boy by the hotel entrance as he reaches for the vehicle door. 

“Wait, what?” 

“Yes, Mr Lee.”

“Thanks.”

“Wait a minute,” Your vision is finally peeled off the car when Lee Hyunjae pulls the door open. “What Dior package?”

“Just a token of appreciation from me, that’s all,” He releases your arm as he guides you into the vehicle. “I knew if I gave it to you over dinner, you’d reject, so...”

Twitching his eyebrow, he smirks and retreats, closing the car door. 

Flirt.

The vehicle moves off with a sharp rev of the engine, and you almost feel guilty for being able to be comfortable in in your clothes, shoes, sports car and on the way to a fancy-ass restaurant. 

If only things could be like that for everybody and everything. 

“So, when are you leaving Italy?”

“Oh, um... tomorrow too actually,” Rome’s lights are wondrous on the outside, some of them blinding you. “I have... something to attend.”

“Hmm, that’s... vague.”

You turn to eye him at his silent call for clarification. “I’m attending a closing event; help out with administrations.”

“Like... a pet store or something?”

“Yeah, ‘or something’.”

“That confidential, huh?” He lets out a soft chuckle. 

The gut in your abdomen tells you not to look at him. He’ll see right through you, figure out that there’s something more to it than something ‘confidential’. 

“Yeah,” You mask it with a sigh. “Funds and things.”

You can feel his attention sink into your back as silence befell the atmosphere. 

There’s a kind of light in his eyes when he talks about racing. When he’s describing the feeling of adrenaline in his fingers, gripped around the steering wheel. He’s unexpectedly kind to the service at the restaurant, then again he was a celebrity and he had a reputation to uphold. 

It’s the kind of light that made you panic throughout dinner, because there’s no way this specimen of a man would ever pay you a second thought. Maybe you were going to be his Italy fling that he would boast about to his friends and colleagues and they’d laugh at you without you even knowing. 

What was a rich, handsome racer even doing, single? It was too good to be true, and even if it was, you? Of all people?

Dream on.

“It’s been... an amazing night. Thank you so much for dinner.”

Lee Hyunjae walks you into the lift, letting you press the button to your floor first. 

“I’ll walk you back. I have time.”

Standing with your feet together, in the safety of your gown, your hands are holding your clutch like your life depended on it. You could tell that he wasn’t the most comfortable now, not with his hands over one another and placed politely on his abdomen.

When the lift door dings open, the silence remains. He trails behind you as you walk your way to your room, hands fumbling through your clutch to search for your keycard. The slick of the door is fast and you push the door open, with a black and silver box with the label ‘DIOR’ printed on it sitting at the foot of your bed. 

“Oh, my God!” You rush in and grab the box, eyes widening as you turn to him, who has one arm extended to keep the door open. The box was almost as big as a pillow.

There’s a soft, warm smile on his face. A stark contrast to all his flirty ministrations throughout the evening. “Goodnight, Miss l/n. Sleep well and have a safe flight.”

“Wha-” Then he lowers his head, and turns around. “Wait!”

Without another moment of hesitation, he disappears down the corridor and the door swings shut. 

It feels ironically empty. Your hands are carrying this Godforsaken box of a gift and yet you cannot think of a way to properly thank the person who gave it to you. With slight reluctance, your fingers find the edge of the cover.

It’s a beautiful Dior blazer, packaged with a perfume and a cosmetics set. The cream letter in it is handwritten and signed the racer himself.

I wish we had more time. Love,  Lee Hyunjae

The nauseating sensation of your heart sinking in your chest beats all the logic in your brain when you find yourself reaching for the door handle. The box is mindlessly thrown back onto the bed as you rush out, kicking off your heels in the moment of folly. (Of course, remembering to use the door latch to keep the door open.)

“Hyunjae!” You call down the corridor, and he was just about to enter the lift. He turns, providing you with a gorgeous view of his jaw. 

It feels like a fairytale, when you run down the carpeted corridor, barefooted and still in your gown. The urge to throw your arms around him far supercedes your brain yelling at you not to, but you do it anyway. 

He catches you by the waist as your rest your forehead in his blazer, arms already struggling to meet the height of his shoulders. 

A whisper. “I wish we had more time too.”

He pushes you back by your upper arms, tucking one bit of your hair behind your ear. “If time is what you want, then I’ll make time.”

“But... I- Will you get in trouble?”

He looks you dead in the eye and subtly shakes his head. 

Time stops. 

Fear. That’s what you’re feeling. 

Then he tilts his head and slowly leans in. 

“I don’t think I’d care if I do.”

His breath hits your upper lip and your instincts flutter your lids shut. 

White wine and strawberries from dinner. That’s what he tastes like.

Warmth radiates off his palms and into your cheeks as he holds your face close to his, unable to resist the satisfaction and sweetness you were providing him. In this moment of intimacy, he loses all sense of realism and urgency - all he wants is you to himself, for the rest of the night until the sun rises. 

Then he’d have to worry about never seeing you again because his manager had chosen Gucci over LV. 

But right now, he has your heart and soul in his hands, as does his in yours. 

Being the romantic and (probably) egoistic man of a celebrity he is, he lowers himself and slides his arms where the back of your knees would be, somehow never breaking the kiss. The material of the gown dribbles over the cotton of his suit and your arm circles behind his neck, only minimizing the distance between the two of you. 

It feels like you’re getting married in this black and gold sparkly evening gown when he pushes the door open with his back. The scent of the room is inviting, but definitely none in comparison to the scent of his cologne beginning to stain your hands and your clothes. 

Gently resting you into the cool sheets of the bed, he pulls away to remove the Dior package off the bed, placing it on the mini coffee table by the bed. 

You were never one to deal with one night stands. Hell, the only person you’d ever slept with was some stupid kid back in the orphanage when your stupid teenage hormones were running-

He pulls off his blazer and leans in again, picking your awkward hands and resting them on the knot of his tie. His fingers are grazing the skin on your upper arm, trailing down to your cheek and then your hairline where he combs his hands through your hair. 

The knot on the tie comes undone with some slight tugs, and you slide it out from under his collar. Undoing only the first one, you rest your palms against his chest, creating a small rift where the air rushes to your lips where his should be.

He’s slightly stunned at the slightest breakage, but he is overwhelmed with more care and concern than he was upset. “Why? What’s wrong?” He traces your jaw and rests his fingers on your chin, noses almost touching.

“Are you sure... You want to do this? I can’t risk you losing your career,” Your index finger traces the likes of his cheekbone. “You barely just started.”

Hyunjae shakes his head subtly, taking your hands to his lips and pressing them into the back of your palm. “When I saw you in that room, I was... star struck. You’d think being the celebrity in the room would mean everything, but I felt like I was nothing if I didn’t know you, much less be able to get close to you.”

And for someone who hasn’t really had a biological family to love, his words stuck. 

“I just... knew. There are some things in the world you can work for, but I don’t think any amount of effort can give me you.”

His brown orbs find your gaze and it melts you thoroughly. Like ice cream on a hot day; like the way the ocean washes against the sand by the beach, taking grains of sand away with it - the same way Hyunjae was winning you bit by bit, if not already all of you. 

Your hands find his collar again, and it tightens around the stiff material to pull him back down. He smiles into the kiss, hands pressing into the mattress by your hair while you undo the rest of his buttons. His skin is hot under the shirt, blood running on the adrenaline and tension he was riding on from the intimacy. Muscles pumped and heart racing, you finally get his shirt off and he does you the honor of dropping it to the ground. 

He gives you time to gasp for air while he dips his nose into your neck, inhaling your perfume and the scent of the hotel shampoo in your hair. His back muscles tense up under your cold fingertips as you run them along his spine. It’s almost beast-like, when he flexes his arms and every single move shifts his shoulder blades under his skin. His lips leave gentle pecks in your neck and your exposed collar bone, letting goosebumps erupt all over your skin. 

His hand caresses your waist as a way of request, and you arch your back just enough for him to find the zipper on the back of your gown. The vibrations of the zip being pulled downwards already feels like little bolts of electricity up your spine, and the straps around your shoulders loosen with every inch unzipped. 

He’s done, when his fingers return to your shoulders to push the straps off. The cool air kisses your skin in spots where he isn’t touching with any part of his body. The silk of the gown gently slides off with every inch of a movement you make, more and more of your torso exposed to him. 

Sliding one of his arms under your lower back, he pulls you out of the dress instead of stripping you of it as he helps you further up the bed. Your hands press into the mattress in a bid to help him shift yourself without breaking the sloppy, messy kiss. Your back finally meets the pillows and he pushes the gown off the bed with his leg. 

Chin tilting to the ceiling, he finally creates some distance between the two of you, eyes drifting down to your collar bone and chest still covered. His palms are hot around your waist as he trails butterfly pecks on your cleavage, while your fingers find his hair to tousle and grip. 

Goosebumps start to surface when his breath is heavy on your stomach, then he reaches your underwear and it’s almost embarrassing to have him kiss you. 

Your clouded vision is manually stuck to the ceiling when you can feel your face burning with adrenaline. The tickle of the material when it gets pulled off your hips and down your legs bring your cheeks more color, and before you know it, Hyunjae has your breath hitched in your throat. 

He rests your thighs on his shoulders as he works his way around, the bare minimum sanity left inside you decides to grip onto the sheets instead of ripping out his hair. 

Chills shoot up your spine mercilessly, emanating in the form of lewd mewls directed into the air. The crown of your head meets the cushioned head board of the bed when his grip on your thighs tighten to keep you from squirming too much. 

Without warning, he drags a finger down your sensitiveness and slides it in easily, the sensation erupting a more-than-shameful groan from you. Pulling away, he adds another finger before shifting his attention back to your upper body, now eyeing the last piece of material covering your chest. But he captures your lips first to earn your attention, and your arms naturally find your way around his neck to keep him close. 

His free hand goes around your back to unhook your lingerie, and it’s nothing but a new addition to all the clothes on the carpet now. He removes his fingers, and breaks the kiss first, for the sole reason of giving you a perfect view of him licking his glistening skin. 

You can feel your brows furrow with frustration now, the warmth from him dissipating when he leans back on his heels in a kneeling position. By providing you a gorgeous view of his being while he undoes his belt, he’s only adding more fire to the fuel. 

It’s significant enough to stretch out the material of his boxers, and so he climbs over you as he removes his last bit of clothing. He harshly yanks you downwards into a lying position by your ankle, and the sharp friction against your back is an addition to the heat between the two of you. 

His breath is heavy on your lips as he rests his palms by your ears, weight pushing in the mattress. “Tell me if it hurts, love.”

Then he presses his lips into yours, like his life depended on it, and in one swift motion, he buries himself inside you like it was the most natural thing to do. 

You suck all the breath out of him as you gasp into the kiss, and he finds your arms to hook around his neck and shoulders. 

If you could feel the taste of honey throughout your body, this must be how it feels. 

He gives you some moments before he starts grinding his hips slowly, his palms finding your thighs and digging into your flesh as he hooks them around his hips. 

Breathless, you pull away first, whimpers in the back of your throat louder than what you would’ve expected. His nose dips into your neck again, arms now stretched out to use the headboard as support when he picks up the pace. 

Cursing under your breath, you feel guilty for the bliss that was spreading through you. Your nerves are all heightened by the adrenaline and your vision is blurred from the sole nature of the intimate act. 

He’s not fast, but every spot he’s hitting feels like cloud nine over and over again. 

Like a spark in the dark, the sacred spot reveals itself in the form of harsher breaths and groans. Your fingernails dig into his back and your thighs are losing stamina to remain wrapped around him. 

“That’s it,” He breaths into your ear, pressing a kiss into your lower jaw. “Come for me.”

Tremors burst through your body like lightning in a storm upon his request. He helps you ride it out with a few more thrusts before he pulls out himself, releasing on your stomach, chest heaving. 

Resting his forehead on yours, he smiles. “Let’s hope that one day I wouldn’t have to worry about pulling out.”

You scoff, slightly tired. “We’ll see.”

You are woken up by the unfamiliar warmth you normally don’t have under the blanket. White sheets and tousled hair come into your field of vision before you can process the face, partially hidden, but eyes wide open.

“Jesus,” Your morning breath billows out between your lips and you swallow to dampen your dry throat. The room looks too damn bright for it to be morning. “What time is it?”

“7am. Don’t worry, we have plenty of time. My manager hasn’t called me so... we have time to spare.” 

You shuffle around under the sheets and your arms slide under the pillow where its cool. He shifts and pulls out his arm to rest on his tricep, palm under his ear and hair as he perches up his head. 

“What?” You pull the blanket up to your face and inhale the scent of it. It smells like him now. 

“You look pretty when you’re asleep.”

“What?” You frown, but a smile is on your lips. “How long did you watch me sleep for?”

“Not long, don’t worry. I’m not a perv.”

“Well, considering we just slept together after 24 hours of knowing one another-”

“Hey, we’re both about to be deported back to Korea to work. Give us a break, would you?” He groans and shifts again, this time trying to pull you into his chest. 

“Ah,” Snorting, you let him cradle you in his arms, his bare skin pressed warmly into yours. “‘Deport’? That’s what you call your job?”

“Only because you’re involved now,” He pecks you on the lips. “So... can I ask about your ‘administrative matters’ you said you needed to attend?”

Right. The orphanage is closing down. 

The guilt washes through you again. 

“Oh,” A look of seriousness overtakes your facials, and he notes the change in expression. “Um... I- Well... It’s an orphanage. It’s closing.”

He blinks at you, gaze filled with wander. “Were you a volunteer or...?”

Silence. 

You can’t bring yourself to say it. 

Unable to bear the incoming judgment he might provide you, your eyes dart away. 

“Hey, hey,” He finds your chin and tilts it back up to his attention. “What’s wrong? I don’t see anything wrong with being who you are. Why are you ashamed?”

“I... I’ve lived all my life with that label. ‘Orphan’. It only got better when I came out to work.”

“Is that why you are so worried? That... we might affect something and possibly implicate that?”

“Maybe.”

He sighs, thumb stroking your cheek as he shakes his head. “Nah. It shouldn’t matter.” Pulling your head into his chest, you can hear the steady thumping of his heart through his skin. “’Administrative matters’, huh? Are you like a... committee member or donator?”

“I’m an unofficial sponsor ambassador from LV. Well, LV was supposed to arrange for official funding, but they just never really had the time or resources to build the rapport. The orphanage was doing too badly for any company or brand to want to help and invest their attention on.”

“Mm,” He hums, stroking your hair. “I’m sorry about that. I truly am.”

“It’s okay. Nothing could’ve been done about it anyway. All I hope now is for the kids to be safe, no matter where they go.”

It feels empty again, having Hyunjae being ripped from your side at the airport once the plane touched down. The manager was surprisingly not surprised to know that you had spent the night together, the only question he had asked being something that concerned a future pregnancy, which the two of you have already confirmed negative. 

It’s late when you reach back your apartment, and you ready yourself for the private meeting with the committee members of the orphanage. Though tired and severely jet-lagged, you cannot miss this meeting. It’s the last time you’ll see all the caretakers and members of the organisation in the same room.

You shift into the taxi in a new set of clothes, but topped with the Dior blazer and smelling like the Dior perfume, you feel like you were probably going to get slapped once you reach the meeting.

The building of the orphanage looks so run-down, it could be mistaken for a prison had it not been for the words HILDA’S ORPHANAGE in big, block letters above the entrance. Before you can exit the taxi, your phone starts vibrating in your purse.

It’s the President of the orphanage.

“I’m right outside the building, going in soon,” You push open the car door and thank the driver. 

“The meeting has been cancelled. Someone bought the orphanage and we’ll be managed under a new system.”

“What?”

“Surprise.” 

You turn around and see the last person you’d expect to see here, in his hands, a folder of documents and a small bouquet of flowers. 

“Um,” Your eyes are stuck to Hyunjae, but you’re still on the phone. “The buyer... Does it have anything to do with Gucci or F1?”

“Yes, it’s an F1 sponsorship but there will be more details into the managerial and planning system. Some things will have to change.”

“I’ll... I’ll call you back.”

Hyunjae watches you lock your phone in shock, attention unrivalled. He takes a few steps towards you and you now realise he’s still in the same clothes he was in on the plane. His eyebags are obvious but the prideful grin on his face makes him glow. 

Stopping about an arms’ length away from you, he holds out the folder.

“I checked with my manager and he checked with F1. They green-lit it, but on a few conditions. I heard them out before I told them it would be more likely than not you’d accept it, so here are the legal documents. All the terms and conditions and sponsor contract are already in here, so you and the President can sign it when you deem fit.”

Taking the folder, you didn’t even notice your hands are trembling as you flip through it. 

But your eyes flitter up from the page when you notice the printing: 

OWNER’S SIGNATURE (Y/N L/N): ____________________

“It’s yours if you sign it.”

Now, he holds out the bouquet. “I thought of putting it under my name but I don’t want you to think you owe me a favour and have it bugging you all the time.”

Gently shaking your head, as if you could shake out the surprise, you close the file and look to him in awe. “But I’ll still owe you, big time. This is... this is everything, so thank you.”

He sucks in a deep breath and shakes the bouquet of flowers a little. 

“You can return the favour by going out with me. Properly, whenever I have time, and I promise, no Dior packages.”

Taking the bouquet into hand, you throw your arms around his shoulders, tears welling in your eyes.

[kohanayaki]

.:Time And Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 8

You come across an old photo book full of untouched memories and decide to go through it with Harry, though there are some things you decide he doesn't need to know and some things you'd rather forget. (Takes place mostly through Marauders era flashbacks)

LINKS:   CH 1   CH 2   CH 3   CH 4   CH 5   CH 6   CH 7   CH 8

Ch 8 .:Snapshots, Secrets, and Sentimentality:.

“Hey, Harry?” you called out into the living room where said boy was reclined on one of the large charcoal armchairs, “I found something you might want to see.”

His eyes widened behind the round frames of his glasses as you carried over a large, leather bound book that was thick with laminated pages. You sat across from him on the couch, setting it down on the coffee table in front of you.

“We still have a few more hours before the others arrive for the meeting,” you said, “and I don't know when the next time we'll be able to talk like this will be.”

“Wait,” he said before you could open the book, “you aren't staying?”

“I can't,” you smiled at him sadly. A statement that was true for a multitude of reasons you'd rather not get into with your godson. “I wanted to show this to you before I left, though.”

With a wave of your hand the book's pages gently flipped open, revealing a number of old magical photographs. The page you had turned to had a picture of James, and you could see Harry's eyes lock onto it. His father was beaming at the camera, holding up the Quidditch cup as two of his Gryffindor teammates held him up on their shoulders.

“Now you see why everyone always tells you how much you look like him,” you chuckled, “that's him in his fifth year, same as you now.”

Harry stared in wonder at the photo. He really did look like his dad. James was slightly taller, lankier, but he had the same disheveled waves of dark brown hair and boyish grin as Harry. Their faces were nearly identical; except for the eyes, of course.

The photo right next to that one was you wearing a Seeker's crest. You were posed, standing with the rest of your team with a wide smile on your face. Harry's brow furrowed as he spotted an unknown yet somehow familiar boy next to you with curly black hair and light eyes.

“Who is that?” he asked, “he almost looks like—”

“Sirius?” you finished. Harry nodded. “That would make sense,” you said, “that's Regulus, his younger brother.”

“I. . . didn't know he had one,” Harry said in wonder.

“Well, you know he doesn't talk about his family often.”

“Right. . .” Harry trailed off for a moment, “but you knew him? His brother?”

“Yeah,” you said, feeling a tug at your heart, “We were friends, for a while.” Your eyes subconsciously looked up towards his room which now stood empty. “He, um. . . he died, some time ago.”

“Oh,” Harry said, not knowing what to say, “I'm sorry. . .”

You gave him a small smile in thanks, trying to shrug off the grim feeling the memories brought up as you turned the page of the book to the next.

This photograph was one that was moving— you and James in your Quidditch captain's uniforms. He was reaching over, ruffling your hair while you were ducking to avoid him, pushing his face away and turning his glasses askew despite the grin on your face.

“We both became team captains in year six,” you said, smiling fondly at the picture, “we'd squared off as Seekers the year prior, so it was only natural. You were already playing Seeker your first year, weren't you?”

“Yeah,” Harry said bashfully, “although my first time catching the snitch was bit rough to say the least.” You laughed at that, recalling the time he told you the story of how he had caught the snitch with his mouth his first match.

“You take after your father, for sure,” you said, “he was always a creative flier; came up with all sorts of purposefully confusing strategies as captain. By the time the other team figured out what he was doing, he'd have already caught the snitch and the match would be set.”

Harry felt pride fill his chest at your words, glad he was taking on his father's good qualities.

“So you were a Seeker your fifth year and played until you graduated,” he recalled, “but I thought you said you played Chaser before?”

“Well, sort of?” you admitted, “Not officially. My introduction to the game was unconventional, to say the least. . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1974   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

James and Sirius huddled with the rest of the Gryffindor team on the Quidditch pitch, gearing up for the match. The energy around them was electric, the stands packed with students and faculty from every house.

“Remember, keep to the left,” Halls, their team captain, said sternly, “and take advantage of Parkinson's blind spot. If Rollins and the rest of the Chasers start scoring above 40 before halftime, we'll go in for the Pincer.”

Sirius nodded, determined to win this match. It was the first one of the season, so a lot was riding on this. However, his attention was diverted as the crowd's cheers suddenly grew louder. The Slytherin team had arrived on the field, marching towards them. Something Sirius didn't expect to see, however, was you, dressed in Chaser's robes next to his brother.

“What are they doing here?” Sirius scoffed as he spotted you, “they're not even on the team!”

“Rollins took a spill last practice,” Vanity said as she stepped forward. The Slytherin captain had a wicked grin on her face, “(L/n)'s a last minute replacement. Don't bother trying to argue, I've already cleared it with Madame Hooch.”

“Convenient of you to tell us ahead of time,” Halls' eyes narrowed.

“Is there a part of 'last minute' that escapes your understanding?” Vanity rolled her eyes.

“Well, no matter,” Halls said, “you've lost your best Chaser, we don't have anything to worry about.”

“That classic Gryffindor confidence,” Vanity smirked, “we'll see about that. I don't choose just anyone to fill in.”

Halls scoffed as Vanity turned on her heels, not bothering to look back.

“Seems you've found yourself another game to lose, (L/n),” James smirked at you.

“Have I?” you arched a brow, “what's our score now? 10-9?”

“10-10 since I got you with that scalene water in the Prefect's bathroom,” James reminded you, “how was being half fish for a day?”

“Marvelous, felt just like you,” you quipped.

“Settle down, everyone,” Madame Hooch said, stepping out onto the field, “Potter, (L/n), I know you two have taken to pranks on each other in class, but I don't want to see a lick of that up in the air, understood?”

“Perfectly,” you said, a smirk sneaking onto your face as you mounted your broom. 

“Wouldn't dream of it, professor,” James said with sarcastic flair.

Sirius eyed you cautiously. Gryffindor had flying class with Hufflepuff, so they'd never actually seen you fly before, but there was no doubt that if Vanity approved of you, you had to pose some kind of threat.

“Take your marks,” Hooch said, and you rose off the ground in unison, staring each other down. “Let the match begin!” With a strong, well placed kick, the Quidditch case was thrown open to release the bludgers and the snitch, and as she threw the quaffle up in the air you lunged forward into a dive. You were just about to grab the ball when a blur of red and gold nearly knocked you off your broom.

“Potter has the Quaffle!” Kingston commentated from the box, “he passes to Longbottom, who evades Catchlove and Regulus Black. Longbottom scores! The first ten points go to Gryffindor!”

The patrons in the red and gold stands went wild, the roar deafening in your ears. This was definitely different from flying class. You had to get it together.

The hair on the back of your neck suddenly stood straight up when something whizzed right past your head as you barely moved to dodge it. Sirius gave you a passive shrug from the other side of the field, a beater's bat resting on his shoulder.

“Tosser,” you grumbled under your breath. You had half a mind to throw him right through the left-field hoops without his broom, but dealing with the bludgers wasn't your job; you just had to evade and score. You wouldn't let your team down.

Your eyes searched the skies for the quaffle again, and found it as you spotted a Gryffindor snatch it out of Catchlove's hands. You built up momentum, lowering your body to your broom handle as you picked up speed, swiping the ball from the red Chaser's hands before his eyes could register. You flew under him before their team could rearrange formation and spun around quickly, swatting the quaffle towards the lower right goal with the tail end of your broom. Their Keeper dove to block it, but was one second too late. The ball flew through the hoop and straight into Regulus' hands, who looped back around and threw it through the top right, leaving the Gryffindor Keeper too disoriented and too low in the corner of the goal posts to do anything about it.

“(L/n) outmaneuvers Johnson and scores!” you heard the commentary box boom, “Regulus Black follows up with another goal, we are 20 Slytherin to 10 Gryffindor, what a quick turnaround to start off the match!”

You huffed, impressed that Regulus was able to make the most of your shot. You knew he was Sirius' brother, but that was about it. He was a year younger than you, so you didn't have any classes together and never really talked to him before.

“Nice shot,” you said, flying next to him.

“Same to you,” he said with the slightest upwards quirk of his lips.

“Oi, keep it up you two!” Vanity shouted, hovering over you before dodging the bludger that flew her way, “Black, keep point on Johnson, he's off his game today. (L/n) I want you on intercept and watch for Potter.”

“Gladly,” you smirked, flying off towards the other side of the field. You were starting to feel more comfortable in the air, like you were when you were just flying by yourself; the sounds of the crowd disappeared over the wind rushing in your ears, and you were able to concentrate on your main objective:

Kicking James Potter's arse.

And that you did. The all too confident smirk that seemed to be permanently plastered to his face disappeared when he suddenly felt the weight of the quaffle leave his hands. A victorious smile graced your lips at his dumbfound expression as you threw the ball long to Regulus, who caught it with ease, swatting Johnson away like a fly before scoring another goal.

“(L/n) passes to Black who scores another ten points for Slytherin!” Kingston announced, “it looks like the two rookie players are really hitting their stride now. Choosing (L/n) as a last second fill in is really paying off!”

Sirius' eyes narrowed, grunting in frustration as he hit another bludger your way. Regulus' head turned at the sound of the crack of the bat and signaled over to one of your Beaters, who tossed the bat his way just in time for the Slytherin to send the ball flying back towards his brother. Sirius cursed under his breath, rolling to the right and spinning out of control for a moment before reorienting himself.

“Hooch, what gives!” he shouted, “penalize them!”

“Fair play under protection,” Hooch denied him, “you've been taking headshots, Black. Be grateful I'm not docking you.”

Sirius grumbled a few choice words under his breath before flying back into the fray.

“Thanks for that!” you called over to Regulus.

“Don't mention it,” the boy said, his expression still fairly neutral save for the slight smirk on his face. How the hell was he so calm during this game anyways?

You continued to work with Regulus throughout the match; you'd found a system that worked, and your captain told you to roll with it. Pass after pass you intercepted and scored, mainly targeting Potter not just because Vanity had told you to, but because it brought you a considerable amount of personal enjoyment.

That's when you saw it— a tiny, nearly imperceptible flash of gold that whizzed by your peripheral vision. Neither of the Seekers had caught sight of it yet, but you watched as it zoomed low towards the ground, hovering just beneath one of the crowd stands.

“Oi, Talkalot!” you shouted over the crowd at your Seeker, “Dive low at Hippogriff, now!”

You'd only had  a few hours to look over the strategies that Vanity laid out for you, but you knew the Slytherin team had come up with code words for each quadrant of the Quiditch pitch so you could alert your Seeker if you saw the snitch without the other team knowing where it was. You hoped to Merlin you'd gotten the code right, and you exhaled in relief as Talkalot zoomed past you, taking a sharp dive straight down.

“Nice eye, (L/n)!” she shouted over her shoulder, her voice trailing off as she went after the snitch at top speed.

Sirius' eyes widened as he saw the sporadic move from your Seeker. That could only mean one thing.

“Halls, they've got eyes on the snitch!” he shouted to his team captain who cursed under his breath, taking off in Talkalot's direction, but her lead was too great.

“She's got it!” Kingston hollered into the mic, “Lucinda Talkalot has caught the golden snitch, scoring 150 points for Slytherin! Our score comes out 50 Gryffindor to 230 Slytherin, and this match is over!”

“Slytherin wins!” Madame Hooch proclaimed from her broom.

Everyone in the emerald stands cheered so loudly you thought their tents would topple. You couldn't believe the amount of adrenaline coursing through your body in that moment. It was a complete sensory overload as you were bombarded by the Slytherin team, mostly comprised of people you hardly even knew, and thrown on top of their shoulders and they cheered for you.

“What a game, (L/n)! I never knew you could play!”

“Where the hell have you been all this time, eh?”

“You better try out next year or you're dead!”

You laughed at the last comment from Vanity, people buzzing around you as soon as you were set down. You broke away from the congratulatory comments and pats on the back, however, as you spotted James across the field. You couldn't help but rub this in his face a little.  

“Why so blue, Potter?” you grinned as you bounded over to him, “what was that about me 'finding another game to lose'?”

For once, James had no clever comeback, and his face flushed as you laughed at his expression.

“I do believe that leaves us 11-10,” you said cheekily, doing an overly exaggerated bow before tossing your broom from your left hand to your right and stalking off.

“Not for long,” James said to himself once you were out of earshot, equal parts impressed and supremely annoyed. It was time for him to pay another visit to Zonko's. He'd show you blue all right. . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“After that year I tried out for a permanent position as Seeker,” you said, “your father and I concluded our prank war, Sirius and I put aside our differences, Lupin vouched for my involvement with the map, and the rest is history.”

“I seriously can't believe you became such close friends only two years later,” Harry said, shaking his head in bewilderment.

“Neither could we,” you said, “it was just a series of chance encounters that we learned we were more similar than we thought. I really do believe that friendship can come from anywhere, Harry. Even more so when you least expect it. So if there's anyone around you that you think you might never get along with, I'd say it's worth it to give them a chance.”

Harry paused at your words. There were more than a few people who came to mind.

You turned to the next page, which was a spread of you and the rest of the Marauders in more casual settings. One could clearly tell you had taken them of each other, if the shaky camera movement and blurry rendering were anything to go off of.

You smiled to yourself as you saw a photo of you and Remus asleep in the Hogwarts library, lightly leaning against each other with your eyes peacefully closed. Suddenly the camera flash jolted through the photograph, and you two bolted upright. You glared at the person taking the photo and reached out to smack the camera away, the picture going blurry for a moment before resetting. Harry laughed at the brief repeating scene, as did you.

“Your father took this one,” you huffed, “because of course he did.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1977  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You rested your head in your palm as you transcribed a few spells into your notebook. The lantern in front of you gave you just enough light to read the elaborate Latin, as the sun had long since set. Your eyelids felt annoyingly heavy, attempting to close on their own as you fought against them to stay awake.

“How are you holding up?” Remus asked with a slight grin, catching you jump awake at his remark.

You and Remus had gotten permission from Madame Pince to use the library after hours to study; after all, you two were outstanding students. If James and Sirius had made the request, they wouldn't have gotten so positive a reaction.

“I've been more awake in my life, but I really need to get this done tonight,” you sighed, “NEWTS start next week and I have to be ready.” You stared up at the boy who was looking at you with obvious concern. “I'm fine, Moony. And I don't want to keep you here, so whenever you want to head off to bed, feel free to.”

“It's no trouble,” he said, “I'll walk you back to your common room, at least. At this rate you'll fall asleep in the middle of the hall for Filch to find you.”

You gave him a light but well-meant glare, groaning as you turned your tired eyes back to the parchment in front of you.

“Why the sudden all-nighters anyways?” Lupin asked, “I thought you'd be plenty prepared.”

“My Charms marks haven't exactly been the best lately,” you admitted, “that's kind of important if I want to become an auror, Remus.”

“Really?” the lycanthrope said, surprised, “but you're always in the know on some spell or another I've never even heard of. You've even made some of your own, right?”

“Yes, but the Ministry wants people who can conjure a corporeal patronus, not someone who made up a spell that makes antlers grow on someone's head to make a very specific joke.”

“Well, I thought it was impressive,” Remus laughed, thinking back to James asking him 'why does my head feel so heavy?' “but I see what you're saying,” Remus continued, “Have you thought about Dumbledore's proposal? Joining the cause might call for some more specialized tasks that would fit you well.”

“Right,” you bit your lip, “I just. . . I don't know. It's a lot to take on. A big part of me is scared, Remus. I'm not like you guys. I can't just fearlessly leap into a battle without any second thoughts. James and Sirius gave their answers so quickly and. . . I couldn't say for sure right away like they could. Honestly, I was terrified, and I still feel guilty because of it.”

“Fear is wisdom in the face of danger, (Y/n),” Remus said, “It's nothing to be ashamed of. No one is forcing you to make this decision right away, nor are they requiring you do it alone. There's a war going on out there, (Y/n). No one would blame you for not diving into it headfirst.”

“Always the quoter of muggle proverbs,” you chuckled lightly, “thank you, Remus. Really.”

A quiet yawn snuck into the back of your throat, and you stretched out of your chair to try to get feeling back into your body.

“Maybe I should turn in soon,” you said, your voice already groggy, “just a few more transcriptions. . .”

Remus stayed by your side as you continued to work diligently, and he found himself smiling at your innate stubbornness. It was something he greatly admired about you; when you decided on something you stuck to it no matter what, sometimes to a fault. You fought to keep your eyes open, even as your head began to slope and your handwriting gradually became slower.

Lupin was beginning to tire himself, which surprised him. He was naturally nocturnal, after all, and usually had no issue staying up to the early hours of the morning. But the quiet scratch of your quill against the parchment, the occasional sound of a page turning, and the smell of your shampoo that wafted with the motion, all lulled him into a sense of ease that was much too easy to doze off to.

Just when he thought he might fall asleep, he almost jumped out of his skin as he felt a soft pressure on his shoulder. He looked to the side to see you sleeping peacefully, your head having slipped from your palm and onto the soft fabric of his sweater. His face flushed a deep red, and he thanked Merlin you were sound asleep. He was caught in between embarrassment and slight panic as he instinctualy wanted to wake you but also ensure you actually got to sleep tonight.

He meant to wake you, he really had, but his mind and body betrayed him, and without even knowing when, his eyes fluttered closed and he drifted off into quite possibly the best sleep he'd had in weeks.

The flash of the magical camera was blinding, even through your closed eyelids. White spots danced in your vision as you groaned, shielding your face from the camera.

“MORNING, LOVEBIRDS!”

Remus jolted awake, remembering last night's events in an instant and banging his head on the bookshelf beside him in an attempt to put some distance between you two.

James was stood there, camera in hand and doubled over in laughter.

“Prongs, you better start running before I skin you and turn you into a pair of shoes,” you growled.

“How is it that I always catch you two sleeping together?” James chortled, completely ignoring your statement, “Can't be long till you get it on to the other sense of the phrase.”

And that's when you lunged at him. Too bad he didn't take your advice for a head start.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“That twat,” you said fondly, a statement that about summed up your and James' friendship.

Harry found himself smiling as you recounted your memories with his father. It made him feel that much more grateful for what he shared with Ron and Hermione.

“Oh, Merlin,” you laughed as you saw the next picture. You, Remus, Sirius, Peter, Lily, and James were standing side by side, Slughorn smiling in the middle of all of you. “This was the first and last Slug Club party that we ever attended all together,” you said, “Like I mentioned, Lily and I had always gone, and—”

You caught yourself.

And Severus would pretend to be reluctant tagging along, you finished in your mind. After what happened he stopped attending the parties.

You cleared your throat.

“Ahem, well, we'd always gone together as friends but none of the boys ever went with us,” you said, “It was our last year, and Lily finally convinced James to tag along, because by then they were together and he was contractually obligated to do so. I talked Sirius into coming because Slughorn had been trying to get him to come for years, and I made Remus my plus one. So for the first time ever, we were all at the party.”

“So it was the last party of the year?” Harry asked.

“Um, well, no,” you laughed, “it was the last party we were invited to. Let's just say your godfather thought it would be funny to enchant the ice sculptures to chase Lucius Malfoy around the dance floor. I'll admit, watching that stupid blonde ninny run screaming from a rapidly melting octopus to the tune of a classical string quartet was pretty entertaining, though Slughorn obviously felt otherwise.”

Harry chuckled, clearly seeing the spark of mischief in Sirius' eyes, even through a photo. As Harry's gaze drifted across the page, he noticed an empty space near the corner of the book. A discolored square remained where a photo should have been, the caption reading 'Christmas, 1976.' As he saw the way you ran your fingers lightly across the page, he decided against asking you what used to be there. He instead turned his attention to the next photograph, which was one taken in an all too familiar setting.

“Hold on,” Harry said, pointing to the picture, “that's the Gryffindor common room!”

“Sure is,” you grinned, “that secret passage from the dungeons to Gryffindor tower went from being used purely for pranking purposes to a way for us to actually hang out together at night.”

You stared down at the photograph fondly. You all looked so much older than the first pictures. You and James were lounging on the couch, not bothering to hide the overly full glasses of firewhiskey in your hands. Sirius and Remus were sitting on pillows on the floor, caught in the middle of a fit of laughter before all four of you turned to the camera which flashed. A pang of hurt and anger hit you square in the chest as it did. Peter had been the one taking the photo.

“I remember this day,” you said, an expression Harry couldn't quite figure out on your face, “it was the night before graduation. Our last night at Hogwarts. . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1978   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A giggle rose in your throat as you took yet another drink of firewhiskey with James and Sirius, something that Remus insisted you were going to regret come morning.

“Oh, don't be suck a stickler, Moony,” Sirius guffawed, “tonight's the night! This time tomorrow we'll be packing up camp and heading out into the great unknown.” He made an expansive gesture with his hand that was cut off promptly by James smacking him upside the head.

“I'll brew a pepperup potion tomorrow if anyone really needs it,” you assured Remus.

“Not really the point, (Y/n),” he rolled his eyes.

As you leaned back to look at the four of them, all grinning like idiots and laughing, you felt a strange sense of sadness come over you. This was your last night at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the place you had spent most of your life and where you had met the people you could no longer imagine that life without. As the reality of that fact sunk in, you grew quiet.

“Everything's going to be different after tomorrow, isn't it?” you said.

The boys looked surprised at your sudden and intense declaration, and James was the first to break the tension you'd created.

“Aww, Fangs is getting all sentimental,” he grinned, slinging an arm over your shoulder.

“I will toss you out this window, Prongs.”

He laughed, poking you in the cheek, his smile only widening as you huffed in annoyance.

“It won't be different,” he promised, more serious but with that smile ever present on his face, “we'll still be friends. We'll still be a pack. And besides, after we graduate we could go. . . well, anywhere together! Just think, the five greatest heroes Hogwarts has ever seen, going on top secret missions from Dumbledore, saving the world!”

“It'll be dangerous, James,” you said, “there's a war going on, remember?”

“What war could ever break us up, huh?” he said reassuringly. You felt your heart swell at the remark. “And besides, you're gonna have to see me next year for the wedding anyways! Lily wanted it sometime in Spring.”

“. . .”

“WEDDING?!” you, Sirius, Remus, and Peter screeched, practically in unison as if it had been planned and rehearsed. Chaos erupted in the room, and you couldn't care less if you woke everyone in Gryffindor tower.

“You sly git, when were you gonna tell us?!” Sirius whacked his friend over the head with the map.

“I just did!” James said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head, “And ow, Merlin, Pads. . .”

“You hit me first!”

“I can't believe you just dropped that on us,” you said, “Lily actually agreed to this?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” James huffed.

“Hey, I'm just saying you tend to drift off into fantasy land when it comes to her,” you said, putting your hands up in mock surrender, “I was just making sure this was rooted in reality.”

Remus laughed at that, lifting the needle on his record gently.

“They have a point,” he chuckled.

“Yes, I actually proposed, and yes she actually agreed,” James said, a lovesick smile on his face, “I wanted to get married pretty soon after we graduated, and she had no problem with that. She said she'd want to start a family—”

“Oh GOD,” Sirius said, drunken horror on his face.

“An actual nightmare,” you joined in playfully, “imagine another one of you running around. Even Lily's DNA couldn't balance that out.”

“Alright, that's it,” James said, “you're not gonna be godparents anymore.”

“I'd be terrible at that anyways,” Sirius chortled.

“I disagree,” James said earnestly, and the comment struck Sirius completely off guard. He chocked up the welling tears in his eyes to the alcohol, taking another sip to mask it.

“You're going soft, Prongsy,” he grumbled.

“Look who's talking, tough guy,” James laughed, clapping his best friend on the shoulder.

“We should take a picture,” Peter suggested quietly, turning red when everyone stopped what they were doing to face him, “I-I mean, since (Y/n) was worried about things changing, and we're all graduating, a-and who knows when—”

“Good thinking Wormtail,” James beamed, pulling you closer and leaning down towards Sirius and Remus so you could all be in the frame.

Peter was looking down at his shoes, fidgeting with his wand.

“Peter, you don't wanna get in the picture?” you asked.

The large framed boy jumped at your voice, looking nervously between the people he had come to know as his friends. There was an oddly fearful look in his eyes that left as soon as it came— a look you wouldn't understand until years later.

“N-no, that's alright,” he said.

And that was one of the last peaceful days of your life you could recall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I haven't even thought about these in the longest time,” you said, staring at the faded photos, “it's crazy to look back on them. It feels both like yesterday and a hundred years ago.”

The next page immediately summoned a lump in your throat.

“This was their wedding,” you said, fighting to keep your voice level, “the year after we graduated.”

Harry looked down at the dozens of photos of the ceremony and party that took place after; James at the altar in his burgundy and gold embroidered suit, and Lily walking down the isle with a bouquet full of the flowers that shared her name. Remus raising a champagne flute to the large crowd of guests as he made a heartfelt speech. You and Sirius dancing under the floating lanterns made to mimic the Hogwarts ceiling.

“Your father never was one for subtlety,” you laughed lightly, “he wanted the ceremony to be as extravagant as possible. He pulled out all the stops. . . and then, the very next year, they announced that they were going to have you.”

You looked up at Harry, and the resemblance he shared with two of your closest late friends conjured feelings of happiness, love, and deep, cutting sadness all at the same time.

Your fingers moved to turn the page, wanting to move on to something else, but you froze as you saw the edge of the next one. So much for that plan.

“I think that's enough for now,” you said quickly, smoothing the page back down, “the others will be arriving soon for the meeting, you best get washed up.”

Harry was curious, of course, but he nodded, not wanting to press for anything else as he reluctantly headed back upstairs.

When you were left alone with the photo book you sighed, bringing yourself to turn the page to see a picture of you and Severus. You were beaming at the camera, proudly holding out your perfectly brewed Draught of Living Death, the photo having been taken by Slughorn to put up on his famous wall. One of your arms held the cauldron haphazardly, the other slung around Severus' shoulders. He certainly wasn't displaying your level of enthusiasm, but a small smile graced his expression, allowing his lips to fully curve upwards, which was as close to 'beaming' as he ever got. He looked so much younger— less burdened.

Right next to that photo was an older one from 1973. It was one you had taken from the top of the oak tree, with Severus and Lily looking up at you. You knew he'd be here soon, and you knew you should talk to him, but you found yourself stuck back in the cycle of doubting every opening spiel you came up with.

You groaned in frustration, snapping the book shut and resting your forehead on the table as stress flooded your being. You refused to live in this perpetual state of dwelling on what happened. You were ready to talk, you just had to take the first step.

Chapter 9 coming soon!

Taglist:  @sleep-i-ness, @blackpinkdolan, @parker-natasha, @ornella0910 @undertaker1827 @thatwierdo-koemi @nxstalgicnxbxdy @calaryssia @aleksanderwh0r3 @juggysgirlfriend @beautifulsweetschaos @kattirin @mialupin1 @crazy-obsessed-fangirl, @youcantbesirius @pan-pride-12​

[extremelyblackandwhite]

ascendance - 04

PAIRING: mob!bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: abduction, age gap (reader is 23, bucky is 37)

A/N: hello!! i hope you enjoy this new chapter as i dive more into bucky’s past. italics in this work symbolise a flashback in case anyone’s confused. hope you enjoy it xx

> NEXT CHAPTER | MASTERLIST

The entrance hall of the Barnes household was pilled up with people. Between his mum barking orders left to right and caterers bringing food in and out, the once silent room turned into a busy crossroads which meant James had retreated back to his room. He was sat down in his bed, cashmere black suit on and hair pushed back, Dead Souls opened on top his legs. He was lost in between the small black letters printed on the yellowing paper, so lost that the sound of his window opening went by him until a loud thump woke him up from his literary daze. Bucky looked up to see his younger sister, sat on the floor of his bedroom by the window with her dress partially on and hair messy due to the windy weather outside. He sighed, closing his book and putting it off to the side.

    - Can’t you climb into your own bedroom? - Bucky got up from bed, leaning down to help her back onto her feet.

    - Yours is closer. - she brushed the dirt off her baby pink dress picked by their mother. - Shouldn’t you be downstairs?

    - Shouldn’t you be in your bedroom? 

    - Touche. - she pointed. - Can you not tell mum? She’ll freak out if she discovers that I went out on dad’s big day. 

    - Go on, I’ll keep mum occupied while you sort out that bird’s nest hair. 

    - Thank you! - she smiled, giving him a short hug. - What am I gonna do when you go to Princeton? Who’s gonna cover for me?

    - I guess you’ll just have to form an alliance with the maids.

Y/N and Bucky were silent, barely speaking to each other if even looking into each other’s eyes. She merely remained there in her operatic costume, the corset doing the best of jobs at enhancing her female features and almost making her look like a femme fatale out of a classical movie in rich red and green fabrics decorated with what he guessed where heavy metal gold pieces resembling precious jewels and golden rings. He did not know which production they were putting on, he hadn’t even heard her sing before but she looked like she belonged in that stage, like she would have been showered in praise the moment the spotlight grazed her. 

She paced around the living room not exactly sure what to do, the beads which made up her skirt and would suddenly peak to show her legs making a slight rustling noise as her eyes studied the book shelf which was filled with tons and tons of books from the classics to mere economy books. Maybe she could read them whenever the tension between of them wasn’t so apparent. She couldn’t help but sometimes look at the badly fixed window and wonder if she could make it, maybe when he wasn’t looking, maybe when he was sleeping yet looking at him; tall, muscular, fast, definetely much stronger than her, she knew that even if she managed to get outside, he would easily get her back. Her mind battled her positive side as she wondered if this was it, if this was home now. Suddenly, her old flat no longer seemed old and she would give everything away if only she could go back, back to being told to do errands that really did not concern her, to stepping on bobby pins laid on the ground, to way too strong makeup which looked ridiculous in proper daylight. She would give everything, if she could go back to what her life had been. 

The man whose name he hadn’t even dignified himself to tell her yet was sat on one of the high chairs by the kitchen with his eyes trained on her. She briskly turned around, arms crossed under her chest with an almost child like pout of someone who had just been punished. In reality, I’m the one who’s being punished here, he thought to himself.

     - You could tell me your name. - she said, not looking into his eyes, instead rubbing her worn out ballet shoes against his hard floor. 

     - You don’t need to know my name. - he was quiet yet imposing. Y/N could not deny he seemed to have a strong presence despite barely raising his voice. It was almost magnetic as if he was made to be looked at, yet she felt he didn’t want to be seen. 

     - What if I need to call out for you? 

     - I would know. There’s no one else here, is it?

Y/N did not reply to this, instead rolling her eyes and sitting down on the couch. There was not much to do in the small one bedroom apartment other than pace around, eat and watch television. Her hand flew over to the remote, pointing it at the TV to turn it on which opened on the news channel. She guessed this was the way she had of now knowing what was happening outside the four walls she was being held captive in. There wasn’t much happening and even if it was, all the local news could talk about was about the upcoming mayoral election. It was a circus with advertisements and rumours flying around about each and every candidate and while it was almost painfully enjoyable to see men over thirty acting like gossip mean girls in school, everyone knew who was gonna win. 

She’d always been told that behind every great man, there’s a great woman and in this particular election it couldn’t be anymore true. The favourite candidate to win, Robert Moore, also known as Bobbie, was married to an senator’s daughter but not just any senator, Senator Barnes. She was too young to remember his policies or even his public persona, yet from what she knew, he had been a very well liked and well respected Senator, coming from a prominent family and building an even more prominent family. Being married to Rebecca Barnes, now Rebecca Barnes-Moore, was a one way ticket to a good career in politics. The two stood in the television screen, side by side in an almost JFK and Jackie Kennedy fashion with sunny smiles looking like the picture perfect Americana couple. It seemed all his ads showed him, his wife and their new born baby. High school sweethearts, it seemed.

    - Are you gonna watch that the whole day? - she turned her head around, looking at his annoyed expression, whiskey glass in hand. 

    - They look good together. 

    - It’s a circus. - he snickered, sitting by her side. 

    - What are you? An anarchist? - those words flew out of her mouth without any filter, mostly out of nuisance. - Her father was a great politician and he is young and likeable.  

     - Young and likeable ... sounds like great political traits. 

     - What do you know about politics?

     - What do you know about politics? Do they have a crash course in politics at whatever company you were in? 

She rolled her eyes, turning the volume up to listen to the broadcaster tell the love story of the future mayor and his wife. Her face softened as she heard what was probably a highly modified version of the actual truth yet she couldn’t help but slightly smile at the idea of it. They seemed in love and as someone who had a degree in pretending to be in love while singing, it warmed her heart to see it. She liked that idea, the idea of Ms and Mrs Americana, the idea of having someone to lean in. Well, she liked the idea of someone. Sure, maybe the man whose name she still didn’t know and was starting to believe was never going to learn was right, it was a circus, all elections are but she couldn’t help but be pulled by the myth of it, by the we against the world mentality no matter how morally wrong it was. 

She continued to watch the coverage of the election run as the man next to her got up from the couch to pick up a phone call. Her hearing slightly moved towards what he was doing, mind always thinking of escaping but even though he was talking on the phone, his gaze was trained of her as if she were his prey. He mumbled something on the phone before turning it off and moving his eyes to text someone yet after that his eyes were on her once more. 

    - Try not to escape for the next hour.

    - Do you have a nameless anarchy convention to attend?

    - Billy is coming to watch over you. No funny business. 

    - Will. - she corrected him. - He doesn’t like being called Billy. 

    - As long as you don’t pull a mission impossible on him, I will call him whatever you want. 

Will didn’t take long to arrive, dressed in a tennis-like outfit as if he had been pulled away from tennis which sounded like something he’d do. Bucky exchanged a few words with him before leaving the two of them together. He trusted Billy, or Will, was smart enough not to let her escape or run away. God, he didn’t even want to think about what John would do to him if she escaped, much less what he would do to her if she escaped. He made his drive to John’s condo in fifth avenue, parking his bike somewhere before making his way up. The condo was always weirdly filled with chatter talk yet he could see no people, it was as if the ghosts of the people he had taken out followed him in his own home and Bucky couldn’t say he pitied him. After all, he had his own ghosts too. 

He looked into John’s office where he was sat in the couch, the coverage of the election run on the television on low volume. John’s eyes immediately found Bucky’s figure looming at the entrance, never really entering, just standing behind the line which separated the hall from the office. 

     - How’s the roomie? - he motioned his hand for him to come in. - Still pretty?

     - What do you need?

     - I just got an invitation to a fundraiser. Zemo’s going so I want you to go. 

     - I can’t, I have her to watch over Y/N. She’s not very keen on remaining in the flat.

    - Chain her up for all I care. It’s in two weeks and I’ll be damned if I’m there by myself with Zemo. Besides it’s your sister’s fundraiser, I always love to see Rebecca. 

    - She’s not gonna be there. - his jaw locked. - A fundraiser for the mob? It’s mostly free alcohol and networking with them not showing up. 

    - Maybe you should bring your roomie. She’s pretty and if anything I’m sure she can sing and if not maybe she can entertain in another form. 

    - The NYPD is probably looking for her, it’s not wise ...

    - Do you make the rules? - John interrupted him, leaning against the couch with arms crossed. - You seem to have forgotten who makes the rules, soldat. 

    - I just don’t think ...

    - You don’t think. - he interrupted him once more. - This election is important and since I do not have the right person here to get ahead, I will make do with what we have. I don’t give a fuck about what you do when you’re at your flat but she is mine. She is my get out of jail card. Are we clear, soldat?

    - Yes. 

    - You can go now. - he dismissed him. Bucky turned around, eyes open wide yet emotionless face as if he were disconnected from his own consciousness. He guessed it was for the best to remain disconnected, to not know what was going on.

He drove himself back home, standing alone at night looking at his flat; the window still broken while the lights were flickering. He thought about running off, starting his bike and running off into the night and just drive until the tank was empty but he couldn’t. He had strings, strings which kept him tied to where he was right now. He guessed that now she was another string keeping him here. 

Bucky sighed as he walked back to his flat, opening the door to a rather serene sight. Will was by the kitchen watching the football game while Y/N was laid across the couch, book in hand which he recognised as one of his old ones. Her hair was different, she probably had taken off her wig and for the first time since those few minutes in the costume room. It looked soft, framing her face and getting in front of her eyes as she herself got lost in the room. Will excused himself, leaving just as he noticed Bucky before he could be yelled at by using his television. Yet again, Y/N and Bucky were alone in that small flat. She looked up from the book and at him before returning to read.

He left her with the book, walking to his bedroom which was probably now more hers than his to grab one of trousers and hoodies before returning back to the living room. Still reading. At least she wasn’t trying to break any more windows. He put the hoodie and trousers by her side, turning off the television as more screams for the football match came through. 

   - You can change into those. - he pointed at the clothing, getting her attention as she closed the book. - Those beads can’t be comfortable. 

   - Oh 

   - The bathroom’s there. - he pointed at one of the few doors in the flat. - You can shower too, there’s towels. 

   - Thank you. - she grabbed the things he had put out for her before leaving him in the living room by himself.

And then it was just him once more, alone, tied to this city which screamed everyone’s name but his.

TAGLIST: @lookiamtrying​ @buckyswillows​ @blossomslibrary​ @juliesland​ @iloveshawnieboi​ @unmagically​ @red-head011​ @poisonous00​ 

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children Ch. 8

What's this? An update! Massive thanks to my betas for helping me get through this chapter <3

In Which: A few answers are given to the family and Danny is rudely awoken

[Side note: If you wanna know the general ages of the batfam, its listed in the AO3 version. I also talk about katanas in the end notes ^-^]

AO3 | Prologue | 7 | [ 8 ] | 9 DAMIAN INFORMED TODD—and Drake when he arrived on his bike sometime later on—that the boy whose face is plastered across the monitor was neither a picture of himself nor of Father.

Drake took one glance at the monitor and sighed, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Just when I thought this day was getting better.”

“What, did that café on 5th finally let customers supersize their drink?”

“God that would be the dream, wouldn’t it?” Drake sighed wistfully. “Nah, but I did get a lead on where some of that stolen Cadmus tech might’ve ended up. I was gonna spend the night following up on it, but I guess we have to deal with,” he gestured to the monitor, “whatever this is.”

Todd leaned against the edge of the computer, arms crossed over the red bat insignia on his chest. “What are we dealing with this time, brat? A clone? An alternate universe counterpart? Magic shenanigans?”

Maybe. Perhaps. All of those were perfectly valid conclusions for the enigma that was Daniel James Fenton. (Why Fenton and not al Ghul? Or even Wayne?)

Damian, too, was a genetic experiment; a ‘test tube baby’ as Drake put it at times. Damian was born for greatness, created to be perfect. The perfect soldier. The perfect assassin. The perfect heir. Was this boy—Daniel—like him as well?

A failed one, then. Perhaps the precursor to Damian’s own existence. But that would not explain why the boy was allowed to exist for so long. His grandfather demanded perfection, especially from those of his own blood. If the boy was a failure, he would have been eliminated immediately, not sent to live with some eccentric scientists in the Midwest.

Damian was not naïve enough to think that his mother and grandfather did not keep secrets from him. On the contrary, he expected it. The League of Shadows dealt in secrets as often as it did in death. Certain information was worth its weight in gold, whether it was given or buried away.

But he could not help the sharp pang in his chest. A lightning strike, quick and electrifying at the notion that they kept secrets about their family from him.

His father’s face flashed in his mind. The shock turned into a slow, dawning horror. That flicker of light, of recognition, as he scrutinized the contents of the flash drive and cross-referenced it with a public database.

And grief.

Damian recognized the grief.

Alfred, too, nearly dropped his tray of fresh-baked cookies when he stepped in front of the monitor. His usual unflappable demeanor was momentarily broken at his father’s whispered “Sixteen years. Alfred— he’s sixteen years old.”

His father knew of the boy. He was allowed to know of Daniel when he was not allowed to know about Damian.

------

Grayson returned to the cave with a distinct lack of energy in his step. His mask dangled off the tips of his fingers, chin angled downwards and covered largely by his hand. For a split second, their eyes met. Grayson shifted his gaze away, scratching the back of his neck. Father told him, then. Damian wondered how much Father revealed to his favorite son.

Damian clucked his tongue and buried himself deeper into the chair, arms crossed and pointedly looking away. If it was not for his accursed ankle, he’d have headed out to the training ring to take his frustrations out on the dummies.

“Oh, thank god you’re here, Dickface. Damian’s completely out of it.”

Damian shot him a look. “Shut up, Todd.”

“Leave him alone, Jay. Is Tim back yet?”

Drake emerged from the changing room in a dark green shirt, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. He took one long sip before exhaling. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“O-kay…” He pressed his hands together, mouth thinned into a grim line. “Uh, hey Tim, glad to see you back safe. Bruce is coming down soon to explain some things.” He let out a deep sigh, carding a hand through his hair. “This kind of thing would probably be better with the girls around, but I—god, I don’t know.”

Todd raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know whether to call Steph and Cass in Hong Kong, or don’t know what’s going on?”

“Yes.”

------

When Father arrived, Pennyworth following dutifully behind him, it was with an aching slowness in his gait. His steps measured and precise, preternaturally quiet as he made his way to stand by Damian’s chair. Damian sat up straighter, shoulders squared and back an inch away from the backrest. The rest, even Todd, stood at attention; an ingrained habit among Robins and an amusing instinct even among the senior heroes of the Justice League when it came to facing the Batman.

His father kept a steady hand on Damian’s shoulder, and Damian, shamefully, leaned into the touch; his head inclined towards his father’s hand so much so that he could feel the ends of his hair being pushed up slightly as he brushed against his father’s forearm.

He spoke with his usual monotone, as if he was heading a Justice League meeting as opposed to unveiling the secrets surrounding that boy. He brought forward the few photos they obtained from the flash drive. “A few weeks ago, we were alerted of suspicious movement from the League of Shadows in Amity Park, Illinois. Their objectives are, as of now, unclear, though it appears to be tied to the death of Amity Park resident, Daniel Fenton.”

One photo was a standard ID picture people get for their driver’s license, the lighting deliberately horrible so that any attempt to look decent would always end in failure. Another photo was a little better; a candid scene of him chatting with two others his age, a Caucasian girl in gothic-style clothes and an African-American holding a sleek, but still very outdated PDA. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners, hand reaching up to his face to stifle a laugh. There were other photos like this, some candid, others posed. At the forefront of each, a boy that looked too much like his father, too much like Damian.

His father glanced at the photos. He shut his eyes and when he opened them again, he fixed them on some distant stalactite in the Cave. “Around six months ago, Daniel was pronounced dead in a vehicular accident. A body was present, but according to police reports, he was identified via his driver’s license as opposed to any kind of DNA profiling.” He leaned over Damian’s chair to pull up a profile of Masters. “Our source—Vladimir Masters, mayor of Amity and a friend of the Fenton family—indicated his belief that Daniel is actually alive. I am inclined to agree.”

“He’s your son, isn’t he,” Drake said, more of a statement than a question.

Father gave a curt nod. “I cannot say for certain until I can perform a DNA test, but I highly suspect that to be the case.”

“First the demon spawn, now this. Great.” Todd made a hand motion towards the screen. “You know, Bruce, not knowing you have a kid once might be a coincidence, but twice? How do you do that?”

“As of three hours ago, I was still under the impression that my son never made it to term.”

“What?”

“Over sixteen years ago I was involved in a mission that put Ra’s and I on the same side. During that time, Talia and I entered a relationship that resulted in a pregnancy. Though initially ecstatic, she eventually led me to believe she miscarried the child and pushed me away. For what ends, I do not know, but trust me Jason, if I knew—” He paused, the hand that was not on Damian’s shoulder curled into a tight fist.

Father pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why she hid it from me then doesn’t matter. Why Talia wants him back now is important. Judging from Daniel’s records, he was adopted into the Fenton family as an infant and has since lived a seemingly normal life as a civilian. His adoptive parents, Jack and Maddie Fenton, are brilliant scientists and engineers focused on the field of paranormal studies. Eccentricities aside, they have zero connections to the League of Assassins or any other concerning parties.”

“So why now?” Dick asked, shifting his concerned gaze from Bruce to the static picture of Danny’s tired smile. “Why, after all this time, decide that now would be the best time to recover him?”

------

Danny’s experienced plenty of rude awakenings before, but waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to avoid his kidnapper-slash-assassin-slash-biological-mom launching a surprise attack takes the fucking cake. He can’t believe he’s saying this, but thank god for all those late night ghost attacks that conditioned him to be a light sleeper. And, of course, the League’s insistence that everyone be in optimal condition regardless of how little sleep you actually got.

Danny kicked Talia off of him, ripping his blanket away before scrambling to his feet. Seriously, if the universe decided to spontaneously give him powers again, he’d really like an upgrade to his ghost senses, please and thank you. Something that works on humans and not just ghosts. Like spidey-senses. He’d really, really like some spidey-senses.

“Your reaction times have improved considerably,” Talia said.

He eyed the katana sheathed beside his bedroll. “Thanks. Who could have guessed that constantly challenging someone to a spar in the unholy hours of morning would make them paranoid to sleep too much? Really, how am I supposed to grow taller at this rate? ” If he could just get it--

She smiled, taking a step forward. “Prepare yourself.”

“Heh.” Danny stepped further away from Talia, keeping his back to the mouth of the cave. One hand stretched in front of him and the other, coated in a green light, was kept hidden behind his back. “Am I actually gonna get some answers today?”

“Let us make it interesting. Last 10 minutes against me and I shall tell you more about your brother.” Talia twirled her blade. “If you happen to draw blood, you may ask any one thing of me.”

“Anything?”

“Within reason.”

His face caught between a grimace and a smile. He’d rather be sleeping right now, but if he had to be awake, then he’d better make the most of it. “Deal.”

Talia’s smile dropped. She veered her body to the right, barely dodging the streak of bright green that whizzed from behind her. The ectoplasmic energy that surrounded the katana bled away as the handle connected with Danny’s outstretched hand.

She quickly glanced back at Danny’s bedding. Beside it lay an empty sheath. “You have telekinesis?”

He shrugged. “It comes and goes.” Yeah, no way was Danny gonna admit that seven-out-of-ten-times he forgot that he had telekinesis. Besides, that shit was hard to do when he wasn’t Phantom.

“A surprise attack from behind is a sound strategy, Daniel. Though it’ll take a lot more than that to harm me.”

Danny pointed to the side of his cheek. “Are you sure about that?”

Talia frowned. She reached up to her face. Her fingers brushed against her cheek and came away with a thin streak of blood.

Danny grinned, pointing his blade at his opponent. “First blood goes to me.”

------

Fact: most fights don’t last long. An average street fight could last anywhere between 25 to 40 seconds, and sword fights rarely last over a minute. Like Talia said, the goal of a fight was to end it with as few injuries to oneself as possible. Humans, even the most skilled ones, can rarely last long in a fight. Prolonged combat is suicide; it makes you tired, makes your muscles heavy. It’s nothing like what Hollywood would have you believe.

Even with Danny’s own enhanced stamina and Talia holding back, he couldn’t last a full ten-minute spar. If Talia didn’t finish him within twenty-five seconds, then he’d fall by his own human limitations.

But the goal wasn’t to spar continuously for ten minutes.

He only had to last that long.

Danny sprinted out of the cave. The sun barely peeked out of the horizon, a thin line of deep orange breaking apart the wide expanse of blue-black sky above. He couldn’t see shit; great news since that meant there’s a good chance Talia couldn’t either, but that doesn’t fix the fact that he can’t see.

Nearly stumbling on the ice, Danny veered to the left. The edges of the lake stopped at towering rocks twice Danny’s height, leaving little room for cover. Though if he remembered correctly, there should be a few crevices here and there to hide in.

“You’ll have to be faster than that, Daniel.”

Shit—

Danny stopped. He brought his sword up to parry Talia’s strike and twisted away, putting distance between them.

Well, so much for just avoiding her for 10 minutes.

He adjusted his grip, keeping his sword steady and eyes trained on Talia as they circled each other. Danny lunged with an overhead strike. Talia used one hand to block the downswing by gripping his wrists. She thrust her sword forward, the tip harshly poking Danny’s abdomen.

“Less than three minutes.” Talia let his wrist go, Danny’s arms slumping to his sides.

He sighed as he sheathed his sword. “Damn, I thought I’d last longer than that.”

“You made a good effort,” Talia assured him. “Putting as much distance between us at the beginning was a good strategy. You recognized the win conditions immediately and attempted a battle of attrition.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am very proud of you habibi, especially as you managed to draw first blood.”

A warmth grew in Danny’s stomach at the words, heating his cheeks. Sheepishly, he scratched the back of his head. “I wasn’t entirely sure that would work, honestly.”

“It was clever; half a second later and you might have even killed me. You are an al Ghul through and through” She brushed his hair out of his face. “What would you like as your prize, then?”

Danny’s heart clenched. He frowned, dropping his arm to his side. If I was such an al Ghul, then why didn’t you keep me? The question lodged itself in his throat, stifling his thoughts. It was something he’d been wondering for a while, actually, in the moments of solitude he had at the compound. Talia, during their training, would always remark at his potential. How talented he was, how adaptable he was, how much greater he would have been if he had been trained at a younger age.

Well then, why wasn’t he? Why did she give him up?

But each time he tried to ask, his tongue would turn to lead and the moment would pass, the question still left unsaid and simmering at the back of his mind. A Pandora’s Box that held none of the world’s evil but all of Danny’s possible shortcomings.

He could ask the question now.

He could.

He didn’t.

“Why did you take me?”

Talia tilted her head. “It is because you’re my son.”

“No. Not that. It has to be something more than that. You had sixteen years to come back for me—or, hell, you could have just never left me.” His breath hitched, fingers mussing his hair and hiding his eyes. “Why else did you take me?”

“It is true that there was more than one reason why we decided to retrieve you from Amity Park. One of which is because you are my son and an heir of the Demon’s Head.” Talia stilled. The dark skies of dawn made it impossible for him to read her. “The second reason was to protect you.”

“You kidnapped me…to protect me?”

“Knowledge of the ghosts of Amity have spread through the more insidious parts of the world. There are many out there who would pay exorbitant fees to study one of you or to use you.”

Use him? What did she mean by—

Oh.

Ghosts—Amity Park’s brand of ghosts—were a new element that the world had to contend with. Amity Park might have a crime rate of zero but that wasn’t the case everywhere else. Theft, assault, murder; the world was rampant with crimes and criminals clawing their way to the very top. Having ghosts, even ones with the most basic powerset, would be a huge advantage.

“There’s no way that would work,” Danny insisted. “Most ghosts just want to be left alone, and the ones that want to wreak havoc would never work with humans. The only reason they even work with halfas like me at times is because they still consider us as ghosts.”

“If my sources are to be believed, ghosts might not even get a choice.”

Danny’s blood curdled in his veins.

No.

Someone’s found a way to control ghosts.

[storiesforallfandoms]

pushing buttons ~ eminem

word count: 1912

request?: yes!

@thatonegirlthatlikesthings “Hi me again I literally love your writing so much omg I was wondering if you could once again indulge my Eminem obsession cuz my baby don’t get enough love🥺🥺 I was thinking like a angst/fluff where MGK tries to hit on the reader even though he’s with Meg Fox now and Em loses it and dr Dre and Paul try to call him down but it doesn’t really work and the reader has to chill him out. I love you I love your writing and I love you bye!🥰☺️❤️❤️”

description: in which his enemy tries to push his buttons by flirting with his girl

pairing: eminem x female!reader

warning: swearing

masterlist

“What the fuck is that prick doing here?”

Marshall glared at the tall blonde standing across the room with his arm around a familiar actress. It was the night of his launch party for his new album, and he thought it was just supposed to be personal friends of his as well as his friends from the industry. However, a few others from the industry had arrived as well, including the infamous Machine Gun Kelly.

“Paul invited him,” Marshall’s girlfriend, (Y/N) responded. “Said you two should try and squash the beef. Fans are getting tired of it.”

“Squashing the beef and becoming friends with the enemy are two totally different things,” Marshall hissed.

“You don’t have to be friends,” (Y/N) told him. “Just...shake his hand, look friendly for the pictures, end the beef.”

Marshall rolled his eyes as (Y/N) wrapped an arm around his waist and gave him a slight squeeze. “I know, I tried to tell Paul he should run this past you first. But him and MGK’s manager think it’s best for both of you to end the beef. He wants to move on with his new punk pop genre, you should move on too considering the fact that you absolutely destroyed him.”

She lowered her voice to a whisper for that last part, causing Marshall to smirk.

“This is gonna push me to drink,” he muttered as he noticed Kells approaching him.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” (Y/N) hissed. “If you break your sobriety, I will be your worst nightmare.”

Marshall smiled at her before dropping it to glare at Kells.

“Hey man,” Kells started. “Listen, thanks for the invitation. I know things have been rocky between us, but I hope you know I never meant any harm by my tweet about Hailie, and I still view you as a massive inspiration to me. I just thought...maybe I’d get more recognition with the diss, and it worked. It just sort of fucked up my rap career in the process.”

(Y/N) gave Marshall a quick look before sipping on the drink she had in her hand. They were both shocked by such a mature response from Kells, especially after the stuff Kells said about Marshall following the drop of Not Alike and Killshot.

She was watching her boyfriend expectantly as he processed what had been said to him. He glanced back at (Y/N) finally before saying, “No hard feelings, man. Tensions ran high, we both said some shit, I think it’s time we get past it.”

Kells smiled and offered a hand to Marshall. Although reluctant at first, Marshall took it and shook his hand. Kells soon left and went back to his girlfriend, knowing not to overstay his welcome.

“Was that so hard?” (Y/N) asked. “At least he’s being mature about it, too.”

“A little too mature,” Marshall said.

“Stop it, you just don’t like him. Let’s get a non-alcoholic beverage.”

~~~~~~

As the night continued, Marshall was pulled from (Y/N) as people kept coming and congratulating him on the album. She wasn’t too shocked, it was a normal occurrence. Luckily enough, she had come to know most of the people at the party through Marshall, so it wasn’t like she was awkwardly standing around for any amount of time.

She was at the snack table when a tall stature came to stand next to her.

“You lost your boyfriend, huh?’

(Y/N) looked up to see Kells stood next to her, a friendly smile on her face.

Despite the feud between the two, (Y/N) never had any sort of opinion on Kells. She hadn’t listened to his music - besides that one song with Camilla Cabello that blew up - and she didn’t want to form an opinion based on a beef she wasn’t even a part of. So, him standing next to her didn’t make her as angry as it had made Marshall earlier. Instead, she smiled back at him.

“Yeah,” she said. “Nothing new of course. Everyone congratulating him on the album and whatnot.”

“Seems like a lot of people just trying to kiss his ass.”

(Y/N) shrugged. “That may be true in some cases. Most of the people here who have already worked with him and known him for so long know better against that. Maybe it’s because they’ve already worked with him though, who knows. Where’s Megan?”

Kells gestured aimlessly into the crowd. “Also pulled away from me. Talking to...someone I guess.”

He didn’t sound too concerned over it, although maybe it was just the same situation (Y/N) was in. Megan was pretty popular as an actress, this was probably nothing new for Kells either.

“So, how did you and Em meet?” he asked, offering her one of the two red cups he had in his hand. (Y/N) didn’t think much of it at first. She figured he had probably gotten a drink for Megan then realized he had lost her in the crowd.

“We met through a mutual friend, actually. One from back in Detroit,” she explained. “I knew who Marshall was, obviously, but I was never really a hip hop fan. We got to talking and before I knew it, he was asking me out on a date. We were official within a month, and we’ve been together ever since. That was like...three years ago now, I think.”

She took a sip from the drink Kells had given her and cringed at the strong taste of alcohol in the cup. Noticing this, Kells asked, “Too strong?”

“Just not used to alcohol,” she explained. “I’ve mostly given it up in solidarity with Marshall. I’m proud of his sobriety, even if I’ve only been here for the tail end of it.”

“That’s lame,” Kells scoffed. “The old man shouldn’t hold you back from doing some fun shit.”

The tone of his voice plus the subtle diss caused a slight feeling of annoyance in her, but she pushed it down. Be the bigger person, she had been telling Marshall all night. She couldn’t go against that.

“He’s not holding me back from anything,” she responded. “I chose to do it. I just know it sucks to have to be sober when everyone around you is drunk or high. I want to be that one person he can confide in in those situations, you know?”

“You’re too good for him, man,” Kells said. “For real, you have a heart of gold and the body of a smoke show. You shouldn’t be wasting it all on that fucker. You should be getting with a real man.”

(Y/N) shuffled uncomfortably, now putting her cup down on the snack table. “I’m perfectly happy with Marshall, thank you. Besides, you have a girlfriend. One who is literally at this very party right now.”

He waved off the comment, as if it weren’t a real concern. (Y/N) looked around the room, desperate to find someone she knew who could save her from that situation.

Across the room, Marshall was glaring daggers into the back of Kells’ head. He could see the uncomfortable look on (Y/N)’s face, and saw the drink she had just discarded on the table. He knew something was happening, something he didn’t like.

“Why the fuck did you invite him?” he asked Paul. “Why didn’t you warn me first?”

“It needed to be an authentic meet up to end the beef,” Paul responded. “After tonight you won’t see or hear from him ever again.”

“You bet I won’t, because I’ll have him six feet under the fucking ground if he doesn’t get away from (Y/N).”

Paul looked over at the two. His face grew concerned upon seeing (Y/N)’s. “It can’t be anything too serious. He’s here with Megan, remember?”

“Do you see Megan anywhere around here, Paul?” Marshall asked.

He was so furious you could almost see the cartoon smoke coming from his ears. He was clutching his plastic cup so hard that it would’ve shattered into a million pieces if it was glass. It dropped from his hand suddenly when he saw Kells grab (Y/N)’s waist, trying to pull her closer to him. Both Paul and Dre had to grab him to stop him from going over and beating the shit out of Kells right then and there.

“Calm down, man,” Dre told him.

“He’s fucking touching her, Dre!” Marshall snapped. “She’s obviously uncomfortable, let me go over there and beat the shit out of him!”

“Not here,” Paul said. “Not in front of all these people. Go over and get her - peacefully - then you guys can just leave. This was a stupid idea from me.”

“Really fucking stupid,” Marshall hissed as he pulled away from the two. He tried to keep his anger at bay as he went over and wrapped an arm around (Y/N), effectively pulling her from Kells’ grasp. “Come on, babe, let’s go home.”

“What’s wrong, Marshall? Don’t like another man talking to your girl?” Kells challenged.

“I don’t like other men grabbing my girl when she’s obviously uncomfortable, no,” Marshall responded.

“Sounds a little insecure to me. Maybe you should work on that, man. You’ll be able to keep up with this absolute bombshell when you’re not so over jealous of her.”

Marshall’s grip on (Y/N)’s waist tightened. She tried to calm him down, but it was obvious he was past the point of no return.

“Fuck you,” he snapped. “Man, I don’t know what your fucking problem is, but you’re the one who started all of this shit. Now you’re coming here, to my launch party, trying to flirt with my girl, and now you’re insulting me?! Must be a sad existence you live, Kelly, when you can’t even be happy with your own success.  You have to keep trashing on someone else who’s doing much better than you.”

Kells’ cheeks were tinted pink with anger as he glared at the two of them.

“I suggest going to find your girlfriend while you still have one,” (Y/N) told him. “Because I will be telling her about this whole...incident between us.”

Before any other words could be said, Marshall took (Y/N) and guided her out of the building. When they got to the car, he sat in the driver’s seat for just a second, trying to make himself calm down.

“I should go back in there and fucking kill him,” he said, more to himself than to (Y/N).

“No you shouldn’t,” she told him. “He was just trying to push your buttons. He seems very happy with Megan, and there were so many other girls at that party he could’ve flirted with if he just wanted to be a scumbag. He only chose me because he knew it would get to you.”

She reached over and put a hand over one of Marshall’s that was clutching the steering wheel. On contact, he loosened his grip and realized how much his hands hurt from holding the wheel too tightly.

“Whatever his intentions were, they don’t matter,” she assured him. “I love you, Marshall, and only you. No other asshole will ever come in and swoop me away from you.”

He chuckled at her slight insult, their own way of flirting with one another. He leaned across and kissed her gently on the lips before finally starting the car.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (February 7/2021) - End of Week

I hope you all are caught up on your Tom Gravy hotdog-eating Olympics lore.

Also, the server’s first attempt at a prison break...? I guess??

---

VOD LINKS:

HBomb94

Foolish Gamers

Tubbo

Ranboo

Nihachu

GeorgeNotFound

Captain Puffy

---

- HBomb explores the SMP mainland and looks at the L’manburg Crater, wondering if he should build a house there. He runs a poll and it’s 50/50.

- H runs back through the Nether. Sam asked him if he wanted to visit Dream at some point and H said yes.

- He discusses the possibilities of future catmaid bits. Would Sam let him be a prison maid?

- Foolish asks H for 16452 sandstone. Unfortunately, HBomb doesn’t have it.

- H gets filled in on all the SMP lore and figures out the ultimate truth:

Sapnap wrote the books in the Inbetween.

Sapnap can time travel.

Sapnap is the answer.

- H speaks with Foolish, and H mentions the gold bar labelled “HBomb’s maid service” that he got from Fundy...

- Foolish says he does need some sandstone...

- Dream logs on the server. He dies in lava and leaves.

- H tells Foolish the story of how he killed Technoblade 27 times, and asks if he knows about the obstacle course.

- H and Foolish meet near the Community House and Foolish is...surprised...by HBomb’s skin.

- Foolish brings HBomb to the Temple of Undying.

- Then they go to Snowchester. 

- Later, Foolish continues work on the Temple.

- Tubbo speaks with Scott Smajor.

- Ranboo goes mining while Tubbo makes a sandwich.

- Niki shows off her secret city. It’s been coming along well!

- Tubbo is just trying to get Ranboo DMCA’d at this point.

- Niki starts working on building the secret city some more.

- Niki’s character still deals with night terrors and isn’t sure what to feel about Wilbur. She sleeps in her own chamber and writes in a diary about what she’s going through.

- George has woken up!

- He comes onto the SMP after speedrunning and wonders what to do. He needs new supplies, because he has absolutely nothing now.

- He asks if Sapnap has his stuff, but Sapnap says no. He gave it all to Karl. George calls Karl. Karl can’t give his stuff back at the moment.

- Dream and Quackity fill him in on how Tom Brady got a home run and won a gold medal in the Olympics World Cup.

It begins.

-

--- THE FOOTBALL LORE ---

-

Gronk, Greg, and Tony Romo all pulled their weight as well. One got bronze in the Grand Prix. They also talk about how Tom Gravy’s been doing. There’s also Tony Gravy, who is Tom Gravy’s brother, but they mean to talk about Tony Romo and how many laps he finished.

The football stans took over the trending tab with their profile pics.

- Bad joins the call and they start filling him in on the Olympics. Bad mentions the Superb Owl.

- Tony Romo is the 11th time gold medalist of the Grand Prix who is going to retire soon to become an announcer for the Bikini Bottom competition. 

- Tom Gravy never dies. Well, he said that he might in a couple years, but by then he’ll have won several more medals. His goal is to eat 10,000 hot dogs by 2022. He burns off calories by running around the Grand Prix track. Tony Romo gives him all the advice.

- They have different maps for Tony Romo and Tom Gravy, one of which is in Russia. Change of scenery.

- Tony O’Brown got one of the goals and that was it, but the real dagger was by Patrick, who threw an interception. 

Tony Romo ran a red light in Alaska, having won the Grand Prix with 21 laps, and got a mugshot for it, but got a medal for Sexiest Mugshot so it wasn’t too bad. His goal is 22.

- They also have a pizza restaurant called Tom and Tony.

- Wait, Patrick got the mugshot gold medal for running the intersection. Tony Romo went to Russia.

- Gronk faked his retirement, then lied and showed up at the Olympics, won anyway and got a gold medal. He was pretending to train but he never actually trained. He took different videos with different shirts to pretend that he was training on different days.

- Gronk wanted it to be surprising when he won. Him and Tom Gravy were very good friends. They met before the first Olympics while training together.

- George asks if there’s a Wiki to learn all this lore from. Dream says there is, but it’s on the Dark Web.

- Though Patrick had the sexiest mugshot, there were plenty of others that weren’t so sexy.

- Tom Gravy is now trending.

- George has just been mining throughout all of this.

- Karl joins the conversation. Tony Romo retired because of the money but also because he had a kid, according to Quackity. 

- Taylor Swift named something after the number of hotdogs Tom Gravy had to eat daily last year, which was 22. They call him “The American Patriot” for all the hotdogs he eats, but this year he was more of a Pirate. 

- During the Olympics recess, Tom Gravy was sponsored by Hard Mikes. 

- Greg is in his flop area at the moment. He was a Patrick fan, actually, but then the whole incident happened with the intersection.

- Out of the last 20 Olympics, Tom Gravy’s won 7 and been to 10. This is the Hotdog-Eating Olympics, though, not the world Olympics. The Hotdog-Eating Olympics happens at the rate that the Grand Prix happens divided by 2.

- There was a cheating scandal where he was accused of inflating his stomach. “Inflate-Gate.” 

- Tom Gravy ate 200 hotdogs in 12 seconds, which is called a “Scarf Ace” in the contest.

-

--- THE FOOTBALL LORE IS OVER ---

-

- Foolish gives George Netherite.

- Ponk attempts to kill George. George escapes to the Holy Land.

- Bad points out that because the enforcer of the Holy Land’s neutrality rules is in the prison, they’re free to kill Ponk. Dream says no, they’ll get punished if they do. He also asks why there’s a turtle in the Holy Land, and asks to delete it.

Callahan, Bad and Foolish all come join them in Church Prime.

- Ponk steals Oogway and a fistfight breaks out. Captain Puffy arrives.

- George tricks Puffy into killing him in Church Prime. Dream says that George’s stream was conveniently blacked out for some reason. They start talking about pictures.

- Callahan kills George in the Holy Land. Dream says it was blacked out again.

- Ponk kills George in the Holy Land. Dream saw that one and Ponk falls out of the world.

- Dream finally reveals the truth behind the old Bedwars clip after several months of mystery.

(It was porn)

- One thing leads to another, Dream drops some glass water bottles and sings “Mad World” in the background after being rejected by George for Valentine’s Day.

- They start leaking Rat pics.

- George is preoccupied and doesn’t notice as Ponk boxes him in with obsidian. Puffy arrives to help him out.

- Foolish shows George his summer house and gives him supplies.

- Quackity tries to insist that he’s not a competitive hotdog eater, but everyone already knows the truth.

- Karl comes online and gives George the Netherite.

- The chaos continues as they pass it back and forth. Callahan joins in.

- George goes to the prison and tries to break in. GEORGE LORE STREAM?? NOT CLICKBAIT??

- He finds a very secret and important area. 

- (It’s a lightswitch)

- George starts breaking a blackstone block in the wall to rescue Dream. 

- Dream tells George to keep trying to break him out, saying it’s been long enough. Karl says that, in his very canonical opinion, it has not, in fact, been long enough yet. 

- Dream warns George that he actually has to hurry, in case Awesam logs on.

- George sits there mining for a good few minutes. One block between Dream and freedom! Callahan comes to watch.

- He finally breaks the block!

...

...

- Aaaand behind it is obsidian. 

- George immediately ends stream.

---

Later, Awesam places the single block back...

...And threatens to take all of George’s canon lives if he ever messes with the prison again.

---

Upcoming Events:

- Many, many visits with Dream

- Many meetings with Technoblade, with Puffy’s specifically happening very soon

- Prison guard introduction stream this week

---

END OF WEEK RECAP:

2/1: Ponk’s dream, Ranboo speaks with Awesam

2/2: Ponk reads Jack’s Journal, Tommy takes a piece of the Crimson, Awesam and Fran

2/3: Puffy attempts to destroy the Crimson, Tales From the SMP: “The Masquerade”

2/4: Nothing much happens

2/5: Jack Manifold becomes the main character

2/6: Puffy searches for parrots

2/7: The 5-Hour Tom Gravy Stream

[xaibaugrove]

Everyone in the Krew is Problematic

I was inspired to go on this rant by someone who recently brought up a question in a server I’m in, asking why so many people in the fandom seem to hate Mako and Makorra and why. This wouldn’t be the first time I defend Mako and it most likely won’t be the last, but it might be the first time I tear him and everyone else in the Krew down in the process, only to bring them back up. Hear me out though.

I think I’ve totally accepted that a lot of people in this fandom will always hate Mako and that I will have to perpetually defend him, I understand that this is the relationship I’ve chosen with this world. But what I still will never understand are the reasons why people hate/dislike him because compared to how much they love other characters in the Krew who honestly aren’t that much better than him (in some cases, even worse!), it doesn’t make any sense.

Let me also preface this by saying, I love these characters with all my heart and soul, probably more than I should love fictional characters, but this is the life I live and with that being said, I am going to tear them apart just to prove a point. Okay, here we go.

MAKO

Most of his detractors list the usual criticisms, which are valid when isolated. He cheated on Asami, he lied to Korra, he was a terrible boyfriend and essentially he treated the women he claimed to love or care about horribly. Gee, it’s almost like the man was a teenager with no experience in having long-lasting, healthy relationships and was raised in the streets by gangmembers while doing anything to survive and provide for his younger sibling after seeing his parents killed right in front of him and suddenly being orphaned…

I think Mako has been torn down enough, so I won’t get too deep into the tearing down part for him. It really does baffle me how someone can claim to be woke and not comprehend how someone coming from poverty could possibly be a product of their environment. Like, does everyone think that poor people automatically have hearts of gold and turn out like Little Orphan Annie? Why are people surprised that when someone has a shitty life, they might do shitty things?

Also, sooo many people love Zuko, who actively tried to cause harm to Aang, Katara and Sokka numerous times, and sympathize with his troubled past. But like, sure Zuko had an abusive father and his mother peaced out of his life for whatever reasons but at least he had his uncle. Mako had his parents for maybe 8 years before they were murdered in front of him and then had...no one for the next 10 years? Except for Bolin, sure, but no other parental figure in his life. Dude literally had to become him and his brother’s own parent and joined a gang to survive, and after all that, the worst he does is acts as a bad boyfriend toward Korra and Asami and he is instantly thrown to the wolves. Something doesn’t add up. It’s just...I don’t get it.

Yes, the way he treated people was bad, but people can grow? That’s a thing humans can do. And he was a teenager, my god. No, we cannot allow our past to be an excuse for how we treat others, but we have to be aware that there is a growth process to being human. And being human in and of itself, isn’t pretty. You think Mako is problematic? Don’t get me started on your fave.

KORRA

Ok, I love this woman to death but she is ridiculously problematic. She pursued someone in a relationship and essentially forced Mako to cheat on Asami by kissing him against his will, that’s already pretty awful and shows a lack of empathy on her part, also kissing people without their consent is no bueno. But also I just have to say it for the people who might not know this. One of the fundamental reasons why Makorra didn’t work was because KORRA WAS ABUSIVE. Okay? It wasn’t just that Mako was inadequate at relationships and didn’t know how to people, it wasn’t that she was secretly confused and wanting Asami the entire time (biphobia at it’s best) one of the main problems in the pairing was that Korra was crazy abusive towards Mako. Seriously, why don’t I see this more often in those discussions??

If we need examples, I have dozens. Honestly, it’s really easy to see how terrible Korra was to Mako, I’d actually argue that she treated him worse than he treated her. I mean, they were both terrible to one another, but in Korra’s case she went through the motions of being completely infatuated with your first teenage crush, getting with said crush, then crashing and burning once you realize that you have no idea how to treat a romantic partner so after the butterflies wear off you subject them to all the wonderful aspects of your anger issues. Not only did she scream at Mako during every argument they had, she also threatened him with bodily harm if she got really angry. Remember how their relationship crashed and burned in Book 2? Here are the things that Korra did during that time. Let me reiterate, this was not okay.

Mako is visibly shaken by this!

This woman burst into her boyfriend’s place of work and violently kicked his desk out from in front of him with all his coworkers present. That is not normal behavior. That is a red flag. And after she came back, had amnesia or whatever and forgot they broke up after that scene, let’s not forget that Mako was legitimately Afraid to break up with her again. Korra made her partner frightened that they might suffer bodily harm if they upset her. Again, and I can’t stress this enough, this is not okay!

The little scene in Book 3 when Korra is lifting Mako like 100 feet off the ground with airbending while he’s screaming in fear just to make Asami laugh is cute, right? I’ll admit, I loved that little moment too, it’s one of the only instances of Korrasami development that we got, but also, there were sooo many things wrong with that scene lol. Not only does Korra terrify Mako for literally no reason, it’s also sort of just her continuing to exercise some degree of power over him for her own amusement. Almost like a subtle reminder to him saying, “I am stronger than you in every way and I can break your femur like a twig if I wanted to… but I won’t, so look how much fun we’re having!”

Now of course, there are reasons why Korra acts like this. She was isolated for almost her entire life and never learned how to treat people and be around people. The Avatar is human because they must live amongst the people they protect and that helps them develop empathy and cherish life. The White Lotus deprived her of that fundamental aspect of her duty as the Avatar and it showed throughout the beginning of the series. Clearly, she was young, didn’t see how her actions could negatively affect others and hurt the feelings of not just her partner but also friends and family (she was really awful towards a lot of people in her life!). But as the series went on, we see her having less outbursts and learning to control her temper more.

One can only assume that she does not have the same behavior with Asami because for one, I don’t think Asami would play that shit, she seems like she would electrocute a bitch in a heartbeat and not hesitate if needed, but also Korra is not the same shitty partner she used to be as a teenager. Again, kids do stupid things. Adults do stupid things. And we learn and we grow. Korra will probably make some more mistakes in her relationship with Asami. I don't think anyone can have one bad relationship and suddenly learn all the lessons they can from it and have a perfect one the next go around. I can totally picture Korra losing her temper and raising her voice at Asami if she gets frustrated and forgets who she’s dealing with. Managing anger issues is hard, I know this from experience, and it doesn’t magically get easier. Of course, if Korra does pop off, Asami would definitely put her in her place because she’s a bad bitch who doesn’t take anyone’s shit, next character.

ASAMI

You know her, you love her, you fantasize about her and you probably have her on your list of fictional characters you would totally bang if you had the chance (I know I do), yes, even your best girl is problematic. It’s interesting to me that a lot of people sympathize with Asami and very few openly criticize her (so few that I’ve never seen anyone say a bad thing about her). What’s there to criticize though? The poor girl was cheated on by Mako, had her feelings disregarded by Korra, who claimed to be her friend but pursued her then-boyfriend behind her back and then made up for it by simping for her for the rest of her life? Also her mom was murdered when she was just 6 years old, her father threatened to kill her once and physically abused her, then died right after they started repairing their relationship, essentially making her an orphan at the ripe age of 22. Suffice it to say, Asami has been through it.

So, how could she be problematic, you ask? Why, of course, through the classic Bryke technique of romance progression in storylines called Kissing People Without Their Consent

To be honest, I did gloss over this with Korra, simply because there were sooo many other issues with that woman and I just couldn’t go through every single one in as much detail but that doesn’t negate how serious this whole sneak attack kissing thing is. Sure, Asami is very emotional and lonely and sort of desperate too, (it's a little sad, really) but Mako is clearly uncomfortable and completely caught off guard by the kiss. This is also the second time this happens to him in the series! There are a couple factors that might contribute to why Asami does this and acts this way, maybe Korra’s general awfulness rubbed off on her (don’t make a dirty joke) but this is still wrong.

AND that’s...pretty much it. Kissing people without their permission is a big no no, though. Not wanting to gloss over that, but Asami really is a good person who just did a not-so-great thing. Getting burned by Mako twice probably made her a little less inclined to be as forward with anyone though, and it looks like she now takes her time and is patient in her relationship with Korra. It even seems like Asami is the only person Korra is afraid to upset, as Korra does seem more gentle and calm when around her. And who knows? Maybe Asami living a life where a majority of the time she got whatever she wanted when she wanted it might have also influenced her to be more assertive or even imposing within her relationships.

If anything, those three fools getting into relationships with each other just showed how not ready they were to be in relationships in the first place and also how not okay they were.

BOLIN

Originally I titled this as “Everyone in the Krew is problematic (except Bolin)” but then I remembered that Bolin totally kissed a woman without her consent so I deleted the shit out of that!

This asshole looks genuinely pleased with himself after essentially assaulting Ginger. Not a good look.

Sure, Bolin is baby. He will always be baby to me. But that does not erase the fact that he also actively supported a fascist dictator. Not only was the kissing without consent thing bad, but there’s also that. No matter how many times people around him warned him about the fact that he was on the wrong side of things, that he was helping someone who was putting people into concentration camps...Bolin wanted to believe the best of Kuvira. He ignored obvious signs that the woman was a dictator committing human rights violations like crazy and you know, there’s gotta be a reason for that too.

Maybe Bolin wanted to feel like he was doing something good for once. When you think about it, with his role as the comic relief in the Krew, and sort of constantly being infantilized by his older brother, I wouldn’t be surprised if the man developed some insecurity in his ability to do anything good or useful for anyone without screwing it up in some way. In Kuvira’s army, it seemed like he was actually taken seriously, he felt like he was doing something that mattered. Korra had being the Avatar, Asami had her business and mindblowing philanthropy (honestly, her ability to be as charitable as she is profitable is insane) and Mako had his police work (ACAB, tho). Bolin had...the role of being a joke. A superficial actor. A former pro-bending meathead.

Bolin lived his entire life following after his brother that once they were adults and Mako finally decided to live his own life for once, it left Bolin completely lost. And lost young men are perfect recruits for fascists.

So, in conclusion, my whole reasoning behind destroying the integrity of my favorite characters is to prove a huge point. All of these characters are problematic. They have flaws, some bigger than others (looking at you, Korra. Just...wow), but ultimately, even if your fave is problematic... that’s okay. A lot of people, mostly younger people it seems, are really obsessed with being right about everything that they do and stan. And that’s a wonderful thing, so much change has come about by the younger generations calling out people who do fucked up shit, don’t want or try to improve, and get away with it. But it’s also caused a lot of people to be unforgiving and completely unwilling to acknowledge when people do improve and try to be better.

Personally, I love my problematic Krew because having issues that you’re constantly working on internally is human. It’s human to make mistakes, it’s human to grow from those mistakes. And it’s inspiring to me, who is wholly imperfect, to see myself reflected in fictional characters who aren’t perpetuating unrealistic ideals of human nature, characters who are messy, crazy and ultimately human.

As one of my favorite manga artists and queen of impeccable character creation Rumiko Takahashi once said:

“I think that perfect people are not very interesting.”

And I will always wholeheartedly agree.

[wavesmp3]

[hyunjae] the sea is yours to take

pairing: lee jaehyun x (female) reader genre: fantasy, royalty au, romance, slow burn warnings: mentions of death, some violence wc: 36k

synopsis: The Seven Sins and the Seven Gifts of the Spirit are warriors, exceptionally skilled in fighting, and they’re all dead. That is, all except you, The Gift of Fortitude. It’s an uneasy time in the kingdom with eastern Lords and northern bandits threatening a rebellion. You feel that it’s your duty to try and maintain peace within the kingdom. But when the King sends you away for an act of treason, you aren’t sure how much you can do so far from home. And it certainly doesn’t help that Jaehyun, the southern Lord of the estate you’ve been sent to, seems to hate your guts. 

a/n: and here i present another reposted fic because yolo. the original work version is here if you’re interested. this fic contains a very odd mix of tbz members and ocs so beware. also the line breaks indicate a new chapter (sort of). anyways enjoy but warning the beginning is very slow.  

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

“Lady Gift,” the words rush out of the servant’s mouth, you hum allowing him to continue, “The King asks of your presence.”

“Very well then. Tell him I’m him coming,”

And as soon as the servant had entered the equipment room, he leaves as well. Out of fear. Out of urgency. Perhaps out of both. You had assumed it was only a matter of time until the King would call for you. Afterall, murdering one of his most trusted lords who’s also a member of his council is not a crime that goes undiscussed.

You look around the training room. The walls are adorned with swords, daggers and knives. Some of your own and some of belonging to the Golden Palace. You grab a dagger off the wall and push it in your boot. It couldn’t hurt to be prepared in the case anything was to happen.

You walk along the walls, dragging out the time before your presence with the King. Your eyes and feet stop when you come across a sword, one that was gifted to you by the youngest prince himself. You take it off the wall, testing the balance of the sword in your hand. The sword is beautiful, a gold blade that shines with the brightness of the Zalazar River. The hilt of the sword is a piece of art more than it’s a handle. You think that the hilt should be gawked at in a museum instead of collecting dust at the end of a sword. Two figures emerge from the black stone of the hilt. As if they were trapped inside the stone before the maker carved them out. As if they would have been lost in the fog of the black stone if the maker hadn’t given them air to breathe. You turn the hilt and study it carefully. Prince Orindell had requested the maker carve out one of the Seven Gifts of the Spirit and one of the Seven Sins. Specifically, Prince Orindell asked for you, the Gift of Fortitude. As for the Sin, the maker chose to bring the Sin of Greed to life. You aren’t exactly sure how he did considering there are no pictures or paintings of the Sins and Gifts apart from the sculptures in the southern temples. Even then, you’re sure most of the sanctuaries that housed the sculptures were destroyed long ago. Nonetheless, the Sin of Greed emerges from the other side of the stone, and in some way the Sin of Greed looks familiar to you despite having never known Greed. Prince Orindell had excitedly gifted this to you and explained in great detail the trouble he went through to get it done. At the time, Orindell had been much younger and things had been so much simpler. You wonder what Orindell would say to you now. The thought tastes bitter in your mind.

“Did you hear that the King is waiting for you?” The familiar tones of his voice crash over you like a wave. The corners of your mouth lift.

You put the sword back carefully. “Yes, it has come to my attention,” you say as if it’s an afterthought, in a sense it is.

“Well,” he chuckles, “I guess the King will have to wait his turn.”

You rush to Juyeon and embrace him in a long hug. You can feel the longing in his arms. It warms your heart.

“I’ve missed you dearly, Juyeon.”

He grins. “I as well.”

“So much has changed since you’ve been gone.” You tell him seriously, reminded of the King you’ve kept waiting.

“I’ve heard.”

“About everything?”

“Yes, everything,” he says into your hair. The next part he whispers. “So, tell me, what warrants you murdering Lord Seth.”

Instead of answering, you pull away. “I’m afraid I must go. The King has asked for my presence.”

Juyeon’s eyes flash with a certain color of betrayal that prods at the tender parts of your heart. It pains you to see the tired bags under his eyes and the droop of his lips. You assume your face mirrors something close to his.

“Like I said, a lot has changed here Juyeon.”

“It’s actually…” he pauses, a small smile appearing on his face, “it’s actually Captain Juyeon now.”

“Oh.” You say simply. “Well congratulations Captain Juyeon. The Knights of the Holy Order are lucky to have someone as gifted as you.”

“Thank you. I learned from the best.” He smiles boyishly.

“That you did.”

You’re reminded of the lifetime before his enrollment in the army, the Knights of the Holy Order. The memory makes you sad. Despite the bleached shade to his brown hair and the dimness in his usually light eyes, it hadn’t occurred to you that perhaps a lot had changed for him too.

You’re both quiet for a moment. Until he asks, “Now about Orindell-”

You shut the door in his face.

—LORD JAEHYUN—

Jaehyun rolls out the knots in his neck and tries to stretch out the ones forming in his back. The two day journey north to the King’s City was taking longer than expected. Unlike his father, Jaehyun was not one for traveling. To Jaehyun nothing seemed particularly glamorous about the reality of riding on horseback for days and nights on end. Jaehyun was much too content with staying by the sea at the estate which Jaehyun called home. There, at his estate, the town was self-governed and quiet. There Jaehyun felt peace. Here, on his horse's saddle finally reaching a clearing in the woods, Jaehyun feels most notably irritable (although boredom and tire are a close second). Here, faced with the reality of traveling, Jaehyun understands even less why his father and Captain Younghoon put up with it. 

“We are approaching the Zalazar River," the first guard calls from the front of the party. 

"Lord Jaehyun," Younghoon says riding up from the rear, "I think you'll like this." 

And of course, Younghoon is right. Jaehyun has heard the tales about the Zalazar River. Tales of a river so deep that submarines could easily ride along the current without ever being detected. Tales of a river whose color is so magnificent it changes with the seasons. Tales of a river which seems to take flight and disappear into the eastern mountains. And although Jaehyun has yet to see the latter tale, Younghoon is right; Jaehyun loves the abyss that is the Zalazar River. 

"It's beautiful," is the only thing Jaehyun can think to say at the sight of the deep purple river. 

"Yes," Younghoon hums, "it's wonderful isn't it. I myself am partial to the yellows and dark reds of late fall. But you'll come to see how blissful the King's City looks even during this season." 

"Ah, the Golden Palace," Jaehyun mutters, gripping the reins of his horse tightly, "I'm sure spring does the city well." 

"It does." Younghoon says simply looking out towards the river as the horses step onto the Bronze Bridge. Younghoon must sense Jaehyun's discomfort because the next part he says with hesitation. "Lord Jaehyun, I think this trip will be good for you. It's time you come to see the King's City and the Golden Palace as more than just the place your father died. It's time you stop resenting it."  

And with that, the rest of the Zalazar River is crossed in silence. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

You approach the doors to the throne room alone and with heavy footsteps. You stop in front of the door, a feeing resembling fear crawling up your spine and wrapping around your neck. You shake the feeling away and remind yourself that you are the Gift of Fortitude with abilities and powers unmatched by even the best among the Knights of the Holy Order. The King and his council were only one of many regimes you have seen, that you have lived through. Without you, the King was nothing. You have nothing to fret. Yet still, something about the air in the corridor and the dagger in your boot makes you nervous. Something about the life of a Lord who was only following orders from the King makes you shiver. 

Regardless, you nod at the guard of the throne room, and he opens the door, announcing your presence to the room anyways. As you enter the room, you think the King has outdone himself this time. Archers line the perimeter of the room, tucked away in the balconies and presumably safe from you. The throne room usually hosts a party of six guards, but today, you count twenty swordsmen lined along the carpet, and skilled ones at that. You swallow a laugh at the dagger clinking against your ankles. Perhaps you should’ve slipped a knife under your skirt as well. But either way, you’re confident in your skills. If this broke out into a fight, you against the guards and archers, you would prevail. But to spare the boys and girls who stand around you, shaking in their armor, you would do everything in your power to avoid that.

“Gift,” the King calls to you from across the throne room, “do you know why you’re here?” The King has a smile as he asks it, knowing that for the first time in his rule, he has the upper hand over you. Hell, this is the first time since the rule of King Avi that any King has had power over you.

You nod, observing the assembly the King has gathered for your presence, apart from the soldiers. On the first platform at the end of the throne room, six seats are laid out for the six men and women of the King’s council. Two of the council seats remain empty while the other four house council members sitting still fear. Fear directed towards you. You assume that if they weren’t so scared of you and your ability, they would slouch in their seats with indifference. You’ve never taken a liking to the King’s council anyways. On the next raised platform behind the council seats, are the thrones of the King and his Princes. Prince Peter’s throne, to the left of the King’s, is empty. The sight makes you worry. As the inner court likes to say, the eldest son had ‘left’ the Golden Palace and the King’s City at the end of winter. You have yet to hear any word from Peter and can only pray to the Gods that his plans are going well. Prince Roen, the second prince, sits on the right of his father. The prince had only just returned from his campaign in the east that previous night, but despite the tire evident in Roen’s face, he smiles sympathetically at you. Next to Roen is Prince Orindell who avoids your eyes so easily, in a way only the youngest prince is capable of. His lips are all but a tight line on his face, and he grips the arm of his throne hard, his knuckles turning white. And just for the slightest of moments, Orindell meets your eyes, but as quickly as they're brought up to you face, he rips his gaze away. Despite that, you still manage to catch the dark shade of hurt and heartbreak that swims within his eyes. And it manages to replace all of your previous nerves with a familiar shade of hurt and a different one of guilt. Guilt for hurting Orindell the way you did, the way you had to. You push away the thoughts and memories and refocus on the problem at hand.

The King, differently from the others in the room, sits up straight and attentive. His smile taunts you like a dog, holding your freedom above your nose as you jump through hoops for him. You hate the man that sits before you. His throne is flashier, his rings are bigger, and his profits are lower. He is reckless and foolish. He doesn't understand the teetering balance of his own kingdom, of his entire world. He seeks out matters he doesn't understand and toys with those that should not be disturbed. And above all, the man seated before you should have never inherited the crown.

"Yes Lord King," you say, finally answering his question. "I know why you have asked for me today. Although, you need not ask such useless questions." You pause for a moment, your next words simmering on the tip of your tongue. "I miss your father for that reason, he wasn't so persistently foolish." 

The King scowls, and the council members roll their eyes while both of the present princes hide snickers. 

"You should be more mindful of the treason that leaves your mouth, Gift." The King tells you, his confidence dented but his smile as evil as ever. "The blood of one of my most trusted Lords stains your hands, and if you continue such pathetic, pointless defiance, your blood will stain the floors of this room."

You hum. "Perhaps, but you underestimate me, Lord King, greatly. And if you think you know the extent of my skill, then let me say that for the entirety of your small life, you have never seen me fight with the intention to kill. If the men and women you have assembled for me attack, you will be sitting over their dead bodies."

“And then what? You’ll have taken the lives of even more innocent people.” And at this you falter. At this, you’re forced to give the King credit because he knows where to land his blows. He knows how to keep your freedom so close you can smell it, but still far enough so that you can’t have it. But you gulp down your guilt and continue regardless.

"I have killed more men in my life then you know in yours. I will live just as I do now." And despite the conviction with which you say it, you know the King is not fooled by your empty words. You meet Roen's eyes, and he nods. You take it as a vote of confidence. "Either way Lord King, I pay you no debt. I owe you nothing. My own disdain for traveling is the only thing keeping me at your court." 

"Yes, that may be the case," the King chuckles rubbing his ring clad knuckles against his chin, "so then leave, Gift. Leave this court and never return." 

The breath is knocked out of your lungs. This, you did not expect. 

"Father, you can't-" Orindell blurts, standing up from his throne staring sadly at you. He shakes his head, attempting to cover his own selfish intent with reason. "Father, we need the Gift of Fortitude. Your hold on this kingdom is weak without her power. If you lose Fortitude, you risk losing the kingdom." 

“Eh,” one of the female council members speaks up, looking less afraid of you now, “let the Gift of Fortitude go. A monster like her has no business in a King’s court.”

The words strike you across the cheek, specifically the word ‘monster’. 

“You!” Orindell shouts at the council member, rage contorting his face. “How dare—"

Roen cuts Orindell off, before he can rampage further. "Father, Orindell is right. I've met with the Lords in the far east. The failure of the west harvest this season has made them restless. If it weren't for Fortitude, a rebellion from the east would be an even more pressing issue than it already is." Roen's eyes are in a panic, the previous tire eradicated from his face. "Think rationally father."

"I am thinking rationally!" The King booms, sending your gut straight to your throat and the princes back to their thrones. The council members sit motionless once again. Perhaps out of fear of the King this time as well. "But if the Gift of Fortitude does not wish to be banished from this court, then so be it." You exhale. "However, I will not have you and your treason-filled mouth infiltrating my court." The King spares a seething glare at Peter's empty throne. "You will still be a member of this court, but you will not stay at the Golden Palace until I permit your return. Lord Jaehyun and Captain Younghoon from the southern lands are on their way to the Golden Palace as we speak. They are to arrive later today."  The name Jaehyun sounds familiar, but you can't quite recall where you’ve heard it before. "You will live out your sentence there, at his estate." And then it hits you. You had heard of Lord Jaehyun’s name before. Jaehyun’s father was a regular visitor to the Golden Palace before he fell sick and died in the palace infirmaries several years ago. 

 “But—” Orindell begins before his father cuts him off.

"And if you refuse, then I will personally see to the completion of the act you murdered Lord Seth to prevent."

You know now, with the King’s final threat, that you must hold out on your freedom. Even if the King’s threat is a bluff, the risk of it alone takes priority. With one last deep exhale, you conform.

You spare the princes’ thrones one last glance before reaching into your boot and dropping the dagger you had tucked inside. The dagger hits the stone floor with an obnoxious clatter. The sound of your acceptance echoes throughout the walls hauntingly. You exit the throne room and head straight to your personal quarters without another word.

***

You weep for hours and hours. You weep for this kingdom. You weep for Orindell, for Juyeon, for Roen, for Peter. You weep for the King and his foolishness. You weep for the power of the Gifts that had been bestowed upon you all those years ago, and for the sheer fact that you are a Gift despite never asking for it. But most of all, you weep for the freedom you can’t have as long as the current king lives.

You weep until you’re sure you can’t have any tears left to shed. You weep until you feel dead.

 That night, you have dinner in your dining room with Prince Roen. He tells you about his recent campaigns, his successes and losses. He spends a little too long telling you about the daughter of one of the better eastern lords. He smiles as he mentions her, playing absentmindedly with his food. 

"I was starting to wonder why you were taking so many trips to the east." You say with a playful smile that feels foreign on your lips. "Do you intend to marry her Roen?" 

 A blush creeps onto his cheeks as his eyes meet yours in shock. "No, no," he shakes his head vigorously, "it isn't like that." But then as he pokes a carrot with his fork, Roen's lips turn down in a frown. "I can't imagine someone who distrusts the monarchy so much even considering a prince anyways."

You hum, recognizing the lingering in his movements and the longing in his voice as something particular to youth, something hidden in your own memories, and something you beg to forget. You swallow your thoughts down and focus on comforting the boy in front of you.

"I'm sure that's not something a few more trips to the east can't change, Roen. Afterall, you are known for your persuasive nature." He snorts. "It also helps that no one distrusts the monarchy more than the members of it. Perhaps if the lady were to know of your true intentions, then you wouldn't think it so bizarre to ask for her hand. I'm afraid you underestimate how many women would love to be a princess, even to a palace like this." 

He smiles again, “Thank you."  He pushes the carrot into his mouth.

Dinner continues in a comfortable silence, the only ambiance being the crackling of torches along the wall and the fire in the hearth. Roen pauses for a second swallowing his food carefully. Then he looks over at you tentatively before opening his mouth to speak. You cut him off before he gets the chance.

"Roen please, I don't need your pity." 

He chuckles and murmurs something you don't exactly catch. "I was just going to say that I've been to Lord Jaehyun's holding. You'll come to see just how beautiful and picturesque the south is, and I think you'll take a liking to Captain Younghoon." You vaguely knew of Captain Younghoon. He was the youngest ever Captain of the Knights of the Holy Order, second only to the Commander, but retired at a young age. Lord Jaehyun on the other hand was a complete mystery to you. You knew nothing of him only that he was from the south and that he was his father’s son. 

"Have you ever seen the sea?" Roen asks. You shake your head. "Well if you're standing by the shore, the water of the sea continues on into the horizon for what seems like forever. The water stretches so far out and in all directions. From the shore, it appears like if you travelled far out enough, you'd fall off the edge of the world-"

"I've seen paintings." You snipe.

"Yes, but it doesn't compare to the real thing. The sea," he trails off, a dazed off look in his eyes, "is something else entirely." 

You can’t help but smile at the bliss Roen radiates at the mere thought of the sea. “I guess I’ll be seeing for myself soon enough.” You think the world could use a few more like Roen. Even in the darkest of moments, he remains a ray of light. “You remind me so much of your grandfather, Roen.”

His eyebrows rise, and then a saddened look crosses his eyes. "He's always talked to highly of, even by the eastern Lords. But what was he like?" 

You hesitate, thinking back to the times before you had returned to the Golden Palace. "Perhaps not as clever as your father. But kind and empathetic. He possessed a certain understanding of this kingdom although at times, he could be impulsive. At the end of the day, your grandfather was a good king, and you've managed to inherit all his best traits." 

"Were you close to him?" 

"No, not while he was king. At that time, I wasn't closely involved with the King's court. I only returned because of your mother." There's another silence. You spend it immersed in your memories.

Finally, Roen speaks. “Do me a favor and enjoy the sea.”

He stands up and presses a kiss to your forehead in goodbye. Then he leaves the dining rooms, sending in a servant to clean up your dinner. 

***

There’s a knock on your bedroom doors later that night. You’re sitting in front of the fire with your knees pulled up against your chest when it happens.

“Who is it?” You ask tiredly.

"It's me." You recognize his voice immediately. And if it weren't for the hours you spent weeping this morning, you probably would've cried at the sound of his voice alone. You didn’t expect Orindell to come and bid you farewell, but somehow the fact that he does makes it all the more real. 

You push yourself off the rug and move towards the door. Your hand hovers over the doorknob, but after another thought, you drop your hand, deciding to make due with conversation through the door.

“Yes, Orindell,” you call through the door, “what is it?”

You listen as he stumbles over his words for a second before falling silent. When his voice resurfaces, it’s small and scattered. “Do you hate me so much as to not open the door?”

You sigh. In a loud and exaggerated way so that you know he hears it. Orindell means well. Deep down, you know so much. But his words are a paint brush coloring a lousy shade of blame all over you; as if any of the issues that have come between you two is your fault. You suppose if you tried confronting him again, he would try to tell you that it is. “Prince Orindell, have at least enough dignity to recognize that I’m doing this for you.”

He exhales harshly in acceptance. You settle for it. There’s more silence, and after a few minutes, you begin to think that he’s left. But when he speaks up again, he proves you wrong. “Roen was saying how he reminds you of our grandfather.”

You inhale sharply. Conversing with Orindell had come to this point. To the point where you both had to speak lightly and with low voices as to not anger each  other. To the point where you both had to tiptoe around topics as to not bring up something the other did not wish to speak of. To the point where you couldn't even talk about what mattered. 

“Indeed, he does.” 

“Then…” Orindell hesitates. You hear a small tap on the door, “do I remind you of anyone?”

You smile. His question reminded you of a time before his confession, of a time when conversation with Orindell was simple and delightful, of a time when Orindell was a child. You let the question sit in the air for a second despite knowing exactly who Orindell reminds you of. You think of it every time he smiles or laughs or does anything at all, for all his mannerisms and all his traits remind you exactly of her. He reminds you of her in an obvious almost flashy way, in a way you couldn’t possibly ignore. In a way that’s not as subtle as Roen. In a way, that makes Orindell so dear to you. “You remind me of your mother, Orindell.” Your voice softens. “You are so very much like your mother.” 

He hums, satisfied with your response despite already knowing it. “Do you miss her?”

“Everyday.” 

“I wish I knew her.”

There is no pain in his voice as he says it, and yet you feel so much pain when he does. “She would’ve loved you.” Then you pause before saying the next part with a laugh dancing under your voice.  “In fact—well don’t tell the other two—but she probably would’ve loved you the most.” 

Orindell laughs. You relish in the sound. Then after a moment, he asks: “How about Peter then? Who does he remind you of?”

You falter, not quite able to put your finger on who Peter reminds you of. If not someone, then there is something the eldest prince reminds you of. Something like a memory, but there’s a fog in your mind that halts you from knowing any more. And right now, with Peter long gone, the memory seems so faint; you aren’t even sure it’s real.

“I’m not sure,” is all you can say. Orindell hums as if he wasn’t really waiting for your answer anyways. You are quick to push down the annoyance that bubbles from it.

“Do you wish to leave?” He asks, in a voice that makes you believe he was scared to do so.

“Of course not.” You deny, perhaps a little more harshly than necessary. You try not to think too much about your upcoming departure from the Golden Palace. You fail.

Orindell waits a long moment. But when he speaks again, the words come falling out of his mouth. “We could get married. And then you won’t have to leave. It’ll fix everything, and father won’t be able to send you away.” 

“Orindell,” you hiss, but you want to rage. And in this moment, you hate how much he reminds you of his mother. Because just like her, his love makes him stupid. His love clouds his judgement. And in this moment, you want to yell at him and scream because you do not need someone you care for as much as you do Orindell telling you the same foolish things the people you think so lowly of do. You do not need Orindell persisting that a marriage will fix everything. You do not need Orindell, even less do you need his romantic interest in you. But you want Orindell, as a friend. And you have no wish to leave the Golden Palace in yet another argument with him. So, for that reason, and that one alone, you swallow your rage, and it burns all the way down your throat.

“Leave Orindell.”

“Not until-”

“Just go,” you seethe, the anger seeping from between your teeth. You don't wait for a response, storming to the other side of the room, near the fire. You stand by it for a second, the heat only adding to the flame burning inside you. And when you’ve had enough, your anger bursting from its seams, you kick the neat stack of firewood beside you. All seven logs go flying, one of them dents the wall. You focus on your breathing.

There’s another knock at the door. “Orindell, I said go!” You yell whipping the door open to come face to face with a wide-eyed Juyeon. “Oh, Juyeon,” you say in shock. 

“Bad time?” He asks with raised shoulders and the faintest hint of a smile. 

You huff, ignoring the urge to hit him over the head. “Just come in.”

“Roen told me about your sentence.” He begins, sitting down in an armchair while you go back to kneeling by the fire. 

“Roen sure is talking plenty tonight.” You mutter into the orange glow.

“Roen always talks plenty,” Juyeon hums, amused but calm.

Juyeon, in himself, is an epitome to his upbringing. He was only a young boy and a palace servant when you took him in and taught him how to fight. To your surprise, Juyeon turned out to be an excellent fighter. Before you had relieved the orphan boy of his petty debts to the King, Juyeon was constantly riled up. Always looking for a fight but losing once he did. He was angry at the world, and for good reason, but looking at him now, Juyeon contains none of the anger that consumed him as a boy. You suppose you can thank him joining the Knights of the Holy Order for that. You knew firsthand how fighting in the way that the Knights do, even when there is no war, changes a person. Afterall, fighting in the Holy Wars despite your age and disinterest in conflict, had changed you in such a way that when you visited your father afterwards, he didn’t even recognize you. But you think Juyeon, unlike what your father thought of you, has changed for the better. He had come back on his breaks more mature and grown. He had become a friend to you despite the manner in which your relationship had begun. Juyeon was the first true friend you had since the princes' late mother. 

And after a while of you glaring at the fire and Juyeon crossing and uncrossing his legs, he finally speaks up again. "Don't blame yourself for Orindell's inability to control himself and his emotions." 

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you to be speaking ill of your friend and more importantly the prince." You bite back, stubbornly refusing his comfort. 

He scoffs. "Don't be so dense. You're my friend too." 

There's a silence and you reach your hand out to hover over the fire. "Did you know?"

"About Orindell and you?" 

You nod although there is no 'Orindell and you'. There is only Orindell's foolishness and your reason. 

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and holding his chin in his palm. "Yes," he says with such simplicity it irks you. "In my defense, I thought you knew." 

"You'd think after all these years of living, I would be more in tune with these things, but no," you say rather lamely, "I'm still just as clueless as I was." 

"It appears even time can't change that." Juyeon jokes. You laugh for the first time that day, and it feels like you can finally breathe again. 

"Have you heard any word from Peter?" The question seems to bring you both back to reality. And the question, or perhaps reality, drags Juyeon's lips down and draws his gaze towards the flames. 

He scratches a spot behind his head. "Not a word.”

“I’ve been sending him Risals.” 

“And…?” Juyeon asks, hopeful.

“They come back empty. He doesn’t send me anything back.” 

Juyeon sighs, and you can’t decide if it sounds more tired or sad. “But if he's following his plan then he should be at the Nomads' Land by now." 

"That's only if he was able to find the Nomads' Land.”  You rub your temple thinking and overthinking all the aspects of Peter's plan. On a hunch and a forgotten memory, you had advised Peter to head north to the Giant Forest. Specifically, you had advised Peter to find the Nomads’ Land within the Giant Forest. The Nomads have always been very private people but even more so after the rule of King Avi, who ruled over the kingdom during the Holy Wars. No one has even seen a Nomad since let alone their Lands. There are no maps, no stories, nothing. On top of that, the Nomads’ have never been known for their kindness to strangers. "I feel as if I've let him go on an impossible quest."

Juyeon shakes his head, a crease running through his forehead. “Peter decided to go himself. He sketched up the plans himself. If he thought he could do it, there must be something he knows that we don’t.”

You nod even though Juyeon sounds as if he’s convincing himself of it as much as he’s convincing you. But you know, there is some truth to Juyeon's words. Peter is more than competent to do what he set out to do. As he grew, the eldest prince always found new ways to surprise you with his skill. After the Holy Wars and the deaths of all the Sins and Gifts apart from yourself, your fighting skill went unmatched. That was until Peter. Peter trained under you by the request of his mother and to the disdain of his father, and as Peter grew, so did his skill. By the time Peter had aged into a man, he became a better opponent than you had seen in ages. His brute strength making up for what he lacked in skill. But there’s something else about Peter as well, perhaps the same quality that puts a fog in your mind and reminds you of a memory you can’t remember. That part of him makes you wonder if there is something else that eases your worries. Whatever quality of Peter that perplexes you, is the same one that proves Peter is capable of completing his task to overthrow the King, to overthrow his father. You can only hope your advice to ask the Nomads gets him far enough to do it.

"You're right," you admit, "Peter is capable. I'm just worried. It all..." you hesitate struggling to find the right words, "It all makes my head ache." 

Juyeon sits back in the armchair, his brows furrowed and appearing to be deep in thought. He opens his mouth suddenly as if to speak, yet nothing comes out. He seems to be overcome with the same loss of words as you.

“I hate to ask this—”

“Then don’t.” 

“—but why did you send Peter to the Nomads’ Land?”

You still. The same fog from before overcoming your mind once again. “I can’t even begin to explain, Juyeon, I—”

“Try,” you meet his eyes, they look darker in this light or perhaps it’s his own confusion and hopeless need to understand that makes his eyes turn to the color of bark after a thunderstorm, “please.”

You do.

“I’ve told you before, Juyeon. I  struggle to remember life before the Holy Wars.” You pause, taking a moment to collect and retrieve your thoughts from the thick fog consuming your mind. You come back empty handed.

“It’s almost as if life never existed before the Holy Wars.” You say slowly. “I’ve forgotten the way life was before that. The way life was before I was the Gift of Fortitude. But sometimes, just barely, I get a sense of a memory. As if whatever made me forget is wearing off. As if it’s weakening.” You take another break, dropping your head in your hands. You can feel a headache coming. “These memories, they come and go, lasting only for the moment they appear. But when I was speaking with Peter that night, something about him or something about our conversation brought this memory to me. And I…” You trail off, struggling to remember the conversation you had with Peter before he took off.

Juyeon stands up from the armchair and joins you on the floor. His movements are frantic, but the message they send is clear: they scream desperation. “I know it’s difficult to remember, but please try as best you can. We were so close last time.”

This makes you stop. You release your head from your hands and look back at Juyeon quizzingly. “Last time?” You repeat in disbelief.

He grabs your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “Focus. You talk of a memory. A memory to do with the Nomads and your life before the Holy Wars. What did you remember that day with Peter? Why did you send him to the Nomads’ Lands?”

You don’t even hear him, your head suddenly splitting with pain. “When did we speak about this before?” You ask, helplessly wondering how you possibly could have forgotten an entire conversation.

“The memory,” Juyeon emphasizes once more, “what was the memory?”

“Juyeon, please,” you beg, feeling a tear you hadn’t even noticed roll down your chin, “let it go. I don’t remember.”

His entire body seems to sigh in defeat. “I’m sorry,” he mutters before letting go of your face. Your mind turns white with fog the moment he lets go. You  immediately drop your head into your hands again. The pain in your head so intense you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from crying out. Eventually, you taste blood.

“I’m sorry.” Juyeon mumbles into your hair. You hadn’t even realized he was embracing you. “I wish it didn’t have to hurt so much to remember.”

You try to tell him it’s like a curse but the words get swallowed by another surge of pain.

He helps you into your bed, and it makes you feel as old as you are. He whispers another apology before leaving your room. 

And like a spell, the fog in your mind devours your entire body in a deep sleep.

—LORD JAEHYUN—

"In the name of the Gods, we offer this prayer. Bestow upon us the knowledge of the Elders to live in harmony with our neighbors. By bathing in your everlasting light and glory, may we go in peace.” Jaehyun prays although his mind is far from the memorized passages that leaves from his lips. The palace temple is modern and beautiful, but different compared to the traditional southern temples he’s used to. But even that, Jaehyun can’t focus on. No, instead, Jaehyun troubles himself with the events of this morning. He awoke exhausted and aching after a long day of riding. But despite his tire, he was to meet the Gift of Fortitude this morning with breakfast in your personal dining room. It was awkward to say the least, with Jaehyun and Younghoon unsure and timid and you holding your head in your hands, complaining of a headache to a servant in hushed tones. Yet, Jaehyun sits in the palace temple thinking and overthinking how you, the Gift of Fortitude, looked so undeniably human. 

Jaehyun sneaks a glance. You’re seated next to him, but you look as if you’re somewhere else altogether. Your eyes are sewn shut and your lips are held tightly in a line. He wouldn’t have thought you to be so religious. Hell, Jaehyun wouldn’t have thought anyone north of the Zalazar River to be religious, but with the way you sit, concentrated on the prayers, religious is the only thing Jaehyun can think of to describe you. 

The King had sent a message to Jaehyun’s southern estate at the beginning of the week asking for Jaehyun’s and Captain Younghoon’s presence at the Golden Palace immediately. The King didn’t bother including any details. Jaehyun and Younghoon were left to speculate what business he could possibly have with them. With Jaehyun, a southern Lord who never involved himself with the politics of the kingdom, and with Younghoon, a retired Captain of the Knights of the Holy Order. It certainly doesn’t help that Lord Jaehyun is known to harbor a dislike towards the King. 

But now, as Jaehyun and Younghoon walk the ornate halls of the undeniably breathtaking Golden Palace alongside the Gift of Fortitude, Jaehyun wonders even more why the King has asked for them.

“Lord King I present to you Lady Gift of Fortitude, Lord Jaehyun, and Captain Younghoon." The guard announces to the King's throne room as the three of you enter. The throne room, Jaehyun notices, is just as lavish as the rest of the palace, if not more. Five of the six counsel seats are filled. Prince Roen and Prince Orindell sit attentively at their thrones, but Prince Peter's throne is empty. Jaehyun finds the sight odd, especially since the heir to the throne is known to be closely involved with the King's affairs and even more because Prince Peter is a close friend of you, as are all the Princes. 

Despite that, the King wastes no time. He says that you wish to visit the southern lands, and offers Jaehyun's estate as a place for you to stay. Jaehyun assumes there is more to the request than the King lets on but accepts nonetheless, and the three of you are ushered out of the throne room almost as soon as you’re brought in. 

Jaehyun, Younghoon, and you walk the halls aimlessly after the dreaded presence with the King which admittedly was briefer and more passive than Jaehyun had imagined. 

“I apologize for the circumstances, Lord Jaehyun and Captain Younghoon. I’m afraid I had little choice in the matter. I just wished the King hadn’t handled matters so hurriedly.” You tell them. 

“It’s quite alright, Lady Gift,” Younghoon affirms, glancing at Jaehyun as if expecting him to say something, but Jaehyun stays silent. “I find it a shame although,” Younghoon says to cover Jaehyun’s silence, “that there were so many missing in the King’s close court this morning.” 

“Yes.” You respond simply. 

“If I may, where is Prince Peter? I’ve heard you’re close to all three Princes.”

“You heard correctly, Captain Younghoon.” Then you pause. Jaehyun closely observes the way you carefully choose your next words. “Prince Peter had some personal matters to take care of. He’s taken a sabbatical of sorts.” 

"Odd that there was no royal notice of his sabbatical," Younghoon says in an even but skeptical tone. 

"Yes, Prince Peter is nearly as impulsive as his father," you cringe slightly when you say it, as if the words hurt.

And it's evident in the way you deflect the question, that there's something more to Prince Peter's absence. Something the King's court has chosen to cover up and ignore. Jaehyun knew just how impulsive the King could be, and for that reason, Jaehyun suspects that Prince Peter has snuck out of the palace, but then with another look at your scornful face, Jaehyun suspects something different. Prince Peter must have been sent away by his father himself. The realization takes a moment to sink in. 

Younghoon clears his throat. “And then what about Lord Seth, the sixth member of the King’s court?”

You stop walking altogether, looking down at your feet with furrowed brows. You look as if you’ve forgotten something. Jaehyun and Younghoon stop walking as well.

“You haven’t heard?” You question so quietly that Jaehyun barely hears it.

Younghoon tilts his head, “Heard what?”

You bite your lip, and look off to the side. You open your mouth once, but then close it again after. Jaehyun thinks, as mad as it sounds, that you, a Gift of the Spirit, look a little nervous.

Jaehyun takes a step forward. “What is it Lady Gift?” He asks, breaking his silence.

You shake your head once and then look up at Lord Jaehyun and Captain Younghoon with steady eyes. “Lord Seth was murdered.” You state with an eerie simplicity. You hesitate before adding the next part. “And I was the one who killed him.”

Jaehyun was wrong. It was not nerves that made you hesitate. It was guilt.  

“Well then, I just need to take care of a few more things before we leave. I’ll meet you both at the stables.”

And you’re off before Jaehyun and Younghoon can even comprehend what you just said.

 ***

Jaehyun waits for you and Younghoon in the stables. He tends to his horse deep in thought. 

Jaehyun hadn't been sure of the nature of your prospective visit to his estate. But now with your murder confession, it's clear you are being sent away as a punishment. You’re more akin to the stories and rumors than Jaehyun had wanted to believe. A monster lurking on the palace grounds as one of the Seven Gifts of the Spirit under the pretense that you mysteriously switched sides and fought with the Seven Sins during the Holy Wars. A monster lurking within a human body with an uncontrollable power that should be stopped, contained. 

Jaehyun doesn’t agree with all of it, but he’s not above some of the notions either. Before the Holy Wars, the Seven Gifts of the Spirit were praised as highly as the Seven Sins. The two groups worked in harmony as protectors of humanity. However, for reasons unknown to the people, the Seven Sins and Seven Gifts of the Spirit began fighting which escalated into the Holy Wars. The kingdom took the side of the Sins making the Gifts an enemy to the nation. After the war, the Gifts were not praised as highly as they once were. In fact, the Seven Gifts of the Spirit were not praised at all. All seven Sins and six of the Gifts perished in the Holy Wars. You, the only one who had survived, shouldered the blame of the Holy Wars. You, the Gift of Fortitude, became a pariah.

Although Jaehyun hates himself for doing so, he can’t help but think that perhaps you do have too much power. Power that is unmatched without another living Sin or Gift. Power that goes unchecked. If the Gift of Fortitude set out to kill, Jaehyun doubts there is much that could stop you. Lord Seth’s murder had gone unannounced and relatively unpunished. Jaehyun wonders if Lord Seth was an isolated example or just another among the many whose lives were put in your hands. 

But then when Jaehyun thinks back to the figure praying diligently beside him in the temple just hours ago and the person who complained of something as mundane as a headache this morning, it doesn’t appear to make much sense. If Jaehyun had not known you to be the Gift of Fortitude, he would’ve never fathomed that you’d even hurt a fly.  

“That’s a very beautiful horse you have there, Lord Jaehyun,” you say suddenly, bringing to Jaehyun’s attention your presence in the stables. 

 Jaehyun nods with a polite yet strained smile. “Yes, he was gifted to me by my father.” 

“Ah,” you mutter. And for a second, Jaehyun thinks he sees your face turn to a frown. But before he can look any further, you continue. “Mines is a river horse.” You brush through the mane of the horse in the stall next to Jaehyun’s. “I found him a while back by the Zalazar River.” 

Jaehyun doesn’t say anything in response. He begins attaching his saddles and bags to his horse instead. He watches the affection with which you care for your horse. He wonders how you’re able to act so calmly after admitting to murder not too long ago. Jaehyun thinks your dismissal and nonchalance negates any trust he might’ve held for you.  

He clears his throat. He makes sure it’s loud and obtrusive. He makes sure the I don’t trust you is clear. 

“Lord Jaehyun,” you begin, not even bothering to take your eyes off your horse, “I understand you may be upsetted by and skeptical of my actions, but I kindly ask that you respect them nonetheless. I hope you come to see that I had my reasons. Good reasons. Ones that I am unable to share with you.” You pause for a second as a servant brings in a bird Jaehyun doesn’t recognize and sets it by your feet. You continue as soon as the servant disappears behind the stable doors. “I am no stranger to fear and hate directed towards me. But seeing as I am to be staying at your estate for the foreseeable future, I ask that you wait and get to know me before you make any rash assumptions concerning me.” You take a step past Jaehyun so that you stand beside him facing the opposite stable door. You turn your head, and Jaehyun shivers at the way your breath hits his neck. You speak directly into his ear, voice no louder than a whisper. “It’s best you realize sooner rather than later that we have the same enemy here.” 

Jaehyun understands what you are implicating, the notion alone bringing a sudden heat to his cheeks. He doesn’t dare to meet your eyes. But you stare at Jaehyun until he makes some acknowledgment of your speech. You’re gone the moment he does, leaving a cloud of dust and dirt in the space you used to occupy. 

Jaehyun is left stunned. He can’t even acknowledge the palace servant that re enters the stable to finish preparing your horse. He’s only brought out of mind when a familiar heavy hand rests upon his shoulder. 

“We’re ready when you are Jaehyun,” Younghoon says, a laugh dancing under his words. 

Jaehyun groans. “How much of that did you hear?” 

Younghoon releases Jaehyun’s shoulder. “Enough,” he hums with an enthusiastic nod. 

“So you think it’s excusable then?” Jaehyun questions, hurt that Younghoon seems to be taking your side over his. “Are you willing to excuse murder too?” 

Younghoon’s quiet for a moment, but when he does speak again, he does so seriously. Jaehyun listens intently. “It’s not that I’m excusing murder Jaehyun. It’s that I’m willing to believe there is more to this story than we are hearing. I’m willing to trust the Gift of Fortitude over the King.” 

Jaehyun shakes his head. “I just can’t understand how everyone is looking past the life that has been lost. How can you accept a crime as grave as murder?”

Younghoon chuckles darkly. “I spent the better part of my life making murderers out of men and women. I made a murderer out of myself as Captain of the Knights of the Holy Order. I stay sane because I believe that I led knights to their deaths for good reason. If I did not accept the murders I’ve committed, I would have gone mad a long time ago. Sometimes Jaehyun, a crime is only as grave as its motivation.”

Jaehyun is silent, taking his time to understand what Younghoon means. He returns his attention to his horse. 

“What have you been doing all morning?” Jaehyun asks, deciding he needs more time to process than the moment allows. Younghoon isn’t bothered by the shift in conversation. 

“Ah, I had many things to discuss with Prince Orindell. You know, former Captain of the Knights to current Commander.”

“Anything worth sharing?” 

Younghoon hums. “Not much, although he is an excellent Commander, Prince Orindell,” Younghoon clarifies, “even despite his young age. What they say is true, he possesses a gift for...”

Jaehyun nods, listening half-heartedly to Younghoon for Jaehyun has no interest in the subjects of armies and battles. 

Eventually, Younghoon wears himself out with talk of the current state of the Knights, the supply chain routes, their management of northern bandits and uneasy eastern Lords, and whatever else Younghoon can think to comment on. And by the time he does, the horses are prepped and ready to go. The small, mismatched party of Lord Jaehyun, Captain Younghoon, and the Gift of Fortitude begin the two day journey south. 

The journey is quiet and tense. The only conversation coming from Younghoon and you making small talk about the weather and the shameful fail of the western harvest. They take rest at the Bronze Bridge. 

The Zalazar River is now a blood red color. Younghoon comments on how it’s a little early for the river to take such a dark color. He also mentions that this color is one of his favorites. 

“My favorite,” you begin, leaning over the edge to stare at the water, “is the blue that appears during the transition from winter to spring.”

They all, including the guards, stare at you, dumbfounded. You notice a second too late and turn your head towards them slowly. 

“What?” You breathe, and Jaehyun laughs when he realizes you’re being serious. He laughs at the notion that your favorite color of an ever-changing river is the color of all bodies of water.   

“In that case, Lady Gift,” Younghoon chuckles, “I think you’ll take a great liking to the sea.” 

They mount their horses and cross the rest of the Bronze Bridge and blood red river a little less tensely. 

***

They take rest at an inn for the night. Jaehyun finds how empty the inn is odd considering it is at the center of this town off the main road. Even if most of the rooms were unoccupied, the dining rooms of inns were always full at nights with the town’s people engrossed in conversation over a pint of beer. But tonight, with the guards resting upstairs, the inn’s dining room is mostly empty. Three tables are occupied and one of those three are occupied by Jaehyun, Younghoon, and you. Jaehyun remembers what you said about fear and hate being directed towards you. He starts to wonder how often you empty a room with fear, intentional or not.

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

You feel bad. It’s been so long since you’ve left the King’s City, that you’ve forgotten how the people outside the Golden Palace react to you. You have forgotten that most people don’t want to eat dinner and play drinking games with a Gift of the Spirit near. You make a mental note to cover up more next time you’re out. Then after a quick glance at the innkeeper behind the bar, you make another note to reimburse her for the money she must’ve lost thanks to you.  

You’re aware of the way Jaehyun squints at you, untrusting. The southern Lord hadn’t appeared to be so headstrong and stubborn when you met him this morning. But as Lord Jaehyun stares daggers at you, you guess that your first impression of him was wrong. Still, you’re tired of petty conflict. You want to help Jaehyun understand your motives without involving him in the palace’s politics. You want to make peace. 

You exhale sharply. 

“Lord Jaehyun,” his eyes widen when you address him, “Captain Younghoon, I know you must have many reasons to distrust me.” Jaehyun scoffs. You ignore it. “But I’d like to make peace with you both. I’m afraid I might not be able to answer all of your questions but perhaps there’s some that I can.” 

You feel uneasy. You aren’t one to make an effort to get someone to like you or trust you. And yet, you find yourself in front of Lord Jaehyun and Captain Younghoon nearly begging for their acceptance. 

“I have a question,” Younghoon begins, sitting up slightly. You nod. “What kind of bird do you travel with? I’ve never seen a bird like that before.” 

“Oh, the bird. It’s my personal Risal.” You say simply. You aren’t surprised to see the shock on their faces. Risals were extremely rare and even more expensive. They’re said to have been blessed by the Gods as messenger birds. That of course is the only explanation for how Risals are able to send any message anywhere and to anyone in no more than a day even if the one sending the message does not know where to find the one receiving. 

“My Gods, how in the world did you get your hands on a Risal?” Younghoon exclaims, like a little kid waiting for sweets. 

You smile. “It was a gift from the princes’ late mother, Roe.” The reminder makes your smile turn sad. Lord Jaehyun notices. 

“Are they as untraceable as they say?” 

You nod. “Tracking a Risal is impossible. It’s almost as if they disappear into thin air when they take flight.” 

“You’re very lucky.” Younghoon tells you with a laugh, and you let yourself believe that you’ve made some progress. Lord Jaehyun, however, doesn’t let you believe so for long. 

“I have a question.” Lord Jaehyun implores, bringing himself out of his silence. His voice is stern and a little cold. Younghoon looks uneasy. You beckon for him to continue anyways. “What exactly do you possess as a Gift of the Spirit?” His voice is filled with distrust, but when you meet his eyes, you're surprised to find that they aren’t as cold as his voice. 

“Jaehyun—“ Younghoon starts. 

“How do you mean?” You encourage him to continue. You know what he wants to hear. He wants to hear how you’re a killer by nature. He wants you to explain just how deadly you are. He wants you to prove his distrust. 

“What are your powers, Gift?” 

You flinch at the name. You flinch at the question. Both of which you hate. And yet, you’re no stranger to either. But you’ve already decided to make peace, and so peace you’ll make. 

“As you know, in ancient times Maratelli the archangel gave 14 roles to humans. The Seven Sins: Greed, Anger, Pride, Lust, Sloth, Gluttony, and Envy. And the Seven Gifts of the Spirit: Wisdom, Understanding, Counsel, Knowledge, Piety, Fear, and,” you pause to look at Lord Jaehyun directly, “Fortitude. The Sins and Gifts were given to the people as protectors. As humanity’s fighters. To answer your question Lord Jaehyun, I am an exceptionally skilled fighter. I was made and crafted by the Gods to fight for humans and protect them in ways they cannot. But the power is not almighty, the Seven Sins and Gifts are slow healers. Even small injuries can leave us bedridden for weeks.” 

Lord Jaehyun wastes no time, jumping into the next question. “Are you immortal?” 

“No.” 

“So you can die?” 

“Yes.” 

“By old age?” 

“No.” 

“Then how?” 

You wait a beat. “By giving up.” You don't explain any further. 

You had hoped to make peace with Lord Jaehyun tonight. Perhaps you had hoped for too much. 

--LORD JAEHYUN-- There’s a familiar tense silence while riding the next day. They reach Jaehyun’s estate by late afternoon, earlier than expected. 

You request to be taken straight to your quarters. 

“You’re acting strange.” Younghoon mutters, watching Jaehyun with a careful eye as he takes a spoonful of his soup. It’s only Jaehyun and Younghoon at dinner tonight. You decided you were too tired to attend. 

“How so?” Jaehyun questions, swirling his spoon around the bowl. 

“The cook made your favorite soup, and you’ve had only two spoons of it so far.”

“I ate earlier.” 

“It’s not just that Jaehyun.” Younghoon adds, and Jaehyun holds back a groan, dreading the coming conversation. “What’s gotten into you?” Jaehyun shrugs. And he can’t help but notice how sad Younghoon sounds when he says: “You aren’t yourself around her.” 

Jaehyun drops his spoon, placing his hands on his knees. “I just don’t trust her Younghoon. Something about her unsettles me.” 

Younghoon takes another sip of his soup. “You’re entitled to your judgement, but that does not mean you’re entitled to treat her so rudely. I just want the two of you to make peace. And believe it or not, she wants to make peace too.” 

Jaehyun huffs; he doesn’t feel like giving in easily tonight. “If the Gift wants to make peace, then let her make it.” 

“She’s already tried. And if you must call her something, she prefers Fortitude.” 

“Fortitude isn’t a name—”

“Neither is Gift.”

“— it’s a title, Younghoon.” 

“And what would you do if a title was the only name you had?” 

Jaehyun bites the inside of his cheek, mumbling, “but what if it’s not the only name she has?”

Younghoon shakes his head in frustration. “Jaehyun, I can only advise you to make peace. It’s up to you whether you do or not.” 

And with that Younghoon leaves from the dining room. Jaehyun finishes the rest of his dinner alone. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

You were unhappy. You didn’t want to be at Lord Jaehyun’s estate in these strange southern lands. You did not want to be somewhere you were unwelcome. Even before your return to the Golden Palace, you never traveled too far away from the King’s City. The thought of being so far away from the lands you’re used to calling home makes your skin itch. 

There’s a knock on your door. You open it to a young servant girl. “Lady Gift, Lord Jaehyun is asking if you would like to accompany him on a walk to the beach.” 

You wonder for a second if this is some sort of joke. You can’t imagine Jaehyun waking up and deciding he wants to spend time with you willingly. Then you suspect if Younghoon put him up to it. 

“You can tell him I’m coming and that I’ll meet him by the back gates.” 

You get dressed quickly and walk down the estate to the gates. When you arrive, Lord Jaehyun is already waiting, facing away from the estate and towards the grassy path. 

“Lord Jaehyun.” 

He nods at your greeting, and the walk begins in silence. 

“You seem to already know your way around the estate.” Jaehyun mentions by the time the grass and sand have begun to mix under your feet. 

“Younghoon gave me a very thorough tour this morning.” 

Jaehyun laughs but it sounds small and strained. “Yes, Younghoon is not the type to spare any details.” 

You settle back into a silence. You’re surprised with how civil the walk has been so far, and you duly note how this might be the first time Jaehyun hasn’t stared at you hatefully. With another look at the boy, you find that his eyes—when they aren’t filled with anger—are actually quite kind. You also find beauty in the way the sunlight bounces off them. You smile. 

“Lord Jaehyun,” you address softly, “did Younghoon put you up to this?” 

He chuckles, and instead of answering your question, he says: “Lady Gift, I would like to apologize for how I treated you these past couple days. I am not used to the happenings of the Golden Palace. I was shocked. But that’s no excuse for how I acted. I’m sorry. I truly am.”

For the second time that day, you’re surprised, and not only because Jaehyun is apologizing but also because of how sincerely he sounds saying it. 

“Thank you, Lord Jaehyun.” 

He shakes his head. “It’s the least I could do, Lady Gift. But I hope you accept this as an apology for my behavior as well, and that you find it in you to forgive me.” 

You nod. “I’ll forgive you if you agree to drop the formalities.” 

Jaehyun claps his hands. “Doesn’t seem like you’re getting nearly as much out of this arrangement as I am, but I accept nonetheless.” He stops walking and holds out his hand. “Do we have an agreement?” 

You shake his outstretched hand. “I suppose we do.” 

He smiles, and you’re shocked for the third time that day. Shocked that the man before you is the same one you met at the Golden Palace. The same man whose hatred for you was so strong you could have sensed it across a room. The same man who is taking you on this walk and no longer calling you Gift. Shocked that Jaehyun is the one to make the peace you wanted so badly. 

You find yourself to be smiling too. 

“Come on,” Jaehyun says, continuing the walk, “I think it’s about time you saw the sea.” 

You both continue down the now sandy path. You admire the way Jaehyun so easily walks in the sand. You, on the other hand, struggle to adapt to your feet sinking and shifting in the ground beneath you. 

Jaehyun tells you that walking in the sand will get easier with time. It takes a moment for you to register the fact that he noticed. 

“Wow,” is all you can say at the blue expanse before you. You think Roen was right. The paintings do not do justice to the sea. The paintings were unable to capture the real thing. 

“You said that blue is your favorite shade of the Zalazar River right?” 

Your smile widens. “Yes, but this…” you motion to the water, “this is even better.” 

Jaehyun hums triumphantly. “Accept this as a peace offering.” 

“Oh Jaehyun, we have already bargained and made peace.” 

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re actually terrible at bargaining.” He laughs. “That deal was far too uneven for me to accept with dignity. So please, accept this instead.” 

“I was not aware you knew how to make a joke.” You tease. 

“Please,” he repeats, sounding suddenly serious. 

You tilt your head. “I also was not aware the sea was yours to give as peace offerings.” 

“It’s not.” He bites back a smile. “But it is yours to take.” 

You think for a moment. And when the next wave crashes into the shore, you nod.

***

You send a message with the Risal to Roen that night. 

Dear Roen, I hope things at the palace are doing well. You were right. The sea is so much more than I thought. The sea is something else entirely. Give everyone my love. -Fortitude 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

Jaehyun is sitting at his desk. He has piles of papers to sort through, file, fill out, and sign, and yet he can’t seem to focus on the small amount of work he’s obliged to do as a Lord. Instead he’s focused on the view outside the window of his office which overlooks the courtyard. More specifically, he focuses on the way you sit at the edge of the fountain teasing a stray cat with a loose string. Suddenly, you look towards the sky and stick your arm out. A bird swoops down from nowhere and perches itself on your extended forearm. Jaehyun wonders if your abilities as a Gift include an inclination towards animals. The bird drops an envelope in your lap; you read the cover before setting it down beside you. Jaehyun squints at the scene and recognizes the bird as your Risal. This piques his interest. 

“Younghoon,” Jaehyun calls out. Younghoon tends to keep Jaehyun company while he works, reading a book in the corner armchair. But when Jaehyun is met with silence, he looks over to find the book closed on his lap and Younghoon fast asleep. Jaehyun covers Younghoon with a blanket and exits his office silently. He figures he might as well go for a walk if he isn’t going to get any work done. 

When he finds you in the courtyard, the cat has settled down in your lap, and the Risal sits on the stretch of fountain ledge next to you. You seem to sense Jaehyun behind you before he bothers to make his presence known. 

“Have you already finished your work Jaehyun?” You ask, not turning around to face him. He walks the circumference of the fountain before stopping a little before you and answering. 

“Not exactly.” He sits down on the fountain ledge next to the Risal. 

“Well,” you mumble scratching a place behind the cat’s ear, “I suppose now is as good a time for a break as any.” 

“Yes, I thought so too.” Jaehyun responds, more focused on the bird in front of him. “Can I pet it?”

You nod. You advise him to start at the beak until the bird trusts him. It doesn’t take long for the bird to nuzzle under his palm. 

“It likes you.” you say, sounding a little shocked. “Winning a Risal’s trust usually takes much longer.” 

Jaehyun smiles shyly. The two of you settle into a silence. You scratching the stray cat to sleep and Jaehyun running his hand along the bird in awe. It had become like that between you two. There was never much conversation and yet somehow the silences you shared never felt empty or weird. Jaehyun isn’t sure if he can truly trust you, but he does know he was wrong about you. You’re no monster. In fact, you’re just as human as him and Younghoon. 

“How do they work?” Jaehyun wonders, looking up from the bird. “The Risals.”

You sit up slightly. “Would you like to see?” 

He nods. You set the cat down on the ground and beckon for Jaehyun to stand up as well. 

You collect the Risal on your arm and start walking away from him. “Move farther away.” You tell him. “It won’t work if we’re too close.” 

Once you are the entire length of the courtyard apart, you nod in approval and say something Jaehyun can’t hear to the bird. The bird suddenly launches itself from your arm and soars into the sky. Jaehyun closely watches how the Risal disappears behind the clouds. 

You cup your hands around your mouth and shout from across the courtyard: “When you hear a bird’s screech, hold out your arm.” 

Jaehyun waits a moment. Eventually the screech comes, and Jaehyun thinks how you forgot to mention how loud it would be. The screech makes him jump and clasp his arms over his ears. You don't even flinch. Jaehyun looks to see if the cat is spooked and finds that the cat is still peacefully asleep on the ground. Out of the corner his eye, he sees you pointing wildly at his arm. Jaehyun quickly sticks it out. He looks up at the sky only to see the Risal already swooping down and landing neatly on his arm. His mouth opens in shock. 

“Now,” you yell, “tell it to go to me.” 

Jaehyun looks the Risal in the eye. He wonders if this is all some elaborate joke. The bird couldn’t possibly understand him if he were to speak to it, right? Then he wonders if he’s mad for believing that it can. He inhales. 

“Go to the Gift of Fortitude.” 

And Jaehyun swears the Risal seems to nod before leaping off his arm and flying straight up into the sky once more. He watches the sky keenly, and then also covers his ears with his hands in anticipation of the screech. It never comes. Instead, the bird dives down from the sky, calming landing on your outstretched arm. Jaehyun runs to you immediately.  

“How come there was no screech this time?” Jaehyun asks breathlessly, meeting you at your end of the courtyard. 

“There was.” You say simply, petting the bird. Jaehyun furrows his brows. “The screech is only heard by the one who the Risal is meant for.” It clicks for Jaehyun then why you didn’t flinch and why the cat is still in a ball by the fountain. 

“So,” Jaehyun says slowly, “how does the Risal understand the name you tell it?”

You shrug. 

“What if you get the name wrong? Or there’s multiple people with that name?”

You shrug again. “They’re never wrong though, in my experiences at least. It’s almost as if they understand the intent more than the name itself.”

“And the way it just disappears into the sky?” 

“Remarkable isn’t it?”

Jaehyun smiles at the child-like excitement in your voice. He nods. “They must be incredibly smart creatures.” 

“They’re not just smart.” You begin scratching a spot under the Risal’s beak. The bird melts under your touch. “They’re magical.”

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

Dear Fortitude, I thought you’d like the sea. Things at the palace are as fine as can be. Orindell misses you dearly. I’ll keep you updated on Father and other palace occurrings. Although in all honesty, things have been quiet since your departure. I hope you’re resting well and enjoying the southern scenery despite the circumstances. Give my regards to Captain Younghoon and Lord Jaehyun. -Roen 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

“The service was long today.” Jaehyun states exiting the temple with Younghoon and you. The southern temples, unlike the palace temple, were old and traditionally built. This temple in particular had been built long before the Holy Wars. 

“I didn’t think so.” Younghoon says, swatting a hand around his face to shoo away a bug. “What did you think?” 

But when they look over at you, you appear to be somewhere else altogether. Suddenly, you still. 

 “Is that a…” you begin, your voice small, unbelieving. 

Jaehyun follows your gaze to a building at the top of the hill behind the temple. He follows your gaze to the sanctuary. You start walking towards the hill before Jaehyun and Younghoon can stop you. 

The sanctuary hasn’t been used in years, and the state of it shocks Jaehyun. In fact, the sanctuary itself shocks Jaehyun. He’s never been inside one. His knowledge of them was limited to what he had seen and read in textbooks growing up. Before the Holy Wars, all temples used to have sanctuaries nearby. They were built in honor of the Seven Sins and Seven Gifts of the Spirit. Sculptures were meant to line the walls of the sanctuaries, seven on the left for the Sins and seven on the right for the Gifts. And at the front of the sanctuaries, a sculpture of Maratelli the archangel was meant to stand tall. However after the Holy Wars, most sanctuaries were destroyed by mobs. People no longer felt the need to pay their respects to the beings who started the war that nearly destroyed the kingdom. The few sanctuaries that weren’t burned to the ground were left vandalized, most of the sculptures reduced to rubble. 

The sanctuary Jaehyun, Younghoon, and you stand in is no exception. Cobwebs cover all the walls and a thick layer of dust clouds everything in sight. The sanctuary is hauntingly cold and damp. Only two sculptures are left standing: Maratelli’s, whose arms and wings have been broken off, and one of the Gifts. Upon closer examination, Jaehyun finds that the other standing sculpture is the one dedicated to you, the Gift of Fortitude. The face of the sculpture is gone as if someone chipped away at the stone until the contours of the face disappeared. And on top of the blank stone where the face should be, die is written in black paint and monster is written on the torso. The sight makes Jaehyun sick to the stomach. 

But that’s not where Jaehyun finds you. Instead, Jaehyun and Younghoon find you kneeling on the floor next to the broken stone of what once was a sculpture dedicated to the Sin of Pride. Jaehyun helplessly realizes the tragedy that must litter your past in the way that everyone you once knew died before your eyes. You bow your head to the floor and sob. Jaehyun feels like an intruder in this moment, as if he’s watching something personal and private, something not meant for his eyes. The broken marble you bury your face into does little to conceal the pain in your sobs, and Jaehyun can’t help the way his heart aches at the sheer amount of heartbreak that rings from your cries. 

Jaehyun and Younghoon decide to wait for you outside. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

“If I may ask, when was the last time you had a worthy opponent?” Younghoon asks, breaking the silence of your lunch. Only you and Younghoon were present today. 

You think it over for a moment. It's been a while since you’ve fought anyone. Even while training Juyeon and the Princes, you never fought them yourself. “The Holy Wars most likely.” 

Younghoon nods, placing a hand under his chin. “Not that I would make one, but one of these days could we fight?”

You suck in a breath. Younghoon’s question feels foreign in your mind. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“Just a friendly scuffle?” 

“I don’t—“ 

“Or perhaps a sword fight?”

“I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

“We could set up rules to prevent such, and I can take a little pain. I might be retired but—”

“No, Younghoon.” You cut him off. “I don’t want to fight you.” 

He shrinks back into his seat. “Forgive me. But…” he hesitates, “can I ask why not?” 

You sigh. “I don’t fight for pleasure anymore.” 

***

The sea is quieter than usual and the waves crash in whispers the day you and Younghoon go for a walk along the shore. You had quickly adapted to the way your feet sink in the sand; and today, you find comfort in it.  

It’s also the day that Younghoon reveals his plans to head home soon. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that this wasn’t Younghoon’s home. He explains how his family lives farther east and how he splits his time between Jaehyun’s estate and his own home, travelling back and forth frequently. And when you question why he even bothers returning to Jaehyun’s estate, why he bothers leaving home, Younghoon laughs loudly and explains that Jaehyun pays him good money to stay and keep him company. You also hadn’t realized that this was Younghoon’s job. 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

“Don’t you think it’s a little desperate to pay Younghoon to leave his family and keep you company?” You tease as you and Jaehyun wave goodbye to Younghoon.

Jaehyun scoffs, side eyeing Younghoon’s retreating figure. “Is that what he told you?” You nod. “I’ll have you know he was staying for free before I insisted on him accepting the money.” 

You laugh, and Jaehyun notices the way your eyes crinkle. “Yes, yes. I figured as much.”   

The young servant girl appears then, asking Jaehyun if anything more is needed. Jaehyun tells her she can go home for the day, and she flushes a dark red. Jaehyun notices how you notice. 

And when the servant girl leaves, Jaehyun watches the way you smile, your lips concealing a secret.

“Fortitude,” he blurts, “would you like to go on a walk with me?” 

***

“What’s her name? The young servant girl?” You ask as you both start along the path towards the beach. 

“Vina.”

“And how old is she?”

“15 come winter I believe.”

You nod slowly, a smile similar to the one before growing on your face. “It’s cute, how smitten she is by you.” 

Jaehyun bites his bottom lip. “I don’t mean to make her…” He trails off, unable to find the right words. 

“Smile less.” 

Jaehyun quirks his head, looking up at you. “My smile…?”

You nod. “It’s your smile she falls for.” 

Jaehyun lets the statement sink, and the wind seems to pick up while he does. A sound faintly resembling a growl comes from you. He looks over to find you struggling to keep your hair at bay, the dark locks flying wildly in the wind. 

You huff, annoyed. “I didn’t bring anything to tie it back with.” 

“You could braid it.” Jaehyun suggests.

You run a hand through your hair in another attempt to push it back. “How terrible is it that I never learned how to braid it myself?” 

Jaehyun blinks at you. You pick at a spot below your chin. 

“Don’t laugh.” you stutter, but it’s too late because Jaehyun is already chuckling behind his hand. You shove him, hard. 

“Would you like me to braid it for you?” 

You look at him, your hair unattractively covering your face. You push it back, determining whether Jaehyun’s offer is genuine or not. 

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Your shoulders drop. “Yes please.” 

Jaehyun moves behind you, gathering your hair in his hands and beginning to braid it. 

“Where’d you learn how to braid anyways?” You ask, voice raised to be heard against the wind. 

“My sister, Insia, would make me braid her hair sometimes.” 

You shove a loose strand behind your ear. “I didn’t know you had a sister.” 

“She’s illegitime. Technically, we both are. My father never married.” 

“Where is she?” You wonder aloud as Jaehyun finishes the braid off. 

“She married an islander, gave up her ladyship to do so, and now lives there with him.” Jaehyun allows his eyes to drift towards the sea. Islands were peppered all along the coast, and the island Insia and her husband and kids lived on was only a couple hours from here by boat. Jaehyun made sure they visited each other often enough, and wrote to each other even more frequently. 

“It must be nice.” You mutter, focused on knotting the end of your braid. “To have a sibling.” 

And Jaehyun swears he’s never heard anyone sound so lonely. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

The walks along the shore had become a daily activity for you and Jaehyun, but today Jaehyun was busy which left you helplessly bored and laying in your bed staring at the ceiling. Your mind had begun to wander to Peter and his impossible journey, to Juyeon and your forgotten conversation, to the King and his future plans, and to Lord Seth. Maybe the King was smart to send you here after all, being far away from the Golden Palace made you forget why you were sent here to begin with. It was easy to ignore the gravity of the palace issues here at Jaehyun’s estate. It was easy to push aside the fog in your mind when you thought about your past. It was almost too easy to throw your worries into the sea and watch them crash against the rocks. 

So when Vina walks in with a fresh load of laundry, you don't hesitate to ask if the young girl would care to accompany you on a walk. And when Vina agrees, you’re grateful that you’ve found a distraction. 

When you ask why Vina works, you learn that she is the oldest of seven. You frown at the thought of Vina's wages going all to her family, but she’s quick to tell you not to worry. Apparently Jaehyun pays the estate staff well. The thought makes you smile. A question arises at the faint blush appearing on Vina’s cheeks. You hesitate a little. 

“Vina, do you happen to have a crush on Lord Jaehyun?” 

Vina freezes like a deer. “Oh Lady Gift, it isn’t like that please don’t misunderstand.” She shakes her head vigorously. “It’s just that… Lord Jaehyun has shown me nothing but kindness and I-“ She cuts herself off, fidgeting with her fingers. You assure her that it’s okay. Vina continues unsurely. “It’s just that it’s hard to not direct my feeling of gratitude in that way.” 

“And,” you hum, nudging her shoulder, “I’m sure it doesn’t help how handsome Lord Jaehyun is.” 

An embarrassed smile emerges on Vina’s face, and it turns almost mischievous when she says: “I would like it to go on record that I was not the one who said it.” 

You erupt in laughter. 

***

If you knew Vina wasn’t skilled in the art of keeping things to herself, you wouldn’t have admitted to the young girl your thoughts of Jaehyun’s face. But alas, you had, and there was nothing you could do to stop the gossiping of a young girl. It was just your luck that Jaehyun took it upon himself to tease you for the admission endlessly. 

The day the teasing stops is the day you want nothing more than to shoot an arrow. 

To your dismay, Jaehyun’s estate does not house an archery gallery. But when Jaehyun learns of your desire, he offers an alternative. So with the bow and arrow you brought from the Golden Palace and wooden plates acting as targets held up by Jaehyun himself, your wish is granted. 

You notch an arrow and breathe, taking note of the wind shift before letting the arrow fly. It hits the plate exactly where you had sent it. 

“So is it safe to assume that archery is another gift you have as a Gift?” Jaehyun shouts to you from across the beach, pulling the arrow from out the plate and dropping it in a pile. 

“Yes, it is.” You respond, grabbing another arrow from beside you. You take notice of how nonchalantly Jaehyun stands. “Are you not frightened by me shooting arrows towards a target that lies in your hand?” 

He shrugs. “Well, are you scared?” 

You’re taken aback by the question, but you aren’t scared. The arrow would land only where you wanted it to. 

“No.”

“Then why should I be.” Jaehyun says easily, holding the target back up. “Also, I know you’d never purposely hurt me.” He adds with a coy smile. “You think I’m too handsome.” 

You string the arrow in less than a second, aiming straight for Jaehyun’s face. “What was that?” 

A giggling Jaehyun cowers behind the target and runs. 

***

Sleep doesn’t come to you that night. Your mind runs wild with thoughts of the Golden Palace. You think and overthink the events that led up to Peter being sent away and then again the ones that led up to Lord Seth’s untimely death. You find that the memories slip past your fingers, a fog encompassing them. The same fog that clouds your memories of the past. It appears that your mind houses more fog than actual memories.  It appears that the fog is driving you mad. 

You elect to think of something new. Your eyes land on the Risal from Roen you have yet to respond to. You would’ve sent one back sooner if the line about Orindell didn’t make you so upset. You reluctantly recall your last conversation with him. He was still the same foolish little boy you have always known. You suppose that’s what makes your falling out so heartbreaking. You have known all three princes from the moment they were born. You raised them alongside Roe, their mother and your dearest friend, and when Roe passed, you raised them like they were your own family. Not exactly like a mother, but something more akin to a cousin or an aunt. The three princes were the closest thing you had to a family, and the thought that Orindell could love you romantically repulsed you. You were mad at Orindell, disappointed in him, and yet, you still miss him as much as you miss Roen and Peter. You long to talk with the three princes like you once did, before Orindell loved you and before they were old enough to concern themselves with the state of the kingdom and the state of their own father. And this time, the longing is what drives you mad.   

You decide that thinking will only lead to misery tonight, and with a glance at the full moon outside your window, you also decide a walk must be better than lying here, drowning in your own thoughts. You pull on a pair slippers before silently exiting your room. 

The beach is quiet tonight. The waves tease and kiss the shore and then disappear back into the sea. While you walk, you think about all the ways the sea has shown itself to you. You only realize how far you’ve walked when you reach the rocks. 

You were told about the rocky cliffs that laid a little to the west of Jaehyun’s estate by Jaehyun, Younghoon, and Vina. But you had never walked so far with either of them to see them yourself. 

The waves don’t seem larger here, but they crash against the rocks as if they are. The waves and the rocks clash like two forces in battle. Somehow the image and the sound bring a bit of comfort to the battle raging in your mind. 

Where you stand, the rocks are scattered, but further along the beach, the rocks multiply and gather until they completely cover the sand. The rocks start flat and then pile on top of each other until you’re staring at the rocky cliffs you have heard so much about. You think you like this rocky beach more than the sandy one you’ve grown accustomed to. 

You stiffen when you notice a figure sitting on one of the flat rocks. The person looks tired in the way they sit with their shoulders dropped and dragging, and yet the person is so captivated by the sea they don’t even notice you coming. Upon closer examination, you realize that you recognize the figure sitting alone on the rocks. Your guard drops when you realize the person is Jaehyun. 

“Jaehyun,” you say, appearing behind him, carefully walking towards where he sits on the rocks.

“Ah, Fortitude.” He doesn’t flinch at your appearance. He doesn’t even bother taking his eyes off the water. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You hum. “And you?” 

He shakes his head. “Younghoon calls this spot the insomniac's bed.” 

“Do you come here often then?”

“Nearly every night.” He looks away from the sea and stares at you still standing behind him.“Please,” he stutters, patting a dry patch of rock next to him, “sit.” You do.

“Is it safe to jump into the water from there?” You ask suddenly. 

You wait for Jaehyun to follow your eyes. “Ah, from the cliff?” You nod. “It isn’t safe to jump from most cliffs. There could be rocks in the water, or if the waves are too strong they could push you back against the base of the cliff.” 

“Yes, but what about this cliff?” 

Jaehyun sighs, although he doesn’t sound tired or frustrated. “They call that cliff Angel’s Peak.” 

“Why?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Because you’ll need the wings of an angel to survive it.” 

“Oh.” You don't think about it any further. 

The two of you don’t speak, the waves that crash against the rocks do that for you. You let the sound overwhelm you, feeling more peace and more clarity than you’ve felt in years. 

As a Gift of the Spirit, you lived longer than most, and part of your powers allow you to stay young. You could though, grow old. You could wake up one day and decide to start aging again. You could let herself wrinkle and grey like everyone else. But after King Avi died, after the last person who knew you as more than just a Gift stopped aging, you did too. You have been told that even though your face doesn’t show your age, your eyes do. It’s been said that your eyes tell the story of all the years you’ve endured. 

You study Jaehyun. This must be it, you think. This must be what people see when they look at your eyes because when you look at Jaehyun’s, you can see the life he’s endured behind them. You can see the age behind the brown. You wonder what Jaehyun must be thinking in this moment to make his life appear so long and sad. You wonder how Jaehyun manages to feel like an equal to you despite your life being so much longer. You wonder—

“How old are you?”

If Jaehyun’s shocked by the sudden question, he doesn’t show it. “As old as Peter,” then with a sigh he adds, “but I feel as old as you.” 

And with the way Jaehyun says it, as if he holds mountains on his shoulders, you believe him. 

“Well, maybe not as old as you,” Jaehyun continues, talking quickly as if he misspoke. “I just meant that I feel old. Or at least older than I am.” 

“No,” you mumble, picking at a loose strand, “I think I understand.”

“Can I ask you a question then?” 

“Depends.” 

Jaehyun waits a beat as if he’s testing the words on his tongue first. “How old are you?”

You inhale. “Too old, Jaehyun.” 

He doesn’t ask you to explain any further, but when you think about the years behind Jaehyun’s eyes, something in you yearns to tell him more anyways. 

“It’s a lonely thing to do,” you continue, eyes trained on the water, “to get old but not grow old.” 

“So then why don’t you?” 

“These days, I’m not so sure.” You meet Jaehyun’s gaze, and suddenly you feel as tired as you do old. 

“Good night, Jaehyun,” you tell him, standing up, “I hope sleep comes to you soon.” 

*** 

Dear Roen, I miss the old days. Why did you boys have to grow so old? Why did things have to get so difficult? Keep me updated on palace news, but spare me the court’s gossip. I worry about Peter too much for my own good. Tell me if you hear anything from him. Tell Orindell that I miss him too, but that I’ve missed him long before I left the Golden Palace. -Fortitude

—LORD JAEHYUN—

The wind was softer and the sun hid behind the clouds more often after that night at the rocks. It was hard for Jaehyun to explain, but after that day, something had changed. You let him in, and suddenly, things were different. You would ask Jaehyun to braid your hair again, and he’d do it with a smile. He found himself craving more.

So when he asks you if you were born as a Gift of the Spirit, he knows he’s been thinking about the question long before he felt comfortable enough to ask it. 

“No.” You tell him, kicking your feet in the sand. “I was born normal. Just like anyone else.” 

“Oh,” Jaehyun says softly. 

“It happened when I was six.” You continue. “The other six Gifts came to my village, told me I was destined to be Fortitude, and that was that.” 

“Six?” Jaehyun repeats, saddened by how young you were. You nod. “You never got to be a kid.” 

Your mouth twitches. “Yeah.”

And when the frown that appears on your lips pulls at a certain part of Jaehyun, he decides he wants to help you take back a little piece of your stolen past. “Tell me something you wish you could’ve done.” 

You squint at him. 

“As a child, what’s one thing you wish you could’ve done?” 

You exhale deeply. “Oh, I don’t know.” You pause, then laugh a little. “I guess, run.” 

It was Jaehyun’s turn to squint. “Run?”

“I mean to run like a child. Barefoot and wild and mad.” 

Jaehyun starts pulling his shoes off. 

“Well,” Jaehyun states when you give him a blank stare, “are you going to run with me or what?”

Slowly, you begin pulling your boots off too. Then once you’re both barefoot, feet sinking in the cold sand, Jaehyun nods, and 

you run. 

By the time you stop, the air has emptied itself from Jaehyun’s lungs. You, on the other hand, glow with something Jaehyun can’t put his finger on, but you glow and smile so brightly Jaehyun thinks the numbness in his legs is worth it. 

Jaehyun only realizes you’ve run as far as the rocks when you start climbing up to the top of Angel’s Peak. Jaehyun begrudgingly climbs up the cliff behind you. 

When you finally reach the top, Jaehyun sits, exhausted and lets his legs dangle over the edge. He inhales, refilling his lungs with the sea’s salty mist. 

Jaehyun loves the sea. He loves the water. It’s almost as if the water is a part of him, as if the salty sea carries his heart between the waves. And somehow the water loves Jaehyun back. Insia used to call him a mermaid because of how well he swims, and at one point, Jaehyun had convinced himself he was. Jaehyun feels at home by the sea. He feels peace listening to the seagulls and the lapping water. If time allowed it, Jaehyun would spend years staring at the blue water. 

Today however, sitting on top of the rocky cliffs with the Gift of Fortitude, Jaehyun doesn’t watch the sun dip into the ocean and disappear beyond the horizon. Today Jaehyun watches you. He watches how you seem to be smiling without a smile. He watches the water spray on your forehead and the scrunch of your nose when it does. He watches stories of a kingdom before his birth and of people he will never meet unfold behind your eyes. He wonders how much time he could spend staring at you. 

You meet his eyes, and Jaehyun doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look so happy. Yet for some reason, when your lips do turn up in a smile, all he can think of is the image of you at the sanctuary. How you knelt on the floor and clutched the crushed marble belonging to the Sin of Pride. All he can think of is the soul-crushing amount of hurt in your cries. 

Jaehyun hesitates. 

“Who was the Sin of Pride to you?” 

In that moment, the seagulls seem to turn quiet, and the waves seem to pause a second away from hitting the rocks. Jaehyun thinks he’s gone too far or that he’s asked you too much. In that moment, Jaehyun wants to swallow the words back. But before he can, the seagulls break their silence, screeching somewhere in the clouds. And the waves don’t just hit the rocks, they slam and bang and beat against them. Jaehyun coughs the words up before he can take them back. Your lips part, and Jaehyun’s forced to watch as a new story unfolds behind your eyes, one of youth, loss, hurt, and hate. And then you surprise him by smiling. 

“The Sin of Pride,” you start tucking your knees under your chin, “was my best friend before I was a Gift and he was a Sin. His name was Sunwoo, and we grew up in the same village. He was announced as the Sin of Pride a week before I was.” 

Jaehyun repeats the name in his mind. Then once outloud. You blink as if it’s weird to hear it said by someone else. It sparks Jaehyun’s curiosity, and he wonders aloud if you had a name before Fortitude. 

“I did, but I’m no longer the person that name was given to.” You say, voice low and cold. 

“Forgive me if I intruded.” 

You shake your head. “You asked. There’s a difference.” 

He turns his eyes to the water. “Is it hard to remember?” 

“Usually.” You tell him with a small pout. Then after a pause you add: “When I think about the past, there’s this fog, and that fog makes remembering painful. In fact the headache I had the morning we first met was caused by trying to remember something the night before. But right now, the fog in my mind isn’t so thick; right now, I’m not struggling to remember.” 

Jaehyun listens to you speak intently. He doesn’t want to push you, but he can’t help his own curiosity. So when Jaehyun hears an invitation laced within the tone of your voice. Jaehyun realizes that some part of you wants to remember as much as Jaehyun wants to know. 

And so, he says: “Tell me about your past.”

And you do. 

You tell Jaehyun about the village you grew up in and your parents. You describe to him how different and peaceful the kingdom was under the reign of the Queen Raffa who ruled when you were young. You tell him about Sunwoo and the week he was taken. Then, you tell him about the week you were taken yourself. 

“Back then, all the Sins and Gifts were adored by the people, they were loved.” You recall, and Jaehyun can’t help but notice the jealousy that seeps between the crack in your voice. “They rode with such confidence and were respected by the people. So respected that my mother didn’t even hesitate to let them take me away.” This time sadness is what seeps through the crack.  

“Where’d they take you?” 

You halt at Jaehyun’s question. “I don’t remember,” you say slowly as if you aren’t sure of the words leaving your own mouth. “The next thing I do remember is arriving at the Golden Palace, but by then, they had already made me the Gift of Fortitude.”

“How do you mean?”

“I’m not sure.” You scratch at your chin. “And now that I think about it, it must’ve been at least a year between when I left my family to when I was taken to the Golden Palace.” 

Jaehyun turns to you, wondering how you could possibly lose an entire year of memory, and then wondering how terrible it must be for you knowing that you have. 

“Did you get to see your family again?” 

You shake your head. “My mother fought and died in the Holy Wars. I saw my father once, after it was all over, but he wanted nothing to do with me anymore. He wanted nothing to do with the person who was on the side of the war his wife died fighting against.” 

“But what about the fact that you're his daughter?”

You bite your bottom lip. “At that point, he no longer saw me as his daughter.”

Jaehyun can’t imagine how much it must hurt to admit, especially considering how much it hurts Jaehyun to even hear. 

“But it was okay, because I never really knew my father and because I had Sunwoo and later Avi too.” You tell Jaehyun with a smile. “By the time Sunwoo and I became Sins and Gifts, the two groups were already fighting; they just hadn’t made it into a war yet. Raffa went as far as having the Gifts and Sins stay in opposite wings of the Golden Palace to avoid confrontation. Sunwoo and I used to sneak out to the palace roof at nights just to talk. But then,” your smile turns down, “Raffa was killed.”

Jaehyun knows this part although you repeat the story written in textbooks anyways. The Queen was murdered under an order from the Gifts, and by the time her son, Avi, took the throne, the Seven Gifts had fled from the palace, marking the start of the Holy Wars.

“I didn’t see Sunwoo much after that. The next and last time I saw him was right before he died.” You continue. 

“Is that why you switched sides?” 

You nod. “As Sins and Gifts, we’re gifted with fighting skill, but our injuries are fatal. That’s how most of the Sins and Gifts died during the Holy Wars. So when I heard news that Sunwoo had been injured, I knew it was only a matter of time until he would be dead too. He was being nursed inside the Golden Palace, and as a Gift, I wasn’t allowed in. So King Avi struck me a deal. Avi said that if I protected him and stayed loyal to him until his death, he would allow me to come to the palace and see Sunwoo.”

You stop to breathe. Jaehyun doesn’t say anything, but you watch him as if you’re waiting for him too. Jaehyun thinks it’s wrong, what King Avi did. Jaehyun thinks he had no right to make you indebted to him. Somehow, you seem to sense what Jaehyun’s thinking. 

“It’s easy to point blame, but in reality, the line between right and wrong and between good intentions and bad ones are more blurred than they appear. Avi wasn’t much older than me. Avi watched his mother die in the wake of this conflict between the Sins and Gifts, a conflict he had nothing to do with. Avi was as young and as desperate and as scared as I was, only he was the King. By then, I was only 13. I didn’t know much better. I was desperate and more scared of losing my best friend over the trust of the last remaining Gift so… I accepted. I sacrificed everything to watch Sunwoo take his dying breath.” 

Through the memories you share with him, Jaehyun begins to understand. He learns more about the Holy Wars through your pain and fear than he ever did in his history lessons. But most of all, Jaehyun understands that you were too young to shoulder the weight of war. 

“When the last remaining Gift other than me died, I gave up the war. I ended five years of wasted blood and pointless death just like that.” You pick at the sand under your nail. “I never liked the war. I was never even told what we were fighting for until the war was over.” You say, and if you can tell how surprised Jaehyun is to hear that you didn't even know the reason for the Holy Wars, you ignore it. “I fought blindly, and I surrendered blindly too.” 

Jaehyun stays silent, but his mind runs wild. How many days did you spend on a battlefield? How many lives did you take? How much blood did you allow to shed for a cause you didn’t even know? 

“Do you regret it?” He asks, focused on the water because at that moment Jaehyun can’t trust himself to look at you. 

You’re quiet. 

“I regret it all.” 

The image of you weeping in the sanctuary appears in Jaehyun’s mind again. He hears something new in his memory of your cries. He hears regret. 

The small part of Jaehyun that’s upset with you dissolves the moment he looks over and sees the regret that darkens your eyes. In that moment, Jaehyun can’t manage to feel anything but pity towards the person next to him. 

“It's terrible what I did.” You say solemnly. “I sat idly by while half the kingdom died before my eyes. I know that people call me a monster, and how can I say that I’m not when I’m responsible for the deaths of so many?” You look at him, but Jaehyun feels frozen because he can’t seem to let go of the fact that you were only 13 when this all happened. 

“Fortitude,” Jaehyun says gently with all the love he can muster. Love to make up for the hate you so deeply feel. Not towards anyone, not towards the world. But the shocking amount of hate you feel towards yourself. “No part of you is a monster. Because the Holy Wars were not your fault. And because it never will be.” 

Jaehyun can see something in you come apart. Jaehyun can see the deep-rooted hate you have harbored for yourself escape from the corners of your eyes. 

And when Jaehyun says, “The sins of your predecessors are not yours to suffer,” he swears he hears something within you break.

You both stare at the sea in a deafening silence. It’s a long time before anyone speaks again. But by the time Jaehyun does say something, the heavy air has been taken away by the current. 

“Although I’m still curious,” you motion for Jaehyun to continue, “what did the Holy Wars turn out to be about?” 

You close your eyes and keep them closed for longer than Jaehyun can call normal. When you do open your eyes again, they’re angry, and there’s just a hint of venom in your voice when you say: “I can’t remember.” 

You throw your hands up. “Oh Jaehyun, there’s so much I don’t know. About this kingdom and its history. About me and what it means to be a Gift of the Spirit. I don’t even know if there was a Gift of Fortitude before me. All of these things I was supposed to learn from the other Gifts. They were meant to teach me and mentor me, but they were too concerned with their own conflict. They left me with so many unanswered questions and unsolved mysteries. Half of which concern myself. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as it is if Avi didn’t have all the libraries burned to the ground and all of the historic scrolls and teachings from the Elders reduced to ashes with it. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel so lost.”

Jaehyun halts. “It was King Avi?” He questions in disbelief, remembering the mysterious burnings of all the libraries in the kingdom except for the one residing in the Golden Palace. “King Avi was the one who set fires to the libraries?”

“Oh, right,” you sigh, “I forgot that was a secret.” And in the next moment, you’re nearly laughing. “You know Jaehyun, I’ve never told anyone these things before.”

Jaehyun tilts his head to the side. “Why not?”

“No one’s ever asked.”

Jaehyun watches the waves. He finds a picture of himself in the waves and one of you in the rocks. For he appears and is tall, grand, rolling, and proud, but then he crashes and disappears back into the murky waters. And the rocky cliffs watch it all happen. You are the cliff, still and unyielding; while Jaehyun is just another wave, there in the moment and gone in the next.

“Did you love him?” Jaehyun asks then, the image of the wave crashing against the rock replaying in his mind. 

“Sunwoo?” 

Jaehyun nods, and you look up to the sky. 

“I was too young to even know what love looked like.”

It’s then that Jaehyun tastes the salt on his lips. 

***

After that day, you’re bedridden for some time with a migraine. You spend so long locked in your room with the lights off, Jaehyun tries sending you a nurse. You refuse the help stubbornly but politely. The next time he sees you is when you feel well enough to join him for dinner. 

“I hope you’re feeling better.” He says as Vina brings out plates with your meals. 

“I am, thank you Jaehyun.” You take a bite of your food. 

“Was it remembering that day that caused it?” 

You nod. “I’ve never been able to recall that much before.” The statement sounds sad to Jaehyun, and yet, you say it happily. “The pain of the headache was worth how good it felt to remember.”  

“Have you forgotten what you remembered?” Jaehyun asks, thinking back to when you said you usually forget again after. 

“Oddly enough, I have not.” You smile. Jaehyun feels a little hot; he thinks the fire must’ve grown in the hearth.   

“Jaehyun, do you know what Fortitude means?” Jaehyun shakes his head at your question as your dinner comes near an end. “I was told it meant courage.” You continue, clinking your fork against the plate.”And it feels like such a burden. To carry this responsibility. And to carry this name.” 

Jaehyun stares at you. He watches the way your arms dangle by your side as if they would fall off at the drop of a hat. He watches how you keep your eyes on your now empty plate. He watches you keep a smile on your face despite the way your voice sounds so sad. 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” 

“That’s alright Jaehyun.” The corner of your lip quirks. “Sometimes it’s more important to be heard than to be understood.” 

You stand up and excuse yourself from dinner. Jaehyun watches you go. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

When Younghoon finally returns to Jaehyun’s estate, it feels like he’s been gone for an eternity. You’re out in the market with Vina when he comes riding down the street on horseback. You call his name until he turns towards you. You have to unwrap the scarp you have fitted around your head and face before he recognizes you. 

Later that day, you and Younghoon ride on horseback through a forest trail. You wonder aloud why he isn’t tired after sitting on a saddle for the better part of the day. He shrugs and says something about not minding the pain of riding in exchange for the scenery. 

“Actually, I also wanted to talk to you about something.” You can hear the concern in Younghoon’s voice. You sit up on your horse. “Jaehyun’s father’s death anniversary is approaching.”

Oh. 

“He tends to get very…” Younghoon trails off, scratching the stubble growing on his chin. “He just isn’t himself during this part of the year. I thought you might appreciate a warning.” 

“Thank you, Younghoon.” You wait a beat. “Are you taking care of yourself?” 

“How do you mean?” 

“I heard you were close to Jaehyun’s father.”

“Oh,” he chuckles darkly, “I’ll be fine. It’s Jaehyun I worry about.” 

“And who’s here to worry about you?” 

Younghoon sighs. “Thank you for the concern.” 

***

The day of the anniversary itself, Younghoon spends the entire day in his room and Jaehyun disappears somewhere on the beach, only returning to the estate to ready himself for the temple service that night. You think that the whole estate, not just the residents, but the walls, the stone, the furniture, the rugs; the whole estate seems to be in mourning. You find yourself wanting to mourn too. 

There’s a knock on your door later that day while you’re reading a Risal from Roen. 

“Come in.” 

“Lady Gift, it’s time for the memorial service.” 

You hum. “Give my peace to Lord Jaehyun and Captain Younghoon.” 

“Uh, no, Lady Gift.” Vina shifts her weight. You look over to where she stands by the door. “It’s time for you to get dressed for the service.” You stare at Vina. “Lord Jaehyun requested that you attend the service as well.” 

“Oh,” you’re taken aback. You hadn’t realized you were wanted. 

You come down dressed in the traditional red color worn during burials and memorials. You do your best to find a red scarf to match. You meet Jaehyun downstairs, and he tells you that you’re still waiting for Younghoon. 

You chew on your bottom lip, unsure and timid. Suddenly the clothes feel itchy on your skin. “Jaehyun, are you sure you want me to come?”

Jaehyun looks confused. “Why shouldn’t you” 

“I mean I… I never really knew him.”     

Jaehyun pouts. “There's a dock on the east side of the beach my father used to take me to. I went there today. While I was there, I was thinking about the service tonight, and I found myself thinking about you.” You swallow. “I thought about all that you shared with me the other day and about all the death you’ve seen. It’s probably better that you never knew my father. You have enough fires to light and people to mourn as it is. Remember one of them instead.”

Younghoon appears then before you can say anything back, and you all, including Vina, head to the temple in a solemn silence. 

The temple is a sea of red. Younghoon whispers to you that Jaehyun’s father was loved by the people. You think that loved is an understatement; nearly the entire town has come out for the memorial service. 

You watch the fire rage. It was tradition to light fires for the dead. Years ago, fires were only lit 30 days after the death itself, but somewhere along the line, it had been normalized to light fires on the death anniversaries as well. The fire the temple has lit tonight burns bright and tall, as tall as the temple itself. The air around the temple is more smoke and flames than oxygen. You almost feel as if you’re suffocating, not from the smoke, but from the strife of an entire town which burns in the fire and contaminates the air. You choke on the sadness saturating your lungs and lingering in your veins. Your heart empties in tune with the mourning of the people for their beloved Lord. 

You inhale. 

You watch as Jaehyun and Younghoon throw burning logs into the flames. Soon after, others follow, throwing their own burning logs into the growing fire. You have to take a step back from the flame. Or rather Vina pulls you back muttering something about how the flying embers are dangerous. But you could care less. All you can manage to do is stare at the service unfolding before you, stunned. You have never seen a memorial service quite like this one. At the palace, the services were kept small and formal, limited to few guests and even smaller fires. But here, in these southern lands that you’re coming to love, even little children throw in twigs picked up from the nearby forest. The entire town throws in something. The entire town gets to remember the lost soul. You think that in some twisted way, it's beautiful. It’s beautiful how no one is left to mourn alone. 

You listen in on a group nearby, enough to hear that the group is sharing memories and stories of Jaehyun’s father. The group erupts in laughter. It seems out of place almost, such loud laughter in the midst of a memorial service, but when you look around the crowd you see a similar image in every corner. The people laugh and smile. They remember with joy. You recall that day on Angel’s Peak with Jaehyun and how good it felt to recall a part of your past. You think this must be like that. Loss was painful, but forgetting was worse. And through remembering, these people have made their pain their own to mend, bend, and break. 

It dawns on you then that the people are throwing in the love they can’t give as much as they’re throwing in their sadness for the loss. You learn that the fire before you doesn’t just rage, but that it cries and laughs as well. You learn that the wild warmth is more than just a fire; it’s an image of their love and loss. 

Jaehyun appears beside you then. He doesn’t look as happy as the others, but he looks less sad than he did before. He hands you a log and lights it with a match. You watch the fire eat up the wood in your hand before throwing it into the orange flames. Normally, only direct family members are allowed to throw things in the fire. So when Jaehyun hands you the log to throw, it’s actually the first time you've ever been allowed to do so. 

The last memorial you attended was for the princes’ mother, Roe. It was also the last time their father, the King, looked human to you. 30 days after her death a fire was lit by the palace temple. Orindell had just been born, still only an infant held in his father's arms. Peter and Roen were young as well, and the two boys clung to their father’s legs crying more out of confusion than anything else. You watched it all happen from a corner. You watched as the four boys, the King and his sons, weeped for their lost love. You watched as they threw in burning logs. And you watched it all behind a blur of your own tears. 

Before Roe, the last funeral you can remember attending was Avi’s, the young king who understood your grief and more importantly your guilt. But unlike the princes’ mother, who left an entire family behind, Avi had no living relatives. At his funeral, not a single log was thrown. For so long it had been you and Avi against the world, so when Avi died, it left you feeling inexplicably alone. 

You had burned a fire for Avi, and you had burned a fire Roe. But you never even lit a match for Sunwoo; and worse than that, you never bothered to mourn the loss of your mother and father. 

Jaehyun was right. You have plenty of fires to burn and logs to throw. So when a child passes by with a wagon of sticks in tow, you don’t hesitate to grab a handful. You throw one in for the Roe, the friend that made you feel human again. You throw one in for Avi, the tortured teen who understood. You throw a stick for Sunwoo who you sacrificed everything for. You throw two in for your mother and father who you lost long before their hearts stopped beating. You throw in several for the other Sins and Gifts who created that pointless war and left you lost in your own immortal soul. You throw in the rest for Lord Seth and all the lives that have been taken by your hands. You throw your regret into the fire and mourn. 

You forget Jaehyun’s next to you, until he puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. You lean into his touch, and the two of you mourn together.

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

You spend another sleepless night in bed thinking of Peter, thinking of the King, thinking of this kingdom. And when sunlight peaks from behind your curtains, you decide you’re tired of waiting. You send a hopeful Risal to Prince Peter. 

The Risal returns while you’re shooting arrows alone. When Younghoon came back and learned how you were using plates as targets and Jaehyun as a stand, he had crafted targets hanging from the tree branches for you to use instead. You were thankful for Younghoon’s generosity, but now, as you notch another arrow through your bowstring, you feel Jaehyun’s absence like a gaping hole, you feel it greatly. 

The arrow hits the wooden target with a sharp thud. 

It’s while you’re pulling the arrows from the target and placing them back in your quiver that you hear the Risal’s screech. You hold your arm out and wait for the bird to swoop down. 

No message, you think when the Risal comes back empty. You aren’t surprised that Peter received your message but didn’t bother to send one back. You have been sending the eldest Prince Risals since he departed from the Golden Palace at the start of spring, and every single one of your Risals came back with no reply. So no, you aren’t surprised, but that doesn’t stop the way your shoulders sag and your lips dip in a repetitive, dull dissapointment. 

You spend the rest of the day drowning in your own worries. 

And when your thoughts somehow travel to Younghoon’s handcrafted hanging targets. And to Jaehyun and how he opened up his home to you, and how he listens. You decide it’s time to tell Captain Younghoon and Lord Jaehyun the truth; the truth you owe them. 

“Did Peter respond to your Risal?” Jaehyun asks at dinner that night. You answer his questions with a tired sigh and a small no. 

You recognize that it’s time to repay their kindness with honesty. So when Jaehyun and Younghoon share a look and ask you timidly why exactly Prince Peter was sent away to begin with, you know. This is your chance. So you take it by the neck and run. 

You recall to Jaehyun and Younghoon the day things started changing within the Golden Palace. The day Peter came to you sad and betrayed and alone. 

“This isn’t right,” Peter muttered to you on that cold winter day. He sat in your sitting room, his hands holding up his head from falling off his shoulders altogether. You took a long sip of your tea. This was no surprise to you. From the day Peter had turned old enough to understand the workings of this kingdom and sit in on council meetings, he had been meeting with you like this. Letting you in on his doubts about the policies being put in order. About this kingdom. Doubts about his place as a Prince and other ones about his own father. Eventually, Roen joined these meetings. Then Orindell did too. It had become custom, for the four of them, a Gift of the Spirit and three Princes, to sit in your sitting room, to talk about and worry for your kingdom, that was slipping into disorder and that you all loved so much.

On that cold winter day, however, only Peter sat with you. Roen was on a northern campaign, and Orindell travelled with the Knights of the Holy Order leading his knights as their Commander, and all too young for the responsibility and the role. But an amazing Commander nonetheless. 

“He can’t do this,” Peter had groaned, “and I’m not sure how much longer I can sit by and watch.” 

You halted, your teacup moments away from reaching your lips. You set it back down. 

“Prince Peter, what are you suggesting?” 

He huffed and shook his head. You had thought he looked wild and angry and unhinged. “He’s set himself on a course to drive this kingdom into the dirt. Father hasn’t been himself for some time now. Something is wrong. Something that we can’t see. And the longer we wait, the worse he’ll get.”

“Peter,” you said again, the name sounding like a plea. 

“He is no longer fit to be king!” Peter slammed his hand down on the table. 

You clicked your tongue, unaffected by Peter’s sudden outburst. “So it’s a coup you’re suggesting then?” 

He sighed. “I’ve already decided. He has to be stopped.” He paused, looking at you with eyes that reminded you of the days he and his brothers would run around the palace courtyard. Your heart ached at the memory. “I want you to help me. But I’ll do this without your help too.”

And so you started planning Peter’s eventual overthrow of the King and of his father. 

“We kept it a secret, Peter and I,” you continue. Jaehyun and Younghoon listen silently but intently. “We didn’t even tell his brothers. The only other person we told was Juyeon. And while we plotted against the King, I started remembering things. For some reason, being around Peter so much, helped me remember. The memories are broken and blurry, but in them I saw flashes of my past and found forgotten conversations with the King. He would speak with me privately quite often as a consultant of sorts. And it was in recovering those shared words, that things really started to change for Peter and me. Because in my memories, the King sounds as insane as the rebellious eastern Lords make him out to be. In one moment, he’s crying about how alone he feels in this world and how he longs to go home. And in the next, he’s asking me how he can talk to Angels. It was clear to Peter and I that his father wasn’t himself anymore. The King had gone mad. 

“We started hearing about his experiments at the start of summer. The King insisted that these experiments would allow him to talk to an Angel and that they’d make him less lonely. And you must understand, all of this was hard for Peter. It was difficult for him to watch his own father spiral into insanity. So when Peter got evidence of the King’s experiments, he took matters into his own hands. He openly defied his father, in front of the council, and so the King sent him away.

“They’re both so impulsive it’s almost laughable how the whole thing played out. But either way, the night before he left Peter came to me and told me how he wasn’t giving up. He told me that when he returned to the Golden Palace it’d be as the King. So I told him…” You trail off, searching for the best way to say this next part without making yourself sound as mad as the King. 

It’s Younghoon who asks, leaning off the edge of his seat like he can’t stand the suspense of it. “What did you tell Prince Peter?” 

“I told him to go to the Nomads’ Lands.” 

Jaehyun chokes on his water. 

You continue on with the story, unbothered. 

“Although the King was the one to send him away, I think he was also the saddest to watch Peter go. I know it must be hard to believe, but the King wasn’t always as crazy as he is now. He’s always been impulsive, yes, but he used to be strong, charming, kingly. And he was devastated by his son’s absence in their home. Ultimately, I think that’s what drove him over the edge. That’s what made him so desperate to stop feeling so alone. So desperate he injected Lord Seth with one of his experiments, and he made me watch. But I knew as well as the King that the experiment had gone wrong. Yet he insisted on it working. He was so desperate he convinced himself that if we just waited everything would work out. Lord Seth was locked in the palace prisons that night, and no one but the King and I knew.

“I told you,” you look at Jaehyun, “that I had my reasons. I didn’t want to kill him. I take no pleasure in murder. But the experiment had gone wrong, and Lord Seth was in pain. If you had heard the way he cried and screamed and the way it echoed throughout the prison walls and the way—” 

You break. No, you don’t just break. You shatter. It’s been so long since you’ve made yourself feel the shame of your crimes. But now looking straight into the eyes of the sins you’ve committed. You crack and break and shatter into a million pieces. Each of your infinite shards tainted with a cruel shade of guilt. 

Jaehyun reaches over and covers your hand that rests atop of the table with his own. And although he’s only touching one small part of you, you feel his warmth in every part of your soul.

And when he says, “You took him out of his misery. If I were half as brave as you, I’d do the same,” you feel as if he’s lending you his strength. 

He squeezes your hands once, then pulls away. You feel suddenly, foolishly cold. 

“So that’s why Peter was sent away,” you finish, looking up at Younghoon and Jaehyun. “And that’s why I was sent away too.” You feel tired and drained. Like you’ve fought off an entire army of men. Like you’ve been swimming against the current of the Zalazar River for years. You wonder helplessly and hopelessly why it’s so exhausting to remember yet so easy to forget. 

It’s Younghoon who speaks again at last. “Thank you Lady Gift for entrusting us with such sensitive information. I think you know as well as I do that it’s time you tell Prince Roen and Prince Orindell the truth too.” 

“Yes,” you mutter, already dreading the lengthy Risal you would have to write before bed, “I do.” 

“I’m still curious about one thing,” Jaehyun says with a hand under his chin, “why did you send Peter to the Nomads?”

Suddenly, you’re reminded of your last conversation with Juyeon, and how he held your face and begged you to remember and how your head hurt too much to see straight by the end of the night. Yet when Jaehyun asks the same question, his voice bouncing off the walls of your mind, an answer appears as clear as day and as white as snow. When Jaehyun asks, you know. 

“The Nomads weren’t always as they are now. They weren’t as hostile or private. That night, I remembered that the Nomads were known to be bridges between Humans and the Elders. I sent him to the Nomads’ Lands in the hopes that they’d share with him the knowledge of the Elders.” 

Jaehyun only nods. And you’re glad for the silence that emerges, because you need a moment to process what you’ve just said yourself. The Elders were known to be channels for the Gods to spout their wisdom and hear the prayers of the people. All historic scrolls and religious teachings were based on the knowledge of the Elders. Another purpose of the Seven Sins and Seven Gifts was to be a bridge between the Elders and the Humans similar to the way the Nomads were a bridge. Perhaps that’s another reason why this kingdom feels so lost. You never learned how to communicate with the Elders. Thanks to Avi and his act of arson, the kingdom has none of the previous teachings from the Elders, and thanks to you, the kingdom has no new ones. 

But still, knowing that doesn’t calm the questions that arise in your mind. What knowledge from the Elders could the Nomads possibly have that would make you send Peter to them? 

The dinner ends abruptly when Younghoon stands up exclaiming how he’s tired from all that he’s just learned and bids you goodnight. You and Jaehyun do the same soon after. 

You write to Roen that night. And in your Risal, you tell him everything. You tell him about Peter, the experiments, Lord Seth, his father, your memories, the Nomads, and more. In the last line you ask Roen to extend this information to Orindell as well. You seal the letter and climb into bed with aching fingers. 

The response from Roen comes a few days later. 

Dear Fortitude, I didn’t know about Lord Seth. Thank you for doing what you did. Not even he deserved to be kept alive in pain and hurting. But everything else, Orindell and I, we already knew. Peter told us everything the night before he left. But thank you nonetheless. -Roen 

That sounds right to you. Those three boys, those brothers, they were like that. At each other’s throats one day and hugging each other the next. Chasing Orindell around the palace grounds. Playing pranks on Peter. And setting silly traps for Roen. Tackling each other to the ground and then spilling all their secrets. They’re each other's best friend as much as they’re brothers. It was only natural Peter told them the truth. And you’re glad he did. 

You sleep wonderfully that night

—LORD JAEHYUN—

Jaehyun hopes you never learn how to braid your own hair.  Your hair was so soft and it smelled nice too. Jaehyun took some sort of pleasure in being the one to braid your hair back every time the wind was too strong and you forgot a hair tie which happened more often than not. 

“It must be hard,” you say as Jaehyun sections your hair into three parts, “for Younghoon to spend so much time away from his family.” 

His hand lingers by the nape of your neck. 

“Yes, it must.” 

The next day Jaehyun tells Younghoon to go back home. 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Younghoon laughs, although the laugh sounds hesitant and it sounds lonely. 

“Go home, Younghoon.” Jaehyun insists. “Paid leave.” 

Younghoon packs up his things that very night. 

***

You have been quiet for some time now. Not just quiet in sound, but also quiet in the way you walk and eat. You silently send Risals back and forth with Roen, and then quietly accept the lack of response from Peter. You quietly begin taking more walks and then silently start taking them alone. You have been quiet since Younghoon left, but looking back, it appears that this quiet has been looming in the air for some time now. It’s been teetering up behind Jaehyun, taunting him back and forth since the night you told him and Younghoon everything. Jaehyun isn’t so sure what to make of it. But he does know that he misses you even though you spend every second under the same roof. 

He hates the quiet. 

“Lord Jaehyun! Come quick!” Vina screams from somewhere in the estate. Jaehyun bolts out of his room and finds her running towards him in the halls. “It’s Lady Gift,” she says breathless, eyes wide with worry and fear, “I think she plans to jump.” 

Jaehyun runs. 

He runs past Vina, out of the estate, onto the grassy path, towards the beach, and then westward. He runs and runs and runs. 

And there you are. Standing on top of Angel’s Peak, ready to jump. Silently. Jaehyun’s heart stops. 

“Don’t try to stop me!” You yell at Jaehyun and Vina watching you frozen in the sand. “I’ll jump, and I’ll survive.” 

“Lady Gift!” Vina yells back. “You’ll die. Come down. It’s not—“ 

Jaehyun puts a hand on Vina’s shoulder. Asking, pleading her to stop. 

“Lady Gift,” he doesn’t yell or scream, and yet he speaks loud enough for you to hear over the wind and waves. Jaehyun surprises himself with how calm his voice sounds. “Do you know how to swim?” 

You falter, grasping your sleeves as if they hold the answer.

“I might.” You finally respond. 

Jaehyun sighs. “I won’t try to stop you.” You look surprised. “But just wait a moment before you jump.” 

He starts pulling off his shoes, and then also his shirt. He can feel Vina stiffen beside him. 

“Lord Jaehyun, what are you doing?” Vina asks frantically. 

“I just wanna make sure the water’s safe,” he says before diving into the ocean. 

The water is cold. But he pushes himself through the water, swimming to the base of Angel’s Peak and feeling the strength of the sea with each movement of his arms. The waves are loud and crashing, but they aren’t strong. 

“Jaehyun!” He hears you scream from the cliff above. It sounds like you’re asking him to stop. He does not. 

He reaches the base of the cliff, his body now acclimated to the cold temperature of the water. He dives under the water and looks for something, anything that could hit you in your fall. The water is empty and clear. 

“The water is safe.” He calls back up swimming to a safer spot, away from where you will fall. “Run and jump, or you won’t make it past the ledge.” 

You nod looking up past the horizon, eyes closed. 

“And remember,” you open one eye to look down on him, “feet first.” 

You smirk. Then disappear from Jaehyun’s view. You run up to the edge. And jump. 

Except that you don’t just jump. You fling your body off the cliff. You fling your entire lifespan into the sky. And you fall. 

Jaehyun swears that time stops when you do. As if you aren’t falling but descending. As if the air is holding you up by the arms. You drop from the sky as if you’ve been preparing to do so your entire life. As if every second, minute, day, and year has amounted to this jump, this dive. And you fall and fall and fall. For longer than is humanly possible. Feet first, like Jaehyun had said. But you don’t crash into the water. No, the waves rise up to meet you. As if the sea has been waiting for you since forever. You disappear into the ocean. Jaehyun watches. Amazed. 

It’s when Vina screams his name that he’s pulled out of his trance. It’s then he realizes that you have yet to re-emerge from under the water. 

He panics. Fear coursing, shooting through him. He sucks in a breath. 

And dives. 

He lets the current take him to you. And there you are. Submerged in the water between the tides. Your eyes closed. Alive but unconscious. Alive but not fighting. He had asked you once what it took to kill you, and you had answered: giving up. And Jaehyun thinks that this must be it. Your body floating, sinking, falling in the water. This must be what it meant to give up. 

But Jaehyun isn’t going to let you give up so easily. He grabs you in his arms and throws back the water until you’re both above the surface. He fights and swims like he’s never done before. He rips through the current with a frightening amount of adrenaline. Vina pulls you both out of the water. And Jaehyun bangs at your chest and blows life into your lungs until you are choking and breathing and alive. Jaehyun falls into the sand beside you. 

“I’ll go get towels, and clean clothes.” Vina says scurrying away in the sand. 

Jaehyun and you lay side by side, wet hair and clothes sticking to your bodies. Exhausted. 

“It looked like you were dying,” Jaehyun mumbles the moment he can spare enough breath to do so, “there, under the water.” He turns his head. “Were you trying to?” 

“I don’t want to die, Jaehyun.” Your voice comes out as breathless as his.

“Did you want to feel like you’re dying?” 

You shake your head. 

“Then what?” 

“I wanted to feel mortal.” 

He looks away from you, and they watch the clouds in a shattering silence.

“I want to do it again.” 

Jaehyun laughs, amused by your desire to fling yourself off cliffs. “Oh I beg you, at least learn how to swim first.” 

You look at him then. Forehead creased and utterly confused. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

And later that night in the darkness of your bedroom and comfort of your covers. You think and overthink and think again how Jaehyun didn’t try to stop you. How he let you jump and made sure the water was safe. How he carried you back to shore. And how unbelievably good it felt to be in his arms. 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

The quiet is gone. It’s like you jumped off Angel’s Peak and dropped the silence in the water. Jaehyun is glad because, above all things, the quiet made him worry. 

You only wait a day before you’re asking Jaehyun to teach you how to swim. And when you do, excitement gushing from your voice, it’s obvious he doesn’t have much of a choice. Not that it matters, Jaehyun would have agreed to teach you regardless, his choice or not. 

Jaehyun’s father taught him how to swim. He taught him how to paddle and tread the water. He taught him about the currents, the waves, the seaweed, and the fish. 

Jaehyun extends everything he knows to you. 

You struggle at first. Even with the little things, like not losing your balance against the waves and floating in the water. But you’re stubborn. You struggle and fight with the sea until it’s bowing at your feet. By the end of the first week, you glide through the water and body surf the waves as if you’ve been doing it for years. And two days after that, you swim even better than Jaehyun. You race him to the rocks and back. You win everytime. Though Jaehyun takes pride in the way he doesn’t end far behind. Jaehyun also takes pride in how he was the one to teach you, and how good you’ve become in such little time. 

You smile at him, ducking your head under the water, and Jaehyun feels an unreal sort of elation. It’s then that he takes his pride and shoves it into the ocean. 

***

“I lied,” you confess the night you both can’t sleep and meet for the second time at the rocks. Jaehyun immediately assumes the worst, his mind racing with possibilities. “A while ago, Younghoon asked me if I would fight him. I told him I don’t like to fight anymore. But it was a lie. I do.” 

He exhales, so relieved it comes out as a laugh. “Next time don’t make it sound so grave.” 

You shove his propped knee, and he topples over dramatically. You snicker at the display. 

When you continue, your voice is tainted with an odd shade of guilt. “And I don’t just like fighting. I enjoy it too.” 

Jaehyun smiles a bit. “How so?” 

You hesitate, looking at Jaehyun like he holds the answer in his palms, but frown when you notice his smile. “Why are you smiling?” 

He shrugs. “It’s nice to hear you talking again.” 

“Oh.” You look down at your feet. Jaehyun feels suddenly warm. 

He shakes the feeling. “You say you like fighting as if it’s a bad thing.” 

“Is it?” 

Jaehyun expects it to be rhetorical, but you meet his eyes sincerely. Jaehyun realizes, in what feels like a moment too late, that you genuinely don't know. “It doesn’t have to be.” 

“I suppose.” You tap your foot against the rock. The beat feels familiar to Jaehyun. 

“So then,” he says when the tapping comes to stop, “why don’t you fight?” 

You bring your knees impossibly closer to your chest. “After Avi died, I felt so lost. He was the last person to know me for me. And so, after a fire was lit in his memorial, I left the Golden Palace and I…” 

You stop there as if the story has come to a sudden end. 

This time the tapping comes from Jaehyun’s foot. “Is it the fog again?” 

“No.” You tell him confidently. “I can’t remember well. But it’s not because of some fog. It’s like my memories of those years have been blacked out. Erased from my mind. By choice.” Jaehyun watches the way you unsurely picks at your nails and the way your hair billows in the wind. “All I know is that after Avi died, I was so angry. At the world. At myself. I went on a rampage. I was in this state of so much pain and hurt and loss that nothing mattered anymore. I didn’t care who I hurt along the way, and only the Gods know how many I must’ve hurt.”

Jaehyun listens. He lets your words travel and touch every part of his body and soul until he feels the pain and anger himself. Until he wants to sob at the tear that rolls down the side of your face. 

“I remember the fire that was lit for Avi, and then I remember running from the Golden Palace. After that, it's all black and blur. But then one day I woke up and the anger was gone. Like it had dissolved overnight. The next week I met Roe.”

You pause, and in the silence Jaehyun yearns to take the years you spent in suffering and carry them in his arms. He wants to hide the years you spent angry and alone in the pockets of his largest coat. 

“I’m scared, Jaehyun.” You whisper, voice wavering in the salty wind. “I’m scared that if I let myself fight again, I won’t come back from it. How can I carry the name Fortitude when I don’t even have enough courage to face myself?”

The words hit him like a punch to gut. He recoils under the weight. A gust of wind blows then, pushing and pulling the hairs that have escaped from your braid. He wants to reach his hand out and tuck the hair away. He only realizes a second after that he hasn’t swallowed down the impulse fast enough. He’s surprised to see you soften the teeniest bit when his fingers graze your forehead. He feels suddenly, impossibly weightless.

“You aren’t the person you were then.” He says. “You’ve learned. You’ve grown. But the biggest difference is that now you aren’t alone.” You let out a breath as if you’ve been holding it for years. For all Jaehyun knows, that might be the truth. He continues. “The day you jumped off Angel’s Peak, you fell into the water and you sank. For the smallest of seconds, I lost you between the waves. But I found you and pulled you to shore.” He pauses, reminded of the terror he felt for the second that you were gone. “What I mean is that if you lose yourself in the waves of a fight, you have people to pull you out from the riptide. You have me, Younghoon, Juyeon, Peter, Roen, Orindell; hell even Vina would pull you out if she had the chance.” You manage a small, sad laugh, and the sound of it alone fills Jaehyun with an indescribable warmth. “You're not alone anymore. Even if you do get lost, you’ll find a way back, with or without our help. If you want to fight, fight. You have nothing to be scared of. Not anymore.”

You lay back suddenly, arms extended above your head and eyes closed. You smile. Like you’re free. As if you’ve been granted freedom from the ropes tied by your own doing. You yawn. 

“Oh how happy Younghoon will be to hear all this.” 

Jaehyun chuckles. “He’ll be jumping at the chance to spar with you.” 

You stand up and say, “thank you for listening,” before walking away. 

“And Jaehyun,” you stop, your back still facing him, “it feels nice to talk with you again too.” 

Jaehyun is the Zalazar River in the fall. Bright red and burning. 

***

Jaehyun floats on his back in the waveless water watching you above him who’s grown to love cliff jumping from Angel’s Peak.

You jump like you did before except that this time you don’t fling your life into the water. You jump and fall from the sky. Then you sink and sink and sink. And emerge from the water, alive. 

“Are there any other cliffs?” You ask as you swim around each other. 

“What, are you bored of Angel’s Peak already?” 

“Perhaps.” 

Jaehyun laughs, and you splash him with water. He dives and chases you back to shore. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

“Aren’t you close to Captain Juyeon?” Jaehyun wonders aloud when a Risal swoops down from the sky the day you and Jaehyun are sitting in the courtyard. 

“He’s like a brother to me.” You say while you send the bird away, keeping the letter sealed and in your lap. 

“Then, why haven’t you been exchanging Risals with him as well?” 

You scoff. “I wish I could, but he’s scared of the bird.” Jaehyun giggles, and it spreads like wildfire in the breeze.

“You must miss him.” He mutters, and you hum a yes, opening the letter wordlessly. 

The letter you receive however is not the one you expect. And it certainly isn’t the letter you want. 

You read and then reread the letter from Orindell. It was an apology of sorts, though the words seem scattered and unsure. You huff, dropping the letter in your lap. Jaehyun notices but doesn’t say anything, focusing instead on that cat that’s climbed in his lap.

You think about Orindell, the boy who you’ve known his entire life, and how well he grew up. Orindell never let his brothers get the best of him despite being the youngest. Wherever they beat him in strength and size, he countered with wit and skill. It proved useful for Orindell; he was quick to take interest in matters of battle strategy and war efficiency. Orindell climbed the administrative ranks of the Knights of the Holy Order faster than anyone you had seen before, and in a blink of an eye, he became the youngest ever Commander of the Knights. You had felt swollen with pride for the youngest Prince. 

And maybe that’s why it hurt so much when he confessed to you in the winter. And yet here Orindell is, apologizing for pushing his love on you and for asking your hand in marriage. Here he is taking back his wrongdoings in writing. You sigh helplessly.  

“Is something wrong?” Jaehyun asks from across the table not taking his eyes off the cat still curled up in his lap. You slide the letter over to him. He reads it slowly. Then laughs. “I was not aware you carried Prince Orindell’s heart in your bags.” 

You narrow your eyes. “I. Do. Not.” You snatch the letter back. 

“I take it you don’t harbor similar feelings for Prince Orindell then?” The question sounds hopeful. 

“No, not at all.” You deny. “Orindell is like a child to me.” 

“He’s only a few years younger than myself.” Jaehyun says looking up, his eyes strangely dark. “Do you see me as a child too?” 

You flick the letter. “I’ve known Orindell since he was born. I watched him grow. He feels like family to me. But I met you at this age, so it doesn’t feel like you’re much younger than I am. It’s odd how age seems to work in my head. I know I’m older than you and Younghoon by ages, and yet I see you both as equals.” You take a sip of your drink. “Plus, Orindell still acts like a child.” Jaehyun smiles at that. 

“Oddly enough,” Jaehyun mumbles, bringing the full glass to his lips, “that makes sense.” 

You think back to the letter, and sense fondness in Orindell’s apology. Something in your mind clicks. 

“I was so mad at him,” You say to the air around you, “at Orindell. For months. I wanted him to tell me he never felt that way, that he fooled himself into something deeper than a platonic love. But I realize now that he can’t take it back even if he wanted to. Orindell can’t help how he feels.” You look up and find Jaehyun watching you. “He’s apologized for what he can. But he can’t apologize for falling in love.”

Jaehyun smiles sweetly. The kind of smile that makes your heart numb. “Oh Fortitude, I could’ve told you that months ago.” 

“I fear,” you begin, leaning forward in your seat, “that in rejecting Orindell, I’ll lose him as well.”

Jaehyun points to the letter. “He’s apologized. He doesn’t want to lose you either.” 

You repeat it in your mind. 

He doesn’t want to lose you either. 

It makes you feel suddenly, inexplicably upset and confused. Why is it so easy to love yet so hard to accept? How can love be so strong but still fleeting like everything else? You know Orindell’s feelings for you will pass, and yet knowing it doesn’t make you feel much better. Love waxes and wanes like the phases of the moon, but does it ever fade? You think of how Orindell feels towards you. How you have felt towards others in the past. And today sitting in the courtyard, the picture your shoved down feelings create finally starts to make sense. You find the image to be startling but unsurprising all the same. Finally, you understand the pain of poets, the pain Orindell must feel, and the pain you once felt yourself. 

Love is a burden. A burden you’re only now learning how to accept. 

You want to welcome the warm weight with open arms. 

***

That night you send a Risal to the Golden Palace addressed for Prince Orindell. 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

Jaehyun sorts through his papers and files through responsibilities mindlessly on the day a letter for him comes. He pushes it to the side of his mind when you come into his office sputtering something about the latest news from the Golden Palace and how things have been so much better between you and Prince Orindell. 

He waits a moment once you’ve finished. “Do you remember me telling you about my sister, Insia?” You nod at his question, falling into the armchair near him. “Well, I just got this from her.” Jaehyun holds up the letter. “It’s her son’s birthday, and they’ve invited me to celebrate.” 

“Oh how sweet!” You gush, although your voice sounds a bit higher than normal. You pull at your sleeves. “How long will you be gone?” 

“Actually,” Jaehyun hesitates, his next question teetering on the tip of his tongue, “I was wondering if you’d like to come as well?” 

***

The boat ride to the island Insia lives on is pleasant. Jaehyun humors you with stories of his childhood and of Insia, and you listen to Jaehyun talk as if your life depends on it. When they dock, Jaehyun drags you to a bakery to buy candy and sweets for Insia’s children and then some more for yourselves. 

By late afternoon they reach Insia and her husband Cyrin’s house. Jaehyun always liked their house. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was comfortable and somehow perfect. They lived right on the beach. The back door leading to a sandy shore and sparkling blue waters. 

“Hold on,” Jaehyun says abruptly, taking your hand in his, “before we go in, I want to show you something.” 

He leads you around the house and beyond the white fence that separates the streets from the beach. You take off your shoes before proceeding in the sand. It takes one more turn and another second of walking on your already aching feet before it’s visible. 

The sea. 

The water that surrounds the island is bluer and clearer than the waters back home. The waves shine in the last bit of the light from the setting sun. Jaehyun feels at home despite being hours away from it. 

He looks over at you. And you smile so brightly the sun seems to dim in that moment. The awe in your eyes and lightness in your sigh reminds Jaehyun of the first time he took you to see the sea. He’s reminded of how his chest wanted to burst at the sight of your smile. He finds himself in a similar predicament today, except that now the bursting chest was something he had grown quite used to. It was something he had grown to adore. Jaehyun loved the sea. But looking at you and the wonder in each one of your bones, he thinks you might love it more. 

“Uncle Jaehyun!” A voice yells from behind them. Jaehyun whips around only to be tackled by the weight of a 7 year old clinging onto his body and legs. A second later he’s tackled by another child. He pulls them both into his arms and smothers them with as much love as he can fit into a hug. 

You kneel down in the sand, and introduce yourself to the children. “You must be Elia.” You say to the older girl who’s detached herself from Jaehyun. Elia nods enthusiastically. “And you,” you point to the younger boy, shyly hiding behind Jaehyun’s legs, “must be the birthday boy.” 

“That’s my brother Herschel, and he’s turning five years old tomorrow.” Elia jumps in before Herschel can answer. Jaehyun plops down himself and the children follow. The four of you sitting in a circle in the warm sand. 

“Or so I’ve heard.” you say, pulling the box of sweets from a bag. “Well, to celebrate your Uncle Jaehyun and I brought you some sweets—“

The children pounce on the box before you can finish. Jaehyun clutches his stomach in laughter. 

“Jaehyun!” Insia yells from the back deck of her home. Although the yell sounds more like she’s about to nag him instead of welcoming her only brother to her home. “Those sweets will rot their teeth!” 

“You’re torturing them Insia!” He yells back, getting up from the sand to greet his sister. “Children need sweets.” 

Insia scrunches her nose. “You spoil them too much.” She says before pulling Jaehyun into a hug.

Jaehyun leads Insia to where you and the children sit in the sand, and asks about the whereabouts of his youngest niece, Devi, who is still less than a year old. Insia resposds that she’s napping and that Cyrin’s watching her. 

You stand up to greet Insia. 

“Lady Gift, it’s such an honor that you’ve come to visit. We’re humbled to have you stay in our home.” 

“Oh please, no. I’m the one who’s humbled that you’ve opened up your home to me. And please call me Fortitude. I despise formalities.” 

“Well, in that case,” Insia coos, looping her arm with yours, “please come inside. Jaehyun’s told me so much about you. I think we’ll get along wonderfully this weekend.” 

***

Insia, like always, is right. You and her get along wonderfully. After the kids are put to bed, you and Insia begin talking in the sitting area, and in the span of your conversation, Jaehyun and Cyrin are able to finish not one but two card games at the kitchen table. Cyrin puts up the cards while Jaehyun watches you and Insia converse. He finds it almost surprising that the two of you still have something to talk about considering how different you both are. But the surprise is a pleasant one, for Jaehyun takes much pleasure in watching two people he cares for so deeply talk and laugh together comfortably. 

“Jaehyun, you must stay here longer.” Cyrin insists. “If not for the whole weekend, then at least for the day after Herschel’s party.” 

Jaehyun hesitates. “I don’t know. Younghoon is already coming back the day before we’re supposed to, and I’d hate to make him wait for us longer than he already will be.” 

“Oh please,” Insia dismisses, you and her approaching the table, “Younghoon sees you everyday; he’ll be fine. I barely see you anymore, especially after Devi was born. The least you could do is give me the pleasure of celebrating your birthday with you.” 

“Your birthday?” You mutter from your side of the table. You meet Jaehyun’s eyes. “Forgive me Jaehyun. I had no idea.” Jaehyun dismisses the apology.                     

Cyrin and Insia share a look. The kind of look that only couples who know each other in and out could share. The kind of look that holds entire conversations in one glance. They share another look after that too. Insia scoffs, turning dramatically to you. 

“Would you mind humouring Cyrin with an arm wrestle? He wants to see how well he can hold up against a Gift of the Spirit.”

Jaehyun’s reminded of how a similar conversation between Younghoon and you went. Jaehyun inhales sharply, watching your reaction carefully. You surprise him by laughing. 

“I’m no joke.” Cyrin defends in response to your laughter. “There’s yet a person on this island to beat me.” 

You lean towards him. “Ah, but no person on this island is me.” You ready your arm up. Cyrin takes it eagerly. 

Jaehyun likes this. How you tease Cyrin. How you’re not afraid of your powers anymore. How you beam with confidence. 

“You do know who I am right?” You say, before the back of hand slams down on the table. Cyrin yelps in shock, and Insia hides snickers behind her hand while you laugh loudly and freely. You turn towards Jaehyun, and the two of you share a look of your own. 

And through the silent conversation, Jaehyun knows. Younghoon would have to wait a bit longer for your return. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

The next morning you send a Risal to Younghoon telling him that you and Jaehyun would be staying for the entire weekend. He responds with a simple tell Herschel and Jaehyun I said happy birthday. You do. 

Later that day, Insia requests you and Jaehyun to take the children outside while she prepares the house for the part that night. 

You pick up Devi and rock the child in your arms, following Jaehyun and the other two children out of the house, onto the back deck, and then to the beach. You carefully take a seat in the sand. 

You learned back when the Princes were young that you had an inexplicable knack with babies. So when Devi softens and presses herself against your body, it appears the knack has not yet been lost. You turn into mush when Devi stops crying, reaching for you. You give her a finger to hold onto and Devi takes it at once. 

You look away from the adorable baby cradled between your arms, and your eyes land on Jaehyun. Jaehyun plays with Elia and Herschel, really plays with them. Running and rolling around in the sand. Splashing them with water and pouting when the two siblings get mad at each other. You wonder for a moment what it would be like if this was your family. Married, with children, and living far away on this island. You wonder for a moment how it would feel to be normal and to be mortal. And the thought strikes you with an odd sort of sadness. One that grabs at your heart and shakes it until the blood is gone. One that makes your ribs disappear and your body feel hollow and numb. 

But then Jaehyun lifts Herschel onto his shoulders, and your sadness vanishes the second he does. He smiles at you. Giggles. Calls you twice with something you can’t quite place lingering on his tongue. 

Your chest starts to hum. He smiles at you again, and the humming grows and shifts into a song. A song that’s breathtakingly beautiful. One with chords so delightfully articulated that you don’t want to go a day without hearing them. You want your chest to hum and sing this song for the rest of your life.

Suddenly, Devi squeezes the fingers she’s been holding onto, and in that moment, while watching Jaehyun play with his sister’s children and while carrying Jaehyun’s niece in your own two arms, you feel impossibly, shatteringly happy. 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

The birthday party had been a smash, with children appearing from every crevice of the house and cake smothered on Herschel’s face. Insia and Cyrin seemed happy with it. You seemed happy with it. The children seemed happy with it. And their happiness made Jaehyun happy as well. 

Tonight is another sleepless night for Jaehyun, but since he isn’t home with a familiar rock to sit on, he heads to a balcony in Insia’s home that overlooks the coast. He brings an extra coat; the balcony would be cold. Still, he shivers in the howling wind, letting the crashing waves ease his mind slowly and methodically. You join him at some point, and Jaehyun smiles when he hears the balcony door open. He doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s you. His smile turns into a frown when he notices you dressed plainly, no scarf and no coat. 

“Are you immune to coldness then?”

You shiver, wrapping your arms around your torso. “Unfortunately, no.” 

“Here.” Jaehyun hands you the extra coat. 

You take it and stare at the cloth before wrapping it around your shoulders. “Do you always bring extra coats?” 

“No.” He leans against the wall. “But if you insist on not dressing properly, I suppose I’ll have to start.” 

You look down, smiling. You walk to the edge of the balcony and rest your elbows on the railing. The two of you are quiet together for some time. 

“I wish you told me earlier that your birthday is approaching, Jaehyun.” You say. “I could’ve prepared something for you.” 

He bites the inside of his cheek. “It hadn’t seemed important enough to bring up before.”

“Why wouldn’t it be important?”

“It’s just one day.” 

“It should still be celebrated.” You insist, sounding suddenly mad. As if Jaehyun not telling you was an insult. Jaehyun positions himself closer. 

“Is something wrong?” He asks as softly as possible. 

And at his words, your head drops, like you couldn’t bear to hold it up any longer. You cry silently, face hidden from Jaehyun by your own body, stammering over your own sniffles. He takes your hand in his and holds it to his heart. “Please,” he begs because the sight of you in so much silent pain hurts him more than he can admit, “tell me what’s happened.”

And so you do. You tell him how you’ve become rotten with jealousy for Insia and her perfect family. And how you want nothing more than to be normal. You tell Jaehyun how much you wish you could take back being the Gift of Fortitude. And with each word that leaves from your lips, Jaehyun comes to realize that what you tell him  now isn’t like anything you’ve told him before. What keeps you up tonight isn’t a forgotten memory or worry for someone else. No, tonight, you allow sleep to stay out of reach and let tears fall down the side of your cheek because of a wound that’s still fresh and bleeding and new. Tonight, your pain is not one Jaehyun can take away. No matter how badly he wants to. 

He stares at you, frozen. And Jaehyun thinks, not for the first time, about all the people you’ve lost. Sunwoo, Avi, your parents, Roe. He thinks about all the years behind your eyes, and all the scars in your mind. He thinks about how you’ve given everything you have to give, and how you gave it all from the heart. You sacrificed your entire life for this kingdom. And this sadness, this never-ending pain, you did not deserve. He stares at you, the Gift of Fortitude, and thinks about all that you’ve endured. 

Finally, he speaks. “A while ago, you told me that Fortitude meant courage, and that the name alone was such a burden. But later, with Younghoon, I looked up the meaning of Fortitude. It means more than just courage. It means to be brave and stand tall in the midst of pain. It means to endure. And oh, only the Gods know how much in this life you’ve endured.” 

Your voice breaks, and at last, your cries are no longer silent. He holds you close, and you shake, sobbing, under the arms he has around you. When he pulls away, he finds that he’s no longer looking at you, but instead the face of a God. Or rather, his God. And Jaehyun isn’t sure what to do or how to act because suddenly he sees his God in you. He says your name like a prayer. Like a religious verse spilling from his lips. 

And because he can’t think of anything more to say, he squeezes your hand, brings it to his lips, and presses a kiss to each one of your knuckles. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

You are a ball of flames. Hot and burning in hues of orange, red, and blue. The song in your chest from earlier erupts into a symphony. But it’s a sad and dramatic orchestra so you continue to weep and cry until the flames have been reduced to scorch marks on your knuckles. Jaehyun’s coat suddenly feels heavy on your shoulders. 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

Jaehyun did it on instinct. He kissed your hand because in the moment it felt like the most natural thing to do. 

He doesn’t regret it.

He kisses it again. He lets his lips linger. And when Jaehyun lowers your hand back to his heart, he wonders if you can feel how wildly it beats and bangs from inside him.  

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

You feel it. You feel the wildness of your own heart as well.

—LORD JAEHYUN—

You stand like that for so long. You crying. Jaehyun looking into the eyes of God. Your hand against Jaehyun’s restless heart. 

You stand like that until you rip your hand away. He lets it fall from his grip. “Leave me be Jaehyun.” You say, tears still fleeing down your face.

He takes a step back from. “You’ve endured enough. Please, don’t make yourself endure this unhappiness too.”   

With that, he bids you goodnight, leaving you alone on the balcony with nothing but yourself, the sea, and Jaehyun’s coat. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

That night is long and slow, but the sun welcomes you with a new day of warmth. A new day that also happens to be Jaehyun’s birthday. You do your best to ignore the sadness inside of you. A sadness caused by more than just your want for normalcy. You look down at the hand Jaehyun held in his the night before. You look at your scorched knuckles. You don’t want to look into it any further. 

It storms the entire day, so you spend Jaehyun’s birthday inside playing cards, playing chess, and playing with the children. Insia announces she’ll be preparing a feast for dinner. Jaehyun thanks her then smiles, and to you, it looks sad.

***

There’s a knock on the door while you’re preparing yourself for dinner. You open it to Insia who looks you up and down, shakes her head, and mutters a small ‘that won’t do’ before disappearing down the hall. She returns moments later with a collection of her own dresses and lays them out on your bed. 

“How about this?” Insia offers holding up a red dress. 

You look down at the blue dress you already put on. “What’s wrong with this one?” 

“Nothing, I just thought you might want to dress up tonight.” 

“And why would I want to do that?” 

“For Jaehyun.” Insia says it blandly. 

You feel like the wind’s been knocked out of you. “For Jaehyun?” You echo. 

“Nevermind then,” Insia sighs, as if she’s talking to a child who won’t cooperate. She puts the dress down, and comes over, taking your hands in hers. What is it with these siblings and holding your hands? And why does it hurt so much when they do? “I was only giving you options. This dress is lovely too. I’m sure Jaehyun will be delighted no matter which dress you come to dinner in.” Insia leaves, and you ponder why in the world it would matter to Jaehyun which dress you came down in? Then you wonder why Jaehyun should take any delight in your appearance? The questions bring back a familiar sadness. 

The bodice of the dress Insia brought is fitting, and the skirt was made to flow beautifully. It’s a newer style, one of the many fashion trends that went over your head. But it is indeed a pretty dress, so you change into it anyways. 

Insia was right. Jaehyun looks delighted when you do eventually come down. Even you can’t look past the way his eyes seem to sparkle. “You look stunning.” He tells you as you make your way over to the dining room. “How come you’ve never worn this dress before?” 

“It isn’t mine.” You confess. “Insia lent it to me for the night.” 

“Ah,” Jaehyun exhales, “that makes much more sense. I wouldn’t have thought this dress to fit your style.” Jaehyun takes his seat, and you ponder yet again how Jaehyun has come acquainted with what is your style and what isn’t? 

The dinner is a feast like Insia had said, but still, you can’t bring yourself to enjoy it. Your mind feels heavy and restless. You desperately want to rid your brain of the thoughts that plague it, and so your eyes land mindlessly on Jaehyun. You watch the way he cares for his nieces and nephews and the way he listens when they talk. You watch him eat and the way he smiles and throws his head back in laughter. You watch and notice all these little things about Jaehyun and find that you care for each one of them. You care for them deeply. It makes your heart feel as heavy as your head. You stand up abruptly and excuse yourself from dinner early, unable to continue silently suffering the pain of your heavy heart and heavy head. You don’t hear Jaehyun follow you out. 

It’s when you’re halfway up the stairs that he catches up. 

“Please, Jaehyun. Go back.” You continue, not looking back. 

“No. Tell me what’s happened.” 

You turn a corner, your room now near. “Don’t let me ruin your birthday. Go back to the dinner your sister prepared for you.” 

You push your door open, and Jaehyun follows you inside. “Please, just tell me if you’re alright.” Jaehyun asks you so softly, so sweetly, it makes you feel impossibly frustrated. You wish Jaehyun wasn’t so gentle with you. It made it impossible to ignore the way your heart warms whenever he is near. 

“Why do you care?” You ask hashly, gathering fistfulls of Insia’s red dress in your hands. 

“I’ve always cared.” He sounds hurt, like the words have cut him.

“No Jaehyun, why? Why do you care?” If your words before cut him, this was you digging your fingers into the wound. 

“I care…” he falters, searching for something in your face. You wish he didn’t look at you the way he does. “I care because I worry for you.” 

“Well,” you huff, “why do you worry then?” Your words come out as more of an accusation than a question, although you yourself aren’t sure what it’s an accusation of. 

Jaehyun searches your face again, and his eyes, his beautiful eyes, burn over every spot they touch. He must find what he’s looking for because in an instant his face, no, his entire body softens and he crumples into the chair behind him. Head bowed before you. 

“I’m sorry,” he utters, “I’m sorry. I can’t hide this any longer. I can’t help it. I—“

You cut him off, crying. “Oh, please Jaehyun, don’t say it please.” You beg because you aren’t sure if you can bear to hear him say it aloud. And because you can’t ignore the desperation in Jaehyun’s voice. 

“I won’t hide it from you. I can’t hide it, not anymore, not now that you know because I do. I love you. And I’ve loved you for so long now.” 

You aren’t sure what makes you do it. Perhaps it’s the sadness in his voice or the love on his tongue. Perhaps you go towards Jaehyun because of your own will. But no matter the reason, you stand near where he sits and brushes the hair away from his eyes. He grabs your hand when you do and holds it against his head, bowing before it. As if he wouldn’t be able to stand it if your hand was doing anything but touching his face. As if he is offering his entire self to you. And you hate how much comfort you take in this. In having the back of your palm pressed against Jaehyun’s head. But you do, you take comfort in this little action. In this little declaration of love. 

You fling your hand out of Jaehyun’s grip and stumble to your bed, which you fall onto, burying your face into the soft sheets, weeping. You weep because you don’t like love. And because love will always lead to loss. And because you’re tired of losing. You weep because you don’t want to lose Jaehyun. 

And suddenly, Jaehyun is standing next to you. You can sense that Jaehyun is crying too. He caresses your hair gently. 

“I don’t mean to push my love on you. I just can’t bear to hide it anymore. Because hiding it feels like a lie, and I don’t wish to lie to you.” He pauses, his hand lingering behind your ear. “Please, don’t push me away. The last thing I want is for things to change.” And you know Jaehyun is smarter than to think this won’t change anything. Love had a way of forging its own path in life. He continues. “I can’t bear to lose you. I can’t fathom a life where I lose you. I love you but I don’t expect you to love me too. I never will. Don’t push me away. Please.” He presses a silent kiss to your hair, and it only makes you weep harder. 

“Leave me be, Jaehyun.” You say for the second time this weekend. And it hurts to say as much as it did before, because in actuality the last thing you want is for Jaehyun to be anywhere but by your side. But you send him away regardless because when he is near, your heart beats too fast for your mind to think of anything but him and his smile and his laugh. Jaehyun shuts the door quietly. 

You think how unfair it is that you should take so much pleasure in the kisses he presses to your hands and hair. And pleasure in his company and in every single innocent touch. You think how unfair it is that Jaehyun must love you. You think it’s unfair and cruel and mean and wrong. You cry for the unfairness of the world, and then you cry yourself to sleep as well. 

*** 

You spend the next day, your last day on this island, in your room. They bring you meals, but you aren’t able to eat a single one. You spend the whole day in your head. 

It’s evening when you do eventually leave your room. You go straight to Jaehyun’s, and slip a letter under the door.

—LORD JAEHYUN—

Jaehyun spends most of the day on the beach, throwing his worries into the reef and watching them roll away with the waves. When he returns to his room, he finds a letter from you. His heart stops. 

Dear Jaehyun, Last night, you said that you couldn’t bear to lose me. That you couldn’t fathom a life where you lose me. But the thing is, love has always led to loss, and I will always be the one losing. Because one day, you’ll die and I won’t. I don’t have to fathom a life without you. I just have to wait for it. I’m tired of loving and losing. One day, I’ll lose you as a friend, don’t make me lose you as a lover too. -Fortitude

When he finishes reading the letter, his heart starts beating again. Except that it doesn’t beat, it breaks. He had been reckless with his words. He isn’t going to make that mistake again. He writes you a letter of his own. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE— Dear Fortitude, Forgive me. I was careless and stupid with my words, and I can’t pretend to understand your specific pain. You told me once, long ago, that you aren’t immortal. Which means your pain is not forever either.  But even then, you are not alone in loss. We all love. We all lose. Everyone is bound for that sadness, including me and you. We know that and yet still, we wear our hearts on our sleeves and fall in love again and again, over and over. Don’t let the pain of loss keep you from the joy of love. Please.  -Jaehyun

You find yourself thinking of the time after the death of Avi. The time where you lived without love. The period of time that you’ve blocked from memory. Perhaps, Jaehyun is right. Perhaps there is no life without love. And not just romantic love, but platonic love, familial love, and love in all its forms. The thought feels heavy in your mind. 

***

You’re walking through the halls of the house at night when you find Jaehyun. He’s on the same balcony as two nights ago, staring at the sea. You stand in the hall and watch him. 

You recall how strong the wind was that night and how Jaehyun had an extra coat. You remember how warm it felt to have something of his draped over your shoulders. And looking back, it seems so simple. It seems obvious that when Jaehyun gave you his coat, it was more than just a kind gesture. It was a declaration of his love. It hits you then, how many times Jaehyun has told you, or rather showed you his love. He showed you when he held your hand against his beating heart and when he pressed kisses to your knuckles. He said ‘I love you’ every single time he listened to you talk and all those days he spent teaching you how to swim. He showed you when he let you jump from Angel’s Peak, when he didn’t let you sink, and when he carried you back to the beach. He told you that he loved you when he gave you a burning log to throw in the fire at his father’s memorial. He told you that day he ran in the sand with you, like the child you never got to be, and he said it each time he braided your hair. And like a wave crashing over, you realize that Jaehyun has been declaring his love in a million different ways since the day he offered the sea as yours to take. Your heart carries each one of these confessions, each one of Jaehyun’s silent declarations, until it sinks and sinks and sinks within your own body. 

In all your years, through all your loss, you’ve grown to dislike romantic love. But looking at him now, you realize Jaehyun’s love for you is more than just romantic. His love for you is one of respect and admiration. His love for you is one of understanding. His love for you is pure. Purer than any love you have known before. You look at Jaehyun again, really look at Jaehyun. You look at the way the moonlight bounces off his skin and hair, and the way he rests his elbows over the railing. You look at the way he bends one knee. You look at Jaehyun and see more than you’ve ever seen in him before. You look at Jaehyun and see a God. But not just any God, you see your God. And you have no idea what to do. 

It’s while staring at his figure on the balcony that you realize you love Jaehyun too. It’s then that you realize you have been falling in love with the little things since the day he took you to see the sea. But oh, how the little things were everywhere and everything. 

And suddenly the realization is bursting through the balcony doors and into the arms of the man you love. The realization pours out from your eyes and heart. The realization spills from your lips and paints itself across the night sky. The realization is screaming, breaking itself free. In your head, you chant. I love you. I love you. I love you. Out loud, you say, “And you must know, I’ll love you for a very long time.”

And Jaehyun’s laughing, holding you in his arms, blissfully, as if there’s nothing that could have made him happier. As if there’s no place he'd rather be than right here with you on this balcony overlooking the sea. He laughs and then leans his forehead against yours. “I love you too, and you must know that right now, I want to kiss you quite terribly.”

And because he loves you. And because you love him. And because he made you laugh after a weekend spent crying, you tilt up your chin and close the distance. For a moment, everything fits perfectly, and you, once again, feel shatteringly happy. 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

Jaehyun imagines the feeling fluttering in his chest that morning can only be described as bliss. But to him it is more. It’s more than blissful to wake up to you sleeping in his shirt on his bed tangled in his sheets and limbs. But alas, bliss would do for now. 

He takes his bliss and presses it to your shoulder then neck then jaw then cheek. He presses a number of blissful kisses to the infinite spots on your face he’s yet to kiss until you’re awake pushing at Jaehyun’s face.  

“I’m not ready to wake up,” you groan, turning your body flush against Jaehyun. 

“We’ll miss the boat back if we don’t get up soon.” He reminds, tracing mindless shapes against the curve of your hips. 

You sigh and bury your face deeper into his chest. “I’ve ruined our weekend haven’t I?” 

He pulls you impossibly closer. “You haven’t ruined anything.” 

***

The boat ride from the island back to the mainland is long and slow, and the entire time, Jaehyun is jumping in his seat, ready to return home. 

“You must miss him.” You mutter from next to him. Jaehyun doesn’t have to ask to know you’re talking about Younghoon. He nods, turning to you. 

“And how about you, what do you miss?” 

You look up at the sky, smiling. “I miss,” you tap on Jaehyun’s knee, “jumping from Angel’s Peak.” Jaehyun laughs, capturing the moment and capturing your hand in his.

When you do eventually dock, Jaehyun leads you away from the road home and towards the beach. He surprises himself with the gesture as much as he does you. By the time you reach the sand, you’re running. And you run and run and run. Past the estate. Whipping off your coats and shoes. Discarding your worries in the sand. Running. Wild. In love. You both run until you reach the rocks. And you’re climbing Angel’s Peak while Jaehyun’s diving, piercing his body into the water. You climb then run then jump, piercing the sea yourself moments later. And you both swim around each other ducking and diving in the water. 

Suddenly it’s a contest: who can hold their breath the longest. Jaehyun counts the seconds.  One. Two. (You kiss him) Three. Four. 

Five. (He kisses you) Six. 

You return to the estate finally, greeting Younghoon drenched and swollen with love. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

It’s the day after you and Jaehyun return from Insia and Cyrin’s home that you and Younghoon fight for the first time. In all honesty, you have been itching to fight with someone again ever since your talk with Jaehyun. And when you told Younghoon at dinner the night before, that you would be willing to fight him, he was itching to fight with you as well. 

For the first couple days, you start simple. A few rehearsed drills and fighting moves. Jaehyun usually watches, sitting in a corner of the courtyard with a book. And when you feel comfortable enough to do so, you advance to Younghoon attacking with jabs and punches here and there and you blocking them while also studying his technique. You learn that Younghoon is a good fighter, but his movements are choppy and slow as if he hasn’t fought in a while which in his defense, he hasn’t. You imagine Younghoon would be better equipped in a sword fight rather than the hand to hand combat you were drilling now. By the end of the first week, Younghoon gets restless, wanting to do more. You reluctantly agree. It’s fine at first, you focus mainly on deflecting his attacks and blocking his moves. When you sidestep from an attack, you see your chance and take it, punching Younghoon in the gut. You only realize after the fact that you’ve done it too hard. Nothing fatal, but a punch hard enough that if you had hit him an inch higher, his rib would’ve broken from the impact. You refuse to fight Younghoon for a while after that. When you do return to fighting, a whole week later back to the basic drills and blocking, you no longer allow Jaehyun to watch. 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

The days that follow are some of the happiest for Jaehyun. Jaehyun and you spend whole days in each other's bedrooms and under the sheets. Younghoon catches on to the two of you almost immediately. Perhaps he caught on before you realized anything yourselves. 

The other days you spend walking along the shore or drinking tea in the courtyard. And on the days Jaehyun must do work in his office, Younghoon and you play chess in the corner. You continue to send Risals: to Roen and Orindell and another unanswered one to Peter. 

You and Younghoon continue training without Jaehyun in attendance. Once you get the hang of controlling the strength of your blows and kicks with an almost frightening amount of precision, you let Jaehyun return to his spot in the corner. And even Jaehyun, who knows nothing about fighting, is amazed by your skill. Skill that is far too good to be fighting with Younghoon, who looks ready to die from exhaustion after every single one of your fights. And yet, despite the way you barely break a sweat, you look unbelievably happy after each and every fight. 

Word gets out eventually, likely thanks to Vina’s gossiping, that the Gift of Fortitude has fighting shows in the courtyard of Lord Jaehyun’s estate. And soon enough, every afternoon a flock of young boys, guards, and locally stationed Knights arrive at the courtyard to watch you fight. You no longer mind the crowd. A few brave Knights and guards even try challenging you. You go especially easy for the sake of their bodies, but spare no care when it comes to attacking their egos. But still, even those fights make you happy. 

The happiest you look, however, is when Vina asks you to teach her something. You make Vina begin immediately. And as it turns out you’re a wonderful teacher, although when Jaehyun mentions this, you deny it telling Jaehyun it’s only because you taught Juyeon and the Princes. Nonetheless, you teach Vina moves and tricks that would be useful to her like how to use the weight of her opponent against her and how to properly hold a knife and attack with it. It doesn’t take long for Jaehyun’s courtyard to be filled with young boys and girls alike all learning how to defend themselves and fight from you.

And every second that you aren’t teaching and Jaehyun isn’t working, you spend in the water, wading between the waves and floating on your backs. You jump from Angel’s Peak until you feel that you've outgrown it, beginning to search for higher cliffs in the horizon. You race each other from the docks to the rocks and hold numerous contests to see who can hold their breath for longer. You win everything every time, and Jaehyun has never been so happy. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

You’re sitting in the courtyard alone playing with the stray cats, when you hear the Risal’s call signaling the return of the letter you sent to the Golden Palace and to Price Orindell. 

Dear Fortitude, I regret to inform you that father has been acting oddly again. Roen and I suspect that he might be preparing to try another ‘experiment’. Roen fears what’s to come if we don’t hear from Peter soon. I take it you haven’t heard from him yourself. I’ve begun to worry for Peter as you do. Do you think he’s okay? Father wants me to cut the pay for the Knights, but how does he expect me to keep an army loyal to this kingdom if we don’t pay them properly? Honestly, Fortitude, I worry for father too. I know he must be taken off the throne, but I worry for him beyond the crown. I worry for his health. He’s getting sicker by the days. It’s difficult to see one’s own father spiral into madness. I’m already saddened with thoughts of how all this will turn out. I’m afraid I’ve made this letter into a collection of my worries. Do you think I worry too much? I hope you’re taking care of yourself. In better news, Captain Juyeon and his squadron have been stationed near Lord Jaehyun’s estate by the Commander himself. Consider it a gift from me to you. He should be arriving in a day or two. And please, give Juyeon a punch for me. - Orindell 

You think a visit from Juyeon might be the first piece of good news you’ve received from the palace in weeks. You jump up and run back into the estate to tell Younghoon and Jaehyun. 

***

You’re in the kitchen with Vina eating fruit when Juyeon arrives. 

“He’s here.” Jaehyun tells you, popping his head in the kitchen.

You snap up and look at Jaehyun as if waiting for him to admit he’s joking. He only nods. 

So you grab his hand and run. 

The first thing you do when you see Juyeon is punch him, as hard as Orindell would. 

“Ow!” He yelps, then tilts his head, confused. “Did your punches get weaker?” 

You finally hug him, and exhale into his shoulder. “That punch was from Orindell.” You pull away from the embrace. “And this one,” you punch his other arm, much harder than before but not any harder than he’s already used to, “is from me.” 

He winces, clutching both arms. “You could’ve just said no.”

You smile. “But where’s the fun in that.”

Once Juyeon, Jaehyun, and Younghoon have all been properly introduced, the other two give you and Juyeon some time to catch up. You take him to the beach for a walk. 

“How long are you staying?” 

Juyeon sighs. “Not long. We leave in two days.” 

You sigh as well. “That’s much too soon.” 

“Yes, but in lighter news,” Juyeon says, jostling you with his shoulder, “Orindell told me you two made peace.” 

“We did.” You hum with a smile. 

And so you continue to walk and talk along the shore. Juyeon tells you about all his travels in the time you’ve been apart. And you tell him about the time you’ve spent here, at Jaehyun’s estate. You tell him about jumping from Angel’s Peak and learning how to swim. You tell him about Jaehyun, Younghoon, Vina, Insia, Cyrin, and the kids. You tell him about how the fog in your mind is so much weaker than it was when you left from the Golden Palace, and how much you’ve been able to learn about your past and about yourself. Although you decide to wait to tell Juyeon the specifics. 

Juyeon listens closely, nodding his head along. Once you’re done, he smiles mischievously, a new question on his tongue. “And so how long did it take you to realize you’re in love with Lord Jaehyun?” 

Your mouth drops, and you look at Juyeon shocked. “Well, longer than it took you to put it together.” 

“Ah, well, not everyone is as clueless as you when it comes to matters of the heart.” He tells you with a laugh. “If the King knew how much you’re enjoying the southern sea, I think he’d whisk you back to the palace immediately. You look happy.” 

You turn your head towards the water and wait for a wave to crash before responding. “I am.” The admission seems to make Juyeon happy as well. “Also, I’ve been meaning to say, but I think it’s about time we fought each other, Captain Juyeon.” 

He stops in his tracks. “Really?” 

You nod. And then you tell him about how you’ve outgrown your fear of fighting and losing yourself in it. And how you’ve come to control your own strength against your opponent. “Every afternoon, either I’m teaching the local children how to fight or I’m fighting Captain Younghoon and one of the guards. But now that you’re here, I think it’s time I put all those years I spent teaching you how to fight to use.” You pause, waiting for his response. 

He grips your shoulders and smiles excitedly. “You should know, I have been waiting for this day since I was 17 years old.” 

***

“Please don’t beat the life out of me.” Juyeon jokes that afternoon as you face each other in the courtyard ready to fight. 

“I won’t. Although, I wish I could beat out of you your fear of Risals.” At that, Juyeon laughs. The courtyard is filled with Jaehyun, Younghoon, mina, the guards, Juyeon’s squadron, the other Knights, and your students all awaiting the match between Captain Juyeon, one of the best fighters in the Knights of the Holy Order, and the Gift of Fortitude. You find you’re also excited for this match. Juyeon is a good fighter. You trained him for over five years, and in that time, you taught him all your moves. He knows the way you pick your fights and plot your moves. And perhaps, after his training with the Knights, Juyeon will surprise you with some new moves that you have yet to see. That being said, you don't doubt your ability to win. You might struggle a bit more than you do when fighting with Younghoon, but the thought makes your blood jump with excitement more than anything. 

You circle each other for a second, and when Juyeon does charge towards you fist clenched, it takes you a moment to register that he’s moved before you dodge the punch. You block his arm with yours and use the momentum to twirl around him, bringing your knee up to jam into his side. He lunges at you again. And then once more. You let the second blow hit your stomach just to see how strong Juyeon is and regret it the moment you do. He’s strong, and your own tolerance for pain is low. You sidestep from his next kick and use the imbalance to tackle him to the ground. And in the few seconds it takes for him to react, you pummel into his stomach with the same force that he punched you with and slap him on the face once, although the slap is petty and harmless. He clutches his cheek with fake shock before pushing you off him and to the ground, your back on the grass. He pins down your arms. “Don’t blame me for your own decision to take the hit.” He teases while also landing punches to your stomach for the small second he has you caged under his own body weight. You exhale dramatically heaving your legs up to throw him off. It’s only once you’re up that you feel the pain of his blows, although the pain does not feel as bad as it did before. You’re both on your feet again. Circling each other. Punching and kicking faster than you’ve seen in a while and faster than you’ve had to do yourself in years. You’re tackling each other to the ground in one moment and back on your feet in the next. Juyeon is fast. And you feel rusty fighting him. He’s punching and lunging at you with no rest even managing to hit you on some occasions but not in the way he wants for you’re always able to duck or twist your body just in time for the impact. You swipe your leg under his and it takes almost all your strength for the move to topple him onto his back. You find yourself thinking that you’ve instilled in Juyeon the importance of a good stance too well. But once he’s on his back, you kick him onto this stomach and quickly pounce onto him, trapping his hands behind his back with one hand and using your other hand to push his face into the grass. You use one foot to pin down both of his legs by the ankle and shove your other knee into the small of his back. 

“Surrender.” You pant. 

You lift his head up out of the grass by his hair. You’re surprised to hear that he’s laughing although it comes out ragged behind his heavy breathing. “I surrender.” 

And you fall onto your back in the grass next to him, clutching your stomach that’s beginning to ache with your own laughs. You are exhausted and jumping within your own body from the excitement all at the same time. You lay on the grass utterly delighted with the fight.

And once the people in the courtyard realize it’s ended, they erupt in an applause. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

It’s at dinner with everyone that you tell Juyeon all that you’ve remembered in the past months. You tell him about the Holy Wars and Lord Seth’s death. At last, you give him an answer to the question about the Nomads he asked that night back at the Golden Palace. He seems satisfied with all that you’ve told him, as if the pieces are finally coming together and in a sense, they are.  

“So then there’s just one more question left to ask.” He muses, sitting back in his chair. “Do you remember what else you told Peter the night before he left?” 

You suck in a breath. Had you told him something else? Perhaps whatever else you told Peter that night had something to do with why you advised him to go to the Nomads’ Land specifically, beyond their connection with the Elders. Perhaps it had something to do with—

oh. 

Suddenly your head splits into two, and in the chasm that emerges, you remember. 

“I do.” You breathe, cradling your head in your hands and unbelieving of your own memories. “Who told you?” 

“Peter told Roen and Orindell before he left. Orindell told me. We all had questions for you. But Roen was always on some eastern campaign, and you and Orindell weren’t even talking. I tried asking you, but you denied it every time I brought it up. You could barely remember before, but today you said that you’re remembering more now. You said the fog in your mind is clearing. Is it clear enough to tell me more? Do you remember enough to explain why you said what you did?” 

You’re silent, trying to make sense of your own foggy memories. It’s Jaehyun who eventually asks it. He leans towards you, and the hand he places on your hunched back feels like a vote of confidence and another of comfort, “are you alright?” You nod. He waits a beat. “What did you tell Peter that night?”

You look at Jaehyun. Then Younghoon. Then Juyeon; he nods. All three watch you carefully. 

“I told him that…” you gulp, picking at the table and then your shirt as well, “I told him one of the Seven Sins is still alive. I sent him to the Nomads’ Lands because I think they’ll know how to find the Sin” 

Jaehyun and Younghoon look at you insanely, almost as insanely as you feel. 

Juyeon starts laughing at the madness of it all. 

It’s a hard thing for you to explain, but you try anyway. “I know it’s difficult to believe. But I know it in my gut, and I think I’ve known it for quite some time now.” You tell them how when the Gifts arrived at your village and pronounced you the Gift of Fortitude, it was like you had been relieved of this lump in your throat or like they had reached into your stomach and pulled out a rock sitting at the bottom. It was only after the Holy Wars ended, with the signing of a treaty by you and Avi, that you realized the lump in your throat and the rock in your gut had returned. But you lived with the lump for so long and learned to tolerate the rock so well that you almost forgot about it entirely. That was until one day you woke in your rooms at the Golden Palace to a clear throat and empty stomach. You didn’t even realize what it meant until the week you told Peter.

And somewhere in the midst of recounting everything to Jaehyun, Juyeon, and Younghoon, your mind feels suddenly, blissfully clear. That night, you do more than just remember.

You shoot up from your seat, startling all three of them. You find paper in the next room and begin to write to Peter. Because in your clarity, you see more than you’ve ever seen before. You know how to help Peter find the Sin. Your hand flies across the paper, clarity leading the pen with a mind of its own. And by the time you’re done, Jaehyun, Younghoon, and Juyeon have followed you into the kitchen. All four of them stare at your scribblings. 

“What is that?” 

“I think it’s supposed to be a letter.” 

“No, no. It’s a drawing.” 

“Actually,” you cut all three of them off, “I think it’s meant to be a map.” 

The three boys share a look. 

“What do you mean you think?” 

“You’re the one who drew it, how can you not know?” 

“I still think it’s a drawing.”

“Please.” You spit at the boys, grinding your teeth at the bubbling pain in your head. “It’s a map. And it’s for Peter.” You retrieve your Risal, and pray silently that your message finds him, and that he’ll be able to make sense of your muddled clarity. “Peter will know.” You add before whispering his name to the Risal and watching the bird disappear into the night sky. 

Juyeon shifts his weight between his feet. The question that leaves his lips sounds painfully hopeful. “You really can’t remember?”

Then, all at once, your pain returns. Blurring your vision, making you feel nauseous and unsure. Your body, your mind, your limbs feel weak. Weaker than after you swim for miles with Jaehyun. Weaker than after your fight with Juyeon. This pain is more than physical. This pain consumes you. It infiltrates your entire being. But this is a pain you know. This is how you feel every time the fog in your mind reclaims its territory. 

You fall to your knees, Jaehyun catching you in his arms before you hit the ground completely. You grimace into his shoulder. He says something to Younghoon who shuffles away hurriedly before carrying you in his arms away from the kitchen and back to your bedroom. The last thing you remember before everything turns black is the pain in your head and Jaehyun’s voice in your ear. 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

Jaehyun can’t sleep that night. He sits by your bedside instead and waits for you to wake up, unable to erase the look on your face moments before you passed out. Jaehyun is no stranger to the fog in your mind, but at dinner something was different, off. When you first started telling Jaehyun about your past, you suffered from headaches often, but as time passed and as your past became a familiar topic of conversation, the headaches faded away. Jaehyun can’t even remember the last time you requested the migraine medicine from Vina. And more than that, you never seemed to forget what you remembered with Jaehyun. But last night was nothing like what Jaehyun had seen before. In one moment, you knew everything with a startling amount of certainty, and then in the next, you were kneeling on the floor, crying in pain. Jaehyun can’t seem to rid his mind of the look on your face, a look that expressed more than just your pain, a look that screamed confusion. Jaehyun can’t forget how lost you looked in your own mind and how hard you were trying to claw your way out. Jaehyun tries to think of something else. 

He hears rustling beside him, and you’re up, attempting to sit up in the bed. He coaxes you into laying back down. And once you’re really awake, rubbing circles to your temples, Jaehyun asks if you’re feeling any better. 

“Not by much.” You groan, dropping your hands on the bed. 

Jaehyun takes a seat on the bed, leaning his back against the headboard. He takes your free hand in his and squeezes. “Tell me what you remember.”

And so you do. “Was it a map that I sent to Peter?” You ask once you’ve reached the end. Jaehyun nods, and you sigh an ‘oh’ turning your head away. 

A silence engulfs the room, and there’s something in your voice when you whisper, “why is it that I can’t remember why I sent it?” that makes a piece of Jaehyun break. He doesn’t know what to say. So you stare at the ceiling until you silently slip back into sleep. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE— The Risal returns the next day while you and Jaehyun are sitting at the rocks alone. It’s been months since anyone has heard from Peter, so when the Risal lands on your arm dropping a letter in your lap, you’re more than just shocked. You read it silently. 

Dear Fortitude,  Firstly, I presume I should apologize for not answering any of your previous Risals. I had no good news to share. That is, until now. We’ve deciphered your code. We know exactly what to do now. I’m not sure how you knew this was what we needed to finish. Meet us at my castle. From there, we’ll go together. The end is near.  -Peter

“What’s it say?” Jaehyun questions. You look at him softly before handing him the letter to read for himself. 

He’s quiet then, “oh.” He folds the letter, placing it back in your lap. “I thought you said it was a map.” 

“Jaehyun.” You whisper, not letting him ignore the thoughts and worries that plague both your minds. 

He pouts and looks out towards the sea. When he speaks at last, he does it so softly, it makes a part of you burn. “You should go.” 

You hurl a small rock into the water. “What if I don’t want to?” 

“I hate to say it, but you—“ 

“I know.” You take a shallow breath. “I have to.” 

Things are put into place quietly after that. All of the Princes have their own castle although none of them spend much time at them. Peter’s castle is northwest of King’s City, a day's worth of riding with a strong horse. You would ride with Juyeon’s squadron to King’s City, and from there you would ride to Peter castle which was built right into the side of the western mountains alone. It would take you three days of riding if you’re lucky. Five days if you’re not. In truth, you don’t want to leave Jaehyun's estate, and you most certainly don’t want to bid goodbye to the sea. 

This is what you want: to throw yourself off of Angel’s Peak like a sack of flour. You want to swim in the cold, freezing water. You want to swim away from the kingdom. From the King. From your worries. From your fears. You want to swim far far away to some remote, undiscovered island where you no longer have to be the Gift of Fortitude. And you want to do it all with Jaehyun. 

But you pack your bags instead, send Peter a Risal telling him you’ll arrive at his castle soon. You say goodbye to Jaehyun and Younghoon that night. You and Juyeon would be leaving before they wake. And later that night, you go to Jaehyun’s room and sleep in his bed and cry into his pillow because you don’t want to leave. But more than that, you don’t want to leave him. You say goodbye again. 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

Jaehyun jolts out of bed. He feels disgustingly cold when he realizes that he’s woken up alone. That you’re already gone. But then he hears shouting and horseshoes against pavement from out of his window. He looks behind the curtains and makes out six figures on horseback, just beginning to ride away from the estate. He’s running out of his room, slipping on shoes and a shirt, and dragging his horse out of the stables, desperately trying to catch up to Juyeon’s squadron and needing to catch up to you. 

He’s riding faster than wind through the town roads, screaming your name. And when he finally catches up to you, in the forest path, he leaps off his horse and runs to you. You see him at the same time he sees you, jumping off your horse as well and flinging yourself into Jaehyun’s arm. Only once he’s embracing you in his arms does Jaehyun realize he’s crying. Juyeon leads his squadron further down the path, slowly so that you can catch up afterwards, but away to give you privacy. 

“You didn’t say goodbye.” He cries into your hair. 

“I didn’t want to wake you.” 

“You should’ve. I barely sleep as it is.” 

“All the more reason not to, Jaehyun.” 

He squeezes his arms around you. 

“Ask me to stay.” You whisper into his neck, sad and lonely. 

“I can’t.” He whispers back. You pull away and look at his face. Swiping your thumbs across his cheeks. 

“Tell me you hate me then.” You weep. “And that you want me to go. Tell me you want me far away from here.“

“Fortitude—” 

“Tell me something to make me hate you.” 

“—I can’t.” 

You inhale sharply, grabbing fitfulls of his shirt in your hands. “Then tell me something that will make it easier to bear the pain of leaving you.” 

He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, noticing that your hair is in a braid. Jaehyun hesitates. “Did you do your hair yourself? When did you learn how to braid it?”

You slap his chest. “You dummy. I’ve known how to braid since the first time you showed me.” And then you’re crying again, burying your face into his chest. Jaehyun’s laughing and crying, stroking your braided hair because how foolish is it you both should have wanted nothing more than to be near each other since the very beginning. And how foolish is it that it took you so long to admit, to yourselves and to each other. 

“I love you.”

“Not that,” you bawl, “tell me anything but that.” 

“I love you.” He repeats. “And one day, when all this is over, we’ll go west. To where the mountains meet the sea. So that you’ll have an infinite number of cliffs to throw yourself off of.” You nod, laughing through the tears. Jaehyun kisses you. Once. Twice. Again. And over. 

“I’ll come back, Jaehyun.” You promise. “I’ll come back here, to you.” 

“Well, yeah, you have to.” You look at him confused but amused. He continues softly. “Because the sea is still yours to take.” 

You laugh once. Kiss him twice. Then mount your horse riding down the path again. And Jaehyun watches you go, holding your last I love you to his chest.

a/n: i feel a little odd and scared to be reposting this piece... again. but i’ve been flirting with the idea of reposting it for tbz for too long for me to not lol. also i didn’t edit or proofread this very thoroughly so if the names got mixed up somewhere within this monster then thats why my bad

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

In My Dreams Tonight

for @chaotic-bard who asked me for some fluff!

have a soulmates that dream about each other au featuring both a modern au and the canon universe!

brought to you by “Dreams Tonite” by Alvvays

---

“You’re nothing but trouble, bard,” the tall man glared from atop his horse. He always seemed to be glaring or glowering or huffing, the man in Jaskier’s dreams. The familiar stranger wore his long white hair pulled halfway back and he had golden eyes, the pupils of which were slit up the center like a cat’s. His name, Jaskier had learned after the third straight week of seeing him every night, was Geralt of Rivia. A Witcher, apparently, whose job it was to hunt down monsters.

“Ah, but what a lovely piece of trouble I am!” Jaskier replies. And he’s rather sassy himself in these dreams. Far more clever and ready to fight than he is when he’s awake. “You would miss me if I left, wouldn’t you, Geralt?”

“Hmm.”

The stranger hums a lot. He glares and he hums. Jaskier’s heart stutters frightfully in his chest whenever the man smiles, though. The sight is rare. Geralt has smiled perhaps three times in the past two months.

“Where are we going today?”

“Werewolf outside of town. You’re staying at the inn, where I know you can’t get into… nevermind. You can get into trouble anywhere.”

There’s a lightly teasing tone to the stranger’s voice that Jaskier hasn’t really heard before. He likes it. He craves more of it. He tosses and turns in his sleep, his skin damp with sweat. The dream goes on.

“Geralt, please,” he whines, “I can’t write ballads about monsters I haven’t seen! Or fights I did not attend! That’s lying to my audience, Geralt, and I simply won’t do it. I must go with you.”

“Drop it, Jaskier,” the man snarls. Jaskier feels sad. Incredibly sad.

Rejected?

“Gera-”

“I said drop it, bard.”

Jaskier wakes up feeling a little heartbroken and he yearns to be held. His pillow holds the fading scents of leather and wood-smoke. The sight of a pine sapling at the dog park makes him tear up.

He starts to wear the color yellow out of nowhere and his taste in jewelry switches from gold to silver. 

When his best friend asks him about the recent changes, he cannot answer.

---

Geralt pours himself a mug of tea and shakes his hair out of his face. He’s been having odd dreams lately, things that feel familiar but manage to stay just out of his conscious grasp. Someone important is waiting for him. Someone he love and cares about and needs. 

Geralt doesn’t really buy into the concept of soulmates, but he does understand instinct. He knows to trust his gut. He knows to listen and start paying attention when the same haunting blue eyes creep into his dreams every night for six months, plaguing him in the waking hours by refusing to give up their owners’ identity. 

He wipes a hand down his face and sighs loudly into the otherwise empty studio apartment. “Fuck me, I gotta figure this shit out. I gotta talk to Yen.”

Talking to himself has always helped him calm down. He does it again, just to hear his own low voice scraping through the silence. 

“I gotta see what’s going on with my head. These dreams are… getting to be a bit much, even for me.”

He nods to no one in particular and goes to text his best friend and coworker.

---

Jaskier hops off the bus and carries his guitar case down to the coffee shop on the corner. Finally, he’s managed to get a gig that wasn’t through the university.

He sets up his stuff in the tiny alcove the shop treats as a stage and watches as a few customers stroll around near the counter, waiting for their drinks or reading through the menu, hovering just far away enough from the line to keep others from growing confused.

He loves people watching. 

Once everything is ready to go and the light outside the window has dimmed a bit, indicating early evening has finally arrived, he pulls his guitar onto his lap and strums through a few quick chords.

“Rode here on the bus,

Now you're one of us.

It was magic hour,

Counting motorbikes on the turnpike;

One of Eisenhower's.”

 “Live your life on a merry-go-round;

Who starts a fire just to let it go out?”

He watches a particularly handsome man with broad shoulders and a vintage denim jacket approach the counter. Jaskier adds a haunting, well-practiced lilt to his voice as he goes into the chorus, hoping to get his attention:

“If I saw you on the street,

Would I have you in my dreams tonight?

If I saw you on the street,

Would I have you in my dreams tonight, tonight?”

An equally beautiful woman with long, curly black hair approaches the denim-clad angel and whisks him towards a table nearby. She settles with her back to Jaskier, leaving him with a decent view of the man’s sharp, lightly stubbled jaw, glittering eyes, and severe white ponytail. He’s gorgeous.

He’s also uncomfortably familiar.

Jaskier continues to perform, trying to identify his attractive mystery man the whole time and failing miserably.

---

“He’s everywhere, Yen. I feel like I could identify him by scent if I got close enough. I can’t remember his name, though. Or the color of his hair. I don’t know his face, only his eyes. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Have you talked to Dr. deStael about it?”

“Yeah, but she said this kind of thing is normal. Recurring dreams often help us sort out our trauma or something like that. I don’t know. I don’t feel traumatized by this guy I feel… protective of him. Maybe even like I love him?”

“Hmm.”

“Hey, that’s my line.”

“Shut up for a minute, this live music actually slaps and I want to listen to it. Then we can discuss your weird possessive tendencies towards your dream boyfriend.”

Geralt takes a slow sip of his coffee and glances up at the singer off to their left, perched on a barstool with his guitar held carefully on his lap. His voice is soft but somehow bright. Geralt finds himself utterly entranced.

“On the weird guitar;

Said you'd go to work

In the waking hour.

In fluorescent light,

Antisocialites watch a wilting flower.”

 “Live your life on a merry-go-round;

Who builds a wall just to let it fall down?”

The lyrics are strange and hold a dream-like quality to them. They draw a picture in Geralt’s head, something dark and heavy and oddly hollow. He has another sip of coffee and tries to ignore the feeling of panic welling up inside him. He glances at Yennefer to see if she’s picked up on his mood, but her violet eyes are focused on the singer and his nimble fingers as he continues to play and sing.

When he glances up towards their table and their eyes meet, Geralt loses the ability to breathe.

That shade of cornflower blue was…

Couldn’t be…

Had to be…

The gorgeous, feathery tenor continues to fill the air, whirling pleasant notes past his ears and deep into his subconscious. Geralt knows that voice. He’s heard this man laugh and sing and cry and scream a thousand different times. Through a handful of different lives. Geralt knows that face, those hands, those strong legs and long arms and blue fucking eyes. He’s held this singer in his arms every night for centuries, feeling his breathing as they both drift off to sleep.

He has protected this man and been protected by him in return. He has kissed and been kissed, caressed and been caressed. The two men sitting across from each other in the coffee shop physically embody an endless cycle of love. It has been bound up in the souls of two no-longer strangers. Geralt knows that he knows this man. 

He knows Jaskier.

Petal pink lips continue to form soft words and slender hands keep plucking at vibrating guitar strings:

“Don't sit by the phone for me,

Wait at home for me, all alone for me.

Your face was supposed to be

Hanging over me, like a rosary.”

Geralt stands suddenly, startling Yennefer but not the performer, even though he’s clearly just as shocked as Geralt about this recent development.

Their mutual realization.

“So morose for me,

Seeing ghosts of me,

Writing oaths to me,

Is it so naïve to wonder…”

Geralt crosses the room to the edge of the stage in three quick strides. Yennefer is close behind him, her latte just as abandoned as his coffee at their table. She grabs her friend’s arm as if to stop him from doing something violent, but when he doesn’t struggle against her grip she lets it go again easily. 

“Geralt?” the musician asks.

“Jaskier?” Geralt replies. The guitar is placed quickly to the side and a pair of incredibly familiar arms are thrown around the taller man’s neck. Geralt hugs back just as firmly, his arms flung low around the brunette’s waist. Geralt knows that this is Jaskier’s favorite way to be embraced; he doesn’t know how he’s aware of that fact, but it comes to the front of his mind clear as day. 

“Holy shit,” Jaskier breathes, leaning back to stare Geralt in the face. One of his string-calloused fingers traces down over Geralt’s eyelid and cheek and he cocks his head to the side. “No scar?”

“No,” Geralt shakes his head. “Not this lifetime, I guess.”

“Were we? Are we- are we, you know...?”

“Yeah,” Yen beams, adding her two cents from the sidelines. “I think so. Congrats, boys. This is one of those one in a million chances and you’ve gone and done it.”

“Done what?” Geralt asks. Jaskier tosses his head back and laughs. His happiness rings out through the cafe like a struck bell and Geralt’s heart stutters frantically. He really does love this man already. Wholeheartedly and without fear. “What have we done, Yen?”

“As obtuse now as you were then,” Jaskier chides affectionately. “Soulmates, my love. We’ve been bound by the red string of fate and ta-da! Here we are. Again, apparently.”

“Yes, okay,” Geralt breathes, nosing his way along Jaskier’s jaw with giddy determination. He presses a quick and wholly welcome kiss to the bard’s lips. “That makes sense.”

 “Do you... do you want me again? This time around?” Jaskier asks, fingers fiddling with one of the ties on Geralt’s hoodie. A pair of chapped lips press against his again and he sighs into it, melting against his no-longer-Witcher. 

“Yes. And the next one, as well.”

[hatterstan-shameblog]

Smut, you say 👀

You're this cute, kinda innocent woman that gets the help of this handsome gigolo to not be as... innocent.

💕 The Professional: Chapter 1 💕

Chapter Two

Rating: PG-13 (for this chapter only)

Pairing: Danma Takeru (Hatter)/Reader (she/her

Tags: flirting, suggestive conversation, alcohol consumption, smoking, kissing

“Well, darling,” he says, voice low and smooth and so much closer than before, “I think it’s high time we got to the heart of the issue. The root of the root and the bud of the bud, as it were.”

“Uh,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this but very much enjoying his simple touches, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” he clarifies, pausing to let out a soft sigh, “when you’re going to give in and kiss me.”

Notes: This is a kind-of sort-of AU—in the show, Hatter references his involvement with the host club business, and mentions that he “would do anything” to be the best. Although host clubs do not usually involve sex work (as far as I know), I believe that he would definitely offer that “off the books” in order to win over his clientele.

You’re nervous. Nervous and jittery and—oh, dear, there’s a lot of feelings going on in here, and all of them seem to fall under the umbrella of ‘mild to moderate discomfort.’ Not that feeling uncomfortable is anything new; in fact, there are very few times where you happen to feel truly comfortable outside of, say, the warmth of your bed or the soothing calm of a late-night bath. Places where you feel safe. Places where you can let yourself breathe and be, unhindered by expectation.

The place where you currently find yourself—this strange little pocket of a room in the buzz and bustle of a Friday-night Kabukicho—is full-to-bursting with expectation. From the polished wood floors to the glittering gold chandelier that hangs from the center of the ceiling, there is an inescapable sense of opulent whimsy that is tinged pink with a blush of sensuality. There are even fresh flowers on the table in front of you—a vase of ranunculus, blooming bright and orange like a green-stalked bunch of tiny setting suns.

Something like an itch tickles your sweat-damp palms, making you ball your hands into tight fists around the fabric of your skirt. Oh, you should have worn something different! Something sexier, maybe, with a deeper neckline and a shorter hem, that hugged the shape of your body as opposed to ghosting over it in fluttering chiffon. Not that you actually, you know, owned anything like that, but—

The pop! of a champagne cork makes you jump. Hell, you feel like you’re about to pop, too, from the nervous energy boiling and swelling in your chest. It’s so very difficult not to fidget, to keep your toes from tapping out a frantic little rhythm on the rug.

Looking back, you realize that the paperwork had been the ‘easy’ part. Not that it had been particularly easy—who knew there would be an application process for this kind of thing?—but it was less stressful to fill out a (surprisingly comprehensive) questionnaire in the privacy of your own home as opposed to this agonizing waiting.

And what, exactly, are you waiting for?

Why, you’re waiting for him.

His name is Takeru—or, at least, that’s what he’s asked you to call him. Whether or not it’s a stage name is difficult to tell; but what you do know is that it sounded so very nice in the deep clear of his voice. The only thing that sounded better was your name, which he said in a gently-sultry half-whisper that made you feel…many thing, and not all of them innocent.

In a devastatingly well-tailored suit of lipstick red—a vibrant pop of a color you would so often consider buying at the makeup counter but always put back—it’s nearly impossible to look at anything but him. A small collection of rings glisten from his fingers, most of them delicate little things that wink a tiny gleam when the light hits them just right. The dizzying black-white-gold pattern of his shirt is unbuttoned just a smidge too low, offering you a tantalizing view of his chest.

And although his back is toward you, concocting some kind of magic at the bar cart along the far wall, you can all but feel the warm-dark of his eyes on you. Oh, he has beautiful eyes, dark and warm with the glitter of laughter—or perhaps mischief, if the situation calls for it. A slim nose leads down to a shapely mouth, handsomely framed by a neatly-trimmed beard and mustache.

Also, his hair—oh, that man has a great head of hair.

Aesthetics aside—he has been undeniably lovely. Slipping the coat from your shoulders when you walked into the room, fingertips skimming the slope of your shoulders with only the barest of touches. Offering you a glass of champagne (“Yes, thank you”) as he leads you to sit on the green velvet settee, hand hovering above but never touching the small of your back. A serene smile on his lips as he talks, as he tells you that your dress is lovely (“Blue is definitely your color, darling”) and letting out an airy chuckle when you mention that this was as good occasion as any to dig it out of the back of your closet.

It is impossible to ignore the way he is so very provocative—subtly so, in a way that makes you second-guess whether his flirtations had happened at all. Did his eyes really linger over the shape of your legs, or was he simply taking a moment to admire your (new, very cute) shoes? Did his fingertips slip over the curve of your shoulder as he removed your coat, or were you just imagining it?

His gaze tiptoes over your shape as he sits down beside you, two flutes of pink-tinged something in hands.

“I’ve taken the liberty of making something a little special,” he says, “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you say as he hands you one of the glasses, “it…it looks nice.”

“Know what it is?”

“Uh,” you say after a moment of silent deliberation, “Maybe alcohol?”

He huffs a short laugh at your half-joke—a rather polite response, and it manages to soothe the bubble of regret that had risen up your throat the moment you’d said it.

“You’re not wrong. More specifically, though, it’s a Kir Royale—or, my take on one, at the very least,” he watches the bubbles fizzle to the top of the glass, “I find myself more or less incapable of keeping with convention, even when it comes to alcohol.”

“Well, uh,” you say, “it’s pretty. I like the color.”

You taste the drink, bubbles like tiny fireworks tickling over the surface of your tongue. There is a dry bitterness, no doubt from the champagne, but it’s softened by a fruity sweetness. Something familiar, something that reminds you of summer and shaved ice and walks along the river and—

“Cherry,” you say, half-lost in the hazy-warm memory of days gone by—until you remember where you are and snap back to reality, “it’s, uh, it tastes like cherries.”

“Very good. Usually, the drink calls for creme de cassis, but I used Kijafa instead. It’s a dessert wine from Denmark, made from cherries,” his brow raises just a smidge, “I thought it appropriate, given the situation.”

And it takes you a minute to understand what he’s talking about. Cherries. You. Ah. A rather crass comparison, but accurate all the same.

“Oh,” you say, picking a very uninteresting spot on the rug to look at in an attempt to avoid meeting his eyes, “I, uh…”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he adds, “In fact, virginity isn’t even a real thing. Completely made up. Means nothing, really.”

There is a kind of lag—he’s speaking, you know he’s speaking, but it takes your brain a few extra seconds to figure out what he’s actually saying. It’s strange, hearing someone talk to you so openly about sex. Not unwelcome, by any means, but you need a moment (or two, or ten) to adjust.

“That being said,” he continues, as if he’s discussing the weather, “just because it doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of life doesn’t mean it’s nothing to you.”

He’s fishing. He’s fishing, and you kind of want to take the bait, but…well, you’re finding it difficult to get your thoughts in order. He’s the very picture of calm, all while you’re floundering over a simple conversation.

“Apologies if I’ve overstepped,” he says, taking a slow sip of his drink, “I thought you might prefer to talk it over a bit. ”

“No, uh, you’re fine,” you answer quickly, “I’m just…I thought the paperwork kind of covered all that.”

“More or less,” he answers, “however, I’ve found that the person who fills out the forms and the person who ends up sitting across from me are not always of the same mind.”

He reaches a hand into the inside of his jacket and pulls out a silver-plated cigarette case. Although he is not gentleman enough to ask your permission to smoke, he is gentleman enough to offer you a cigarette before taking one of his own. You decline. He shrugs and quickly snaps the case shut before laying it on the table.

“In fact, it’s not uncommon for my clients to have a complete change of heart the second they walk through the door,” he continues, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, “Or, sometimes later on, for that matter. Depends on the person.”

Cigarette held between his teeth, he retrieves a lighter from his right trouser pocket. With a sharp little snick, he ignites it, pulling the little orange flame towards his face and hiding it behind his hand to let it catch.

“Really?”

You watch him intently, the way his eyelids flutter closed at the first inhale. The way his lips pucker around the filter and release, the red-pink sticking slightly as they pull away and let smoky white flow out and fade into the air.

“Really,” he confirms, “once, I had a client step inside, take one look at me, and promptly walk right back out. Never saw them again, which is fine. I’ll never fault someone for doing what’s right for themselves.”

“Are you, uh, trying to talk me out of it?”

“Not at all. Just making you aware of your options,” he says, “Doing anything for the first time is scary. Driving a car, swimming in the ocean, traveling abroad—sex is no different.”

“Yeah, well,” you respond, “you also get to do most of those things with your clothes on, so…”

“Depends on who you’re with.”

You can’t help but laugh a little.

“Well I still want to…you know,” you answer, “uh, do it. The…the sex part.”

“I’m happy to hear it.”

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to say that.”

“It’s the truth,” he insists, “I can’t imagine anyone being upset at the thought of having a pretty thing like you in their bed.”

“I’m not—“

“Don’t,” he interrupts, taking on a tone that brokers no arguments, “I will suffer many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. You are an attractive woman and I refuse to be told otherwise.”

“Sorry, I,” you say sheepishly, “I guess I just…wasn’t expecting you to…like me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He ashes his cigarette and takes another long, slow drag, “You’re very sweet. A bit shy, maybe, but I happen to like the shy ones.”

And there is something about the way he says it, the way his voice wraps around the words—oh, there are implications to those words, and you find yourself growing warm at the thought of what exactly those implications could entail.

You sip your drink. He smokes. The quiet between you is almost comfortable. Maybe it’s the alcohol working it’s bubbly magic, but you’re starting to feel a bit more at ease in this strange little place.

Moreover, you’re starting to feel a bit more at ease with him. The thought of kissing him crosses your mind, then doubles-back and crosses it again. Oh, that sounds nice. He would be good at it, too; starting gently, mouth pressed soft and sure against your own, and then just the tiniest tease of his tongue—

“And there you go, biting your lip again,” he says, snapping you out of your impromptu fantasy, “You have no idea how sexy that is, do you?”

He is sporting a devilish grin—not only is he aware that you had been daydreaming about him, but he’s relishing the fact that he was able to catch you so off-guard.

“Didn’t even realize I was doing it,” you admit with a shrug. But you can’t help but feel a thrill at the thought of being considered ‘sexy’—you never really let yourself feel that way, but now that it’s happening…oh, it’s nice.

“It’s absolutely delicious, darling. Makes me wonder what else you do when you’re turned on…”

And he’s got you—like a knife held under your chin, his sharp gaze pins you in place. He is impossible to avoid. Not that you particularly want to avoid him—there’s something irresistible about this man, something that you can’t quite name but definitely want more of.

It’s scary.

It’s exciting.

“I’m,” you say with a nervous chuckle, “not really sure, myself. Guess we’ll have to, uh, figure it out together.”

His gaze darkens. He takes one last lungful of nicotine before stubbing out his cigarette.

“I suppose we shall.”

And he’s moving now, sliding himself down so that he’s closer to you. He stops when there is barely an inch of space between the outside of his thigh and your own. His right arm has draped itself over the back of the sofa, the fingertips of his hand now skimming the skin of your shoulder in loose, mindless sweeps.

“Well, darling,” he says, voice low and smooth and so much closer than before, “I think it’s high time we got to the heart of the issue. The root of the root and the bud of the bud, as it were.”

“Uh,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this but very much enjoying his simple touches, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” he clarifies, pausing to let out a soft sigh, “when you’re going to give in and kiss me.”

He plucks the champagne flute from your grasp and sets it on the table in front of you.

“I, uh—“

The fingertips on your shoulder continue to make their idle little circles, almost hypnotic in their swirling pattern. His left hand catches your right wrist, his thumb pressing above where your pulse thrums beneath sensitive skin.

“Bit fast,” he observes, pulling your arm closer as if inspecting it, “Could be nerves, but I think it’s more from excitement, don’t you?”

You have no choice but to lean into him as he brings your hand closer. Your shoulder presses against his arm, and you feel the solid shape of him through the smooth of his suit. He’s strong underneath all of those layers—warm, too, judging from the heat that radiates from his person.

“I’m—“

The thumb that had been testing your pulse inches higher, stopping when it’s pressing into the center of your palm. His eyes lock with yours, a heartbeat of a moment, and brings your wrist closer and closer until his lips are ghosting over your flesh. When he finally decides to make contact, you gasp—it’s a delicate sensation, but sends your heart skipping in a shaking staccato.

And, then.

Then he sucks.

The sound you make is halfway between an oh of surprise and a desperate little moan—oh, wow, that’s really weirdly unexpectedly hot—and you don’t even have the presence of mind to feel embarrassed by your own reaction. He’s not even doing much, not really; just a little bit of pressure, lips parted just enough to let his tongue slip out and have a taste of you.

But, oh, it feels…it feels filthy, it feels decadent, it feels like something you should not be doing but very much want to keep doing for the rest of your life. Takeru’s eyes have since fluttered shut, and he hums the tiniest sound of pleasure as he maintains his seductive tease.

“Please,” you manage to sigh, sounding as breathless as you feel, “please, I, I want you to kiss me.”

His lips release from your wrist with a pucker-pop noise—which was no doubt intentional on his part, and does nothing to quell the thrill of desire in your belly.

“Hm. I’ll make you a deal,” he says, shifting a bit to the left so that he can turn to face you better, “I’ll kiss you for the rest of the night, but right now…you kiss me.”

And what a deal that is—you don’t even have to think about it, head bobbing in an affirmative nod as you wet your lips in anticipation. The hand that had so lovingly held yours is now guiding you to rest your palm just above his knee. You reflexively reach your other hand out to steady yourself, and it lands against his chest before you can stop it.

He’s so close now. There’s barely any space between your faces, barely room to breathe—

“Go on, darling,” he whispers, “if you want me, have me.”

And you do.

You kiss him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The anxiety that has plagued you since the moment you entered the room hasn’t completely dissipated—it would be foolish to think it’d be that easy to banish those feelings completely—but all that is now secondary to the feeling of his mouth on yours.

Kissing Takeru is warm. It’s soft and it’s sure and it’s…comfortable, in a way. Safe, even. He does not press, doesn’t do much of anything except mirror the way your lips slide against his own. A gentle rhythm, a push and pull between the two of you that feels as natural as the moon guiding the tides to shore—yes, kissing him is good and right and something you want to do many times over.

Unfortunately, you have to pull away to breathe. He doesn’t let you go far, though, one hand cupped behind the nape of your neck and the other pressing into the small of your back.

“Oh, you are sweet,” he purrs, his gaze dropping to your freshly-kissed lips, “and, seeing that I’m a man of my word…”

As it turns out, being kissed by Takeru might be better than kissing him, yourself. He is still so very careful when he presses his lips to yours, but this time…this time, there’s fire. He tastes like the best part of a cigarette, like warmth and alcohol and cherries, and it only intensifies as he tests the seam of your lips with his tongue.

Little by little, you begin to test him, too. Hands cradle the curve of his jaw, feeling the way his face shifts as he moves against you. Fingertips run through the soft dark of his hair—oh, he likes that, if the half-sigh that slips from his throat is to be believed. And when you nip at his lower lip with your teeth (he had, after all, very much enjoyed the way you bit your lip earlier), he genuinely moans and pulls you even closer to himself.

It’s when he begins to wander lower, with his mouth skimming the sensitivity of your neck and his hand splayed across your lower back in a way that flirts with the idea of indecency, that you begin to want more. Fear—and maybe that’s not exactly the right word for what you’re feeling, but it’s the only one that comes to mind—begins to creep up the column of your spine.

The “what-if’s” start filling your brain; what if you mess something up? What if you do something he doesn’t like? What if you freeze up later and—

“Alright, darling?”

His voice is a low soothe against your ear; he’s retreated, just a bit, and his hand has wandered to a chaste and respectable area of your mid-back.

“I—“

You want him to take you to bed. You want him to take off your dress and kiss you in all the places you thought weren’t worth kissing, to let his hands trace sparks along the curves of your shape and let him be close to you in a way that no one else has. You want him, despite the uncertain ache that burns between your ribs and bids you to hide yourself away and leave behind the pleasure of his touch.

…But all you can manage is a nervous glance to the bed behind you (the one you had been avoiding thinking about up until this point) and a stammered “Can we, uh…?”

“Ask me,” he says, his index and middle fingers idly skimming the notch in your collarbone, “I’ll give you anything you want, as long as you ask me.”

It’s difficult to make eye contact with him—every time you try, you feel embarrassment swell up beneath your tongue.

But Takeru is, as you have come to learn over the last hour or so, decidedly patient. He shows no sign of relenting, appearing to be perfectly content with giving you an expectant grin and continuing his little touches as you try not to squirm in your seat.

“I,” you gulp, “I want…“

You bite your lip—oh, wait, he likes that too, and he’s staring at you with those sharp and sultry eyes, and it makes something behind your heart squeeze and unsqueeze itself and punches the air from your lungs and—

“Take me to bed,” you manage to spit out, and it all sounds like one word with how quickly you pushed the words into the air. The “uh, please” you tack on at the end is an afterthought, but perhaps it’s polite enough to pass muster.

“Was that so hard,” Takeru asks with a good-natured chuckle, “but since you asked so nicely…”

He takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips for a kiss—and even that, after everything, still has you feeling a flutter of something giddy in your stomach.

“Darling,” he says, “it would be my pleasure.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

…and now, you’ll have to wait until chapter two to get to the “good stuff!”

It’s been a challenge writing this—I’m trying to make the scenario believable while still keeping it vague enough to allow for people to make up their own little details. It’s also been unexpectedly difficult to write him, since he’s kind of being himself while also playing a character who’s trying to mold themself into their client’s fantasy…it’s a lot of layers, but it’s been fun trying to figure things out!

[penguinwithitsarseonfire]

Dance For All We’ve Been Through

Pairing: Eleventh Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 1,771

Warnings: None

Summary: To stop a meteor hitting a small planet, the Doctor creates an elaborate plan involving a planet wide dance competition to stop it.

Request: I read in your tags that you were feeling fluff and I love how you write 11! Could you do 44 fluff with 11 please? and maybe with the Ponds there too? Prompt: “You’re an idiot” / “But I’m your idiot”

A/N: I don’t know what this is, I’m so sorry. This came from discussing Rick and Morty after a rehearsal in which there was a dance off.

The plan was bizarre – straight up weird, and, if it was anyone besides the Doctor, you would have had no faith that it would work.

Rory had finished drawing up a scaled version of the planet you were currently standing on. The planet was small - Pluto small, and a part of you wanted to cradle the drawing in your hands.

"How's this?" He asked, looking to Amy, then to you.

"It's good," you said, then, more of an aside. "I didn't know you could draw."

"We made him design all our aliens as kids,” Amy commented, and she leaned over Rory to get a better look at the map. "Where's the meteor supposed to hit?"

You had forgotten his name, but the president of the planet; a stocky man with a receding hairline, his purple face red from stress, hissed. "Don't say that so loud. If people know, it will cause a panic."

You groaned. "We've been through this. If we can't tell people, if we can't even tell your government-"

"We are not telling the government," he spat. He straightened, and you noticed his skin going back to a pale shade of purple. "My people are a fragile sort."

You ran a hand through your hair, trying to stifle your groan of frustration. He really wasn't making it easy.

The Doctor then ran into the room, and you almost cheered. The timing was perfect. You wouldn’t have to deal with the president now, the Doctor could. He would listen to the Doctor, everyone listened to the Doctor.

He came in to the sound of bells clattering against each-other, and you noticed that there actually were bells, draped over him like a sleigh bells. In fact, his whole body was decorated with an assortment of tinsel and lights. He looked like he was cosplaying a Christmas tree. "Almost done setting up the stage," he said. "How are we going in here?"

He was a strange dichotomy. In any other situation, you could image he would be grinning gleefully. The lights, the tinsel, the stage, the music, even, it was all up the Doctor's alley. Minus the planet destroying meteor.

His mouth, however, was pulled into a grim line.

It was the only clue you had that the Doctor was worried, too.

"Where's the meteor hitting?" Amy asked, with a slight pinch in her lips. She had noticed then, too.

"Oh it shouldn't be a problem," The Doctor waved to her, and his face morphed into a grin, which, by now, after all the times you had seen him do it, you knew wasn’t genuine. "All we need to do is move the planet by an inch or so, the meteor should fly right past."

“All we need,” the Doctor straightened and pointed to the three of you. “Is a dance move.”

“Ah,” you stared at your friends, who mirrored your blank expression.

Amy chewed her lip. “The macarena?”

You brightened. “Oh! That would be easy to teach everyone, it’s a classic!”

The Doctor physically slumped. “The macarena? Anyone can do the macarena,” he bumbled into the table, jingling away like a cheesy Christmas carol – which, why did you keep making Christmas metaphors – and came to your side.  He leaned over you, studying the map.

He was close, you could feel some of the tinsel brush against your shoulder. He traced his finger along the edge of the planet, and in doing so he inadvertently moved further into your space. It was… warm. Safe. “If we sink the planet down – essentially, that’s not what we’re actually doing, the meteor-“

The president hissed.

The Doctor ignored him. “-Should just fly overhead. It means we need a dance move with extra oomph, where everyone dances…” he trailed off, turning to you. “Together.”

The Doctors eyes were so close to yours, you could see little flecks of gold in the green of his irises – something you had never noticed before.

From the side, you thought you heard someone – Amy, say something about pushing someone together to kiss.

You heard Rory say something else, something about being against the rules of the bet.

You decided to ignore them both. There were more pressing matters anyway

“So a partnered dance?” You said.

“Hang on,” Rory said. “Dancing – why are we dancing?”

“Oh,” The Doctor clapped his hands. “I love this part.”

“The explaining why you’re oh so very clever part?” Amy supplied.

“Exactly,” The Doctor said. He brushed his hands across the map. “Now, because Mr. Mean Purple Man-”

“President Button,” the president huffed.

“-Won’t let us tell the public the danger, which, judging by how your bodies can spontaneously combust under mass stress, isn’t a bad idea, it means we need a discreet way of solving the issue.”

“So… dancing?” Rory said.

“Dancing,” The Doctor said. “You see, it’s experimental, but, if everyone were to jump at the same time, whilst we’re all in the air, the planet should move an inch or so, just from the sheer force of conflict against the planets gravity. Then, it’s tricky, because, when we land, it will either move the planet another inch or…”

“Or?” The president said.

“Or move the planet back.”

“Oh,” you said, dejectedly. The planet moving back would be bad. Very bad.

You tried to think of an idea. What would make the planet move. “Wait,” you said, forming an idea. “So if two people are holding each other when they jump, shouldn’t they be able to jump higher? It’s got to do with momentum, right?”

“Correctumndo Y/L/N!” The Doctor beamed at you. “And we need to make sure everyone jumps in appropriately…” The Doctor stared at his plans. “37 minutes. Easy.”

Which was how, half an hour later, you ended up standing on a stage in a broadcast directed to the entire planet.

The dance wasn’t too difficult, all things considered. It was, however, ridiculous.

It had all the traits that made the Doctor… outlandishly goofy. There was a move that involve the Doctors strange giraffe arms - which he delighted in making you do, and a twirl that involved the two of jumping together, holding each-others forearms. If it were any other saturation, you would have felt self-conscious, hell, you would have felt downright absurd.

You laughed lightly when he demonstrated the wavey arm giraffe move again. He was brilliant, but he was also such an idiot. You paused for a moment, watching as he addressed the camera.

He was wonderful.

Standing on the stage, in front of all those cameras, talking to millions of people, felt so strange. The bright TV lights blared down on you. They were hot, and, after demonstrating the dance a couple of times, you could feel a sheen of sweat form on your brow.

The Doctor checked his watch. He looked to you, his expression grim. You didn’t have much time now.

“Alright,” you said, addressing the camera’s. “To win the competition, you must do the dance in time with us,” you said. “It what we humans,” you gestured to the Doctor, who was completely not human. “Value above all else in dance.”

Also a lie.

Amy grinned at you from behind the camera. She gave you an encouraging thumbs up.

“We’ll dance with you,” you continued. “And, whoever has the best timing, will win!”

You had no idea if you were convincing, but it was the best you could do.

So you danced.

It was, honestly, a blur. The only thing you could concentrate on was on the Doctor. The way his arms held you as you moved, the way his eyes shone when he twirled you under the lights.

Finally, finally, as Rory called out time, you both jumped into the air, clutching each other as you did so. In the corner of your eye, you saw the crew, Amy and Rory, even the President, jump into the air, and…

It was incredible.

It was like you could hear it. The entire population move as one, the planet shifting underneath your feet. You wanted to close your eyes, hold your breath, in case the meteor did come and all of you were brutally killed in an instant.

But you didn’t, you couldn’t look away. Because the Doctor was right in front of you, looking at you so sure, so positive that this would work out. He looked at you like you were brighter than the lights shining above you.

Then, you landed.

And nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

A loud cheer erupted over the room, and you couldn’t help joining in.

Here was this man, with his ridiculous, mad plan.

And it had worked.

After everything, when the four of you had wandered back to the TARDIS, and the President had thanked you for the fourteenth time, the Doctor took your hand. "Well then, I'd say that was another success. Where to next? I know a planet that makes amazing ice cream."

Amy laughed. "That dance was ridiculous, it was worse than my wedding."

"Oi, I’ll have you know that I've won dance offs with that move," he did an awkward wave, which was only made worse since you didn't join in, so it stopped rather sadly by your hand.

You laughed brightly. “You’re an idiot.”

The Doctor grinned at you. "Yes, but I am your idiot.”

You paused, doing a double take. Did he just-

"Oh," the Doctor paled as three pairs of stunned eyes stared at him. "Did I say that out loud?"

You processed what he had said. That he was.. well, yours. That was… well, that was amazing, really.

You squeezed his hand. "Good," you said. "I can't very well have you running off and being an idiot on your own."

Rory stared at you blankly. There was a beat, then he spoke. "Did - did you two just become a couple?" He brightened. "Did I just win the bet?"

There was a thump and Rory doubled over, clutching his stomach. He hissed out Amy's name, and, when you turned to face her, she was standing there with large, doe eyes, completely oblivious to her husband. She looked the picture of innocence.

You didn't believe her for a second.

You stood on your tip toes and placed a delicate kiss on the Doctors cheek. His blush reached the tips of his ears. "Take me on a date and we'll see," you said, enveloped in a ball of confidence. "Space boy." You squeezed his hand and winked at Amy, before stepping into the TARDIS.

From the outside, you thought you heard someone cheer.

It put a small smile on your face.

[kasienda]

Right Behind You - Chapter 1: Scandal

An Adrino Story - Friends to lovers Maybe the person you need is not the one you’ve had your eye on, but the one who’s been right behind you supporting you the whole time.  Chapter 1: Scandal Nino was awake.

Which was a crime.

His gig the previous evening hadn’t ended until well past four in the morning, and glancing at the glowing clock next to his bed it wasn’t even eight yet. He had managed maybe two hours of sleep.

And he could feel it everywhere in his body. The light peeking through the edges of his blackout curtains felt like an assault on his dry and irritated eyes. His left knee ached from a week-old injury caused by a bad landing during one of Carapace’s patrols. Even his thoughts felt like they were smothered in a thick cold fog.

He hated when the all night events hit on back to back days, but he needed the double pay at least a few times a month to afford his downtown Parisian apartment and without fail the requests for such events tended to land on the same weekend. No doubt, it would be worth it in a few hours. Once he had a cup or three of coffee. 

Or another five hours of sleep.

But his phone clearly had other plans as the blasted digital brick wouldn’t stop buzzing every few minutes. 

Nino left it in the other room every night to avoid this exact scenario, but he must have left it on some plastic container because the vibration was loud. And whoever this was, they were very insistent.

He sat up with a groan, very aware of the dull ache that stretched from one temple to the other. He let his head hang lifelessly to his chest.

The phone went off again. He glared through the open doorway. 

“I’ll make coffee.”

Nino tried to smile at the tiny green floating kwami, but it came out more like a grimace. “Thanks, Wayzz. You’re the best.”

He gave himself five minutes of just sitting with his blankets still wrapped luxuriously around him protecting against the chill of the morning. The phone had mockingly gone silent after almost ten minutes of near constant buzzing. He contemplated letting his head fall back to the pillows. But it was probably too late. Despite his fatigue, Nino was rarely able to go back to sleep.

He reached blindly to the small table beside his bed for his glasses, and then stumbled through his small apartment to the kitchen. Wayzz was already pouring black coffee into a cup.

Nino smiled at the ridiculous sight of the floating green creature handling an object twice its own size. It didn’t even look strange to him anymore. Really, Nino was unsure how he had ever gotten by without the constant support of the ancient kwami. 

He stepped forward to accept custody of the steaming beverage. He added a spoon of sugar and creamer. Before he could take his first sip, the blasted phone went off again.

Alya’s gleaming smile lit up his screen. He frowned at the device and immediately answered, even as he continued mixing his coffee. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“How do you do that?” her synthetic voice demanded from the other end of the line.

“Al, except for my birthday, you haven’t called me in two years,” he stated flatly. Why was she even asking? They texted quite often, and whenever she was back in Paris they usually would have lunch or hang out with their mutual friends. But ever since their break up, she had not called. 

Well, except for his birthday.

“And today is not my birthday. And it’s barely morning! You know that I’m never up before ten at the earliest and twelve is really a better bet. And you’ve been blowing up my phone clearly trying to get my ass out of bed. So I ask again, what is wrong?” he said slowly, emphasizing each word before he licked the spoon he was using to mix his coffee.

“Have you talked to Adrien lately?” 

His stomach dropped. This must be really bad news. Alya didn’t usually beat around the bush. She was more like a bulldozer that went straight through things. And if this was about Adrien… “Like three days ago. Why?”

His phone buzzed against his cheek immediately. He pulled it away to see the headline she sent him. 

Supermodel, Adrien Agreste, batting for the other team?

Keep Reading on Ao3

He already hated it, but that didn’t stop him from tapping on the link. Nino sucked in air at the sight of the picture. Nino has seen a lot of professional shots of Adrien over the years. This picture was gorgeous. Or, it would have been in absolutely any other context. 

The picture captured three quarters of Adrien’s face, but only a bit of his partner. His hair caught the light and gleamed gold, not quite as perfectly in place as it would have been in the morning. Like he had run his hands through it just a few times. His normally peach cheeks were dusted with pink and his eyes were closed. He was pulling away from a kiss with a fair-skinned man wearing glasses. But Nino’s eyes focused on his friend’s mouth. Adrien’s lips were upturned in the slightest little smile - the dopey one he had whenever he was talking about the mystery girl he loved.

And that was the only difference between all the professional shots Nino had seen over the years and the front page tabloid. In this picture, Adrien looked… happy. Genuinely so.

And now, that beautiful private moment was now plastered all over every gossip rag from one side of France to the other. 

Likely without Adrien’s permission. 

How unfair that one little moment of indiscretion outed him to all of Paris. 

Nino’s gut twisted painfully. 

All of Paris included Gabriel. Adrien had never told his father about being bi, and it was no wonder as the uptight bastard was an ice statue of propriety with absolutely no feelings. 

“It wasn’t at an event, Nino,” Alya explained. “It’s around the corner from that pub we used to frequent after lycee, almost in an alley outside a club. But the photo’s too good for some random person to have just seen him walking by at this time of day. The lighting should have been terrible and the photo grainy.”

“So?”

“The photographer knew Adrien was going to be there and that there'd be something worth taking a picture of.”

“Shit,” he cursed, his free hand gripping his own shoulder. “I gotta go.” 

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Thanks, Al, for calling. He never would.”

“I know. I might be terrible at keeping in touch, but maybe we could schedule a catch up?”

In spite of the circumstances, he found himself smiling. “I would like that. When are you back in Paris?”

“I’m here now actually. When else do I read trashy gossip rags?”

He laughed. “Fair. How long are you in town for?” 

“Just the long weekend, but I wasn’t going to tell anyone because I didn’t have a whole lot of time and I’m going to be back for like six months in just a few weeks. Then, I read this, and well…”

“Yeah, thanks for the head’s up.”

“Sorry for waking you up so early.”

“You already know this was worth it to me. Thank you.”

“Of course, Nino. Anytime. Now, go track down a certain unfairly attractive supermodel, and make sure he’s okay. I’ll start researching who this bastard is and see if I can ruin his day.”

Nino laughed. Alya was protective of her friends, and positively vindictive. It was a scary combination. But Nino had always loved that about her.

“Nino?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Tell him I love him, too. He’s not alone.”

He smiled again. “I’ll tell him. Thanks again, Al,” and then he ended the call.

He drained his coffee though it was still too hot. Because he definitely didn’t have time to nurse it, and he definitely was going to need the caffeine rush today. He then immediately called Adrien. 

His friend didn’t answer, so Nino called again because there was no way in hell Adrien wasn’t doom scrolling through feeds obsessing over this story.

And again.

On the fifth try Adrien finally answered.

“Did it ever occur to you that when someone doesn’t answer it might mean they don’t want to talk?”

Nino shook his head, put the call on speaker, and thudded back to his bedroom to find clothes he could wear in public. “Never in your case, dude! Where are you? I’m coming over.”

“You don’t have to,” Adrien objected. “What are you even doing up? Didn’t you have an event last night? I was counting on you sleeping until noon!” 

“It went late. I never went to sleep,” Nino lied. He didn’t want to mention Alya’s call or plan for revenge yet, or admit to a monster headache. If he did, Adrien wouldn’t let him come over. 

“You don’t have to come listen to my sob story,” Adrien insisted. “Get some sleep. This isn’t important. It was my own fault. I was stupid.”

Nino rolled his eyes. “Shut up. Where are you?” He pulled a white t-shirt over his head, and placed the phone back to his ear. 

Adrien remained silent on the other end. 

“Dude, if you don’t tell me where you are, I’ll call Chloé and Kagami for back up in tracking you down.”

There was a sigh over the phone. “I’m at the hotel.”

“Room number?”

“427.”

“Be there in fifteen,” Nino promised. He jumped into a pair of khakis, kissed the brim of his red hat before slipping it over his head, and went straight out the door.

“Fifteen minutes is cutting it a little close, young master,” Wayzz chided from his left shoulder.

Nino had long stopped trying to get Wayzz to drop the title. The creature was as stubborn as he was old.

“Not if we take the superhero express.”

Wayzz’s disapproving frown did nothing to dissuade Nino from his plans.

Adrien needed him.

…

The door whipped open barely a second after Nino’s knuckles had knocked. For a second, neither of them spoke. Nino studied Adrien’s face carefully for signs of upset. His friend’s eyes were bloodshot as if he’d been up all night, but they weren’t puffy, so he probably at least hadn’t been crying. And his lips were curled into a relieved smile.

Nino returned the expression before pulling Adrien into a hug.

“How did you get here so fast?” Adrien mumbled into Nino’s shoulder.

Nino pulled away, and followed Adrien into the small hotel room. “Trade secret,” he deflected, hoping the humor had Adrien rolling his eyes instead of insisting on an explanation.

Maybe Wayzz’s paranoia was somewhat justified. Not that Nino had any regrets. Adrien didn’t push, and instead immediately fell backwards on the pristinely made bed. His friend clearly hadn’t even attempted to get any sleep last night. His green eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.

Nino flopped on the bed next to him, lying perpendicular with their heads side by side. 

“So why the hotel?”

Adrien snorted. “The studio has paparazzi.”

“You could’ve crashed my place.”

“But you weren’t there.”

Nino’s head rolled towards his best friend. “So? You have a key.”

Adrien’s gaze remained glued to the ceiling. ”Maybe I’m just embarrassed and didn’t want to explain anything.”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Nino said. “If you don’t want to talk, fine. But I’m here. And if you do want to talk, I’m here for that, too.”

And then Nino just waited, listening to Adrien’s uneven breathing. He suspected Adrien did want to talk. But it remained silent longer than Nino would have expected under the circumstances. And Nino was blissfully comfortable next to Adrien’s warmth and familiar presence and Nino’s caffeine boost was fading fast. He quickly found himself nodding off. 

“Promise you won’t judge?”

Nino started awake. 

“Nino?” Adrien rolled onto his side toward Nino.

“Yeah?” Nino responded, trying to disguise the crack in his voice. 

“You fell asleep, didn’t you?” Adrien observed dryly.

“No!” Nino denied for all he was worth.

Adrien sighed, returning to his back. “I told you that you didn’t have to come.” 

Nino shook his head. “Come on! Admit it. You wanted me to be here.” 

Adrien sat up on the bed. Nino met his green-eyed gaze easily. “Yeah…” Adrien admitted. “I did.”

Nino gave a slight nod. “So, I’m here.” 

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck. “I just… I hate being high maintenance.” 

“You’re not high maintenance,” Nino said gently for what had to be the millionth time over the last ten years. “Your asshole father just has you brainwashed into believing you have to handle it all yourself. But you don’t. And today, you’re having a bad day, so I’m here.”

“A horrible day!” Adrien agreed. “And it’s only just started.” 

Nino sat up, spun his legs to be at Adrien’s side, and then shoulder bumped his friend. “So, let me make the rest of it better.”

Adrien grinned. “Thank you. Thank you for being here.” 

“You don’t have to thank me for that, mec.”

“I know, but I want to.”

Nino scooted closer. “So, do you want to talk about what happened? Or do you want to be distracted?” 

“How about I tell you what happened, and then you can distract me?” 

“Sounds good, mec.”

“I met him at the university library,” Adrien began, his gaze on the far wall, and not on Nino. But Nino gave him his full attention anyway. “I was doing research for my thesis. And when he saw me fumbling with a stack of textbooks he just offered to help me put my reference books away. And he started talking about physics and when we were done, we just kept talking. We ended up downstairs in the student union just having coffee. It didn’t seem like he recognized me.” Adrien tugged at his blond locks. “I’m such an idiot! Of course, he recognized me. How can anyone not recognize me? My face is on every other billboard!” 

“It makes me feel like you’re always with me,” Nino joked.

Adrien responded with a flick from his middle finger to the brim of Nino’s hat, sending the red keepsake snapping off his head. 

“Hey!” Nino objected. “Anything but the hat.”

“Right. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine, mec,” Nino soothed. If there was one person Nino actually trusted with his older brother’s hat, it was Adrien. “So, what happened over coffee?” 

“Nothing really. Like I said, we just talked. It was nice. Or… I thought it was. We almost split there, but then he whirled back around and asked me out. He seemed genuinely interested, and I had really enjoyed talking to him, I thought maybe it was worth a shot! Especially after…” he trailed off. And yeah, Nino knew Adrien was still pining after this mystery girl he worked with after years of her saying no. “It just felt nice to be wanted.” 

And god, if it wasn’t always the same story.

“We went to dinner at this little cafe. You know, even if he was acting the whole time, he really was a fantastic conversationalist. It was just so easy! And I thought… we had a connection? It was just one kiss. But apparently, the whole thing was a set up. I knew as soon as the flash went off. They had a screen for lighting and everything.”

He must have been good, Nino surmised. Adrien hadn’t been tricked by one of these looking for a moment of fame since they were seventeen.

“But I should have known better. Nathalie always says to never go out the same day they ask.”

“What?! You didn’t give Nathalie time to write a twenty page report on your potential suitor?” Nino asked mockingly.

Adrien barked a laugh. “Twenty? Try forty!” Then his mirth faded. “But I hate it, Nino. I hate being so suspicious and cynical.” 

Nino clamped his hand onto Adrien’s shoulder and squeezed in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. 

“And I hate it more when she’s right,” Adrien added in a whisper. 

At those words, Nino pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry, dude. Wish the world was filled with more genuine people and less opportunists.”

“Yeah…”

It was silent again, and Nino was at a loss for how to fill it. But he definitely didn’t want Adrien spiraling in his thoughts for too long. 

“How’d your father take it?” It wasn’t the question Nino wanted to ask, but it was always best to get the Gabriel rant out of the way.

Adrien’s whole body went rigid in Nino’s arms. “I haven’t actually talked to him yet.”

Nino just hugged him harder. “How many times has Nathalie called?”

Adrien pulled away, and tossed him his phone. Nino unlocked it with practiced ease. Missed calls - three. Spaced exactly thirty minutes apart. Nino shook his head.

“That’s not that bad.”

“Bet she texts or calls you before she makes it to call number five,” Adrien countered.

Nino laughed. “You’re on. She’ll try you at least three more times. Anything in particular you want me to negotiate for?”

“I don’t want to talk to him today. Tomorrow is fine.” 

Nino waved his hand dismissively. “That one’s obvious, dude. I was thinking more like your working conditions in general?” 

“I would love it if we could move my fittings to early morning. Like super early. Five am? I’ve requested it before, but it costs extra to have a team there that early.”

Nino made a distasteful face. “I don’t know why you’d want to get up so blasted early.”

“I just want to get it over with so I have more time to study or hang out with my friends during the rest of the day. Is my company not worth a dawn wake up in your world?”

“This is my dawn! And here I am!”

Adrien’s grin faded. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“None of that!” Nino waved his arms dramatically. “We already established that when you need me, I am here!”

Adrien’s lips curled up into a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“So, are you okay?” Nino finally asked the question he had been wanting to ask since he arrived. Adrien had just been outed publicly.

Adrien shrugged. “Just embarrassed… mostly. You know I am comfortable with my sexuality. I was really only keeping it under wraps for father and the company.”

“Are you really okay?”

Adrien chuckled darkly. “How do you do that?”

Nino shrugged, his body going limp. “It’s my superpower, clearly. So you’re not okay, I take it?”

Adrien sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I was ready to be out with my friends, and the important people already know, but being outed publicly is terrifying. I feel so exposed. Like more than normal.

“And apparently, I do care what people think. But I hate that I care!” Adrien bit out, the bitterness and self-reproach clear in his tone. “I thought I didn’t, but I definitely do,” he added, his voice softer. “I wish I was brave enough not to.”

“Dude!” Nino objected. “You’re being too hard on yourself. It’s normal to not want to be judged. I know I wouldn’t want to be. Not when it wasn’t by choice.” Nino was out only with his closest friends. He had never talked to his parents. They weren’t exactly traditional, but they grew up in a country where homosexuality was met with prison time. Nino didn’t think they would disown him or anything, but he didn’t expect them to be thrilled. And he didn’t want to risk it. Not unless it was necessary.

Noël didn’t know either. Nino didn’t think his little brother would care, but Nino wasn’t confident Noël would remain discreet either. 

“Know that I’m with you every step of the way,” Nino promised. 

“Thanks, dude.” Adrien didn’t say anything more, but his blond eyebrows scrunched together so he was clearly thinking about something. “I definitely fantasized about my public coming out at some charity or something. Some event that could help the LGBTQ cause and community. And now it just feels so… tawdry. Like it’s just another sex scandal. And I feel like that possibility was stolen from me.”

Nino was quiet. “I’m sorry, mec. This wasn’t cool.”

Adrien shrugged. “And I’m maybe a little heartbroken. But I’m used to that.”

Nino’s chest tightened. It wasn’t fair. If anyone on this earth deserved love, it was Adrien.

“Anything I can do?”

“You’re doing it!” Adrien looked up and genuinely smiled, his green eyes impossibly bright. “You always do.” 

Nino smiled. “That’s because I love you, dude. You know that right?” 

“Yeah, man. Of course I do. And I love you, too.”

“What do you want to do for the rest of the day? Do you just want to hang out just the two of us? Or shall I invite the girls over?”

The girls meant Marinette, Kagami, and Chloé. But maybe Nino would include Alya as well since she was in town. 

“They will tear this guy to pieces.”

Nino nodded. “Exactly. He deserves it.”

“Do you think Marinette will actually come?” 

“I mean, I think if anything will bring her out of her cave of isolation to make you feel better, it would be that headline.” 

Adrien hesitated, another hand on his neck. “I don’t know… I don’t know if I want to face them. I’m so embarrassed. Chloé is going to give me hell for not seeing through this guy.”

Nino didn’t agree on that assessment. Chloé would definitely give him a hard time. But she’d do it at some point weeks or months in the future. She wouldn't tease him today. “If she does, remind her of the Antonia disaster!” 

Adrien laughed. Thank all the kwamis that that relationship had only lasted six months. Six long excruciating months. They had all hated Antonia, and not only because the feeling was mutual, but because she had torn Chloé’s sense of self worth into shreds. 

“Seriously mec, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. We’ve all had colossal misjudgements in relationships. Like all of us.” 

“When has Marinette screwed up?” 

Nino’s laugh exploded from his chest. “Mec, you have no idea. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to say.”

“What?! No fair! Why do you get to know, and not me?” 

Nino just shrugged. He probably would have had no trouble gossiping about Marinette to Adrien if so many of her secrets didn’t involve the blond in question. “I don’t make the rules. I just follow them.”

“What about you?” Adrien asked. “When have you screwed up in a relationship?” 

“Does a drunk hook-up count?” Nino asked.

“Depends! Were they cute?” 

“Not as cute as you,” Nino snarked back. 

Adrien actually blushed, and then just threw his arms around Nino again. 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“For?”

“For being here despite my protests, for making me feel better.” 

Nino squeezes Adrien tighter. “Always, mec.”

“You can invite the girls, but can we do it at my place?”

“I thought your place had paparazzi.” 

“Just a van.”

Nino winced. That was almost worse than a crowd. A team on stakeout would be more invasive and they’d stick around for longer. 

They rolled to their feet. Neither had anything in the way of belongings and exited into the hallway.

“Which room is the gorilla staying in?” 

Adrien jerked his thumb towards the adjacent room. 

Nino knocked with a complicated staccato rhythm. The door swung open a few seconds later. 

“Morning, Big G!” Nino greeted enthusiastically offering a fist, which Adrien’s protector reciprocated, though his expression remained devoid of feeling. 

“We’re heading out,” Nino explained. “Back to his place. I’m ordering breakfast on the way. What do you want from Tom and Sabine’s?” 

The stoic man nodded and signed animatedly. 

Nino nodded. “Sounds good! We’ll meet you out front in fifteen.” 

Adrien shook his head as the door closed. “How is it that you know how to talk to him better than I do?”

“Sign language isn’t that hard, man. And I had motivation to learn!” 

It was hard to bribe a man if you didn’t speak his language.

…

Chapter 2