#yes i love stick figures in high ankle boots

[thelittlestaxolotl]

ohhh i felt like i had seen your art style before while i was scrolling through that ava/m whiteboard!! your au is really cool :D

(just occured to me when i saw your pfp and wanted to tell you that i like your art style ^^")

It hasn't changed since I was ten lol

Here's an evidence, I've found my old Purple art. God, how blurred it is...

[luvrgirlfanfics]

INSECURITIES | v. hopper

pairing: vance hopper x plus-size!reader

author notes: this is written for women with thicker thighs and a more “chubby” stomach.

warnings: body shaming, panic attack, and very ooc vance.

You had never hated your body, sure you were bigger than most girls, and sure you had your days where you didn’t even want to look in a mirror, but at the end of the day you had a loving boyfriend who loves you.

You and Vance were going to the arcade today, it took a lot of bribing to get him to go, but you finally succeeded.

You heard a knock on the door and your mother welcoming Vance into the house. Your mother always loved Vance, she liked the way he didn’t put on a filter around her, like most guys would.

You could hear his combat boots stomping down the hallway and into your room. “Hello, my love” You said as he walked into the room.

“Hi.” He walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist watching you finish up your makeup. “You don’t need makeup you know” You smiled and put down your lip gloss.

“I know. But it makes me feel better” You smiled at him. He leaned in and pecked your lips, messing up your lipgloss. You chuckled at the red stain on vance’s lips and wiped it off with a makeup wipe. “Ready?” Vance nodded and grabbed your hand walking out the door.

It wasn’t a long walk to the arcade, but enough to make your ankles sore. You sighed as the cold air from the arcade hit you.

You walked up to the change machine and got your coins before quickly making a beeline to ‘Street Fighter’

“Why are you so obsessed with this game?” Vance chuckles as you continue to play.

“This is my pinball” You smile as you heard him laugh. “Yes!” You cheered as you beat your high-score. “Vance look! Look!” You pointed at the screen like a kid in a candy shop, pointing at the candies.

“I’m proud of you!” Vance kissed your cheek before pulling you to the air hockey.

“You going down” You stated as you stood across from him.

“Wanna bet?” You chuckled.

“You win, i pay for you Pinball. But if i win, you pay for my Street Fighter, and a slushie” Vance chuckled but nodded and started the game.

“I let you win.” Vance grumbled as the two of you walked away. You laughed as shook your head. The final score was 7-5.

You guys continued to play games, you winning everytime, except for Pinball, of course.

“I’ll be right back, i gotta fix my makeup” Vance nodded and pecked your lips before watching you walk away.

As you walked into the bathroom there was a group of girls standing and talking. You didn’t think anything of it as you walked to the mirror and pulled out your lip stick and lipgloss.

“Oh my gosh. That’s a fat girl that Pinball Vance is dating” You tried your best to ignore the laughs and giggles that came after that.

“It’s sad to think Vance actually likes that thing” That was your last straw, you quickly applied your lipgloss and walked out hearing the girls laugh.

You quickly found Vance waiting and grabbed his hand pulling him twords the exit.

“Hey. Hey. Are you okay?” Vance pulled you to stop. He turned you around and saw your glassy eyes. “What happened?”

“Can we just go…please” You begged as you watched him nod and begin to walk with you.

“Why are you to back to early? Did something happen?” You didn’t answer and walked to your room.

“What happened?” Your mother asked Vance as he stood there.

“I don’t know, that’s what i’m trying to figure out” Vance sighed and watched your mom nod and signal him to go find out.

Vance walked into the room and saw you taking off your makeup and taking down your hair. You hadn’t seen him in the reflection as you stared at yourself in the mirror. Tears fell as you brushed your hairs and slid down the wall, the hairbrush falling out of you hand.

“Hey. Hey. Hey. What happened?” Vance said as he sat down and pulled you into him.

“Bathroom. Girls. My Body” You stated through your ragged breathes. You could feel yourself slipping into a panic attack, and Vance could sense it too.

“Hey. Look at me” Vance said as he grabbed your face. “Five things to see.” You tried to open your mouth but couldn’t talk. “You have to try to calm down. Come on you got it. Five things you can see”

“I-I can see…” You cut yourself off with a sob. “Y-You. U-Um, My p-posters.”

“Three more” Vance said as he wiped your tears.

“M-My R-Record player. My Brush” Your breath got more quick making Vance worry.

“One more, baby. Just one more” Vance quickly stated.

“M-My u-um, my bed” Vance put on a smile smile, making you calm down a bit.

“Four things you can hear” Vance said as he sat next to you and put your head on his shoulder.

“M-My heart beat. The-The wind. Foot-Footsteps,” You took at breath. “E-Elvis Presley” Vance smiled at the song playing in the background. ‘Falling in Love’ by Elvis Presley.

“Theee things you can feel”

“Your hair. The floor. Your-Your ja-jacket”

“Your doing so well” Vance praised as he grabbed your hand. “Two things you can smell”

“Your C-Cologne, and Oranges”

“And one thing you can taste” Vance was happy you were calmed down.

“My left over lipgloss” You stated as you got your breathi mg back to normal.

“Good job. I’m proud of you” Vance grabbed you face turning your head to look at him. He wiped your tears with his thumbs and held your face in his hands. “I’m not gonna ask you what happened right now, but i wanna talk about it later if your okay with that”

You nodded as went to stand up but your body was weak. “Here.” Vance said as he picked you up. Vance was strong, from all the fights, but also from all the times your mother forced him to help her re-arange the house.

“I’m too heavy, your gonna hurt yourself one day” You muttered as her set you on the bed.

“Hey. If you were to heavy i wouldn’t be carrying you” Vance smiled as he went to your closet and got you some more comfy clothes. “Here” He set them on the bed and helped you remove your shirt and shorts. He turned around so you could take off the rest and put on the new clothes.

“Done” You stated as you put your clothes on the floor and layed down on the bed. Vance got on the bed and layed his head on your chest, his arms going around your waist.

“If you ready to talk, what happened at the arcade?” Vance asked quietly. You took a deep breathe and burried your hands in his hair.

“I was fixing my lips and then a group of girls that were in the bathroom already started making these mean comments about my body, and how it’s weird to think that you would like a thing like me” You stated. Vance sighed and shook his head.

“Don’t believe them. And if it makes we weird to like you, then i’m weird, so what. But your beautiful. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Your mine, and I’m yours. That’s all that matters right now” Vance said as he lightly ran his fingers over your stomach feeling the goosebumps come up under his fingers.

“I love you” You stated making Vance sit up and look at you.

“What? What did you say?” Vance stated with a big smile on his face. You laughed as his eyes teared up a bit.

“I love you idiot” You smiled softly and took in his features.

“I love you” Vance smiled as he hid his face in thr crook of your neck. You giggled as he kissed the side of your neck. As you two layed there in scilence, listening to ‘Falling in Love’ by Elvis Presley on repeat, the two of you though about your future together…

masterlist

[dontmindmyshadowhunting]

Dru meets Ash (Fan Fic)

This is Chap 6 of “Welcome to Faerieland”, a sequel to my Kitty Fan Fic "To never being parted" although it can be read as a standalone story.

Dru meets Ash (again, although she doesn’t know they have already met) in this Chapter.

AO3 Link here.

*****

Jaime and Dru landed a little away from a clearing where a revel was being held. Jaime hastily slipped the Eternidad back into his pocket. He would give it back to Cristina eventually, but in the meantime, he knew she had no trouble being escorted in and out of the Unseelie Court whenever she wanted to. Perks of being the King’s girlfriend. 

Jaime and Dru had both dressed in faerie clothes, in order to blend in. Dru was wearing a long azur blue dress that brought out the color of her eyes. It fell just above her ankles, revealing high-heeled boots (conveniently hiding a few daggers). An upturned collar and long sleeves covered the marks on her neck and arms, though the low-cut neckline would inescapably draw anyone’s attention to her cleavage. Her dark brown hair was efficiently pulled into an elegant bun. Where Jaime and Dru’s skin showed, both had covered their marks with concealer. 

As they walked toward the revel, and the music grew louder, Dru turned to Jaime. “I have to go find a friend of Nene’s. She may help us locate Ty and Kit. It’s better if I go alone, she knows the Blackthorns very well but she’s a bit wary around other Shadowhunters. Don’t stay too far, though. And of course, I don’t need to tell you not to drink or eat anything.”

“No, you don’t,” Jaime answered a little harshly. Blackthorns knew a great deal about the Fair Folk, but so did the Rosales, he wanted to remind her.

When they had finally joined the party, Dru waved at a faerie woman with blue hair and purple eyes who was standing next to a tent, in deep conversation with a kelpie, and left Jaime to stand awkwardly at the edge of the forest. 

He had not been there five minutes when a fey swooped in to offer some refreshments.

“No, thanks,” he replied immediately, lifting one of his hands reflexively to prevent the fey from coming any closer. 

“Are you certain? Mundanes are particularly fond of this one,” he said, pointing to a blue drink, “it makes you look younger. Not that you need it, of course.” 

“Huh. Is there a drink that makes you grow like two years older, without altering your appearance?” The faerie stared at him aghast. Jaime couldn’t blame him. “Never mind,  very  stupid question,” Jaime mumbled.

Dru appeared then, her eyes glowing in excitement. She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the forest. 

“So... any information on where we could find your brother and Kit?”

“Have you ever been to a revel before?” She replied, ignoring his question.

“Hum. No, but Cristina told me a bit about them…”

“Come over here,” she said as she drew him further into the forest. She stopped in front of a tree, put both her hands on his chest and pushed him against the trunk. His back hit the wood with a loud  thump  but it was mostly drowned by the sound of his heart beating in his chest.

Her gaze was intense, dark eyelashes batting seductively over her blue-green eyes. Jaime swallowed.

“Er- Dru, what are you doing? Aren’t we supposed to go hunting for Ty and Kit?”

“Relaaax. What happens in Faerie stays in Faerie, doesn’t it?”

She bit her lower lip and he gasped.

“God, Dru, those lips…” Jaime choked. His thoughts were becoming more and more incoherent.

“Can I… kiss you?” she asked.

“God, yes. Please.” Jaime slumped against the tree trunk, feeling all the tension leave his body at once.

Dru closed her eyes and he did the same. As she pressed her full lips against his, he could feel blood burning through his veins like wildfire.  Yes, yes, finally. He could be struck by lightning - he probably would - he didn’t care. He would die a happy man.

She bit his lower lip and he could taste his own blood, but he didn’t mind.  Feisty  little Dru. He brought his hands on either side of her face to cup her cheeks, but instead of soft skin he felt a very light... stubble. He pulled away immediately and found himself staring into a pair of bright blue eyes, the colour of a summer sky. Kit Herondale was smiling at him, his grin as mischievous as ever but somehow it looked wrong.  All wrong.

“What does your heart truly desire, little Shadowhunter?” he said, cocking his head, and it was not his voice, but a woman’s voice.

From one moment to another, Kit’s blond hair and blue eyes were replaced by a faerie woman with gray fine hair drifting around a pale face, her skin smooth and ageless. He was staring at a  leanansidhe. He cursed himself. What  a fool  he had been.

He stepped back, feeling sick, and hit something hard behind him. He was about to turn when he was dealt with a blow on the head. His sight blurred and he barely had the time to blink before he fell into unconsciousness. 

****

As she was talking to Nene’s friend, Dru saw Jaime disappear into the forest with a faerie.  What the hell was he thinking?  They weren’t here to have fun.

She thanked her contact, who unfortunately didn’t have any information, and moved to where Jaime had vanished inside the forest.

The tree trunks were spaced, but their branches leafy and close enough that it was difficult to see beyond a few feet.  She cursed Jaime silently as she got deeper inside the woods, the sounds of the revel now receding and being replaced by the sounds of nocturnal animals and insects. She thought about all the horror movies that warned you from doing just that.

If it wasn’t for her years of Shadowhunter training she wouldn’t have heard the soft footfalls behind her. She stepped further into the forest until she was at an advantageous position for a fight and whirled to face her stalker. It was a very tall faerie knight dressed in elegant velvety clothes. Probably gentry and part of the King’s guard. He smiled at her and she kept herself from shivering from the coldness of his grin. 

“What are you doing here all alone, little girl?”

He probably thought she was a helpless mundane with the Sight. Admittedly, she didn’t look like the Shadowhunter women type, with her curvy figure.

“Minding my own business. As you should.”

“Do you know there are dangerous creatures lurking in these woods?”

“I definitely do. And let me tell you a secret…” She cupped her hand around her mouth and spoke in a stage whisper. “I am the scariest one of them.”

The faerie knight laughed.

“I am Ruadhan Fairburn. I used to be one of the best knights of King Kieran’s guard,  and I have met him personally once. I am also acquainted with Gwyn ap Nudd, of the Wild Hunt. You certainly don’t frighten me.”

Oh, no. He did have a reputation as one of the realm’s best fighters, before King Kieran had suggested he retire, probably due to his attitude.

She mimed checking her watch (although she wasn’t wearing any). “Oooh, so it’s already time for a bit of name-dropping? Sorry, none of these ring a bell.”  

No need to tell him she had seen Gwyn cry in front of  Love actually  a week before, on Friday’s movie night, and that she affectionately called King Kieran  Kiki. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. When I am done with you,  my name will be printed in your memory.”

“Hmmm. Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll pass.” She started running her hand through her hair casually, intending to pull out her hair stick made with adamas. It was a gift from Jem who had it made by Sister Emilia.

The faerie’s expression turned furious. “I am not really giving you a choice,” he said in a clipped tone.

An audible sigh had them both whip their head toward the general direction of the sound.

A few feet away, up a large tree, a boy - or rather a young man judging by his frame and the length of his long limbs - was lounging on the thickest branch. He was reading, holding his book high, so Dru could not see his face, only white blond hair tucked behind pointy ears. He was dressed in stunning finery, all black, his collar turned up. He was wearing dark silk gloves and his long fingers were splayed across the cover of his book. He was most certainly part of the gentry, or even royal blood, Dru thought.

“You heard the lady,” he said in a bored voice, and Dru could not help but startle at the sound. It was a beautiful, lyrical voice. “She is not interested. Now, move along. Go hump a tree or something.”

“Excuse me?” the faerie knight spluttered, his delicate features set in a mask of shock. “Do you know who I am?”

“I don’t know who  you are, but I know  what  you are, and that’s enough to convince me not to develop our budding relationship any further,” he answered, turning a page.

The knight started to advance on him, but the blond faerie didn’t even lift his nose from his book. With a flick of his hand, he had the faerie knight hauled away like a puppet, as if a giant invisible hand had grabbed him from behind.

“Don’t move any closer. What did I just say about me not wanting to develop our relationship further? Have you never been taught how to take no for an answer?”

The faerie knight was seething but he backed away, walking in reverse, before he whirled and disappeared inside the deep forest. 

“Thanks, I guess.” Dru said, relaxing her stance. “Although we could have avoided the drama. I had the situation quite in hand before you intervened. I could have knocked him out before he had the chance to spell out the word  asshole.”

The faerie laughed, and it was a beautiful chime sound.

“Ladies shouldn't have to dirty their hands,” he said, as if she had not just uttered the word “asshole”, disqualifying her as such.

“What century do you live in?” she asked, shaking her head. “Anyway, I am a Shadowhunter, dirtying my hands is part of the job description.”

She saw his whole body suddenly tense. Slowly, he brought the book down, just enough to reveal a pair of green eyes under delicate blond eyebrows. As soon as he caught sight of her, his eyes widened in surprise and he let the book fall on the ground, the resulting  thump  muffled by the grass.

In a single swift and elegant motion, he had jumped from his tree and was standing a few feet away, facing her.

Up close, she could see his eyes were a clear emerald green. It made her think of grass fields glowing under the spring sun. His features were sharp and ethereal, his white blond hair tousled as if they had caught wind. Physically, he was the opposite of Jaime, all pale white and thin silvery curls where Jaime had brown golden skin and dark thick hair. They both had a lean figure and a debonair manner, but where Jaime was almost gangly, the faerie was all graceful moves and regal stance. 

He is  absolutely gorgeous, Dru admitted reluctantly. And he was watching her as if he knew all the secrets of her heart, as if he had always known her and was merely returning to her after leaving for a short while. 

Although she was almost certain she had never met him, something about him struck her as oddly familiar. She was idly wondering whether her mind had conjured up one of the princes of her books. Maybe, he was the product of her own fantasy and he would disappear from one blink to another… But no, she had not been the only one to see him.  Get a grip, she told herself.

“It’s you,” he breathed. 

Dru tried to regain her composure. She straightened up as she answered. “It’s definitely me.” She had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

“Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight, For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night,” he whispered in a daze.

By the Angel,  his voice. Everything about him ensnared your senses, enticed you to love and worship him. But Dru knew better than to let herself be fooled by men’s - especially faerie men’s - spells and enchantments. 

She swallowed and answered in her most detached voice. “Shakespeare. Romeo meets Juliet. Act I Scene 5. Already bringing out the heavy artillery, I see. Do you always quote other people’s work to make yourself interesting? Or do you  actually  have a personality?”

The strange prince was taken aback for a second. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face. He was breathtaking when he smiled. 

“Oush,” he replied, miming a sword stabbing through his chest. “That went straight through my heart.”

“This line may work its spell on the naive and gullible girls you usually manage to sweep off their feet, but it definitely doesn’t work on me.” Dru sniffed.

The fey cocked his head, as if he was inspecting a strange wild animal. 

“You assume that I am trying to seduce you?”

She rolled her eyes and whirled, avoiding to stare at him for too long. He was quite intimidating. And she needed to find Jaime. 

“Don’t be a jerk, in addition to being a  cliché,” she said without a backward glance, as she walked away. She could hear the sound of his laugh behind her, echoing in the forest like ringing bells.

****

Tagging @gabtapia sorry I’ve been so busy lately but I am definitely back now with more chapters.

[vanillann]

‘tis the damn season (reggie peters x f.reader)

yes i’m 16 and obsessed with a children’s show, what about it?

inspires by “‘tis the damn season” by taylor swift

also i have no clue if i’m going to start writing for jatp or not so...

waring: bad angst and the word damn

word count: 1.6k

“‘tis the season,” Reggie fell back on the couch with the bright red cheeks and little giggles.

Luke looked to Alex, begging with his eyes to smack him but Alex shook his head. The three were waiting for Bobby to grab the sandwiches from the deli and they’d be working on another song, but Reggie had other plans.

“She’ll be here in two days,” Reggie felt the need to give a visible representation, putting up two fingers for all to see.

“Yeah we know, you’ve been reminding us since September,” Luke bite back, looking at Reggie with dangerous eyes.

“Oh Luke, you’re just not in the headspace to understand,” Reggie brushed off, starting at the ceiling above him, laughing to himself as he imagined her face.

“I can’t do this again,” Luke whispered to Alex, looking over. Alex shrugged, the drumstick banging against his leg with a nice little beat that Luke would have to ask him about later.

“It makes Reg happy,” Alex shrugged, looking to the boy in question quickly. He had a dopey look on his face, a little hum of a song on the tip of his tongue.

“Until she leaves to go back home,” Luke mumbled, worried for his friend.

Luke liked (Y/N), I mean he truly believed Reggie and her were soulmates, but every year she came for the holiday and she left a week later.

While Reggie used that week to his advantage, treating others as if they’ve been together for years, they were just two friends as she got back in her car to ride back to the Midwest.

Then Reggie was a heartbroken wreck, mumbling sad songs at practice and missing chords. It happened every time, every year, and Luke didn’t want to watch him wreck himself again.

Alex and Luke both slowly stood up, leaving the boy to look dreamily into the sky. They wander to the other side of the garage, looking over their shoulder every so often.

“Look I get it, she’s great but it’s this holiday fling that Reggie can’t handle.”

Alex understood Luke’s outburst, everyone was thinking it but it wasn’t going to end well if they tried to talk Reggie out of his infatuation. She was perfect for him and it was enough for Reggie to see her once a year.

“I’m back,” Bobby slid in through the garage door, holding bags of sandwiches in his hand as he dropped them to the table.

“Careful with mine,” Luke yelped out, running over to the table and forgot the topic of Reggie's little hometown girl as a whole.

*

Reggie bounced up and down, sitting on the bench by her parent’s house, the cold wind that blew across Reggie's face was odd for California but Reggie didn’t care about that now.

She was coming home for the holidays, that’s all that mattered.

He spotted the red car pulled around the corner of the small street, the one Reggie skated minutes ago with a joyous laugh.

As the car passed by, he spotted her little wave through the window. Her smile was as bright as the sun against a coastline.

Reggie would have to remember that line, Luke would like it.

Once the car was completely parked, the large door swung open. The sound of high heel boots slammed against the pavement with little giggles in-between.

“Reggie!”

“(Y/N)!”

Reggie stood from the bench, laughing as the girl launched herself into Reggie’s leather jacket-clad arms as if it was home. The familiar scent of one another was comforting and perfect, to say the least.

“I’ve missed you,” Reggie whispered into the nape of the poor girl's neck, the goofiest smile sketch across his face as if he was that thing Alex talked about.

Some painted ceiling?

In Rome or something?

“Not as much as I missed you.”

Those words made Reggie forget the question he had, just happy to hear her.

“That’s so not possible.”

*

“When did you learn to ice skate?”

(Y/N) shrugged, her skates leaving little marks in the giant ice. Reggie was thankful when Bobby found this place the other week, the boy enjoyed the people watching and the holiday vibes they got for it.

“I’m just a natural,” Reggie appreciated the way she smiled with her tongue between her teeth, a little goofy shrug as she moved closer to Reggie.

“I’ll teach you,” her hand slipped into his with ease, as if they were made to fit. If you asked Reggie, he’d respond with a “well duh” and continue talking about the girl in front of him.

She pulled him off the rail, smiling as she watched his ankle wobble as soon as she did.

“I got you jeez,” she laughed, reaching over to grab Reggie’s other hand for extra support.

He didn’t even think to look at his skate, too caught up in the girl in front of him. Reggie was watching the way she watched both their skate carefully, worried to let him collapse if she didn’t.

Reggie knew he would write all of Sunset Curves' love songs about her.

Who wouldn’t write love songs about someone who smiled like that?

“You’re staring,” (Y/N) smirks, looking back at their skates as soon as she spoke.

“Well duh.”

*

“How is fashion going?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, obviously not happy with how the dream of hers is going.

“I hate it, it doesn’t feel like what I thought it was,” she let her feet rest in Reggie's lap, laying back on the couch as they both waited for the rest of the band.

Reggie was excited to show her how much better he’s gotten at bass, but now he was worried. He never once felt like that about his dream.

“Are you sure you wanna do fashion?”

“Not anymore,” she spoke gently, pulling at the sweater sleeve with a sad little smile.

“I might just give up.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” Reggie spoke, waiting for the words he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

If she quit fashion she’d come home.

“I don’t know, I just need to figure it out.”

She didn’t say anything, just looking at her shoes that sat in Reggie’s lap.

“You could always take a break, stay here for a while.”

Reggie didn’t want to hold her back, no he would never, but she didn’t seem happy and he couldn’t help think maybe she’d be happy here with him.

“You know I can’t Reg, my parents can’t afford another mouth to feed,” she reached out to brush a piece of the hair that had fallen in his eyes.

“I know,” he wanted to tell her to move in with him, but she didn’t deserve to hear the fighting and he could sell Bobby's garage to her.

“Maybe one day,” she spoke gently, the sound of the doors whipping open didn’t make Reggie feel any better.

“(Y/N)!” Alex pranced to the girl, a goofy smile as he wrapped his long arms around her.

“Alex,” she smiled gently, doing her best to brush the conversation to the side.

She would have stayed, she felt home here with Reggie and his band. Her friends in the city were cold and rude, ready to backstab you when their time was coming. Reggie would be good for her, a new setting and one she needed.

But she couldn’t have it.

So he’d have to stick with calling her babe for a weekend.

*

“Last one,” Reggie stuffed the last bag in the trunk of the car, watching it closely as he thought of what was about to happen.

“Thank you for helping.”

(Y/N) had just finished saying goodbye to her family, slowly walking out to find Reggie had backed every bag that sat outside the car.

“With all your bags you’d think you’d stay longer,” Reggie spoke absentmindedly, looking at the sticker covering it. He smiled when he saw his band logo drawn on the side.

“Time flies when you’re having fun, right?”

Reggie nodded, the emotions already hitting him as he waited. He was going to regret this, but he couldn’t keep doing this.

“Don’t leave,” his voice cracked, which made (Y/N) more nervous to answer.

“I have to Reg-”

“But you hate it there,” Reggie turned to look at her, his boyish charm gone as fast as it would have normally come.

“I can’t stay Reg, this town isn’t for me anymore.”

She knew he meant well, she didn’t want to leave him anymore but her life wasn’t made for this city.

“But I’m in this town,” she could just barely make out his words with how many emotions were in them.

She slowly walked closer, wrapping her arms around his center. He let his hands rub circles on her back, wondering where to go from here.

“We’re going to have to stop, aren’t we?”

Reggie only nodded, knowing neither of them could do this “friends that weren’t friend” thing anymore, not when it only lasted a week a year.

“I’m sorry Reg, I don’t wanna leave-”

“I understand,” Reggie gave his last light-hearted smile, moving from behind the car, opening the driver side door for her.

She said nothing, nodding as slowly sitting in her seat for the next few hours of her drive.

“’tis the season, right?”

Reggie nodded, trying his best not to be broken the last time she saw him.

“’tis the season,” he muttered under his breath, nodding as she started the car when he closed the door. She backed out the driveway with ease, her eyes trained on the road.

“’tis the damn season,” Reggie spoke under his breath.

He knew at that moment, he’d write all of Sunset Curves heartbreak songs about her.

[yeojaa]

( SWEET MAGNOLIAS. )

He was your unlikely muse;  you were the weird girl in the park.  Could you make it any more obvious?

pairing.  myg x named f!reader.  s2l.

genre + rating.   college!au.  fluff, angst, smut.  explicit. 

tags / warnings.  light cussing, yoongi being rightfully weirded out, a whole lotta softness, sadness if you squint at the right times, body painting, and then, of course, the most tender, dumbest lovemaking (unprotected but don’t be silly like them!).  there’s also a really bad callback to the titanic.  i’m not sorry.  lol.

wc.  8.2k

You try not to stare for too long, sweeping your gaze in wide circles so as to be as inconspicuous as possible.  You try not to let your eyes linger, follow the contours of his cheeks - soft, pronounced when he smiles - or the shape of his mouth - delicate, petal pink.  You try not to make it weird - but it’s decidedly, very weird.

You just can’t help yourself.

He’s always here around this time, laid out on a worn red blanket.  Sometimes, he reads.  Books like The Alchemist and the Stranger and once, Dante’s Inferno.  Other times, he pops a pair of headphones on - oversized, intimidatingly large over his ears - and closes his eyes.  Most rare of all, is when he’s not alone, joined at the hip by at least one other boy and on occasion, an entire group of six.  

They’re all interesting in their own ways.  

There’s one with shoulders the size of boulders, a mountain range situated beneath his shirts.  He has a weird laugh that sounds like windshield wipers and your mother’s spring cleaning routine.  He yells a lot and even across the lawn, you can sometimes make out his voice.

There’s the tallest one, with kind eyes and dimples so deep you question if there’s treasure buried in them.  He reads a lot, too.  You’ve seen him in the library more times than you can count, always dutifully tucked away in a back corner surrounded by scattered looseleaf.  Despite the course load he seems to have taken on, you’ve never seen him lose his cool.  You have seen him lose his phone, though, and pencils and textbooks and AirPods. 

There’s Hoseok, whose name you only know because he held your hair once at a fall sorority party.  You hadn’t been drinking but somehow, somehow, your roommate had convinced you to apple bob with her.  He’d been gracious enough to help you out, fisting your hair in a gentle grip.  It’s what spurred you to now always have an elastic on your wrist.

There’s the dancer.  He’s slight and even in stillness, far more graceful than you’ll ever be.  He’s got pillowy lips and hair that gleams like silk.  You’ve sketched him too, once or twice, but never more.  It just didn’t feel right - as if you’d never be able to translate that sort of beauty onto paper.  

There’s the one from your Art 340 Drawing II class.  You’ve wondered, on more than one occasion, how come he isn’t the model.  He’s got perfect proportions - defined jaw, strong nose, cheekbones carved from marble.  It’s almost off-putting seeing him in person;  it feels far more fitting for him to be displayed in a museum, with a plaque that reads Perfection, Mixed Media.

There’s the youngest one, Jungkook.  They call him maknae despite the fact that he dwarfs nearly all of them.  Maybe it’s just the clothes he wears:  boots that look like they’d break your neck and everything in slightly darker shades of black.  You run into him at least four times a week - trading greetings at the campus coffee shop and at the library.  You’re practically best pals by college standards. 

And then, of course, there’s him.  Your muse.  The one you can’t help but stare at - even when you’re trying your hardest not to.  The one who wears glasses though you’re almost certain he doesn’t need them.  The one whose smile is more gums than teeth, who looks unassuming and yet often breaks out into the strangest, most inspired dance moves you’ve ever seen.  The one who plays recreational basketball on Tuesday nights and who drinks more coffee than you think should be humanly possible. 

Min Yoongi.  

You sketch him like you’ll never see him again, dragging charcoal strokes across paper until your hand is muddied and the curve of his ear is looking worse for wear.  You repeat lines over and over, turning the mop of his hair into ringlets and waves, weaving dimension through the india ink that spills over his eyes.  You sometimes add his glasses;  you’re quite fond of the look on him.

You paint him sometimes, too, imagining how he’d look with periwinkle blue hair, or maybe dressed in shades of maroon.  You swath him in textured fabrics and lovely watercolours, turning him into a fantasy that’ll never see the light of day.  Pretty little daydreams with him fixed at the centre.

You fill your pages with his figure, the way he smiles when Hoseok does something silly or how he joins in when Jungkook laughs.  You study every bit and piece, learning him in every admiring way you can - despite the fact that you don’t really know him at all. 

It’s a staggering lesson in futility but one you take almost daily, armed with pencil and paper and not a single ounce of common sense. 

That is, until you’ve done the stupidest thing imaginable.  

No, not getting caught.  Not in the traditional sense, at least.  He hasn’t realised you sit on your bench - yes, your bench, with the sticky metal arm rest and illegible initials scratched into the back - and watch him almost every day.  You thank your lucky stars for that.

What you’ve done is much worse - punishable by death by embarrassment. 

You have no fucking clue where your sketchbook is. 

You could’ve sworn you had it in your bag when you’d returned to your room last night.  You can’t imagine you would’ve left it anywhere in the open, orphaning it on a campus full of idiots.  You were always so careful.  You don’t just lose things.

“I think it’s gone, girl.”  You’ve never wanted to yell at your roommate more - not even when you’d caught her and her boyfriend banging in your bed after you’d come home early on the long weekend or when she’d eaten all of your Cherry Garcia ice cream.  The desire bubbles about in your chest, fizzing angrily like an agitated soda bottle.  

“It’s here somewhere.”  The words grit between your teeth, insistent as can be.

“You’ve been looking for like, twenty minutes.”  

“It’s here.”

“I really don’t think it is…”  Jisoo doesn’t quite deserve how you explode, rounding on her with hands flying and eyes wild.  “You’re also going to be late for your class.”

Your words falter with the verbalisation of hers. 

Lucky for her;  unlucky for you. 

The hands of the clock above your desk wave at you mockingly.  You are, indeed, going to be late for your class.

“Shit!  Shit!”  Everything you’d torn out gets shoved back into your tote bag.  Band-Aids, mints, too many wayward pencils and pens.  You almost forget your phone, attention only drawn to it when Jisoo catches the strap of your backpack and yanks you back.  

“Don’t forget,”  she hums, far more kindly than your harebrained self deserves.

You forget all the reasons you’re upset with her.  “Thanks, Ji.”  You force a kiss on her cheek before you’re darting out of your room and sprinting across campus to Art 340.

“Nice of you to join us, Miru.”  It’s your professor greeting you as you run in fifteen minutes late, weaving through other students to find your seat near the far wall.  Laughter follows you, coiling around your ankles and over your shoulders as you settle into your seat, fully hidden behind the oversized easel.  

You can’t help the scarlet that paints your cheeks, creeping high across your temples.  You know no one cares - that Professor Kinsella is probably the most laidback professor you’ve had in your four semesters - but it can’t be stopped.  You’re already flustered from temporarily misplacing your sketchbook that everything else just feels like shit icing on your garbage cake.

“Sorry!”  It squeaks out - a mouse, eaten up wholly by cat-ate-the-canary laughter that sounds over your shoulder and not very quietly.

“Having a bad day?”

You’ve heard the voice a handful of times so it shouldn’t shock you the way it does, nearly knocking the graphite from your hand.  

“What?”

Kim Taehyung’s on the edge of his chair, one long leg stretched toward you, the other balanced across his knee.  You’re not sure how that’s meant to be comfortable but he makes it look effortless.  Then again, looking like him, living probably was effortlessly.  You can’t deny you’re a little envious. 

“Your face is all red.  You’re out of breath.  Feels like a bad day to me.”

You try not to dwell on the fact that, apparently, you look like an absolute mess.  “No, I’m good.”  It sounds fake even to your ears, tinny and wrought with anxiety.  

“You sure?”  He’s not really paying attention to you as he speaks, tracing the contours of the model across his canvas.  He begins where you’d never think to, framing the main masses with a languid twist of his wrist.  Unlike you, he doesn’t get caught up in the detail;  he sees the bigger picture for all it is, building from the outside in.   

You’re watching him for longer than you realise, whipping back around once it dawns on you.  “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

“Who knows.”  There’s a playfulness in his tone that sets you on edge.  You’ve never heard it before, all rounded vowels and molasses laughter.  You mean to work as you listen, waiting for some indication of whatever lies just beneath the surface.

It’s a mistake.  Your stick of charcoal snaps in half when he continues, low and slow as if he’s dragging it out.

“—maybe you lost a sketchbook?” 

“Did you say…”  You can’t finish the sentence.  You feel like you’re about to be sick.  

The amount of mischief in his expression should be illegal.  It’s dancing in his eyes, curling wide and unabashed over his lips.  It’s practically radiating off of him.

“So, bad day?”  

He waits for you to pack up, hands tucked into the endless pockets of his black slacks.  At any other time, in any other universe, you’d be giddy.  Girls on campus would kill for even a second of Taehyung’s attention.  

(It’s true - you’d heard a group of them talking about it one time.)  

Here and now, you want to sink six feet under.

“They’re really good, you know.”  As if the compliment will dull the mortification that threatens to cleave you in half.  “You’re really good at capturing his boredom.  That’s not easy.”

“Thanks.”  You should make conversation;  it’s the polite thing to do.  

After all, he was kind enough to find and return your sketchbook.  Better him than someone else, right?  Better him than Yoongi himself?  That’s what you tell yourself, at least.  

Yoongi doesn’t know and therefore, it’s okay.  Semi okay.  Distantly related to the idea of okay.

As if he can read your mind, Taehyung speaks gently, with a hand that burns through the linen of your blouse.  You know he means well but it sears white hot, eviscerating your nerve endings.  “You have nothing to worry about.  I didn’t tell him.”

You don’t answer him.  There’s nothing to say - not really.  You’re far too lost in your own thoughts to acknowledge the effort he’s making.  Maybe this was life’s way of telling you to back off - to find another person to paint.  

Or maybe it’s brought you two together, says the silly, naive angel on your shoulder.

You’re ready to flick her off - launch her like some kind of poor Tinkerbell - when your name catches your attention.  It’s announced so dramatically that you double take, making sure you haven’t completely run through a picnic or accidentally slammed into someone. 

“This is Miru.” 

Cognisance comes slow and unhurried, even as your stare swivels wildly in search of context clues. 

Laid out before you, right under that familiar magnolia tree, is one blanket, three bodies, and enough takeout to last you an entire week.  

“Ohf, phey!”  With cheeks stuffed full, it’s hard to make out the two syllables.  They crowd against each other, offered in a garbled mess that has you regarding Jungkook with a mixture of concern and confusion.  He’s swallowing thickly before he rises far too quickly;  you watch a forgotten piece of kimbap go flying, lost to the dirt and bugs.  “Sorry.  Hi.”  

“Do you want to join us?”  It’s the angelic one, fitted with cherubic cheeks and a rounded Cupid’s bow.  “I’m Jimin, by the way.”  He pats the empty space beside him, eyes waning into crescents with the force of his friendliness.

Taehyung had asked if you wanted to grab dinner but you’d never imagined he meant this. 

You’ve never been subtle but you try your damnedest to peek at him from your periphery.  Unfortunately for you, he’s already sat down, fully made himself comfortable beside the last member of the group.

The one who, for all intents and purposes, appears as if he’d rather be anywhere but here.  If looks could kill, you think.  

“Don’t worry about him,”  Jimin says, so sweetly, with a small bento lid held towards you.  It’s already stacked with goodies - a selection of banchan and homemade-looking meatballs sitting alongside a poorly-shaped mound of rice.  “Sometimes, he gets like this.”  

You want to believe it.  Really, you do, but by the way Yoongi’s mouth curls in distaste, all signs point to it being a matter of you rather than a mood.

“Maybe if she respected peoples’ privacy, I wouldn’t have an issue.”

It’s a single sentence quietly spoken and yet it feels like an open-palm slap to the face.  Heat radiates over every visible inch, starkly coloured in contrast to the white of your top.  It burns as it licks over your cheeks and past your temples, tipping your ears. 

“I’m so sorry.”  It isn’t clear who you’re apologizing to, the words tumbling wet off your tongue like a waterfall.  

You’re gone before anyone can ask.

“That was a dick move.”  Jungkook is the first to break the silence, levelling his friend with a disapproving stare.  He’s not used to this side of him - the one that can tear a person apart with just a few words.  It’s not the Yoongi he knows.  It’s not really Yoongi at all.

“Yeah, hyung.”  It’s thinner, but just as reproachful.  “I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”

Yoongi’s laugh is dismissive but he won’t meet anyone’s stare - a tell-tale sign that he’s just a little affected by their words - choosing instead to shovel bites of soondae into his mouth.  “Mean what?  Invading my privacy?”

“She’s an artist.”  Taehyung doesn’t mean it as an excuse but by how Yoongi bristles, he’s certain the senior takes it as such.  Before the argument can begin, he continues, all while wrapping a piece of samgyupsal in lettuce.  “I doubt she meant any harm, so just cut her some slack.”  Fringe is flicked away from his eyes, something sparkling in the pretty brown of his irises.  “I’d actually be flattered, if I were you.”

“Then you be her model.”

You haven’t drawn in four days.  Well, not really.  

You’ve completed what you need for classes, filling your books with mandatory figures and notes on colour theory.  You’ve diligently mapped out proportions and brought to life sunsets and sceneries.  You’ve done everything you should be doing but nothing that you want to be.

It just doesn’t feel right.  Not anymore.

“I hear he’s a really nice guy.”  You can’t count how many times Jisoo has tried to cheer you up.  From picking up your favourite ice cream (the one she tends to devour anyway) to ordering in fried chicken, she’s been the picture perfect roommate.  It only makes you feel that much worse.

You were moping over something that was your fault.  And she had to pick up the pieces!  It seemed wildly unfair but when you’d told her to stop - insisted upon it with a wail into your pillow - she’d simply shook her head and wrapped you in her arms.  

For all of your stupid, silly little rows, Kang Jisoo was the best roommate you’d had in your entire university career.

“Just go outside.”  She’s perched on the edge of her bed, painting her toes a brilliant shade of neon green.  She’d offered to do yours too, but you’ve more or less refused to leave the comfort of your burrito blanket for anything beyond classes or food.  “You can’t avoid him forever.”  

“I can try,”  you mumble, words lost to the cotton of your sheets.  

Try - and fail, it seemed.  You’d already run into him twice.  Twice!  Even after you’d started taking absurdly long roundabout routes to your classes, the universe had conspired against you.  

The first time he’d been walking out of the gym, shoulder to shoulder with another upperclassmen you didn’t recognize.  You’d seen him coming from a mile away thanks to his obnoxiously bright Lakers jersey and you’d booked it back the way you’d come, nearly mowing down a couple making kissy faces at each other in front of the lecture hall.  

The second time was yesterday afternoon.  You’d thought he’d be in his usual spot - so close to your usual spot - that you’d gone to the coffee shop for a midday pick-me-up.  Even embarrassed, you weren’t about to suffer a caffeine deficiency.  You’d rounded the corner in the same instance he had and you’d sworn he’d seen you, recognition flickering across his face.  Fortunately, there’d been a door directly to your right and you’d all but thrown yourself inside.

It was the first and hopefully last time you’d be in a men’s washroom.

“I thought you were tougher than this,”  Jisoo hums, equal parts disapproval and kindness.  She levels you with a stare - you can feel it burning into your fortress of blankets - and sighs.  It’s a bit dramatic, you think.  

“Tell me you wouldn’t be doing the exact same thing!”

Then again, she’d probably never be stupid enough to lose something so important nor would she fixate so heavily on one person.  Your point still stands.

“Seriously, girl.”  

Her nail polish bottle bounces off your bed, tumbling to the floor with a quiet thump.  You look up in time to see her staring at you imploringly, so wide-eyed and innocent you can’t help but be a little suspicious.  “What?”

“I wanted to have Andy over.” 

It all falls into place then.  Her boyfriend’s in a frat and your (poor) dorm room is the only place they have any sort of privacy.  It makes you want to gag but you can’t blame her.  You’ve always had an unspoken agreement;  you’d just tossed it out the window the past few days. 

Guilt prompts you to extract yourself from your duvet, though you don’t stop the chorus of gross, gross, gross! as you begin gathering your things.  You almost leave your sketchbook, only opting to tuck it under your arm at the last minute.  

“Please, please, don’t use my bed this time.”

“We love you!”  She sing-songs as you tug your sneakers on and slip into the hallway.

You’re at a different bench across campus when you hear the voice.  It comes from behind you and to your left, accusatory and sharp.  You nearly jump out of your own skin, toppling over your water bottle and plastic paint palette. Orange watercolour soaks into the material on your thigh.  Dammit. 

“Are you following me?”

Min Yoongi stands not three feet from you, arms folded over his chest.  

Your heart stutters at the sight of him.  It’s hard to speak when it feels like it’s leapt into your throat.  

“What?”  You hate how you sound - a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.  You have nothing to be ashamed of.  At least, not right now.  You’d come all the way here, as far from the magnolia tree and red blanket as you could.  

“I said—”  His words are glacial and biting.  It’s suddenly winter, far chillier than spring should be.  You wish you’d brought a sweater or maybe, that the ground would open up and swallow you whole.  You can’t be cold when you’re dead.  “—are you following me?”

“Of course not!”  

There’s nothing but disbelief in his expression.  It paints itself in broad strokes, prominent in the shadows beneath his eyes and the curl of his mouth.  He says nothing.  

“Really.  I’m not.”  You’re insistent, apologetic.  Every nerve ending is shot, going haywire beneath your skin and lighting you up in shades of red.  The tips of your fingers are tingling.  “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”  You wonder if he’s baiting you now.  

“For…”   Words are cherry-picked and perfect, chosen with a shaking head and the utmost care.  “I shouldn’t have drawn you without asking.”

“No shit,”  he returns, completely deadpan.  He’s really not making this any easier.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,”  you continue, a little hopeful and a lot bashful.  “I just— I don’t get inspiration like this that often.  So I couldn’t let it go.”  You don’t need to add what you do, but you do so anyway, because you’ve never been great at making good choices.  “Your face is really unique and when you’re happy, it’s just so expressive and your smile is—”

There’s a siren blaring in your ears.  A red alert going off so loudly you almost miss the way he laughs.

It’s not the same one he offers to his best friends - far more reserved, exceedingly softer - but it’s there and it’s real and you don’t think you’ll ever forget this moment. 

“You’re laughing.”

He stops immediately.  Fair.

“I’m sorry.”  Again.  More.  Draped in apology and optimism that peeks out between your teeth and shines in the dark of your stare.  “Even though I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I did, and for that I’m sorry.  Really, really sorry.  Please don’t hate me.”

It’s hard to read him, even after you’ve spent hours studying his face.  There’s a distinct difference between seeing someone and knowing them, you realize.  You might be able to map out every wrinkle of his eyes - replicate every dot and freckle - but you have no idea what it all means or how it comes together to create something more. 

Silence fits between the two of you for what feels like a long time.  It’s not uncomfortable, though, so you allow it to settle.  You figure it’s better than his anger, in any case.  

“You could’ve just asked me.”

You can’t wipe the disbelief from your face.  “Would you have said yes?”

Yoongi shrugs, a small roll of his shoulders beneath the oversized sweater that dwarfs his frame.  “Don’t know, but I would’ve appreciated it.”  

Because that’s really what it came down to - the thought, not the action.  He’s not entirely sure you understand that yet but he’s willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.  Blame his softening on the steady repetitions Taehyung and Jungkook have made the past few days.  You were lucky to have them in your corner - even if that meant they’d been a thorn in his side.   

“Then… can I sketch you?”  You’re probably (read: definitely) pushing it.  You can’t help it. 

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or scoff at your audacity.  He decides on the former, with a shake of his head that swings his bangs across his forehead and a small, private smile.  “Maybe next time.” 

“Next time?”  You imagine he can’t hear you as he’s backing away and disappearing the way he came.

“See you tomorrow.”

True to his word, Yoongi lets you draw him the next time you see him (and the next time and the time after that). 

It’s different - working off someone who knows they’re being studied.  He holds himself a little more stiffly, a little more carefully.  His laughter isn’t quite as loud, his smiles more forced.  He apologises, even though he doesn’t need to.  

Even his untrained eye can see how you struggle to bring life to a robot. 

Over time, though, it comes - comfort. 

Like the quietly burning coals that melt him down from the inside out, he begins to warm up to you.  It comes slowly but it comes nonetheless, as steady as the sun.  You appreciate his effort - his patience - more than you can ever say.  

You know he gets it, though.  He always does.  It’s a Yoongi thing. 

“You can relax.” 

It’s just the two of you, swathed in sweat and waning light that casts shadows across his cheeks.  The days are longer than they’ve ever been and the both of you tend to lose track of time, spending hours under that magnolia tree. 

“I am relaxed,”  he returns, sinking further onto his back, elbows hardly acting to prop him up.  He’d been engrossed in a novel for the first half of the afternoon.  Another book you’d never bothered to read outside of high school English class.  You never really understood it - you much preferred to watch than read - but you loved when he’d recite the words to you, clear and bright and better than any melody.

“You’re trying to stay awake.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“No.  You’re just as good of a model when you’re sleeping.” 

The smile is lazy, hazy like Sunday morning.  It reveals his gums and ticks higher on the left side.  It makes your heart skip a beat.  

“Go ahead then,”  he continues.  The entirety of his body sags, drops onto the bag he likes to use as a makeshift pillow.  You don’t imagine it’s all that comfortable but he never complains.

“If you’re tired, we can just head in, you know.”  

You always offer.  He never says yes. 

A part of you thinks he likes the attention.  It’s different from what he receives from anyone else - thoughtful and careful.  You think he might like the quiet, too.  The benefit of quality time without any of the effort.  

So you push on, charcoal edge meeting paper once more.   “Just another twenty minutes.”

“Why me?”  

The enquiry comes one day, completely out of the blue.  It skips your heart and breaks the pastel in your fingers, dust chalking them a lovely shade of lilac.  

“What?”  You’re not ready for how close Yoongi is - much closer than he ever is - and you shift back, away from the face you’ve spent months filling your sketchbooks with.  “Why you what?”

He’s completely nonchalant as he moves even closer.  

You can smell his cologne - a distinctly masculine fragrance that’s musk and cedar - and the coffee he’s been nursing for the last hour.  It fills your senses, recentring all of your focus so intensely that you don’t immediately recognise he’s continued speaking.

“Why’d you choose to draw me?  Why not someone else?”  He seems genuinely curious, even though it feels dangerous - a dangling string that’s meant to unravel you.

The answer doesn’t come easily, despite the fact it’s something you’ve asked yourself.

Why him?  Why Min Yoongi?

“I don’t know,”  you answer, perhaps too honestly.  “I saw you and it sort of… just clicked.”  How it sounds doesn’t escape you - like something plucked out of a bad romance novel.  “I didn’t expect it to be you.  I thought I’d draw you once - okay, twice - and then I’d move onto another subject.  But I just… couldn’t?”  

“So, what you’re telling me is it was love at first sight?”  It’s glaringly obvious he’s teasing you.  He’s got that grin of his, sly and feline as it creeps across his mouth.  

You don’t bristle, instead painted bright red like the sunset that streaks across the sky.

“I— I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, you didn’t say otherwise.”

It’s an uncomfortable line of questioning.  You’re not used to it and certainly not from him.  You hesitate to speak, turning words over and over on your tongue in an effort to make yourself clear.  

You’re not weird.  You don’t want this to be weird.  But you can’t deny - it’s, decidedly, still very weird.

He tries again - a different tactic this time.  One that surprises you, despite the unique friendship you’ve forged over the past few months.  “What if I told you I was glad?” 

“Glad?”  It feels like an echo chamber.  Repetition.  As if you’re going in circles, chasing a tail that remains just out of reach.  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“What if I told you I’m happy we met?”  

Your blink is owlish, fully caught off-guard.  “I’d say the same thing.  I’m happy we’re friends.”

Amusement rolls off him in waves, evidenced by the laugh that curls into the afternoon.  He shimmies closer and closer until there’s barely three inches between you.  His knee knocks against yours, bony and denim-clad.  You try to ignore the way it burns through your own jeans, sparking heat all the way up to the tips of your ears and down into the soles of your feet.

“What if I told you I don’t want to be just friends anymore?”  

It’s not a surprise, really.  It’s something that’s been on your mind the past few weeks, sown by offhand comments and little gestures you haven’t been able to ignore.  Jungkook had even practically shouted it at you just the other night.

“I’d say…”  You trail off, lost somewhere among the constellations in his eyes.

“You’d say?”  The words are parroted back at you, threaded together by gossamer thin hope. 

“I’d say you’re welcome.  For choosing you.”  The confidence isn’t your own.  It comes from him, crafted by the support he offers easily, hands out like keys.  Keys to his heart, you realise belatedly, with a sudden bashfulness.  Of course.

He can’t wipe the smile from his face.  It eats up every inch, dominating even the playfulness that shines through, turning it the prettiest shade.  It stands bright against his cheeks, staining the pale apples red.  “That’s it?”  

“What do you want me to say?”

You’re suddenly very determined - because you want to give this to him.  Just as he’s given you everything you wanted, you want to do the same.  In this little cut-out piece of paradise, there’s nothing quite as important. 

The one word isn’t much but it feels like a turning point.  “Yes.”

“You want me to say ‘yes’?”

He nods, just once.  There’s so much certainty you can’t doubt him.

“Then yes—”  

It doesn’t matter what you’ve just said yes to.  It doesn’t even matter that it could be something awful or really, anything under the sun.  All that matters is the feeling of his lips, soft and warm and dry on yours.  It’s better than any painting you’ve ever seen, any song you’ve ever heard.  It fills you wholly, stuttering your heart and bubbling giddiness in the pit of your stomach.

You probably sound a little silly, surprisingly breathless from such a little thing.  “Wow.”

“Good things happen when you ask,”  he states, solemnly.  You’d take him more seriously if he weren’t so dopey, grinning at you like he never has before.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Nope.”

Luckily, you don’t mind.  Not if it gets you another kiss.  

You tell him as much and he happily obliges, stealing your breath and replacing it with sugar-coated stardust.  You ponder whether you might be able to create with those same particles, turning them into colourful streaks to paint his cheeks.  You’d like to find out.  

You want a lot of things with Min Yoongi, you decide. 

You don’t know how you ended up here.  

Actually, that’s a lie.  You do.  All because of a dumb joke, uttered in passing by Taehyung and now ingrained so deeply in your psyche that you haven’t gone a single day without thinking about it.

“Get out of there,”  he whispers right against your temple, lips following to soothe whatever’s got you preoccupied.  

“Where?”

“Right there, idiot.”  Fingers tap twice, a quick one-two against the side of your head.  

You can’t help but grimace, a wrinkling of your nose that your boyfriend chuckles at, pressing kisses across the bridge and over your cheeks.  “Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry - just come back to me.”  To this moment, he means.

This strange little scene, with his fingers dressed in non-toxic paint and you stripped down to nothing but a flimsy cotton bra and thong.  

Have him paint you like one of his French girls, Taehyung had said.  It’ll be fun, he’d said.

You think it might be - if you weren’t bouncing with nerves, all five feet three inches of you fizzling with anticipation.  Yoongi was only painting you.  This was a bonding exercise.  Something to bring you closer, to breach the gap between lovestruck artist and inspired musician.  Nothing more.

“You’re beautiful, you know.”  It’s not meant to be a reassurance but simply a passing comment, like looking at the sky or seeing it snow.  So straightforward it makes you laugh, the sound bubbling about in your throat. 

“Thanks, Yoongi.”

“No, seriously.”  He levels you with a look.  You know the one - a touch stern but ultimately playful.  “I wanted to make something beautiful but…”  Digits wiggle, Atlantic blue sweeping over the tips and up his knuckles like the sea.  “I can’t really improve on something that’s already perfect.”

Your cheeks light on fire, as brilliantly coloured as the red in his - your - palette.  

He thinks it looks pretty against his hands.  The same ones that cradle your cheek, so precisely you want to remind him you’re a canvas and not clay.  

“You’re silly.”  

“ You’re silly,”  he returns, as if that’ll somehow win him this battle of wits.

 The roll of your eyes is undeniable.  “Good one.”

“You know, I’ve got a ton of paint, right?  Not your best choice, making fun of me.”  He punctuates each word with passes of his fingers.  Colour appears wherever he travels, dragged over your skin with dreamy twists of his wrist.  A line here, a circle there.  Goosebumps follow in their wake despite the fact that his touch is like candle wax - soothing and deliberate.

You wonder, idly, whether he can feel you burning up beneath him.

“So beautiful,”  he murmurs again, almost to himself as he dips his fingers into another dot of paint.  Pink this time - in the same shade as the magnolias outside.  He spreads the colour over your chest, right where your heart beats an erratic rhythm.  

He takes his time in admiring his handiwork, swirling the two shades together until it’s the most flattering shade of purple.

You try - and fail - to ignore the way it stirs something behind your ribs.  A need that flickers to life without any sort of warning and has you pressing your thighs together.  

“Can I take this off?”  It comes abruptly, with eyes that snap up to yours.  There’s already a hand tucked beneath the small of your back, right under your shoulders.  He already knows your answer - can see it in the blown out pupils that reflect his entire world back at him.  He still wants to hear it.

You’re unable to find your voice.  It’s gone, stolen by the way he ghosts his fingers up and down the sensitive notches of your spine.  You could get lost in this feeling, if he let you.  You almost do, only nodding when he moves no further, flat of his palm a solid weight right against the clasp of your bra.

You don’t mind that the band is coloured pink and blue when he tosses it aside.  You don’t have it in you to focus on anything but how he studies you now.  Openly admires you, like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever seen.

“What?”  Mellifluous and adoring.  Music to his ears.

“I think I’m getting distracted.”

“I think so, too.”

“Is that okay?”  He speaks more to your boobs than you, single stained hand coming to rest across your ribs.  The pad of his thumb swipes over a single bud, perked and already far too sensitive.  He’d put his mouth on it, if not for the fact it’s now covered in paint.  

Fortunately, there’s still so much of you - places he hasn’t explored but suddenly, desperately needs to.  

From the column of your throat and all the way down to the valley of your breasts, he offers sweet kisses.  Open-mouthed adoration that leaves you needy and breathless and writing.  He catches your untouched nipple between his teeth, gently working it into the same state as its tinted twin. 

You shift beneath him, unable to stop the bolt of electricity that rips through you like a thousand volts.  It cracks your composure like lightning and sends your pulse racing like thunder.  “Of course.”

He hums, content, and nearly falls, dropping his cheek fully against your chest.  You’re so soft beneath him, velvet and pliant under his tongue.  

“I think I love you.”  It’s his voice but your words, spoken so faintly you almost miss it against the roaring in your ears.  

“I think I love you, too.” 

Yoongi stares up at you then, so full of wonder that you can’t help but look away.  It’s an incredibly intimate moment - so much emotion carried in one simple look that you’re not quite sure how to process it.  He’d been your inspiration and now you were his.  The realisation is almost too much, filling you until you feel like you might float away.

His hands act as an anchor, keeping you here with him.  

“You don’t have to say it back.”  It’s careful, loaded with his heart and every key to open it.  

“I know - I want to.”

He grins so breathlessly handsome that you can’t help but return it, rubied cheeks crystallised with delight.  Those same paint-stained hands of his find their newly discovered favourite home of your chest and he sounds like sin when he speaks.  “I want you.”

“You can have me.”

It’s all he needs before he’s ducking down and smothering every uncovered inch of you in sweetness.  His mouth burns hot but he’s unbearably gentle, searing the shape of his mouth over your breasts and across your collarbone.  He licks and sucks as he goes, soothing any ache left behind by the edge of his teeth.

You’re not quite sure where the bites end and the paint begins.  It’s all so pretty you don’t mind either way.  

But it’s not enough.  It’ll never be enough, you think, even as you whine airily, words stuttering out in a half-formed breath.  “Please touch me.”

“Where?”  He’s hardly given you room to answer, crowded so closely against you that you can feel his heartbeat all the way through to your own.  He’s so warm - so solid - upon you that you almost want to tell him that here, just as he is, is perfect. 

A momentary lapse in lust before rational judgment is clouded yet again. 

Instead - and with more demand than you mean - you grind purposefully against him.  A benefit to having him sitting how he is, knees hooked on either side of your hips.  He can’t pretend like he doesn’t feel it, cock twitching beneath the constraints of his boxer-briefs. 

Your eyes meet and he chuckles, nuzzling his head back into that spot between your neck and shoulder that has you whimpering.  The sound alone drives him crazy.

“You’ll be the death of me.”  Yoongi knows this like he knows the sky is blue or your smile is his favourite sight.

You’re teasing him when you catch his face, palms cradling the shape of his jaw.  “Then it’ll be a good death.” 

He doesn’t disagree - especially when he slips his clean hand along the length of your body.  He tweaks your nipple on its descent, tickles the underside of your ribs, and then finds the band of your underwear, all in one fell swoop.  A digit dips below the elastic, neatly clipped nail grazing the jut of your hip before shifting and dropping further.  

You keen when the pad of his finger grazes your clit. 

“Do that again.”  He doesn’t need to tell you twice.  When he repeats the motion, the sound spills off your tongue without restraint.  

He slips further down, pressing his hand to gently part your folds.  Digits glide easily, coated in slick that drips between your legs and sorely tests his patience.  Yoongi’s not sure what he’d expected but this is so much better it’s making his head spin - and he hasn’t even felt you yet.

“You’re so wet, love.”  Shame would swallow you whole if not for the way he speaks with reverence.  “How badly do you want this?”

“Don’t tease,”  you huff, rutting uselessly against the fingers that tease your centre, barely slipping in before resuming a lazy, leisurely path back up to the bundle of nerves that throbs at the contact.  He’s hardly touched you and you’re already at a six, entire body alight with need that thrums heavy in your veins. 

“Just tell me.”

“I want this.  I need this.”  You hope he believes you.  You’re not sure what you’ll do if he doesn’t.  “I need to feel you - please.”

His entire world is spinning, kicked on its axis by the way your tone pitches, demands and begs in the same lilting voice he so adores but has never quite heard like this.  He loves it.  “I need to stretch you out.  I don’t want to hurt you.”

You whine so prettily he almost cracks.  It’s enough to have him choking on his own words, not that he’s saying anything.  He’s too focused on how he sinks into you - a single digit but so tightly it feels like there’s no way he’ll survive his cock buried inside.  

You’re a dream come true.  He never wants to wake up.

“More.  Please.”  You’re so polite, he almost laughs.  You’d really taken his words to heart - always asking for what you wanted now.  He can’t deny how proud he is.  It blossoms in his chest, juxtaposed greatly against the salaciousness that drives him to do exactly as you ask.

His index finger slips in alongside the other.  You make that noise he loves, grinding your core against the flat of his palm as he curls his knuckles and seeks out that spot.  He knows he’s struck gold when he taps it experimentally, pressure turning light but unrelenting when a choked cry ricochets off your tongue and onto his sweat-slicked shoulder.

“Right there?”  

Your nod is enough of an answer. 

He redoubles his efforts, fucking you with measured glides of his fingers and precise presses against your g-spot.  In no time at all, you’re barely coherent, mumbling his name in a slew of breaths that has him grinning.  You’re a sight to behold, moaning so obscenely you’d be ashamed you weren’t so preoccupied by the fact that every part of you feels as if it’s about to splinter.

“Miru— Princess—”  Your clit aches and you nearly shriek when he applies pressure against it with the pad of his thumb, swiping your cum over it in slow circles.  He wants you so badly - just as bad as you want him- but he’s torn halfway between watching you unravel by his hand and wanting that same euphoria when he’s buried home in your dripping pussy. 

“Please, please, please.”  There are tears in your eyes.  You’re so close you can practically taste it, entire body shaking with the effort of keeping the coil from snapping.  “Yoongi, please.”

He’s a fucking goner then, filling you with a third finger and grinding his palm against your clit as you come apart beneath him.  

It starts in your toes, stealing feeling all the way up your calves and over your thighs.  You’re only aware you’re trembling because it vibrates through Yoongi’s body, looped back to yours when he mouths across your shoulders, sucking memories into your heated, sweat-sweet skin.  The stimulation is what keeps you from floating off on a cloud of bliss, the warmth in the pit of your stomach liquifying your bones. 

“Are you tired?”  Because you certainly look tired - too fucked out to properly meet his stare as he looms over you, both hands adjusted to rest comfortably over your hips. 

You are, but it doesn't matter.  You haven’t gotten what you wanted - not really - and you aren’t about to let it go without asking.

He’d taught you that.

You smile up at him, doe-eyed and alluring.  A hand reaches for his, curls around the fingers still glossy with your slick, and squeezes.  “I still need you.”

They’re words he’ll never tire of - also words that have him kicking out of his briefs and rolling your thong down your legs, all too eager.  He’s painfully hard, leaking pre-cum and purple at the tip, but he fists himself in slow, measured pumps regardless.  It’s a show for you, more than anything.

“ Please.”  So pretty, so ready.  He can’t resist.  

Yoongi sinks against you, the head of his cock brushing through your folds as he slots himself into place with his paint-free hand.  The other, still coloured garishly bright, brushes the curve of your lip, the delicate skin beneath your eye.  It’s so tender you can’t help but blink, caught off-guard.  

“I love you,”  you say, though you’re sure he’s meant to, too.  You can read it in his eyes - brilliant and bright like a beacon in the night.

He speaks with a roguish grin and a fluid press of his hips.  “I know.”  

You fit like two puzzle pieces, the stretch perfect as he sinks deeper, a low groan sounding from somewhere deep in his chest.  You’re so tight around him but he glides in easily, coaxed to fill you by your wetness and the soft, whiny noises you make.  

“Holy shit,”  he manages once he’s buried as deep as he can go, head spinning with the way you clench around him, nearly stealing the words off his tongue.  “Am I dreaming?”

Laughter is a salve - a catch-all remedy for anything that ails him.  It pulls him to the here and now, drawing his attention from the overwhelming bliss that creeps up his spine and recentring it on you, beautiful and bashful beneath him.

“No, you’re not.”  It’s a caricature of your voice but he doesn’t mind.  He loves that he can bring you to this.

“Thank God.”

Except it’s not God you’re thanking when Yoongi begins to move against you, dragging his cock through your walls with such slow, measured strokes you think you might combust.  It’s his name when he pulls almost fully out of you, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock, before snapping forward to bury himself to the hilt.  It’s his name that rolls off your tongue like a mantra, hoping and praying and begging for more as he consumes you wholly, in no half measures.  

It’s him - Min Yoongi, your muse, your love - that has you crying out, pleasure coursing through your veins as he adjusts and fills you at a completely new angle, brushing against your g-spot with every thrust of his hips.  

“Yoongi - please.”  You’re chanting the two words again, turning them into a song he’ll never get out of his head, when you spasm around him.  His eyes nearly roll back into his head, the sensation turning his rhythm sloppy as he chases the same high.  The hand that had previously been propping him up falls, thumb seeking out your clit as he charges toward the precipice. 

“One more, love.  Once more for me, okay?  I want you to come with me.”

He asks so nicely you can’t deny him - even as the overstimulation takes over.  You’re shaking so badly you’re not sure how he keeps you in place;  it’s a tremor that won’t stop, traipsing over every limb until you’re sobbing.  

“I love you,”  he chokes out as he tumbles over the edge, falling headlong into climax with you in tow.  It’s so strong it feels like it blinds you, spotting your vision with white as he fills you with his cum and continues to fuck you through it, milking every last moment just like you were his slowly softening cock.

You don’t have it in you to answer, far too exhausted by the last orgasm that has your limbs turned to jelly.  Yoongi doesn’t mind though;  he likes the just-fucked afterglow and how you sink into his arms when he slips out of you and onto his side.  

He eyes the cum that spills onto your thighs, pearlescent and going to waste.  He has half a mind to push it back where it belongs.

He only doesn’t because of the words you speak next, hardly above a whisper but loud enough that he groans, burying his face into your hair.  “So, thanks, Taehyung?”  

“Can you not?”  It’s a playful response, with teeth bared against the sweat-slicked nape of your neck.  

“Sorry.”  A beat.  He wonders if you’ve fallen asleep suddenly.  “I meant thanks, Titanic.”

author note.  this was a drabble prompt i got from the lovely @hecticwonderer​ and i kind of just...  ran with it.  oops. 

[supernatural-jackles]

Owe You One - Part 2

Title: Owe You One - Happy Birthday Mary Winchester

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 5,592

Warnings: Anxiety, Mentions of Sex, Meeting the Parents, ANGST, Pinch of Fluff, Self loathing, Mentions of Death, Hints at Depression. 

Summary: Dean Winchester has been your best friend and neighbour for the last year. A year of finding comfort in random drop ins and casual conversations, but neither of you know the pasts that the other has. Not fully. Pasts that come back to haunt you, and ruin everything you want in life. Can you find what you’re seeking in a couple of favours and a good time between the sheets or is history doomed to repeat itself?

Owe You One - Masterlist

Square Filled: Fake Dating ( @spndeanbingo)

A/N: I hope y’all enjoy this part! I’d love to hear your thoughts on it! Feedback is always appreciated! Happy Reading!

  You pulled your favourite black dress out from the back of your closet. The dress you had only had the chance to wear once for a date that didn’t even happen. This was happening. Dean was going to be knocking at your door in less than an hour. He was going to be dressed in a classy black suit that was sure to make him a million times more handsome than he already was.

 You dragged your slipper covered feet back into the steamy bathroom. The mirror was starting to clear as you removed the lime green towel off the top of your head, letting your wet hair fall down to your exposed shoulders. You had your blow dryer plugged in already, and your brush ready to get started. You were going to make your hair look a little more natural. You wanted it to be straight, but not hair straightener straight. If you blow dried it just right, you would get a nice natural wave to it that would look good with your dress.

 You worked the brush through your hair first, wanting to make sure all the knots were out before you began to dry it. You were actually looking forward to going to Dean’s mom’s birthday tonight. You were looking forward to meeting her and seeing the rest of Dean’s family. You were looking forward to getting out for the night and looking fancy for once. Not to mention, Dean was your date which was a big bonus.

 You dried the last part of your hair, making sure it looked perfect before putting your supplies away. For once, your hair actually looked good. There was a good amount of volume, and softness to it. It smelled amazing due to your special shampoo. You hoped that Dean would appreciate it.

 You stepped back into your bedroom, dropping your towel so you could finally put your dress on. You had your comfortable bra that would match your dress. You carefully pulled it on in front of the mirror in your bedroom. The dress had lacy long sleeves, and showed just the right amount of cleavage to be appropriate, but not prude. It went down to your mid thigh and suited you really well. It was probably why it was one of your favourites.

 All that was left to do was your makeup. You wanted to keep it simple, especially since you were meeting his parents at this party and you wanted them to like you. You were sticking with a nice coat of mascara on your top lashes and a bit of concealer to cover the blemishes. To finish off, you put a bit of lip chap on to make your lips look good, and still be able to kiss Dean later on when the time came.

 You glanced in your closet to try and find some shoes to go with your dress. You didn’t want to wear something that you couldn’t walk in. You had a nice pair of heels that were almost ankle boots. They weren’t too high and they would match your dress. You figured it was a good go to for the evening.

 Three knocks at your door pulled you from your thoughts. You forgot about your shoes and skipped your way to your apartment door. You unlocked the lock and pulled it open, revealing Dean in his handsome suit that made him look like a different person.

 “Damn,” you smirked.

 “Damn, yourself sweetheart,” he commented, stepping into your apartment. “You look beautiful.”

 “Thank you,” you smiled. “I just have to put shoes on and grab my purse.”

 “Sure,” he nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. You quietly made your way back into your room to grab the last two things you needed. Dean looked handsome as hell, and he smelled even better. There was a part of you that couldn’t believe that you actually had sex with the man. Dean knew you thought he was good looking and it was almost the same the other way around. He had told you when he saw you naked that you were beautiful. Then again, you were naked and he was going to have sex with you. Men say anything to have sex. Dean was different though. He was your best friend.

 You slipped on your cute heels, making sure they were comfortable before reaching for your purse. A cross the body black purse with a gold chain strap. Something that went well with your entire outfit. You glanced in the mirror one last time, making sure everything was good before you left.

 “Alright,” you breathed out, shutting your bedroom door as soon as you walked out.

 “Ready to go, girlfriend?” He asked you with a soft smile playing on his lips.

 “Why yes I am, boyfriend,” you giggled. “You look so handsome, De.”

 “Thanks sweetheart,” he winked, holding his hand out for you to take. You give him a warm smile, placing your smaller hand in his before walking out the door.

 You locked your door behind you, shoving your keys in your purse before heading to Dean’s door. He double checked, making sure he locked it. You walked to the stairs of the apartment complex and you instantly regretted the heels. No matter how good they looked. Flats next time. Always flats.

 You spotted Dean’s 67 Chevy Impala as soon as you walked out the door. He parked her in spot twenty seven, which was assigned to him by the building owner. If you had a vehicle, you would’ve had the spot right next to his. Only you couldn’t afford one at the moment. You didn't mind taking the bus. Everywhere you needed to go was within a decent distance.

 Dean reached for the door, opening it for you to get in first, like a true gentleman. You offered him a smile as you stepped in his beloved baby. He slipped in next to you, sticking the keys in the ignition, her purr filling your ears instantly. His car was beautiful and partially because he took such great care of her.

 “Alright fake boyfriend, what is off limits tonight?” you asked him, turning down the radio a little.

 “What do you mean?” he questioned, turning to look at you for a split second.

 “In terms of PDA and such,” you cleared up.

 “Ah,” he nodded. “Maybe don’t grab my ass in front of my parents.”

 “Shut up! As if I would grab your ass in a public place,” you giggled.

 “I saw the way you were checking me out,” he winked. “In all seriousness, handholding and a few kisses here and there will be enough to convince them we’re together. Our friendship is enough to make anyone question us. This will just make it look more real. I’m not too worried, You’re the kind of girl parents love.”

 “What makes you say that?” you furrowed your brows.

 “You just are,’ he shrugged. You swallowed hard, not exactly knowing what his words meant. You definitely weren’t the kind of girl that guys brought home to meet the parents. You never had been that girl and you were probably never going to be.

 “Dean,” you breathed out.

 “You- you’re approachable, you know? You don’t come across as a bitch and you’re not. You don’t dress to show off, but you also don’t hide either. You’re classy. You’re just the kind of girl who clicks with everyone,” he tried to explain. He was a little awkward about it, as if he was trying not to cross a line.

 “Thank you?” you let out a laugh. “I’ll try not to embarrass you.”

 “Alright,” he nodded with a smile.

 Dean pulled into a parking lot of what looked like a hotel. It was about a twenty minute drive from your apartment, so you were unsure of the area for the most part. Dean turned into one of the nearest available parking spots, cutting the engine. You let out the breath you had been holding, trying not to think about how scary it was going to be to meet Dean’s parents.

 You got out of the car at the same time, shutting the door in sync before heading towards the back. Dean reached his hand out, slipping it into yours, intertwining your fingers. You smiled at the warmth of his hand in yours, feeling a little bit of the nerves dissipate.

 People dressed the same as you and Dean headed in the entrance of the hotel. You were thankful you felt like you fit in. It was one less thing for you to worry about. How many people were attending this thing, you thought to yourself. It made you wonder just how popular his mom was, and how well she was going to like you.

 “You nervous?” he asked you, squeezing your hand as you stepped foot in the tall building.

 “A little,” you breathed out with a smile. You looked straight forward, seeing a sign that pointed to the left, indicating that the party was that way. You took a deep breath, getting ready to see just how big this party really was.

 You stepped foot in the room, the music filling your ears instantly. It was a winter wonderland theme. Everything was white and blue. Ice sculptures were everywhere and of all different shapes and sizes. It was truly beautiful to look at. From up close and from far away. The room was filled with people and not a single sad face in the room. Your eyes traced over all the curtains, and the decorations, taking it all in.

 “This is astounding,” you mentioned to Dean.

 “All of my mom’s parties are this big,” he told you. “There she is.” He pointed over to the tall table with a huge snowflake sculpture. You swore your heart fell down to your stomach. You recognized her anywhere. It was hard not to. You took a deep breath, turning away from her direction in case she was to see you.

 “You - you never told me that your mom is Mary Campbell,” you swallowed hard, trying to compose yourself the best you could.

 “Mary Winchester now, but yeah, she was Mary Campbell at one point,” he furrowed his brows. “Why?”

 “I- I can’t be here,” you stuttered, shaking your head, taking in a deep breath. You really couldn’t be here. It was hard not to recognize her. You had seen so many pictures of her when you were growing up. You had no idea what exactly went down, but all you knew was that Mary hated your mom with a passion.

 “What? Why?” he questioned, reaching his hand up to your arm, keeping you in place.

 “Your mom’s going to hate me,” you breathed out.

 “Wait up,” his lips formed a line, “why is my mom going to hate you?”

 “Because she hated my mom,” you revealed. “Your mom and my mom were best friends growing up. My mom had so many pictures of your mom and I’ve seen them. But something happened and they never spoke again. Your mom hated my mom. I should have put two and two together. John Winchester and Mary Campbell. I should’ve questioned it when I realized your last name is Winchester. I don’t know how I didn’t.”

 “Sweetheart, you’re not your mom,” he reminded you. “Whatever happened between them has nothing to do with what happens between us.”

 You felt your chest growing tighter as you let everything set in. There was no way in hell you should be here. You couldn’t stand to be here, and you knew that she was going to recognize you the same way. You looked like your mother. You didn’t want to cause any trouble for Dean or her for that matter. Why didn’t you put two and two together. Your stomach filled with anxiety and your palms began to sweat. What is she saw you and kicked you out? What is she made a big scene about you being there and tossed you out in the worst way. You’d never be able to show your face in public ever again.

 “Hey Dean,” his younger brother Sam greeted. He had a beautiful blonde on his hip which made you smile a little. “Y/N, nice to see you.”

 “You too, Sam,” you nodded.

 “You remember my fiancee Jessica,” he motioned to her before pecking her cheek.

 “Of course,” you smiled. “It’s nice to see you again.”

 “You too,” she beamed. “Your dress is gorgeous. It suits you very well.”

 “Thank you,” you smiled nervously.

 “So is Y/N your date?” Sam teased.

 “She’s actually playing my girlfriend so mom and dad will back off,” Dean informed him.

 “Smart move,” he let out a chuckle. “Not like they’ve ever met any of your girlfriends anyways.”

 “Exactly,” he shrugged.

 “Mom’s motioning for me to tell you to head over to her,” Sam raised his eyebrows.

 “Shit,” he muttered. “You ready Y/N?”

 “No,” you shook your head. “Can’t I stay with Sammy?”

 “I wish,” he frowned.

 Dean slipped his arm around your waist, turning you in the direction his mom was. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest. You were terrified of this part, more so now than you were before you got here. There was no way she was going to make a scene, you thought to yourself. If anything, it would be private. You just hoped that maybe she saw it the same way Dean did. You weren’t your mom. You were nothing like your mom.

 You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, hoping that if you did, you’d gain the slightest bit of confidence. You felt like you were going to throw up. It was a terrible feeling. At least you knew now to never agree to meet someone’s parents. This ruined it all for you and it wasn’t even your fault. So much for you being the kind of girl that parents loved.

 “Happy birthday Mom,” Dean greeted her, pulling her in for a hug. You mustered up the best smile that you could, hoping you could still make a good impression on her.

 “Thanks kiddo,” she smiled. “And who might this be?”

 “Mom, this is Y/N, my girlfriend,” he introduced you. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, tugging you into him.

 “Hi, Mrs Winchester. It’s really nice to meet you,” you said to her, holding your hand out for her to shake. She hesitantly took it, giving you a weak handshake as Dean’s dad stepped next to her with a glass in his hand.

 “Please, call me Mary,” she beamed, holding her arms out before pulling you in for a hug. You felt the slightest bit of relief, but there was still that pit in your stomach that was screaming at you to get out of here as quickly as possible. You didn’t want her to hate you like she did your mother. You weren’t your mom, you repeated in your head. “This is John, my husband and Dean’s dad.”

 “It is really nice to meet both of you,” you nodded with a smile, taking a step back from them.

 “How long have the two of you been together?” she asked, her tone a little skeptical.

 “A few months now,” Dean stated before you could come up with a lie. “She’s been my neighbor for the last year or so. After a few months of borrowing the odd thing, we became friends. Then friends became something more.” Dean leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. You didn’t even realize that you leaned into him, allowing his simple gesture to comfort you. You almost forgot it was a fake relationship for a second. He was just trying to sell it. But you couldn’t deny his touch put you the slightest bit more at ease.

 “Dean is an amazing man,” you beamed. “You both did a wonderful job raising him. He’s such a gentleman.”

 “Thank you,” she nodded with a smile. “Would you boys mind grabbing both of us a drink? Give us girls a chance to talk.”

 “Sure,” Dean nodded. “What would you like sweetheart?”

 “Uh, just a water please,” you breathed out nervously. Dean pressed another kiss to the top of your head before stepping away with his dad. The drinks were on the other side of the room and there was a bit of a line. It meant you were going to be alone with Mary for longer than you were comfortable with. You could feel yourself growing more and more on edge with every ticking second that passed.

 “So you and Dean, huh?” she commented, clearly pausing to see what you had to say before she laid into you.

 “Yeah,” you nodded, daring to look at her. “Look, if this is the if you hurt him-”

 “It’s something like that,” she declared, cutting you off. “You look a lot like your mom.” Fuck, she knew you alright. Not that it was a shock with how her tone changed. She was clearly comparing you to your mom and there was the slightest bit of venom that you picked up on.

 “I- I get that a lot,” you nodded, letting out a breath.

 “Then you must know exactly who I am and what that means,” she tisked. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here tonight.”

 “I- I had no idea when I came here tonight, I swear,” you almost mouthed. She was extremely intimidating. More so than you thought she was going to be. “I apologize for being here. I don’t want to cause any trouble, I promise.”

 “Don’t you dare even think of hurting my son. Your family has a history of poking around and slipping their way into things they shouldn’t be involved in,” she warned you. “I don’t need some girl coming into my son’s life, fucking it up and ditching him when she’s done and bored. Which is exactly what you’re going to do. You’re not good enough for him and you never will be good enough for the Winchester family. Enjoy your night ‘cause you won’t be allowed within ten feet of any of us after it.”

 “I’d better go then,” you mumbled, trying to will the tears away until you were a good distance away from her.

 Your hands were sweating and you swore your heart was going to leap out of your chest and soar to the other side of the room. Your legs couldn’t move fast enough. Why did you have to wear heels? Why not flats? You desperately wanted to cry. She was harsh and judged you based on your mother and the relationship she had with her. She wasn’t going to let you explain. Nothing. You were forever going to be known based on who you were related to. It wasn’t fair in the slightest. You should have left the second you found out his mom was Mary Campbell.

 You managed to sneak out of the room, heading straight for the hotel doors to go outside. Surely the bus came this way. You couldn’t be here when you were hated by the most important person in the room. You never should have agreed to it. You never should have told him you’d do it. It was a mistake and you were going to pay for it for the rest of your life.

 The cool Kansas air filled your lungs. For the first time, you felt like you were able to breath. You were on the verge of a panic attack, which wasn’t good. You were in a strange place and you were on edge. A recipe for disaster. From now on, you were going to stay away from Dean and the entire Winchester family. Like she said, you were never going to be good enough for their family. She was going to make damn sure that you weren’t welcome, or wanted. You didn’t want Dean to be disowned either. It was his family and you weren’t going to make him lose them just so he could be friends with you. It wasn’t your place and clearly you weren’t worth the trouble.

 “Hey, there you are,” Dean called out, making his way over to you. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

 “This was a mistake,” you whispered, attempting to swallow the lump forming in your throat.

 “My mom say something to you?” he asked you.

 “Doesn’t matter. I’m really sorry I couldn’t be a better girlfriend to you,” you told him, not daring to meet his eye. “I think I should go.”

 “Regardless of what my mom said, you are still my date, Y/N. I want you here,” he stated.

 “I’m not welcome here, Dean. That’s the problem. I’m sorry,” you mouthed. “I’m really sorry.”

 “I’m not sorry for bringing you here tonight,” he declared. “Out of everyone, there is no one I’d rather endure this with than you. You and I get along well, end of story. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t be here with me. But I want you to be, as my best friend.”

 “De, your mom-”

 “My mom can handle one night. I don’t care if it’s her birthday or not. She can handle me happy with you for one night,” he said with a soft smile. “C’mon, let me treat you the way you deserve to be treated for one night.”

 “O-okay,” you sniffed before clearing your throat.

 “Are- are you crying?” he asked with concern evident in his voice. “What did she say to you?”

 “Nothing I didn’t already know,” you shrugged. Dean stepped closer to you, reaching under your chin, urging you to look up. He gave you a weak smile. His thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away the tear that managed to fall.

 “You aren’t your mom, sweetheart. You can’t be compared to anyone else. Remember that,” he assured you. He held his hand out for you, waiting for you to take it. You were nervous as hell to head back in that room. Especially since she already made sure you felt unwelcome. You didn’t want her to get people to remove you. “C’mon, we came here to have some fun.”

 He squeezed your hand as you walked back into the hotel. Dean had enough confidence for both of you. If you just stuck by his side, maybe everything would be okay. He could protect you from his mom and then you’d never have to see her again. You prayed he didn’t have to leave your side.

 He handed you over your water, and you took a sip instantly. You washed down the lump, finally feeling a bit of relief. You were sure your eyes were a little red, not that it would be noticeable with the lighting. You could feel his mom’s eyes on you. She was on the other side of the room and you could still feel them. You knew not to look. God, you’d be lucky if she let Dean talk to you again.

 “Care to dance with me?” he offered.

 “You dance?” you asked in shock.

 “No, not at all. But you look like you could use something to make you smile. Besides, we still gotta look like a couple,” he winked.

 “Fine, one dance,” you rolled your eyes playfully. He took your hand as soon as you placed your cup in the garbage, leading you out to the fairly large dancefloor where most of the party was.

 He slipped his hand around your waist, resting it on the small of your back before the other took your hand. You placed yours on his shoulder, looking up at him with a smile playing on your lips.

 “You look really nice tonight,” he smirked. “But I gotta say, that dress would look nicer on your bedroom floor.”

 “You’re something else, Winchester,” you let out a laugh.

 “Yeah, I know. It’s part of my charm,” he chuckled. “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

 “Surprised you even asked,” you half smiled.

 “I’m a gentleman,” he nodded, leaning down. His lips brushed over yours in a sweet, tender kiss before pulling away. You watched the smile creep up on his lips before he kissed you once more. His grip tightened on your waist and before you knew it, he was dipping you down. A laugh escaped passed your lips as you gripped his shoulder a little more, trying not to fall over.

 “You are something else,” you shook your head.

 “Told you I was going to make you smile,” he cocked his eyebrow playfully. “I don’t even know who this song is by.”

 “I don’t either,” you told him. “But I kind of like it.”

 “I’ll see if I can find it for you,” he winked.

 “Dean, mind if I cut in,” his dad’s voice filled your ears. John stood a few feet away from you, shoving his hands in his black dress pants. “Your mom wants to speak to you. I’ll keep your girlfriend company.”

 “Alright,” he nodded, swallowing hard.

 “C’mon girly, let’s see what you’ve got,” he grinned, almost making you feel comfortable. That was much different than what you got from his wife. Then again, Dean was still close by. He hesitantly left you with his dad, heading over to his mom on the other side of the room.

 “You don’t have to dance with me, Mr Winchester. I can wait outside,” you offered.

 “Nah kiddo, you aren’t doing that,” he said kindly, holding his hands out for you to make the first move. You carefully placed yours in his, allowing him to start dancing.

 “I should,” you breathed out. “I’ve already overstepped and I don’t want to make anything worse than I have.”

 “Y/N, it’s okay,” he stated. “If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be dancing with you.”

 “It’s not,” you shook your head. “But thank you for lying.”

 “You like Dean, huh?” he asked with a smile. Changing the subject, you thought to yourself. This was getting awkward really fast. Something was definitely not okay, and he was trying to make the best of the situation. You should have left when you had the chance to.

 “Yeah, I do,” you nodded. “He’s one of the good ones.”

 “Then that’s all that matters,” he assured you.

 “You know that’s not true,” you scoffed. “I know I’m not welcome here, and I’m never going to be. I also know it’s not my fault as to why, but the thing is; it doesn’t matter. I’m still an association and that’s never going to go away. Regardless of what I say or what I do. There will always be that thought in the back of everyone’s mind because of the history between my mom and your family,” you paused, swallowing hard once more. You came to a quick realization. “I apologize for coming tonight and ruining everything, because I’m sure I have in someway or another. Please know you won’t have to worry about me ever again.” You pulled yourself away from him.

 “What does that mean exactly?” he furrowed his brows.

 “It means I’m not worth it, and I’m not good enough. You and your wife already know it, and it's only a matter of time before Dean realizes it too. Just like everyone else does,” you pointed out. “Thank you for the dance but I have overstayed and I should get going.”

 “Kid, wait,” he called out. “Do you know exactly what went down all those years ago?”

 “No. I don’t,” you said sternly.

 “Ask your mom about it,” he suggested.

 “I would, but she died three months ago,” you declared. “Like I said, thank you for the dance.”

 “Hey, wait up,” Dean called out right before you could walk away. “Where are you going?”

 “I’d like to go home, please,” you asked him.

 “Did you say something to her?” he growled at his dad.

 “No,” he shook his head. “Kid, I’m sorry about your mom.”

 “I’m sorry I ever stepped foot in here,” you smiled, trying to will the tears to go away. “I won’t bother you or your family ever again.”

 You turned on your heel, making your way off the dancefloor and to the exit. Dean caught up to you quickly, slipping his hand into yours as you walked out. This time, he didn’t argue with you. It was pretty obvious that you weren’t enjoying yourself and his family was doing a pretty good job of embedding Mary’s words into your brain. 

You weren’t ever going to be good enough for the Winchester family.

 Dean lead you to the impala, opening the door up for you to get in, just like he did at the start of the night. You knew as soon as he shut the door that this was the last time you were going to be in his beloved impala. You knew there was a damn good chance you and Dean weren’t going to see each other for a while.

 He peeled out of the parking lot and headed back on the same roads you travelled to get here. The darkness had filled the sky in the same way it had filled you inside. You never in a million years, expected tonight to go so horribly wrong. The first time meeting someone’s parents and they already despised you with everything they had. You never should have agreed to this. His family noticed more because of who you were.

 “Why didn’t you tell me about your mom?” he questioned, clearing his throat. “We were friends three months ago. We’ve been friends for the better part of the last year. Why didn’t you tell me she passed away?”

 “Because I don’t want sympathy. I don’t want the ‘I’m so sorry for your loss’ ‘she was a good person’ shit you get when someone dies. I don’t want people to feel bad. I hated her. I have hated her for the majority of my life and even now that she’s gone, she’s still ruining my life. ‘Sides, what could you have done, Dean?”

 “Hugged you? Been there for you?” he pointed out. His tone was hard and a little angry. Not that you really blamed him.

 “Yeah, ‘cause that’s just what you need on top of everything,” you breathed out, turning to look out the window.

 “Why are you pushing me away?” he inquired. “Tell me that one.”

 “Because it’s easier than you walking out of my life,” you shrugged, not bothering to look at him. You didn’t want him to see the tears forming for what felt like the millionth time tonight. “I’m sure your mom told you to break up with me.”

 “She did,” he confirmed. “She told me that our families have history and history has a way of repeating itself. I don’t know what it means.”

 “You and me both,” you mouthed to yourself.

 “I’m really sorry for tonight, Y/N. I know this isn’t how it was supposed to go.”

 “It’s okay,” you breathed out. “At least you can tell her we broke up when you see her next.”

 “I never said I was breaking up with you. I simply told her that you’re a good person. The mistakes that were made in the past shouldn’t dictate the future for someone it had nothing to do with. You aren’t your mother,” he shared.

 “But I look like her and your mom is going to be reminded of that every time she sees me. It’s for the best,” you stated. “Good thing we aren’t actually dating.”

 “Yeah,” he breathed out, almost inaudibly.

 You arrived back at the apartment. Dean backed the impala into his designated parking spot before cutting the engine. Tension filled the small space. You knew this wasn’t good. You also knew that most of the tension was coming from you. You were the one that wasn’t welcome. His family didn’t want you anywhere near them or their son for that matter. You’d be stupid to even attempt at proving them wrong.

 Dean walked you to your apartment door, which you were expecting. He usually did. You saw the soft smile playing on his lips. He felt guilty for bringing you tonight. Even though neither of you knew this was coming. You knew this was the last time you were going to see him for a while. You could feel it in your gut. He wasn’t going to stop by to see you, or pretend something was broken just to bug you for a few hours. He wasn’t going to call or text. Your friendship had been hit by the great big Mary Campbell-Winchester wrecking ball.

 “I’m sorry for everything, again,” you said sadly.

 “I’m sorry too,” he frowned. “I’m really glad I slept with you though. It made it a little more worth the trouble.”

 “Not by much,” you chuckled dryly. “I’ll see you, Winchester.”

 “See you tomorrow,” he winked.

 You slipped your key in the lock, quickly unlocking the door before stepping in your apartment. You gave Dean a small wave, shutting the door behind you. There was no way he was seeing you tomorrow, or any day after that. How the hell could you ever face him again, knowing that his mom wanted him to end things with you. She hated your mom that much and you because of your mom.

 You weren’t going to ruin Dean’s life anymore than you already had. He could do way better than having you as a best friend. You were a lost cause anyways.

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

part 3 will be out on Tuesday

Did you like it? Were you expecting that? What was your favourite part? Share your thoughts with me via reblog, reply or send me an ask! I love reading your thoughts and your response keeps me going! 

Dean Babes

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[chiafett-moved]

Using all the clones from ur high school au, what kind of civ clothing do you think they'd wear?

Okay okay okay I took some time and went to TOWN on this one so clone clothes below the cut

Fox:

First and foremost, Fox has his own pinterest board. There’s not much in the way of clothes there, but yeah. 

Lots of red and black

Hoodies and jeans. Jeans and hoodies. Hoodies and Jeans

If you saw the shape of my body No You Didn’t 😁

Someone help him

Always dressed as though it’s approximately 20C. Sort of like a comic character who wears variations of the same outfit.

For someone who hates being perceived, he does wear some tight clothes

Overall, sort of unintentionally punk/emo and tired

Lip, tongue, and ear piercings

Hunter:

Also has two pinterest boards (butch AU and normal)

Cottagecore farmer. Lots of neutral tones and loose, soft fabrics

Loves knit things

Very picky about texture and fit. If it’s tight, it gets donated

Wears things until they fall apart. This does not take long

Soft, waterproof, ankle-high hiking boots that he wears everywhere

L a y e r s 

Constantly putting his hair up or taking it down

Very concerned with taking care of his curls (and for good reason; they’re gorgeous)

Farmer’s tan n freckles

Tech:

Business casual some days, absolute trash others. There is no rhyme or reason. 

If Hunter’s all about consistency, Tech is the opposite (autism vs ADHD in a nutshell lmfao)

Pockets are a must

He has a messenger bag a la Spencer Reid 

Big ol’ glasses with a thick enough lens that you can see behind him if you look at the right angle

Converse

Has these awful graphic tees from the time he went to Goodwill with Hunter

Wrecker:

Big comfy sweaters like those ones they sell at Old Navy

Walking hug with steel-toed boots

He has trouble finding XXL Tall clothes that aren’t Barbecue Dad™ so he takes what he can get 

Rips the knees of pants first

Rips the tags out of everything

Cannot match colors to save his life and hasn’t yet figured out the Hunter tactic of just owning neutral things

He has a lot of fun hats

Carhartt short sleeve shirts and jeans with sharpie and paint on them

If he can’t move in it, he doesn’t want it

Big fan of open short-sleeve button downs over tees

Constantly asking Tech to hold things for him (they get lost in the Bottomless Messenger Bag)

Crosshair:

Typical teenage boy with a side of edgy

You know those joggers with the puffy knees or the cargo pockets? Big wearer of those

Sneaker Snob

Once he dressed up for a school event and he looked so good but pretended not to notice

Big City Gay energy

Constantly has a pack of cigarettes on him, so he’s got to have a pocket for them. He’s got to have a pocket, right? I just can’t see it from here. There must be a pocket because otherwise where is he getting those he’s pulling them out of nowhere send reinforcements—

Steals Hunter’s worn-out, oversized flannels but he’s a tall bitch so they’re pretty normal on him. How is he making them look so edgy?

Dogma:

Wears the same outfit a concerning amount. Like, you don’t notice anything and then all the sudden he’s been wearing the same thing for two weeks. Doesn’t smell bad or anything, though, so ?????

Always put together, but in that way that’s kind of fraying around the edges

I don’t really know how to describe his clothes beyond a sort of vibe? Idk

He’s a really skinny guy and he loves clothes with angular shapes and hard edges, so he kind of looks like a stick figure with really cool geometric designs

He tries to look sort of formal and aloof, but it doesn’t work

His Manic Art Kid vibe is visible from space, though

He looks cute but in a freshman kind of way. Like, “aww, look at him!”

But also radiates the kind of energy that makes people highly concerned

Many ear piercings and one eyebrow piercing

Tall gangly and intimidating

Always carrying his backpack

Tup:

Basically Dogma but with softer edges and rounder shapes

The Ridiculously Well-Adjusted Art Kid

Always has paint somewhere

Looks like a mess but makes it work

Messy buns

Big fan of overalls and colorful shirts

Likes long sleeves

Converse out the ass, but in a ton of different colors

Big sweaters

People forget he’s tall and Stronk because the way he dresses makes him look small (oversized things do that)

Got his ears pierced when Dogma got his third helix, but let them close

Stacked bracelets

Echo:

Somehow soft punk meets varsity kid? He makes it work

Khaki pants but cool 

Open zip-up hoodies and comfy, well-fitting tee shirts

Sneakers only, unless he has to be fancy

Sometimes wears fingerless gloves and refuses to explain why

Undercut

No I lied sometimes he wears stompy boots just because they’re at odds with the rest of his aesthetic

Basically big calm comfy vibes without looking sloppy or informal

Will wear button downs as normal shirts with jeans

Likes to do the graphic tee over thermal shirt thing

Joggers

SKATER BOY. That’s the word I was thinking of. Soft skater boy (he and Fives both skate)

Fives:

Band tees and jeans 

Not a fan of shorts. Has anyone ever seen his legs?

Constantly has this big-ass set of headphones around his neck

Beanies

Also a graphic tee and thermal shirt layerer

Rarely not wearing jeans

Sometimes wears pajamas to school specifically to piss off teachers

Snapbacks

Paints his nails a variety of colors, but mostly black. Somehow the polish is always chipped

Big wearer of Vans, actually is a skater

Tears through the elbows of his jeans jackets falling 

Cody:

Gay smart kid. Debate team captain. Soccer captain. Looks better than you. Looks better than the teachers. Could kill you. 

He wears a lot of half-zips and khakis, but makes it look less nerdy than usual

Sports paraphernalia helps. Hard to look nerdy when the zip-up you’re wearing is from wrestling Nationals

When he wears tee-shirts, they’re always tight? Does he buy them a size small on purpose? (yes, yes he does)

Collector of those really nice zip-up hoodies with the geometric designs that make them look really nice and neat

Actually wears sunglasses when it’s sunny

Has never been seen in a hat

Neyo:

Oh god oh fuck DIY punk? He’s oh god he’s

Neyo my dear that sweatshirt is falling apart

Neyo is. Troubled and in a Bad home. His clothing choices reflect this. 

He does not want to touch or be touched and he wants to look cool doing it

Stoner kid but Spiky

And also he doesn’t actually smoke

Wears combat boots that look like they’ve seen blood

Skinny jeans bc he’s edgy and cool

Patch pants/vest

Also has a pinterest board

Bacara:

Bland depressed kid. Jeans and dark hoodies

Seriously he’s just trying to vibe. He wants to be comfy and he doesn’t want to draw a ton of attention

Black converse

Constantly has a farmer’s tan

Not a fan of short sleeves

Thinks Neyo looks ridiculous

Has never been dress coded in his life 

Seriously Bacara’s idea of spicing up an outfit is wearing like. A polo. 

[nalgenewhore]

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter

☽ ☼ ☾

six years ago.

“I so am not going,” Elide shouted, gripping the slats of her headboard as her roommate pulled on her ankles. “I was at the shop all day, I’m tired.” 

“Elide Lochan, get your bodacious bod out of bed and into something spooky,” Aelin commanded, bracing a high-heeled foot against the sideboard. “Get. Up. Now.” Elide groaned and flipped onto her back, blowing her bangs up with a huffed breath. They glared at each other, neither backing down. Aelin clicked her tongue, “Come on, it’s Samhain!”

“All the more reason not to go,” the dark haired girl said, crossing her arms across her chest. “It’s the sabbath - I will not go to your blasphemous boyfriend’s blasphemous party.” 

“You know you love Ro-Ro. And c’mon,” Aelin whined, not above stomping her foot like a petulant child, “it’ll be fun!” 

She sighed loudly and flicked her eyes upwards, “Fine. I’ll go.” Elide pushed herself to sitting and stood up. Aelin clapped her hands and collapsed onto the mattress as Elide slunk to her closet and flung the doors open. “I think… goth Barbie. Yes, no?” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” her friend agreed, lounging about as Elide perused her wardrobe.

First, she pulled out her patch jeans. Not tonight. She looked at a corset dress and hummed, her head tilted to the side, “Maybe…” Elide unhooked a PVC pencil skirt and spun to Aelin, “Thoughts?” 

Aelin propped herself up on her elbows, her brilliant eyes narrowed in scrutiny, “Ooh, with your new corset and the red top with the sleeves?” She made a vague gesture to represent the long sleeves. “Oh, wait, let me get you some shoes. I have the perfect boots.” Her long hair was a flash of gold as she launched herself up and out of Elide’s room. 

Elide tossed her outfit onto her now vacated bed and sat at her vanity, fluffing her layered pixie-shag hair cut. She plugged in her hair straightener and as she waited for it to heat, she started on her make-up. 

When the door was slammed open, Elide held her finger up. She filled in her wicked sharp eyeliner and used the tip of her ring finger to smudge some along her lower lash line. Then she stood up and turned, eyes landing on the red patent leather ankle boots. “Are those them?” 

“Mm-hmm, how perfect are they,” Aelin asked, passing them to Elide. “I’ve been meaning to give these to you - they’re too small for me.” 

“Ae, these are gorgeous,” Elide gushed, picking one up and running her fingers over it. “They’re beautiful, are you sure?” She hugged it to her chest, softly petting it. 

Brilliant laughter spilled from Aelin’s glossy lips, “Yes, take them, please. I never wear them, I only bought them ‘cause they were, like, seventy-five percent off.” 

“Oh, I love love love you,” Elide sang. She picked up her phone and opened her music, choosing a playlist at random. Her hips swayed to the bouncing beat of I’m Gonna Love You Too and Aelin laughed, singing along and dancing around. 

Elide picked up her straightening iron and held it like a microphone, dramatically reaching towards her roommate, “You’re gonna say you’ve a-missed me, you’re gonna say you’ll a-kiss me…”

“Yes, you’re gonna say you’ll a-love me, ‘cause I’m a-gonna love you too,” Aelin sang, shimmying her shoulders. 

Elide sat and hummed as she revamped her layers, curling them upwards into horn-like wisps. She clicked the straightener off and stood up, laughing and joking with Aelin as she got dressed. Once the underbust corset belt was snug and tied, Elide zipped her skirt up and smoothed any fussy wrinkles away. She twirled and popped her hand on her hip, “Well?” 

Aelin studied her. Then she stood up and plucked the toy tiara Elide had once used in a costume and put it on her head. “There.” 

Elide turned around and looked at herself in the mirror, fixing the tiara. “And now?”

“Be still, my foolish heart,” Aelin proclaimed, tapping her hand over her chest in an imitation of her beating heart. “You look absolutely ravishing, darling girl.” 

Elide smiled and held her hand out, “Shall we? It’d be rude of the host’s girlfriend to be late.” 

Aelin slung her arm around Elide’s waist and pulled her towards the door, “I thought I told you already, I’m never late. Everyone else is simply early.” 

“Oh, yes, how could I have forgotten?” 

“I haven’t the faintest idea, Elide,” she sniffed, primly turning her nose up. “Everyone should listen to what I say all the time. How else will the world turn round right?” 

“You are my favourite person in the world, golden girl,” Elide laughed. 

“I better be, I put a roof over your head and booze in your stomach.” 

Elide laughed again and unscrewed the lid off the vodka bottle, pouring them both generous shots in the bottom of two random glasses. She passed Aelin hers and lofted her own, “To…?”  

“Being, young, wicked smart, fucking hot and having zero responsibilities!” 

 ☽ ☼ ☾

As he walked up the pathway to the creaking, booming house, he could feel countless sets of eyes burning into him. He rolled his shoulders and resisted the urge to glare at those staring. Honestly, he should’ve been used to it by now. It was either his height, his hip-length hair in a loose braid, or his… aggressive wardrobe. 

Fenrys, the little shit, told him it was because of the frown on his face, but Lorcan didn’t believe him. He never had a shortage of offers, from whomever he so wanted and so chose. He thought it was because people considered him to be a challenge, a lost and wandering soul to tether. 

Lorcan was just genuinely disinterested. That twelfth grade pipsqueak didn’t know what he was talking about. Lorcan regretted the day he ever agreed to let the high schooler’s band play a show at the club. The boy fell in love every single day with a new person. 

Almost as if he had summoned him, someone familiar crashed into his back, lanky legs wrapping around his torso and reedy arms locking around his neck. Lorcan groaned and shook the kid off, “Fen, fuck off. Go home, you have school tomorrow.” 

The dark-skinned boy hopped around to face him, a maniacal grin splitting his face in two, “No, sir, I got a pro-D day tomorrow. I’m up all night, all night, boy!” Fenrys howled and Lorcan shook his head at him, muttering something rude. Fenrys slung his arm around Lorcan’s waist, “Say, what are you doing here, Lor? I didn’t think the law students let anarchists in their fêtes, as it were.” 

“See, my plan is to stay until they toss me out on my ass. I think I’m pretty unnoticeable, yeah?” 

Fenrys laughed and slapped Lorcan’s back, over his patch jacket, “Yeah, thank the gods that you don’t have a huge red ‘A’ on the back of your coat or whatever.” Lorcan snorted. “I mean, you’re not all master of disguise like me.”

Lorcan eyed the spikes Fenrys had styled his kinky, dense hair into and chose not to comment. “How was your show tonight?” 

“Dude!” Fenrys shouted, “It was crazy. I thought my arms would fall off.” 

The boy started imitating playing the drums, violently, and Lorcan shook his head, “Come on, kid, let’s go.” He slung his arm across Fenrys’ shoulders and steered the drummer into the kitchen. Under the lights, Lorcan saw a flash of silver-blond hair, “Look, there’s Rowan, go talk to him.” 

“Yo, Whitethorn,” Fenrys yelled, his hands cupped around his mouth. Lorcan rubbed his eyes, muttering something. Rowan turned around and smiled, lifting his hand to wave. He grabbed something and made his way over to them. 

“Hey, man,” Lorcan said. 

“Hey, guys, thanks for coming,” Rowan said, passing Lorcan a can of beer. “You just get here?” 

“Yeah,” Lorcan said, “I had some stuff for class and Fen had a show.” 

Rowan nodded, “Oh, you know what, you should tell me when your next show is so I can come.” He looked so eager, so earnest, Lorcan almost felt bad for him. 

Fenrys roared with laughter and cuffed Rowan’s shoulder, “That’s fuckin’ funny, man, I’m going to go see if I can find Ashryver.” He departed, his head bopping to the beat of the music. 

Rowan turned to Lorcan, his brows furrowed, “Funny? Why?” 

Lorcan pressed his lips together to avoid smiling, “I think that Fenrys is saying that his music… it isn’t really your style, ya dig? It’s very nice of you to support him, but c’mon, Rowan. You went to one show last year and were scared to touch anything. Now we have to go find Fen ‘cause I’m not dropping him off at home wasted again. Emrys will beat me to death and cook me.”

His silver-haired friend laughed and they walked to where they could see Fenrys’ bleached-blond liberty spikes sticking above everyone else’s head. He was standing at one end of a ping-pong table, opposite two stunning women. The dark-haired one caught Lorcan’s eye and he stared for a moment, trying to figure out where he recognised her from. 

“Salvaterre, do you want to keep drooling over my little sister or do you want to play?” 

“I hope you choke to death on Rowan’s dick, Ash,” Lorcan replied evenly. He didn’t turn his gaze from the girl, who stared back at him, her eyes brazenly surveying him. Lorcan saw the challenge in her eye melt into heated appreciation. He ducked his head to hide his barely-there grin from Aelin’s hawkish glare and bounced a ping-pong ball off the table, “Are we playing or do you just want to keep guarding your sister’s virginity for eternity?”

The woman standing next to Aelin cackled with delight and leaned over the table, “It’s a little too late for that, but it gives her a sense of purpose now. I’m Elide, if you ever want to stop referring to me as ‘Aelin’s little sister’.”

He laughed quietly, “It’s nice to meet you, Elide. I’m Lorcan, this is Fenrys,” he gestured to the boy next to him. Fenrys gave her a toothy grin and a two-fingered salute. “So, are we playing or what?” 

“That sounds like a challenge, Lorcan,” Elide mused. Lorcan arched a brow and slowly looked her up and down. The black skirt she wore clung to her sinful curves and the corset cinched her waist tightly. Against her pale complexion, the blood red, long sleeve top she wore made an alluring and tempting contrast, matching her crimson-painted lips. 

“Maybe it is,” he countered, tilting his head to the side. 

Her eyes sparkled with something and she kissed the ping-pong ball before tossing it. It soared in a perfect arch and landed directly in the cup nearest to him. Lorcan’s brows raised and Elide laughed a delicate, smokey and sultry sound, “I like a challenge.” 

 ☽ ☼ ☾

“Come with me,” Elide said, holding her hand out expectantly. 

Lorcan looked between her outstretched hand and her face warily, “Where to?” 

“The kitchen,” she said, waving her fingers, “c’mon, my drink is empty.” 

He stood and let her pull her behind him, laughing under his breath at her cockiness. Lorcan drained the last of his drink and tapped it against his bottom lip. “Where do I know you from? I feel like I’ve met you before.” 

She turned and walked backwards, their joined hands hanging between them, “Hmmm… I don’t know. I go to the Vaults a lot, maybe I’ve seen you there?” she asked, referencing the local punk club near the university. Elide gave him a cheeky once-over, “You seem to be of that… persuasion.” 

“As do you,” Lorcan replied, nodding his chin towards her layered, wisp-filled pixie cut. “Very Twilight of you, I must say, princess.” He reached out and flicked her tiara.

As they arrived at the kitchen, Elide dropped his hand and hopped up onto the counter beside the collection of various bottles of alcohol. His hand tingled at the loss of contact and he squeezed his fingers into a fist. “I love me some Alice Cullen. She was my queer awakening.” 

“Ah, mine was Heath Ledger,” he replied back, smug. Lorcan grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured a long, long shot into his cup. Then he got a can of Coke from the ice filled cooler and poured that to the rim. Elide chuckled when he bent to sip in case of a spill. 

Lorcan pushed his hair back as he stood back up and watched her pour a sickeningly green liquor into her cup. “Damn, that’s… green, shit, Lochan.” 

“Yeah, I like my tongue spooky colours,” she said with a shrug, putting the green one down and drowning it in vodka and Sprite. “Don’t you?” 

He laughed, “Maybe. What kind of spooky are you talking about?” 

Elide hummed coyly, taking a sip of her, indeed, spooky drink, “All kinds of freaky shit.” She patted his arm, “So, if you live with Ro, why do I never see you?” 

“Oh, I’m- I’m a photographer so I’m not home much,” he said, drinking from his cup. “I go to a lot of concerts and stuff.” Lorcan leaned against the counter opposite her and lifted his leg to kick her foot. “So what do you do, hmm? Are you in the art program?” 

Elide tilted her head to the side, “Well, I was. I dropped out first year for a tattoo apprenticeship and I’ve been doing that for a few years,” she said, scrunching her nose up. 

“Y’know what, I think we had a class together first year. I think I… spilt coffee on your drawing.” 

Her eyes lit with recognition, “Oh my gods, yes! I so remember you, I was so mad about that.” 

He ducked his head, “I’m real sorry about that.” A lopsided grin spread across his lips and he looked up, “So, where are you apprenticing?” 

“The Omega on Main street, you know it? Run by Blackbeaks, exclusively?” 

“Holy fuck, yes. I’m getting a tattoo there next week,” Lorcan said, his eyes wide. “Their tattoos are… amazing. It’s fucking art work.” 

“I know! You know, if you know what you’re getting, I might’ve worked on it.” 

“I’m getting an old school, traditional style raven on my chest,” Lorcan said, gesturing from shoulder to shoulder and down his sternum. “I got one of the freaky twins. Fallon, I think.” 

Elide nodded, “Fallon is amazing. She’s actually hilarious when you’re with her one on one. She likes Enya and has her on her tattooing playlist, so prepare for that.” She hopped off the counter and hooked her finger in his belt loop. Elide pulled him, once again, and guided him towards a couch. They sat down, Elide’s legs haphazardly strewn across his lap. Lorcan’s hand splayed above her knee and he toyed with a rip in her tights. 

Lorcan rested his chin on her shoulder and bumped his nose into her jaw, “So, what’s your Samhain declaration?” 

She leaned backwards and regarded him seductively, “Hmm… to new things and new… people.” 

Lorcan lifted his cup and said: “To new things and new… people.” 

 ☽ ☼ ☾

Lorcan wrangled Fenrys, “Boyo, come on. I gotta get you home.” He sighed and tossed the bony boy over his shoulder. 

Elide shrugged on her faux-fur coat - white with black hearts - and laughed at the sight as she fluffed her hair, “Aww, you take good care of your baby. Look at the little guy.” 

He grinned and leaned against the porch column. “He sure is a champ in the morning. So perky,” Lorcan slapped Fenrys’ ass and chuckled when Fenrys whined, drowsily mumbling a protest. 

She giggled tipsily and walked out, impressively straight given how much vodka she’d consumed. “I’m a Blackbeak, bitch. We bleed vodka,” Elide said, pronouncing the last word with the accent of her mother. 

“Oh, shit,” Lorcan mumbled, “I didn’t mean to say that outloud. Whoopsies.”

Elide laughed and patted his cheek before she leaned in and kissed his face, “Goodnight, my darling.” 

He laughed, the sound slightly choked, “G’night, princess.” 

She clicked her tongue and walked down the steps, going to the cab she’d called. “Give Fenny Poo some meds and water and don’t call me ‘princess’!” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Don’t call me that either!” 

“As you wish, princess.” 

She scoffed and held her middle finger up high, “I loathe your existence, Salvaterre!” 

“Oh, don’t be mean to me, please, gorgeous, I’ll fall in love with you,” he crooned, smiling wildly.

In retrospect, it hadn’t seemed so likely.

☽ ☼ ☾

an: i luv them 🥺couple notes: - aelin & rowan r three years older than elide & lorcan, fenrys is in twelfth grade ! - lorcan is anarcho-punk and elide is riot grrrl !

songs played in chapter: (by order of appearance) 1. I'm Gonna Love You Too - Blondie (cover of original by buddy holly)

@mythicaitt​​​ @werewolffprince​​​ @schmlip-scribble​​​ ​ @the-regal-warrior​​​ @ladyverena​​​ @ttakeitbacknoww​​​ @shyvioletcat​​​ @alifletcher2012​​​ @tswaney17​​​ @ourbooksuniverse​​​  @flora-and-fae​​​ @thesirenwashere​​​ @queenofxhearts​​​ @maastrash​​​ @mynewdreamwasyou​​​ @cursebreaker29​​​ @empress-ofbloodshed​​​ @b00kworm​​​ @hizqueen4life​​​ @silversprings98​​​ @amren-courtofdreams​​​ @minaidss​​​ @superspiritfestival​​​ @sanakapoor​​​ @ireallyshouldsleeprn​​​ @spyofthenightcourt​​​  @thegoddessofyou​​​ @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx​​​ @claralady​​​ @neonhellas​​​ @darlinminds​​​ @readingismyonlyhobby​​​ @autophobiaxx​​​ @silversprings28​​​ @myshadowsingeraz​​​ @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​​​ @elriel4life​​​ @always-in-a-daydream​​​ @jlinez​​​ @ladywitchling​​​ @mariamuses​​ @darklesmylove​​ @adelzd-bookblr​

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the sea is yours to take

pairing: wen junhui x fem!reader genre: royalty au, high fantasy, romance, slow burn   warnings: mentions of death, violence (but it’s usually friendly) wc: 36k (it’s so long, i know, i’m sorry)

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 away from home. And it certainly doesn’t help that Jun, the southern Lord of the estate you’ve been sent to, seems to hate your guts.   a/n: this is so long, and the beginning is kind of slow but like, i think it’d be pretty dope if you were to stick it out just sayin

—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 Seungkwan had requested the maker carve out one of the Seven Gifts of the Spirit and one of the Seven Sins. Specifically, Prince Seungkwan 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 Seungkwan had excitedly gifted this to you and explained in great detail the trouble he went through to get it done. At the time, Seungkwan had been much younger and things had been so much simpler. You wonder what Seungkwan 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 Hansol and embrace him in a long hug. You can feel the longing in his arms. It warms your heart.

“I’ve missed you dearly, Hansol.”

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 Mark.”

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

Hansol’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 Hansol.”

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

“Oh.” You say simply. “Well congratulations Captain Hansol. 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 Seungkwan-”

You shut the door in his face.

—LORD JUN—

Jun 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, Jun was not one for traveling. To Jun nothing seemed particularly glamorous about the reality of riding on horseback for days and nights on end. Jun was much too content with staying by the sea at the estate which Jun called home. There, at his estate, the town was self-governed and quiet. There Jun felt peace. Here, on his horse's saddle finally reaching a clearing in the woods, Jun feels most notably irritable (although boredom and tire are a close second). Here, faced with the reality of traveling, Jun understands even less why his father and Captain Wonwoo put up with it. 

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

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

And of course, Wonwoo is right. Jun 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 Jun has yet to see the latter tale, Wonwoo is right; Jun loves the abyss that is the Zalazar River. 

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

"Yes," Wonwoo 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," Jun mutters, gripping the reins of his horse tightly, "I'm sure spring does the city well." 

"It does." Wonwoo says simply looking out towards the river as the horses step onto the Bronze Bridge. Wonwoo must sense Jun's discomfort because the next part he says with hesitation. "Lord Jun, 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 Jeonghan 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 Soonyoung’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 Soonyoung and can only pray to the Gods that his plans are going well. Prince Seokmin, 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 Seokmin’s face, he smiles sympathetically at you. Next to Seokmin is Prince Seungkwan 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, Seungkwan 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 Seungkwan 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 Seokmin'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-" Seungkwan 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!” Seungkwan shouts at the council member, rage contorting his face. “How dare—"

Seokmin cuts Seungkwan off, before he can rampage further. "Father, Seungkwan 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." Seokmin'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 Soonyoung'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 Jun and Captain Wonwoo from the southern lands are on their way to the Golden Palace as we speak. They are to arrive later today."  The name Jun 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 Jun’s name before. Jun’s father was a regular visitor to the Golden Palace before he fell sick and died in the palace infirmaries several years ago. 

 “But—” Seungkwan 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 Mark 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 Seungkwan, for Hansol, for Seokmin, for Soonyoung. 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 Seokmin. 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 Seokmin?" 

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, Seokmin'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, Seokmin. 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. Seokmin 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.

"Seokmin 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 Jun'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 Wonwoo." You vaguely knew of Captain Wonwoo. He was a Captain of the Knights of the Holy Order, second only to the Commander, but retired at a young age. Lord Jun 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?" Seokmin 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 Seokmin 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 Seokmin. Even in the darkest of moments, he remains a ray of light. “You remind me so much of your grandfather, Seokmin.”

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. Fortitude spends it immersed in her memories.

Finally, Seokmin 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 Seungkwan 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, Seungkwan,” 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. Seungkwan 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 Seungkwan, 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. “Seokmin was saying how he reminds you of our grandfather.”

You inhale sharply. Conversing with Seungkwan 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…” Seungkwan 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 Seungkwan was simple and delightful, of a time when Seungkwan was a child. You let the question sit in the air for a second despite knowing exactly who Seungkwan 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 Seokmin. In a way, that makes Seungkwan so dear to you. “You remind me of your mother, Seungkwan.” 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.” 

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

You falter, not quite able to put your finger on who Soonyoung 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 Soonyoung long gone, the memory seems so faint; you aren’t even sure it’s real.

“I’m not sure,” is all you can say. Seungkwan 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.

Seungkwan 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.” 

“Seungkwan,” 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 Seungkwan telling you the same foolish things the people you think so lowly of do. You do not need Seungkwan persisting that a marriage will fix everything. You do not need Seungkwan, even less do you need his romantic interest in you. But you want Seungkwan, 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 Seungkwan.”

“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. “Seungkwan, I said go!” You yell whipping the door open to come face to face with a wide-eyed Hansol. “Oh, Hansol,” 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.”

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

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

“Seokmin always talks plenty,” Hansol hums, amused but calm.

Hansol, 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, Hansol turned out to be an excellent fighter. Before you had relieved the orphan boy of his petty debts to the King, Hansol 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, Hansol 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 Hansol, 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. Hansol was the first true friend you had since the princes' late mother. 

And after a while of you glaring at the fire and Hansol crossing and uncrossing his legs, he finally speaks up again. "Don't blame yourself for Seungkwan'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 Seungkwan and you?" 

You nod although there is no 'Seungkwan and you'. There is only Seungkwan'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." Hansol jokes. You laugh for the first time that day, and it feels like you can finally breathe again. 

"Have you heard any word from Soonyoung?" The question seems to bring you both back to reality. And the question, or perhaps reality, drags Hansol'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…?” Hansol asks, hopeful.

“They come back empty. He doesn’t send me anything back.” 

Hansol 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 Soonyoung's plan. On a hunch and a forgotten memory, you had advised Soonyoung to head north to the Giant Forest. Specifically, you had advised Soonyoung 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 Jeonghan, 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."

Hansol shakes his head, a crease running through his forehead. “Soonyoung 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 Hansol sounds as if he’s convincing himself of it as much as he’s convincing you. But you know, there is some truth to Hansol's words. Soonyoung 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 Soonyoung. Soonyoung trained under you by the request of his mother and to the disdain of his father, and as Soonyoung grew, so did his skill. By the time Soonyoung 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 Soonyoung 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 Soonyoung that perplexes you, is the same one that proves Soonyoung 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, "Soonyoung is capable. I'm just worried. It all..." you hesitate struggling to find the right words, "It all makes my head ache." 

Hansol 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 Soonyoung to the Nomads’ Land?”

You still. The same fog from before overcoming your mind once again. “I can’t even begin to explain, Hansol, 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, Hansol. 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 Soonyoung 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 Soonyoung before he took off.

Hansol 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 Hansol 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 Soonyoung? 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,” Hansol emphasizes once more, “what was the memory?”

“Hansol, 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.” Hansol 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 JUN—

"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.” Jun 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, Jun can’t focus on. No, instead, Jun 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 Jun and Wonwoo unsure and timid and you holding your head in your hands, complaining of a headache to a servant in hushed tones. Yet, Jun sits in the palace temple thinking and overthinking how you, the Gift of Fortitude, looked so undeniably human. 

Jun 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, Jun 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 Jun can think to describe you. 

The King had sent a message to Jun’s southern estate at the beginning of the week asking for Jun’s and Captain Wonwoo’s presence at the Golden Palace immediately. The King didn’t bother including any details. Jun and Wonwoo were left to speculate what business he could possibly have with them. With Jun, a southern Lord who never involved himself with the politics of the kingdom, and with Wonwoo, a retired Captain of the Knights of the Holy Order. It certainly doesn’t help that Lord Jun is known to harbor a dislike towards the King. 

But now, as Jun and Wonwoo walk the ornate halls of the undeniably breathtaking Golden Palace alongside the Gift of Fortitude, Jun wonders even more why the King has asked for them.

“Lord King I present to you Lady Gift of Fortitude, Lord Jun, and Captain Wonwoo." The guard announces to the King's throne room as the three of you enter. The throne room, Jun notices, is just as lavish as the rest of the palace if not more. Five of the six counsel seats are filled. Prince Seokmin and Prince Seungkwan sit attentively at their thrones, but Prince Soonyoung's throne is empty. Jun 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 Soonyoung 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 Jun's estate as a place for you to stay. Jun 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. 

Jun, Wonwoo, and you walk the halls aimlessly after the dreaded presence with the King which admittedly was briefer and more passive than Jun had imagined. 

“I apologize for the circumstances, Lord Jun and Captain Wonwoo. 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,” Wonwoo affirms, glancing at Jun as if expecting him to say something, but Jun stays silent. “I find it a shame although,” Wonwoo says to cover Jun’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 Soonyoung? I’ve heard you’re close to all three Princes.”

“You heard correctly, Captain Wonwoo.” Then you pause. Jun closely observes the way you carefully choose your next words. “Prince Soonyoung 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," Wonwoo says in an even but skeptical tone. 

"Yes, Prince Soonyoung 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 Soonyoung's absence. Something the King's court has chosen to cover up and ignore. Jun knew just how impulsive the King could be, and for that reason, Jun suspects that Prince Soonyoung has snuck out of the palace, but then with another look at your scornful face, Jun suspects something different. Prince Soonyoung must have been sent away by his father himself. The realization takes a moment to sink in. 

Wonwoo clears his throat. “And then what about Lord Mark, 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. Jun and Wonwoo stop walking as well.

“You haven’t heard?” You question so quietly that Jun barely hears it.

Wonwoo 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. Jun thinks, as mad as it sounds, that you, a Gift of the Spirit, look a little nervous.

Jun 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 Jun and Captain Wonwoo with steady eyes. “Lord Mark was murdered.” You state with an eerie simplicity. You hesitate before adding the next part. “And I was the one who killed him.”

Jun 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 Jun and Wonwoo can even comprehend what you just said.

 ***

Jun waits for you and Wonwoo in the stables. He tends to his horse deep in thought. 

Jun 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 Jun 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. 

Jun 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 Jun 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, Jun doubts there is much that could stop you. Lord Mark’s murder had gone unannounced and relatively unpunished. Jun wonders if Lord Mark was an isolated example or just another among the many whose lives were put in your hands. 

But then when Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun,” you say suddenly, bringing to Jun’s attention your presence in the stables. 

 Jun nods with a polite yet strained smile. “Yes, he was gifted to me by my father.” 

“Ah,” you mutter. And for a second, Jun 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 Jun’s. “I found him a while back by the Zalazar River.” 

Jun 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. Jun 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 Jun,” 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 Jun 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 Jun so that you stand beside him facing the opposite stable door. You turn your head, and Jun 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.” 

Jun 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 Jun 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. 

Jun 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 Jun,” Wonwoo says, a laugh dancing under his words. 

Jun groans. “How much of that did you hear?” 

Wonwoo releases Jun’s shoulder. “Enough,” he hums with an enthusiastic nod. 

“So you think it’s excusable then?” Jun questions, hurt that Wonwoo seems to be taking your side over his. “Are you willing to excuse murder too?” 

Wonwoo’s quiet for a moment, but when he does speak again, he does so seriously. Jun listens intently. “It’s not that I’m excusing murder Jun. 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.” 

Jun 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?”

Wonwoo 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 Jun, a crime is only as grave as its motivation.”

Jun is silent, taking his time to understand what Wonwoo means. He returns his attention to his horse. 

“What have you been doing all morning?” Jun asks, deciding he needs more time to process than the moment allows. Wonwoo isn’t bothered by the shift in conversation. 

“Ah, I had many things to discuss with Prince Seungkwan. You know, former Captain of the Knights to current Commander.”

“Anything worth sharing?” 

Wonwoo hums. “Not much, although he is an excellent Commander, Prince Seungkwan,” Wonwoo clarifies, “even despite his young age. What they say is true, he possesses a gift for...”

Jun nods, listening half-heartedly to Wonwoo for Jun has no interest in the subjects of armies and battles. 

Eventually, Wonwoo 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 Wonwoo 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 Jun, Captain Wonwoo, and the Gift of Fortitude begin the two day journey south. 

The journey is quiet and tense. The only conversation coming from Wonwoo 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 green color. Wonwoo 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 Jun 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,” Wonwoo 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 forest green river a little less tensely. 

***

They take rest at an inn for the night. Jun 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 Jun, Wonwoo, and you. Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun understand your motives without involving him in the palace’s politics. You want to make peace. 

You exhale sharply. 

“Lord Jun,” his eyes widen when you address him, “Captain Wonwoo, I know you must have many reasons to distrust me.” Jun 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 Jun and Captain Wonwoo nearly begging for their acceptance. 

“I have a question,” Wonwoo 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?” Wonwoo exclaims, like a little kid waiting for sweets. 

You smile. “It was a gift from the princes’ late mother.” The reminder makes your smile turn sad. Lord Jun 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.” Wonwoo tells you with a laugh, and you let yourself believe that you’ve made some progress. Lord Jun, however, doesn’t let you believe so for long. 

“I have a question.” Lord Jun implores, bringing himself out of his silence. His voice is stern and a little cold. Wonwoo 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. 

“Jun—“ Wonwoo 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 Jun directly, “Fortitude. The Sins and Gifts were given to the people as protectors. As humanity’s fighters. To answer your question Lord Jun, 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 Jun 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 Jun tonight. Perhaps you had hoped for too much. 

--LORD JUN-- There’s a familiar tense silence while riding the next day. They reach Jun’s estate by late afternoon, earlier than expected. 

You request to be taken straight to your quarters. 

“You’re acting strange.” Wonwoo mutters, watching Jun with a careful eye as he takes a spoonful of his soup. It’s only Jun and Wonwoo at dinner tonight. You decided you were too tired to attend. 

“How so?” Jun 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 a snack earlier.” 

“It’s not just that Jun.” Wonwoo adds, and Jun holds back a groan, dreading the coming conversation. “What’s gotten into you?” Jun shrugs. And he can’t help but notice how sad Wonwoo sounds when he says: “You aren’t yourself around her.” 

Jun drops his spoon, placing his hands on his knees. “I just don’t trust her Wonwoo. Something about her unsettles me.” 

Wonwoo 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.” 

Jun 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, Wonwoo.” 

“And what would you do if a title was the only name you had?” 

Jun bites the inside of his cheek, mumbling, “but what if it’s not the only name she has?”

Wonwoo shakes his head in frustration. “Jun, I can only advise you to make peace. It’s up to you whether you do or not.” 

And with that Wonwoo leaves from the dining room. Jun finishes the rest of his dinner alone. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

You were unhappy. You didn’t want to be at Lord Jun’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 Jun 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 Jun waking up and deciding he wants to spend time with you willingly. Then you suspect if Wonwoo 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 Jun is already waiting, facing away from the estate and towards the grassy path. 

“Lord Jun.” 

He nods at your greeting, and the walk begins in silence. 

“You seem to already know your way around the estate.” Jun mentions by the time the grass and sand have begun to mix under your feet. 

“Wonwoo gave me a very thorough tour this morning.” 

Jun laughs but it sounds small and strained. “Yes, Wonwoo 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 Jun 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 Jun,” you address softly, “did Wonwoo 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 Jun is apologizing but also because of how sincerely he sounds saying it. 

“Thank you, Lord Jun.” 

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.” 

Jun 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 Jun is the one to make the peace you wanted so badly. 

You find yourself to be smiling too. 

“Come on,” Jun 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 Jun 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. 

Jun 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 Seokmin 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.” 

Jun hums triumphantly. “Accept this as a peace offering.” 

“Oh Jun, 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 Seokmin that night. 

Dear Seokmin, 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 JUN—

Jun 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. Jun 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. Jun squints at the scene and recognizes the bird as your Risal. This piques his interest. 

“Wonwoo,” Jun calls out. Wonwoo tends to keep Jun company while he works, reading a book in the corner armchair. But when Jun is met with silence, he looks over to find the book closed on his lap and Wonwoo fast asleep. Jun covers Wonwoo 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 Jun behind you before he bothers to make his presence known. 

“Have you already finished your work Jun?” 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.” Jun 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.” 

Jun smiles shyly. The two of you settle into a silence. You scratching the stray cat to sleep and Jun 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. Jun 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 Wonwoo. 

“How do they work?” Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun can’t hear to the bird. The bird suddenly launches itself from your arm and soars into the sky. Jun 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.” 

Jun waits a moment. Eventually the screech comes, and Jun 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. Jun 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. Jun 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.” 

Jun 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 Jun 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. Jun runs to you immediately.  

“How come there was no screech this time?” Jun asks breathlessly, meeting you at your end of the courtyard. 

“There was.” You say simply, petting the bird. Jun furrows his brows. “The screech is only heard by the one who the Risal is meant for.” It clicks for Jun then why you didn’t flinch and why the cat is still in a ball by the fountain. 

“So,” Jun 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?”

Jun 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. Seungkwan 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 Wonwoo and Lord Jun. -Seokmin 

—LORD JUN—

“The service was long today.” Jun states exiting the temple with Wonwoo 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.” Wonwoo 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. 

Jun 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 Jun and Wonwoo can stop you. 

The sanctuary hasn’t been used in years, and the state of it shocks Jun. In fact, the sanctuary itself shocks Jun. 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 Jun, Wonwoo, 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, Jun 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 Jun sick to the stomach. 

But that’s not where Jun finds you. Instead, Jun and Wonwoo find you kneeling on the floor next to the broken stone of what once was a sculpture dedicated to the Sin of Pride. Jun 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. Jun 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 Jun can’t help the way his heart aches at the sheer amount of heartbreak that rings from your cries. 

Jun and Wonwoo decide to wait for you outside. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

“If I may ask, when was the last time you had a worthy opponent?” Wonwoo asks, breaking the silence of your lunch. Only you and Wonwoo were present today. 

You think it over for a moment. It's been a while since you’ve fought anyone. Even while training Hansol and the Princes, you never fought them yourself. “The Holy Wars most likely.” 

Wonwoo 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. Wonwoo’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, Wonwoo.” 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 Wonwoo 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 Wonwoo reveals his plans to head home soon. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that this wasn’t Wonwoo’s home. He explains how his family lives farther east and how he splits his time between Jun’s estate and his own home, travelling back and forth frequently. And when you question why he even bothers returning to Jun’s estate, why he bothers leaving home, Wonwoo laughs loudly and explains that Jun pays him good money to stay and keep him company. You also hadn’t realized that this was Wonwoo’s job.

—LORD JUN—

“Don’t you think it’s a little desperate to pay Wonwoo to leave his family and keep you company?” You tease as you and Jun wave goodbye to Wonwoo.

Jun scoffs, side eyeing Wonwoo’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 Jun notices the way your eyes crinkle. “Yes, yes. I figured as much.”   

The young servant girl appears then, asking Jun if anything more is needed. Jun tells her she can go home for the day, and she flushes a dark red. Jun notices how you notice. 

And when the servant girl leaves, Jun 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. 

“Mina.”

“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.” 

Jun bites his bottom lip. “I don’t mean to make her…” He trails off, unable to find the right words. 

“Smile less.” 

Jun quirks his head, looking up at you. “My smile…?”

You nod. “It’s your smile she falls for.” 

Jun 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.” Jun 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?” 

Jun blinks at you. You pick at a spot below your chin. 

“Don’t laugh.” you stutter, but it’s too late because Jun 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 Jun’s offer is genuine or not. 

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Your shoulders drop. “Yes please.” 

Jun 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, Jennie, 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. My father had her with another woman before he married my mother.” 

“Where is she?” You wonder aloud as Jun finishes the braid off. 

“She married an islander, Seungcheol, and lives there with him.” Jun allows his eyes to drift towards the sea. Islands were peppered all along the coast, and the island Jennie and her husband and kids lived on was only a couple hours from here by boat. Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun, but today Jun was busy which left you helplessly bored and laying in your bed staring at the ceiling. Your mind had begun to wander to Soonyoung and his impossible journey, to Hansol and your forgotten conversation, to the King and his future plans, and to Lord Mark. 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 Jun’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 Mina 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 Mina agrees, you’re grateful that you’ve found a distraction. 

When you ask why Mina works, you learn that she is the oldest of seven. You frown at the thought of Mina's wages going all to her family, but she’s quick to tell you not to worry. Apparently Jun pays the estate staff well. The thought makes you smile. A question arises at the faint blush appearing on Mina’s cheeks. You hesitate a little. 

“Mina, do you happen to have a crush on Lord Jun?” 

Mina freezes like a deer. “Oh Lady Gift, it isn’t like that please don’t misunderstand. It’s not like I intend to marry him or anything.” She shakes her head vigorously. “It’s just that… Lord Jun has shown me nothing but kindness and I-“ She cuts herself off, fidgeting with her fingers. You assure her that it’s okay. Mina 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 Jun is.” 

An embarrassed smile emerges on Mina’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 Mina wasn’t skilled in the art of keeping things to herself, you wouldn’t have admitted to the young girl your thoughts of Jun’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 Jun 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, Jun’s estate does not house an archery gallery. But when Jun 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 Jun 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?” Jun 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 Jun 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.” Jun 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 Jun’s face. “What was that?” 

A giggling Jun 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 Soonyoung being sent away and then again the ones that led up to Lord Mark’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 Seokmin you have yet to respond to. You would’ve sent one back sooner if the line about Seungkwan 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 their mother and your dearest friend, and when she 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 Seungkwan could love you romantically repulsed you. You were mad at Seungkwan, disappointed in him, and yet, you still miss him as much as you miss Seokmin and Soonyoung. You long to talk with the three princes like you once did, before Seungkwan 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 Jun’s estate by Jun, Wonwoo, and Mina. 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 Jun. 

“Jun,” 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. “Wonwoo 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 Jun 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?” 

Jun 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 Jeonghan 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 Jun. This must be it, you think. This must be what people see when they look at your eyes because when you look at Jun’s, you can see the life he’s endured behind them. You can see the age behind the brown. You wonder what Jun must be thinking in this moment to make his life appear so long and sad. You wonder how Jun manages to feel like an equal to you despite your life being so much longer. You wonder—

“How old are you?”

If Jun’s shocked by the sudden question, he doesn’t show it. “As old as Soonyoung,” then with a sigh he adds, “but I feel as old as you.” 

And with the way Jun says it, as if he holds mountains on his shoulders, you believe him. 

“Well, maybe not as old as you,” Jun 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.” 

Jun waits a beat as if he’s testing the words on his tongue first. “How old are you?”

You inhale. “Too old, Jun.” 

He doesn’t ask you to explain any further, but when you think about the years behind Jun’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 Jun’s gaze, and suddenly you feel as tired as you do old. 

“Good night, Jun,” you tell him, standing up, “I hope sleep comes to you soon.” 

*** 

Dear Seokmin, 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 Soonyoung too much for my own good. Tell me if you hear anything from him. Tell Seungkwan that I miss him too, but that I’ve missed him long before I left the Golden Palace. -Fortitude

—LORD JUN—

The wind was softer and the sun hid behind the clouds more often after that night at the rocks. It was hard for Jun to explain, but after that day, something had changed. You let him in, and suddenly, things were different. You would ask Jun 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,” Jun 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?” Jun 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 Jun, 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 Jun’s turn to squint. “Run?”

“I mean to run like a child. Barefoot and wild and mad.” 

Jun starts pulling his shoes off. 

“Well,” Jun 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, Jun nods, and 

you run. 

By the time you stop, the air has emptied itself from Jun’s lungs. You, on the other hand, glow with something Jun can’t put his finger on, but you glow and smile so brightly Jun thinks the numbness in his legs is worth it. 

Jun only realizes you’ve run as far as the rocks when you start climbing up to the top of Angel’s Peak. Jun begrudgingly climbs up the cliff behind you. 

When you finally reach the top, Jun sits, exhausted and lets his legs dangle over the edge. He inhales, refilling his lungs with the sea’s salty mist. 

Jun 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 Jun back. Jennie used to call him a mermaid because of how well he swims, and at one point, Jun had convinced himself he was. Jun feels at home by the sea. He feels peace listening to the seagulls and the lapping water. If time allowed it, Jun would spend years staring at the blue water. 

Today however, sitting on top of the rocky cliffs with the Gift of Fortitude, Jun doesn’t watch the sun dip into the ocean and disappear beyond the horizon. Today Jun 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 Jun 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. 

Jun 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. Jun thinks he’s gone too far or that he’s asked you too much. In that moment, Jun 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. Jun coughs the words up before he can take them back. Your lips part, and Jun’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 Chan, and we grew up in the same village. He was announced as the Sin of Pride a week before I was.” 

Jun 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 Jun’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.” 

Jun listens to you speak intently. He doesn’t want to push you, but he can’t help his own curiosity. So when Jun hears an invitation laced within the tone of your voice. Jun realizes that some part of you wants to remember as much as Jun wants to know. 

And so, he says: “Tell me about your past.”

And you do. 

You tell Jun 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 who ruled when you were young. You tell him about Chan 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 Jun 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 Jun’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.” 

Jun 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.”

Jun can’t imagine how much it must hurt to admit, especially considering how much it hurts Jun to even hear. 

“But it was okay, because I never really knew my father and because I had Chan.” You tell Jun with a smile. “By the time we became Sins and Gifts, the two groups were already fighting; they just hadn’t made it into a war yet. The Queen went as far as having the Gifts and Sins stay in opposite wings of the Golden Palace to avoid confrontation. Chan and I used to sneak out to the palace roof at nights just to talk. But then,” your smile turns down, “the Queen was killed.”

Jun 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, Jeonghan, took the throne, the Seven Gifts had fled from the palace, marking the start of the Holy Wars.

“I didn’t see Chan 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 Chan 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 Jeonghan struck me a deal. Jeonghan 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 Chan.”

You stop to breathe. Jun doesn’t say anything, but you watch him as if you’re waiting for him too. Jun thinks it’s wrong, what King Jeonghan did. Jun thinks he had no right to make you indebted to him. Somehow, you seem to sense what Jun’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. Jeonghan wasn’t much older than me. Jeonghan watched his mother die in the wake of this conflict between the Sins and Gifts, a conflict he had nothing to do with. Jeonghan was as young and as desperate and as scared as I was, only he was the King. By then, I was only 12. 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 Chan take his dying breath.” 

Through the memories you share with him, Jun 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, Jun 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 Jun 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.” 

Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun’s mind again. He hears something new in his memory of your cries. He hears regret. 

The small part of Jun that’s upset with you dissolves the moment he looks over and sees the regret that darkens your eyes. In that moment, Jun 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 Jun feels frozen because he can’t seem to let go of the fact that you were only 12 when this all happened. 

“Fortitude,” Jun 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.” 

Jun can see something in you come apart. Jun can see the deep-rooted hate you have harbored for yourself escape from the corners of your eyes. 

And when Jun 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 Jun does say something, the heavy air has been taken away by the current. 

“Although I’m still curious,” you motion for Jun to continue, “what did the Holy Wars turn out to be about?” 

You close your eyes and keep them closed for longer than Jun 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 Jun, 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 Jeonghan 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.”

You sigh, but in the next moment you’re nearly laughing. Jun helplessly wonders how you’re able to change your mood so quickly, and then he wonders how you’re able to let go of things so easily. 

“You know Jun, I’ve never told anyone these things before.” You say with the likeness of a laugh. 

Jun tilts his head to the side. “Why not?”

“No one’s ever asked.”

Jun 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 Jun is just another wave, there in the moment and gone in the next.

“Did you love him?” Jun asks then, the image of the wave crashing against the rock replaying in his mind. 

“Chan?” 

Jun nods, and you look up to the sky. 

“I was too young to even know what love looked like.”

It’s then that Jun 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, Jun 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 Mina brings out plates with your meals. 

“I am, thank you Jun.” 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 Jun, 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?” Jun asks, thinking back to when you said you usually forget again after. 

“Oddly enough, I have not.” You smile. Jun feels a little hot; he thinks the fire must’ve grown in the hearth.   

“Jun, do you know what Fortitude means?” Jun 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.” 

Jun 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 Jun.” 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. Jun watches you go. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

When Wonwoo finally returns to Jun’s estate, it feels like he’s been gone for an eternity. You’re out in the market with Mina 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 Wonwoo 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 Wonwoo’s voice. You sit up on your horse. “Jun’s father’s death anniversary is approaching.”

Oh. 

“He tends to get very…” Wonwoo 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, Wonwoo.” You wait a beat. “Are you taking care of yourself?” 

“How do you mean?” 

“I heard you were close to Jun’s father.”

“Oh,” he chuckles darkly, “I’ll be fine. It’s Jun I worry about.” 

“And who’s here to worry about you?” 

Wonwoo sighs. “Thank you for the concern.” 

***

The day of the anniversary itself, Wonwoo spends the entire day in his room and Jun 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 Seokmin. 

“Come in.” 

“Lady Gift, it’s time for the memorial service.” 

You hum. “Give my peace to Lord Jun and Captain Wonwoo.” 

“Uh, no, Lady Gift.” Mina 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 Mina. “Lord Jun 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 Jun downstairs, and he tells you that you’re still waiting for Wonwoo. 

You chew on your bottom lip, unsure and timid. Suddenly the clothes feel itchy on your skin. “Jun, are you sure you want me to come?”

Jun looks confused. “Why shouldn’t you” 

“I mean I… I never really knew him.”     

Jun 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.”

Wonwoo appears then before you can say anything back, and you all, including Mina, head to the temple in a solemn silence. 

The temple is a sea of red. Wonwoo whispers to you that Jun’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 Jun and Wonwoo 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 Mina 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 Jun’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 Jun 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. 

Jun 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 Jun 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. 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. Seungkwan had just been born, still only an infant held in his father's arms. Soonyoung and Seokmin 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. 

You had burned a fire for your old friend, and you had burned a fire Jeonghan. But you never even lit a match for Chan; and worse than that, you never bothered to mourn the loss of your mother and father. 

Jun 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 princes’ mother, the friend that made you feel human again. You throw one in for Jeonghan, the tortured teen who understood. You throw a stick for Chan 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 Mark and all the lives that have been taken by your hands. You throw your regret into the fire and mourn. 

You forget Jun’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 Soonyoung, 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 Soonyoung. 

The Risal returns while you’re shooting arrows alone. When Wonwoo came back and learned how you were using plates as targets and Jun as a stand, he had crafted targets hanging from the tree branches for you to use instead. You were thankful for Wonwoo’s generosity, but now, as you notch another arrow through your bowstring, you feel Jun’s absence 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 Soonyoung 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 Wonwoo’s handcrafted hanging targets. And to Jun and how he opened up his home to you, and how he listens. You decide it’s time to tell Captain Wonwoo and Lord Jun the truth; the truth you owe them. 

“Did Soonyoung respond to your Risal?” Jun 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 Jun and Wonwoo share a look and ask you timidly why exactly Prince Soonyoung was sent away to begin with, you know. This is your chance. So you take it by the neck and run. 

You recall to Jun and Wonwoo the day things started changing within the Golden Palace. The day Soonyoung came to you sad and betrayed and alone. 

“This isn’t right,” Soonyoung 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 Soonyoung 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, Seokmin joined these meetings. Then Seungkwan 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 Soonyoung sat with you. Seokmin was on a northern campaign, and Seungkwan 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,” Soonyoung 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 Soonyoung, 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.”

“Soonyoung,” you said again, the name sounding like a plea. 

“He is no longer fit to be king!” Soonyoung slammed his hand down on the table. 

You clicked your tongue, unaffected by Soonyoung’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 Soonyoung’s eventual overthrow of the King and of his father. 

“We kept it a secret, Soonyoung and I,” you continue. Jun and Wonwoo listen silently but intently. “We didn’t even tell his brothers. The only other person we told was Hansol. And while we plotted against the King, I started remembering things. For some reason, being around Soonyoung 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 Soonyoung 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 Soonyoung 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 Soonyoung. It was difficult for him to watch his own father spiral into insanity. So when Soonyoung 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 Soonyoung 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 Wonwoo who asks, leaning off the edge of his seat like he can’t stand the suspense of it. “What did you tell Prince Soonyoung?” 

“I told him to go to the Nomads’ Lands.” 

Jun 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 Soonyoung 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 Mark 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 Mark was locked in the palace prisons that night, and no one but the King and I knew.

“I told you,” you look at Jun, “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 Mark 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. 

Jun 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 Soonyoung was sent away,” you finish, looking up at Wonwoo and Jun. “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 Wonwoo 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 Seokmin and Prince Seungkwan 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,” Jun says with a hand under his chin, “why did you send Soonyoung to the Nomads?”

Suddenly, you’re reminded of your last conversation with Hansol, 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 Jun 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 Jun 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.” 

Jun 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 Jeonghan 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 Soonyoung to them? 

The dinner ends abruptly when Wonwoo stands up exclaiming how he’s tired from all that he’s just learned and bids you goodnight. You and Jun do the same soon after. 

You write to Seokmin that night. And in your Risal, you tell him everything. You tell him about Soonyoung, the experiments, Lord Mark, his father, your memories, the Nomads, and more. In the last line you ask Seokmin to extend this information to Seungkwan as well. You seal the letter and climb into bed with aching fingers. 

The response from Seokmin comes a few days later. 

Dear Fortitude, I didn’t know about Lord Mark. Thank you for doing what you did. Not even he deserved to be kept alive in pain and hurting. But everything else, Seungkwan and I, we already knew. Soonyoung told us everything the night before he left. But thank you nonetheless. -Seokmin 

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 Seungkwan around the palace grounds. Playing pranks on Soonyoung. And setting silly traps for Seokmin. 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 Soonyoung told them the truth. And you’re glad he did. 

You sleep wonderfully that night

—LORD JUN—

Jun hopes you never learn how to braid your own hair.  Your hair was so soft and it smelled nice too. Jun 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 Jun sections your hair into three parts, “for Wonwoo to spend so much time away from his family.” 

His hand lingers by the nape of your neck. 

“Yes, it must.” 

The next day Jun tells Wonwoo to go back home. 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Wonwoo laughs, although the laugh sounds hesitant and it sounds lonely. 

“Go home, Wonwoo.” Jun insists. “Paid leave.” 

Wonwoo 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 Seokmin, and then quietly accept the lack of response from Soonyoung. You quietly begin taking more walks and then silently start taking them alone. You have been quiet since Wonwoo 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 Jun, taunting him back and forth since the night you told him and Wonwoo everything. Jun 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 Jun! Come quick!” Mina screams from somewhere in the estate. Jun 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.” 

Jun runs. 

He runs past Mina, 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. Jun’s heart stops. 

“Don’t try to stop me!” You yell at Jun and Mina watching you frozen in the sand. “I’ll jump, and I’ll survive.” 

“Lady Gift!” Mina yells back. “You’ll die. Come down. It’s not—“ 

Jun puts a hand on Mina’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. Jun 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. 

Jun 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 Mina stiffen beside him. 

“Lord Jun, what are you doing?” Mina 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. 

“Jun!” 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 Jun’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. 

Jun 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 Jun 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. Jun watches. Amazed. 

It’s when Mina 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 Jun thinks that this must be it. Your body floating, sinking, falling in the water. This must be what it meant to give up. 

But Jun 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. Mina pulls you both out of the water. And Jun bangs at your chest and blows life into your lungs until you are choking and breathing and alive. Jun falls into the sand beside you. 

“I’ll go get towels, and clean clothes.” Mina says scurrying away in the sand. 

Jun and you lay side by side, wet hair and clothes sticking to your bodies. Exhausted. 

“It looked like you were dying,” Jun 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, Jun.” 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.” 

Jun 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 Jun 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 JUN—

The quiet is gone. It’s like you jumped off Angel’s Peak and dropped the silence in the water. Jun is glad because, above all things, the quiet made him worry. 

You only wait a day before you’re asking Jun 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, Jun would have agreed to teach you regardless, his choice or not. 

Jun’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. 

Jun 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 Jun. You race him to the rocks and back. You win everytime. Though Jun takes pride in the way he doesn’t end far behind. Jun 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 Jun 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. Jun immediately assumes the worst, his mind racing with possibilities. “A while ago, Wonwoo 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.” 

Jun smiles a bit. “How so?” 

You hesitate, looking at Jun 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. Jun feels suddenly warm. 

He shakes the feeling. “You say you like fighting as if it’s a bad thing.” 

“Is it?” 

Jun expects it to be rhetorical, but you meet his eyes sincerely. Jun 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 Jun. 

“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 Jeonghan 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 Jun’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.” Jun watches the way you unsurely picks at your nails and the way your hair billows in the wind. “All I know is that after Jeonghan 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.”

Jun 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 Jeonghan, 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 the princes’ mother.”

You pause, and in the silence Jun 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, Jun.” 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 Jun 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, Wonwoo, Hansol, Soonyoung, Seokmin, Seungkwan; hell even Mina would pull you out if she had the chance.” You manage a small, sad laugh, and the sound of it alone fills Jun 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 Wonwoo will be to hear all this.” 

Jun 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 Jun,” you stop, your back still facing him, “it feels nice to talk with you again too.” 

Jun is the Zalazar River in the fall. Bright red and burning. 

***

Jun 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.” 

Jun 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 Hansol?” Jun wonders aloud when a Risal swoops down from the sky the day you and Jun 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.” Jun 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 Seungkwan. It was an apology of sorts, though the words seem scattered and unsure. You huff, dropping the letter in your lap. Jun notices but doesn’t say anything, focusing instead on that cat that’s climbed in his lap.

You think about Seungkwan, the boy who you’ve known his entire life, and how well he grew up. Seungkwan 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 Seungkwan; he was quick to take interest in matters of battle strategy and war efficiency. Seungkwan 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 Seungkwan 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?” Jun 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 Seungkwan’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 Seungkwan then?” The question sounds hopeful. 

“No, not at all.” You deny. “Seungkwan is like a child to me.” 

“He’s only a few years younger than myself.” Jun says looking up, his eyes strangely dark. “Do you see me as a child too?” 

You flick the letter. “I’ve known Seungkwan 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 Wonwoo by ages, and yet I see you both as equals.” You take a sip of your drink. “Plus, Seungkwan still acts like a child.” Jun smiles at that. 

“Oddly enough,” Jun mumbles, bringing the full glass to his lips, “that makes sense.” 

You think back to the letter, and sense fondness in Seungkwan’s apology. Something in your mind clicks. 

“I was so mad at him,” You say to the air around you, “at Seungkwan. 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. Seungkwan can’t help how he feels.” You look up and find Jun watching you. “He’s apologized for what he can. But he can’t apologize for falling in love.”

Jun 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 Seungkwan, I’ll lose him as well.”

Jun 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 Seungkwan’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 Seungkwan 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 Seungkwan 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 she sends a Risal to the Golden Palace addressed for Prince Seungkwan.

—LORD JUN—

Jun 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 Seungkwan. 

He waits a moment once you’ve finished. “Do you remember me telling you about my sister, Jennie?” You nod at his question, falling into the armchair near him. “Well, I just got this from her.” Jun 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,” Jun 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 Jennie lives on is pleasant. Jun humors you with stories of his childhood and of Jennie, and you listen to Jun talk as if your life depends on it. When they dock, Jun drags you to a bakery to buy candy and sweets for Jennie’s children and then some more for yourselves. 

By late afternoon they reach Jennie and her husband Seungcheol’s house. Jun 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,” Jun 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. Jun 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 Jun 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. Jun loved the sea. But looking at you and the wonder in each one of your bones, he thinks you might love it more. 

“Uncle Jun!” A voice yells from behind them. Jun 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 Jun. Elia nods enthusiastically. “And you,” you point to the younger boy, shyly hiding behind Jun’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. Jun 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 Jun and I brought you some sweets—“

The children pounce on the box before you can finish. Jun clutches his stomach in laughter. 

“Jun!” Jennie 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 Jennie!” He yells back, getting up from the sand to greet his sister. “Children need sweets.” 

Jennie scrunches her nose. “You spoil them too much.” She says before pulling Jun into a hug.

Jun leads Jennie 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. Jennie resposds that she’s napping and that Seungcheol’s watching her. 

You stand up to greet Jennie. 

“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,” Jennie coos, looping her arm with yours, “please come inside. Jun’s told me so much about you. I think we’ll get along wonderfully this weekend.” 

***

Jennie, like always, is right. You and her get along wonderfully. After the kids are put to bed, you and Jennie begin talking in the sitting area, and in the span of your conversation, Jun and Seungcheol are able to finish not one but two card games at the kitchen table. Seungcheol puts up the cards while Jun watches you and Jennie 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 Jun takes much pleasure in watching two people he cares for so deeply talk and laugh together comfortably. 

“Jun, you must stay here longer.” Seungcheol insists. “If not for the whole weekend, then at least for the day after Herschel’s party.” 

Jun hesitates. “I don’t know. Wonwoo 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,” Jennie dismisses, you and her approaching the table, “Wonwoo 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 Jun’s eyes. “Forgive me Jun. I had no idea.” Jun dismisses the apology.                     

Seungcheol and Jennie 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. Jennie scoffs, turning dramatically to you. 

“Would you mind humouring Seungcheol with an arm wrestle? He wants to see how well he can hold up against a Gift of the Spirit.”

Jun’s reminded of how a similar conversation between Wonwoo and you went. Jun inhales sharply, watching your reaction carefully. You surprise him by laughing. 

“I’m no joke.” Seungcheol 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. Seungcheol takes it eagerly. 

Jun likes this. How you tease Seungcheol. 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. Seungcheol yelps in shock, and Jennie hides snickers behind her hand while you laugh loudly and freely. You turn towards Jun, and the two of you share a look of your own. 

And through the silent conversation, Jun knows. Wonwoo would have to wait a bit longer for your return. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

The next morning you send a Risal to Wonwoo telling him that you and Jun would be staying for the entire weekend. He responds with a simple tell Herschel and Jun I said happy birthday. You do. 

Later that day, Jennie requests you and Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun. Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun play with his sister’s children and while carrying Jun’s niece in your own two arms, you feel impossibly, shatteringly happy. 

—LORD JUN— The birthday party had been a smash, with children appearing from every crevice of the house and cake smothered on Herschel’s face. Jennie and Seungcheol seemed happy with it. You seemed happy with it. The children seemed happy with it. And their happiness made Jun happy as well. 

Tonight is another sleepless night for Jun, but since he isn’t home with a familiar rock to sit on, he heads to a balcony in Jennie’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 Jun 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.” Jun 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, Jun.” 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 Jun not telling you was an insult. Jun 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 Jun 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 Jennie and her perfect family. And how you want nothing more than to be normal. You tell Jun how much you wish you could take back being the Gift of Fortitude. And with each word that leaves from your lips, Jun 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 Jun can take away. No matter how badly he wants to. 

He stares at you, frozen. And Jun thinks, not for the first time, about all the people you’ve lost. Chan, Jeonghan, your parents, the princes’ mother. 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 Wonwoo, 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 Jun 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. Jun’s coat suddenly feels heavy on your shoulders. 

—LORD JUN—

Jun 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 Jun 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 JUN—

You stand like that for so long. You crying. Jun looking into the eyes of God. Your hand against Jun’s restless heart. 

You stand like that until you rip your hand away. He lets it fall from his grip. “Leave me be Jun.” 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 Jun’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 Jun’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 Jun 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 Jun’s birthday inside playing cards, playing chess, and playing with the children. Jennie announces she’ll be preparing a feast for dinner. Jun 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 Jennie 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?” Jennie 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 Jun.” Jennie says it blandly. 

You feel like the wind’s been knocked out of you. “For Jun?” You echo. 

“Nevermind then,” Jennie 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 Jun will be delighted no matter which dress you come to dinner in.” Jennie leaves, and you ponder why in the world it would matter to Jun which dress you came down in? Then you wonder why Jun should take any delight in your appearance? The questions bring back a familiar sadness. 

The bodice of the dress Jennie 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. 

Jennie was right. Jun 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. “Jennie lent it to me for the night.” 

“Ah,” Jun exhales, “that makes much more sense. I wouldn’t have thought this dress to fit your style.” Jun takes his seat, and you ponder yet again how Jun has come acquainted with what is your style and what isn’t? 

The dinner is a feast like Jennie 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 Jun. 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 Jun 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 Jun follow you out. 

It’s when you’re halfway up the stairs that he catches up. 

“Please, Jun. 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 Jun follows you inside. “Please, just tell me if you’re alright.” Jun asks you so softly, so sweetly, it makes you feel impossibly frustrated. You wish Jun 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 Jennie’s red dress in your hands. 

“I’ve always cared.” He sounds hurt, like the words have cut him.

“No Jun, 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. 

Jun 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 Jun, 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 Jun’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 Jun 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 Jun’s head. But you do, you take comfort in this little action. In this little declaration of love. 

You fling your hand out of Jun’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 Jun. 

And suddenly, Jun is standing next to you. You can sense that Jun 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 Jun 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, Jun.” 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 Jun 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. Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun’s, and slip a letter under the door.

—LORD JUN—

Jun 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 Jun, 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.  -Jun

You find yourself thinking of the time after the death of Jeonghan. The time where you lived without love. The period of time that you’ve blocked from memory. Perhaps, Jun 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 Jun. 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 Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun’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 Jun’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 Jun again, really look at Jun. 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 Jun and see more than you’ve ever seen in him before. You look at Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun’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 JUN—

Jun 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 Jun’s face.  

“I’m not ready to wake up,” you groan, turning your body flush against Jun. 

“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, Jun is jumping in his seat, ready to return home. 

“You must miss him.” You mutter from next to him. Jun doesn’t have to ask to know you’re talking about Wonwoo. 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 Jun’s knee, “jumping from Angel’s Peak.” Jun laughs, capturing the moment and capturing your hand in his.

When you do eventually dock, Jun 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 Jun’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. Jun counts the seconds.  One. Two. (You kiss him) Three. Four.  Five.  (He kisses you) Six. 

You return to the estate finally, greeting Wonwoo drenched and swollen with love.

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

It’s the day after you and Jun return from Jennie and Seungcheol’s home that you and Wonwoo fight for the first time. In all honesty, you have been itching to fight with someone again ever since your talk with Jun. And when you told Wonwoo 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. Jun usually watches, sitting in a corner of the courtyard with a book. And when you feel comfortable enough to do so, you advance to Wonwoo attacking with jabs and punches here and there and you blocking them while also studying his technique. You learn that Wonwoo 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 Wonwoo 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, Wonwoo 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 Wonwoo 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 Wonwoo 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 Jun to watch. 

—LORD JUN—

The days that follow are some of the happiest for Jun. Jun and you spend whole days in each other's bedrooms and under the sheets. Wonwoo 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 Jun must do work in his office, Wonwoo and you play chess in the corner. You continue to send Risals: to Seokmin and Seungkwan and another unanswered one to Soonyoung. 

You and Wonwoo continue training without Jun 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 Jun return to his spot in the corner. And even Jun, who knows nothing about fighting, is amazed by your skill. Skill that is far too good to be fighting with Wonwoo, 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 Mina’s gossiping, that the Gift of Fortitude has fighting shows in the courtyard of Lord Jun’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 Mina asks you to teach her something. You make Mina begin immediately. And as it turns out you’re a wonderful teacher, although when Jun mentions this, you deny it telling Jun it’s only because you taught Hansol and the Princes. Nonetheless, you teach Mina 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 Jun’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 Jun 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 Jun 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 Seungkwan. 

Dear Fortitude, I regret to inform you that father has been acting oddly again. Seokmin and I suspect that he might be preparing to try another ‘experiment’. Seokmin fears what’s to come if we don’t hear from Soonyoung soon. I take it you haven’t heard from him yourself. I’ve begun to worry for Soonyoung 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 Hansol and his squadron have been stationed near Lord Jun’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 Hansol a punch for me. -Seungkwan 

You think a visit from Hansol 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 Wonwoo and Jun. 

***

You’re in the kitchen with Mina eating fruit when Hansol arrives. 

“He’s here.” Jun tells you, popping his head in the kitchen.

You snap up and look at Jun 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 Hansol is punch him, as hard as Seungkwan 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 Seungkwan.” 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 Hansol, Jun, and Wonwoo have all been properly introduced, the other two give you and Hansol some time to catch up. You take him to the beach for a walk. 

“How long are you staying?” 

Hansol sighs. “Not long. We leave in two days.” 

You sigh as well. “That’s much too soon.” 

“Yes, but in lighter news,” Hansol says, jostling you with his shoulder, “Seungkwan told me you two made peace.” 

“We did.” You hum with a smile. 

And so you continue to walk and talk along the shore. Hansol 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 Jun’s estate. You tell him about jumping from Angel’s Peak and learning how to swim. You tell him about Jun, Wonwoo, Mina, Jennie, Seungcheol, 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 Hansol the specifics. 

Hansol 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 Jun?” 

Your mouth drops, and you look at Hansol 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 Hansol happy as well. “Also, I’ve been meaning to say, but I think it’s about time we fought each other, Captain Hansol.” 

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 Wonwoo 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.” Hansol 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, Hansol laughs. The courtyard is filled with Jun, Wonwoo, Mina, the guards, Hansol’s squadron, the other Knights, and your students all awaiting the match between Captain Hansol, 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. Hansol 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, Hansol 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 Wonwoo, but the thought makes your blood jump with excitement more than anything. 

You circle each other for a second, and when Hansol 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 Hansol 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. Hansol 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 Hansol 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. 

—LORD JUN— “Does that hurt?” Jun asks you, poking at one of the bruises on your stomach that’s already turning purple and blue. You don’t even wince. 

“Not anymore.” You say nonchalantly pulling the end of your shirt back down. It was only minutes ago that you and Hansol were pouncing on each other in the courtyard like wildcats. Hansol was so exhausted after the fight he probably would have passed out there on the grass if Wonwoo hadn’t dragged him back to his room to rest up. You, on the other hand, look as if you’ve only gone on an easy run. Jun walked you to your room expecting you to want to rest, but instead you’re laying on the bed with him looking rather awake. 

“Are you even tired?” He asks. 

You shrug. “About as tired as I am after our swims.”

Jun chuckles. “I suppose another power you wield is the inability to tire then.” 

You hum, pouting your lips. “Does it make you upset when I’m fighting?” 

“No. Should it?” 

“No, it’s just that” you hesitate, “there have been certain men who would take offense when I fought in the past. They found it improper.” Jun snorts, dismissing the notion entirely. You look amused at his response. 

He throws an arm over you. “Actually, it was nice seeing you struggle to win something for once.” 

You roll your eyes. “You should see the other guy.” 

“I did.” Jun says gravely. “And I’m afraid he won’t wake up after that fight.” 

You scoff. “He’ll be fine. Plus,” your voice turns serious, “I actually did struggle to win that fight.” 

Jun looks at you unamused. “Is that a joke?” 

You lift your head from the bed. “What?”  

“The fight didn’t even last five minutes. Hansol barely got in five good punches.” 

“Exactly,” you defend, “that’s the most I’ve struggled in a fight since the Holy Wars.” 

Jun drops his head back on the bed. “You’re unbelievable. I’m taking a nap now, goodnight.” 

You roll him off the bed. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

It’s at dinner with everyone that you tell Hansol all that you’ve remembered in the past months. You tell him about the Holy Wars and Lord Mark’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 Soonyoung the night before he left?” 

You suck in a breath. Had you told him something else? Perhaps whatever else you told Soonyoung 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?” 

“Soonyoung told Seokmin and Seungkwan before he left. Seungkwan told me. We all had questions for you. But Seokmin was always on some eastern campaign, and you and Seungkwan 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 Jun 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 Soonyoung that night?”

You look at Jun. Then Wonwoo. Then Hansol; 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” 

Jun and Wonwoo look at you insanely, almost as insanely as you feel. 

Hansol 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 Jeonghan, 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 Soonyoung.

And somewhere in the midst of recounting everything to Jun, Hansol, and Wonwoo, 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 Soonyoung. Because in your clarity, you see more than you’ve ever seen before. You know how to help Soonyoung 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, Jun, Wonwoo, and Hansol 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 Soonyoung.” 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. “Soonyoung will know.” You add before whispering his name to the Risal and watching the bird disappear into the night sky. 

Hansol 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 Jun. Weaker than after your fight with Hansol. 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, Jun catching you in his arms before you hit the ground completely. You grimace into his shoulder. He says something to Wonwoo 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 Jun’s voice in your ear.

—LORD JUN—

Jun 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. Jun is no stranger to the fog in your mind, but at dinner something was different, off. When you first started telling Jun 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. Jun can’t even remember the last time you requested the migraine medicine from Mina. And more than that, you never seemed to forget what you remembered with Jun. But last night was nothing like what Jun 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. Jun 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. Jun can’t forget how lost you looked in your own mind and how hard you were trying to claw your way out. Jun 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, Jun asks if you’re feeling any better. 

“Not by much.” You groan, dropping your hands on the bed. 

Jun 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 Soonyoung?” You ask once you’ve reached the end. Jun 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 Jun 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 Jun are sitting at the rocks alone. It’s been months since anyone has heard from Soonyoung, 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.  -Soonyoung

“What’s it say?” Jun 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.” 

“Jun.” 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. Soonyoung’s castle is northwest of King’s City, a day's worth of riding with a strong horse. You would ride with Hansol’s squadron to King’s City, and from there you would ride to Soonyoung 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 Jun'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 Jun. 

But you pack your bags instead, send Soonyoung a Risal telling him you’ll arrive at his castle soon. You say goodbye to Jun and Wonwoo that night. You and Hansol would be leaving before they wake. And later that night, you go to Jun’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 JUN—

Jun 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 Hansol’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 Jun’s arm. Only once he’s embracing you in his arms does Jun realize he’s crying. Hansol 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, Jun.” 

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. Jun 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. Jun’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. Jun kisses you. Once. Twice. Again. And over. 

“I’ll come back, Jun.” 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 Jun watches you go, holding your last I love you to his chest.

a/n: i present to you my heart and soul, if you actually read this whole thing wow good for you this fic is way too long for it’s own good but i ended up getting attatched to too many of the plotlines to take anything more out. fun fact, this was actually an original work that I took some stuff out of and converted into a fic. there’s definitely more to come in this story but idk if i’ll ever get around to actually writing it. I just want to share that I’ve been sitting on this wip/world for literally a year now, and if anyone remembers that random soonyoung drabble that i posted last year it’s the same world as this okay bye

[dearjamesxo]

[drabble under cut]

They’re on their way to wish Bea luck when it happens.

Billy, Spike and Jessie trudge against the midafternoon crowd, Spike boasting a story from his childhood – no doubt exaggerated to the moon to impress Jessie. Billy listens with half an ear, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes on the ground. He doesn’t react when someone bumps into him.

“He’s in a mood,” Jessie teases to Spike when Spike tries, for the fourth time, to include Billy in the conversation.

Spike snorts, “I can see that. Which is why I’m trying to cheer ‘im up.” He sidles into Billy’s space, claps a friendly hand on Billy’s shoulder and asks, “Come on, mate, who shoved that monumental stick up your arse?”

Billy’s jaw twitches. He tucks his chin into his chest and hunches further into himself, hoping to relay how much he doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Is it the whole we’re not good enough tripe?” Spike questions, rolling a hand in the air to encompass the tripe he’s referring to. “Because the way I look at it, we got lucky. Who wants to go to a stuffy old ball anyway?” Spike’s tone suggests he does, but Billy refrains from pointing it out, “Let Bea and the good doctor go and deal with all that crap, while we—” He leans back and grins across the breadth of Billy’s shoulders, winks at Jessie, “—get to enjoy ourselves!”

Billy doesn’t respond, simply shrugs and keeps his pace, his shoulder colliding with another man’s. Again, Billy doesn’t even seem to register that the man told him to, watch where yer goin’!

Yes, Billy’s in a mood, definitely, but it doesn’t have anything to do with Bea or Watson or the ball Spike mentioned. In fact, it was Billy’s idea to go find Bea before Watson collects her at Mrs. Smith’s shoppe.

As usual, Watson’s swanning Bea off to perform for another investigation, some undercover business that apparently, “Only Beatrice has the maturity and patience to pull off,” thanks for the confidence, “the rest of you will merely serve to attract unwanted attention.” As if Bea done up like a gateau de savoie won't attract attention. Although Bea has learned to carry herself less woodenly than she did, she isn't exactly graceful when laced into a gown. Jessie's the better candidate, equipped with supernatural powers to boot, but Watson's mind was made up. Besides, Billy's noticed that he and Bea have some sort of connection; they seem to get each other in a way that leaves everyone else behind.

Howbeit, Watson’s condescending remark isn’t what gets Billy’s dander up either. That honor goes to His Royal Highness, Prince I-Have-To-Escort-Helena. Not that Billy wants to go through the trouble of pampering and primping for a ball he’s sure he’ll hate every minute of. But Leo could’ve at least had the courtesy to pretend he was regretful, since he already has so much experience pretending to be something he isn’t.

Billy scowls at his shoes, kicks a pebble harder than he means to. He ducks his head and picks up his pace when he hears a strangled yelp and sees, from the corner of his eye, a man clasp his ankle and hop on one foot.

Oops.

It’s then that the short hairs at the back of his neck rise, his scalp tingles, the sensation of being watched shivering up Billy's spine. He lifts his chin and, immediately, his gaze is drawn to the end of the street.

“Isn’t that—?” Jessie starts, tugging Billy’s wrist to get his attention. Then, much quieter, under her breath, “Oh,” as if she's figured something out.

Billy yanks his wrist out of her light grasp and squares his shoulders, ignorant of the utterly baffled Spike sends Jessie behind his back. “Wait here,” he gruffs and stalks toward the end of the street. Or more precisely, toward who lingers there.

“We’ll meet you!” Spike calls after him and wraps an arm around Jessie. She tries to resist, head craning, but Spike guides her down the cross street in the direction of Mrs. Smith’s shoppe.

Like a wolf preparing to lunge, Billy stalks toward Leo, expression hard and fists clenched. Leo returns the sentiment with a rigid, neutral set to his features, stare unwavering. Billy inwardly chastises himself for the heat of desire that rushes through him upon seeing Leo. No matter how pissed he is with the prince, Billy can never deny how attractive Leo is like this, all lofty courage and attitude, golden against the smutty backdrop of the Marylebone rookery. God, Billy wants to strip Leo of his finery, fuck him until he remembers who he really belongs to. And it isn't, Billy thinks in a possessive growl, Helena.

Theirs will never be a public romance, a reality Billy understood from the start, only it didn't feel so impossibly cruel until the moment Leo casually mentioned he would be attending the very ball Bea and Watson would with Helena on his arm. As if he wasn't lounging between Billy's legs, his back to Billy's chest, his fingers laced with Billy's. It never ceases to amaze Billy how terrible Leo is at reading a room because Jessie's discomfited expression alone should've been a clue that something wasn't right. Even so, Billy kept his mouth shut because he's supposed to be fine with it, isn't he?

Easier said than done, Billy knows now.

As much as they - Billy and Leo and Leo and Helena - have an agreement, it still cuts deep when Billy has to step aside so Leo can appease his mother by flaunting the person society deems Leo's best match.

“What’re you doing here?” Billy demands to know the instant he’s within earshot.

Leo flinches slightly, then musters the confidence to say, “I’d like to have a word.”

“With your side piece?” Billy mocks disbelief, “I’ll bet.”

“Billy, please, if you would just listen—”

Billy’s in front of Leo now, standing at the closeness he’s grown accustomed to since he and Leo became he and Leo. He didn’t mean to narrow the distance so quickly, wants to hold on to the anger because it’s easier, except that to put himself anywhere else in Leo’s orbit feels intrinsically wrong.

“Better make it quick, your highness,” Billy sneers, “I’m sure your lady doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“For goodness’ sake,” Leo erupts through gritted teeth, though his tone maintains a respectable volume as propriety demands, “I’m not going.”

This stops Billy's mounting rage in its tracks, all at once replaced with a confusion that shows itself on Billy's face. A simple “What?” tumbles out of his mouth as he frowns at Leo as if Leo told him the sky is actually green.

“I’m not going.” Leo repeats.

Billy grabs Leo by the upper arm and drags him out of the middle of the crowded street, into a narrow lane that separates the butcher’s and an Indian-owned tearoom. Leo doesn’t resist, allows Billy to manhandle him, and stops moving altogether when Billy pushes him against the brick wall just inside the lane. Suddenly, Billy’s flooded with concern.

“What happened?” Because it has to be something awful if Leo can shirk his responsibility for the evening. “Is Helena alright?”

Leo’s brows furrow, eyes flickering between Billy’s, down to hover on Billy’s mouth before they slip to the ground where they remain. He huffs a humorless laugh, “Helena’s fine, you massive boor.” and slumps against the wall Billy has him pinned to by the shoulders, defeat obvious in his posture.

“Then what—?”

“It’s you!”

Well, that can't be right. Leo's never missed an engagement his mother's insisted upon for Billy in the weeks they've been, well, them. Billy has to make sure, “Me?”

Gesturing helplessly with one hand, Leo explains, “How can I go and act as though I care about anything my mother’s contemporaries have to say when all I can think about is you, here, upset with me?” A tiny smile curls Billy’s mouth, “I love you, you idiot.” Leo says as though he's said it a thousand times - he hasn't, this is the first and Leo doesn't appear to notice he's shared such an important declaration in the middle of a rant. Billy wants to say it back all the more for it. “Helena made a fuss when I told her, practically pushed me out the window so I would come find you.”

Floating on a wave of giddiness, assuaged by Leo's words, Billy remembers how much he likes Helena. Helena who has her Henrik in Münster and swore not to intrude on Leo's relationship with Billy as long as Leo issues her the same respect.

Billy leans in and places his forehead against Leo’s, hands sliding from Leo’s shoulders to cradle Leo’s jaw, resting the pads of his thumbs gently at the corners of Leo’s mouth. A small chuckle escapes him, unable to contain it, and Billy shuffles forward to press their bodies flush from waist to hips to knees, fondly brushes the tips of their noses, then tilts his head and captures Leo’s lips in a sweet yet hot-hungry kiss.

When he pulls back, he wonders, “Or maybe it’s Helena I should be thanking?” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, smiling playfully, “Should I be kissing her instead?”

Eyes in grumpy, feline slits, Leo protests, “Don’t you dare.”

“Mm, you’re right, she’s really not my type.”

Abruptly, Billy untangles himself from Leo, bends enough to grab Leo by the back of the thighs and lifts. Leo cries out shrilly, startled, the action forcing his legs to wrap around Billy’s waist and his arms to lock around Billy’s neck. Cackling, Billy pins Leo with his body, his fingers kneading the sensitive flesh just below Leo’s arse, eliciting a moan that he swallows greedily.

“Is this really the appropriate time?” Leo pants, throwing his head back when Billy grinds their hips together, making them both groan.

“Not even a little bit.”

As Billy leans in for another kiss, Leo interrupts by putting two fingers to Billy's lips. “Perhaps,” He says, voice pitched suggestively, “We should take this elsewhere,” Here, Leo kitten licks Billy’s parted lips, darts his tongue into Billy's mouth quickly, moves on to dot Billy’s jaw with a trail of dry kisses. He reaches Billy's ear and continues in a whisper, “Somewhere you can spread me open,” A nip to Billy’s earlobe, “And show me what happens when I upset you?”

Billy's cock twitches in interest. He takes in Leo’s pink cheeks and glassy, blown eyes, decides, “Sounds like a marvelous idea.”

In a swift sequence of motions, Billy drops Leo to his feet, carefully repositions him, crouches, and then hoists Leo over his shoulder. Spike was right, Billy grins, patting the swell of one of Leo's arse cheeks in victory, who wants to go to a stuffy old ball, anyway?

[whumpeeblog]

TW: Slavery, Torture Mention, Death Mention, Pain, etc.

K, away on a decently long journey with A, chose to let N look after his estate and slaves for a period.

S shivered in her cell, sore from a recent beating. The vase had crashed with a menacing promise of punishment. But it had been an accident. Not only had the whip sliced her back, but the blades of knives and the threatening chokes of torture had harmed her feeble body. Weakened from the pain, S’s brain played pranks of mirages and lethargic daydreams.

Footsteps outside her cell. No. Please no. She had been certain that K was on a journey and she just wanted to be left to suffer alone. Perhaps it was a trick and now he would torture her again. Jingling keys toyed with the brass lock, and flickering light, too bright compared to the heavy darkness, crept into the cell.

K had instructed N, a close friend and distant relative, as to what each individual slave and prisoner would get for meals and work, as well as for torture. Burning hatred of cruelty towards any living creature stabbed at his heart. K had demanded the torture and work of the wretch in this cell, however, and he had to follow orders.

K had assumed S was too mangled to be recognized, and she knew the rules of speaking out of turn. N would never know it was her. He hadn’t seen her in nearly three years, and her rebellious spirit ran much more wild then.

Soft light dripped onto the figure shaking like a leaf in the corner of her cell. She was unrecognizable to him, just another slave. K had destroyed her, breaking her into something she was never meant to be.

N stepped into the cell, keys ringing in his fingers and a lit torch in the other. He set the flaming stick into a holder in the wall, then took another step. With each thump of his leather boots against the floor, the pain filled whimpers and sobs of the captive grew more desperate.

N crouched closer, and the girl sunk herself further into the wall, gritting her teeth to keep from crying out in pain.

Hardly a face, covered in bruises and crimson gashes, hung towards the floor. A mangled, broken body melted its way into the stone walls behind it. Muffled wails quietly rung in the dungeon.

N knelt towards the girl, preparing to lift her off of the floor. As his lean figure came nearer, S’s whimpers became more and more horrified.

S’s heart ached to scream for mercy, but there were punishments for that. She remained as silent as possible while failing to hide her trembling tears.

N’s kind heart stung for the child on the floor, her form crushed and shattered by her master. The last thing N wished was to hurt this poor creature, and the last thing she wanted was for him to touch her.

Gentle fingers softly caressed the abused face, feeling the pale skin shiver in fear beneath them.

“Look at me,” N whispered. Something about this prisoner was familiar.

S’s ivy eyes rose hesitantly, but the moment they struck N, his own eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

Those eyes were familiar. He had seen the tortured face many times before, but... it wasn’t possible. K had murdered her years ago. She had been tortured, then her head cut off, or at least, that’s what everyone had been led to believe. Couldn’t be. She was dead.

Dew drops clung to the long lashes that framed the eyes staring into his soul.

“S?”

The syllables startled the wretch and she grimaced and pinned herself even harder against the wall. All she wished was to hide away, to be ignored.

N’s soul broke with the realization that she didn’t remember him just yet. This had to be her, and he couldn’t hurt her, no matter what K threatened.

“Child, I’m not going to hurt you.” N cautiously brushed through her matted hair with his fingers in an attempt to gain trust.

S gradually recognized the man. N. The last time she had seen him failed to reappear in her mind. Perhaps he had changed. Surely this was a trap. Either way, K would return and N would give him a report on her, so she best remember her place.

Chains rattled as N removed the rusty collar tethering S to the wall. The chains connecting her ankles dropped. Tears fell throughout the entire process and she internally begged N not to hurt her.

She must obey him, and prove that she was a good slave, to avoid more pain. He couldn’t possibly be the same N who saved her life five years ago, or the same man who convinced D not to hurt her countless times.

A soft jolt singed S’s cut covered body, and whines escaped her as N lifted her body into his arms. Even his soft skin sent agonizing torment through her when he touched any of her wounds.

“Shh..” N cooed, almost fooling the girl with his gentle tone and soft eyes.

Whatever he was going to do to her, it would end in pain. He was just like K now, S was sure of it. K had been soft with her at times too, but he always seemed to run back to the realization of what a lowly wretch she was. She deserved the pain. She would beg for punishment, then perhaps N would tell K what a good prisoner she had been.

Although N attempted his best to lightly carry the girl, each step threw painful pressure on S’s injuries. She groaned. Groans transformed into sobs.

N couldn’t handle seeing the child in such torment. He set her down against a wall, then used his knowledge of the human body to provoke a pressure point, sending S into unconsciousness.

Unfamiliar sheets burned against bloodied skin as S shifted in her ending sleep. Eyes flushed open in shock. Green pupils stared into the crinkling brown ones above her, almost immediately shifting back down.

Oh god I made eye contact. I should ask for punishment. If I do, he won’t tell K and he’ll know I didn’t mean to. But if I talk, he’ll punish me.

The grieving child flinched in preparation for the sting that never came. Her skin jolted when tender fingers dragged themselves through her damp- wait damp?

Puzzled, S’s hand shakily lifted to slip through her slick roots. Had he- bathed her? Surely he must know she didn’t deserve such generosity. The sore wounds had been wrapped and cleansed as well. This tactic was familiar to her. He would show her mock kindness, healing her wounds, only to torture her again when her body was strong enough.

What if K hadn’t actually left, and he had simply sold her? This was a different castle after all... actually... she knew this place. D’s castle. These walls had distanced themselves for three years. And now she was back. The memory of her first visit haunted her. Her body flung to the floor. Her defiant screams of fear and pain. Before K broke her. Before she became what she was meant to be.

N’s words interrupted her thoughts.

“How are we feeling, lass?”

“Better, Master. Thank you. I don’t deserve your kindness.” The raspy voice barely croaked.

His tone tricked S into almost believing he wasn’t angry for the unwanted eye contact. Surely she wouldn’t remain unpunished.

“Dinna think ye were still alive after all these years. K w’d have us believe he’d tortured ya and killed ye. I can see he’s had his fair share of fun wit ya, hasn’t he?”

N’s velvet voice calmed S and she nodded, a saltwater drop searing a gash on her cheek. N’s hand drove towards her face, and his thumb wiped her tears as his palm cupped her trembling cheek.

“Hush, darling.”

“I’m sorry, Master. Forgive me. It’s not my place to cry.”

“No, no, you’re alright,” N cooed.

“I should be punished, sir. Please. I shouldn’t have cried before and I shouldn’t now. Please discipline me and teach me my place,” S’s whines for authority grew frantic. She had to be taught. If she wasn’t, she would forget what she was. They would have to break her all over again.

“No, love. Hush now.”

N grappled a chilly wet cloth. Frosty shudders danced through S when N dabbed her forehead with the rag. Her voice broke into a moaning tremor. All she wanted was to be punished. Sparing the pain now would create more torture later. Disdain blended with agony laced her high pitched whimpers when N’s soft hand guided the cloth against her face.

“I’ll make us supper. What’d ya like, lass?”

Utter confusion clogged S’s brain. He couldn’t have just asked her that. It must be a trap. She wasn’t allowed to eat unless specifically ordered to, hence the ribs that popped out with every intake of breath. She was merely a skeleton, hidden beneath a paper thin blanket of marred skin. S’s stomach was only given barely enough sustenance to pump her heart for a bit longer each day.

The few times that she had attempted to sneak food, S had been punished mercilessly, then given the opportunity to eat as a test of obedience. This must be another quiz of compliance. Although the punches of starvation beat her insides, S understood that the pain resulting from gluttony would be much worse.

Her new master’s patient gaze saturated her with concern.

“What do you want to eat, girl?”

“I’m ok, Master. I don’t eat a lot.”

That’s it. Perhaps he was testing her to see how much she required to continue breathing. If she showed she didn’t eat a lot or need much to survive, he would let her live. If she didn’t take much from him, he would keep her alive and let her serve him.

N stared through her pale body sorrowfully, a pang of guilt and pity trampling him like the wheels of a speeding train. The poor child. Someone had to help her. What had K done to her? What had become of his little lass? Where was the defiant young child who would have fought tirelessly for her innocent life? Was she dead, or was she simply hiding behind a submissive mask of the years of torture she had been subjected to? Patience for K was thinning. S belonged to him though. There was nothing to be done except show mercy to the captive while she was under his care.

K had ordered her torture when she was healed enough. N refused. Even if he did antagonize her, who knew how long her frail body could handle it?

“Come along, lass,” N softly demanded, whispering so as not to startle the girl. He gently settled his arm around S’s back, and she whimpered when his skin brushed against her freshly bandaged tissue. His strength assisted in hoisting her body upright, then he placed out both of his arms for S to use as leverage.

The hint wasn’t immediately taken.

“Place your hands on my forearms.”

Finally, an instruction. S’s sliced wrists snaked onto N’s tan arms, and with a groan, she lifted herself to stand.

“Go wait in the kitchen for me.”

S lowered her head and obeyed the order, limping out the door and down the halls. As she leaned against the walls for support, her delirious brain began to recognize the place. She had not seen these walls in forever, but they remained the same as they were two years ago. Her suffering body hobbled past K’s old suite, as well as D’s, and the years of torment came thrashing back. Pushing the tears in her mind aside, S slowly tripped down the stairs and into the main kitchen. The layout was similar, if not almost identical, to the entertainment, living, and kitchen area of K’s home.

Rather than hop towards the fridge and pick out a meal, S launched herself to her knees, and waited, head down and body prepared for any punishment or mere entertainment N wanted. The impending footsteps thumped down the staircase.

“What’re ye doing?” N’s bewilderment intertwined into his tone. “Git yerself up off da floor.”

S clamored to stand as tall as her crackling spine would allow her, but a slight slump in her body bent her like a weathered tree. Her right hand crossed in front of her to grasp her left wrist, a sign of submission and preparedness to be bound, if her master saw fit. Her head sank. She was do careful not to look her superiors in the eye. If she proved she was a good slave, maybe N would let her live, or at least make her death quick and painless.

Whether N’s intentions were to execute or torture S hid themselves. She had skimmed kindness and humaneness in his amber gaze, but she had witnessed the same thing from K before. He had shown her leniency many times, and she had even seen a tear shed once or twice, but he always ended up afflicting her again. She couldn’t trust those eyes, regardless of how promising and honest they seemed. Proving her worth would save her life, so she thought. She was a terrible slave. A wretch. An enemy who had been shown mercy. She deserved whatever awaited her in the dungeons; whatever waited behind N’s reassuring hand.

[floggingink]

OH HERE WE GO LADIES IT’S RIVERDALE, CHAPTER EIGHTY: “Purgatorio”

I’m tuning in to be VERY entertained on the grounds that I missed almost the entirety of S4 and will not understand anything

we open with an incredible analogue comparing the football team to the Army, as men do construct rituals: football players get blown into the sky, etc., in a heartrending mash-up of Archie’s innocence + the American ideal/expectations/pipeline of masculinity

Archie Company is decked out appropriately to storm Hürtgen Forest

that art direction trope where a character’s hearing goes EEEEEEEEEEEEEE after an explosion……...delightful

the Vixens and friends cheering him on from the sidelines as if Archie can only process his unprocessable present through the lens of his past………...hits the spot

distressingly wood-based rifles for our purposes

Archie > Dawson: I don’t mind telling you I felt emotion upon Archie hoisting his war buddy over his shoulders to that quadruple-toned “Chivalric Archie Using His Strength for Good” tune, like when he broke his whole hand busting Cheryl out of Sweetwater River

WHEN HE SAW HIRAM LODGE, I’M TELLING YOU! 

Hiram’s dragon-scale gloves? absolutely savory; he would

“Yonkers” is one of those New York place names I don’t totally buy is real (Poughkeepsie is another)

the sepia-toned light in this hospital room rings true judging by all the Captain America fanfiction I’ve read; I also like the mint-colored hand towels draped on Archie’s bedframe bought, one assumes, using the Department of Defense’s Kohl’s Cash

Archie made Sergeant, which is the best ranking for a fictional character: important enough that they can be a leader, get into trouble; low-profile enough that you don’t have to write them in the room making terrible decisions; probably won’t die immediately, as a Captain or Private might be

Fifth period is AP English: Archie reads A Farewell to Arms to Corporal Jackson, a WWI novel by Hemingway that Jug definitely turned him onto

Christ, Archie looks good in that on-leave jacket thing

I like Jackson’s subtle graph paper-print hospital gown

Gay?!: was Jackson in love with Archie? is he gonna bus to Riverdale once he’s off his pain meds? RAS, is that you in there?

God you know I love that haunted-ass Exorcist wooden bench bus light lighting

how long has the WW been relocated under Pop’s??? I do NOT know what happened to La Bonne Nuit

Sexy, aesthetic Southside: Fangs’ hair? his Tony Stark glasses? the girls’ “I’m a Slave 4 U” Burmese pythons? Toni’s headdress and immaculate glossed lip? 

Sixth period is Intro to Film: the only part of From Dusk till Dawn I’ve seen is Salma Hayek putting her toe in Quentin Tarantino’s mouth but judging from that I figure I’d like the rest 

The female gaze: Jesus Sweet Pea still looks good

Toni’s stage is flanked by twin pillars of melting candles and I would like someone to track those down for my bathroom

if they lay one hand on Pop Tate…

Betty appears to be, on her own, running the FBI training course. Betty is such a freak

Betty’s FBI-appointed psychologist is “Dr. Starling,” wears a great yellow blouse; Betty eats what appears to be a mini-sized Milky Way

her blond FBI trainer-boyfriend (uh) Glen appears to be an unholy fusion of Jimmi Simpson and that one actor with brown hair and really sharp light eyes whose acting credits I can’t think of right now, you know who I’m talking about (not the guy from Vampire Diaries)

I quite like her patterned blouse and I hate his yellow (gold?!) and blue tie

Please protect Betty: obviously we stan the Silence of the Lambs shit even as it remains infuriating Bryan Fuller couldn’t get his hands in it

Betty’s cat’s crying was so disturbingly baby-like that I had to leave the room once I realized it was in fact a cat

I’ve watched the Elisa Lam tape too many times in recent hours to handle this hallway shot

REALLY GROSS LICKING NOISES

the Trash Bag Killer coming at her was scary :(

Betty’s lovely blue knit cardi with the puffed sleeves!

50 Shades of Betty: clearing her throat before the doctor quite finishes her sentence—Lili Reinhart continues to be great at conveying “slightly perturbing subterranean tension”

was Charles a serial killer too??? oh damn!

Betty has been successfully holding off giving Glen a key to her place until now, an era that must come to a close

fellas, “Do I at least get a kiss?” is a bad move

Veronica was rich: Veronica’s new digs: exposed brick, bougiely avant-garde chandelier; possibly an elevator door right there behind the dude?

Veronica has married Hiram, to no one’s surprise

Chadwick looks like Jimmi Simpson and brunet Evan Peters plus a jaw

Veronica’s single-puffled-sleeved gown…..madamn (she has absolutely been taking secret birth control pills)

Summer + Blair = Veronica: of course Veronica would be great at Howard Ratner’s job; I MUST know what “specialty showcase haute couture offense” Vinnie has committed

T-Dubbs’ green jacket

Veronica pretended she was working at like, a department store? but she MISSED the EDGE post-day-trading

their apartment is so expensive that their bedroom is totally exposed

oh my god, Hermione

Best costume bit: please get me these satiny green high-waisted slacks?! and ugh her blouse has shoulder tassels……..she’s flourishing

“That’s threatening to an alpha like Chad.”

yes, they have a private elevator. fine.

Glen and Chad get their ties from the same Men’s Warehouse

“When that helicopter went down on the way to Martha’s Vineyard…”

you know kissing is 4-real when one person cups their hand to the back of the other person’s neck all close

I don’t understand the drop of the Glamergé egg but I appreciate that there is one and that Veronica is like, get this the fuck out of my house

Veronica’s shiny cropped tweed two-piece, Yvonne’s weird feathery coat that matches her bf’s shirt (you know she’s supposed to be “too much” because she’s got big hoop earrings)

God, Jughead is next and I’m not gonna be able to handle it

OH GOD IT’S SO MUCH WORSE THAN I THOUGHT

Alphabet City?! the piano?? the fucking East Coast Beat typewriter shit—the day robe? I’m—READING CLUBMASTERS? FORSYTHE???

OH GOD HE’S DATING ANOTHER WRITER (she has nice pants)

Jughead eats: “that place you like” is a HOT DOG STAND in the middle of SOME GRASS

I’ve seen Brick like thirty times: Jughead wears high-ankle light blue jeans, grey socks, and spectators that blend to create the illusion of wading boots. I’m going to commit a crime

Jughead doubts it: “So did Kerouac. And Hemingway. And Fitzgerald.” 

fuck yes I love Floundering Jughead, and his Pushy Agent who pronounces “career” like “Korea,” and the continuing tradition of Jughead getting kicked out of his house

I like Literary Grifter’s sweater

the Brat Pack, and most of the Rat Pack for that matter, were actors, but I assume RAS couldn’t resist the rhyme 

I was 100% afraid we were about to learn Cora was an uncomfortably-young undergrad

the musical cue as she reaches into her bag is absolutely as if she’s taking out a gun, and it might as well be! it’s the scariest thing in NYC: an unpublished manuscript

showrunners doing a classic I Love Lucy job partially concealing Vanessa Morgan’s pregnancy via medium close-ups, draping black clothes

Cheryl slowly turning to ask if doesn’t she look okay 10/10 icon

Cheryl’s pins: she has either a tiny spider or maybe a tick

Cheryl’s sheaths: the lacy red thing, amazing

why is Cheryl’s left hand gloved?

Cheryl’s a chaos angel from hell: Cheryl’s going to forge a Rembrandt, which unfortunately means she’s my favorite person on the planet (she does not look happy about doing this)

btw is Nana Rose an Immortal?

please tell me about Toni’s eyelashes

EXTREMELY HAUNTED DOLL?!

“Damn good coffee”: Archie’s earnest “Where are people gonna sit for the bus?” slayed me

fuck YEAH Ghoulies party house! terrible music but really good skull spray paint art

Jug looks LOW lol

Veronica’s blouse + buttons, impeccable

I’m writing a scene where it’s gay.: Tabitha/Squeaky

the hellscape semi’s red backlighting and its skeleton’s red eyes

I like Linette’s glossy bomber!

the trucker who’s about to kill her can’t also be the Trash Bag Killer….truckers have to stick to too much of a schedule….but he could be Betty’s meandering serial

I loved this episode

NEXT WEEK: Archie brings the FBI down on some people paying their rent :(

[teenwolffanclub-me]

Season 1, Episode 1: Wolf Moon (Part Two)

Hey there beautiful reader! If you’re new here, this is a series I’m writing where each chapter is an episode from the first season of Teen Wolf. If you’ve been here before, hey! I missed you! Previous and future chapters are linked at the end of each part if you want to catch up.

Pairing: Stiles x Psychic! Reader (eventually)

P.S. Stiles and Y/N finally talk! Yay! 

                                              ————————

I nearly jumped out of moms car as she skidded to a stop outside Beacon Hills High School. Somehow, I was late on my first day. Not a good first impression. She started her new job at the hospital today, too, but she didn’t have to be in until around noon.

“Good luck honey!” She called out and I sent a dismissive wave over my shoulder.

I slammed the passenger door shut and walked briskly toward the school. I was supposed to meet the principal out here for some reason, so I found a bench to sit on while I waited. I plopped down and immediately noticed a girl sitting on the bench across from me, talking on the phone. She had long dark hair that fell over her shoulders in loose waves and dark brown eyes. She looked tall and slender as she crossed her legs and ruffled through the beige bag beside her.

“Mom, a call on my first day is a little overdoing it.” She huffed and continued searching in her purse. “Everything but a pen. Oh, my God. I didn’t actually forget a pen. Okay. I gotta go. Love ya.”

Just then, a man wearing a grey suit approached us. He stopped in front of her and smiled politely at us both.

“Sorry for the wait.” He greeted.

I stood and slowly made my way toward both of them, assuming that she was another new student getting a chauffeur to her first class, too. She pulled her sleeves over her hands and sent me a timid smile. I returned the favor.

“Allison, meet Y/N. Y/N, Allison.” The man started walking and we followed silently. “So, you were saying San Francisco isn’t where you grew up?”

I figured he was talking to Allison since I’ve never lived in San Francisco nor spoken to him before.

“No, but we lived there for more than a year. Which is unusual for my family.”

That piqued my interest.  

“Y/N, I take it you recently moved here as well?” The principal’s eyes met mine and I nodded. 

“We move a lot, too.” Allison looked relieved not to be the only one and I had to admit that I was glad too. It was nice to know someone who could relate to my weird upbringing, even if we didn’t end up being friends. 

“Well, hopefully Beacon Hills will be both of your last stops for awhile.” Our tour guide said cheerfully with a grin.

He led us into the school and through the halls casually. They were empty since we were late, and everyone was in class already. I glanced around, noting that it looked utterly normal. Normal was good. Normal was safe. Despite that revelation, my heart rate picked up and I wiped my sticky palms on my jeans. I always hated starting over. It made me incredibly nervous every time.

The principal made a right turn and opened a wooden classroom door. He stepped inside and both Allison and I followed. We must have the same first period. She looked even more nervous than I felt. She was constantly fidgeting with her hands and wasn’t making eye contact with anyone as we stood before the class. I, on the other hand, let my gaze sweep over the room as he introduced us.

“Class, these are our new students, Allison Argent and Y/N Y/L/N. Please do your best to make them feel welcome.”

He left quickly, leaving us to find empty seats. Allison instantly started walking toward the back of the room, probably not wanting to be the center of attention anymore, but I hesitated as I caught sight of two familiar people. It took me a second, since I’d only seen them in the dark, but those two boys were definitely the same ones from last night.

The one with shaggy hair, Scott, was staring at Allison with a small, dopey smile. His friend with the buzzed hair was glaring at the back of his head, as if he could sense that he was thinking something stupid. He, once again, was wearing too many layers. He wore a t-shirt, a grey zip-up hoodie, and a black jacket. I figured it must just be a style choice. 

I forced my legs to move when I noticed that Allison was already sliding into the chair behind Scott. I made my way to the only other free desk, which was a row over behind his friend. Once I was seated, I let my bag fall to the floor beside me and tried to relax. That had been pretty painless.

I fished inside my bag for a pencil and watched as Scott turned to Allison. He handed her a pen and she took it with a quiet, “thanks”. My brows furrowed. How did he know she needed a pen? She’d said she forgot one while outside, but she had barely just sat down. He had no way of knowing.

“We’ll begin with Kafka’s Metamorphosis on page 133.” The teacher announced, and my attention snapped back to the front of the room.

Well, that was weird.

                                                  ————————

The bell rang to dismiss us for the day and I rose to my feet quickly. My first day hadn’t been awful. I’d chatted with a few classmates and hadn’t felt too lost in my classes. Sometimes it was hard moving from place to place, because not every state teaches on the same schedule. 

I glanced down at the piece of paper I’d written my locker number and combination on and made my way toward it. It was only when I started dialing in the numbers that I noticed Allison was standing beside me at her own locker. 

“Following me?” I joked, and she laughed lightly.

“Hey, us new kids have to stick together, right?” She flicked her hair over her shoulder and concentrated on opening her lock.

She popped it open and glanced across the hall. I followed her gaze and rolled my eyes when I saw that Scott was staring dreamily at her. He was leaning against his own locker, looking like a lost puppy. She sent him a timid smile in return and turned back toward me. 

A sudden voice from behind had us both turning around. “That jacket is absolutely killer.”

The compliment had come from a petit girl with strawberry blonde hair and an outfit to die for. She was wearing a red, white, and blue plaid mini skirt with a royal blue sweater tucked inside. Her beautiful green eyes were expertly framed by subtle makeup. She looked more like a model than a high school student.

“Where’d you get it?” She prodded when Allison didn’t respond right away. 

She hesitated for another moment. “My mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco.”

The girl’s gaze moved in my direction and she looked me up and down. I prepared myself for the worst but was surprised when her eyes lit up in excitement.

“Those shoes!” She gasped. I looked down at my ankle boots then back up to her. “Is your mom a fashion buyer too?”

“No,” I chuckled, relieved that she was actually being nice to me. I didn’t have a great track record with the popular crowd. “She’s a nurse.” 

“And...you are my new best friends.” She smirked as Allison and I shared a quick, uncertain glance. This girl was nice, sure, but also a bit over the top for my liking.  

Just then, a guy walked up and put his arm around our “new best friend”, who I realized still hadn’t formally introduced herself.

“Hey, Jackson.” They shared a brief kiss before both of their gazes were on us again. Well, at least I know his name.

He was admittedly a very attractive guy. His blond hair was short and spiked at his forehead, and he was clearly muscular beneath his thin t-shirt and plaid button up. He even had a strong jaw and striking turquoise eyes, to boot.

“So, this weekend there’s a party.” The girl crossed her arms and leaned back against Jackson’s chest.

“A party?” Allison echoed with a swallow.

“Yeah, Friday night. You should come.” Jackson chimed in, smirking devilishly.

“Oh, I can’t. It’s family night this Friday. Thanks for asking.” She quickly brushed them off. It was clear that she was lying. To me, at least.

All of their eyes moved in my direction and I glanced between them as I weighed my options.

“Sure. I’m in.” I shrugged.

I had never been a big partier, but it wouldn’t hurt to socialize a little. I’d never been invited to something on my first day at a new school, so I took it as a good sign. I wanted to make friends here. I wanted normalcy. And fun. 

“We have tryouts in a few minutes.” Jackson suddenly announced. It took me a moment to realize that he was inviting us to watch. “That is, if you don’t have anything else...”

“Well, I was going to...”

“I actually have...”

We were both cut off as the girl gripped each of our wrists lightly.

“Perfect.” She smirked and urged us with her eyes to comply. “You’re coming.”

                                                ———————

I took a seat next to Allison and Lydia—yes, I finally asked her name—in the stands, rubbing my hands together against the chilly late afternoon air. I was slightly surprised to learn that we’d be watching lacrosse. I just assumed the tryouts would be for football.

I watched as Allison and Scott stared at each other from across the field very obviously and wondered what their deal was. It was almost like they had a history or something.

“Who’s that?” She suddenly asked, her eyes still on him.

“Him? I’m not sure who he is. Why?” Lydia’s tone was slightly judgmental, giving her feelings away easily. She clearly didn’t like to associate with anyone outside her clique. 

“He’s in my English class.” Allison muttered, seemingly embarrassed to have asked.

I saw him cock his head to the side out on the field, almost as if he could hear us. I narrowed my eyes as the coach blew his whistle and Scott covered his ears like it physically hurt him.

“His name is Scott.” I said without thinking about how I shouldn’t know that.

Both girls looked at me in question and I shrugged with a sheepish smile. “I’m observant.”

They easily accepted my answer and turned their attention back to the tryouts. I winced as the poor guy took a ball to the face. After that one hit, he did surprisingly well. He caught each pass that came his way without effort. After Scott caught another round of balls, Jackson shoved his way to the front of the line, looking pissed off.

He threw as hard as he could, jumping a couple feet in the air as his body twisted from the force of it. We all watched with baited breath as the ball flung toward Scott. The stands erupted into cheers the second he caught it. His friend with the buzzed hair jumped up and waved his hands excitedly. Even Lydia stood to clap her hands.

“That’s my friend!” The guy shouted. Jeez, I really need to learn his name already.

Lydia cheered again and sent Jackson a pointed look. It was as if she were scolding him from afar and saying, “I’m only dating you because you’re the best player, so shape up.” He glared back, his nostrils flaring in anger.

                                                   —————————

“I made a complete and total fool of myself.”

I rolled my eyes and shut my locker with a quiet click. Allison was freaking out over nothing.

“He asked to you to go to the party with him.” I reassured her, leaning against the cool metal while I waited for her to gather her things. She had graciously offered me a ride home from school since my mom was working until late tonight.

“Probably out of pity or something.” She sighed and shut her locker.

She was nervous that she had scared Scott off after rushing into the animal clinic last night with a dog she’d somehow run over. Clearly, it was fine. Despite her “utter hysterics” as she called them, he’d invited her to the party this weekend. That was a good thing. It meant he didn’t care that she was an over emotional dog-hitter.

Speaking of Scott, we were quickly approaching where he stood at his locker. We were still at the end of the now empty hall when Jackson walked up and harshly slammed the metal door shut. On instinct, I grabbed Allison’s arm and dragged her into a nearby classroom.

I moved my head into the hall just enough to see them. She looked at me like I was crazy until I pointed in their direction. She seemed to catch on and ducked down beside me.

“Alright, little man.” Jackson huffed, invading Scott’s personal space. “How about you tell me where you’re getting your juice?”

“Juice?” Allison murmured, and I shushed her. 

“What?” Scott sounded breathless.

“Where are you getting your juice?” Jackson enunciated each word, as if dumbing it down for him to understand.

He hesitated for a long moment. “My mom does all the grocery shopping.”

I had to slap a hand over my mouth to keep my giggle from outing us. I mean, come on. That was so dumb. Allison glared at me for laughing at her crush, but I saw her lips twitching as she fought a smile.

“Now listen, McCall. You’re going to tell me exactly what it is and who you’re buying it from, because there’s no way in hell you’re out there kicking ass in the field like that without some sort of chemical boost.” Jackson spat the words in Scott’s face, sounding incredibly angry. 

“Oh,” Scott’s eyes lit up with recognition. “You mean steroids. Are you on steroids?”

Jackson slammed him into the lockers and both Allison and I jumped in surprise at his aggression. “What the hell is going on with you?”

“You wanna know whats going on with me?” He shoved Jackson away harshly. “You really wanna know? Well, so would I! Because I can see, hear, and smell things that I shouldn’t be able to see, hear, and smell. I do things that should be impossible! I’m sleepwalking three miles into the woods—.”

My shoulders tensed as memories of me doing that exact thing the other night flashed in my mind. He’d been sleepwalking too?

“—and I’m pretty much convinced that I’m totally out of my freaking mind!” He breathed out a heavy sigh and let his head fall back into the lockers.

Allison and I stood completely still, stunned by his words. So he had been listening to her phone call on the first day. That’s how he knew she needed a pen. And he’d heard us again in the stands at tryouts. He’d just confirmed it, he had supernatural abilities. By the sounds of it, they were new, too. But how? 

“You think you’re funny, don’t you, McCall? I know you’re hiding something. I’m gonna find out what it is. I don’t care how long it takes.” Jackson slammed his fist against the lockers and stalked off.

I shut the door to the classroom we were hiding in and leaned against it, my head swimming with information. My eyes caught Allison’s and she looked back at me, slightly terrified.

“What. The. Hell. Was. That.”

                                                    ————————

I shifted my red solo cup between hands and leaned against one of the thick columns on either side of the pool. Lydia really knew how to throw a party. The outdoor space was packed with dancing bodies. Music thumped loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood. It looked like everyone was having the time of their lives, my friends included.

Scott and Allison were dancing a few feet away from me. On the car ride home, we’d decided to investigate his weird outburst another time. It was just too much to deal with right now. It appeared she’d moved on from it already as they got progressively closer. Lydia and Jackson were grinding against the column beside me, although she was glaring in Allison’s direction with a hint of jealousy, which was weird.

Just then, someone bumped into my shoulder, causing my drink to spill down my arm. I jumped back, trying to keep it from going all over my clothes, and glared at the perpetrator next to me.

“Ah, sorry.” He winced before turning away. I rolled my eyes at his quick departure. Great, just great. It was bad enough that I was fifth-wheeling at this thing. Now I was cold and sticky.

Surprisingly, the guy returned a moment later with a handful of napkins. Way too many napkins. I let him dab at my arm for a few seconds until he was satisfied that it was dry. He glanced up at me, and I realized it was Scott’s spaz of a friend. 

Now that I was less than a foot away from him, I noticed how adorable he really was. His boyish features were littered with small freckles and his thin lips were pulled into a sheepish smile. His light brown eyes, the color of molten caramel, were warm and kind.

Those eyes flickered around my face before landing back on my own.

“Stiles...” He mumbled, sounding breathless.

“What?” I wasn’t sure if he’d just sneezed or had a stroke or what, but that was definitely not a real word.

From the corner of my eye I saw Scott suddenly wince in front of Allison and stagger away from her. She watched him disappear into the crowd, looking both confused and concerned. His friend called his name and immediately ran after him, ending whatever weird conversation we were starting.

Just then, I felt a dark presence behind me. My heart started racing and my shoulders tensed as an ominous feeling overwhelmed my senses. I turned slowly to see a tall man in a leather jacket staring straight at me. 

That is definitely not a teenager.

He took a step forward and I took one back.

“You know, you shouldn’t make a habit of trespassing on private property.” His voice was deep with warning. He stared straight into my soul and I gulped. 

My brows furrowed in confusion. “Excuse me?”

I was suddenly missing the goofy boy’s company. Before the creepy guy could say anything else, Allison appeared at my side with tears in her eyes.

“I wanna go home.” She sounded incredibly upset that Scott had just up and left her. I couldn’t really blame her, either. He was acting really weird. “Who’s this?”

“My name is Derek.” Creepy guy shoved his hands into the pockets of his thick jacket. “I’m a friend of Scott’s.”

I eyed him carefully. I’d never seen the two talk and he looked way too old to be friends with a sophomore in high school. The guy practically exuded dishonesty.

“Need a ride?”

I was about to politely decline when Allison nodded enthusiastically. She just wanted to get out of here, and since we both drove with other people we were kind of stranded. She started walking away with him so I had no other choice but to follow along, I didn’t like it one bit. My stomach was churning uncomfortably at the thought of us being alone with this guy. 

Whatever happened to stranger danger, anyway?

Although the ride was a little awkward, we both made it home safely that night. Little did we know what was lurking just around the corner. 

Episode 1, Part One     Episode 2, Part One

[sodalitefully]

Ok Duff and Slash fooling around in women's clothes and make-up (before gnr themselves were that into the glam clothes) and being unbelievably turned on bc let's face it, they look great in them (I meant this as a request but if you're not taking them, just tell me your thoughts on this cus I'm dying to talk abt this idea w someone😂)

How could I turn down a request like that? 😉

[a bit of smut ahead! and some extra brainstorming about fashion at the end]

****

“Yeah, sure.”

Duff gaped.  Not in a million years did he think Slash would actually say yes.  

“You... You will?  Are you sure?”

“Yeah... I’ll do it if you do.”

Oh. Duff flushed pink.  So he wasn’t the only one who’d been inspired by that conversation a week ago... The one about makeup and women’s clothes – just for gigs, of course, like those glam rockers do.  But it got Duff thinking, even though they agreed that dressing like chicks onstage wasn’t really their style, maybe they could still experiment a little in private.  For days, he couldn’t get the idea of Slash in lipstick and a skirt out of his head, and it seemed like Slash might have been stuck on a similar fantasy as well.  

So they took a few days to round up as much women’s clothing and makeup as they could (through questionably legal means, but it had to be done), then pooled their spoils and began the much more complicated task of figuring out how to put together outfits.

They decided to choose each other’s looks: For Duff, Slash picked out a flowy sundress that was almost indecently short on the tall bassist.  He added a shitton of silver necklaces and bracelets, and was meticulous and steady-handed as he did his best to apply Duff’s makeup.  The only pair of women’s shoes they could find in his size was a pair of bright red heeled sandals, so Slash chose a lipstick to match and painted Duff’s nails black.  

While they had the supplies out, Duff helped Slash with his makeup (dark eyeliner and a glossy lip) and painted his nails blue.  Slash modeled several items for Duff – a high waisted skirt, a ruffly gold top... He looked amazing in anything, and Duff drew out settling on the perfect outfit in order to spend more time watching him pose.  Slash was happy to indulge him, he was enjoying Duff’s eyes on him – not to mention his own view of Duff’s incredibly long legs in that dress.  

Eventually, Duff couldn’t take it anymore: Slash was wearing a pair of little leather shorts over fishnet tights with a bikini top and gloves that reached his biceps when Duff finally walked him backwards to the bed, towering over Slash in his heels.  When the back of Slash’s knees hit the mattress, he wrapped his gloved arms around Duff’s bare shoulders and dragged him down with him as he fell onto the bed.  

Duff disentangled himself enough to kneel between Slash’s legs, leaning forward to plant his hands next to Slash’s shoulders and take in the view of Slash laid out below him.  Slash responded by wrapping his legs around Duff’s waist and pulling him closer, his fishnets imprinting diamond scales onto Duff’s exposed thighs. Being admired was nice and all, but Duff wasn’t the only one who couldn’t keep his hands to himself for a second longer.  

Duff got the hint and bent down to kiss Slash, their lipstick shades smearing together.  Slash tried to chase him when he pulled away, but Duff buried a hand in his curls, holding him in place while he made his way lower, scattering sticky red kisses and teasing touches across Slash’s torso, making him arch his back in pleasure.  

The final kiss left a red stain on black leather right over Slash’s cock.  Slash squirmed, his voice beseeching as he encouraged Duff to keep going.  Duff unzipped his shorts and simply tore the cheap tights to free his cock, too impatient to take everything off.  Slash gasped appreciatively at the unexpected aggression, but before he could say a word Duff’s lips were wrapped around his head, tongue swirling as he gradually took Slash deeper.  

Slash’s satin fingers carded roughly through Duff’s hair as he moaned, and Duff groped Slash’s ass while he buried his cock in his throat, sinking his fingers into smooth leather and urging Slash to thrust into him. After so much foreplay, it wasn't long before Slash was on the edge, his eyes fluttering shut and skin shining with sweat as Duff picked up the pace, eagerly bobbing his head even while Slash spilled down his throat with a loud, drawn-out moan.

Slash was still panting when Duff crawled up to straddle his hips and bent down for a kiss that tasted like cum and cherry lip gloss.  He took a moment to catch his breath and admire Duff, who looked down at him with his lipstick destroyed and his hair a disheveled mess. Slash stroked his palms up and down Duff’s thighs, inching higher and higher until they slipped under his skirts and brushed against the edge of his lace panties. Duff was desperate to finally be touched, he whined when Slash's fingers lightly grazed his cock and lifted his hips to grind into Slash's hand.  "Slash, please."  

Slash would have been just as happy to continue watching Duff try to hump his palm, but he couldn't deny his lover anything so obligingly he pushed back his skirt, tugged the sheer black lace out of the way and very gently stroked Duff's length with his satin-gloved hands.

Duff gasped at the unfamiliar sensation of soft, silky fabric, holding as still as he could under Slash’s caress so that the friction wouldn't become too much.  Slash didn't tease him for long, after a moment he bit down on the tip of his glove, tugging it loose with his teeth before peeling them both off and finally giving Duff the rough handjob he'd been pleading for.

Slash knew how to treat Duff the way he liked, with firm strokes and callused fingers that drove him wild.  Before long, Duff was trembling and moaning with every thrust.  “Are you close? Lay back, I want to suck you.” Slash wiggled out from underneath Duff and helped tug off his panties and toss them aside. 

Duff leaned back on his arms, his long legs folded back and splayed wide with his heels digging into the bedspread. His skirt was still gathered around his waist, leaving him completely exposed.  The scene put a lusty grin on Slash’s face, and he maintained eye contact with Duff as he licked a stripe up the underside of his shaft before finally ducking his head and swallowing him down.  

Duff came watching Slash’s ass in skin-tight leather shorts, bouncing in time with each bob of his head as his damp curls clung to his arched back.  Slash licked him clean before letting him up, moving aside and laying on his belly with his chin in his hands and his fishnetted ankles crossed above him as he watched Duff slowly stretch out his stiff legs and start undoing the straps on his heels.

“You look fucking amazing, you know,” Slash informed him with a smile.  Even in a dress, even with his makeup smeared to hell and a bit of hair stuck to his lips, and especially when he was relaxed and freshly fucked, Slash would always find Duff maddeningly attractive.  

Duff blushed at the praise.  “So do you,” he responded, trailing his eyes appreciatively up and down Slash’s prone body.  

“I could probably get my hands on some more clothes next week.  Maybe lingerie, definitely makeup.  Y’know, if you think you wanna try this again sometime...”

Duff laughed, both eager and flustered at the prospect.  “I think I’d have to be crazy to pass up a chance to see you in lingerie.”

****

****

I feel like they would probably end up in kind of mismatched eclectic outfits considering how they end up dressing in their glam phase, not to mention they were scavenging for clothes in the first place lol.  But oh my god, the possibilities are endless... 

Duff in leggings and maybe a crop top or bandeau, or a jumpsuit oh my god like the kind with the flared legs?  If only they could find one long enough lmao.  Heeled boots would be killer, maybe gloves for those slender hands of his, maybe a pretty scarf.  They could try curling his hair lol and I think he could definitely pull of glitter makeup.  I feel like overall he would straddle the line between pretty and glamorous, with a little badass mostly from his shoes.

Slash I think would be pretty rocker chic and maybe also a little bit hippie-ish?  A skater skirt would be cool, and denim short-shorts, bikini tops or cropped band tees, platform shoes.  Idk why but I really wanna stick stuff in his hair, like flowers or glitter or whatever!  But also, I’d love to see him in some cute stuff; over sized sweaters, pastels, heart-shaped sunglasses... 

PLEASE feel free to tell me what you’re imagining for this idea!! I absolutely want to hear your thoughts, I agree this needs to be talked about 💕

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine:

Erik watches his landlords child and afterwards wants to practice making a little bundle of joy himrself with Reader

Warnings: FLUFF. Mentions of Smut.

There was so many things on the agenda for Erik on this windy Thursday....

Gym at 6 AM

Shower, eat breakfast

Head to work at the Outreach for an 8 hour shift

Come home, cook dinner, shower

See his baby girl, fuck, pillow talk

Come home and sleep for six hours.

Repeat.

He didn’t realize how much he was putting his body through hell until he passed out asleep during an Outreach meeting. No one woke him up but he was angry with himself for sleeping through it and having to ask what happened. Currently, Erik was stuck in traffic on his way home. He was off for about an hour now and he wouldn’t be home for another hour. Pissed and hungry, Erik resulted to listening to the Joe Budden podcast.

HONK HONK!

“What where you’re going, BITCH!”

Some reckless driver was about to side sweep his car; new car. She was on her phone talking away, clearly not paying attention to the road. He angry talked to himself in the drivers seat, praying that no one else pisses him off. The podcast pauses as an incoming call comes through

Justine

“What now, Justine,” Erik answers it anyway via Bluetooth, “Sup, Justine?”

“Hey Erik!”

Justine was Erik’s landlord at the luxury apartment complex he lived in.

“Is everything okay?” Erik’s asks while making a right turn.

“Everything is fine! You know I don’t have any problems with you.”

“Glad to know. I would hate to take some bad news right now especially with how frustrated I already am.”

“Oh, shit, well, maybe I shouldn’t ask this then.”

Erik raised a brow, “Ask what?”

“Uhm,” Justine could be heard rustling around in the background, “You rememebr my daughter, Bianca?”

“Yeah, fat mama, right?” Erik remembered her nickname when his landlord stopped by with her on her hip, “How is she?”

“She’s good. Sleeping right now.”

“Awww, you sound like she wore you out, girl.”

“She did,” Justine spike with an exhausting tone.

“So what’s going on with her?” He was almost home free.

“Well...I don’t want to be a burden...but could you watch her for me tonight?”

“What?” Erik didn’t mean to actually say that out loud.

“Watch Bianca? I have to take care of something important tonight involving my family and I can’t watch over fat mama and do that at the same time. If you can’t, it’s fine, I’ll see if my bestfriend can do it if she picks up.”

Erik was quiet for a fraction to mule this over. Watching a baby? The last time he even held a baby was when he was 18 years old. It was his best friends older sisters baby. The baby threw up on his shirt and he quickly handed him back to his mother. He was smart, he could figure out changing diapers and feeding a child but taking care of a baby that isn’t his made him nervous.

“Erik?” Justine called his name.

“Y-yeah, I’m still here,” He licks his lips, “How long do you need me to watch her?”

“For about a few hours?”

“...Okay, I can do it.” He couldn’t believe he was agreeing to this.

“Really?! Oh, thank God, you’re the best, Erik.”

He shook his head with a smirk, “I try. Plus, you’re a great fucking landlord, I’ve had shitty landlords so,” Erik laughs.

“Thanks so much! I would ask her father but...never mind-“

“Aye, it’s cool, I got you. Me and fat mama can watch ummm, Vamperina? You said she likes that, right?”

“Yes,” Justine giggles in the phone.

“What does fat mama like to eat?” Erik had nothing but meal prepped food that Bianca would definitely spit out.

“She likes nuggets, hot sticks- I mean, those Jimmy Dean pancake sausages, she calls them hot sticks, she likes French fries, you can give her a little bit of cooked kale, grilled cheese-“

“Why don’t you bring her some chicken nuggets and hot sticks over just in case. I have fries, kale, and I can whip up a grilled cheese depending on what she chooses. Apple juice cool?”

“Yeah, but not after 8. After 8 I prefer to give her water.”

“I agree. Aight, I’m almost home you can come through, Justine.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“No problem, girl.”

The call ended and Joe Budden came back on.

————————

“Baby...I’m not gonna be able to come over tonight.”

“Why?”

“I have to babysit my landlords daughter.”

“Seriously? You? Babysitting? You’re kidding, right?”

“Nah, I’m dead ass. She needs help, I got her. She’s cool.”

“Sounds like you have a huge task on your hands, Daddy.”

“Nothing I can’t handle. I got this, Aight? Don’t clown me.”

“Don’t call me for help when you gotta change her diaper.”

“It’s just a shitty or pissy diaper, Y/N, ain’t nothing hard about that.”

“Yeah, okay, we’ll see.”

Knock knock.

“That’s them, I’ll talk to your cute ass later. Love you irky.”

“Love you too dumb ass.”

Erik lets out a sigh, walking out of his bedroom and towards his door. He unlocks it, opening the door, coming face to face with Justine holding a babbling Bianca. Just was dressed in a nice black turtle neck dress, some thigh high black suede boots, and her long dreads pulled up into a bun. Fat mama wore a pink onsie that read spoil me in gold glitter letters, feet bare and a gold anklet around her left ankle that patched the little gold heart earrings in her ears. She has big light brown eyes and messy curly hair with the barettes all over the place from her messing with her hair.

“Hey Erik! Say hi, fat mama!”

Bianca nervously looks at Erik with a finger in her mouth. Erik smiles at her.

“Weren’t you in the car asking about Mr. Ewik?”

Erik laughs at that. It sounded so cute.

“Now say hi,” Justine persists.

“Hi Erwik,” Bianca waves with her chubby hand.

“Hi, fat mama,” He grabs one of her chubby feet, swinging it, “You came to spend time with me?”

Bianca nods her head, one of her barrettes falling out of her hair and to the floor. Erik bends down to pick it up, Bianca putting her foot on top of his head.

“Stop that!” Justine pulls her foot away.

“It’s cool, she’s just having fun,” Erik acts like he was about to bite Bianca’s foot, making her giggle.

“Hey Erik, do you mind holding Bianca while I go get her play pin? She won’t play with her toys unless she’s in there.”

“I can get it for you,” Erik opened her door further, letting Justine and Bianca inside, “Just give me your keys.”

Justine hands Erik her keys, “It’s in the back seat folded up since I have too much junk in my trunk.

Erik slips on his Adidas slides that he had by the front door, walking out of the apartment to retrieve that play pin.

———————

Justine brought over nuggets and Mac and cheese. She told him Bianca was screaming about Velveeta Mac and cheese with nuggets. Erik made a little bit of kale, put the nuggets in the oven, and boiled the water on the stove for the Mac and cheese. Currently, fat mama was sitting in her play pin tossing around her LOL dolls that has tangled hair and missing outfits. She asked Erik to comb the hair for her but he couldn’t even do it. Erik stepped back into the living room, walking over to Bianca’s baby bag that Justine left on the couch. She had a change of clothes, some undies, a first aid kit just in case, and a blanket.

“Vamp-rina! Vamp-rina! Turn up! Turn up!”

“Hold on, fat mama,” Erik placed the baby bag on the floor next to the couch, laying her blanket down just in case she fell asleep.

“Turn up, EWIK!”

“Fat mama, stop bossing me around like a little diva.”

THUMP

Erik looked up to see one of fat mama’s LOL dolls on the floor in front of the TV. He looked from the doll to Bianca’s smiling face.

“Did you just throw that, fat mama?”

“Yesssss!” She spoke joyfully.

“I told you I was coming, don’t do that, you’re gonna break your doll.”

“Ewik,” she pointed a spit covered finger to the TV again.

Erik shakes his head, picking up his remote to turn the TV up.

“Shit!” He runs to the kitchen, thankful that the food was still good. Erik added the noodles to the boiling water, stirring it in before placing it on low heat. While he was flipping the nuggets over in the oven, he heard small footsteps behind him. Startled, Erik looks up to see Bianca crawling on one of his barstools to get to the counter.

“Aye, get down, girl,” Erik grabs her, fat mama wiggling in his arms, “chill out, girl.”

She starts crying.

“Shit,” Erik began to panic. He was dealing with a fussy toddler.

“Calm down fat mama, calm down? Girl,” Erik soothes her by rubbing her back, “The food is almost done and then you can eat and watch Vamperina.”

“I want my mommy,” she rubbed her teary eyes.

“I know, I know. She’ll be back soon, okay? But you have to be a good girl. You don’t want to hang out with Mr. Ewik?”

“You don’t comb the hair for me.”

“I tried, it’s too tangled,” Erik walks over to the stove with Bianca in his arms, turning off the flame, “I’ll try again after you eat, okay?”

“Okay,” She calmed down, “I wanna get down.”

“Okay, fat mama,” Erik lets her down, “go watch TV.”

Erik watched fat mama walk away with her chubby legs back to the living room. Erik quickly drains the noodles before adding the cheese. He takes the nuggets out of the stove, and grabs the kale from the microwave. Erik plates fat mama’s food in a bowl before walking out to her. She was standing at the TV stand, pulling out Erik’s DVDs that he still enjoyed collecting. That didn’t include his books from his book shelf on the bottom row on the floor. Fat mama was so invested in opening his DVDs to get the CDs out. Erik rushed over to her, picking her up, and placing her back in her play pin.

“You need a play pin with bars because you keep getting into everything, girl.”

“I’m hungry,” She spoke while looking up at Erik with her big light brown eyes that reminded Erik of maple syrup.

“I got you food coming right now. Stay put,” Erik pointed a finger at her, “Don’t get out.”

Bianca didn’t respond, she simply looked at the cartoon on TV while aggressively moving her toys around. Erik heaved a sigh, walking back to the TV stand to get her food. Erik handed fat mama her food before sitting down on the couch to relax a little he grabs his phone, calling Y/N back.

“Hey, Baby Sitter,” she spoke with a teasing tone of voice.

“I wish you were here to help me. She is wild. Gets into everything.”

“How old is she?”

“Two in a half. She’ll be three in like a few months I think,” Erik peeks over to see fat mama eating her Mac and cheese with the baby spoon that Justine had in her food bag, “She’s giving me a run for my money.”

“Told you so, babe. You want me to come over...don’t you?”

“Please?” Erik heard a noise, looking over to see fat mama trying to feed her dolls some kale, “Shit, she’s trying to feed her damn dolls, I gotta go, are you coming?”

“Yes, I’ll be to the rescue. I’ll even bring chocolate chip cookies for her.”

“Thanks baby, you’re the best,” Erik gets up from the couch, kissing Y/N through the phone before hanging up to stop fat mama from making a mess.

——————————

Erik wanted to rip his dreads out of his head. Y/N texted that she was stuck in traffic and Erik was currently chasing fat mama around his apartment because she wanted to play tag. She said her mama always plays tag with her. She was a quick one too, besting Erik every chance she got, her giggles so heart warming.

“Come on, girl, that’s enough, I’m tired,” Erik was sleepy and he didn’t have the energy anymore to keep up with a toddler, “aren’t you tired? All this running you’re doing.”

“NO!” She shouts, hiding behind one of Erik’s house plants, she almost made it fall over from how fast she bolted away before Erik could grab her. Fat mama was streaking and laughing.

“That’s enough now, come on!” Erik was growing frustrated. Y/N needed to hurry her ass up. He texted Justine back letting her know that everything was fine but what he really wanted to do was tell her to come get fat mama because she wouldn’t stay in one place. This was a challenge, but Erik didn’t want to give up.

“Fat mama, don’t you wanna watch Aladdin together?” He yelled out to her, “We can watch Aladdin and sing A Whole New World!”

“Really?!!!” She finally stops, coming from behind the kitchen island, running up to Erik. He smiled, inwardly cheering himself on for finally gaining her attention.

“Yeah, I have Disney+, we can watch it and sing together.”

“YAY!!!!” She reached out for him to pick her up, Erik grabbing her and bringing her to the living room. Fat mama insisted that Erik lay in the play pin with her and watch it. He didn’t think he would fit but he did, grabbing fat mama to sit in his lap while he turned in the movie. He told her that the cartoon version was better. Fat mama drank her apple juice while her and Erik watched the move. She was finally calm, singing along to the music. Erik remembered the songs from his own childhood. He yawns, blinking his eyes rapidly to try and stay awake. Erik looks down at fat mama, noticing that she was asleep with her little mouth hanging open.

“Success,” Erik carefully holds her in his arms while he laid down with her resting on his chest. Her soft snores were soothing to him while he continued to watch Aladdin.

————————-

“Baby?” Y/N opened the door with her own key that Erik gave her. She had a bag filled with fresh baked cookies since she owned a bakery. Y/N kicked off her sneakers, taking off her denim jacket to hang on a coat rack near Erik’s door before walking through the foyer and into his living room. There, in a play pin was Erik and Bianca sleeping. Bianca was asleep on his chest. Y/N looked up at the TV seeing that they were watching Aladdin. The image before her was so adorable. She couldn’t help the big smile on her face. Erik looked good with a baby. Calming her ovaries down, Y/N walks past, heading to the kitchen to put the cookies away. When she got into the kitchen, she placed the cookies in the counter, looking around at all the mess from Erik cooking Bianca food. Y/N decides to clean up since Erik was asleep with Bianca.

Back in the living room, Erik’s phone began to ring, waking him up out of his sleep suddenly. His hand came up to settle on fat mama’s back before using his other hand to feel around for his phone.

“Hello?” Erik clears his throat since he still had sleep in his voice.

“It’s Justine. Everything okay? I’m on my way to get Bianca.”

Erik looked down at the top of fat mama’s curly hair, “she’s good, we goofed around a little bit, fell asleep while watching Aladdin.”

“Awww, you remembered she loves Aladdin!”

“Yes, we sang A Whole New World together too,” Erik takes his hand to play in her hair.

“So sweet! I bet you two sounded nice.”

Movements could be heard coming from the kitchen. Erik looked up to find Y/N waving at him with a dish towel in her hand. Fat mama began to stir on him, moving her head to look up at him. She blinked, one side of her face imprinted from sleeping on Erik’s shirt and her hair even more wild.

“She’s looking up at me with her pretty eyes right now.”

“Can I speak to her?”

Erik put the phone to fat mama’s ear, “It’s mommy!”

“MOMMY!” She yelled into the phone, reaching to grab it. Erik gave it to her.

“Mommy! Where are you?”

Erik places Bianca down while he got out of the play pin. He walks over to Y/N pulling her close and cuffing both of her ass cheeks. Erik kisses her neck, using some tongue. Y/N looked over to see Bianca looking at them.

“Erik, she’s watching us,” Y/N whispered.

Erik looks over his shoulder at fat mama.

“Hey, mommy gone?”

She nodded her head while her eyes watched Y/N.

“This is Y/N, my girlfriend.”

Y/N smiled, waving at Bianca, “Hi, pretty girl!

Bianca only smiles.

“She’s so freaking cute, Erik! Let me stop! Now, I’m having baby fever!”

“You want some cookies?” Erik asks.

Bianca was up and out of her play pin without a word.

—————————

Knock knock

Erik walks to the door while Y/N and fat mama combed the dolls hair. Justine was there with a tired smile on her face.

“I’m here! Thanks again Erik,” Justine reaches out to hug Erik, Erik wrapping his arm around her.

“Like I said, no problem, girl.”

“Where is she? Did she fall asleep?”

“Yeah, her and I. She had some cookies too.”

“Oooooo you really spoiled her,” Justine looks Erik up and down, “I hope she wasn’t too much trouble.”

“Well...I did run into a few bumps but I came out on top,” He smirked at Justin, showing off his dimples. Justine bashfully looked down at her shoes before looking back up into his eyes through her lashes. Erik noticed that look in any women’s eyes. He cleared his throat, stepping aside so Justine could walk in. When Erik moved out of the way, Justine spotted Y/N and Bianca in the play pin.

“Oh,” Justine looked from Erik to them, “Is that your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, she came over to help out. Thank God too because fat mama kept asking me to comb her dolls hair for her. I couldn’t do that shit at all.”

“How cute,” Justine spoke in a flat tone while giving Erik a small smile, “Bianca seems to like her.”

“This is the calmest she’s been all night.”

Justine walks inside, making her way over to the play pin to get Bianca’s attention.

“Fat mama!!”

Bianca looked up, beaming at her mother, before rushing towards her. Y/N watched the interaction, before grabbing Bianca’s dolls.

“You miss me?!”

“Yeah!!” Fat mama squeezed Justine’s neck.

“Awww! Have fun with Mr. Ewik?!”

“Uh-huh! And Miss Y/N too!”

Y/N walked over to Justine, holding out her hand to greet her, “That’s me, how are you?”

“Hi,” Justine shakes her hand, “Thanks for the dolls even though it will be tangled again.”

“No worries, It was fun.”

Justine gave Y/N a smile before accepting Bianca’s bag from Erik.

“I put everything away. I’ll bring the play pin out for you.”

“You’re so helpful,” Justine gently touches Erik’s arm.

“I told you, I got you.”

“Say good bye to Y/N?” Justine whispered to Bianca.

“BYE BYE!”

“See you soon, beautiful!” Y/N waved.

Justine walks out of the house, Bianca looking at Y/N and Erik with sad eyes. Erik pouts, following them out the door with the folded up play pin.

—————————-

It was 10 PM and Erik knew he had to be asleep for work in the morning but he couldn’t keep his hands off of Y/N. He missed his baby.

“Daddy, shouldn’t you be sleeping? Tomorrow is Friday we can have more fun then,” Y/N spoke between gasps while Erik sucked on her nipples.

“I ain’t have you all day, girl,” He licks her nipples, “You didn’t miss Daddy’s tongue on you?”

“I missed all of Daddy...not just his tongue.”

“Damn,” Erik’s hand descends her body to slip inside of her jeans, “what’s this?”

“My wet little pussy,” Y/N whispered.

“Daddy’s wet little pussy,” Erik corrected her.

“Mhm,” Y/N ran a hand through his dreads.

“Thank you for coming to the rescue again.” Erik whispers in her ear.

“Baby...you had it under control. And you looked so damn adorable sleeping with Bianca in your chest. My ovaries were screaming,” Y/N giggles.

“Oh, yeah?” Erik’s fingers rubbed Y/N’s clit, “You like seeing me with a baby?”

“Yes,” Y/N sighs with pleasure, “Fuck, it was so cute.”

“What if I put a baby in you then?”

Y/N gawked at him, “what?!”

“Did I say something wrong?” Erik spoke with an elevated brow.

“N-no, just surprised me, that’s all.” Y/N got wetter when he said that. She would love to get pregnant by Erik. Become his baby mama. Be the reason why she’s pregnant because his cum filled her womb. It all sounded so...good.

“You’re serious?” She asks timidly.

“...what do you think?”

“I don’t know...are you?”

Erik looked from her lips to her eyes, “I am. I already made you my one and only.”

Her heart fluttered in her chest. She felt like everything around her stood still.

“Only if you want to though,” Erik still rubbed her clit, making Y/N squirm, “because we can do this right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, I want to,” Y/N murmurs. She felt so excited saying those words. All of this because she saw Bianca and Erik sleeping.

“Shit, bet,” Erik got onto his knees, snatching her jeans off, “You don’t know what you just started girl.”

[dragonrajafanfiction]

The Red Well (Part 5) Ending the Nightmares

What happens next... Heheheheheheheheheeheheh Tagging @rurifangirl for Ruri action

You were frozen in place like a statue, covered in colorful kabuki clothing in a basement. You understood the scene. Chime Gen had told you about it in the Takamagahara. He had gone crazy and killed women after luring them. He only killed the most beautiful girls because he loved their expressions and imitated them. But he wanted to preserve them, so he took them back to a basement and preserved them like dolls.

Chisei sat on the floor in front of the cast-iron tub full of preservation chemicals. You stood at his left, frozen.

Chisei must be waiting for Ruri Kazama to come down so he can kill him. But this part of the scene is wrong. Chime very clearly said that his brother followed him into the basement. He was preparing the fourteenth girl when Chisei came and called his name. Chime awoke from the trance he was in and Chisei stabbed him through the heart.

So why is Chisei waiting first? Why are you here? This is some sort of an illusion.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened. On the way to the Red Well, you’d had a strange dream like this. You were in Black Swan Bay but you knew it was going to be destroyed. It was all so real that you just went through the motions of everything that happened that day until Z had sat up from the sled and pointed behind you. Ruri Kazama was standing behind you. When you asked him ‘what are you doing here’? You woke up and Ruri was asking you how you broke it.

This had to be an illusion caused by Ruri. It’s not that these men were not fighting. They were still fighting, just on a different plane.

You try to figure out how to move. You had to be breathing outside the dream but frozen in place. Was this like sleep paralysis? You persist in trying to move your body but the paralysis seems firm. Could he hear your mind? “Chisei! Chisei!” You call to him mentally. “What are you doing here? Chisei!”

He didn’t move or hear you. His face was tranquil and quiet, devoid of happiness and sadness. His eyes were dark and clear, his hair brushing over them. His skin was light and fresh and his body was fit. For the first time, you thought Chisei was beautiful, just as beautiful as his brother. 

As soon as that thought passed your mind, you felt a moment of release. Your hand which had held a fan up to your face, relaxed and lowered. You blink. So that’s the secret? Chime still admired Chisei no matter what he did. And somewhere deep and locked away in Ruri Kazama, Chime Gen still breathed quietly, asleep. You chuckle internally. Chime was so taken with his brother, wasn’t he? When talking to Sakura Yabuki, you once said that you were just like him. You seemed better, but you were not better. Is that why Chime felt attracted to you? The greatest person was his brother. And who better to fall in love with than a woman who was like Chisei Gen?

You feel life coming back to your limbs, like warm blood was warmly flowing through skin that had been left in the cold too long. But instead of blood, it was Chime’s love for Chisei. How did he say it? Yes, what mattered most was not Chisei’s bloodline, Emperor or Devil, but his heart. No matter what the obstacle, if he wanted to be a friend of Justice… he would be.

The last chain unwrapped around your ankles and you slid your foot forward, but a sound came from above your head.  Light footsteps sounded like someone was running briskly to the bottom of the basement. Chisei got up onto his feet holding the hilt of his sword and turned to look at the rusty door.

“No…” you said quietly.

Chisei gently pressed the hilt of his blade with his thumb and the Spider Fang sword lifted an inch out of its sheath.

Something warm dripped on your head. You look up and it splats on your face. Chisei was looking up too. The roof was red like blood, and large red drops seeped out of the cement and dripped down like rain. Your heart beats hard. You’re still dressed in ceremonial clothes and you were never good at walking in geta sandals. You take a step forward to him but your other foot is rooted to the spot! You pulled at your foot but it was not moving.

"Have you been living in such a hell for so many years?" Chisei Gen gently stroked the hilt of his sword.

You turn back to Chisei and recall his smile in the elevator before he threw himself back to sacrifice himself for everyone. Your foot finally moves and you take a small step forward.

Chisei doesn’t seem to notice. He lowered his head and listened to the sound of water gurgling. A bright red liquid slowly spread over the soles of his shoes, as if he was standing in a pool of blood.

You could see, but Chisei did not see that in the bathtub behind him, a blood-red figure slowly rose up. The corpse concocted in the plasticizing chemicals opened its eyes. It was the naked Ruri Kazama, carrying a long, sharp cherry-red sword in his hand.

It wasn’t enough to just think one happy thought about Chisei. For every movement, you had to think positively about him. For example, how he cut his wrist at great risk to himself and threw his blood stained shirt out into the fire.

Step.

He let you go in that park after the Kabuki performance even though he could have killed you.

Step.

He wanted to save you on the Tokyo Tower. He protected Chance! He was going to let Chance go! He wasn’t going to kill him! You stagger forward and that final desperate thought, in those moments of fervent forgiveness, you crossed between Ruri Kazama and Chisei Gen’s back.

You freeze again. Your eyes rolled down to the blade of the cherry red sword and the glowing blue sword that were sticking out your chest.

The moment Ruri Kazama attacked was never captured by your eyes. His speed far exceeded the limits of what a human could achieve, and his high speed swept up the water in the entire space, creating a putrid rain behind him. The blade pierced your back the moment you thought of Chance. Chisei Gen had reacted immediately and turned around to counter an attack he thought was coming from behind and ran you through with Spider Fang from the front. You trembled, transfixed on the blades like a pinned insect, mouth open but unable to speak or breathe.

Chisei froze, bewildered. “Chi...me…?” He said slowly. You had dark hair like Chime. You had dark eyes like Chime. You looked like a woman and dressed like a woman like Chime. The way you smiled lovingly at him was like Chime. But something about you said that you were not Chime. His mind was expecting Chime however. So it was hard to accept that this was you and not some weird dream distortion.

A soft whimper came from behind you. Ruri Kazama had released his sword and was embracing you. But you couldn’t embrace him back. Your vision dimmed and swirled and your hands fell limp at your side.

At that moment Chisei realizes something is wrong. There is Ruri Kazama but that crazed laughter has left him. He looks nothing like a mad hybrid. He wasn’t wearing the fearsome grin but a mask of sorrow.

He’s whispering. “MC… MC… I’m sorry…” Over and over again. But no one can answer him. The swords are still in your body as he picks you up and hurries out, fervently whispering. “I have to end it. I have to end the dream!”

He rushes towards the basement door, frantic to get out. He bursts through it! Only to be met again with Chisei staring at him in confusion in front of the bathtub. Ruri turns back to the exit door. He goes out again. But he’s back in the basement. His face fills with pain and he falls to his knees. He is laughing, but he’s crying at the same time

A few moments ago he was a vengeful demon ghost. Now he was a scared child. The sight of you dying in his arms was a new nightmare -- a self-created one.

He rocks with you back and forth. “It’s not my dream.. It’s not my dream…” He brushes your hair from your face, leaving a long red bloody mark. “It’s not my dream…”

Outside the door of the gym were nothing but staircases going up and down, left and right, in all directions, each one concrete-colored, each one zigzagging back and forth.

The world had suddenly become a giant maze, and he was standing in the deepest part of it. In Ruri’s dream, he dreamed of the outside world, the whole village. This wasn’t his dream however. It was Chisei’s. They were both stuck in that moment where Chisei killed Chime in the basement of the school gymnasium. But in Chisei’s dream there was never any escaping that moment. There was no path outside. This was Chisei’s dream, not Ruri Kazama’s, so Ruri didn’t know that the moment he stepped into Chisei’s dream there was no leaving that basement.

You hear Chisei’s voice softly call. “Chime!”

You let out a single breath in an attempt to speak. But that was all you could manage.

When you open your eyes again, you’re sitting on the cliff outside Black Swan Bay, on the rock that you used to watch the whales with Renata. The breeze tugs at your hair and the waves wiggle the ice floes and push them against the beach. A dark pair of boots step into your peripheral vision and Z sits down.

“I’m dead for real aren’t I?” You ask.

Z sighs. “I’m sorry, MC.”

You turn to him. “You gonna tell me what this is about?”

Z seems uncharacteristically hesitant. “You’ll be mad.”

“That never stopped you before. Spill.”

“The truth is… The truth is… all this has happened before. Only you weren’t there. You weren’t… there-there. It’s not that you died and I saved you. It’s that… you didn’t exist at all before… you weren’t alive to even die.”

You tilt your head. “So you created me? How?”

“I don’t know. I just … Herzog took something from me.” His lips pressed together and his golden eyes glowed. “I couldn’t let that go. I just couldn’t stand that he took something from me! So I thought a lot.”

He looked into your eyes. “I can’t change the past. I can only change the future. I had to find a way to change the past without… directly causing anything to happen. It took a long time, and then… you showed up. MC, nothing that changed about the past was really any of my doing. You were the one who impressed Herzog with your… toothy lock trick and that kinda set all this in motion when he decided not to operate on you. All of these changes? It’s all you. I just kept you alive. Everything else proceeded as it did before.”

You stare, absorbing all this. “So… what I am is… the results of you being a sore loser?”

He let out a breath. Then looked down and he covered his eyes with his hand. 

“Are you… crying?”

“No!” He pounded his fist on the ground. “I’m laughing because it worked! I got Erii back! Erii died before and now she’s alive but… now I’m just losing someone else!”

“Why do you care? I mean, I never was a person before right?” You shake your head. “You fell in love with your own puppet?” You chuckle. “Dragons are silly.”

He lifted his head and stared at you. “What… Did you say?”

“I didn’t tell you but, I remember a dragon coming down from the sky to pick me up. That was you… right?” You wink.

Z shuts his mouth, but he's smiling.

You give him a punch in the arm. “Hey… when I said thank you for everything. I half meant it. Thanks. It was quite a ride. You got what you wanted.”

Z’s smile fades. He doesn’t agree with you.

Those were all the words you got to say to him before a sudden silence and darkness falls over you and the world descends into an oblivion.

You weren’t there long however.  Pain like fire and like surf pounding you against a rocky shore and crushing your bones rockets through your mind.

Z’s voice calls you. He sounds panicked, but you can’t answer him.

Your eyes open, but you are not the one opening them. You see Chime, crying inconsolably. You’re back in the Red Well. Rain and Chime’s tears are falling on your face but you still can’t move to wipe them away. A voice in your head is filling you with violent and hateful thoughts. You hate everything about this world. Everything in this world wants you to die! But you will not die. No. Never!

Chisei’s voice sounds as panicked as Z’s. Your body reacts even though your mind is scrambling to keep up. Chisei Gen is back to being a dragon, covered in crystal scales with magnificent wings. You land in a crouch after soaring twenty feet into the air. The pain of moving like this despite your injuries overwhelms you and sweeps away every thought. But you’re not the one moving your body. 

You feel trapped behind your own eyes.

“No! No! Nooooo!” Chime is wailing but he’s too weak to stand.

Erii is there now. When did she get here? She’s holding a small suitcase and dressed in a white taffeta skirt with a white bow in her hair. You remember that Erii is your sister.

Sister? What is a sister? The internal invader rummages through your memories, tossing them out like toys from a toy box. Renata and you were rivals and friends, close yet somehow distant. Erii was like you in many ways and you felt drawn to her. You made a vow on a train in mutual defense. Sakura Yabuki had a kind and understanding smile. Also sister?

Who was this? What were they doing? And then you remember.

The memory of the Light King parasite pops up as an answer to your question. A feeling of smug superiority -- but not from your own mind -- wells up. You didn’t know how, but the Light King parasite had escaped its confines and had gotten ahold of you!

Chisei had gathered the frantic Chime into his arms. “I’m sorry, Erii. I didn’t want to get you involved in this.” He said.

Erii just nods and writes something on a piece of paper. 

Chisei’s draconized body pops and crackles and seems to shrink a foot in height. Half his bones are migrating from his body to his wings, stretching them and extending them to full height! A great down beat from those bat-like wings sends him soaring away from the well with Chime in his arms. 

The Light King Parasite tilts your head to watch him go. It decided it didn’t like sisters but Erii’s body and blood were very, very tasty and you were very hungry. The smell of the thousands of sleeping deadpool comes to your nose. You open your mouth and let out a great roar! Thousands of pairs of eyes peer down into the well and then they fall, scraping their claws in a stampede down this hole in the ground. Some were flying on bony wings, like demons descending to hell. They were going to swarm this place!

Your body is healing at a speed visible to the naked eye. The Light King Parasite stretches out your hand and the Gathering Clouds sword comes flying to meet you. Your body glares threateningly at the small Japanese girl who stood in the middle of the Red Well. 

Erii is holding up a sign. “Anyone who comes between me and my sister must die!”