#[ gathering it all up in my arms in some sort of self-hating embrace ]

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

To spoil you, I have here an order for Fuegoleon and Solara, a gin & tonic to bring at home, with a kiss side order.

Oh anon you are spoiling me T^T <3 !!! Thank you for that!! It's been so long since I last wrote for them (or self-indulgent content for that matter) so this was very welcomed ^^ I hope you like it too!

Length: ~1.2 Warnings: hurt-comfort, general feeling of inadequacy (Solara), and Fuegoleon comforts, no alcohol mentions in the fic Prompt: Gin&Tonic (hurt-comfort) with a kiss at home

It was one of those days. Nothing seemed to be going right. Everything was difficult.

Or then I'm just dramatic... Solara thought to herself as she was making her way back to the base, back home, the home in Clover, and towards the bedroom.

I just... I thought that I'd be able to navigate through this with ease. Using this language and it's... it's been... alright so far but it doesn't come just like that at all times and I just... I can't really consult anyone. Or well I can, but when the .... whatever is happening, is happening, I'm all alone. I have no one to help in that moment. Because I can't just ask whoever I'm talking to, or around whatever thing I'm trying to sort, about how it's supposed to be completed. You don't ask a foreign noble about how you're supposed to talk to them, because it's unprofessional and can look condescending.

And it really felt like that. That she couldn't ask help from anyone. Or that whoever she'd ask, would be unable to help.

I just... want to go back home and not deal with... any of this. All this politics and customs and things I just don't know about.

But the reality was: she was far away from home. And she was there because she wanted to be there. Because she had chosen this for herself.

I don't ... hate all of this but it's just.... It's just so hard.

She could feel her teeth grinding against each other as her emotions, longing for home and a place where she'd feel at peace. The sorrow of not feeling good enough. Like she was inadequate and lacking. They tried to climb as whimpers and cries from her throat, but instead lodged into her throat as a lump that wouldn't go down.

I want to go home... she thought while opening the door to the bedroom, and closing it behind herself just the same before slumping onto the bed.

"Evening my love," Fue greeted with his eyes still on the book he was holding.

"Mh," she managed while curling around herself and gathering some of the blanket in her arms.

"It really was a long day today," he thought out loud, still gazing to the text, the lines, eyeing it through. "I thought about taking an afternoon nap but it-"

His train of thought came to a halt as she began sobbing on the bed without another word.

The book in his hand lowered down as his eyes turned, little by little, as if guided by disbelief and a feeling of helplessness. Wonder that wasn't curious but instead worried.

"Honey...?" He asked, putting the book away without a thought and made his way onto the bed before he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close.

With it there was a feeling of comfort, but the comfort, the security merely gave her reassurance to let out her emotions, and a cry broke out. A continuous, very present, cry that seemed to have no end for a moment that seemed far longer than it actually was to him. What must've been a few minutes, felt like dozens.

But all throughout it, he held her. His arms were wrapped around her, heads lying next to each other as his breathing flowed over her, through her blonde locks and to her skin. As if to breathe life into her again.

And with each breath he could feel the tension of her body melt away, as if shed with each tear rolling down her cheeks.

"What's wrong?" He inquired with a whisper as his thumb rubbed up and down her arm, as he still held her in his embrace.

The explanation, the words the confessions of how she felt to be struggling, rolled from her with more broken sobs, and he listened. He listened to her, as she tried to tell him about how she didn't feel like she could do it. How she could, really, navigate through the court here. Because it was so difficult. That she should know what she was doing already, but it felt that with each learnt skill, completed task, two more seemed to come with it. More people to pull her into different directions.

That she didn't feel like she could do enough, because there is a limit as to what only one person can do. There's a limit as to what one person can internalize in such a short period of time.

She didn't have the advantage of living with these people, in these circles, like he did, not at least for as long as he had.

And that was when he really realized that she must've been under a lot of pressure for a while already. She had tried to manage it. Though she had told him previously that adjusting seemed difficult. That she could see the way some of the nobles looked at her.

While he had just... thought that it'd be alright. That she'd manage. Quite as simple.

But in reality, she was struggling.

"We will manage, my love," he told her before placing a kiss onto her head. "I'll be here for you. If there's something you are wondering, you can always come to me. And remember that politics is just politics. All that can be asked is your best, and the ones who judge, will judge no matter what. You could do everything by the book, and they'd be jealous of how well you're performing. But the ones who matter, those who can be discussed with, will work with you."

He was being factual. But there was comfort in there. Because he was telling her the truth. He was like that. He'd tell her the truth. That was the kind of a man he was. His reassurance was in what he believed in, which was why it was in the truth.

But. Most importantly, he told her that he'd be there for her, that they were in it together. And, just like every other word, it was the truth as well.

He'd always be there for her.

"I love you," he whispered, but in that whisper she could hear the depths of the ocean of devotion for her. The quiet testimony of the sacred emotions he held in his heart. "I love you", he breathed out again against her skin.

"I love you too," she told him through her already drying tears as she took a hold of his hand and brought it to her lips to press a kiss onto his skin.

"We'll be alright," he promised her.

It wasn't a promise that he had thought about. But it felt like a promise he could make. That they'd be alright. And the thing was: she felt like she could believe in it too.

She did believe in it too.

They'd be alright. Her and him.

She was sure of it.

[chigusaeyes]

everyone has boundaries/limitations irt what they can/’t Tolerate & what they will/won’t Tolerate (”tolerate” really isn’t the best word to summarize the delicate balancing of [my] mind/the state of my mind/and the flexibility of said state of mind, but it’ll have to do) within any piece of fiction

& when it comes to abuse survivors (of any type), that remains relevant - everyone handles/manages/processes (or NOT) their experiences differently, if you look at a large quantity of people who all fit under the Same Diagnosis or the same Umbrella term for [insert trauma(s)] - each of their personal experience(s) w that Generalized trauma/diagnosis/etc, while there are often similarities (obviously they wouldn’t fit under the same umbrella term(s) otherwise, after all - each person’s experience(s) is unique to them

so this is sort of a long winded way of me saying that i got through SLBP Ieyasu’s route & came out Loving him without even blinking at being called “wench” or even “dung-beetle”, but I See Red the minute IkeVamp Theo pops up in any route and calls MC “Hondje” bc suddenly my brain is full of my lifetime’s collected indignation/rage from every single time I’ve ever been called a “[insert your favorite adjective here!] bitch”

What will i do about it? honestly??? nothing! 

what’s my opinion on Theo? nothing particularly strong in any direction tbqh, i’m not interested in his route, no, but there’s several characters whose routes i’m not interested in who don’t call me any particular name - it is what it is

there’s gonna be days when i might need to make use of my blacklist or tumblr mute/block post button, but that’s all; i've little interest in focusing on the things that make me uncomfortable, that’s what my therapy is for - all i really ask is that people do the thing we all appreciate for a potential different variety of reasons - and just tag your posts w the characters that appear in them, maybe? i always appreciate that thx you~

[hops-hunny]

Yo-yo’s Girl

Pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Black!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.6k

Request: N/A

Summary: Kyoya’s girlfriend is a lot a bit different than what they expected.

Warnings: None, could be read as a chubby or plus size reader!

A/N: This was self indulgent. I wrote this at like 2 AM and didn’t know until I woke up.

"Do you really think this is going to work?" Haruhi asked, already done with Tamaki's antics. She knew this was a bad idea but with the promise of some of her debt being removed, she couldn't find herself to do anything but go along with the blonde's crazy scheme.

"Why of course it will! When have you ever known of my plans to go wrong?" He responded, placing a hand over his heart as he swooned around dramatically. Hikaru and Kaoru exchanged looks with each other before looking back at Tamaki.

"Do you really want us to answer that?" They chimed, causing Tamaki to deflate with a defeated look. He looked over at Haruhi with puppy dog eyes, hoping the girl would agree with him. She offered him a sympathetic smile, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Listen senpai, don't get me wrong, sometimes your ideas are great but isn't this...a bit much? I mean why can't we just ask Kyoya about his love life? Do we really need this elaborate plan?" She asked, hoping he would budge. She looked down as Honey hung off her arm, Mori trailing behind him.

"Don't be silly, Haru-chan! Kyoya senpai is a private guy. He wouldn't trust us with anything like that." He said, climbing off the girl and back onto Mori. She let her eyes drift to Mori in hopes he'd help but he just let out a grunt of agreement. She sighed in defeat knowing she wasn't going to get through to them. How had they gotten into this dumb plan in the first place?

It all started when Tamaki overheard Kyoya on the phone with someone and from the tone in the raven haired boy's voice, he assumed it was a girl. More specifically, his girlfriend. However, any other time Tamaki didn't wanna intrude so to avoid doing so, he decided they would all follow him after school to see if that's where he was going!

As they saw a familiar head of black hair walk towards the school gates, they all began to walk behind him, attempting to be as quiet as possible. They had been following him for a few blocks, leading to a nice but unfamiliar part of town; however as he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, they all began to hide behind a bush but halted their motions when they heard him speak.

"Do you honestly think I didn't see any of you?" He questioned, not even turning around. They all stayed quiet in hopes that he would assume himself as crazy and continue to make his way down the street. But, as he turned around, parting the bushes, that idea flew out the window.

"Hey Kyoya! My dearest friend, I'd even go as far as to call you my bro-"

"Cut the bullshit Tamaki. Let me guess." He pushed his glasses up his nose before clearing his throat. "You thought that if you followed me you'd get to see my girlfriend, correct?" He asked, their wide eyes answering his question. However, where was the fun in that?

"That's exactly what we were doing! We wanna meet your girlfriend, Kyo-chan!" Honey piped up. The twins glared at him for his willingness to comply with Kyoya's questions so easily. Meanwhile Haruhi just sighed, slumping down even further.

"If you wanted to meet my girlfriend, you all could've just asked. I expected more from you, Haruhi. You should've known better." He chastised, watching the girl who's left eye was currently twitching. Without another word, Kyoya kept down his path towards the airport, leaving his companions to fight amongst each other.

----------------------

It was Friday of the same week and the rest of the hosts were beginning to grow hopeless about meeting Kyoya's girlfriend. Was she even real? Perhaps Tamaki's senses had been wrong and the conversation that played out earlier that week was simply meant to teach them a lesson. However, as the hosts were shutting things down for the day, slowly gathering there things to go home, Kyoya cleared his throat. They all turned to him, curious to what he had to say.

"Leaving so soon? And to think (Y/n) was coming to visit today. Oh well, I'll tell her you all said hi." Kyoya started, turning around to face the window. 3, 2,.. a chorus of hot fire questions started around him causing him to chuckle under his breath. "One at a time, I can't answer you all at once."

"Why doesn't (Y/n)-chan go to school with us?" Honey started, staring up at the tall boy. Kyoya turned to face the group, brushing off his blazer as he did so.

"She does during a portion of the year. Due to her parent's line of business, (Y/n) does one semester in the United States and one here in Japan. However, she is originally from America. Next question?"

"What do her parents do?" The twins said, angry with each other that they had asked the same question. "I thought my question was original.."

"I'm sure you've heard of the (L/n)'s before. They specialize in state of the art technology of all forms. Best selling in all of Japan. However, (Y/n) also has her own business under her parents that deals with unbreakable fine china, some of the best of it's kind but I'm afraid I'm biased." He smiled at the thought of his girlfriend, catching the other host off guard. Who was this girl who was able to make Kyoya smile?

"What's she like, senpai? I'm sure she must be special to catch your attention." Haruhi inquired. Kyoya felt his cheeks heat up as he thought of the many things he enjoyed about his girlfriend. He turned back to the window, looking out it once again.

"She makes me laugh and she's beautiful. Don't tell her that though. She always gets a big head when you do." He muttered, checking his watch for the time. She should've been here by now.

"She sounds absolutely radiant, Kyoya! When is she going to show?" Tamaki asked, sighing dreamily at the thought of his closest friend in love with a beautiful girl. Kyoya looked at the clock across the room before frowning slightly.

"She was supposed to.." he trailed off at the sound of his name being screamed continuously and the sound of loud footsteps growing closer. All of a sudden a blur of brown skin and thick thighs stormed in, jumping onto the man. Mori put Honey down, ready to fight if need be but stopped once he saw Kyoya wrap his arms around the girl, embracing her tightly.

"Darling! I'm sorry I'm late, I got hungry and stopped by that little bakery you showed me the other day!" The girl said, looking up at the boy who had an uncharacteristically warm smile. Everyone was even more shocked as he let out a laugh, stroking some of the girl's braids behind her back. She was a short girl, full of curves and rolls in all the right places. Her outfit was very casual compared to the things Kyoya wore on his free time. She had on a jean skirt and a form fitting striped shirt that made the undertones of her soft brown skin pop.

"I told you to let me know if you plan on going places beforehand. You know how sidetracked you get. You easily could've gotten lost." He lectured causing the girl to roll her eyes. She pouted, crossing her arms around her chest.

"Okay and? Clearly I didn't. Lay off 4 eyes. I'm here now aren't I? That's all that matters!" She jumped out of the boys arms finally before turning to face the rest of them. They all had the same question: 'How could such an energetic girl be with Kyoya?' "You're definitely Tamaki." She said, pointing to the blonde. He had a flattered look on as he began to say something but she cut him off. "You look just as annoying as Yo-yo said." She finished. Hikaru began to comfort their boss in the corner as Kaoru began to laugh.

"Yo-yo?" He choked out, laughing a bit more. Kyoya's face began to heat up more as he looked down at the short girl, a pissed expression on his face.

"(Y/n) I told you not to call me that in public." He said in an angry tone, looking away from the girl. She pouted some more, bringing a soft hand up to his face. As she stroked his cheek, hot tears began to form in the corner of her (e/c) eyes.

"I'm sorry, Kyoya! I forgot. You know me, I didn't mean to embarrass you in front of your friends." He leaned into the girl's touch, looking down at her sad expression. How could he ever stay mad at that? He sighed quickly, leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead. She squeaked, unused to him initiating any sort of physical affection in public.

"Forgive me darling, I hate to see you so sad. How about I take you to one of those," his face turned slightly green as he grimaced some, "Commoner malls that you adore so much. I'll buy you anything you want. Hm?" The girl instantly perked, throwing her pudgy arms around her lanky boyfriend. He tensed a bit before hugging her back warmly, glaring at the twins who looked like they may say something to ruin the sweet moment. Haruhi watched in awe, feeling even herself grow emotional at how clearly in love her senpai was.

"Really? Let's go Kyo! What are we waiting for?" (Y/n) asked as she grabbed her boyfriend's hand, beginning to drag him towards the door forcefully. Once they were out she quickly peaked her head back in looking at the others.

"Well? Are you coming?"

[oreoambitions]

Previous Draft // Ao3

The courthouse doors open with a bang, and the sound of conversation tumbles out of the atrium and onto the courthouse steps. Security flanks Lena on either side, two uniformed bodies ahead to break the crowd, two behind to keep it from closing in around her. Lena keeps her head up, confident in the knowledge that she will appear to take this all in stride. In truth, she crosses the atrium in a sort of daze.

There are moments in a person’s life when time sticks and stutters, moments that linger beyond their natural boundaries, that creep and haunt and niggle at the mind. As she steps out through the courthouse doors, she understands that this is one of them. Time hesitates for her even as she passes into the chaos of lights and cameras outside, towards the waiting crowd of journalists shouting over one another in a fashion not conducive to anyone’s questions ever actually getting answered.

For an instant she’s back on the witness stand: the defense is demanding Supergirl’s name, and the judge is not intervening; the words I plead the fifth are heavy on her lips. That moment has passed, and it hasn’t. There will be ripples. All Lena can do about it now is try to keep those ripples to a minimum, for Kara’s sake; she must say nothing to anyone until they’ve had a chance to talk alone.

“Ms. Luthor.” 

The officer at her side encourages her forward, not quite touching her back with one hovering hand. Lena realizes with a start that she’s paused halfway down the courthouse steps. At the bottom, Supergirl drops out of the sky in a dramatic, press pleasing fashion. That soft warm smile is another echo of the courtroom, and Lena is reminded that Kara intentionally slipped out of the courthouse another way and circled back for the cameras. Lena has, rather uncharacteristically, committed a critical error in a critical moment, and now Kara is covering for her with theatrics.

It’s working. The cameras turn on Kara as Lena makes it down the last few steps and into her waiting embrace.

“I’m sorry,” she begins, half stumbling as Kara pulls her close, closer than usual, one hand hot at the back of her neck.

Kara turns her shoulder to shield Lena from the bulk of the cameras. “Not here,” she murmurs, so low that Lena is almost not certain she’s heard it. And then Kara pulls back, not quite far enough, and Lena is acutely and self-consciously aware of the sound of camera shutters snapping all around them, the closeness of Kara’s body, the gut wrenching feeling that the eyes of the nation are on them and the stage lights are all lit up and she doesn’t know her lines.

The judge should have intervened. Her mind keeps catching on that point, on the heavy pause in the courtroom, Kara’s expressionless face, the pounding of her own heart, the irrelevance of the question. It feels as though if she stays in that moment long enough, pictures it clearly enough, the judge will step in and this story will play out another way.

Time, of course, does not work like that. It stutters and sticks only in her mind, while in the real world the press clamors and Kara’s cape flutters in the quickening wind. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Kara is saying, her voice pitched so that the waiting journalists might catch words that, God willing, sound hollow to Lena’s ears only. “You were amazing in there.”

Lena is thinking about what the headlines are going to say tomorrow. Luthor and Super: Partners in More Than Crimefighting. Or perhaps, Luthor Makes False Marriage Claim on Witness Stand, Investigation to Follow.

Kara cups Lena’s face with one hand, and she snaps back to reality. She has about half a breath to catch up with what’s happening before Kara is closing the distance between them, and she hates to be a walking cliche, but oh. This is not how she has imagined their first kiss might go - not that she’s ready to admit to anyone except maybe Sam that she’s imagined their first kiss at all - and for a sickening second she feels nothing but regret. But then Kara’s lips are on hers, softer than her imagination has ever accounted for, and Lena is melting into her, kissing her back just at the edge of what might be considered chaste.

It’s an act, of course. If Lena’s heart flutters where she knows perfectly well Kara can hear it, can feel it, that’s just the nerves of the whole situation. Kara is, after all, kissing her on the mouth right there in front of God and everybody, shutters clicking all around them, reporters laughing and cheering in the background. It’s not unreasonable to feel a little something; her secret is still safe.

When Kara breaks the kiss, Lena chases after her mouth, and not for show. There’s that soft smile again, lipstick a little smudged, and perhaps she’s imagining things but Kara’s eyes seem warmer than they did before. 

Kara drops a second kiss onto Lena’s forehead. “Can I take you home?” she asks, her voice still pitched for the journalists on the steps.

“Please,” Lena replies. 

She tucks herself back into Kara’s chest as strong arms close around her. If anyone asks, it’s for the cameras. There’s a car waiting for her, and a driver who will have to be well compensated for the waste of his time, but it’s better if the press sees that she and Supergirl are leaving together, isn’t it? And nothing could be more memorable, more pressworthy, than flight.

And, Lena thinks, it’s better because, selfishly, she wants to prolong this moment of closeness. She wants to soak it all in: Kara’s smell, the brush of her hair across Lena’s cheek, the preparatory breath before takeoff. This is the moment Lena wishes would slow down for her, just this last moment when she can imagine to herself that what happened in the courtroom was a bad dream of little consequence, and that nothing between her and Kara will ever have to change.

///

Kara does not take Lena home. They fly instead over the wide arc of National City’s suburbs and into the foothills, and from there a little further still until they’ve reached the mountains above the city. Kara deposits them in a valley on the leeward side of a low peak dotted half with shrubbery and half with scraggled conifers, the names of which Lena has to admit she does not know. She rubs feeling and warmth back into her arms and resists the urge to ask where they are while Kara paces, the agitation and anxiety in the lines of her body a clear departure from the soft warmth on display outside the courthouse. When she rounds on Lena, it feels like the inevitable fruition of Lena’s mistakes.

“You told them we were married? Lena!”

“Technically I didn’t use those words.”

“Oh okay, so between my wife and my priest, which role did you think the court was going to assume you were alluding to?”

“What was I supposed to say? They had me backed into a corner.”

“It wasn’t relevant to the case! This was about Lilian. It had nothing to do-”

“It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t relevant, because the judge wasn’t intervening. I just- I panicked. I had to say something. I wasn’t going to lie under oath, and even if I were willing, what could I have said? Should I have thrown out some other name, thrown someone else under the bus? And what then, when it became obvious to the nation that I’d lied-”

“Oh, and you thought this was better? What are you going to say when they want proof? There’s no documentation. There was no wedding to document. Supergirl doesn’t exist as a legal entity, you can’t just-”

“Kara, I-”

“It’s just not like you not to think things through.”

They stand there staring at one another, Kara’s jaw clenched, Lena’s arms crossed tight across her chest. The sun is going to go down soon; Lena is already shivering a little in the shadow of the mountain. This is a mess, and it’s a mess of her own making, and she doesn’t know how to unmake it out here in the gathering dark.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I could have - I should have refused to answer. But then they’d have held me in contempt and thrown me in prison. And I’m willing to go to prison for you, Kara, believe me, but then you’d have broken me out because you’re a beautiful idiot, and where would that leave us?”

Kara’s mouth twitches up a little at the corners, and then she laughs outright. “I would have,” she admits. “What a mess that would be.”

“I know I messed up,” Lena offers.

“You were trying to protect me.” Kara scuffs one boot in the dirt. “They’ll try to hit you with perjury charges; you know they will. You might wind up in prison at the end of this anyway.”

Lena nods. She does know this. Some part of her knew it the moment the words I plead the fifth left her mouth, and yet, everything she’s protested to Kara is true. Those words were the only road open to her so long as that judge remained silent.

“Well,” Lena says, “You don’t grow up in the Luthor household without learning a thing or two about the loopholes of the legal system. Burden of proof lies with the prosecution; it would be very difficult to prove that a wedding didn’t happen.”

Kara tsks and turns on her heel to stare out over the valley. “Supergirl isn’t a legal entity. They could challenge you on the grounds that you can’t be legally married to someone who doesn’t legally exist. And if they found a judge more sympathetic to Lex than to you….”

“Not a difficult thing to find,” Lena admits. She stands in the fear and the evening chill for a long moment “I meant what I said, Kara. If I go to prison over this, so be it. Anything to protect you.” Anything for the woman I love, she wants to say, but Kara isn’t ready for that. Might never be ready for that. And neither, truthfully, is Lena.

Kara’s fingers have found the edge of her cape, and now she’s worrying at it in the fading light. She doesn’t look back at Lena for what feels like a long time, and when she does her expression is guarded. “I want you to promise me you’re going to hear me out before you say anything.”

“Okay….” Lena says. She tries to wrestle down her questions, her curiosities, her reservations. Anything for Kara, after all.

Kara takes a deep breath, looking for all the world like she’s readying herself to make a national address. “I have a terrible idea.”

[wavesmp3]

[hyunjae] the sea is yours to take

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

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

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

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve missed you dearly, Juyeon.”

He grins. “I as well.”

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

“I’ve heard.”

“About everything?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That you did.”

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

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

You shut the door in his face.

—LORD JAEHYUN—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I've seen paintings." You snipe.

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

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

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

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

"Were you close to him?" 

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

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

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

***

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

“Who is it?” You ask tiredly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Indeed, he does.” 

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

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

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

“Everyday.” 

“I wish I knew her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave Orindell.”

“Not until-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"About Orindell and you?" 

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

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

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

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

"Have you heard any word from Peter?" The question seems to bring you both back to reality. And the question, or perhaps reality, drags Juyeon's lips down and draws his gaze towards the flames. 

He scratches a spot behind his head. "Not a word.”

“I’ve been sending him Risals.” 

“And…?” Juyeon asks, hopeful.

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

Juyeon sighs, and you can’t decide if it sounds more tired or sad. “But if he's following his plan then he should be at the Nomads' Land by now." 

"That's only if he was able to find the Nomads' Land.”  You rub your temple thinking and overthinking all the aspects of Peter's plan. On a hunch and a forgotten memory, you had advised Peter to head north to the Giant Forest. Specifically, you had advised Peter to find the Nomads’ Land within the Giant Forest. The Nomads have always been very private people but even more so after the rule of King Avi, who ruled over the kingdom during the Holy Wars. No one has even seen a Nomad since let alone their Lands. There are no maps, no stories, nothing. On top of that, the Nomads’ have never been known for their kindness to strangers. "I feel as if I've let him go on an impossible quest."

Juyeon shakes his head, a crease running through his forehead. “Peter decided to go himself. He sketched up the plans himself. If he thought he could do it, there must be something he knows that we don’t.”

You nod even though Juyeon sounds as if he’s convincing himself of it as much as he’s convincing you. But you know, there is some truth to Juyeon's words. Peter is more than competent to do what he set out to do. As he grew, the eldest prince always found new ways to surprise you with his skill. After the Holy Wars and the deaths of all the Sins and Gifts apart from yourself, your fighting skill went unmatched. That was until Peter. Peter trained under you by the request of his mother and to the disdain of his father, and as Peter grew, so did his skill. By the time Peter had aged into a man, he became a better opponent than you had seen in ages. His brute strength making up for what he lacked in skill. But there’s something else about Peter as well, perhaps the same quality that puts a fog in your mind and reminds you of a memory you can’t remember. That part of him makes you wonder if there is something else that eases your worries. Whatever quality of Peter that perplexes you, is the same one that proves Peter is capable of completing his task to overthrow the King, to overthrow his father. You can only hope your advice to ask the Nomads gets him far enough to do it.

"You're right," you admit, "Peter is capable. I'm just worried. It all..." you hesitate struggling to find the right words, "It all makes my head ache." 

Juyeon sits back in the armchair, his brows furrowed and appearing to be deep in thought. He opens his mouth suddenly as if to speak, yet nothing comes out. He seems to be overcome with the same loss of words as you.

“I hate to ask this—”

“Then don’t.” 

“—but why did you send Peter to the Nomads’ Land?”

You still. The same fog from before overcoming your mind once again. “I can’t even begin to explain, Juyeon, I—”

“Try,” you meet his eyes, they look darker in this light or perhaps it’s his own confusion and hopeless need to understand that makes his eyes turn to the color of bark after a thunderstorm, “please.”

You do.

“I’ve told you before, Juyeon. I  struggle to remember life before the Holy Wars.” You pause, taking a moment to collect and retrieve your thoughts from the thick fog consuming your mind. You come back empty handed.

“It’s almost as if life never existed before the Holy Wars.” You say slowly. “I’ve forgotten the way life was before that. The way life was before I was the Gift of Fortitude. But sometimes, just barely, I get a sense of a memory. As if whatever made me forget is wearing off. As if it’s weakening.” You take another break, dropping your head in your hands. You can feel a headache coming. “These memories, they come and go, lasting only for the moment they appear. But when I was speaking with Peter that night, something about him or something about our conversation brought this memory to me. And I…” You trail off, struggling to remember the conversation you had with Peter before he took off.

Juyeon stands up from the armchair and joins you on the floor. His movements are frantic, but the message they send is clear: they scream desperation. “I know it’s difficult to remember, but please try as best you can. We were so close last time.”

This makes you stop. You release your head from your hands and look back at Juyeon quizzingly. “Last time?” You repeat in disbelief.

He grabs your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “Focus. You talk of a memory. A memory to do with the Nomads and your life before the Holy Wars. What did you remember that day with Peter? Why did you send him to the Nomads’ Lands?”

You don’t even hear him, your head suddenly splitting with pain. “When did we speak about this before?” You ask, helplessly wondering how you possibly could have forgotten an entire conversation.

“The memory,” Juyeon emphasizes once more, “what was the memory?”

“Juyeon, please,” you beg, feeling a tear you hadn’t even noticed roll down your chin, “let it go. I don’t remember.”

His entire body seems to sigh in defeat. “I’m sorry,” he mutters before letting go of your face. Your mind turns white with fog the moment he lets go. You  immediately drop your head into your hands again. The pain in your head so intense you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from crying out. Eventually, you taste blood.

“I’m sorry.” Juyeon mumbles into your hair. You hadn’t even realized he was embracing you. “I wish it didn’t have to hurt so much to remember.”

You try to tell him it’s like a curse but the words get swallowed by another surge of pain.

He helps you into your bed, and it makes you feel as old as you are. He whispers another apology before leaving your room. 

And like a spell, the fog in your mind devours your entire body in a deep sleep.

—LORD JAEHYUN—

"In the name of the Gods, we offer this prayer. Bestow upon us the knowledge of the Elders to live in harmony with our neighbors. By bathing in your everlasting light and glory, may we go in peace.” Jaehyun prays although his mind is far from the memorized passages that leaves from his lips. The palace temple is modern and beautiful, but different compared to the traditional southern temples he’s used to. But even that, Jaehyun can’t focus on. No, instead, Jaehyun troubles himself with the events of this morning. He awoke exhausted and aching after a long day of riding. But despite his tire, he was to meet the Gift of Fortitude this morning with breakfast in your personal dining room. It was awkward to say the least, with Jaehyun and Younghoon unsure and timid and you holding your head in your hands, complaining of a headache to a servant in hushed tones. Yet, Jaehyun sits in the palace temple thinking and overthinking how you, the Gift of Fortitude, looked so undeniably human. 

Jaehyun sneaks a glance. You’re seated next to him, but you look as if you’re somewhere else altogether. Your eyes are sewn shut and your lips are held tightly in a line. He wouldn’t have thought you to be so religious. Hell, Jaehyun wouldn’t have thought anyone north of the Zalazar River to be religious, but with the way you sit, concentrated on the prayers, religious is the only thing Jaehyun can think of to describe you. 

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

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

“Lord King I present to you Lady Gift of Fortitude, Lord Jaehyun, and Captain Younghoon." The guard announces to the King's throne room as the three of you enter. The throne room, Jaehyun notices, is just as lavish as the rest of the palace, if not more. Five of the six counsel seats are filled. Prince Roen and Prince Orindell sit attentively at their thrones, but Prince Peter's throne is empty. Jaehyun finds the sight odd, especially since the heir to the throne is known to be closely involved with the King's affairs and even more because Prince Peter is a close friend of you, as are all the Princes. 

Despite that, the King wastes no time. He says that you wish to visit the southern lands, and offers Jaehyun's estate as a place for you to stay. Jaehyun assumes there is more to the request than the King lets on but accepts nonetheless, and the three of you are ushered out of the throne room almost as soon as you’re brought in. 

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

“I apologize for the circumstances, Lord Jaehyun and Captain Younghoon. I’m afraid I had little choice in the matter. I just wished the King hadn’t handled matters so hurriedly.” You tell them. 

“It’s quite alright, Lady Gift,” Younghoon affirms, glancing at Jaehyun as if expecting him to say something, but Jaehyun stays silent. “I find it a shame although,” Younghoon says to cover Jaehyun’s silence, “that there were so many missing in the King’s close court this morning.” 

“Yes.” You respond simply. 

“If I may, where is Prince Peter? I’ve heard you’re close to all three Princes.”

“You heard correctly, Captain Younghoon.” Then you pause. Jaehyun closely observes the way you carefully choose your next words. “Prince Peter had some personal matters to take care of. He’s taken a sabbatical of sorts.” 

"Odd that there was no royal notice of his sabbatical," Younghoon says in an even but skeptical tone. 

"Yes, Prince Peter is nearly as impulsive as his father," you cringe slightly when you say it, as if the words hurt.

And it's evident in the way you deflect the question, that there's something more to Prince Peter's absence. Something the King's court has chosen to cover up and ignore. Jaehyun knew just how impulsive the King could be, and for that reason, Jaehyun suspects that Prince Peter has snuck out of the palace, but then with another look at your scornful face, Jaehyun suspects something different. Prince Peter must have been sent away by his father himself. The realization takes a moment to sink in. 

Younghoon clears his throat. “And then what about Lord Seth, the sixth member of the King’s court?”

You stop walking altogether, looking down at your feet with furrowed brows. You look as if you’ve forgotten something. Jaehyun and Younghoon stop walking as well.

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

Younghoon tilts his head, “Heard what?”

You bite your lip, and look off to the side. You open your mouth once, but then close it again after. Jaehyun thinks, as mad as it sounds, that you, a Gift of the Spirit, look a little nervous.

Jaehyun takes a step forward. “What is it Lady Gift?” He asks, breaking his silence.

You shake your head once and then look up at Lord Jaehyun and Captain Younghoon with steady eyes. “Lord Seth was murdered.” You state with an eerie simplicity. You hesitate before adding the next part. “And I was the one who killed him.”

Jaehyun was wrong. It was not nerves that made you hesitate. It was guilt.  

“Well then, I just need to take care of a few more things before we leave. I’ll meet you both at the stables.”

And you’re off before Jaehyun and Younghoon can even comprehend what you just said.

 ***

Jaehyun waits for you and Younghoon in the stables. He tends to his horse deep in thought. 

Jaehyun hadn't been sure of the nature of your prospective visit to his estate. But now with your murder confession, it's clear you are being sent away as a punishment. You’re more akin to the stories and rumors than Jaehyun had wanted to believe. A monster lurking on the palace grounds as one of the Seven Gifts of the Spirit under the pretense that you mysteriously switched sides and fought with the Seven Sins during the Holy Wars. A monster lurking within a human body with an uncontrollable power that should be stopped, contained. 

Jaehyun doesn’t agree with all of it, but he’s not above some of the notions either. Before the Holy Wars, the Seven Gifts of the Spirit were praised as highly as the Seven Sins. The two groups worked in harmony as protectors of humanity. However, for reasons unknown to the people, the Seven Sins and Seven Gifts of the Spirit began fighting which escalated into the Holy Wars. The kingdom took the side of the Sins making the Gifts an enemy to the nation. After the war, the Gifts were not praised as highly as they once were. In fact, the Seven Gifts of the Spirit were not praised at all. All seven Sins and six of the Gifts perished in the Holy Wars. You, the only one who had survived, shouldered the blame of the Holy Wars. You, the Gift of Fortitude, became a pariah.

Although Jaehyun hates himself for doing so, he can’t help but think that perhaps you do have too much power. Power that is unmatched without another living Sin or Gift. Power that goes unchecked. If the Gift of Fortitude set out to kill, Jaehyun doubts there is much that could stop you. Lord Seth’s murder had gone unannounced and relatively unpunished. Jaehyun wonders if Lord Seth was an isolated example or just another among the many whose lives were put in your hands. 

But then when Jaehyun thinks back to the figure praying diligently beside him in the temple just hours ago and the person who complained of something as mundane as a headache this morning, it doesn’t appear to make much sense. If Jaehyun had not known you to be the Gift of Fortitude, he would’ve never fathomed that you’d even hurt a fly.  

“That’s a very beautiful horse you have there, Lord Jaehyun,” you say suddenly, bringing to Jaehyun’s attention your presence in the stables. 

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

“Ah,” you mutter. And for a second, Jaehyun thinks he sees your face turn to a frown. But before he can look any further, you continue. “Mines is a river horse.” You brush through the mane of the horse in the stall next to Jaehyun’s. “I found him a while back by the Zalazar River.” 

Jaehyun doesn’t say anything in response. He begins attaching his saddles and bags to his horse instead. He watches the affection with which you care for your horse. He wonders how you’re able to act so calmly after admitting to murder not too long ago. Jaehyun thinks your dismissal and nonchalance negates any trust he might’ve held for you.  

He clears his throat. He makes sure it’s loud and obtrusive. He makes sure the I don’t trust you is clear. 

“Lord Jaehyun,” you begin, not even bothering to take your eyes off your horse, “I understand you may be upsetted by and skeptical of my actions, but I kindly ask that you respect them nonetheless. I hope you come to see that I had my reasons. Good reasons. Ones that I am unable to share with you.” You pause for a second as a servant brings in a bird Jaehyun doesn’t recognize and sets it by your feet. You continue as soon as the servant disappears behind the stable doors. “I am no stranger to fear and hate directed towards me. But seeing as I am to be staying at your estate for the foreseeable future, I ask that you wait and get to know me before you make any rash assumptions concerning me.” You take a step past Jaehyun so that you stand beside him facing the opposite stable door. You turn your head, and Jaehyun shivers at the way your breath hits his neck. You speak directly into his ear, voice no louder than a whisper. “It’s best you realize sooner rather than later that we have the same enemy here.” 

Jaehyun understands what you are implicating, the notion alone bringing a sudden heat to his cheeks. He doesn’t dare to meet your eyes. But you stare at Jaehyun until he makes some acknowledgment of your speech. You’re gone the moment he does, leaving a cloud of dust and dirt in the space you used to occupy. 

Jaehyun is left stunned. He can’t even acknowledge the palace servant that re enters the stable to finish preparing your horse. He’s only brought out of mind when a familiar heavy hand rests upon his shoulder. 

“We’re ready when you are Jaehyun,” Younghoon says, a laugh dancing under his words. 

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

Younghoon releases Jaehyun’s shoulder. “Enough,” he hums with an enthusiastic nod. 

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

Younghoon’s quiet for a moment, but when he does speak again, he does so seriously. Jaehyun listens intently. “It’s not that I’m excusing murder Jaehyun. It’s that I’m willing to believe there is more to this story than we are hearing. I’m willing to trust the Gift of Fortitude over the King.” 

Jaehyun shakes his head. “I just can’t understand how everyone is looking past the life that has been lost. How can you accept a crime as grave as murder?”

Younghoon chuckles darkly. “I spent the better part of my life making murderers out of men and women. I made a murderer out of myself as Captain of the Knights of the Holy Order. I stay sane because I believe that I led knights to their deaths for good reason. If I did not accept the murders I’ve committed, I would have gone mad a long time ago. Sometimes Jaehyun, a crime is only as grave as its motivation.”

Jaehyun is silent, taking his time to understand what Younghoon means. He returns his attention to his horse. 

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

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

“Anything worth sharing?” 

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

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

Eventually, Younghoon wears himself out with talk of the current state of the Knights, the supply chain routes, their management of northern bandits and uneasy eastern Lords, and whatever else Younghoon can think to comment on. And by the time he does, the horses are prepped and ready to go. The small, mismatched party of Lord Jaehyun, Captain Younghoon, and the Gift of Fortitude begin the two day journey south. 

The journey is quiet and tense. The only conversation coming from Younghoon and you making small talk about the weather and the shameful fail of the western harvest. They take rest at the Bronze Bridge. 

The Zalazar River is now a blood red color. Younghoon comments on how it’s a little early for the river to take such a dark color. He also mentions that this color is one of his favorites. 

“My favorite,” you begin, leaning over the edge to stare at the water, “is the blue that appears during the transition from winter to spring.”

They all, including the guards, stare at you, dumbfounded. You notice a second too late and turn your head towards them slowly. 

“What?” You breathe, and Jaehyun laughs when he realizes you’re being serious. He laughs at the notion that your favorite color of an ever-changing river is the color of all bodies of water.   

“In that case, Lady Gift,” Younghoon chuckles, “I think you’ll take a great liking to the sea.” 

They mount their horses and cross the rest of the Bronze Bridge and blood red river a little less tensely. 

***

They take rest at an inn for the night. Jaehyun finds how empty the inn is odd considering it is at the center of this town off the main road. Even if most of the rooms were unoccupied, the dining rooms of inns were always full at nights with the town’s people engrossed in conversation over a pint of beer. But tonight, with the guards resting upstairs, the inn’s dining room is mostly empty. Three tables are occupied and one of those three are occupied by Jaehyun, Younghoon, and you. Jaehyun remembers what you said about fear and hate being directed towards you. He starts to wonder how often you empty a room with fear, intentional or not.

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

You feel bad. It’s been so long since you’ve left the King’s City, that you’ve forgotten how the people outside the Golden Palace react to you. You have forgotten that most people don’t want to eat dinner and play drinking games with a Gift of the Spirit near. You make a mental note to cover up more next time you’re out. Then after a quick glance at the innkeeper behind the bar, you make another note to reimburse her for the money she must’ve lost thanks to you.  

You’re aware of the way Jaehyun squints at you, untrusting. The southern Lord hadn’t appeared to be so headstrong and stubborn when you met him this morning. But as Lord Jaehyun stares daggers at you, you guess that your first impression of him was wrong. Still, you’re tired of petty conflict. You want to help Jaehyun understand your motives without involving him in the palace’s politics. You want to make peace. 

You exhale sharply. 

“Lord Jaehyun,” his eyes widen when you address him, “Captain Younghoon, I know you must have many reasons to distrust me.” Jaehyun scoffs. You ignore it. “But I’d like to make peace with you both. I’m afraid I might not be able to answer all of your questions but perhaps there’s some that I can.” 

You feel uneasy. You aren’t one to make an effort to get someone to like you or trust you. And yet, you find yourself in front of Lord Jaehyun and Captain Younghoon nearly begging for their acceptance. 

“I have a question,” Younghoon begins, sitting up slightly. You nod. “What kind of bird do you travel with? I’ve never seen a bird like that before.” 

“Oh, the bird. It’s my personal Risal.” You say simply. You aren’t surprised to see the shock on their faces. Risals were extremely rare and even more expensive. They’re said to have been blessed by the Gods as messenger birds. That of course is the only explanation for how Risals are able to send any message anywhere and to anyone in no more than a day even if the one sending the message does not know where to find the one receiving. 

“My Gods, how in the world did you get your hands on a Risal?” Younghoon exclaims, like a little kid waiting for sweets. 

You smile. “It was a gift from the princes’ late mother, Roe.” The reminder makes your smile turn sad. Lord Jaehyun notices. 

“Are they as untraceable as they say?” 

You nod. “Tracking a Risal is impossible. It’s almost as if they disappear into thin air when they take flight.” 

“You’re very lucky.” Younghoon tells you with a laugh, and you let yourself believe that you’ve made some progress. Lord Jaehyun, however, doesn’t let you believe so for long. 

“I have a question.” Lord Jaehyun implores, bringing himself out of his silence. His voice is stern and a little cold. Younghoon looks uneasy. You beckon for him to continue anyways. “What exactly do you possess as a Gift of the Spirit?” His voice is filled with distrust, but when you meet his eyes, you're surprised to find that they aren’t as cold as his voice. 

“Jaehyun—“ Younghoon starts. 

“How do you mean?” You encourage him to continue. You know what he wants to hear. He wants to hear how you’re a killer by nature. He wants you to explain just how deadly you are. He wants you to prove his distrust. 

“What are your powers, Gift?” 

You flinch at the name. You flinch at the question. Both of which you hate. And yet, you’re no stranger to either. But you’ve already decided to make peace, and so peace you’ll make. 

“As you know, in ancient times Maratelli the archangel gave 14 roles to humans. The Seven Sins: Greed, Anger, Pride, Lust, Sloth, Gluttony, and Envy. And the Seven Gifts of the Spirit: Wisdom, Understanding, Counsel, Knowledge, Piety, Fear, and,” you pause to look at Lord Jaehyun directly, “Fortitude. The Sins and Gifts were given to the people as protectors. As humanity’s fighters. To answer your question Lord Jaehyun, I am an exceptionally skilled fighter. I was made and crafted by the Gods to fight for humans and protect them in ways they cannot. But the power is not almighty, the Seven Sins and Gifts are slow healers. Even small injuries can leave us bedridden for weeks.” 

Lord Jaehyun wastes no time, jumping into the next question. “Are you immortal?” 

“No.” 

“So you can die?” 

“Yes.” 

“By old age?” 

“No.” 

“Then how?” 

You wait a beat. “By giving up.” You don't explain any further. 

You had hoped to make peace with Lord Jaehyun tonight. Perhaps you had hoped for too much. 

--LORD JAEHYUN-- There’s a familiar tense silence while riding the next day. They reach Jaehyun’s estate by late afternoon, earlier than expected. 

You request to be taken straight to your quarters. 

“You’re acting strange.” Younghoon mutters, watching Jaehyun with a careful eye as he takes a spoonful of his soup. It’s only Jaehyun and Younghoon at dinner tonight. You decided you were too tired to attend. 

“How so?” Jaehyun questions, swirling his spoon around the bowl. 

“The cook made your favorite soup, and you’ve had only two spoons of it so far.”

“I ate earlier.” 

“It’s not just that Jaehyun.” Younghoon adds, and Jaehyun holds back a groan, dreading the coming conversation. “What’s gotten into you?” Jaehyun shrugs. And he can’t help but notice how sad Younghoon sounds when he says: “You aren’t yourself around her.” 

Jaehyun drops his spoon, placing his hands on his knees. “I just don’t trust her Younghoon. Something about her unsettles me.” 

Younghoon takes another sip of his soup. “You’re entitled to your judgement, but that does not mean you’re entitled to treat her so rudely. I just want the two of you to make peace. And believe it or not, she wants to make peace too.” 

Jaehyun huffs; he doesn’t feel like giving in easily tonight. “If the Gift wants to make peace, then let her make it.” 

“She’s already tried. And if you must call her something, she prefers Fortitude.” 

“Fortitude isn’t a name—”

“Neither is Gift.”

“— it’s a title, Younghoon.” 

“And what would you do if a title was the only name you had?” 

Jaehyun bites the inside of his cheek, mumbling, “but what if it’s not the only name she has?”

Younghoon shakes his head in frustration. “Jaehyun, I can only advise you to make peace. It’s up to you whether you do or not.” 

And with that Younghoon leaves from the dining room. Jaehyun finishes the rest of his dinner alone. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

You were unhappy. You didn’t want to be at Lord Jaehyun’s estate in these strange southern lands. You did not want to be somewhere you were unwelcome. Even before your return to the Golden Palace, you never traveled too far away from the King’s City. The thought of being so far away from the lands you’re used to calling home makes your skin itch. 

There’s a knock on your door. You open it to a young servant girl. “Lady Gift, Lord Jaehyun is asking if you would like to accompany him on a walk to the beach.” 

You wonder for a second if this is some sort of joke. You can’t imagine Jaehyun waking up and deciding he wants to spend time with you willingly. Then you suspect if Younghoon put him up to it. 

“You can tell him I’m coming and that I’ll meet him by the back gates.” 

You get dressed quickly and walk down the estate to the gates. When you arrive, Lord Jaehyun is already waiting, facing away from the estate and towards the grassy path. 

“Lord Jaehyun.” 

He nods at your greeting, and the walk begins in silence. 

“You seem to already know your way around the estate.” Jaehyun mentions by the time the grass and sand have begun to mix under your feet. 

“Younghoon gave me a very thorough tour this morning.” 

Jaehyun laughs but it sounds small and strained. “Yes, Younghoon is not the type to spare any details.” 

You settle back into a silence. You’re surprised with how civil the walk has been so far, and you duly note how this might be the first time Jaehyun hasn’t stared at you hatefully. With another look at the boy, you find that his eyes—when they aren’t filled with anger—are actually quite kind. You also find beauty in the way the sunlight bounces off them. You smile. 

“Lord Jaehyun,” you address softly, “did Younghoon put you up to this?” 

He chuckles, and instead of answering your question, he says: “Lady Gift, I would like to apologize for how I treated you these past couple days. I am not used to the happenings of the Golden Palace. I was shocked. But that’s no excuse for how I acted. I’m sorry. I truly am.”

For the second time that day, you’re surprised, and not only because Jaehyun is apologizing but also because of how sincerely he sounds saying it. 

“Thank you, Lord Jaehyun.” 

He shakes his head. “It’s the least I could do, Lady Gift. But I hope you accept this as an apology for my behavior as well, and that you find it in you to forgive me.” 

You nod. “I’ll forgive you if you agree to drop the formalities.” 

Jaehyun claps his hands. “Doesn’t seem like you’re getting nearly as much out of this arrangement as I am, but I accept nonetheless.” He stops walking and holds out his hand. “Do we have an agreement?” 

You shake his outstretched hand. “I suppose we do.” 

He smiles, and you’re shocked for the third time that day. Shocked that the man before you is the same one you met at the Golden Palace. The same man whose hatred for you was so strong you could have sensed it across a room. The same man who is taking you on this walk and no longer calling you Gift. Shocked that Jaehyun is the one to make the peace you wanted so badly. 

You find yourself to be smiling too. 

“Come on,” Jaehyun says, continuing the walk, “I think it’s about time you saw the sea.” 

You both continue down the now sandy path. You admire the way Jaehyun so easily walks in the sand. You, on the other hand, struggle to adapt to your feet sinking and shifting in the ground beneath you. 

Jaehyun tells you that walking in the sand will get easier with time. It takes a moment for you to register the fact that he noticed. 

“Wow,” is all you can say at the blue expanse before you. You think Roen was right. The paintings do not do justice to the sea. The paintings were unable to capture the real thing. 

“You said that blue is your favorite shade of the Zalazar River right?” 

Your smile widens. “Yes, but this…” you motion to the water, “this is even better.” 

Jaehyun hums triumphantly. “Accept this as a peace offering.” 

“Oh Jaehyun, we have already bargained and made peace.” 

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re actually terrible at bargaining.” He laughs. “That deal was far too uneven for me to accept with dignity. So please, accept this instead.” 

“I was not aware you knew how to make a joke.” You tease. 

“Please,” he repeats, sounding suddenly serious. 

You tilt your head. “I also was not aware the sea was yours to give as peace offerings.” 

“It’s not.” He bites back a smile. “But it is yours to take.” 

You think for a moment. And when the next wave crashes into the shore, you nod.

***

You send a message with the Risal to Roen that night. 

Dear Roen, I hope things at the palace are doing well. You were right. The sea is so much more than I thought. The sea is something else entirely. Give everyone my love. -Fortitude 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

Jaehyun is sitting at his desk. He has piles of papers to sort through, file, fill out, and sign, and yet he can’t seem to focus on the small amount of work he’s obliged to do as a Lord. Instead he’s focused on the view outside the window of his office which overlooks the courtyard. More specifically, he focuses on the way you sit at the edge of the fountain teasing a stray cat with a loose string. Suddenly, you look towards the sky and stick your arm out. A bird swoops down from nowhere and perches itself on your extended forearm. Jaehyun wonders if your abilities as a Gift include an inclination towards animals. The bird drops an envelope in your lap; you read the cover before setting it down beside you. Jaehyun squints at the scene and recognizes the bird as your Risal. This piques his interest. 

“Younghoon,” Jaehyun calls out. Younghoon tends to keep Jaehyun company while he works, reading a book in the corner armchair. But when Jaehyun is met with silence, he looks over to find the book closed on his lap and Younghoon fast asleep. Jaehyun covers Younghoon with a blanket and exits his office silently. He figures he might as well go for a walk if he isn’t going to get any work done. 

When he finds you in the courtyard, the cat has settled down in your lap, and the Risal sits on the stretch of fountain ledge next to you. You seem to sense Jaehyun behind you before he bothers to make his presence known. 

“Have you already finished your work Jaehyun?” You ask, not turning around to face him. He walks the circumference of the fountain before stopping a little before you and answering. 

“Not exactly.” He sits down on the fountain ledge next to the Risal. 

“Well,” you mumble scratching a place behind the cat’s ear, “I suppose now is as good a time for a break as any.” 

“Yes, I thought so too.” Jaehyun responds, more focused on the bird in front of him. “Can I pet it?”

You nod. You advise him to start at the beak until the bird trusts him. It doesn’t take long for the bird to nuzzle under his palm. 

“It likes you.” you say, sounding a little shocked. “Winning a Risal’s trust usually takes much longer.” 

Jaehyun smiles shyly. The two of you settle into a silence. You scratching the stray cat to sleep and Jaehyun running his hand along the bird in awe. It had become like that between you two. There was never much conversation and yet somehow the silences you shared never felt empty or weird. Jaehyun isn’t sure if he can truly trust you, but he does know he was wrong about you. You’re no monster. In fact, you’re just as human as him and Younghoon. 

“How do they work?” Jaehyun wonders, looking up from the bird. “The Risals.”

You sit up slightly. “Would you like to see?” 

He nods. You set the cat down on the ground and beckon for Jaehyun to stand up as well. 

You collect the Risal on your arm and start walking away from him. “Move farther away.” You tell him. “It won’t work if we’re too close.” 

Once you are the entire length of the courtyard apart, you nod in approval and say something Jaehyun can’t hear to the bird. The bird suddenly launches itself from your arm and soars into the sky. Jaehyun closely watches how the Risal disappears behind the clouds. 

You cup your hands around your mouth and shout from across the courtyard: “When you hear a bird’s screech, hold out your arm.” 

Jaehyun waits a moment. Eventually the screech comes, and Jaehyun thinks how you forgot to mention how loud it would be. The screech makes him jump and clasp his arms over his ears. You don't even flinch. Jaehyun looks to see if the cat is spooked and finds that the cat is still peacefully asleep on the ground. Out of the corner his eye, he sees you pointing wildly at his arm. Jaehyun quickly sticks it out. He looks up at the sky only to see the Risal already swooping down and landing neatly on his arm. His mouth opens in shock. 

“Now,” you yell, “tell it to go to me.” 

Jaehyun looks the Risal in the eye. He wonders if this is all some elaborate joke. The bird couldn’t possibly understand him if he were to speak to it, right? Then he wonders if he’s mad for believing that it can. He inhales. 

“Go to the Gift of Fortitude.” 

And Jaehyun swears the Risal seems to nod before leaping off his arm and flying straight up into the sky once more. He watches the sky keenly, and then also covers his ears with his hands in anticipation of the screech. It never comes. Instead, the bird dives down from the sky, calming landing on your outstretched arm. Jaehyun runs to you immediately.  

“How come there was no screech this time?” Jaehyun asks breathlessly, meeting you at your end of the courtyard. 

“There was.” You say simply, petting the bird. Jaehyun furrows his brows. “The screech is only heard by the one who the Risal is meant for.” It clicks for Jaehyun then why you didn’t flinch and why the cat is still in a ball by the fountain. 

“So,” Jaehyun says slowly, “how does the Risal understand the name you tell it?”

You shrug. 

“What if you get the name wrong? Or there’s multiple people with that name?”

You shrug again. “They’re never wrong though, in my experiences at least. It’s almost as if they understand the intent more than the name itself.”

“And the way it just disappears into the sky?” 

“Remarkable isn’t it?”

Jaehyun smiles at the child-like excitement in your voice. He nods. “They must be incredibly smart creatures.” 

“They’re not just smart.” You begin scratching a spot under the Risal’s beak. The bird melts under your touch. “They’re magical.”

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

Dear Fortitude, I thought you’d like the sea. Things at the palace are as fine as can be. Orindell misses you dearly. I’ll keep you updated on Father and other palace occurrings. Although in all honesty, things have been quiet since your departure. I hope you’re resting well and enjoying the southern scenery despite the circumstances. Give my regards to Captain Younghoon and Lord Jaehyun. -Roen 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

“The service was long today.” Jaehyun states exiting the temple with Younghoon and you. The southern temples, unlike the palace temple, were old and traditionally built. This temple in particular had been built long before the Holy Wars. 

“I didn’t think so.” Younghoon says, swatting a hand around his face to shoo away a bug. “What did you think?” 

But when they look over at you, you appear to be somewhere else altogether. Suddenly, you still. 

 “Is that a…” you begin, your voice small, unbelieving. 

Jaehyun follows your gaze to a building at the top of the hill behind the temple. He follows your gaze to the sanctuary. You start walking towards the hill before Jaehyun and Younghoon can stop you. 

The sanctuary hasn’t been used in years, and the state of it shocks Jaehyun. In fact, the sanctuary itself shocks Jaehyun. He’s never been inside one. His knowledge of them was limited to what he had seen and read in textbooks growing up. Before the Holy Wars, all temples used to have sanctuaries nearby. They were built in honor of the Seven Sins and Seven Gifts of the Spirit. Sculptures were meant to line the walls of the sanctuaries, seven on the left for the Sins and seven on the right for the Gifts. And at the front of the sanctuaries, a sculpture of Maratelli the archangel was meant to stand tall. However after the Holy Wars, most sanctuaries were destroyed by mobs. People no longer felt the need to pay their respects to the beings who started the war that nearly destroyed the kingdom. The few sanctuaries that weren’t burned to the ground were left vandalized, most of the sculptures reduced to rubble. 

The sanctuary Jaehyun, Younghoon, and you stand in is no exception. Cobwebs cover all the walls and a thick layer of dust clouds everything in sight. The sanctuary is hauntingly cold and damp. Only two sculptures are left standing: Maratelli’s, whose arms and wings have been broken off, and one of the Gifts. Upon closer examination, Jaehyun finds that the other standing sculpture is the one dedicated to you, the Gift of Fortitude. The face of the sculpture is gone as if someone chipped away at the stone until the contours of the face disappeared. And on top of the blank stone where the face should be, die is written in black paint and monster is written on the torso. The sight makes Jaehyun sick to the stomach. 

But that’s not where Jaehyun finds you. Instead, Jaehyun and Younghoon find you kneeling on the floor next to the broken stone of what once was a sculpture dedicated to the Sin of Pride. Jaehyun helplessly realizes the tragedy that must litter your past in the way that everyone you once knew died before your eyes. You bow your head to the floor and sob. Jaehyun feels like an intruder in this moment, as if he’s watching something personal and private, something not meant for his eyes. The broken marble you bury your face into does little to conceal the pain in your sobs, and Jaehyun can’t help the way his heart aches at the sheer amount of heartbreak that rings from your cries. 

Jaehyun and Younghoon decide to wait for you outside. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

“If I may ask, when was the last time you had a worthy opponent?” Younghoon asks, breaking the silence of your lunch. Only you and Younghoon were present today. 

You think it over for a moment. It's been a while since you’ve fought anyone. Even while training Juyeon and the Princes, you never fought them yourself. “The Holy Wars most likely.” 

Younghoon nods, placing a hand under his chin. “Not that I would make one, but one of these days could we fight?”

You suck in a breath. Younghoon’s question feels foreign in your mind. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“Just a friendly scuffle?” 

“I don’t—“ 

“Or perhaps a sword fight?”

“I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

“We could set up rules to prevent such, and I can take a little pain. I might be retired but—”

“No, Younghoon.” You cut him off. “I don’t want to fight you.” 

He shrinks back into his seat. “Forgive me. But…” he hesitates, “can I ask why not?” 

You sigh. “I don’t fight for pleasure anymore.” 

***

The sea is quieter than usual and the waves crash in whispers the day you and Younghoon go for a walk along the shore. You had quickly adapted to the way your feet sink in the sand; and today, you find comfort in it.  

It’s also the day that Younghoon reveals his plans to head home soon. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that this wasn’t Younghoon’s home. He explains how his family lives farther east and how he splits his time between Jaehyun’s estate and his own home, travelling back and forth frequently. And when you question why he even bothers returning to Jaehyun’s estate, why he bothers leaving home, Younghoon laughs loudly and explains that Jaehyun pays him good money to stay and keep him company. You also hadn’t realized that this was Younghoon’s job. 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

“Don’t you think it’s a little desperate to pay Younghoon to leave his family and keep you company?” You tease as you and Jaehyun wave goodbye to Younghoon.

Jaehyun scoffs, side eyeing Younghoon’s retreating figure. “Is that what he told you?” You nod. “I’ll have you know he was staying for free before I insisted on him accepting the money.” 

You laugh, and Jaehyun notices the way your eyes crinkle. “Yes, yes. I figured as much.”   

The young servant girl appears then, asking Jaehyun if anything more is needed. Jaehyun tells her she can go home for the day, and she flushes a dark red. Jaehyun notices how you notice. 

And when the servant girl leaves, Jaehyun watches the way you smile, your lips concealing a secret.

“Fortitude,” he blurts, “would you like to go on a walk with me?” 

***

“What’s her name? The young servant girl?” You ask as you both start along the path towards the beach. 

“Vina.”

“And how old is she?”

“15 come winter I believe.”

You nod slowly, a smile similar to the one before growing on your face. “It’s cute, how smitten she is by you.” 

Jaehyun bites his bottom lip. “I don’t mean to make her…” He trails off, unable to find the right words. 

“Smile less.” 

Jaehyun quirks his head, looking up at you. “My smile…?”

You nod. “It’s your smile she falls for.” 

Jaehyun lets the statement sink, and the wind seems to pick up while he does. A sound faintly resembling a growl comes from you. He looks over to find you struggling to keep your hair at bay, the dark locks flying wildly in the wind. 

You huff, annoyed. “I didn’t bring anything to tie it back with.” 

“You could braid it.” Jaehyun suggests.

You run a hand through your hair in another attempt to push it back. “How terrible is it that I never learned how to braid it myself?” 

Jaehyun blinks at you. You pick at a spot below your chin. 

“Don’t laugh.” you stutter, but it’s too late because Jaehyun is already chuckling behind his hand. You shove him, hard. 

“Would you like me to braid it for you?” 

You look at him, your hair unattractively covering your face. You push it back, determining whether Jaehyun’s offer is genuine or not. 

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Your shoulders drop. “Yes please.” 

Jaehyun moves behind you, gathering your hair in his hands and beginning to braid it. 

“Where’d you learn how to braid anyways?” You ask, voice raised to be heard against the wind. 

“My sister, Insia, would make me braid her hair sometimes.” 

You shove a loose strand behind your ear. “I didn’t know you had a sister.” 

“She’s illegitime. Technically, we both are. My father never married.” 

“Where is she?” You wonder aloud as Jaehyun finishes the braid off. 

“She married an islander, gave up her ladyship to do so, and now lives there with him.” Jaehyun allows his eyes to drift towards the sea. Islands were peppered all along the coast, and the island Insia and her husband and kids lived on was only a couple hours from here by boat. Jaehyun made sure they visited each other often enough, and wrote to each other even more frequently. 

“It must be nice.” You mutter, focused on knotting the end of your braid. “To have a sibling.” 

And Jaehyun swears he’s never heard anyone sound so lonely. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

The walks along the shore had become a daily activity for you and Jaehyun, but today Jaehyun was busy which left you helplessly bored and laying in your bed staring at the ceiling. Your mind had begun to wander to Peter and his impossible journey, to Juyeon and your forgotten conversation, to the King and his future plans, and to Lord Seth. Maybe the King was smart to send you here after all, being far away from the Golden Palace made you forget why you were sent here to begin with. It was easy to ignore the gravity of the palace issues here at Jaehyun’s estate. It was easy to push aside the fog in your mind when you thought about your past. It was almost too easy to throw your worries into the sea and watch them crash against the rocks. 

So when Vina walks in with a fresh load of laundry, you don't hesitate to ask if the young girl would care to accompany you on a walk. And when Vina agrees, you’re grateful that you’ve found a distraction. 

When you ask why Vina works, you learn that she is the oldest of seven. You frown at the thought of Vina's wages going all to her family, but she’s quick to tell you not to worry. Apparently Jaehyun pays the estate staff well. The thought makes you smile. A question arises at the faint blush appearing on Vina’s cheeks. You hesitate a little. 

“Vina, do you happen to have a crush on Lord Jaehyun?” 

Vina freezes like a deer. “Oh Lady Gift, it isn’t like that please don’t misunderstand.” She shakes her head vigorously. “It’s just that… Lord Jaehyun has shown me nothing but kindness and I-“ She cuts herself off, fidgeting with her fingers. You assure her that it’s okay. Vina continues unsurely. “It’s just that it’s hard to not direct my feeling of gratitude in that way.” 

“And,” you hum, nudging her shoulder, “I’m sure it doesn’t help how handsome Lord Jaehyun is.” 

An embarrassed smile emerges on Vina’s face, and it turns almost mischievous when she says: “I would like it to go on record that I was not the one who said it.” 

You erupt in laughter. 

***

If you knew Vina wasn’t skilled in the art of keeping things to herself, you wouldn’t have admitted to the young girl your thoughts of Jaehyun’s face. But alas, you had, and there was nothing you could do to stop the gossiping of a young girl. It was just your luck that Jaehyun took it upon himself to tease you for the admission endlessly. 

The day the teasing stops is the day you want nothing more than to shoot an arrow. 

To your dismay, Jaehyun’s estate does not house an archery gallery. But when Jaehyun learns of your desire, he offers an alternative. So with the bow and arrow you brought from the Golden Palace and wooden plates acting as targets held up by Jaehyun himself, your wish is granted. 

You notch an arrow and breathe, taking note of the wind shift before letting the arrow fly. It hits the plate exactly where you had sent it. 

“So is it safe to assume that archery is another gift you have as a Gift?” Jaehyun shouts to you from across the beach, pulling the arrow from out the plate and dropping it in a pile. 

“Yes, it is.” You respond, grabbing another arrow from beside you. You take notice of how nonchalantly Jaehyun stands. “Are you not frightened by me shooting arrows towards a target that lies in your hand?” 

He shrugs. “Well, are you scared?” 

You’re taken aback by the question, but you aren’t scared. The arrow would land only where you wanted it to. 

“No.”

“Then why should I be.” Jaehyun says easily, holding the target back up. “Also, I know you’d never purposely hurt me.” He adds with a coy smile. “You think I’m too handsome.” 

You string the arrow in less than a second, aiming straight for Jaehyun’s face. “What was that?” 

A giggling Jaehyun cowers behind the target and runs. 

***

Sleep doesn’t come to you that night. Your mind runs wild with thoughts of the Golden Palace. You think and overthink the events that led up to Peter being sent away and then again the ones that led up to Lord Seth’s untimely death. You find that the memories slip past your fingers, a fog encompassing them. The same fog that clouds your memories of the past. It appears that your mind houses more fog than actual memories.  It appears that the fog is driving you mad. 

You elect to think of something new. Your eyes land on the Risal from Roen you have yet to respond to. You would’ve sent one back sooner if the line about Orindell didn’t make you so upset. You reluctantly recall your last conversation with him. He was still the same foolish little boy you have always known. You suppose that’s what makes your falling out so heartbreaking. You have known all three princes from the moment they were born. You raised them alongside Roe, their mother and your dearest friend, and when Roe passed, you raised them like they were your own family. Not exactly like a mother, but something more akin to a cousin or an aunt. The three princes were the closest thing you had to a family, and the thought that Orindell could love you romantically repulsed you. You were mad at Orindell, disappointed in him, and yet, you still miss him as much as you miss Roen and Peter. You long to talk with the three princes like you once did, before Orindell loved you and before they were old enough to concern themselves with the state of the kingdom and the state of their own father. And this time, the longing is what drives you mad.   

You decide that thinking will only lead to misery tonight, and with a glance at the full moon outside your window, you also decide a walk must be better than lying here, drowning in your own thoughts. You pull on a pair slippers before silently exiting your room. 

The beach is quiet tonight. The waves tease and kiss the shore and then disappear back into the sea. While you walk, you think about all the ways the sea has shown itself to you. You only realize how far you’ve walked when you reach the rocks. 

You were told about the rocky cliffs that laid a little to the west of Jaehyun’s estate by Jaehyun, Younghoon, and Vina. But you had never walked so far with either of them to see them yourself. 

The waves don’t seem larger here, but they crash against the rocks as if they are. The waves and the rocks clash like two forces in battle. Somehow the image and the sound bring a bit of comfort to the battle raging in your mind. 

Where you stand, the rocks are scattered, but further along the beach, the rocks multiply and gather until they completely cover the sand. The rocks start flat and then pile on top of each other until you’re staring at the rocky cliffs you have heard so much about. You think you like this rocky beach more than the sandy one you’ve grown accustomed to. 

You stiffen when you notice a figure sitting on one of the flat rocks. The person looks tired in the way they sit with their shoulders dropped and dragging, and yet the person is so captivated by the sea they don’t even notice you coming. Upon closer examination, you realize that you recognize the figure sitting alone on the rocks. Your guard drops when you realize the person is Jaehyun. 

“Jaehyun,” you say, appearing behind him, carefully walking towards where he sits on the rocks.

“Ah, Fortitude.” He doesn’t flinch at your appearance. He doesn’t even bother taking his eyes off the water. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You hum. “And you?” 

He shakes his head. “Younghoon calls this spot the insomniac's bed.” 

“Do you come here often then?”

“Nearly every night.” He looks away from the sea and stares at you still standing behind him.“Please,” he stutters, patting a dry patch of rock next to him, “sit.” You do.

“Is it safe to jump into the water from there?” You ask suddenly. 

You wait for Jaehyun to follow your eyes. “Ah, from the cliff?” You nod. “It isn’t safe to jump from most cliffs. There could be rocks in the water, or if the waves are too strong they could push you back against the base of the cliff.” 

“Yes, but what about this cliff?” 

Jaehyun sighs, although he doesn’t sound tired or frustrated. “They call that cliff Angel’s Peak.” 

“Why?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Because you’ll need the wings of an angel to survive it.” 

“Oh.” You don't think about it any further. 

The two of you don’t speak, the waves that crash against the rocks do that for you. You let the sound overwhelm you, feeling more peace and more clarity than you’ve felt in years. 

As a Gift of the Spirit, you lived longer than most, and part of your powers allow you to stay young. You could though, grow old. You could wake up one day and decide to start aging again. You could let herself wrinkle and grey like everyone else. But after King Avi died, after the last person who knew you as more than just a Gift stopped aging, you did too. You have been told that even though your face doesn’t show your age, your eyes do. It’s been said that your eyes tell the story of all the years you’ve endured. 

You study Jaehyun. This must be it, you think. This must be what people see when they look at your eyes because when you look at Jaehyun’s, you can see the life he’s endured behind them. You can see the age behind the brown. You wonder what Jaehyun must be thinking in this moment to make his life appear so long and sad. You wonder how Jaehyun manages to feel like an equal to you despite your life being so much longer. You wonder—

“How old are you?”

If Jaehyun’s shocked by the sudden question, he doesn’t show it. “As old as Peter,” then with a sigh he adds, “but I feel as old as you.” 

And with the way Jaehyun says it, as if he holds mountains on his shoulders, you believe him. 

“Well, maybe not as old as you,” Jaehyun continues, talking quickly as if he misspoke. “I just meant that I feel old. Or at least older than I am.” 

“No,” you mumble, picking at a loose strand, “I think I understand.”

“Can I ask you a question then?” 

“Depends.” 

Jaehyun waits a beat as if he’s testing the words on his tongue first. “How old are you?”

You inhale. “Too old, Jaehyun.” 

He doesn’t ask you to explain any further, but when you think about the years behind Jaehyun’s eyes, something in you yearns to tell him more anyways. 

“It’s a lonely thing to do,” you continue, eyes trained on the water, “to get old but not grow old.” 

“So then why don’t you?” 

“These days, I’m not so sure.” You meet Jaehyun’s gaze, and suddenly you feel as tired as you do old. 

“Good night, Jaehyun,” you tell him, standing up, “I hope sleep comes to you soon.” 

*** 

Dear Roen, I miss the old days. Why did you boys have to grow so old? Why did things have to get so difficult? Keep me updated on palace news, but spare me the court’s gossip. I worry about Peter too much for my own good. Tell me if you hear anything from him. Tell Orindell that I miss him too, but that I’ve missed him long before I left the Golden Palace. -Fortitude

—LORD JAEHYUN—

The wind was softer and the sun hid behind the clouds more often after that night at the rocks. It was hard for Jaehyun to explain, but after that day, something had changed. You let him in, and suddenly, things were different. You would ask Jaehyun to braid your hair again, and he’d do it with a smile. He found himself craving more.

So when he asks you if you were born as a Gift of the Spirit, he knows he’s been thinking about the question long before he felt comfortable enough to ask it. 

“No.” You tell him, kicking your feet in the sand. “I was born normal. Just like anyone else.” 

“Oh,” Jaehyun says softly. 

“It happened when I was six.” You continue. “The other six Gifts came to my village, told me I was destined to be Fortitude, and that was that.” 

“Six?” Jaehyun repeats, saddened by how young you were. You nod. “You never got to be a kid.” 

Your mouth twitches. “Yeah.”

And when the frown that appears on your lips pulls at a certain part of Jaehyun, he decides he wants to help you take back a little piece of your stolen past. “Tell me something you wish you could’ve done.” 

You squint at him. 

“As a child, what’s one thing you wish you could’ve done?” 

You exhale deeply. “Oh, I don’t know.” You pause, then laugh a little. “I guess, run.” 

It was Jaehyun’s turn to squint. “Run?”

“I mean to run like a child. Barefoot and wild and mad.” 

Jaehyun starts pulling his shoes off. 

“Well,” Jaehyun states when you give him a blank stare, “are you going to run with me or what?”

Slowly, you begin pulling your boots off too. Then once you’re both barefoot, feet sinking in the cold sand, Jaehyun nods, and 

you run. 

By the time you stop, the air has emptied itself from Jaehyun’s lungs. You, on the other hand, glow with something Jaehyun can’t put his finger on, but you glow and smile so brightly Jaehyun thinks the numbness in his legs is worth it. 

Jaehyun only realizes you’ve run as far as the rocks when you start climbing up to the top of Angel’s Peak. Jaehyun begrudgingly climbs up the cliff behind you. 

When you finally reach the top, Jaehyun sits, exhausted and lets his legs dangle over the edge. He inhales, refilling his lungs with the sea’s salty mist. 

Jaehyun loves the sea. He loves the water. It’s almost as if the water is a part of him, as if the salty sea carries his heart between the waves. And somehow the water loves Jaehyun back. Insia used to call him a mermaid because of how well he swims, and at one point, Jaehyun had convinced himself he was. Jaehyun feels at home by the sea. He feels peace listening to the seagulls and the lapping water. If time allowed it, Jaehyun would spend years staring at the blue water. 

Today however, sitting on top of the rocky cliffs with the Gift of Fortitude, Jaehyun doesn’t watch the sun dip into the ocean and disappear beyond the horizon. Today Jaehyun watches you. He watches how you seem to be smiling without a smile. He watches the water spray on your forehead and the scrunch of your nose when it does. He watches stories of a kingdom before his birth and of people he will never meet unfold behind your eyes. He wonders how much time he could spend staring at you. 

You meet his eyes, and Jaehyun doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look so happy. Yet for some reason, when your lips do turn up in a smile, all he can think of is the image of you at the sanctuary. How you knelt on the floor and clutched the crushed marble belonging to the Sin of Pride. All he can think of is the soul-crushing amount of hurt in your cries. 

Jaehyun hesitates. 

“Who was the Sin of Pride to you?” 

In that moment, the seagulls seem to turn quiet, and the waves seem to pause a second away from hitting the rocks. Jaehyun thinks he’s gone too far or that he’s asked you too much. In that moment, Jaehyun wants to swallow the words back. But before he can, the seagulls break their silence, screeching somewhere in the clouds. And the waves don’t just hit the rocks, they slam and bang and beat against them. Jaehyun coughs the words up before he can take them back. Your lips part, and Jaehyun’s forced to watch as a new story unfolds behind your eyes, one of youth, loss, hurt, and hate. And then you surprise him by smiling. 

“The Sin of Pride,” you start tucking your knees under your chin, “was my best friend before I was a Gift and he was a Sin. His name was Sunwoo, and we grew up in the same village. He was announced as the Sin of Pride a week before I was.” 

Jaehyun repeats the name in his mind. Then once outloud. You blink as if it’s weird to hear it said by someone else. It sparks Jaehyun’s curiosity, and he wonders aloud if you had a name before Fortitude. 

“I did, but I’m no longer the person that name was given to.” You say, voice low and cold. 

“Forgive me if I intruded.” 

You shake your head. “You asked. There’s a difference.” 

He turns his eyes to the water. “Is it hard to remember?” 

“Usually.” You tell him with a small pout. Then after a pause you add: “When I think about the past, there’s this fog, and that fog makes remembering painful. In fact the headache I had the morning we first met was caused by trying to remember something the night before. But right now, the fog in my mind isn’t so thick; right now, I’m not struggling to remember.” 

Jaehyun listens to you speak intently. He doesn’t want to push you, but he can’t help his own curiosity. So when Jaehyun hears an invitation laced within the tone of your voice. Jaehyun realizes that some part of you wants to remember as much as Jaehyun wants to know. 

And so, he says: “Tell me about your past.”

And you do. 

You tell Jaehyun about the village you grew up in and your parents. You describe to him how different and peaceful the kingdom was under the reign of the Queen Raffa who ruled when you were young. You tell him about Sunwoo and the week he was taken. Then, you tell him about the week you were taken yourself. 

“Back then, all the Sins and Gifts were adored by the people, they were loved.” You recall, and Jaehyun can’t help but notice the jealousy that seeps between the crack in your voice. “They rode with such confidence and were respected by the people. So respected that my mother didn’t even hesitate to let them take me away.” This time sadness is what seeps through the crack.  

“Where’d they take you?” 

You halt at Jaehyun’s question. “I don’t remember,” you say slowly as if you aren’t sure of the words leaving your own mouth. “The next thing I do remember is arriving at the Golden Palace, but by then, they had already made me the Gift of Fortitude.”

“How do you mean?”

“I’m not sure.” You scratch at your chin. “And now that I think about it, it must’ve been at least a year between when I left my family to when I was taken to the Golden Palace.” 

Jaehyun turns to you, wondering how you could possibly lose an entire year of memory, and then wondering how terrible it must be for you knowing that you have. 

“Did you get to see your family again?” 

You shake your head. “My mother fought and died in the Holy Wars. I saw my father once, after it was all over, but he wanted nothing to do with me anymore. He wanted nothing to do with the person who was on the side of the war his wife died fighting against.” 

“But what about the fact that you're his daughter?”

You bite your bottom lip. “At that point, he no longer saw me as his daughter.”

Jaehyun can’t imagine how much it must hurt to admit, especially considering how much it hurts Jaehyun to even hear. 

“But it was okay, because I never really knew my father and because I had Sunwoo and later Avi too.” You tell Jaehyun with a smile. “By the time Sunwoo and I became Sins and Gifts, the two groups were already fighting; they just hadn’t made it into a war yet. Raffa went as far as having the Gifts and Sins stay in opposite wings of the Golden Palace to avoid confrontation. Sunwoo and I used to sneak out to the palace roof at nights just to talk. But then,” your smile turns down, “Raffa was killed.”

Jaehyun knows this part although you repeat the story written in textbooks anyways. The Queen was murdered under an order from the Gifts, and by the time her son, Avi, took the throne, the Seven Gifts had fled from the palace, marking the start of the Holy Wars.

“I didn’t see Sunwoo much after that. The next and last time I saw him was right before he died.” You continue. 

“Is that why you switched sides?” 

You nod. “As Sins and Gifts, we’re gifted with fighting skill, but our injuries are fatal. That’s how most of the Sins and Gifts died during the Holy Wars. So when I heard news that Sunwoo had been injured, I knew it was only a matter of time until he would be dead too. He was being nursed inside the Golden Palace, and as a Gift, I wasn’t allowed in. So King Avi struck me a deal. Avi said that if I protected him and stayed loyal to him until his death, he would allow me to come to the palace and see Sunwoo.”

You stop to breathe. Jaehyun doesn’t say anything, but you watch him as if you’re waiting for him too. Jaehyun thinks it’s wrong, what King Avi did. Jaehyun thinks he had no right to make you indebted to him. Somehow, you seem to sense what Jaehyun’s thinking. 

“It’s easy to point blame, but in reality, the line between right and wrong and between good intentions and bad ones are more blurred than they appear. Avi wasn’t much older than me. Avi watched his mother die in the wake of this conflict between the Sins and Gifts, a conflict he had nothing to do with. Avi was as young and as desperate and as scared as I was, only he was the King. By then, I was only 13. I didn’t know much better. I was desperate and more scared of losing my best friend over the trust of the last remaining Gift so… I accepted. I sacrificed everything to watch Sunwoo take his dying breath.” 

Through the memories you share with him, Jaehyun begins to understand. He learns more about the Holy Wars through your pain and fear than he ever did in his history lessons. But most of all, Jaehyun understands that you were too young to shoulder the weight of war. 

“When the last remaining Gift other than me died, I gave up the war. I ended five years of wasted blood and pointless death just like that.” You pick at the sand under your nail. “I never liked the war. I was never even told what we were fighting for until the war was over.” You say, and if you can tell how surprised Jaehyun is to hear that you didn't even know the reason for the Holy Wars, you ignore it. “I fought blindly, and I surrendered blindly too.” 

Jaehyun stays silent, but his mind runs wild. How many days did you spend on a battlefield? How many lives did you take? How much blood did you allow to shed for a cause you didn’t even know? 

“Do you regret it?” He asks, focused on the water because at that moment Jaehyun can’t trust himself to look at you. 

You’re quiet. 

“I regret it all.” 

The image of you weeping in the sanctuary appears in Jaehyun’s mind again. He hears something new in his memory of your cries. He hears regret. 

The small part of Jaehyun that’s upset with you dissolves the moment he looks over and sees the regret that darkens your eyes. In that moment, Jaehyun can’t manage to feel anything but pity towards the person next to him. 

“It's terrible what I did.” You say solemnly. “I sat idly by while half the kingdom died before my eyes. I know that people call me a monster, and how can I say that I’m not when I’m responsible for the deaths of so many?” You look at him, but Jaehyun feels frozen because he can’t seem to let go of the fact that you were only 13 when this all happened. 

“Fortitude,” Jaehyun says gently with all the love he can muster. Love to make up for the hate you so deeply feel. Not towards anyone, not towards the world. But the shocking amount of hate you feel towards yourself. “No part of you is a monster. Because the Holy Wars were not your fault. And because it never will be.” 

Jaehyun can see something in you come apart. Jaehyun can see the deep-rooted hate you have harbored for yourself escape from the corners of your eyes. 

And when Jaehyun says, “The sins of your predecessors are not yours to suffer,” he swears he hears something within you break.

You both stare at the sea in a deafening silence. It’s a long time before anyone speaks again. But by the time Jaehyun does say something, the heavy air has been taken away by the current. 

“Although I’m still curious,” you motion for Jaehyun to continue, “what did the Holy Wars turn out to be about?” 

You close your eyes and keep them closed for longer than Jaehyun can call normal. When you do open your eyes again, they’re angry, and there’s just a hint of venom in your voice when you say: “I can’t remember.” 

You throw your hands up. “Oh Jaehyun, there’s so much I don’t know. About this kingdom and its history. About me and what it means to be a Gift of the Spirit. I don’t even know if there was a Gift of Fortitude before me. All of these things I was supposed to learn from the other Gifts. They were meant to teach me and mentor me, but they were too concerned with their own conflict. They left me with so many unanswered questions and unsolved mysteries. Half of which concern myself. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as it is if Avi didn’t have all the libraries burned to the ground and all of the historic scrolls and teachings from the Elders reduced to ashes with it. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel so lost.”

Jaehyun halts. “It was King Avi?” He questions in disbelief, remembering the mysterious burnings of all the libraries in the kingdom except for the one residing in the Golden Palace. “King Avi was the one who set fires to the libraries?”

“Oh, right,” you sigh, “I forgot that was a secret.” And in the next moment, you’re nearly laughing. “You know Jaehyun, I’ve never told anyone these things before.”

Jaehyun tilts his head to the side. “Why not?”

“No one’s ever asked.”

Jaehyun watches the waves. He finds a picture of himself in the waves and one of you in the rocks. For he appears and is tall, grand, rolling, and proud, but then he crashes and disappears back into the murky waters. And the rocky cliffs watch it all happen. You are the cliff, still and unyielding; while Jaehyun is just another wave, there in the moment and gone in the next.

“Did you love him?” Jaehyun asks then, the image of the wave crashing against the rock replaying in his mind. 

“Sunwoo?” 

Jaehyun nods, and you look up to the sky. 

“I was too young to even know what love looked like.”

It’s then that Jaehyun tastes the salt on his lips. 

***

After that day, you’re bedridden for some time with a migraine. You spend so long locked in your room with the lights off, Jaehyun tries sending you a nurse. You refuse the help stubbornly but politely. The next time he sees you is when you feel well enough to join him for dinner. 

“I hope you’re feeling better.” He says as Vina brings out plates with your meals. 

“I am, thank you Jaehyun.” You take a bite of your food. 

“Was it remembering that day that caused it?” 

You nod. “I’ve never been able to recall that much before.” The statement sounds sad to Jaehyun, and yet, you say it happily. “The pain of the headache was worth how good it felt to remember.”  

“Have you forgotten what you remembered?” Jaehyun asks, thinking back to when you said you usually forget again after. 

“Oddly enough, I have not.” You smile. Jaehyun feels a little hot; he thinks the fire must’ve grown in the hearth.   

“Jaehyun, do you know what Fortitude means?” Jaehyun shakes his head at your question as your dinner comes near an end. “I was told it meant courage.” You continue, clinking your fork against the plate.”And it feels like such a burden. To carry this responsibility. And to carry this name.” 

Jaehyun stares at you. He watches the way your arms dangle by your side as if they would fall off at the drop of a hat. He watches how you keep your eyes on your now empty plate. He watches you keep a smile on your face despite the way your voice sounds so sad. 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” 

“That’s alright Jaehyun.” The corner of your lip quirks. “Sometimes it’s more important to be heard than to be understood.” 

You stand up and excuse yourself from dinner. Jaehyun watches you go. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

When Younghoon finally returns to Jaehyun’s estate, it feels like he’s been gone for an eternity. You’re out in the market with Vina when he comes riding down the street on horseback. You call his name until he turns towards you. You have to unwrap the scarp you have fitted around your head and face before he recognizes you. 

Later that day, you and Younghoon ride on horseback through a forest trail. You wonder aloud why he isn’t tired after sitting on a saddle for the better part of the day. He shrugs and says something about not minding the pain of riding in exchange for the scenery. 

“Actually, I also wanted to talk to you about something.” You can hear the concern in Younghoon’s voice. You sit up on your horse. “Jaehyun’s father’s death anniversary is approaching.”

Oh. 

“He tends to get very…” Younghoon trails off, scratching the stubble growing on his chin. “He just isn’t himself during this part of the year. I thought you might appreciate a warning.” 

“Thank you, Younghoon.” You wait a beat. “Are you taking care of yourself?” 

“How do you mean?” 

“I heard you were close to Jaehyun’s father.”

“Oh,” he chuckles darkly, “I’ll be fine. It’s Jaehyun I worry about.” 

“And who’s here to worry about you?” 

Younghoon sighs. “Thank you for the concern.” 

***

The day of the anniversary itself, Younghoon spends the entire day in his room and Jaehyun disappears somewhere on the beach, only returning to the estate to ready himself for the temple service that night. You think that the whole estate, not just the residents, but the walls, the stone, the furniture, the rugs; the whole estate seems to be in mourning. You find yourself wanting to mourn too. 

There’s a knock on your door later that day while you’re reading a Risal from Roen. 

“Come in.” 

“Lady Gift, it’s time for the memorial service.” 

You hum. “Give my peace to Lord Jaehyun and Captain Younghoon.” 

“Uh, no, Lady Gift.” Vina shifts her weight. You look over to where she stands by the door. “It’s time for you to get dressed for the service.” You stare at Vina. “Lord Jaehyun requested that you attend the service as well.” 

“Oh,” you’re taken aback. You hadn’t realized you were wanted. 

You come down dressed in the traditional red color worn during burials and memorials. You do your best to find a red scarf to match. You meet Jaehyun downstairs, and he tells you that you’re still waiting for Younghoon. 

You chew on your bottom lip, unsure and timid. Suddenly the clothes feel itchy on your skin. “Jaehyun, are you sure you want me to come?”

Jaehyun looks confused. “Why shouldn’t you” 

“I mean I… I never really knew him.”     

Jaehyun pouts. “There's a dock on the east side of the beach my father used to take me to. I went there today. While I was there, I was thinking about the service tonight, and I found myself thinking about you.” You swallow. “I thought about all that you shared with me the other day and about all the death you’ve seen. It’s probably better that you never knew my father. You have enough fires to light and people to mourn as it is. Remember one of them instead.”

Younghoon appears then before you can say anything back, and you all, including Vina, head to the temple in a solemn silence. 

The temple is a sea of red. Younghoon whispers to you that Jaehyun’s father was loved by the people. You think that loved is an understatement; nearly the entire town has come out for the memorial service. 

You watch the fire rage. It was tradition to light fires for the dead. Years ago, fires were only lit 30 days after the death itself, but somewhere along the line, it had been normalized to light fires on the death anniversaries as well. The fire the temple has lit tonight burns bright and tall, as tall as the temple itself. The air around the temple is more smoke and flames than oxygen. You almost feel as if you’re suffocating, not from the smoke, but from the strife of an entire town which burns in the fire and contaminates the air. You choke on the sadness saturating your lungs and lingering in your veins. Your heart empties in tune with the mourning of the people for their beloved Lord. 

You inhale. 

You watch as Jaehyun and Younghoon throw burning logs into the flames. Soon after, others follow, throwing their own burning logs into the growing fire. You have to take a step back from the flame. Or rather Vina pulls you back muttering something about how the flying embers are dangerous. But you could care less. All you can manage to do is stare at the service unfolding before you, stunned. You have never seen a memorial service quite like this one. At the palace, the services were kept small and formal, limited to few guests and even smaller fires. But here, in these southern lands that you’re coming to love, even little children throw in twigs picked up from the nearby forest. The entire town throws in something. The entire town gets to remember the lost soul. You think that in some twisted way, it's beautiful. It’s beautiful how no one is left to mourn alone. 

You listen in on a group nearby, enough to hear that the group is sharing memories and stories of Jaehyun’s father. The group erupts in laughter. It seems out of place almost, such loud laughter in the midst of a memorial service, but when you look around the crowd you see a similar image in every corner. The people laugh and smile. They remember with joy. You recall that day on Angel’s Peak with Jaehyun and how good it felt to recall a part of your past. You think this must be like that. Loss was painful, but forgetting was worse. And through remembering, these people have made their pain their own to mend, bend, and break. 

It dawns on you then that the people are throwing in the love they can’t give as much as they’re throwing in their sadness for the loss. You learn that the fire before you doesn’t just rage, but that it cries and laughs as well. You learn that the wild warmth is more than just a fire; it’s an image of their love and loss. 

Jaehyun appears beside you then. He doesn’t look as happy as the others, but he looks less sad than he did before. He hands you a log and lights it with a match. You watch the fire eat up the wood in your hand before throwing it into the orange flames. Normally, only direct family members are allowed to throw things in the fire. So when Jaehyun hands you the log to throw, it’s actually the first time you've ever been allowed to do so. 

The last memorial you attended was for the princes’ mother, Roe. It was also the last time their father, the King, looked human to you. 30 days after her death a fire was lit by the palace temple. Orindell had just been born, still only an infant held in his father's arms. Peter and Roen were young as well, and the two boys clung to their father’s legs crying more out of confusion than anything else. You watched it all happen from a corner. You watched as the four boys, the King and his sons, weeped for their lost love. You watched as they threw in burning logs. And you watched it all behind a blur of your own tears. 

Before Roe, the last funeral you can remember attending was Avi’s, the young king who understood your grief and more importantly your guilt. But unlike the princes’ mother, who left an entire family behind, Avi had no living relatives. At his funeral, not a single log was thrown. For so long it had been you and Avi against the world, so when Avi died, it left you feeling inexplicably alone. 

You had burned a fire for Avi, and you had burned a fire Roe. But you never even lit a match for Sunwoo; and worse than that, you never bothered to mourn the loss of your mother and father. 

Jaehyun was right. You have plenty of fires to burn and logs to throw. So when a child passes by with a wagon of sticks in tow, you don’t hesitate to grab a handful. You throw one in for the Roe, the friend that made you feel human again. You throw one in for Avi, the tortured teen who understood. You throw a stick for Sunwoo who you sacrificed everything for. You throw two in for your mother and father who you lost long before their hearts stopped beating. You throw in several for the other Sins and Gifts who created that pointless war and left you lost in your own immortal soul. You throw in the rest for Lord Seth and all the lives that have been taken by your hands. You throw your regret into the fire and mourn. 

You forget Jaehyun’s next to you, until he puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. You lean into his touch, and the two of you mourn together.

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

You spend another sleepless night in bed thinking of Peter, thinking of the King, thinking of this kingdom. And when sunlight peaks from behind your curtains, you decide you’re tired of waiting. You send a hopeful Risal to Prince Peter. 

The Risal returns while you’re shooting arrows alone. When Younghoon came back and learned how you were using plates as targets and Jaehyun as a stand, he had crafted targets hanging from the tree branches for you to use instead. You were thankful for Younghoon’s generosity, but now, as you notch another arrow through your bowstring, you feel Jaehyun’s absence like a gaping hole, you feel it greatly. 

The arrow hits the wooden target with a sharp thud. 

It’s while you’re pulling the arrows from the target and placing them back in your quiver that you hear the Risal’s screech. You hold your arm out and wait for the bird to swoop down. 

No message, you think when the Risal comes back empty. You aren’t surprised that Peter received your message but didn’t bother to send one back. You have been sending the eldest Prince Risals since he departed from the Golden Palace at the start of spring, and every single one of your Risals came back with no reply. So no, you aren’t surprised, but that doesn’t stop the way your shoulders sag and your lips dip in a repetitive, dull dissapointment. 

You spend the rest of the day drowning in your own worries. 

And when your thoughts somehow travel to Younghoon’s handcrafted hanging targets. And to Jaehyun and how he opened up his home to you, and how he listens. You decide it’s time to tell Captain Younghoon and Lord Jaehyun the truth; the truth you owe them. 

“Did Peter respond to your Risal?” Jaehyun asks at dinner that night. You answer his questions with a tired sigh and a small no. 

You recognize that it’s time to repay their kindness with honesty. So when Jaehyun and Younghoon share a look and ask you timidly why exactly Prince Peter was sent away to begin with, you know. This is your chance. So you take it by the neck and run. 

You recall to Jaehyun and Younghoon the day things started changing within the Golden Palace. The day Peter came to you sad and betrayed and alone. 

“This isn’t right,” Peter muttered to you on that cold winter day. He sat in your sitting room, his hands holding up his head from falling off his shoulders altogether. You took a long sip of your tea. This was no surprise to you. From the day Peter had turned old enough to understand the workings of this kingdom and sit in on council meetings, he had been meeting with you like this. Letting you in on his doubts about the policies being put in order. About this kingdom. Doubts about his place as a Prince and other ones about his own father. Eventually, Roen joined these meetings. Then Orindell did too. It had become custom, for the four of them, a Gift of the Spirit and three Princes, to sit in your sitting room, to talk about and worry for your kingdom, that was slipping into disorder and that you all loved so much.

On that cold winter day, however, only Peter sat with you. Roen was on a northern campaign, and Orindell travelled with the Knights of the Holy Order leading his knights as their Commander, and all too young for the responsibility and the role. But an amazing Commander nonetheless. 

“He can’t do this,” Peter had groaned, “and I’m not sure how much longer I can sit by and watch.” 

You halted, your teacup moments away from reaching your lips. You set it back down. 

“Prince Peter, what are you suggesting?” 

He huffed and shook his head. You had thought he looked wild and angry and unhinged. “He’s set himself on a course to drive this kingdom into the dirt. Father hasn’t been himself for some time now. Something is wrong. Something that we can’t see. And the longer we wait, the worse he’ll get.”

“Peter,” you said again, the name sounding like a plea. 

“He is no longer fit to be king!” Peter slammed his hand down on the table. 

You clicked your tongue, unaffected by Peter’s sudden outburst. “So it’s a coup you’re suggesting then?” 

He sighed. “I’ve already decided. He has to be stopped.” He paused, looking at you with eyes that reminded you of the days he and his brothers would run around the palace courtyard. Your heart ached at the memory. “I want you to help me. But I’ll do this without your help too.”

And so you started planning Peter’s eventual overthrow of the King and of his father. 

“We kept it a secret, Peter and I,” you continue. Jaehyun and Younghoon listen silently but intently. “We didn’t even tell his brothers. The only other person we told was Juyeon. And while we plotted against the King, I started remembering things. For some reason, being around Peter so much, helped me remember. The memories are broken and blurry, but in them I saw flashes of my past and found forgotten conversations with the King. He would speak with me privately quite often as a consultant of sorts. And it was in recovering those shared words, that things really started to change for Peter and me. Because in my memories, the King sounds as insane as the rebellious eastern Lords make him out to be. In one moment, he’s crying about how alone he feels in this world and how he longs to go home. And in the next, he’s asking me how he can talk to Angels. It was clear to Peter and I that his father wasn’t himself anymore. The King had gone mad. 

“We started hearing about his experiments at the start of summer. The King insisted that these experiments would allow him to talk to an Angel and that they’d make him less lonely. And you must understand, all of this was hard for Peter. It was difficult for him to watch his own father spiral into insanity. So when Peter got evidence of the King’s experiments, he took matters into his own hands. He openly defied his father, in front of the council, and so the King sent him away.

“They’re both so impulsive it’s almost laughable how the whole thing played out. But either way, the night before he left Peter came to me and told me how he wasn’t giving up. He told me that when he returned to the Golden Palace it’d be as the King. So I told him…” You trail off, searching for the best way to say this next part without making yourself sound as mad as the King. 

It’s Younghoon who asks, leaning off the edge of his seat like he can’t stand the suspense of it. “What did you tell Prince Peter?” 

“I told him to go to the Nomads’ Lands.” 

Jaehyun chokes on his water. 

You continue on with the story, unbothered. 

“Although the King was the one to send him away, I think he was also the saddest to watch Peter go. I know it must be hard to believe, but the King wasn’t always as crazy as he is now. He’s always been impulsive, yes, but he used to be strong, charming, kingly. And he was devastated by his son’s absence in their home. Ultimately, I think that’s what drove him over the edge. That’s what made him so desperate to stop feeling so alone. So desperate he injected Lord Seth with one of his experiments, and he made me watch. But I knew as well as the King that the experiment had gone wrong. Yet he insisted on it working. He was so desperate he convinced himself that if we just waited everything would work out. Lord Seth was locked in the palace prisons that night, and no one but the King and I knew.

“I told you,” you look at Jaehyun, “that I had my reasons. I didn’t want to kill him. I take no pleasure in murder. But the experiment had gone wrong, and Lord Seth was in pain. If you had heard the way he cried and screamed and the way it echoed throughout the prison walls and the way—” 

You break. No, you don’t just break. You shatter. It’s been so long since you’ve made yourself feel the shame of your crimes. But now looking straight into the eyes of the sins you’ve committed. You crack and break and shatter into a million pieces. Each of your infinite shards tainted with a cruel shade of guilt. 

Jaehyun reaches over and covers your hand that rests atop of the table with his own. And although he’s only touching one small part of you, you feel his warmth in every part of your soul.

And when he says, “You took him out of his misery. If I were half as brave as you, I’d do the same,” you feel as if he’s lending you his strength. 

He squeezes your hands once, then pulls away. You feel suddenly, foolishly cold. 

“So that’s why Peter was sent away,” you finish, looking up at Younghoon and Jaehyun. “And that’s why I was sent away too.” You feel tired and drained. Like you’ve fought off an entire army of men. Like you’ve been swimming against the current of the Zalazar River for years. You wonder helplessly and hopelessly why it’s so exhausting to remember yet so easy to forget. 

It’s Younghoon who speaks again at last. “Thank you Lady Gift for entrusting us with such sensitive information. I think you know as well as I do that it’s time you tell Prince Roen and Prince Orindell the truth too.” 

“Yes,” you mutter, already dreading the lengthy Risal you would have to write before bed, “I do.” 

“I’m still curious about one thing,” Jaehyun says with a hand under his chin, “why did you send Peter to the Nomads?”

Suddenly, you’re reminded of your last conversation with Juyeon, and how he held your face and begged you to remember and how your head hurt too much to see straight by the end of the night. Yet when Jaehyun asks the same question, his voice bouncing off the walls of your mind, an answer appears as clear as day and as white as snow. When Jaehyun asks, you know. 

“The Nomads weren’t always as they are now. They weren’t as hostile or private. That night, I remembered that the Nomads were known to be bridges between Humans and the Elders. I sent him to the Nomads’ Lands in the hopes that they’d share with him the knowledge of the Elders.” 

Jaehyun only nods. And you’re glad for the silence that emerges, because you need a moment to process what you’ve just said yourself. The Elders were known to be channels for the Gods to spout their wisdom and hear the prayers of the people. All historic scrolls and religious teachings were based on the knowledge of the Elders. Another purpose of the Seven Sins and Seven Gifts was to be a bridge between the Elders and the Humans similar to the way the Nomads were a bridge. Perhaps that’s another reason why this kingdom feels so lost. You never learned how to communicate with the Elders. Thanks to Avi and his act of arson, the kingdom has none of the previous teachings from the Elders, and thanks to you, the kingdom has no new ones. 

But still, knowing that doesn’t calm the questions that arise in your mind. What knowledge from the Elders could the Nomads possibly have that would make you send Peter to them? 

The dinner ends abruptly when Younghoon stands up exclaiming how he’s tired from all that he’s just learned and bids you goodnight. You and Jaehyun do the same soon after. 

You write to Roen that night. And in your Risal, you tell him everything. You tell him about Peter, the experiments, Lord Seth, his father, your memories, the Nomads, and more. In the last line you ask Roen to extend this information to Orindell as well. You seal the letter and climb into bed with aching fingers. 

The response from Roen comes a few days later. 

Dear Fortitude, I didn’t know about Lord Seth. Thank you for doing what you did. Not even he deserved to be kept alive in pain and hurting. But everything else, Orindell and I, we already knew. Peter told us everything the night before he left. But thank you nonetheless. -Roen 

That sounds right to you. Those three boys, those brothers, they were like that. At each other’s throats one day and hugging each other the next. Chasing Orindell around the palace grounds. Playing pranks on Peter. And setting silly traps for Roen. Tackling each other to the ground and then spilling all their secrets. They’re each other's best friend as much as they’re brothers. It was only natural Peter told them the truth. And you’re glad he did. 

You sleep wonderfully that night

—LORD JAEHYUN—

Jaehyun hopes you never learn how to braid your own hair.  Your hair was so soft and it smelled nice too. Jaehyun took some sort of pleasure in being the one to braid your hair back every time the wind was too strong and you forgot a hair tie which happened more often than not. 

“It must be hard,” you say as Jaehyun sections your hair into three parts, “for Younghoon to spend so much time away from his family.” 

His hand lingers by the nape of your neck. 

“Yes, it must.” 

The next day Jaehyun tells Younghoon to go back home. 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Younghoon laughs, although the laugh sounds hesitant and it sounds lonely. 

“Go home, Younghoon.” Jaehyun insists. “Paid leave.” 

Younghoon packs up his things that very night. 

***

You have been quiet for some time now. Not just quiet in sound, but also quiet in the way you walk and eat. You silently send Risals back and forth with Roen, and then quietly accept the lack of response from Peter. You quietly begin taking more walks and then silently start taking them alone. You have been quiet since Younghoon left, but looking back, it appears that this quiet has been looming in the air for some time now. It’s been teetering up behind Jaehyun, taunting him back and forth since the night you told him and Younghoon everything. Jaehyun isn’t so sure what to make of it. But he does know that he misses you even though you spend every second under the same roof. 

He hates the quiet. 

“Lord Jaehyun! Come quick!” Vina screams from somewhere in the estate. Jaehyun bolts out of his room and finds her running towards him in the halls. “It’s Lady Gift,” she says breathless, eyes wide with worry and fear, “I think she plans to jump.” 

Jaehyun runs. 

He runs past Vina, out of the estate, onto the grassy path, towards the beach, and then westward. He runs and runs and runs. 

And there you are. Standing on top of Angel’s Peak, ready to jump. Silently. Jaehyun’s heart stops. 

“Don’t try to stop me!” You yell at Jaehyun and Vina watching you frozen in the sand. “I’ll jump, and I’ll survive.” 

“Lady Gift!” Vina yells back. “You’ll die. Come down. It’s not—“ 

Jaehyun puts a hand on Vina’s shoulder. Asking, pleading her to stop. 

“Lady Gift,” he doesn’t yell or scream, and yet he speaks loud enough for you to hear over the wind and waves. Jaehyun surprises himself with how calm his voice sounds. “Do you know how to swim?” 

You falter, grasping your sleeves as if they hold the answer.

“I might.” You finally respond. 

Jaehyun sighs. “I won’t try to stop you.” You look surprised. “But just wait a moment before you jump.” 

He starts pulling off his shoes, and then also his shirt. He can feel Vina stiffen beside him. 

“Lord Jaehyun, what are you doing?” Vina asks frantically. 

“I just wanna make sure the water’s safe,” he says before diving into the ocean. 

The water is cold. But he pushes himself through the water, swimming to the base of Angel’s Peak and feeling the strength of the sea with each movement of his arms. The waves are loud and crashing, but they aren’t strong. 

“Jaehyun!” He hears you scream from the cliff above. It sounds like you’re asking him to stop. He does not. 

He reaches the base of the cliff, his body now acclimated to the cold temperature of the water. He dives under the water and looks for something, anything that could hit you in your fall. The water is empty and clear. 

“The water is safe.” He calls back up swimming to a safer spot, away from where you will fall. “Run and jump, or you won’t make it past the ledge.” 

You nod looking up past the horizon, eyes closed. 

“And remember,” you open one eye to look down on him, “feet first.” 

You smirk. Then disappear from Jaehyun’s view. You run up to the edge. And jump. 

Except that you don’t just jump. You fling your body off the cliff. You fling your entire lifespan into the sky. And you fall. 

Jaehyun swears that time stops when you do. As if you aren’t falling but descending. As if the air is holding you up by the arms. You drop from the sky as if you’ve been preparing to do so your entire life. As if every second, minute, day, and year has amounted to this jump, this dive. And you fall and fall and fall. For longer than is humanly possible. Feet first, like Jaehyun had said. But you don’t crash into the water. No, the waves rise up to meet you. As if the sea has been waiting for you since forever. You disappear into the ocean. Jaehyun watches. Amazed. 

It’s when Vina screams his name that he’s pulled out of his trance. It’s then he realizes that you have yet to re-emerge from under the water. 

He panics. Fear coursing, shooting through him. He sucks in a breath. 

And dives. 

He lets the current take him to you. And there you are. Submerged in the water between the tides. Your eyes closed. Alive but unconscious. Alive but not fighting. He had asked you once what it took to kill you, and you had answered: giving up. And Jaehyun thinks that this must be it. Your body floating, sinking, falling in the water. This must be what it meant to give up. 

But Jaehyun isn’t going to let you give up so easily. He grabs you in his arms and throws back the water until you’re both above the surface. He fights and swims like he’s never done before. He rips through the current with a frightening amount of adrenaline. Vina pulls you both out of the water. And Jaehyun bangs at your chest and blows life into your lungs until you are choking and breathing and alive. Jaehyun falls into the sand beside you. 

“I’ll go get towels, and clean clothes.” Vina says scurrying away in the sand. 

Jaehyun and you lay side by side, wet hair and clothes sticking to your bodies. Exhausted. 

“It looked like you were dying,” Jaehyun mumbles the moment he can spare enough breath to do so, “there, under the water.” He turns his head. “Were you trying to?” 

“I don’t want to die, Jaehyun.” Your voice comes out as breathless as his.

“Did you want to feel like you’re dying?” 

You shake your head. 

“Then what?” 

“I wanted to feel mortal.” 

He looks away from you, and they watch the clouds in a shattering silence.

“I want to do it again.” 

Jaehyun laughs, amused by your desire to fling yourself off cliffs. “Oh I beg you, at least learn how to swim first.” 

You look at him then. Forehead creased and utterly confused. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

And later that night in the darkness of your bedroom and comfort of your covers. You think and overthink and think again how Jaehyun didn’t try to stop you. How he let you jump and made sure the water was safe. How he carried you back to shore. And how unbelievably good it felt to be in his arms. 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

The quiet is gone. It’s like you jumped off Angel’s Peak and dropped the silence in the water. Jaehyun is glad because, above all things, the quiet made him worry. 

You only wait a day before you’re asking Jaehyun to teach you how to swim. And when you do, excitement gushing from your voice, it’s obvious he doesn’t have much of a choice. Not that it matters, Jaehyun would have agreed to teach you regardless, his choice or not. 

Jaehyun’s father taught him how to swim. He taught him how to paddle and tread the water. He taught him about the currents, the waves, the seaweed, and the fish. 

Jaehyun extends everything he knows to you. 

You struggle at first. Even with the little things, like not losing your balance against the waves and floating in the water. But you’re stubborn. You struggle and fight with the sea until it’s bowing at your feet. By the end of the first week, you glide through the water and body surf the waves as if you’ve been doing it for years. And two days after that, you swim even better than Jaehyun. You race him to the rocks and back. You win everytime. Though Jaehyun takes pride in the way he doesn’t end far behind. Jaehyun also takes pride in how he was the one to teach you, and how good you’ve become in such little time. 

You smile at him, ducking your head under the water, and Jaehyun feels an unreal sort of elation. It’s then that he takes his pride and shoves it into the ocean. 

***

“I lied,” you confess the night you both can’t sleep and meet for the second time at the rocks. Jaehyun immediately assumes the worst, his mind racing with possibilities. “A while ago, Younghoon asked me if I would fight him. I told him I don’t like to fight anymore. But it was a lie. I do.” 

He exhales, so relieved it comes out as a laugh. “Next time don’t make it sound so grave.” 

You shove his propped knee, and he topples over dramatically. You snicker at the display. 

When you continue, your voice is tainted with an odd shade of guilt. “And I don’t just like fighting. I enjoy it too.” 

Jaehyun smiles a bit. “How so?” 

You hesitate, looking at Jaehyun like he holds the answer in his palms, but frown when you notice his smile. “Why are you smiling?” 

He shrugs. “It’s nice to hear you talking again.” 

“Oh.” You look down at your feet. Jaehyun feels suddenly warm. 

He shakes the feeling. “You say you like fighting as if it’s a bad thing.” 

“Is it?” 

Jaehyun expects it to be rhetorical, but you meet his eyes sincerely. Jaehyun realizes, in what feels like a moment too late, that you genuinely don't know. “It doesn’t have to be.” 

“I suppose.” You tap your foot against the rock. The beat feels familiar to Jaehyun. 

“So then,” he says when the tapping comes to stop, “why don’t you fight?” 

You bring your knees impossibly closer to your chest. “After Avi died, I felt so lost. He was the last person to know me for me. And so, after a fire was lit in his memorial, I left the Golden Palace and I…” 

You stop there as if the story has come to a sudden end. 

This time the tapping comes from Jaehyun’s foot. “Is it the fog again?” 

“No.” You tell him confidently. “I can’t remember well. But it’s not because of some fog. It’s like my memories of those years have been blacked out. Erased from my mind. By choice.” Jaehyun watches the way you unsurely picks at your nails and the way your hair billows in the wind. “All I know is that after Avi died, I was so angry. At the world. At myself. I went on a rampage. I was in this state of so much pain and hurt and loss that nothing mattered anymore. I didn’t care who I hurt along the way, and only the Gods know how many I must’ve hurt.”

Jaehyun listens. He lets your words travel and touch every part of his body and soul until he feels the pain and anger himself. Until he wants to sob at the tear that rolls down the side of your face. 

“I remember the fire that was lit for Avi, and then I remember running from the Golden Palace. After that, it's all black and blur. But then one day I woke up and the anger was gone. Like it had dissolved overnight. The next week I met Roe.”

You pause, and in the silence Jaehyun yearns to take the years you spent in suffering and carry them in his arms. He wants to hide the years you spent angry and alone in the pockets of his largest coat. 

“I’m scared, Jaehyun.” You whisper, voice wavering in the salty wind. “I’m scared that if I let myself fight again, I won’t come back from it. How can I carry the name Fortitude when I don’t even have enough courage to face myself?”

The words hit him like a punch to gut. He recoils under the weight. A gust of wind blows then, pushing and pulling the hairs that have escaped from your braid. He wants to reach his hand out and tuck the hair away. He only realizes a second after that he hasn’t swallowed down the impulse fast enough. He’s surprised to see you soften the teeniest bit when his fingers graze your forehead. He feels suddenly, impossibly weightless.

“You aren’t the person you were then.” He says. “You’ve learned. You’ve grown. But the biggest difference is that now you aren’t alone.” You let out a breath as if you’ve been holding it for years. For all Jaehyun knows, that might be the truth. He continues. “The day you jumped off Angel’s Peak, you fell into the water and you sank. For the smallest of seconds, I lost you between the waves. But I found you and pulled you to shore.” He pauses, reminded of the terror he felt for the second that you were gone. “What I mean is that if you lose yourself in the waves of a fight, you have people to pull you out from the riptide. You have me, Younghoon, Juyeon, Peter, Roen, Orindell; hell even Vina would pull you out if she had the chance.” You manage a small, sad laugh, and the sound of it alone fills Jaehyun with an indescribable warmth. “You're not alone anymore. Even if you do get lost, you’ll find a way back, with or without our help. If you want to fight, fight. You have nothing to be scared of. Not anymore.”

You lay back suddenly, arms extended above your head and eyes closed. You smile. Like you’re free. As if you’ve been granted freedom from the ropes tied by your own doing. You yawn. 

“Oh how happy Younghoon will be to hear all this.” 

Jaehyun chuckles. “He’ll be jumping at the chance to spar with you.” 

You stand up and say, “thank you for listening,” before walking away. 

“And Jaehyun,” you stop, your back still facing him, “it feels nice to talk with you again too.” 

Jaehyun is the Zalazar River in the fall. Bright red and burning. 

***

Jaehyun floats on his back in the waveless water watching you above him who’s grown to love cliff jumping from Angel’s Peak.

You jump like you did before except that this time you don’t fling your life into the water. You jump and fall from the sky. Then you sink and sink and sink. And emerge from the water, alive. 

“Are there any other cliffs?” You ask as you swim around each other. 

“What, are you bored of Angel’s Peak already?” 

“Perhaps.” 

Jaehyun laughs, and you splash him with water. He dives and chases you back to shore. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

“Aren’t you close to Captain Juyeon?” Jaehyun wonders aloud when a Risal swoops down from the sky the day you and Jaehyun are sitting in the courtyard. 

“He’s like a brother to me.” You say while you send the bird away, keeping the letter sealed and in your lap. 

“Then, why haven’t you been exchanging Risals with him as well?” 

You scoff. “I wish I could, but he’s scared of the bird.” Jaehyun giggles, and it spreads like wildfire in the breeze.

“You must miss him.” He mutters, and you hum a yes, opening the letter wordlessly. 

The letter you receive however is not the one you expect. And it certainly isn’t the letter you want. 

You read and then reread the letter from Orindell. It was an apology of sorts, though the words seem scattered and unsure. You huff, dropping the letter in your lap. Jaehyun notices but doesn’t say anything, focusing instead on that cat that’s climbed in his lap.

You think about Orindell, the boy who you’ve known his entire life, and how well he grew up. Orindell never let his brothers get the best of him despite being the youngest. Wherever they beat him in strength and size, he countered with wit and skill. It proved useful for Orindell; he was quick to take interest in matters of battle strategy and war efficiency. Orindell climbed the administrative ranks of the Knights of the Holy Order faster than anyone you had seen before, and in a blink of an eye, he became the youngest ever Commander of the Knights. You had felt swollen with pride for the youngest Prince. 

And maybe that’s why it hurt so much when he confessed to you in the winter. And yet here Orindell is, apologizing for pushing his love on you and for asking your hand in marriage. Here he is taking back his wrongdoings in writing. You sigh helplessly.  

“Is something wrong?” Jaehyun asks from across the table not taking his eyes off the cat still curled up in his lap. You slide the letter over to him. He reads it slowly. Then laughs. “I was not aware you carried Prince Orindell’s heart in your bags.” 

You narrow your eyes. “I. Do. Not.” You snatch the letter back. 

“I take it you don’t harbor similar feelings for Prince Orindell then?” The question sounds hopeful. 

“No, not at all.” You deny. “Orindell is like a child to me.” 

“He’s only a few years younger than myself.” Jaehyun says looking up, his eyes strangely dark. “Do you see me as a child too?” 

You flick the letter. “I’ve known Orindell since he was born. I watched him grow. He feels like family to me. But I met you at this age, so it doesn’t feel like you’re much younger than I am. It’s odd how age seems to work in my head. I know I’m older than you and Younghoon by ages, and yet I see you both as equals.” You take a sip of your drink. “Plus, Orindell still acts like a child.” Jaehyun smiles at that. 

“Oddly enough,” Jaehyun mumbles, bringing the full glass to his lips, “that makes sense.” 

You think back to the letter, and sense fondness in Orindell’s apology. Something in your mind clicks. 

“I was so mad at him,” You say to the air around you, “at Orindell. For months. I wanted him to tell me he never felt that way, that he fooled himself into something deeper than a platonic love. But I realize now that he can’t take it back even if he wanted to. Orindell can’t help how he feels.” You look up and find Jaehyun watching you. “He’s apologized for what he can. But he can’t apologize for falling in love.”

Jaehyun smiles sweetly. The kind of smile that makes your heart numb. “Oh Fortitude, I could’ve told you that months ago.” 

“I fear,” you begin, leaning forward in your seat, “that in rejecting Orindell, I’ll lose him as well.”

Jaehyun points to the letter. “He’s apologized. He doesn’t want to lose you either.” 

You repeat it in your mind. 

He doesn’t want to lose you either. 

It makes you feel suddenly, inexplicably upset and confused. Why is it so easy to love yet so hard to accept? How can love be so strong but still fleeting like everything else? You know Orindell’s feelings for you will pass, and yet knowing it doesn’t make you feel much better. Love waxes and wanes like the phases of the moon, but does it ever fade? You think of how Orindell feels towards you. How you have felt towards others in the past. And today sitting in the courtyard, the picture your shoved down feelings create finally starts to make sense. You find the image to be startling but unsurprising all the same. Finally, you understand the pain of poets, the pain Orindell must feel, and the pain you once felt yourself. 

Love is a burden. A burden you’re only now learning how to accept. 

You want to welcome the warm weight with open arms. 

***

That night you send a Risal to the Golden Palace addressed for Prince Orindell. 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

Jaehyun sorts through his papers and files through responsibilities mindlessly on the day a letter for him comes. He pushes it to the side of his mind when you come into his office sputtering something about the latest news from the Golden Palace and how things have been so much better between you and Prince Orindell. 

He waits a moment once you’ve finished. “Do you remember me telling you about my sister, Insia?” You nod at his question, falling into the armchair near him. “Well, I just got this from her.” Jaehyun holds up the letter. “It’s her son’s birthday, and they’ve invited me to celebrate.” 

“Oh how sweet!” You gush, although your voice sounds a bit higher than normal. You pull at your sleeves. “How long will you be gone?” 

“Actually,” Jaehyun hesitates, his next question teetering on the tip of his tongue, “I was wondering if you’d like to come as well?” 

***

The boat ride to the island Insia lives on is pleasant. Jaehyun humors you with stories of his childhood and of Insia, and you listen to Jaehyun talk as if your life depends on it. When they dock, Jaehyun drags you to a bakery to buy candy and sweets for Insia’s children and then some more for yourselves. 

By late afternoon they reach Insia and her husband Cyrin’s house. Jaehyun always liked their house. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was comfortable and somehow perfect. They lived right on the beach. The back door leading to a sandy shore and sparkling blue waters. 

“Hold on,” Jaehyun says abruptly, taking your hand in his, “before we go in, I want to show you something.” 

He leads you around the house and beyond the white fence that separates the streets from the beach. You take off your shoes before proceeding in the sand. It takes one more turn and another second of walking on your already aching feet before it’s visible. 

The sea. 

The water that surrounds the island is bluer and clearer than the waters back home. The waves shine in the last bit of the light from the setting sun. Jaehyun feels at home despite being hours away from it. 

He looks over at you. And you smile so brightly the sun seems to dim in that moment. The awe in your eyes and lightness in your sigh reminds Jaehyun of the first time he took you to see the sea. He’s reminded of how his chest wanted to burst at the sight of your smile. He finds himself in a similar predicament today, except that now the bursting chest was something he had grown quite used to. It was something he had grown to adore. Jaehyun loved the sea. But looking at you and the wonder in each one of your bones, he thinks you might love it more. 

“Uncle Jaehyun!” A voice yells from behind them. Jaehyun whips around only to be tackled by the weight of a 7 year old clinging onto his body and legs. A second later he’s tackled by another child. He pulls them both into his arms and smothers them with as much love as he can fit into a hug. 

You kneel down in the sand, and introduce yourself to the children. “You must be Elia.” You say to the older girl who’s detached herself from Jaehyun. Elia nods enthusiastically. “And you,” you point to the younger boy, shyly hiding behind Jaehyun’s legs, “must be the birthday boy.” 

“That’s my brother Herschel, and he’s turning five years old tomorrow.” Elia jumps in before Herschel can answer. Jaehyun plops down himself and the children follow. The four of you sitting in a circle in the warm sand. 

“Or so I’ve heard.” you say, pulling the box of sweets from a bag. “Well, to celebrate your Uncle Jaehyun and I brought you some sweets—“

The children pounce on the box before you can finish. Jaehyun clutches his stomach in laughter. 

“Jaehyun!” Insia yells from the back deck of her home. Although the yell sounds more like she’s about to nag him instead of welcoming her only brother to her home. “Those sweets will rot their teeth!” 

“You’re torturing them Insia!” He yells back, getting up from the sand to greet his sister. “Children need sweets.” 

Insia scrunches her nose. “You spoil them too much.” She says before pulling Jaehyun into a hug.

Jaehyun leads Insia to where you and the children sit in the sand, and asks about the whereabouts of his youngest niece, Devi, who is still less than a year old. Insia resposds that she’s napping and that Cyrin’s watching her. 

You stand up to greet Insia. 

“Lady Gift, it’s such an honor that you’ve come to visit. We’re humbled to have you stay in our home.” 

“Oh please, no. I’m the one who’s humbled that you’ve opened up your home to me. And please call me Fortitude. I despise formalities.” 

“Well, in that case,” Insia coos, looping her arm with yours, “please come inside. Jaehyun’s told me so much about you. I think we’ll get along wonderfully this weekend.” 

***

Insia, like always, is right. You and her get along wonderfully. After the kids are put to bed, you and Insia begin talking in the sitting area, and in the span of your conversation, Jaehyun and Cyrin are able to finish not one but two card games at the kitchen table. Cyrin puts up the cards while Jaehyun watches you and Insia converse. He finds it almost surprising that the two of you still have something to talk about considering how different you both are. But the surprise is a pleasant one, for Jaehyun takes much pleasure in watching two people he cares for so deeply talk and laugh together comfortably. 

“Jaehyun, you must stay here longer.” Cyrin insists. “If not for the whole weekend, then at least for the day after Herschel’s party.” 

Jaehyun hesitates. “I don’t know. Younghoon is already coming back the day before we’re supposed to, and I’d hate to make him wait for us longer than he already will be.” 

“Oh please,” Insia dismisses, you and her approaching the table, “Younghoon sees you everyday; he’ll be fine. I barely see you anymore, especially after Devi was born. The least you could do is give me the pleasure of celebrating your birthday with you.” 

“Your birthday?” You mutter from your side of the table. You meet Jaehyun’s eyes. “Forgive me Jaehyun. I had no idea.” Jaehyun dismisses the apology.                     

Cyrin and Insia share a look. The kind of look that only couples who know each other in and out could share. The kind of look that holds entire conversations in one glance. They share another look after that too. Insia scoffs, turning dramatically to you. 

“Would you mind humouring Cyrin with an arm wrestle? He wants to see how well he can hold up against a Gift of the Spirit.”

Jaehyun’s reminded of how a similar conversation between Younghoon and you went. Jaehyun inhales sharply, watching your reaction carefully. You surprise him by laughing. 

“I’m no joke.” Cyrin defends in response to your laughter. “There’s yet a person on this island to beat me.” 

You lean towards him. “Ah, but no person on this island is me.” You ready your arm up. Cyrin takes it eagerly. 

Jaehyun likes this. How you tease Cyrin. How you’re not afraid of your powers anymore. How you beam with confidence. 

“You do know who I am right?” You say, before the back of hand slams down on the table. Cyrin yelps in shock, and Insia hides snickers behind her hand while you laugh loudly and freely. You turn towards Jaehyun, and the two of you share a look of your own. 

And through the silent conversation, Jaehyun knows. Younghoon would have to wait a bit longer for your return. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

The next morning you send a Risal to Younghoon telling him that you and Jaehyun would be staying for the entire weekend. He responds with a simple tell Herschel and Jaehyun I said happy birthday. You do. 

Later that day, Insia requests you and Jaehyun to take the children outside while she prepares the house for the part that night. 

You pick up Devi and rock the child in your arms, following Jaehyun and the other two children out of the house, onto the back deck, and then to the beach. You carefully take a seat in the sand. 

You learned back when the Princes were young that you had an inexplicable knack with babies. So when Devi softens and presses herself against your body, it appears the knack has not yet been lost. You turn into mush when Devi stops crying, reaching for you. You give her a finger to hold onto and Devi takes it at once. 

You look away from the adorable baby cradled between your arms, and your eyes land on Jaehyun. Jaehyun plays with Elia and Herschel, really plays with them. Running and rolling around in the sand. Splashing them with water and pouting when the two siblings get mad at each other. You wonder for a moment what it would be like if this was your family. Married, with children, and living far away on this island. You wonder for a moment how it would feel to be normal and to be mortal. And the thought strikes you with an odd sort of sadness. One that grabs at your heart and shakes it until the blood is gone. One that makes your ribs disappear and your body feel hollow and numb. 

But then Jaehyun lifts Herschel onto his shoulders, and your sadness vanishes the second he does. He smiles at you. Giggles. Calls you twice with something you can’t quite place lingering on his tongue. 

Your chest starts to hum. He smiles at you again, and the humming grows and shifts into a song. A song that’s breathtakingly beautiful. One with chords so delightfully articulated that you don’t want to go a day without hearing them. You want your chest to hum and sing this song for the rest of your life.

Suddenly, Devi squeezes the fingers she’s been holding onto, and in that moment, while watching Jaehyun play with his sister’s children and while carrying Jaehyun’s niece in your own two arms, you feel impossibly, shatteringly happy. 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

The birthday party had been a smash, with children appearing from every crevice of the house and cake smothered on Herschel’s face. Insia and Cyrin seemed happy with it. You seemed happy with it. The children seemed happy with it. And their happiness made Jaehyun happy as well. 

Tonight is another sleepless night for Jaehyun, but since he isn’t home with a familiar rock to sit on, he heads to a balcony in Insia’s home that overlooks the coast. He brings an extra coat; the balcony would be cold. Still, he shivers in the howling wind, letting the crashing waves ease his mind slowly and methodically. You join him at some point, and Jaehyun smiles when he hears the balcony door open. He doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s you. His smile turns into a frown when he notices you dressed plainly, no scarf and no coat. 

“Are you immune to coldness then?”

You shiver, wrapping your arms around your torso. “Unfortunately, no.” 

“Here.” Jaehyun hands you the extra coat. 

You take it and stare at the cloth before wrapping it around your shoulders. “Do you always bring extra coats?” 

“No.” He leans against the wall. “But if you insist on not dressing properly, I suppose I’ll have to start.” 

You look down, smiling. You walk to the edge of the balcony and rest your elbows on the railing. The two of you are quiet together for some time. 

“I wish you told me earlier that your birthday is approaching, Jaehyun.” You say. “I could’ve prepared something for you.” 

He bites the inside of his cheek. “It hadn’t seemed important enough to bring up before.”

“Why wouldn’t it be important?”

“It’s just one day.” 

“It should still be celebrated.” You insist, sounding suddenly mad. As if Jaehyun not telling you was an insult. Jaehyun positions himself closer. 

“Is something wrong?” He asks as softly as possible. 

And at his words, your head drops, like you couldn’t bear to hold it up any longer. You cry silently, face hidden from Jaehyun by your own body, stammering over your own sniffles. He takes your hand in his and holds it to his heart. “Please,” he begs because the sight of you in so much silent pain hurts him more than he can admit, “tell me what’s happened.”

And so you do. You tell him how you’ve become rotten with jealousy for Insia and her perfect family. And how you want nothing more than to be normal. You tell Jaehyun how much you wish you could take back being the Gift of Fortitude. And with each word that leaves from your lips, Jaehyun comes to realize that what you tell him  now isn’t like anything you’ve told him before. What keeps you up tonight isn’t a forgotten memory or worry for someone else. No, tonight, you allow sleep to stay out of reach and let tears fall down the side of your cheek because of a wound that’s still fresh and bleeding and new. Tonight, your pain is not one Jaehyun can take away. No matter how badly he wants to. 

He stares at you, frozen. And Jaehyun thinks, not for the first time, about all the people you’ve lost. Sunwoo, Avi, your parents, Roe. He thinks about all the years behind your eyes, and all the scars in your mind. He thinks about how you’ve given everything you have to give, and how you gave it all from the heart. You sacrificed your entire life for this kingdom. And this sadness, this never-ending pain, you did not deserve. He stares at you, the Gift of Fortitude, and thinks about all that you’ve endured. 

Finally, he speaks. “A while ago, you told me that Fortitude meant courage, and that the name alone was such a burden. But later, with Younghoon, I looked up the meaning of Fortitude. It means more than just courage. It means to be brave and stand tall in the midst of pain. It means to endure. And oh, only the Gods know how much in this life you’ve endured.” 

Your voice breaks, and at last, your cries are no longer silent. He holds you close, and you shake, sobbing, under the arms he has around you. When he pulls away, he finds that he’s no longer looking at you, but instead the face of a God. Or rather, his God. And Jaehyun isn’t sure what to do or how to act because suddenly he sees his God in you. He says your name like a prayer. Like a religious verse spilling from his lips. 

And because he can’t think of anything more to say, he squeezes your hand, brings it to his lips, and presses a kiss to each one of your knuckles. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

You are a ball of flames. Hot and burning in hues of orange, red, and blue. The song in your chest from earlier erupts into a symphony. But it’s a sad and dramatic orchestra so you continue to weep and cry until the flames have been reduced to scorch marks on your knuckles. Jaehyun’s coat suddenly feels heavy on your shoulders. 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

Jaehyun did it on instinct. He kissed your hand because in the moment it felt like the most natural thing to do. 

He doesn’t regret it.

He kisses it again. He lets his lips linger. And when Jaehyun lowers your hand back to his heart, he wonders if you can feel how wildly it beats and bangs from inside him.  

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

You feel it. You feel the wildness of your own heart as well.

—LORD JAEHYUN—

You stand like that for so long. You crying. Jaehyun looking into the eyes of God. Your hand against Jaehyun’s restless heart. 

You stand like that until you rip your hand away. He lets it fall from his grip. “Leave me be Jaehyun.” You say, tears still fleeing down your face.

He takes a step back from. “You’ve endured enough. Please, don’t make yourself endure this unhappiness too.”   

With that, he bids you goodnight, leaving you alone on the balcony with nothing but yourself, the sea, and Jaehyun’s coat. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

That night is long and slow, but the sun welcomes you with a new day of warmth. A new day that also happens to be Jaehyun’s birthday. You do your best to ignore the sadness inside of you. A sadness caused by more than just your want for normalcy. You look down at the hand Jaehyun held in his the night before. You look at your scorched knuckles. You don’t want to look into it any further. 

It storms the entire day, so you spend Jaehyun’s birthday inside playing cards, playing chess, and playing with the children. Insia announces she’ll be preparing a feast for dinner. Jaehyun thanks her then smiles, and to you, it looks sad.

***

There’s a knock on the door while you’re preparing yourself for dinner. You open it to Insia who looks you up and down, shakes her head, and mutters a small ‘that won’t do’ before disappearing down the hall. She returns moments later with a collection of her own dresses and lays them out on your bed. 

“How about this?” Insia offers holding up a red dress. 

You look down at the blue dress you already put on. “What’s wrong with this one?” 

“Nothing, I just thought you might want to dress up tonight.” 

“And why would I want to do that?” 

“For Jaehyun.” Insia says it blandly. 

You feel like the wind’s been knocked out of you. “For Jaehyun?” You echo. 

“Nevermind then,” Insia sighs, as if she’s talking to a child who won’t cooperate. She puts the dress down, and comes over, taking your hands in hers. What is it with these siblings and holding your hands? And why does it hurt so much when they do? “I was only giving you options. This dress is lovely too. I’m sure Jaehyun will be delighted no matter which dress you come to dinner in.” Insia leaves, and you ponder why in the world it would matter to Jaehyun which dress you came down in? Then you wonder why Jaehyun should take any delight in your appearance? The questions bring back a familiar sadness. 

The bodice of the dress Insia brought is fitting, and the skirt was made to flow beautifully. It’s a newer style, one of the many fashion trends that went over your head. But it is indeed a pretty dress, so you change into it anyways. 

Insia was right. Jaehyun looks delighted when you do eventually come down. Even you can’t look past the way his eyes seem to sparkle. “You look stunning.” He tells you as you make your way over to the dining room. “How come you’ve never worn this dress before?” 

“It isn’t mine.” You confess. “Insia lent it to me for the night.” 

“Ah,” Jaehyun exhales, “that makes much more sense. I wouldn’t have thought this dress to fit your style.” Jaehyun takes his seat, and you ponder yet again how Jaehyun has come acquainted with what is your style and what isn’t? 

The dinner is a feast like Insia had said, but still, you can’t bring yourself to enjoy it. Your mind feels heavy and restless. You desperately want to rid your brain of the thoughts that plague it, and so your eyes land mindlessly on Jaehyun. You watch the way he cares for his nieces and nephews and the way he listens when they talk. You watch him eat and the way he smiles and throws his head back in laughter. You watch and notice all these little things about Jaehyun and find that you care for each one of them. You care for them deeply. It makes your heart feel as heavy as your head. You stand up abruptly and excuse yourself from dinner early, unable to continue silently suffering the pain of your heavy heart and heavy head. You don’t hear Jaehyun follow you out. 

It’s when you’re halfway up the stairs that he catches up. 

“Please, Jaehyun. Go back.” You continue, not looking back. 

“No. Tell me what’s happened.” 

You turn a corner, your room now near. “Don’t let me ruin your birthday. Go back to the dinner your sister prepared for you.” 

You push your door open, and Jaehyun follows you inside. “Please, just tell me if you’re alright.” Jaehyun asks you so softly, so sweetly, it makes you feel impossibly frustrated. You wish Jaehyun wasn’t so gentle with you. It made it impossible to ignore the way your heart warms whenever he is near. 

“Why do you care?” You ask hashly, gathering fistfulls of Insia’s red dress in your hands. 

“I’ve always cared.” He sounds hurt, like the words have cut him.

“No Jaehyun, why? Why do you care?” If your words before cut him, this was you digging your fingers into the wound. 

“I care…” he falters, searching for something in your face. You wish he didn’t look at you the way he does. “I care because I worry for you.” 

“Well,” you huff, “why do you worry then?” Your words come out as more of an accusation than a question, although you yourself aren’t sure what it’s an accusation of. 

Jaehyun searches your face again, and his eyes, his beautiful eyes, burn over every spot they touch. He must find what he’s looking for because in an instant his face, no, his entire body softens and he crumples into the chair behind him. Head bowed before you. 

“I’m sorry,” he utters, “I’m sorry. I can’t hide this any longer. I can’t help it. I—“

You cut him off, crying. “Oh, please Jaehyun, don’t say it please.” You beg because you aren’t sure if you can bear to hear him say it aloud. And because you can’t ignore the desperation in Jaehyun’s voice. 

“I won’t hide it from you. I can’t hide it, not anymore, not now that you know because I do. I love you. And I’ve loved you for so long now.” 

You aren’t sure what makes you do it. Perhaps it’s the sadness in his voice or the love on his tongue. Perhaps you go towards Jaehyun because of your own will. But no matter the reason, you stand near where he sits and brushes the hair away from his eyes. He grabs your hand when you do and holds it against his head, bowing before it. As if he wouldn’t be able to stand it if your hand was doing anything but touching his face. As if he is offering his entire self to you. And you hate how much comfort you take in this. In having the back of your palm pressed against Jaehyun’s head. But you do, you take comfort in this little action. In this little declaration of love. 

You fling your hand out of Jaehyun’s grip and stumble to your bed, which you fall onto, burying your face into the soft sheets, weeping. You weep because you don’t like love. And because love will always lead to loss. And because you’re tired of losing. You weep because you don’t want to lose Jaehyun. 

And suddenly, Jaehyun is standing next to you. You can sense that Jaehyun is crying too. He caresses your hair gently. 

“I don’t mean to push my love on you. I just can’t bear to hide it anymore. Because hiding it feels like a lie, and I don’t wish to lie to you.” He pauses, his hand lingering behind your ear. “Please, don’t push me away. The last thing I want is for things to change.” And you know Jaehyun is smarter than to think this won’t change anything. Love had a way of forging its own path in life. He continues. “I can’t bear to lose you. I can’t fathom a life where I lose you. I love you but I don’t expect you to love me too. I never will. Don’t push me away. Please.” He presses a silent kiss to your hair, and it only makes you weep harder. 

“Leave me be, Jaehyun.” You say for the second time this weekend. And it hurts to say as much as it did before, because in actuality the last thing you want is for Jaehyun to be anywhere but by your side. But you send him away regardless because when he is near, your heart beats too fast for your mind to think of anything but him and his smile and his laugh. Jaehyun shuts the door quietly. 

You think how unfair it is that you should take so much pleasure in the kisses he presses to your hands and hair. And pleasure in his company and in every single innocent touch. You think how unfair it is that Jaehyun must love you. You think it’s unfair and cruel and mean and wrong. You cry for the unfairness of the world, and then you cry yourself to sleep as well. 

*** 

You spend the next day, your last day on this island, in your room. They bring you meals, but you aren’t able to eat a single one. You spend the whole day in your head. 

It’s evening when you do eventually leave your room. You go straight to Jaehyun’s, and slip a letter under the door.

—LORD JAEHYUN—

Jaehyun spends most of the day on the beach, throwing his worries into the reef and watching them roll away with the waves. When he returns to his room, he finds a letter from you. His heart stops. 

Dear Jaehyun, Last night, you said that you couldn’t bear to lose me. That you couldn’t fathom a life where you lose me. But the thing is, love has always led to loss, and I will always be the one losing. Because one day, you’ll die and I won’t. I don’t have to fathom a life without you. I just have to wait for it. I’m tired of loving and losing. One day, I’ll lose you as a friend, don’t make me lose you as a lover too. -Fortitude

When he finishes reading the letter, his heart starts beating again. Except that it doesn’t beat, it breaks. He had been reckless with his words. He isn’t going to make that mistake again. He writes you a letter of his own. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE— Dear Fortitude, Forgive me. I was careless and stupid with my words, and I can’t pretend to understand your specific pain. You told me once, long ago, that you aren’t immortal. Which means your pain is not forever either.  But even then, you are not alone in loss. We all love. We all lose. Everyone is bound for that sadness, including me and you. We know that and yet still, we wear our hearts on our sleeves and fall in love again and again, over and over. Don’t let the pain of loss keep you from the joy of love. Please.  -Jaehyun

You find yourself thinking of the time after the death of Avi. The time where you lived without love. The period of time that you’ve blocked from memory. Perhaps, Jaehyun is right. Perhaps there is no life without love. And not just romantic love, but platonic love, familial love, and love in all its forms. The thought feels heavy in your mind. 

***

You’re walking through the halls of the house at night when you find Jaehyun. He’s on the same balcony as two nights ago, staring at the sea. You stand in the hall and watch him. 

You recall how strong the wind was that night and how Jaehyun had an extra coat. You remember how warm it felt to have something of his draped over your shoulders. And looking back, it seems so simple. It seems obvious that when Jaehyun gave you his coat, it was more than just a kind gesture. It was a declaration of his love. It hits you then, how many times Jaehyun has told you, or rather showed you his love. He showed you when he held your hand against his beating heart and when he pressed kisses to your knuckles. He said ‘I love you’ every single time he listened to you talk and all those days he spent teaching you how to swim. He showed you when he let you jump from Angel’s Peak, when he didn’t let you sink, and when he carried you back to the beach. He told you that he loved you when he gave you a burning log to throw in the fire at his father’s memorial. He told you that day he ran in the sand with you, like the child you never got to be, and he said it each time he braided your hair. And like a wave crashing over, you realize that Jaehyun has been declaring his love in a million different ways since the day he offered the sea as yours to take. Your heart carries each one of these confessions, each one of Jaehyun’s silent declarations, until it sinks and sinks and sinks within your own body. 

In all your years, through all your loss, you’ve grown to dislike romantic love. But looking at him now, you realize Jaehyun’s love for you is more than just romantic. His love for you is one of respect and admiration. His love for you is one of understanding. His love for you is pure. Purer than any love you have known before. You look at Jaehyun again, really look at Jaehyun. You look at the way the moonlight bounces off his skin and hair, and the way he rests his elbows over the railing. You look at the way he bends one knee. You look at Jaehyun and see more than you’ve ever seen in him before. You look at Jaehyun and see a God. But not just any God, you see your God. And you have no idea what to do. 

It’s while staring at his figure on the balcony that you realize you love Jaehyun too. It’s then that you realize you have been falling in love with the little things since the day he took you to see the sea. But oh, how the little things were everywhere and everything. 

And suddenly the realization is bursting through the balcony doors and into the arms of the man you love. The realization pours out from your eyes and heart. The realization spills from your lips and paints itself across the night sky. The realization is screaming, breaking itself free. In your head, you chant. I love you. I love you. I love you. Out loud, you say, “And you must know, I’ll love you for a very long time.”

And Jaehyun’s laughing, holding you in his arms, blissfully, as if there’s nothing that could have made him happier. As if there’s no place he'd rather be than right here with you on this balcony overlooking the sea. He laughs and then leans his forehead against yours. “I love you too, and you must know that right now, I want to kiss you quite terribly.”

And because he loves you. And because you love him. And because he made you laugh after a weekend spent crying, you tilt up your chin and close the distance. For a moment, everything fits perfectly, and you, once again, feel shatteringly happy. 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

Jaehyun imagines the feeling fluttering in his chest that morning can only be described as bliss. But to him it is more. It’s more than blissful to wake up to you sleeping in his shirt on his bed tangled in his sheets and limbs. But alas, bliss would do for now. 

He takes his bliss and presses it to your shoulder then neck then jaw then cheek. He presses a number of blissful kisses to the infinite spots on your face he’s yet to kiss until you’re awake pushing at Jaehyun’s face.  

“I’m not ready to wake up,” you groan, turning your body flush against Jaehyun. 

“We’ll miss the boat back if we don’t get up soon.” He reminds, tracing mindless shapes against the curve of your hips. 

You sigh and bury your face deeper into his chest. “I’ve ruined our weekend haven’t I?” 

He pulls you impossibly closer. “You haven’t ruined anything.” 

***

The boat ride from the island back to the mainland is long and slow, and the entire time, Jaehyun is jumping in his seat, ready to return home. 

“You must miss him.” You mutter from next to him. Jaehyun doesn’t have to ask to know you’re talking about Younghoon. He nods, turning to you. 

“And how about you, what do you miss?” 

You look up at the sky, smiling. “I miss,” you tap on Jaehyun’s knee, “jumping from Angel’s Peak.” Jaehyun laughs, capturing the moment and capturing your hand in his.

When you do eventually dock, Jaehyun leads you away from the road home and towards the beach. He surprises himself with the gesture as much as he does you. By the time you reach the sand, you’re running. And you run and run and run. Past the estate. Whipping off your coats and shoes. Discarding your worries in the sand. Running. Wild. In love. You both run until you reach the rocks. And you’re climbing Angel’s Peak while Jaehyun’s diving, piercing his body into the water. You climb then run then jump, piercing the sea yourself moments later. And you both swim around each other ducking and diving in the water. 

Suddenly it’s a contest: who can hold their breath the longest. Jaehyun counts the seconds.  One. Two. (You kiss him) Three. Four. 

Five. (He kisses you) Six. 

You return to the estate finally, greeting Younghoon drenched and swollen with love. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

It’s the day after you and Jaehyun return from Insia and Cyrin’s home that you and Younghoon fight for the first time. In all honesty, you have been itching to fight with someone again ever since your talk with Jaehyun. And when you told Younghoon at dinner the night before, that you would be willing to fight him, he was itching to fight with you as well. 

For the first couple days, you start simple. A few rehearsed drills and fighting moves. Jaehyun usually watches, sitting in a corner of the courtyard with a book. And when you feel comfortable enough to do so, you advance to Younghoon attacking with jabs and punches here and there and you blocking them while also studying his technique. You learn that Younghoon is a good fighter, but his movements are choppy and slow as if he hasn’t fought in a while which in his defense, he hasn’t. You imagine Younghoon would be better equipped in a sword fight rather than the hand to hand combat you were drilling now. By the end of the first week, Younghoon gets restless, wanting to do more. You reluctantly agree. It’s fine at first, you focus mainly on deflecting his attacks and blocking his moves. When you sidestep from an attack, you see your chance and take it, punching Younghoon in the gut. You only realize after the fact that you’ve done it too hard. Nothing fatal, but a punch hard enough that if you had hit him an inch higher, his rib would’ve broken from the impact. You refuse to fight Younghoon for a while after that. When you do return to fighting, a whole week later back to the basic drills and blocking, you no longer allow Jaehyun to watch. 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

The days that follow are some of the happiest for Jaehyun. Jaehyun and you spend whole days in each other's bedrooms and under the sheets. Younghoon catches on to the two of you almost immediately. Perhaps he caught on before you realized anything yourselves. 

The other days you spend walking along the shore or drinking tea in the courtyard. And on the days Jaehyun must do work in his office, Younghoon and you play chess in the corner. You continue to send Risals: to Roen and Orindell and another unanswered one to Peter. 

You and Younghoon continue training without Jaehyun in attendance. Once you get the hang of controlling the strength of your blows and kicks with an almost frightening amount of precision, you let Jaehyun return to his spot in the corner. And even Jaehyun, who knows nothing about fighting, is amazed by your skill. Skill that is far too good to be fighting with Younghoon, who looks ready to die from exhaustion after every single one of your fights. And yet, despite the way you barely break a sweat, you look unbelievably happy after each and every fight. 

Word gets out eventually, likely thanks to Vina’s gossiping, that the Gift of Fortitude has fighting shows in the courtyard of Lord Jaehyun’s estate. And soon enough, every afternoon a flock of young boys, guards, and locally stationed Knights arrive at the courtyard to watch you fight. You no longer mind the crowd. A few brave Knights and guards even try challenging you. You go especially easy for the sake of their bodies, but spare no care when it comes to attacking their egos. But still, even those fights make you happy. 

The happiest you look, however, is when Vina asks you to teach her something. You make Vina begin immediately. And as it turns out you’re a wonderful teacher, although when Jaehyun mentions this, you deny it telling Jaehyun it’s only because you taught Juyeon and the Princes. Nonetheless, you teach Vina moves and tricks that would be useful to her like how to use the weight of her opponent against her and how to properly hold a knife and attack with it. It doesn’t take long for Jaehyun’s courtyard to be filled with young boys and girls alike all learning how to defend themselves and fight from you.

And every second that you aren’t teaching and Jaehyun isn’t working, you spend in the water, wading between the waves and floating on your backs. You jump from Angel’s Peak until you feel that you've outgrown it, beginning to search for higher cliffs in the horizon. You race each other from the docks to the rocks and hold numerous contests to see who can hold their breath for longer. You win everything every time, and Jaehyun has never been so happy. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

You’re sitting in the courtyard alone playing with the stray cats, when you hear the Risal’s call signaling the return of the letter you sent to the Golden Palace and to Price Orindell. 

Dear Fortitude, I regret to inform you that father has been acting oddly again. Roen and I suspect that he might be preparing to try another ‘experiment’. Roen fears what’s to come if we don’t hear from Peter soon. I take it you haven’t heard from him yourself. I’ve begun to worry for Peter as you do. Do you think he’s okay? Father wants me to cut the pay for the Knights, but how does he expect me to keep an army loyal to this kingdom if we don’t pay them properly? Honestly, Fortitude, I worry for father too. I know he must be taken off the throne, but I worry for him beyond the crown. I worry for his health. He’s getting sicker by the days. It’s difficult to see one’s own father spiral into madness. I’m already saddened with thoughts of how all this will turn out. I’m afraid I’ve made this letter into a collection of my worries. Do you think I worry too much? I hope you’re taking care of yourself. In better news, Captain Juyeon and his squadron have been stationed near Lord Jaehyun’s estate by the Commander himself. Consider it a gift from me to you. He should be arriving in a day or two. And please, give Juyeon a punch for me. - Orindell 

You think a visit from Juyeon might be the first piece of good news you’ve received from the palace in weeks. You jump up and run back into the estate to tell Younghoon and Jaehyun. 

***

You’re in the kitchen with Vina eating fruit when Juyeon arrives. 

“He’s here.” Jaehyun tells you, popping his head in the kitchen.

You snap up and look at Jaehyun as if waiting for him to admit he’s joking. He only nods. 

So you grab his hand and run. 

The first thing you do when you see Juyeon is punch him, as hard as Orindell would. 

“Ow!” He yelps, then tilts his head, confused. “Did your punches get weaker?” 

You finally hug him, and exhale into his shoulder. “That punch was from Orindell.” You pull away from the embrace. “And this one,” you punch his other arm, much harder than before but not any harder than he’s already used to, “is from me.” 

He winces, clutching both arms. “You could’ve just said no.”

You smile. “But where’s the fun in that.”

Once Juyeon, Jaehyun, and Younghoon have all been properly introduced, the other two give you and Juyeon some time to catch up. You take him to the beach for a walk. 

“How long are you staying?” 

Juyeon sighs. “Not long. We leave in two days.” 

You sigh as well. “That’s much too soon.” 

“Yes, but in lighter news,” Juyeon says, jostling you with his shoulder, “Orindell told me you two made peace.” 

“We did.” You hum with a smile. 

And so you continue to walk and talk along the shore. Juyeon tells you about all his travels in the time you’ve been apart. And you tell him about the time you’ve spent here, at Jaehyun’s estate. You tell him about jumping from Angel’s Peak and learning how to swim. You tell him about Jaehyun, Younghoon, Vina, Insia, Cyrin, and the kids. You tell him about how the fog in your mind is so much weaker than it was when you left from the Golden Palace, and how much you’ve been able to learn about your past and about yourself. Although you decide to wait to tell Juyeon the specifics. 

Juyeon listens closely, nodding his head along. Once you’re done, he smiles mischievously, a new question on his tongue. “And so how long did it take you to realize you’re in love with Lord Jaehyun?” 

Your mouth drops, and you look at Juyeon shocked. “Well, longer than it took you to put it together.” 

“Ah, well, not everyone is as clueless as you when it comes to matters of the heart.” He tells you with a laugh. “If the King knew how much you’re enjoying the southern sea, I think he’d whisk you back to the palace immediately. You look happy.” 

You turn your head towards the water and wait for a wave to crash before responding. “I am.” The admission seems to make Juyeon happy as well. “Also, I’ve been meaning to say, but I think it’s about time we fought each other, Captain Juyeon.” 

He stops in his tracks. “Really?” 

You nod. And then you tell him about how you’ve outgrown your fear of fighting and losing yourself in it. And how you’ve come to control your own strength against your opponent. “Every afternoon, either I’m teaching the local children how to fight or I’m fighting Captain Younghoon and one of the guards. But now that you’re here, I think it’s time I put all those years I spent teaching you how to fight to use.” You pause, waiting for his response. 

He grips your shoulders and smiles excitedly. “You should know, I have been waiting for this day since I was 17 years old.” 

***

“Please don’t beat the life out of me.” Juyeon jokes that afternoon as you face each other in the courtyard ready to fight. 

“I won’t. Although, I wish I could beat out of you your fear of Risals.” At that, Juyeon laughs. The courtyard is filled with Jaehyun, Younghoon, mina, the guards, Juyeon’s squadron, the other Knights, and your students all awaiting the match between Captain Juyeon, one of the best fighters in the Knights of the Holy Order, and the Gift of Fortitude. You find you’re also excited for this match. Juyeon is a good fighter. You trained him for over five years, and in that time, you taught him all your moves. He knows the way you pick your fights and plot your moves. And perhaps, after his training with the Knights, Juyeon will surprise you with some new moves that you have yet to see. That being said, you don't doubt your ability to win. You might struggle a bit more than you do when fighting with Younghoon, but the thought makes your blood jump with excitement more than anything. 

You circle each other for a second, and when Juyeon does charge towards you fist clenched, it takes you a moment to register that he’s moved before you dodge the punch. You block his arm with yours and use the momentum to twirl around him, bringing your knee up to jam into his side. He lunges at you again. And then once more. You let the second blow hit your stomach just to see how strong Juyeon is and regret it the moment you do. He’s strong, and your own tolerance for pain is low. You sidestep from his next kick and use the imbalance to tackle him to the ground. And in the few seconds it takes for him to react, you pummel into his stomach with the same force that he punched you with and slap him on the face once, although the slap is petty and harmless. He clutches his cheek with fake shock before pushing you off him and to the ground, your back on the grass. He pins down your arms. “Don’t blame me for your own decision to take the hit.” He teases while also landing punches to your stomach for the small second he has you caged under his own body weight. You exhale dramatically heaving your legs up to throw him off. It’s only once you’re up that you feel the pain of his blows, although the pain does not feel as bad as it did before. You’re both on your feet again. Circling each other. Punching and kicking faster than you’ve seen in a while and faster than you’ve had to do yourself in years. You’re tackling each other to the ground in one moment and back on your feet in the next. Juyeon is fast. And you feel rusty fighting him. He’s punching and lunging at you with no rest even managing to hit you on some occasions but not in the way he wants for you’re always able to duck or twist your body just in time for the impact. You swipe your leg under his and it takes almost all your strength for the move to topple him onto his back. You find yourself thinking that you’ve instilled in Juyeon the importance of a good stance too well. But once he’s on his back, you kick him onto this stomach and quickly pounce onto him, trapping his hands behind his back with one hand and using your other hand to push his face into the grass. You use one foot to pin down both of his legs by the ankle and shove your other knee into the small of his back. 

“Surrender.” You pant. 

You lift his head up out of the grass by his hair. You’re surprised to hear that he’s laughing although it comes out ragged behind his heavy breathing. “I surrender.” 

And you fall onto your back in the grass next to him, clutching your stomach that’s beginning to ache with your own laughs. You are exhausted and jumping within your own body from the excitement all at the same time. You lay on the grass utterly delighted with the fight.

And once the people in the courtyard realize it’s ended, they erupt in an applause. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE—

It’s at dinner with everyone that you tell Juyeon all that you’ve remembered in the past months. You tell him about the Holy Wars and Lord Seth’s death. At last, you give him an answer to the question about the Nomads he asked that night back at the Golden Palace. He seems satisfied with all that you’ve told him, as if the pieces are finally coming together and in a sense, they are.  

“So then there’s just one more question left to ask.” He muses, sitting back in his chair. “Do you remember what else you told Peter the night before he left?” 

You suck in a breath. Had you told him something else? Perhaps whatever else you told Peter that night had something to do with why you advised him to go to the Nomads’ Land specifically, beyond their connection with the Elders. Perhaps it had something to do with—

oh. 

Suddenly your head splits into two, and in the chasm that emerges, you remember. 

“I do.” You breathe, cradling your head in your hands and unbelieving of your own memories. “Who told you?” 

“Peter told Roen and Orindell before he left. Orindell told me. We all had questions for you. But Roen was always on some eastern campaign, and you and Orindell weren’t even talking. I tried asking you, but you denied it every time I brought it up. You could barely remember before, but today you said that you’re remembering more now. You said the fog in your mind is clearing. Is it clear enough to tell me more? Do you remember enough to explain why you said what you did?” 

You’re silent, trying to make sense of your own foggy memories. It’s Jaehyun who eventually asks it. He leans towards you, and the hand he places on your hunched back feels like a vote of confidence and another of comfort, “are you alright?” You nod. He waits a beat. “What did you tell Peter that night?”

You look at Jaehyun. Then Younghoon. Then Juyeon; he nods. All three watch you carefully. 

“I told him that…” you gulp, picking at the table and then your shirt as well, “I told him one of the Seven Sins is still alive. I sent him to the Nomads’ Lands because I think they’ll know how to find the Sin” 

Jaehyun and Younghoon look at you insanely, almost as insanely as you feel. 

Juyeon starts laughing at the madness of it all. 

It’s a hard thing for you to explain, but you try anyway. “I know it’s difficult to believe. But I know it in my gut, and I think I’ve known it for quite some time now.” You tell them how when the Gifts arrived at your village and pronounced you the Gift of Fortitude, it was like you had been relieved of this lump in your throat or like they had reached into your stomach and pulled out a rock sitting at the bottom. It was only after the Holy Wars ended, with the signing of a treaty by you and Avi, that you realized the lump in your throat and the rock in your gut had returned. But you lived with the lump for so long and learned to tolerate the rock so well that you almost forgot about it entirely. That was until one day you woke in your rooms at the Golden Palace to a clear throat and empty stomach. You didn’t even realize what it meant until the week you told Peter.

And somewhere in the midst of recounting everything to Jaehyun, Juyeon, and Younghoon, your mind feels suddenly, blissfully clear. That night, you do more than just remember.

You shoot up from your seat, startling all three of them. You find paper in the next room and begin to write to Peter. Because in your clarity, you see more than you’ve ever seen before. You know how to help Peter find the Sin. Your hand flies across the paper, clarity leading the pen with a mind of its own. And by the time you’re done, Jaehyun, Younghoon, and Juyeon have followed you into the kitchen. All four of them stare at your scribblings. 

“What is that?” 

“I think it’s supposed to be a letter.” 

“No, no. It’s a drawing.” 

“Actually,” you cut all three of them off, “I think it’s meant to be a map.” 

The three boys share a look. 

“What do you mean you think?” 

“You’re the one who drew it, how can you not know?” 

“I still think it’s a drawing.”

“Please.” You spit at the boys, grinding your teeth at the bubbling pain in your head. “It’s a map. And it’s for Peter.” You retrieve your Risal, and pray silently that your message finds him, and that he’ll be able to make sense of your muddled clarity. “Peter will know.” You add before whispering his name to the Risal and watching the bird disappear into the night sky. 

Juyeon shifts his weight between his feet. The question that leaves his lips sounds painfully hopeful. “You really can’t remember?”

Then, all at once, your pain returns. Blurring your vision, making you feel nauseous and unsure. Your body, your mind, your limbs feel weak. Weaker than after you swim for miles with Jaehyun. Weaker than after your fight with Juyeon. This pain is more than physical. This pain consumes you. It infiltrates your entire being. But this is a pain you know. This is how you feel every time the fog in your mind reclaims its territory. 

You fall to your knees, Jaehyun catching you in his arms before you hit the ground completely. You grimace into his shoulder. He says something to Younghoon who shuffles away hurriedly before carrying you in his arms away from the kitchen and back to your bedroom. The last thing you remember before everything turns black is the pain in your head and Jaehyun’s voice in your ear. 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

Jaehyun can’t sleep that night. He sits by your bedside instead and waits for you to wake up, unable to erase the look on your face moments before you passed out. Jaehyun is no stranger to the fog in your mind, but at dinner something was different, off. When you first started telling Jaehyun about your past, you suffered from headaches often, but as time passed and as your past became a familiar topic of conversation, the headaches faded away. Jaehyun can’t even remember the last time you requested the migraine medicine from Vina. And more than that, you never seemed to forget what you remembered with Jaehyun. But last night was nothing like what Jaehyun had seen before. In one moment, you knew everything with a startling amount of certainty, and then in the next, you were kneeling on the floor, crying in pain. Jaehyun can’t seem to rid his mind of the look on your face, a look that expressed more than just your pain, a look that screamed confusion. Jaehyun can’t forget how lost you looked in your own mind and how hard you were trying to claw your way out. Jaehyun tries to think of something else. 

He hears rustling beside him, and you’re up, attempting to sit up in the bed. He coaxes you into laying back down. And once you’re really awake, rubbing circles to your temples, Jaehyun asks if you’re feeling any better. 

“Not by much.” You groan, dropping your hands on the bed. 

Jaehyun takes a seat on the bed, leaning his back against the headboard. He takes your free hand in his and squeezes. “Tell me what you remember.”

And so you do. “Was it a map that I sent to Peter?” You ask once you’ve reached the end. Jaehyun nods, and you sigh an ‘oh’ turning your head away. 

A silence engulfs the room, and there’s something in your voice when you whisper, “why is it that I can’t remember why I sent it?” that makes a piece of Jaehyun break. He doesn’t know what to say. So you stare at the ceiling until you silently slip back into sleep. 

—THE GIFT OF FORTITUDE— The Risal returns the next day while you and Jaehyun are sitting at the rocks alone. It’s been months since anyone has heard from Peter, so when the Risal lands on your arm dropping a letter in your lap, you’re more than just shocked. You read it silently. 

Dear Fortitude,  Firstly, I presume I should apologize for not answering any of your previous Risals. I had no good news to share. That is, until now. We’ve deciphered your code. We know exactly what to do now. I’m not sure how you knew this was what we needed to finish. Meet us at my castle. From there, we’ll go together. The end is near.  -Peter

“What’s it say?” Jaehyun questions. You look at him softly before handing him the letter to read for himself. 

He’s quiet then, “oh.” He folds the letter, placing it back in your lap. “I thought you said it was a map.” 

“Jaehyun.” You whisper, not letting him ignore the thoughts and worries that plague both your minds. 

He pouts and looks out towards the sea. When he speaks at last, he does it so softly, it makes a part of you burn. “You should go.” 

You hurl a small rock into the water. “What if I don’t want to?” 

“I hate to say it, but you—“ 

“I know.” You take a shallow breath. “I have to.” 

Things are put into place quietly after that. All of the Princes have their own castle although none of them spend much time at them. Peter’s castle is northwest of King’s City, a day's worth of riding with a strong horse. You would ride with Juyeon’s squadron to King’s City, and from there you would ride to Peter castle which was built right into the side of the western mountains alone. It would take you three days of riding if you’re lucky. Five days if you’re not. In truth, you don’t want to leave Jaehyun's estate, and you most certainly don’t want to bid goodbye to the sea. 

This is what you want: to throw yourself off of Angel’s Peak like a sack of flour. You want to swim in the cold, freezing water. You want to swim away from the kingdom. From the King. From your worries. From your fears. You want to swim far far away to some remote, undiscovered island where you no longer have to be the Gift of Fortitude. And you want to do it all with Jaehyun. 

But you pack your bags instead, send Peter a Risal telling him you’ll arrive at his castle soon. You say goodbye to Jaehyun and Younghoon that night. You and Juyeon would be leaving before they wake. And later that night, you go to Jaehyun’s room and sleep in his bed and cry into his pillow because you don’t want to leave. But more than that, you don’t want to leave him. You say goodbye again. 

—LORD JAEHYUN—

Jaehyun jolts out of bed. He feels disgustingly cold when he realizes that he’s woken up alone. That you’re already gone. But then he hears shouting and horseshoes against pavement from out of his window. He looks behind the curtains and makes out six figures on horseback, just beginning to ride away from the estate. He’s running out of his room, slipping on shoes and a shirt, and dragging his horse out of the stables, desperately trying to catch up to Juyeon’s squadron and needing to catch up to you. 

He’s riding faster than wind through the town roads, screaming your name. And when he finally catches up to you, in the forest path, he leaps off his horse and runs to you. You see him at the same time he sees you, jumping off your horse as well and flinging yourself into Jaehyun’s arm. Only once he’s embracing you in his arms does Jaehyun realize he’s crying. Juyeon leads his squadron further down the path, slowly so that you can catch up afterwards, but away to give you privacy. 

“You didn’t say goodbye.” He cries into your hair. 

“I didn’t want to wake you.” 

“You should’ve. I barely sleep as it is.” 

“All the more reason not to, Jaehyun.” 

He squeezes his arms around you. 

“Ask me to stay.” You whisper into his neck, sad and lonely. 

“I can’t.” He whispers back. You pull away and look at his face. Swiping your thumbs across his cheeks. 

“Tell me you hate me then.” You weep. “And that you want me to go. Tell me you want me far away from here.“

“Fortitude—” 

“Tell me something to make me hate you.” 

“—I can’t.” 

You inhale sharply, grabbing fitfulls of his shirt in your hands. “Then tell me something that will make it easier to bear the pain of leaving you.” 

He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, noticing that your hair is in a braid. Jaehyun hesitates. “Did you do your hair yourself? When did you learn how to braid it?”

You slap his chest. “You dummy. I’ve known how to braid since the first time you showed me.” And then you’re crying again, burying your face into his chest. Jaehyun’s laughing and crying, stroking your braided hair because how foolish is it you both should have wanted nothing more than to be near each other since the very beginning. And how foolish is it that it took you so long to admit, to yourselves and to each other. 

“I love you.”

“Not that,” you bawl, “tell me anything but that.” 

“I love you.” He repeats. “And one day, when all this is over, we’ll go west. To where the mountains meet the sea. So that you’ll have an infinite number of cliffs to throw yourself off of.” You nod, laughing through the tears. Jaehyun kisses you. Once. Twice. Again. And over. 

“I’ll come back, Jaehyun.” You promise. “I’ll come back here, to you.” 

“Well, yeah, you have to.” You look at him confused but amused. He continues softly. “Because the sea is still yours to take.” 

You laugh once. Kiss him twice. Then mount your horse riding down the path again. And Jaehyun watches you go, holding your last I love you to his chest.

a/n: i feel a little odd and scared to be reposting this piece... again. but i’ve been flirting with the idea of reposting it for tbz for too long for me to not lol. also i didn’t edit or proofread this very thoroughly so if the names got mixed up somewhere within this monster then thats why my bad

[lambden]

What better way to break in a new blog than by immediately posting fic? In honour of Nightmare of the Wolf, here’s some Vesemir and Filavandrel!

(read on AO3)

M, 2.9K words, no warnings, Vesemir recognizes Jaskier’s lute when he arrives at Kaer Morhen

Vesemir has been expecting this day for decades. It’s rare for witchers to meet a trusted companion out on the Path, and even rarer to find one who wishes to travel alongside them. But the reputation of witchers has changed in recent years, for better or worse. Their focus is no longer on maintaining the traditional practices of their schools, but on protection— of other witchers, and of helpless commoners. Perhaps the humans can sense that change.

More curiously, the folklore surrounding witchers has changed. Vesemir very badly wants to meet the man who has done so much to change the narrative, but years pass and all Geralt brings home every winter are stories. The younger witchers entertain (and tease) him but no one ever asks where the bard goes during the cold months that Geralt spends at Kaer Morhen. Perhaps even Geralt doesn’t know.

Finally, after hundreds of stories of Geralt-and-Dandelion, Vesemir receives a letter one autumn before he himself has even considered the journey home. His chest warms as he reads Geralt’s careful penmanship, noting how the ink blots at the start of each new sentence. The paper and wax are fine, suggesting that Jaskier used his academic connections to perhaps land Geralt a few contracts near Oxenfurt. Geralt’s lettering may be nearly flawless but his message is stilted, reminding Vesemir of when his pups were nervous children. Does Jaskier really make him act this awkward? Their relationship must be serious, then.

I am hoping you will welcome my guest with open arms, or I fear he may freeze over the coming months. Vesemir looks for a signature but there is none, save a very fancy G at the bottom. No returning address has been provided either, and while he could easily pen a missive to Oxenfurt, it’s probably best not to respond. Each day Nilfgaard only grows stronger, and crueler. Perhaps Jaskier has been caught up in their hunger for power. Vesemir folds the letter up and hides it in his saddlebag.

When the frost begins creeping in, the oldest Wolf begins his trek up the mountain. He’s almost always the first one to arrive; Coën had beaten him to it once and apologized for weeks, and Vesemir would do anything to avoid that again. And if he makes an effort to arrive early this year so that he can make the Keep look as important as it is, well… nobody needs to know.

It takes a week and a half before Geralt arrives, Jaskier in tow. Vesemir spends the time flushing out a bat infestation and dealing with the most perishable of his spoils from the past year. The White Wolf seems to bring the cold with him most years but Vesemir, cognizant of Jaskier’s inferior body, made sure to set out enough furs in advance. As soon as he hears Roach’s hooves approaching he starts a roaring fire, and when the inner doors of Kaer Morhen burst open, Vesemir is ready to make a great first impression.

Upon seeing him, Geralt smiles right away, crossing the room to greet him. Vesemir looks him over; no obvious new scars, no missing body parts. Must have been an uneventful year, but… Geralt is here, safe and alive, so Vesemir allows himself some private, selfish, unwitcherly joy. It’s the sort of thing Deglan would have lectured him for. He finds he doesn’t care.

“I got your letter,” he tells Geralt, who nods solemnly. “I thought it best not to reply. Is Nilfgaard on your trail?”

“Our trail,” Geralt sighs, stepping aside so that Vesemir can meet his companion. “Vesemir, this is Jaskier.”

The bard, dwarfed by a large fur coat, moves forward so that Vesemir can properly scrutinize him. He certainly doesn’t look his age, but Vesemir knows he’s travelled as far as any witcher has gone, and seen sights no human should really have witnessed. “Oh, I’ve heard plenty about you, Jaskier. I was wondering when Geralt was finally going to bring you along for the winter!” That makes Jaskier perk up, and Vesemir chuckles. “I promise that no harm will come to you here.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier says. “Geralt doesn’t like sharing much about the other witchers, but I’m sure you must have a wealth of stories for me to hear!” Sure enough, Geralt frowns. “And I don’t know how much help I’ll be with hunting or gathering, but I would be happy to regale you on the coldest nights—” 

And before Vesemir can read into that unfortunate phrasing, Jaskier shrugs off his fur coat to produce a lute. He must have been wearing it strapped around his front on the journey through the mountains, not wanting to condemn such a fine instrument to being jostled around in Roach’s saddlebags. Vesemir squints at the red-brown wood and the golden details under the strings. They almost look like a particular elven design.

Oh. Vesemir’s realization nearly bowls him over. Geralt and Jaskier stare at him, respectively concerned and curious, but Vesemir can’t take his eyes off the lute. “My apologies, I… I forgot something in my chamber. Make yourselves at home, and… I’ll leave you to it.” He leaves without any further explanation, hastening to his quarters and abandoning the pair of them to their own devices. He can still feel their gazes drilling into his back but he suddenly feels weaker than usual.

---

 “I heard there was a witcher skulking around this forest,” the spy says. Vesemir is almost relieved to hear them speak; he’s been glancing over his shoulder for nearly an hour now to try and reveal an invisible pursuer. He should’ve known he was right. Just because the spy doesn’t lumber like a human or reek of magic like a monster doesn’t mean he won’t be in trouble. 

He stops in the middle of the path, still facing forward. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that the second he turns, a very unfriendly knife is going to introduce itself to his ribcage. Or perhaps an arrow, although he hasn’t heard the sound of anything and he’s been listening very closely.

His pursuer approaches. Fuck, they’re light on their feet. If Vesemir was just an average bandit, he’d be done for. He braces himself for an attack, balling his hands up into fists at his sides. The stranger continues, tone still pleasant enough, “Why not stay in town? A warm bed must beat trudging through mud in the early hours of the morning trying to find ground. I’ll give you some advice, witcher; there’s no dry ground. You’re heading towards a swamp.”

“They wouldn’t let me stay in town,” Vesemir admits, already grumpy. He whirls around and sees the stranger; a lean man, just slightly shorter than him. The long hood of their cloak casts a dark shadow over their face, blocking them from view. “If you’re here to rob me, I hate to disappoint, but you’ve followed me all this way for nothing.”

He holds up his empty coinpurse; not to prove himself, just to complain. The stranger titters, a lovely, high-pitched sound like glass clinking against glass, like chimes. Like birdsong. Vesemir’s eyes narrow. “That’s a shame,” they say. “You do love coin.”

There’s something disturbingly familiar about the words. Vesemir decides to gamble with his own life, stalking forward until he’s face to face with the stranger. Up close, his scent is even stronger. Frowning, Vesemir is about to reveal the man’s identity when he does it himself, pushing his hood back. His hair is tied up in complex braids unlike any Vesemir has ever seen, only a few loose strands hanging down over his forehead. But it would take more than a lifetime for Vesemir to forget that face.

“Fil,” he declares, delighted, and doesn’t think twice before crashing into the elf. Filavandrel laughs again and though it makes Vesemir feel a little silly, the sound still fills his heart with joy. He embraces his friend tightly, clinging to him for so long that both their boots sink down into the flooded dark soil of the forest. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s like I told you.” The elf pats the back of Vesemir’s neck, unwittingly sending a shiver down his spine. Vesemir’s grip tightens. “My scouts said I might find a witcher lost in the woods.”

“I’m not lost,” Vesemir grunts, finally pulling away. “I just… don’t know where I’m going.”

“Come to my camp,” suggests Filavandrel. As if he even had to ask.

Unsurprisingly, elves make their camps much differently than witchers do. When they arrive Vesemir doesn’t immediately see any sort of bedroll, and then he feels embarrassed for looking. He never feels this way around anyone else; he can make bawdy jokes with Sven or blatantly hit on Luka, but in the company of Filavandrel aén Fidháil, shame bursts through him so easily.

Maybe he just has a thing for pretty blondes who he leaves behind.

Except Fil is here, smiling indulgently as Vesemir gapes like a fool. “It’s nice,” he finally manages to say. “Want me to set a fire?”

“A campfire, sure. Not a big one,” Filavandrel teases. Swallowing, Vesemir turns to a firepit that the elf must have fashioned himself. He takes a bundle of wood that’s already been cut and easily ignites it, all the while trying to figure out why his heart is pounding so damn loud. Thank fuck that Filavandrel isn’t a witcher.

“Have you eaten?”

“No. You?”

“I was going to have some bread, and go hunting in the morning.” There’s a small noise and when Vesemir turns to look, his friend is holding out a large chunk of bread. It doesn’t even look that stale. Vesemir sees that Filavandrel has taken a much smaller piece for himself and growls about it, but the elf snatches the smaller piece away before Vesemir can lunge for it. “I don’t want to hear any self-sacrificial bullshit about how witchers don’t need to eat. Take the damn bread, Ves.”

“... Fine,” Vesemir relents, cowed. He accepts the bread, fingertips accidentally brushing over Filavandrel’s when he takes it. It’s fucking delicious, melting in his mouth almost instantly. Seeds and herbs have been baked into it too, and Vesemir savours every bite, moaning. “You should quit being a professional elf and start a new life as a baker, fuck.”

“I can do both. It’s an old recipe, needs a stone oven. And what does being a professional elf even mean?” Filavandrel reaches up to shove him, except they aren’t very far away from each other so the push nearly knocks Vesemir off his balance. Before he can tip over onto the grass Filavandrel grabs him by the collar of his gambeson and tugs him back, and, well. Vesemir may be a witcher, but parts of him are still human. 

Neither of them has to say a word; he opens for Filavandrel like he’s been thinking of nothing but this since the second they laid eyes on each other. Honestly, he sort of has. Fil runs a hand over the shaved part of his head, pressing his palm against the back of his neck to pull him in closer. Vesemir moans, chasing the taste of something sweet and acidic and magic. It certainly isn’t the fucking bread.

Afterwards they lie together by the smoldering remains of the fire, both too spent to clean themselves or dress. Vesemir glances over at the cinders and thinks about making an exit soon. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to stay with Filavandrel. He’s comfortable here, especially right now, and his friend always makes his heart feel lighter. But the Path calls to him; lying here without his weapons or armour, Vesemir can nearly hear Deglan’s scolding. And that thought is enough to ruin anyone’s afterglow.

Before he can move, Filavandrel sits up, arching his back. Vesemir turns to watch him, nearly salivating at how he looks in the low firelight. His hair is radiant, and his skin isn’t nearly flushed enough. He’s beautiful. Ethereal. Selfishly, Vesemir wishes that he’d left more marks.

Fil climbs to his feet and crosses the campsite to retrieve something out of reach. Vesemir cranes his neck to try and peek, and Filavandrel laughs kindly at him. “I was just thinking that something’s missing.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Vesemir says, lowering his head back down onto the ground. “I should have kissed you more.”

The elf pauses at that before finally demanding, “Kiss me later.” A note resounds through the air, clear and beautiful; then a chord, and another. Very soon their little clearing feels more like a fairy circle than a campground as Filavandrel plays music. 

He finally walks into view, still naked, still beautiful. Now holding a lute. Vesemir tries to sit up so that he can properly see the performance but Filavandrel is faster, moving over him and then sitting atop his stomach, resting his back against Vesemir’s thighs. He plays the entire time, fingers moving adeptly over the instrument.

It’s a beautiful lute, probably made of some holy dark red wood. The golden design etched into it is mesmerizing, and the strings could have been plucked from the mane of a unicorn. Vesemir hardly spares it any attention, too wrapped up in the sight of a naked Filavandrel straddling him and singing.

He’ll only realize decades later that the elf was probably trying to court him.

Someone knocks on the door to his chambers and Vesemir jumps to his feet, caught off-guard by the sound that plucked him from his memories. He finds Jaskier waiting outside his room, toying idly with the sleeves of his doublet. Vesemir shakes his head, holding the door open for Jaskier even as he apologizes. “I’m sorry for running out earlier. I meant to give you a tour of the Keep, hopefully Geralt will have stepped up in my absence, but I am sorry—”

“No— please,” Jaskier interrupts. Once more he pulls his lute from around himself, holding it out to Vesemir. “I just… Your countenance changed dramatically upon seeing this, so…”

Fuck. “Yes,” Vesemir sighs, staring at the lute. Jaskier has managed to keep it in good condition after all this time. “I… Filavandrel and I are old friends.”

The bard’s eyes bulge out of his head but he enters Vesemir’s chambers, heading straight to the desk to perch on the edge of the chair. Vesemir finds another chair for himself, moving its previous occupant— a stack of books— onto the floor. In his defence, he hadn’t expected the tour of Kaer Morhen to begin in his personal chambers.

“He didn’t mention knowing any other witchers,” Jaskier hums. “How did you meet him?”

“You’re sure you want to know? It’s sort of a long story.” The bard just nods, eager and polite. Instantly Vesemir can see why Geralt likes him. “Alright,” he obliges, reaching for the bottle of wine on the desk. They’re going to need it. “We met long before you would have been born…”

 ---

 South of Kaedwen, the seasons are more aligned than any other part of the Continent. The winters are crisp, the summers lazy. Filavandrel likes to spend his summers here, where the canopy of trees is thick enough to provide shade but thin enough to provide colour. Everything is verdant, the flowers calling to him as he passes each one. When he was a child he had longed to visit towns and experience human delights like festivals but now he knows better. The elves live off the land well enough anyway.

Some of the younger people in his company these days have that same yearning, and some of them even manage it. One elf who resembles Toruviel always runs off to see some different show, take in some new performance. If Filavandrel thought that she could get away with it, he would pay for her to attend Oxenfurt— she’s very good. And the upside of her risking her life just to listen to music is that she’s got a very good memory, and she always brings the songs back home.

Today she’s singing some new ode to a witcher; not that bigoted anthem of lies that the bastard warbler from Posada somehow spread through the Continent, thank the Gods. This one seems to revolve more around making the right choice, and how a real hero does good deeds not for coin or his own profit, but just to be good. Filavandrel thinks about the few witchers that he’s had the misfortune of contacting over the years, and under his breath he scoffs.

Cheesy chorus aside, the lyrics seem to have some merit. The first verse is all about some terrible monster that was taking young girls, transforming them into half-beasts. The hero witcher’s judgement fails him and he blames himself for years, even losing a lover in the process. Filavandrel scowls; despite his own experiences with witches, he doesn’t want to listen to a song written by yet another prejudiced bard.

Then the third verse lands. The witcher grows old and wise and has children of his own, and he regrets his inaction and he tries to reach out to contact his lover. But at that point his lover, who devoted his life to protecting those in danger, was too busy being King of the Silver Towers. Filavandrel stops dead in his tracks as he realizes which witcher this must have been inspired by.

The elven king huffs, starting to compose a route in his head. He thinks a trip up north is long overdue.

[sweetsbfreex]

a perfect mix

hi! I had this idea and decided to write it for @tbslenthusiast ‘s dadathon enjoy!

                                             𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

“Look Bub, she’s so pretty” you say sniffling, her tiny hand wrapped around your finger. 

“I know love, the perfect mix of me and you, thankfully more of you,” he said laughing breathily. He stood against the hospital bed, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, and the other–just his finger, though– used to graze her puffy, blotchy cheeks. 

She had just been cleaned, now wrapped in the pink hospital blanket and a cute beanie wrapped around her head. 

“Shut up,” you laugh. “Look!” you whisper. “Her eyes, they're a mix of green and brown”

“See a perfect mix of us” he replied nudging your shoulder, looking at you, and lifting his finger that was on Bub’s cheek to wipe away the happy tears at the corner of your eyes. “I’m so proud of you, you really went through it back there,”

You smiled shyly at his praise, puckering your lips for a kiss which he delivered gleefully. “I'm proud of you too.”

“What’d I do? All I did was throw a few ropes in.”

“H! You can't talk like that,” he laughs at your astonished look. “If you must know, your hand really went through the ringer.”

“Oh that, that was nothing,” he says shrugging his shoulders, his lips pursing in faux confidence.

“Baby...You asked me to go easy on you,” you said laughing as his face dropped. 

“Well ‘m sorry, your grip is so tight, pretty sure I would've lost circulation at some point”

You had tears rolling down your face and neck and sweat piling all over you, as you squeezed the ever daylight of Harry's hand. 

“I hate you so much Harry Styles, look what you did to me” you cried, flinging your head back.

“I know, know I promise you can use this over my head for the rest of our lives” his face cringing at the sound of your tears and screams, while blotting your forehead with a cloth “but you have to keep pushing, love.”

“Okay” you whined. “harry you said ‘ours’” you cried, trying with all your might to get the baby out of you.

“Are you guys ready for the rest of the family to join you?” the nurse asked, extinguishing the duo, of their baby induced trance. 

Harry angled his head a bit to anticipate your answer, you nodded in return. “Yea we’re ready,” he answered, smiling at the nurse, who left the room to rally everyone in. 

He looked down again at his little family, “you ready to meet your family, my sweet little girl,” he cooed, descending his head to set a light kiss to her puffy cheek at the moment she decided to yawn eliciting a laugh from you and Harry.

In that moment you heard the door opening. Anne, your mom, Gemma, your dad, Jeff, and Glenne walked through the door with an array of pink balloons and flowers. 

“Hi!” you greeted cheerfully at everyone. 

Harry walked away to hug whoever he could, rotating with whoever came to the bed to gently hug you. 

“I'm so proud of the two of you, look how cute she is,” your mom said sniffling bringing her finger up to the tip of her nose, pulling your head into her chest gently and placing a kiss to your forehead. 

“congratulations, darlings” Anne said, hugging harry again and also placing a kiss to your forehead. 

“thank you mum” “thank you mom” you and harry repeated at the same time.

You could see the pair of grandmothers trying to hold back their tears of joys and so could Harry as he released a playful groan with a “great now the mums are crying.”

“H, hush,” you say, laughing briefly. 

“look how cute you all look, gather in for a picture” Gemma said pulling out Harry’s camera that he insisted on packing in the baby’s bag of all places. 

Your mom stood to your left leaning and Harry doing the same on your right, however, and Anne stood next to her second-born. Everyone leaning into the middle and smiling the for picture. 

“say cheese!” Gemma said. 

                                                             -

You and Harry were shuffling around the hospital room, gathering everything you needed to go home. 

“Make sure to grab all the baby formula and stuff you see” you yell over to Harry while you tried picking the baby’s going home outfit, leave it to your indecisive self to change your mind last minute. 

“Harry, the pink or brown?” you asked turning around to present him the two footies.

“I like the pink better.”

“Brown it is” you say looking over the cute brown, bear like footie. 

“Heyyy!” Harry dragged out, tossing a diaper to the back of your head. 

Once you were finished, you raised her up murmuring how cute she looked. Kissing both her cheeks religiously. “You’re such the perfect mix y’know, look how cute you are, you smell good too,” you say kissing her lips lastly, before setting her in her car seat. 

Harry walked over to both of you, winding an arm around your waist, kissing your cheek. 

“Ew, Harry, that was wet,” you say, turning to bite his cheek in return.

“I’m sorry these are the people you’re being raised by, muffin,” Harry says leaning down to kiss her.

You flick him in the back of his head, his hand raising to touch the spot. “ready to go?” he asked. 

You nodded, mumbling an mhm. You outstretched your hand out to grasp the handle of the seat, until a quick slap was directed to your hand. 

“babe?!” you express, looking at him bewildered. 

“you just gave birth, you absolutely think ‘m gonna let you carry the carseat,” he answers, voice filled with false offense, mumbling something along the lines of ‘out of her mind’ talking to the baby exactly. 

“ok, well can I carry th-”

“No. Ready to go home?” reaching his thumb to massage away the furrow of your eyebrows. 

“Yes”, you sigh, reaching up to kiss his cheek “Thank you for looking out for me.”

“Just one of my many jobs,” he replies, hauling you in for a kiss. The baby bag on his shoulder and the baby in his opposite hand, all while his free hand embraced one of yours as you both trailed down the hallway. 

You were meant to walk through the front entrance of the hospital, but it didn't seem that was happening. 

“christ” Harry hissed, his jaw clenched in utter annoyance. 

“What is it? H?” you asked tugging his hand. 

“Think someone told the paps we were here, its fine don’t worry, we’ll just go through the back,” he said, towing you both to the desk to hopefully sort out the mess. 

                                                             -

“meet your new home Miss Styles,” you whispered crouching in front of the car seat, taking her out.

“lovie, look at this cute set, Alessandro sent,” Harry said in excitement from the living room.

When the three of you first walked into the room, you were met with an abundance of flowers, balloons, sweets, and gifts splayed-out all over the living room and some lingering by the hallway where the front door was. What you could only assume was brought in by his assistant. 

The night before you were supposed to give birth to the baby– laying in the hospital bed on your side, while Harry spooned you from behind, one hand rubbing your back and the other your belly – you both stayed up texting whoever you needed to tell them the good news. 

You walked into the living room, sitting next to Harry (who still secured the box of clothes in his lap.) 

“Look at these shoes, oh!, They match my Brit Award ones from 2020″ he said grinning ear to ear, holding the pair up. 

“They even have her initials on the sides” you fell about happily.

“I know! We’ll have to thank him later,” he said placing them gently back in the box and the box to the floor. He laid back against the couch, holding his arms out awaiting you. 

You scuttled back gently, the baby still in your arms, until you were curled up into Harry’s chest – your back to his. He bounded both his arms over your shoulders, leaning his chin on your shoulder to view the bundle in nestled in your arms. 

“I can't believe we’re really parents,”he mumbled, turning his head to kiss your neck. 

“I know, and this isn’t a temporary thing like our nieces and nephews,” you replied, a smile on your face.

“We’re doing this every single day”

You all sat quietly in the living room, his record playing A Sunday Kind of Love in the background. The Idyllic feeling was all over the room, Harry singing along to the song lowly by your ear, rocking the three of you slowly. You couldn’t believe it even though she was in your arms right now, jostling her head a little...uh oh. 

...Before long a loud shrieking sound emitted from her small body, her hands in fists rising up to her chest.

“Yep. Every day” Harry said, sighing as her cries only got louder. 

[i-lionheart]

Here for You | Loki x Reader fluff

"There are moments that the words don't reach. There's a grace too powerful to name. We push away what we can never understand; we push away the unimaginable." -Hamilton, "It's Quiet Uptown"

After an emotional night, Loki's partner leaves her Avengers Tower apartment, showing up in need of comfort at Loki's door.

before you read: loki x reader, 1.5k words, reader is afab nonbinary, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, partial nudity (non-sexual), cuddling/spooning, discussion of gender dysphoria, period mention, body dysphoria, discussion of depression, suicidal thoughts, and self harm.

tw: gender dysphoria, period mention, partial nudity (non-sexual), depression mention, suicidal thoughts, self harm mention. @ me if there's anything I forgot.

You padded down the hallway, clutching the stuffed animal and baby blanket that had protected you from your demons since you were a child. Since your apartments were right next to each other, it was only a short distance to Loki's door; when you reached it, you knocked quickly and stood there, anxiously chewing your the inside of your cheek as you waited.

You heard his heavy footsteps crossing the apartment. Though his voice was muffled by the door separating the two of you, the annoyance was unmistakable. "Thor, I told you, I'm-"

He opened the door. His words cut off abruptly as he realized that it wasn't, in fact, his older brother bothering him in the middle of the night. His heart and facial expression melted as he looked you up and down, taking in your disheveled appearance. You stared back at him nervously, unable to verbally express what you needed from him now that he was actually standing in front of you.

Luckily, you didn't have to.

In a heartbeat, Loki had crossed the threshold of his apartment, pulling you into a tight embrace. He pressed your head to his chest and you melted into him, the tears that had escaped you all night finally beginning to flow. "It's all right, darling," he murmured. "It's all right. I'm here now. It's all right."

The two of you stood there for a moment that felt like an eternity, your entire world reduced to the feeling of being in each others' arms, Loki caressing you and whispering soft reassurances. Once the waterfall of your tears had slowed to a mere trickle, Loki said, "All right. You're coming inside." He bent down and hooked one arm under your knees, lifting you into his arms as easily as if you were a child. You squeaked in surprise and buried your head in his chest, eliciting a small chuckle from the trickster god as he carried you into his apartment and eased the door shut behind you. He didn't put you down until the two of you were in his bedroom, when he pulled back the soft covers of his king-size bed and set you gently on the gold satin sheets. He climbed in beside you and pulled the covers up around you both, once again pulling you to his chest.

"You don't have to tell me what's going on," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "But if you want to talk about it, I'm here to listen."

"It's my stupid period," you grumbled into his chest.

"What?" he said. "I thought you haven't had one for months now - didn't Strange get that sorted?"

"Yeah, but the hormones are still a fucking roller coaster."

"You mortals and your pesky bodies," he muttered into your hair. You couldn't help but giggle, despite your sadness. "What is it doing to you this time, darling?'

"Gender," you grumbled. "I'm fine with my body. I like my body. Or at least, most of the time I do, and then my hormones go insane and I hate it."

"Wishing you were a shapeshifter again, hmm?" Loki said. You nodded. "If I could give up my powers to you I'd do it in a heartbeat, dearest." You chuckled, in spite of yourself. "Thanks, babe."

"No problem," he replied. The two of you lay in comfortable silence for a moment, glad to just be in each other's presence. He caressed you gently - your hair, your arms, your back - then paused in confusion when he felt a seam under your shirt. He had never known you to wear a bra under your pajamas, especially given how much you hated to wear them during the day.

"Darling?" he asked, cautiously.

"Hmm?"

"Are you binding right now?"

"Yeah, but it's fine, I-"

"No, it's not," he cut you off sternly. "You know you're not supposed to. It's unsafe."

"Since when do you care about safety?"

"Since you tried to sleep in a binder. Sit up. It's coming off."

"Loki, really-"

"Now. You could do with some skin to skin anyways." His tone left no room for argument. Grudgingly, you pushed yourself into a sitting position, as did he.

"Arms up," he commanded. You rolled your eyes and did as he said, feeling like a toddler who needed their parents' help to get dressed. He lifted your shirt and gently pulled it over your head, then gathered it into a ball and tossed it on his floor. He removed your binder equally gently, careful not let the elastic snap or pinch, and tossed it on the floor on top of your shirt.

"Satisfied?" you said sarcastically.

"Not quite yet." He grasped the collar of the black t-shirt he was wearing and pulled it over his head in one fluid motion, adding it to the pile of clothing on his floor.

Though you had seen it a thousand times, you took in the sight of his chest, drinking in every inch of his skin. He caught your eye as you stared at him, and grinned. You blushed. "See something you like, pet?" he teased.

"Oh, shut up," you retorted as the two of you laid back down, snuggling into him again. He was right - the feeling of his skin, his strong arms wrapped around you, was incredibly soothing.

"I needed this," you murmured.

"I know."

A pause.

"I hate this body so much, sometimes. Like, I'm mostly okay with it, even proud of it, and then..."

You trailed off. He stroked your hair, whispering into it. "Take your time, love, it's all right."

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts, and continued shakily. "It's just... sometimes, I look in the mirror, and I look at my face, and I feel so happy - my reflection matches who I am, I look like myself - and then I see my body and I remember and I just..." You swallowed thickly, fighting back tears. "I just want to die, sometimes. I wish I didn't have to exist and face every day in a body that's not mine, I want to hurt it, scar it, make it bleed. Anything to show that it doesn't belong to me, to make it pay. I hate it. And I know I shouldn't hurt myself, I know I gave that up a long time ago, but that urge never leaves. I hate it, I hate it so much. I know it's not right, but that voice never goes away, it just gets quiet enough to ignore until the next time something triggers it and I have to fight it again. It never stops, Loki. Never." Your tears were flowing freely now. You took a shuddering breath. "I'm just so, so tired of always fighting. I want peace. But I don't think I'll ever have it."

"Oh, pet." he said softly. "How long were you feeling like this before you came to get me?"

"Hours," you admitted, feeling small.

"Oh, darling," he said. You heard the pain in his voice, and knew that what he really meant was I'm sorry.

"It's going to be okay," he said, voice ever so tender, tracing wandering patterns on your skin. "I know it's hard, but you are strong. You are a fighter, and you will make it through this. I promise you. And I will do everything I can to help."

"Really?"

"Really, dearest. You never have to face this alone again. I'm right by your side. In fact, this settles it. You're moving in with me. Tomorrow."

"What?" You pulled away from him, startled, and looked up to see dead seriousness on his face.

"What about it, pet? You practically live here already."

"Loki, the others can barely accept the fact that we're together. We can't move in together. Tony will have a heart attack."

Loki grinned wickedly. "Good."

You slapped his arm playfully, scolding him. "No, it's not good. If Tony had a heart attack, the arc reactor would probably flatten half of Manhattan." He chuckled appreciatively. "Why's it so pressing for me to move in, anyway? Most days you hardly spend a second without me."

He paused, giving you a long, searching look. "Isn't it obvious?

"No." You looked away, avoiding the discomfort of his scrutiny.

"Look at me." You didn't move. He reached out and cupped your face in his large hand, lifting your chin. "Look at me, dearest," he repeated, softer this time. You tore your eyes away from the empty space you had fixed them on and looked at him, afraid of what you'd see. He looked back at you tenderly, eyes full of compassion and the thing you had been most afraid of seeing.

Love. His eyes were full of love.

"You spent an unnecessarily long time tonight fighting this alone, because I wasn't with you. I wasn't there to help you when you needed me." He stroked your cheek with his thumb, voice tight with emotion. "I cannot let that happen again."

"Loki," you breathed. "You care that much?"

"Oh, darling, of course I do," he said. "Of course I do. And I promise that you will never have to face these thoughts alone again."

if you enjoyed this fic, please consider reblogging so this work can find other people who might enjoy it!

[cherienymphe]

Too Good (Ransom Drysdale x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, CLASSISM, a surprise crossover

{IF ANY OF THIS OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE DNI}

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers}

summary:  you’ve worked for the Thrombeys for years and your professional, borderline detached, attitude has always led Ransom to take you as another low class citizen who hates the rich. A surprise run in at your engagement party proves that isn’t the case at all: it’s just his family you hate.

~

“You staying for the soiree tonight?”

You paused in your cleaning, glancing up at Meg as she pulled from her juul.

Winter break had been well under way for a few days now and the entire Thrombey family had been trickling into Harlan’s home one by one. The famous writer always welcomed his family during the holidays, and while you admired his generosity, you hated that it put you face to face with the rest of the snobbish bunch.

Walter Thrombey was spineless and his wife, Donna, wasn’t much better. His wife at least had the tendency to steer clear of drama while Walt, on the other hand, was always trying to tell Harlan how to run his business. These were things you could overlook if it weren’t for the fact that they’d managed to raise a Nazi in the making. Some of Donna’s comments during politics talk told you that this wasn’t exactly a case of a rebelling teenager.

Joni was harmless but annoying at best. It wasn’t surprising that she and Meg were the only ones you could tolerate. They were far less snobby than the rest, but there was still something about them that didn’t make you completely comfortable around them. Meg loved to refer to Marta, Harlan’s nurse, as family, but occasionally you found yourself wondering how sincere that really was. You often told Marta that she shouldn’t have told Meg the truth about her family, but Marta was a trusting girl.

Linda, Harlan’s daughter, walked around with far too much self-importance all because she considered herself to be self-made. You chose your words carefully because you were positive anyone could be as successful as she was if they too got a small loan of a million dollars from their father. Her husband, Richard, was a racist who would balk at such a label. He’s full of micro aggressions and sometimes just downright aggression. He loved the money that came with being married into the Thrombey family, and considering he’d signed a prenup, it was no secret that the man lived in fear of losing everything with one wrong move.

Perhaps you were a bit harsh in how you looked at Linda and Richard, but they gave you more than enough reasons to think negatively of them, and the biggest reason of all was due to drift in with the wind any moment now. Joni had reached some milestone in her business that was apparently quite a big deal, and so Harlan had offered to throw a celebration. You were invited, not as help, but as a guest. You were still undecided and that was what you told Meg.

She exhaled, the sickly-sweet scent filling your lungs as you slid the rag along the kitchen counter.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a better night planned with that boyfriend of yours?”

You chuckled, throwing her a small smile.

“Maybe I do,” you coyly replied.

She took another drag before replying.

“To be honest, I wouldn’t blame you if you ditched us for a hot date. Ransom is gonna show within the next three hours or so, and you know he can barely stand the sight of you,” she said.

“The feeling is mutual,” you murmured, turning to face her as you finally finished.

She laughed, offering you the juul. With a sigh, you accepted it, figuring that you deserved it after your day. You’d been cleaning along with Fran nonstop all day in order to prepare for tonight.

“Why does he hate you so much anyway?” she wondered out loud.

You pressed the plastic to your lips and handed it back to her just before exhaling.

“Because I think he’s a piece of shit,” you answered.

She rolled her eyes with a crooked smile.

“We all do,” she deadpanned.

“Yeah, but…you’re family. It’s kind of expected…especially in your family. Besides, I disliked him the very moment I met him. I never even gave him the benefit of the doubt because I saw right through him, and he knows I see right through him.”

You gathered your cleaning supplies.

“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure why that gets underneath his skin so much. I know I can’t be the only person he’s met who feels the same way, but maybe it has something to do with his pride or whatever. Who knows? I should get ready to go, anyway.”

There was a smirk on Meg’s red lips.

“I knew you had a hot date.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I wouldn’t call it a hot date or anything, but spending time with my boyfriend does beat the alternative,” you told her.

She followed you out of the kitchen, pouting as you threw on your coat and grabbed your purse.

“You hardly talk about him that sometimes I forget you have a beau waiting at home for you when you leave here,” she complained.

“Meg, you know I like to keep my work life and personal life as separate as possible,” you reiterated, looking for your keys.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re so uptight about that,” she waved you off.

You threw her a look.

“You know how your family can be,” you told her matter-of-factly.

Meg playfully scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest as she followed you to the door.

“Are you ashamed of us?” she questioned as you walked out.

You stuck your head back in, hand on the doorframe as you smiled.

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You’ll be back first thing tomorrow, right?”

“Of course,” you chirped. “I can’t leave Fran to clean up the mess that will no doubt be left in the morning.”

“Drive safe,” she called as you descended the steps.

You were nearing your car when the purr of another sounded from the long driveway. You paused as you realized just who was making their way in and you wasted no time in unlocking your car. His light-colored vintage one slid in beside yours, and you sank into your seat just as he hopped out.

You didn’t spare him a glance as you started your vehicle, but you could feel his cold blue gaze boring into you. Your suspicions were proven right when you went to close your door only to be thwarted. His large hands pressed down onto the top of your door, and when you looked up at him, there was a mocking smile on his pink lips.

“Y/N,” he greeted. “Leaving so soon?”

You couldn’t see his eyes for his dark shades, but you just knew they were mocking you too.

“Yes,” you tersely replied, pulling on your door.

You huffed when he, and your door by extension, didn’t budge.

“That’s a real shame. I was looking forward to seeing what you look like when you’re not on your hands and knees…scrubbing, that is.”

“I have a prior engagement,” was your simple answer, pulling on the door again.

“Ah. I think I did hear Meg mention a boyfriend once. Let me guess… You’ve got a homecooked meal waiting for you in whatever rundown apartment you live in? Maybe you’ve got a date planned. Feeding the homeless? Singing to less fortunate children?”

You clenched your jaw, just waiting for him to back away.

“That is more up your alley, right? You’ve got to do something to make up for hanging around us snobs all day lest we wear off on you.”

You stared through your windshield, looking away from him with so much dismissal you were sure you heard him growl at you.

“Are you finished?” you wondered.

He scoffed, staring at you for a moment longer before eventually backing away. You slammed your door shut and locked it without hesitation. With a sigh, you finally backed away, pushing all thoughts of Ransom Drysdale out of your mind as you drove home.

Soft music littered the air as well as the aroma of food as you stepped inside of your house. You dropped your purse and keys onto the table beside the door and peeled your coat off as confusion filled you. You didn’t recall having planned anything for the evening, but you shouldn’t have been too surprised. Your boyfriend was always going out of his way to treat you.

You looked around for him as you approached the kitchen, confusion growing when you saw no sign of him. You had just opened your mouth to call for him when familiar arms wrapped around you. You jumped a bit before relaxing into his embrace, a smile on your lips as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“Welcome home,” he purred.

“…and what a nice welcome it is. Is there some occasion that I missed?”

He inhaled, humming as he thought.

“Mm, no. None that I can think of. Can’t I spoil you? Especially after the day I’m sure you’ve had?”

At the mention of work, you groaned, and he chuckled.

“How was work, by the way?” he wondered, massaging your shoulders now as he walked you through the house.

“Tiresome,” you honestly replied. “They’re having some celebration of sorts tonight, so it was up to me and the other housekeeper to make sure the entire place was in tip top shape.”

He paused.

“You weren’t invited?” he asked, an iciness in his voice that was familiar to you whenever you talked about work.

“I was, but…”

You shook your head as you trailed off.

“You know that I don’t like to be around those people any longer than I need to be.”

You weren’t exaggerating when you told Meg that you liked for your work and personal life to be completely separate. The Thrombeys knew absolutely nothing about your personal life, including your boyfriend, and the reverse was the same. While your boyfriend knew that you worked for a rich family on the side to help with graduate school, he didn’t know what family it was, and that was how you liked it. Especially considering how tight knit elite circles were, there was always a chance he knew them.

“It’s almost over, hun. You’re almost done with your degree, and soon you won’t have to go back there ever again,” he murmured. “Of course, you wouldn’t be there in the first place if you’d just let me…”

You scoffed as he trailed off, and you turned around in his arms just as you two reached the stairs. You rested your hands on his shoulder, gazing into his blue eyes as he fought a smirk. You playfully narrowed your eyes at him before running a hand through his dark hair.

“Charles Blackwood… How many times do I have to say it?”

“Providing for you will hardly make a dent in my fortune, Y/N,” he sighed.

“I don’t care. There’s no reason you should pay for my tuition when I can do it myself. We barely compromised on me living here instead of my old apartment,” you grumbled, still miffed about it.

“It’s been what, 2 years since you moved in? Don’t tell me you’re still sour because I made more sense than you did during the argument,” he said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes.

“That’s not important. You are not paying for my tuition. Like you said, I’m so close. I only have to put up with that family for a few more months and then…”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his.

“I’m all yours,” you whispered.

“You’re all mine anyway,” he haughtily replied, deepening the kiss. “…after you get cleaned up.”

He gently pushed you away.

“I’ve run you a hot bath and its waiting for you,” he said.

You threw him a confused smile.

“Seriously, what’s the occasion?” you wondered.

“I’ll tell you later. Go on,” he urged, shooing you up the stairs.

With one last skeptical look thrown over your shoulder, you followed his demands. You didn’t think twice about getting undressed when you entered the lavish bathroom. Rose petals floated along the steaming water and the lighting was low, candles lit all over the room. You sank into the tub with a low moan, relieved to finally be off of your feet.

You did your best to enjoy the moment, doing everything you could to keep tomorrow off of your mind. Like Charles said, it was almost over. You only had a few months left, but you were sure that you’d murder Ransom before then. You scoffed at the thought of the dark-haired prick.

Hugh “Ransom” Drysdale was the embodiment of everything you hated. He was selfish, obnoxiously arrogant, spoiled, and there was a complete lack of reality that surrounded him that made your lips curl. Him being blissfully unaware of matters of the real world wasn’t the problem at hand. It was his contentment in his ignorance that was the problem, and Linda and Richard had raised him that way.

It was why you could never understand their displeasure with his attitude. Their annoyance and grievances with their son never failed to confuse you. Ransom was the way he was purely because of them. The spoiled brat did not raise himself. Forcing the blue-eyed devil out of your brain, you finished washing up. When you exited the bathroom, a gorgeous, and no doubt expensive, nightgown was waiting for you on your bed.

It kissed your feet as you descended the stairs, and you brushed your hands over the wine-colored garment as Charles faced you. He was placing your plates on the table when you entered the dining room, and his eyes lit up when he looked at you.

“You look a thousand times better now that you’re more relaxed,” he said, kissing your cheek as he pulled your chair out.

“I feel a thousand times better,” you agreed. “I really needed that. Thank you.”

Dinner was a talkative affair. You only discussed work for a short while longer before asking Charles about his day. He told you about some clients, one of them a bit of a pain, but nothing he wasn’t used to. You found yourself smiling at him as he droned on, just basking in the sound of his voice, and eventually, he stopped when he noticed.

“What’s the matter?”

You shook your head at him, finishing your wine.

“Nothing. I just…like hearing you talk,” you confessed.

He rolled his eyes and stood, approaching you.

“You’re so sappy,” he complained, leaning down to press his lips to your cheek, taking your empty glass.

“More wine?” he asked, grabbing the bottle.

“Please,” you said.

He placed the refilled glass before you, moving into the kitchen.

“Don’t tell me you have dessert planned too,” you called over your shoulder, bringing the glass to your lips.

With the day you had, you emptied it in no time. He didn’t respond and you were going to say something else, but your mind went blank when the light caught something at the bottom of the glass. Your mouth parted as you eyed it, blinking a few times, wondering if you were imagining things. Shakily, you stood up, turning to call for Charles when you nearly tripped over him.

He was kneeling…on one knee, blue eyes gazing up at you as you gaped at him. Startled, you dropped the glass, and before you could shout, he caught it, preventing a mess to clean. You fought to say something.

“Charles…”

“You’re mine just as I am yours, and I want to make it official…”

You softly exhaled as he continued.

“I know you hate it when I spend money on you,” he continued, pouring the ring into his hand. “…but it’s just how I know to show I care. I would buy you the stars…if I could…”

He held the ring up to you.

“I know you want to be a lawyer and rule the world, so let me rule it with you…”

He took your hand, pressing his lips to your fingers as he looked at you from beneath his lashes as your full name fell from his pink lips.

“…will you marry me?”

It was insane how quickly you answered, how smoothly the ‘yes’ fell from your tongue. Marriage had come up maybe once during the entire relationship, and it’d been so long ago that you’d forgotten how the conversation went.

Once the ring was on your finger, it took no time at all for him to sweep you up into his arms. It appears that you had spoken too soon, because there was indeed a mess to clean when Charles cleared the table in one sweep, depositing you on it before attacking you like a man starved.

You didn’t keep count of how many times he fucked you that night, on every surface he could possibly lay you on. He loved the feel of your hands pressing against him, the cool band of the ring pressing into his skin. You didn’t feel guilty at all for calling in the following morning, opting instead to spend the day in bed with your fiancé.

You walked out of Harlan’s office with a small smile. He’d taken your abrupt resignation better than you’d hoped, but then again, Harlan always had been a kind man. The months you’d originally had left had been shortened to a week. When asked why, you simply showed Harlan your ring, watching his crinkly eyes widen at the sheer size before a youthful laugh left his lips.

“Well, congratulations,” he’d said.

You’d thanked him, telling him that the next few months or so would be spent planning the wedding. Neither your or Charles wanted to waste any time. Harlan respected how private you were about your personal life, so he didn’t press for information, only saying that your fiancé was a lucky man.

Harlan’s voice carried, you’d always known that, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise to find Meg and Fran waiting outside of the door when you exited. Their eyes sparkled in anticipation, and with a playful sigh, you reluctantly lifted your left hand.

Embarrassment flooded you when they shouted, gasps and ooh’s and aah’s leaving their lips as they admired the ring. It started to attract the attention of the rest of the family, and you shrunk in on yourself. Meg suddenly took your hand, lips parted.

“Y/N, this…this cost a fortune,” she breathed.

You cringed.

“Please, please don’t tell me how much. I was kind of hoping that since it’s one of those big diamonds its really more show than what it’s worth,” you said.

“Not likely,” Meg scoffed, running her finger over it.

“You sure know how to pick them,” Fran said, lighthearted jealousy coating her tone.

“Oh my God,” Joni dragged out as she took your hand, mouth gaping as her eyes flickered between you and the ring. “This is from the new-.”

She cut herself off when Meg nudged her, signaling that you didn’t need to know.

“Please, I’d sleep much better at night if I didn’t know how much this cost. You can speculate amongst yourselves, but leave me out of it,” you laughed.

You ran into the rest of the family, sans Ransom, as you walked away. They immediately pulled you into hugs, congratulations on their lips. They all took turns admiring the ring and telling you how lucky you were. When you finally broke away, you got started on your job. You were much happier to do it now that you only had one more week left.

You were upstairs, cleaning a spare room when you finally ran into Ransom. You had turned to exit only to find him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. A light blue sweater adorned his frame, making the color of his eyes pop even more.

“Hugh,” you barely acknowledged, moving to get past him.

The asshole that he was, he pressed his hand to the other side of the frame, blocking you in as he smirked down at you. Before you could react, he was gripping your left hand in his own, holding it up to his face as he looked down his nose at your ring. He let out a low whistle.

“I suppose Meg wasn’t kidding. That’s an expensive piece you’ve got there,” he murmured.

You snatched your hand out of his when he brushed his thumb over your skin. You pursed your lips as you glared at him.

“Thank you,” you curtly replied.

When he didn’t move, you heaved a sigh. It seemed that he was determined to make your last week as miserable as possible.

“Judging by your taste in men, I do have to wonder how he can afford it,” he said, just shy of an accusation.

You scoffed.

“…and how would you know my taste in men? You don’t know anything about me,” you argued.

He smirked down at you, disdain in his eyes.

“I know that you wouldn’t be caught dead with…let’s say, a man like me. I’m simply curious is all. I would hate for you to find yourself in an embarrassing situation all because it turned out to be stolen,” he quietly replied, lips curling over his teeth. “…or fake.”

You clenched your jaw, tempted to slap him at his insinuation.

“You’re right. My fiancé isn’t a man like you, and that’s how I know it isn’t stolen…or fake, so you don’t have anything to worry about,” you snidely replied, shoving past him.

You could feel his eyes boring into your back as you descended the stairs.

“Sweetheart, you look amazing,” Charles purred, hand tightening along your waist as you adjusted your strap again.

“I just… I feel so out of place,” you murmured.

You and Charles had rented the most extravagant hall to host your engagement party. It was just a taste of the life you were marrying into, and you’d accepted that when you said yes, but it was going to take some getting used to. While you were familiar with some of Charles’ friends, it had never occurred to you that everyone who was anyone would also be invited. Wealthy business partners and elite families alike were in attendance, eager to see who the Charles Blackwood had popped the question to.

Your friends and family seemed to blend right in though, much more receptive to this lifestyle than you were. It was your own mother who’d picked your dress and shoes, and a close cousin who’d done your hair and makeup. You decided to entrust them with the task more often the minute you saw Charles’ face, eyes darkening as he took in the golden number you had on. It swished around your feet as you walked and tastefully clung to you in all of the right places.

“Relax,” he murmured, kissing your cheek.

You laid your hand on his as you did just that. The two of you stood on the spiral staircase near the entrance, greeting everyone as they came in. A greeting was already on your lips as the next set of guests entered, but your words died in your throat as you eyed them.

You turned your head away, back almost completely to the entrance as you looked down. Charles laid his hand on your shoulder.

“What is it?”

“Why are the Thrombeys here?” you wondered.

He frowned.

“They’re old friends of the family. We hardly speak, the last time being years ago, but I felt it polite to invite them, nonetheless. How do you…?”

He trailed off as your eyes met his, realization bleeding into them.

“Ah,” he quietly said, blinking. “I feel silly for not connecting the dots sooner…”

“Don’t,” you said, placing your hand on his chest. “I wanted to keep my personal life private from them and the same goes for my work life with you. You know how stressed I get talking about them and I just…”

“No, I get it,” he murmured. “Let me guess… The ‘asshole’ you often refer to is none other than Ransom. He hasn’t changed at all, I see…”

He nodded over your shoulder as he said this, and you nodded. His lips thinned into a line, but he simply pulled you closer as you turned back around. Your smile was strained as the familiar faces got closer.

“Y/N, you never told us that your fiancé was none other than Charles Blackwood himself,” Joni cried out, kissing each of your cheeks. “When we saw the names on the invites, well, I just said to myself there’s no way!”

You let out an awkward chuckle as Linda did the same.

“It never really came up, I suppose,” you lamely replied.

Meg pulled you into a hug, making you swear to tell her everything, and you could hear Richard and Walt congratulating Charles as Donna hesitantly hugged you as well. Ransom was quiet, and you found that odd. He never ran out of insults to hurl at you, but then again, you supposed he was saving face.

Walt and Richard extended their congrats to you again, and you swallowed when the questions started. How did you meet? How long have you been together? How did he propose? Deep down, you knew what they really wanted to know. How had you bagged him? What did he see in you? How did you even meet, what with your differing social circles and all? Charles was more than happy to answer all of them for you, sensing your discomfort, and you found your eyes connecting with a familiar blue pair.

Ransom was dressed as impeccably as everyone else, black suit adorning his fit frame as he gazed at you. Unable to hold his heavy stare, you glanced away, relief flowing through you when they finally departed to go partake in the festivities. Charles pressed his lips to the side of your head when they finally left, breathing you in.

“I won’t invite them to the wedding,” he offered.

You chuckled, shaking your head.

“No, it’s fine. It’d be odd not to, I suppose. Like you said, they’re old friends of the family, not just my employers…”

“Former employers,” he corrected with a smile.

You happily sighed, smile widening.

“Ah, yes. It feels good to be reminded of that,” you replied, squeezing his hand as he pulled you along.

Yesterday had been your last day which was why you were gutted to see them again…and so soon. Your farewells the previous day seemed silly now. Embarrassing even, since you’d been so sure that would be the last you’d see of them. Ransom had just made your last week so unbearable that you’d been overeager to leave the house.

Every sly comment he threw at you was meant to get under your skin, to make you uncomfortable. You suppose that had been his goal ever since you started working for his family. The dislike was mutual sure, but at least yours was valid. Ransom treated people he viewed as less than like garbage. He was a classist prick, and there was no doubt in your mind that his sour mood had everything to do with a low rate citizen like you joining his world, so to speak.

After having too much to drink, you slipped away from your fiancé with a kiss on his cheek.

“Where are you off to?” he wondered.

“I have to use the little girl’s room,” you whispered in his ear.

He chuckled, urging you along.

“I told you to slow down,” he whispered back with a smile. “Hurry back.”

“Will do,” you sang, leaving him with a peck on the lips.

The two bathrooms downstairs were all full, and considering how full your bladder was, you had no other choice but to climb the stairs to the second floor. You’d made a deal with the owners that all of the festivities would be held downstairs, upstairs off limits, but you were one of the renters and you had to pee. Badly.

The elaborate hallways were a bit confusing, but eventually you found a bathroom. You hurried as best as you could, not wanting to keep Charles waiting. You took longer than you intended to when washing your hands, distracted by your ring. It gleamed at you in the light, and you found yourself absentmindedly smiling at it, still in disbelief that you were getting married.

A yelp of fright escaped you when you finally opened the door, almost running into a chest. For a brief second, you thought that it was Charles, thinking that maybe he’d come after you, but the dark hair and blue eyes did not belong to him.

“What the hell, Hugh? You almost gave me a heart attack,” you complained, hand pressed to your chest.

“We wouldn’t want that, now would we?” he hummed.

You blinked, fully realizing that he was upstairs when he shouldn’t be.

“What are you doing up here?”

He didn’t answer you, instead stepping forward, causing you to stumble back as he entered the bathroom. Before you could say anything else, he slammed the door closed behind him, and your heart jumped in your chest. Alcohol may have been coursing through your system, jumbling your mind a bit, but you were coherent enough to understand that something wasn’t right. You looked him over, somewhat concerned, and noticed that his tie was missing.

“Hugh-.”

“You know, all this time, I just thought you were the typical jealous bitch,” he casually started, making your eyes widen as he glanced around with a sigh.

“Excuse me?”

“You looked at me like something you find on the bottom of your shoe the very moment you met me,” he quietly spat, eyes meeting yours. “What a shame I thought it was that you were another one of those ‘eat the rich’ types. I thought we could have had some fun together, but you wouldn’t look twice at me. Hell, you hardly looked once.”

“Are you drunk, right now? Is that what this is?”

He stepped closer, and you stepped closer to the sink, trying to get around him.

“You always have a grand time with Fran and Marta, giggling with them and any other staff member we temporarily hire, but you clam up the minute any of us comes near you. I always hated how obvious you were about it, how unashamed you were to broadcast your disgust with our lifestyle-.”

“I think you’re drunk,” you finally decided.

“Little did I know that it wasn’t the money that disgusted you. Otherwise, why on earth would you be getting married to Charles Blackwood, of all people?”

He said your fiancé’s name as if it were the vilest thing in the world, and you frowned at him. His expression was unreadable, and your frown deepened.

“Are you telling me you’re shocked that my hatred of your family has nothing to do with your wealth but instead, oh…I don’t know, your personalities?”

“As if Charles is just a beacon of generosity,” Ransom sneered.

You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him.

“Are you upset with me because I don’t like you? Is that it? I refuse to believe that because, believe it or not Hugh, a lot of people don’t like you,” you mockingly told him.

He leaned one hand on the sink, officially trapping you as he looked down his nose at you.

“That usually stems from some level of envy, but not you it seems. Why would you be envious? You’ve been dating Charles…Blackwood…”

He chuckled, but it lacked humor. His other hand gripped your left, and he sneered at your ring.

“It was easier to write your rejection off when I thought it was shallow and unfounded, you know. That isn’t the case though, is it? Hell, soon you’ll be richer than me,” he murmured.

“Are you jealous?” you chuckled. “Charles doesn’t exactly seem your type…”

“Didn’t think he was yours either,” he threw back.

You scoffed.

“I don’t care about the money. That’s not why I’m with him. If I wanted to bag any rich guy for tuition, I would’ve slept with your father a long time ago,” you told him.

His jaw ticked, and he backed you into the wall. Ransom was definitely drunk, that much was obvious, and you found yourself growing nervous the longer he stared at you.

“What does Charles Blackwood have that I don’t?” he slowly questioned.

The question confused you, throwing you off, and you huffed, looking away from him. He was so close, body heat mingling with yours, and you cringed when he rested his hands on the wall. Fed up with his games, you pushed against him.

“My fiancé is waiting for me,” you hissed.

He pushed back, pressing his chest against yours as he pinned you to the wall.

“You wouldn’t look twice at me, but you’ll marry Charles Blackwood?”

“He has class!”

He glared at you.

“…for one thing,” you continued. “…and unfortunately for you, that is something money can’t buy. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

He gripped your wrists when you tried to leave, and you winced.

“Let go of me, Hugh! Charles will start to look for me,” you warned him.

His lips curved upwards into a smirk.

“Then I guess I better be quick…”

You opened your mouth, but he swallowed whatever you were going to say with a kiss. You fought against him, but he wrapped his arms around you, pinning you against him as he moved his mouth against yours. You gasped for breath when he pulled away only to sharply inhale when he shoved his tie in your mouth.

Your screams were muffled as he spun you around, hand pressing into your back as he pushed you against the counter. The sound of his belt buckle caused your struggle to increase, and your fears were confirmed when you looked in the mirror. Tears skipped down your face when he pulled up your dress, and you reached back, but he simply grabbed your hand and pinned it to your back.

He was pressed so firmly against you that you could hardly move your legs. His chest was firm as it grazed your back, and your heart dropped to your stomach when you felt him reaching in between you, the head of his cock grazing you moments later.

You tried to call his name around the fabric in your mouth, to try and talk sense into him, but it was no use. His lips grazed your ear as he leaned over you.

“You think I’m not good enough for you?”

You pushed back against him, and he chuckled.

“You think you’re better than me? You think your fiancé is better than me?”

He thrust into you, and a choked yelp escaped around the tie. One hand clasped around the back of your neck, pressing your forehead against the mirror as he forced himself into you again and again.

“I can have any woman I want- I do have any woman I want. I’m not going to let you walk around thinking you’re the exception,” he purred, rutting into you.

Your core burned at the forced entry, his hardened member dragging against your walls. You stomped your foot, sobs escaping you now as he had his way with you. You squeezed your eyes shut when he would groan, his labored breathing coinciding with the rhythm of his hips connecting with your butt.

“You walk around that house like you’re better than us. Looking down on us like you’re too good. You’re not. No one’s too good for me,” he moaned. “Not even the future Mrs. Blackwood.”

Somewhere upstairs, you could hear your name being called. You knew it was Charles, and there was no telling how long it’d take for him to find you. You yourself had almost gotten lost looking for a bathroom. Ransom’s thrusts grew erratic, his harsh breaths in your ear.

“That sounds like your lovely fiancé… I wonder what he’d do if he walked in here? You think he’d still marry you? Hmm?”

His hand slid around to the front of your throat, cutting off your breathing.

“He’d probably throw you out of that big ole house…you’d have to come and work for us again…”

He pulled you away from the sink and pushed you up against the door. His hand that was on your back moved up to turn the light off, sliding into you with ease now. You reached up to claw at the hand around your throat, vision blurring. You moved to bang against the door, but his arm snaked around you, pinning yours to your side.

Your head lolled back to land on his shoulder, and he let out a low moan in your ear. You shook as he came inside of you, his thrusts slowing down, lazily sliding his cock in and out of you now. You heard Charles getting farther away, his voice distant now. Ransom gripped your chin, finally allowing you to breathe and forced your head towards him, tears in your eyes.

His blue eyes were cold, nostrils flaring as he glared at you.

“No one is too good for me,” he quietly told you. “Remember that when you walk down the aisle.”

~

tags: @darkficreposter @xoxabs88xox @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @readermia @opheliadawnwalker3 @notyourtypicalrose @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan​ @coconutqueen21​

[randombtsprincessa]

Belladonna || 1

All Rights Reserved. © RandomBTSPrincessa, Tulips98.

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Min Yoongi x Reader, Past Lovers! AU

Words: 3k

Genre: Heavy Angst, Smut 

Rating: This chapter is General up to NC-17, rating might go up as story progresses.

Summary: Your life has finally settled into a routine; keeping you far away from your home, friends, family and the man who broke your heart. Coming back home means facing him again and maybe you’re not as over him as you’d like to believe.

Warnings: (in-chap) Heavy Angst, mentions of a toxic relationship.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The idol used as the Muse for the lead is not in anyway affiliated with the work. The characterisation is a work of mine. Any asks or accusations against the work on the grounds of inability to keep fact and fiction seperate on the part of the reader, will not be entertained. 

A/N: Its’s rather sad that the disclaimer has to be added but eh, it’s a bad time for tumblr writing fandom and people are being very mean. Brush past that if you’re sane. Anyway, a very very huge hug to my best friends for screaming at me about this fic. A bunch of thanks to @softyoongiionly​ for hyping up the chapter! And a round of applause for @kithtaehyung​ for beta-ing the chappie!!

Happy Birthday Yoonfie baby!!

It was cold inside the cabin, the air conditioner turned extreme while the outer windows fogged with condensation. Your head leaned against the pane, the thudding and rolling of the train wheels under you jarring your brain in your skull as you watched the world outside flash speedily by.

Trees, small gravelly roads, sign boards, sparse traffic here and there…and then rolling grasslands before the pattern repeated itself…redundant, normal, and soothing.

You sighed, a puff of white exhale clouding around your mouth while your eyes drifted back to the interior of the cabin. This sight was a lot more different, with different people having different lives, problems, worries…

A woman tended to her sniffling child, holding a handkerchief up to the girl’s running nose…a man spoke into his phone; harried and rushed as he more likely than not slurred a few words together…

It was when your eyes caught a girl laying her head on the boy next to hers’ shoulder, smiling serenely when the boy ran a hand through her locks that you turned around again, eyes back to watching the redundant.

There was nothing soothing about people watching.

Or maybe there was and it required some form of inner peace to find the charm in it.

You didn’t have that sort of inner peace; neither did you have the patience for it.

People watching for people like you was anxiety inducing…and you really didn’t want that burden on your shoulders right now. There would be enough anxiety waiting for you when you set your foot home.

“____?”

You turned coffee worn, blue light sunken eyes towards your boss, standing over you with his files clutched to his chest nervously. The sight was enough to make you chuckle. For all his genius, Kim Namjoon was just a giant fumbling through life. It made him a stellar boss and manager, but it also made him a wonderful friend.

“Yes?”

“I just got your email for the leave application.”

You blinked up at your boss expectantly, face calm and relaxed. Of course, your brain had shot straight to overdrive, praying, wishing, and begging for a miracle that would allow your boss to refute the application.

A large red denied would do nothing to hamper your mood; at least it would stamp down the very intrusive tendril of panic that was already gripping around you.

You waited until Namjoon was done rustling inside of the folder in the crook of his arm. The white print out was placed in front of you, green letterings spelling ACCEPTED AND FORWARDED, scrawled on the top screaming obscenities at you.

You looked back at Namjoon.

“We don’t have a lot of work load right now plus you look dead on your feet. Some time away with your folks will be nice, won’t it?”

You very nearly grimaced at his words.

He was sincere, of course he was. Namjoon didn’t have a conniving bone in his body, but right now, you couldn’t help but resent his kindness, his mushy brain that railed against exploiting his workers. You hated the fact that he looked into your eyes and saw past the stubborn energy and caught onto the exhausted person underneath.

So you offered him a tiny smile, just in case the flicker of your crushing despair was made clear onto your traitor face.

“Thank you, Namjoon.”

He placed a heavy, tight hand on your shoulder as he passed by.

“Have a nice vacation, ____.”

Usually, someone who was away from home, working their ass off, making something of themselves away from their family should ideally jump at the chance to take a vacation, to go home and see the family and friends they had.

Ideally…one should be happy at the prospect of going home.

So many times, however, situations were rarely ideal. Sometimes there were complications, convolutions, obstacles…

Sometimes people had no love in their hearts; sometimes there was nothing at all.

Sometimes, there was dread.

Right then, in the rattling carriage that carried you to the small town which had spawned your existence, you could sense the dread carving a pit into your stomach, roiling and curling like a wretched cat kept too long from sunshine.

There was no relief for the upcoming long sleepy times, no joy at the prospect of home food…of warm embraces…

There was just that god awful dread.

You hoped you wouldn’t throw up; though there was nothing in your stomach to hurl but for the coffee you’d pumped in you from the station café. You couldn’t keep anything else down.

You had upped and left your home right after the end of your college life. Many things had come to an end with that particular period in your life. You had scampered and scrapped together enough courage to exit the hole that still robbed you of breath sometimes when you twisted and turned in your bed – sleepless.

You had left shattered pieces of your heart in your whirling escape of the town, the space that you had now the only light that shone at the end of the tunnel back then. Your family and friends, as supportive as they were, had never truly understood why you had nearly clawed away from that world.

To them, it had been the job opportunity.

And it was understandable…

The town, as well-knit and seemingly lovable as it was, was used to being self sufficient. The people there didn’t ever need to leave, they knew everything, helped everyone, and any problem one of them had was a problem for them all.

You couldn’t fit yourself in that mold anymore.

You had left – knowingly cut yourself away from that community.

Your friends had remained; some spreading out of course but they were still as much a part of that bunch as they had been when born.

You didn’t expect anything from them.

Not when he was also still a part of that community.

Your mind jerked away moments before conjuring his likeness behind your eyes, the ticket collector bearing down to save you from the torture of it.

Your fingers fumbled with the pockets of your bag, slipping the stub into his patient hands as he clipped and handed it back to you.

You accepted it meekly, folding into yourself again, eyes drifting back out the window and firmly tugging your thoughts away from your past. You had to prepare for what was going to come now.

Nobody expected you to come, you knew. It was a surprise to you yourself that you had found enough guts in you to pull this off.

Namjoon’s words came back to you.

Some time away with your folks will be nice, won’t it?

You weren’t going to hold out much hope for that.

You found a cab almost immediately out of the station, the many cruisers that stood to one side eager to free you of your luggage and take you off to your destination. You gave your address shakily, hoping this particular driver wasn’t one of the townspeople. Luckily, the man didn’t bat an eye, instead nodding and quietly switching on the radio for the drive over.

You leaned back into the seats, arms grasping the strap of your handbag tight as the moment to face your family and close ones drew closer.

Objectively, your little hometown was very pretty.

Trees lined the major roads, small clusters of buildings interjecting the greenery to spread business to the good people. And as tense as you were, your mind couldn’t help but pick out the differences.

Boutiques were newer and flashier, the diners you remembered now expanded to add cafes or banquets. The town hall was an imposing as ever, only a new marble fountain added to the square in front of it now.

By the time your cab entered the section of the suburbs where you had grown up; your back was straight, neatly aligned with the window. If you had been dreading the homecoming before, it was all gone; replaced with an odd form of resignation.

You lugged your bags out and paid the taxi driver with cold hands, winding bloodless fingers around the handles to pull them up the drive way towards your open door.

The house was full, open and bustling – a normal day for when your mother threw one of her success parties. She was one of the famous people in the town, her career as a landscaper and home decorator for big names making her in turn the man source of revenue and attraction for the town.

It had been both a source of pride and embarrassment to you in your teens. Mainly because your mother insisted on these parties each and every time one of her projects turned out well. But then, as you grew you realized that this is why your mother was important to the town.

She was more than half the money earned and the social events of the calendar.

Inside the house, small clusters of people gathered here and there, in the living room, the kitchen, the dining space. You stood at the door; feeling more exposed than you ever had here but moved in quickly, lest one of them notice you in the doorway and start blabbering about it.

Of course, the three big bags that you carried more than made up for it.

One of the groups of women nearest you turned their heads in synchrony, taking double looks as you passed by before the murmurs began.

How could you tell?

Well because, gossip usually lowers ones’ volume. And each group you passed stopped conversing before muttering arose in its place.

You cut across the living room to your father’s den. Here, there were all men, hands cupping your dad’s cut glasses of scotch but thankfully no one mentioned you dumping your bags right by the door and walking back out.

Your hands fiddled with your scarf, wondering where your family was in their own party but you were loathing asking one of the guests.

Even as you convinced yourself to walk over to one of the ladies by the window sofa, a figure walked past opposite you, a handful of trays of cocktail bites and glasses on them. You jumped, watching as the woman placed the trays on the coffee table, smiling at the people before she turned…and spotted you.

Your sister’s eyes widened, eyelashes fluttering before quick steps led her closer to you.

“____?” She asked, almost checking if it really was you.

You smiled wryly, hand still tangled with your scarf. “Hi Sana, yes it’s me.”

“Oh my god!” She threw herself at you, arms wrapping around your neck to draw you into a warm and nearly forgotten embrace. You stood in her hold for a few seconds, managing to pat her back before she was pulling away, eyes glistening at you.

“Oh god, don’t cry,” you whispered immediately.

“Shut up, these are happy tears; my little sister is home! Hang on; I’ll go get Mom and Dad.” She turned on her heel before you got another word out, mouth parted as she disappeared into the house.

You stood rooted to the spot, hoping against hope she brought your dad first. You just knew your mom would start bawling and then all the neighbors and her social circle would start hovering like the pack of vultures you had the low opinion of them as.

It was unfair and very rude of you, yes, but you couldn’t help but remember half the rumors and gossip that had come from none other than these same people when you had first left. Sympathy or well wishes from them now, would only make you more disgusted.

It had made you keep your own mother at a distance, seeing as she was probably the source of their information.

Thankfully, you knew you could always depend on your dad.

A no-nonsense and rational person, he was only guilty of being extremely in love with your mother. You knew he only bore these parties for her sake and of course your sister, Sana’s.

So when you saw Sana come back, with both your parents you still heaved a relived sigh.

“____, my god, you’re really here.” Your mother was the second to hug you, your father following.

“We didn’t think you would make it this year too.” Your dad said.

“Yeah, it’s been hectic…a lot…for the last couple years.” You repeated the same lies you’d been spouting for two years now. You had spoken the same lines into your phone, in your emails over months and it came much easier while speaking them to their faces.

“Very hectic for a well-established firm, ____, you could’ve asked for a leave, I’m sure office policy allows that.” Your dad said in that logical baritone that rendered most arguments moot.

“That is actually how I got away, Namjoon insisted.” You said; not completely untrue.

“Well, I for one am very happy my little girl is back to me. You’ll stay for a bit, won’t you?” Your mother stroked your hair back from your face.

You smiled tightly at her, thinking of the weeks Namjoon had generously piled on you out of respect for your relentless working for two years under him.

“Yes.”

You caught Sana try and push in, her eyes seeking yours even as your mother squealed in jubilation. “Perfect, we are going to have to throw you a coming home party.”

“Y/M/N,” Your father said lightly. “We are at a party now.”

“Yes, but ____ deserves her own night.” Sana put in before grabbing your hand. “Come on,” she dragged you away from your debating parents.

“Not a lot has changed I guess.” You spoke drily.

“Yeah, maybe, listen I think we need to –”

Sana was cut off by a gasp of your name, your head swiveling to see Park Jimin, one of your old friends gaping at you.

It was a whirlwind of reunions and emotions as people gathered around you, astonished that you’d come back without any mention of it.

“Yeah, I – I guess, it’s a surprise.” You scratched the back of your neck awkwardly, going over the faces of your childhood to college friends.

Many things had changed while you were gone, true – to the town, to the people and even to your friends but one thing you were glad to see…they hadn’t cut you away completely. Yes, your interaction with them had been reduced to the odd Facebook and Twitter chats and the occasional emails and texts here and there but they still looked…happy to see you.

Park Jimin and his twin, Jihyo had been the first ones to come to you, Jihyo hugging you tightly enough to make you wince. She had been your roommate in college; she probably knew you as well as Sana did – maybe even better. She had introduced you to Jimin and the three of you had been inseparable throughout your college life.

Jimin had apparently been friends with one of your childhood friends, Kim Taehyung.

You were not so shocked to know he was now married, living next door to you with his wife, Nayeon. Sweet and charming, she hugged you like her husband.

“It’s almost like I already know you,” she explained to your unsure smile, “they talk about you so much.”

“Ugh, I’m already worried.” You cringed.

“They were all nice things don’t worry. We had to put down a couple old gossips down here and there, though.” Jimin came to defend his friend.

You glanced at them curiously.

“Oh yeah, it was just old gossipy hags around the town, don’t worry about it. People moved on from you pretty soon to a Miss Mina. She’s a spinster, which apparently is a sin.” Taehyung rolled his eyes. “She lives a few houses from us.”

“Also, I think your mom told that friend of hers, Dahyun to stop people gossiping about you. They were task-forcing the town. It was fun to watch.” Jimin added.

A sudden wave of affection for your mother rose up in you, before being quelled by the reminder that she must have done it to protect her own image.

You shrugged then, picking up a glass from one of the trays to take a sip of your mother’s homemade cocktail – fruity and simple on your tongue.

“Enough about me, what about you all?” you pointed at Tae and Nayeon, “Married with a house,” your finger moved to Jimin, “Sports coach,” then Jihyo, “Choreographer,” you stopped.

“What about the others, any news?”

“Not really, we are the ones who still live here you know. Plus, no offense to your mom, but I doubt folks would leave their city jobs to come to her parties.” Jihyo muttered; exchanging a glance of solidarity with you before her eyes widened suddenly.

“What?” you asked.

Her eyes quickly went to her brother, Jimin’s eyes a little more slow on the uptake but they widened too…before repeating the process – albeit comically – with Taehyung.

“What is wrong with you all?” You asked again.

“Um, ____, did Sana tell you -?”

Jimin paused nervously, refusing to look at you as he fiddled with the rim of his glass.

“Tell me what?”

He looked helplessly at his sister. Jihyo hesitated before placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Listen, ____, while you were gone” -

She broke off, her eyes darting over your shoulder and stuttering to a stop.

In that moment of her silence, the conversation behind you was clearer.

Or rather, one particular voice was…

Low and deep – soft morning grumbles came back to you – muffled conversations from behind you made you turn around.

It was a voice you would know anywhere. It was one that haunted your dreams, one that crested the ache in your heart on particularly bad days…

It was one you would know beyond a void.

Min Yoongi stood directly across from you, in your home, undoing his coat and removing his scarf, conversing lowly with your sister.

Something she quickly muttered to him had him freezing, long nimble fingers stopping in the unknotting of his scarf.

And then as if he could feel your gaze, could feel your presence, the reason why you left everything behind looked straight up at you, eyes locking across a room…just like the day you had first seen him.

[peterbabytt]

StarkerFestivals // Summer Bingo // Royal AU

synopsis: prince peter parker, 19, is set to marry princess morgan stark, 17, in an arranged marriage... it's not his fault her father is so devilishly handsome...

words: 1,525

warnings: light swearing

!!everyone featured in this fanfiction is 18+ unless specifically stated otherwise!!

i hope you enjoy 💓 feedback/constructive criticism is and always will be accepted, but hate will always be blocked

(by proceeding, you understand and accept the warnings previously provided)

    “Your Majesty,” Peter lifted his gaze to the door of the library. Michelle, a young servant in the castle, was standing in the doorway. Lifting the edge of her skirt ever so delicately, she curtsied before Peter and his mother. “Your Highness.” Peter cringed. He knew she was being respectful, polite, professional before the queen, but as the two of them? Peter insisted she use his name, as he had a distaste for the formal tone.

    “The Royal Family has arrived.” Oh, good... and here, Peter was hoping they had been run off the road on their way over. Peter glanced at his mother to gauge her reaction. Her features were soft and delicate, but he knew those eyes all too well. In her own mind, she had already debated how to cancel tonight’s dinner a thousand ways over, all with varying degrees of severity.

    “Yes, thank you, Michelle. We will join you in the foyer in a moment.” She beamed. Michelle—MJ—nodded, curtsied once more, then turned to leave the library. The moment she was out of earshot, Mary turned to her son. “It’s not like we’ve had this planned for months already. You’d think, for the sake of the kingdoms, they’d be punctual.”

    “Easy, mother…” He tried, resting a bookmark between the pages of his book before rising, stepping towards his mother, and offering his arm to her. “You’re too tense. I’m sure there’s… a decent explanation.” For their own sake, there’d better be.

    They walked at an easy pace, a pace much slower than Peter was used to, and yet, even after arriving in the foyer, the two still had to await the arrival of their royal guests. And Mary was growing even more impatient as each second dawdled on by. Peter, on the other hand, had a grin resting gently over his features. Tonight was already off to… an interesting start, and if it continued in any similar manner, he knew his mother would call off the arrangement.

    A part of the boy felt guilty for wanting this dinner to go awry, but was it really so wrong to just… not be ready? Everything seemed to be moving so quickly. He had only turned 19 a week ago, and he still felt as though he had yet to meet his own self. Sure, he had a bit of a grasp on who he thought he was, what he thought he liked, and who, for that matter… but even so, many things had changed throughout the span of a year.

    He’d met who he thought was the love of his life, even despite the fact he knew his parents would never approve. In that moment, in the desperation to just be himself, he had prepared to lose everything he’d ever known, all for a chance—not even a guarantee—simply a chance to finally know who he was. He took a leap of faith and prayed to stick the landing. But he stumbled. And that terrified him—he had been so sure of himself...

    Peter leapt from his bed, running a shaky hand through his mess of curls. He felt his skin prick with goosebumps, but from the cold or the fear, he hadn’t yet figured out. MJ was still on his bed, but she was now sitting upright, watching him with concerned eyes.

    “Are you okay?” Peter couldn’t bring himself to form an answer. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, so he hid his face in his hands, took a moment to gather his thoughts, gather his breath… then, finally, sat back down on the edge of his bed. MJ scooted closer to the prince, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Peter?” It was then that he realized he hadn’t yet answered her question.

    “I’m sorry, I… I can’t.” He trembled as he spoke, so MJ reached for the undershirt he had discarded only moments ago. He took it, but made no move to put it back on just yet.

    “Peter, look at me,” MJ’s voice was soft, soothing, unoffended. He obeyed, and the hand that rested on his shoulder moved to cup his cheek. “It’s okay. This is a big step. We don’t have to do this tonight.”

    “It’s not that…” The words tasted bitter on his tongue, and it took all the strength in his body not to vomit.

    “You can tell me, sweetheart… what is it?” The look in her eyes showed nothing but sympathy, nothing but love… how had he let himself get this far? If he had known from the beginning, he shouldn’t have brought her to his bedroom… shouldn’t have promised her something he could never give her… was it selfish?

    “I love you, I do, just… not the way I thought I did.” The instant the words fell from his mouth, he wanted to reel them all back in, to ignore everything his mind was begging him to do—set everything aside and just give in. But he couldn’t bear the idea of lying to his best friend. To himself, he could live with… but MJ deserved so much better. “I’m sorry, that sounded… harsh.”

    “It did, yea,” her tone was playful, but the smile never met her eyes. She was hurting, but she would never admit it.

    “You deserve so much better than this…”

    “Peter, there’s nobody else I want… I want you. I want to be with you. I want to make this work, and I know it’ll be hard, but I want to do whatever we can to make this work.” He tried to ignore the tears welling up in his eyes.

    “I can’t lie to you, too.” A thick silence fell between them. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let it come this far.”

    “Peter, whatever you’re trying to get at, I’m not understanding.”

    “I’m—”

    “Her Majesty and His Royal Highness,” An unfamiliar voice drew Peter from his thoughts, and he had to force his eyes to focus. He hadn’t even noticed the gates had opened and the royals had been led inside. He glanced briefly at his mother to ensure she hadn’t noticed his trance, then adjusted his posture before—oh… holy shit…

    The king that stood before him was easily not the king he had imagined. He pictured the man to be far less… sweet heavens and all things holy, was there even a word to describe this man other than purely beautiful?

    He wore a deep blue suit that had been tailored oh-so perfectly for his frame, and his hair had been styled in a delicate wave. He begged himself not to reach out and card his fingers through it—it’d be a shame, afterall, to disturb such beauty. His beard was expertly shaped, sharp and clear edges defining his even sharper jawline. Peter couldn’t help but imagine how that very beard would feel between—

    “I present His Majesty, King Stark—” The queen extended her hand, and he accepted it in his own, raising it gently to his lips for a kiss. Peter was enthralled—hypnotized by their curvature.

    “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, King Stark,” his mother spoke, and Peter nearly bounced on the balls of his feet, eager to hear the king’s voice.

    “The pleasure is all mine, Your Majesty,” Peter felt faint. “And please, forgive my informality, but call me Tony.” He turned to face Peter next, and he was almost certain, this time, that he would faint. He’d have absolutely no shame in it, either.

    Tony, with a smile, extended his own hand to Peter, and it took every fibre in his being to keep his own from trembling as their palms connected. God, even his hands were sexy. Rough skin, calloused fingers, a warm embrace. Had he died? Was this Heaven?

    “—and Her Royal Highness, Princess Morgan.” A beautiful, beautiful young woman with features to match her father’s. She wore a lovely black dress with a slight v in its neck, and her hair hung in delicate curls by her shoulders. Peter could easily admit that she was, indeed, effortlessly gorgeous. He only wished he could hold some sort of attraction to her rather than to her father…

    It was customary that both families dine together before a decision on an arranged marriage was made, and Peter thought he would never again be so thankful for customs or traditions in his life, for this particular custom meant his assigned seat at the dinner table was right beside Sir Stark himself. The idea of it, at least to Peter’s own understanding, was that the prince would dine beside the opposing king so the two could get to know one another and bond before the father of the princess could make a decision on the marriage. And then, of course, the same way around for the princess and the opposing queen. Then again, of course, this could also just be a blessing in Peter’s favor.

     It wasn’t until Peter felt a knee bump into his own underneath the table that he realized this was definitely a blessing in his favor. Now, of course, it could have been an accident, so, naturally, he brushed it off as one… the first time.

~~~~~

tags: @longlivestarker @starkeristheendgame @katzenbaby1 @starkerbee​

i had more i wanted to do with this one, but i couldn't find an ending that satisfied me lol i might do more with this later, i'll probably work on it a bit more, and repost later, but for now, here's this 💕

happy pride month 💓

[heyitmelexie]

Gift Giving

Maxwell Lord x GN!Reader

Word count: 1674 Warnings: mentions of sex, Papa!Maxwell Rating: Teen and up

A/N: Day 20 for @honeymandos​ December Writing Challenge!

Hope you enjoy!

----------------------------

You love Christmas. It’s your most favourite holiday of the year and you’re still as excited as you were when you were younger.

Maxwell… isn’t. He doesn’t hate Christmas, but he doesn’t love it either, usually just sort of tolerating it for the sake of his son Alistair.

“I can gift you whatever you want, whenever you want it, babe. I don’t need a special day for that” was his answer after you had asked him why he didn’t like Christmas.

“But love, Christmas isn’t just about giving gifts. It’s about coming together, spending time with your loved ones and just being grateful for everyone’s health and existence. Gifts are not the main event there.” He just scoffed and shook his head, therefore dropping the topic.

But that didn’t stop you from decorating his whole house inside and out, baking dozens of trays full of Christmas cookies together with Alistair and wearing Christmas themed clothing every day for the month of December up until the 24th.

This year, Christmas Eve was celebrated rather quietly with just you, him and Alistair.

It was pleasant, Alistair had rather quickly accepted you into his life and was now barely ever leaving your side. Maxwell was not talking much about it but he was happy that his son loves you just as much as he does.

He knows it can be difficult to accept a new parent and he was nervous about Alistair’s reaction. But as soon as you had talked to him for a few moments the first time, he immediately warmed up around you and wouldn’t stop talking and bombarding you with questions. It was one of the most wonderful things Maxwell had ever witnessed.

Christmas Eve was just the same. Alistair would ask you thousands of questions and you would happily answer them while eating the dinner you had cooked.

Maxwell wanted you to just relax and let the cook prepare the food but you had insisted to let the cook and all the servants celebrate Christmas with their families. He loved your gentle and caring self. Your puppy eyes had broken him and he agreed to let them all go home.

And he wasn’t complaining. Your food was better than anything he had ever eaten before. Your face heated up at his compliment and you couldn’t hide the giant smile, absorbing his praise like a flower in bright sunlight.

After dinner you had both brought Alistair to bed where he then asked you to read him a bedtime story. You gladly did so and he fell asleep after just a few moments.

The rest of the evening was spent in bed, where Maxwell pulled orgasm after orgasm from you before the both of you collapsed in a pile of entangled limbs. Sweaty and exhausted, it was 3am when the two of you finally fell asleep in each other’s embrace and snuggled into the thick blanket.

A heavy weight jumping on the both of you the next morning wakes you up. It is Alistair, screaming “Presents! Presents! Presents!” while using the both of you as a trampoline.

Maxwell groans before quickly pulling Alistair into his arms and tickling him, making the young boy squeal and squirm in his father’s embrace.

“Stop, stop, stop, daddy, please!” he squeals, breathless from laughing so much.

Maxwell laughs lightly and then stops to let Alistair catch his breath before pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Merry Christmas, buddy” he hums, stroking back some of the boy’s hair that had fallen into his eyes.

“Merry Christmas, daddy” he giggles before facing you and hugging you tightly. “And Merry Christmas to you too!” You smile and hug him tightly, pressing a soft kiss to his head.

“Merry Christmas, Alistair. I love you, you little rascal” you hum quietly.

“I love you too” he giggles and then jumps off the bed to run down into the living room where the tree with all of the presents stands.

“Good morning, baby” Maxwell hums and then pulls you into his arms, kissing you deeply. You sigh happily and wrap your arms around his neck before gently breaking the kiss to nuzzle your nose against his.

“Good morning, Maxie” you smile, making him groan slightly at the nickname before he gently tickles your side. You laugh and try to push him away but he just holds you tighter and tickles you even more until you’re a squealing mess beneath him.

“Max, please stop!” you laugh. Your belly hurts and you’re out of breath, gently punching his chest. He finally stops and presses a kiss to your lips, laughing.

You giggle and push him off of you. The both of you get dressed while constantly giggling and throwing clothes at each other.

When you finally enter the living room, Alistair had already opened about half of his presents, the room covered in ripped wrapping paper, ribbons and boxes. You giggle and sit on the sofa with Maxwell, watching Alistair freak out about each and every present he unpacks, his face glowing like a little star. Seeing Alistair this happy made Maxwell happy and that’s all he wanted.

Of course he had purchased dozens of presents for you as well, which you thanked him for. You genuinely love his presents and you’re grateful. But you’re most grateful for being able to spend Christmas with your two favourite boys.

After collecting all of the trash and taking it outside, you go up to the tree and take out a little box you placed between the branches.

Maxwell didn’t want you to buy anything for him but you did anyway.

Upon seeing the little box with his name written on it, he opens his mouth to say something but you stop him.

“I know you said you don’t want anything but when I saw this I knew I needed it for you. So please just accept it, love” you sit back next to him and hand him the little present. He just sighs and takes it, carefully opening it.

The first thing he sees is the backside of a frame. He takes it out and turns it around.

Placed in the frame is a picture of you with Alistair sitting in your lap. Your arms are wrapped around him and your chin placed on his shoulder. He sports the biggest and brightest smile Maxwell had ever seen and he swore he could feel his heart double in size.

“Love when did you…” he was at loss for words and just stared at the picture, tears gathering in his eyes.

“When you went to Venice on a business trip and I watched him. We went to a photographer and got some pictures taken. He was so happy and literally smiled the whole time” you hum, buzzing with happiness while thinking back to that day.

“I love it, it’s beautiful” he gives you a watery smile and presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

He goes to put the box away but then he sees something else in it. It’s a little purple velvet bag. Maxwell takes it out and opens it, dropping the content into his hand.

It’s a golden ring, very similar to the one he is wearing all the time but this one has a simple, delicate detail on it. Upon further inspection he notices that he can open the ring and does so, revealing a little picture of you on one side and Alistair on the other. Just like a little photo album, but inside his ring.

“I wanted you to be able to carry us with you all the time. And I wanted you to be able to look at us while we aren’t physically with you” you say, watching his face to see his reaction.

He doesn’t know what to say and can’t stop the tears anymore. He just lets them stream down his face, staring at the ring in awe. Nobody has ever gifted him something so beautiful and personal.

“Baby, I… I don’t know what to say. It’s beautiful” he finally says, turning his head to look at you. You practically glow, smiling brightly at him and being the most gorgeous thing he ever laid his eyes on.

You take his left hand and gently pull the old ring off his finger. Then you take the new one and put it on his pinkie before pressing a soft kiss to the back of his hand.

“I love you, Maxie. You’re the most wonderful man I ever met and having you in my life, together with Alistair, is more than I could ever ask for. You two are everything I need.” You straddle his lap and gently pull him into you, feeling his arms wrap around you and his face push against your chest.

“I love you too, baby. I don’t know what I would do without you. Or without Alistair. You two are my saving graces. I would be in a dark pit by now if it wasn’t for you…” he quietly sobs against you. You gently shush him and comb your fingers through his hair.

“Please never leave me… I don’t know what I would do if you ever left my life…” He holds you even tighter and your heart breaks a little.

“I would never leave you, my love. Ever. You’re the love of my life and I want to spend all of it with you” you whisper while gently kissing his hair.

“I want to spend all of my life with you and daddy too” Alistair suddenly says before climbing onto the sofa and squishing himself between the two of you.

You quietly giggle at him and kiss his head too before wrapping your arms around the two of them. Maxwell smiles at his son and holds him tight, slowly calming down.

Alistair snuggles into you and his father and the three of you sit there in comfortable silence, holding each other and just embracing this moment.

This is your little family. And you are grateful to have it.

------------------------------------

@absurdthirst​ @maxlordsgf​ @mrschiltoncat​ @tangledlove27​

[myfeetkeepdancing]

Blurred Lines  |  Tom Holland x Male!Reader

Words: 2198

Request:  hello, if the requests are open (because I really don't know where I can see that) and if it's not too much to ask, you could do one where Tom is trying to learn some lines for a movie but as he has dyslexia (something I discovered from a photo on Instagram), Tom becomes sensitive so the reader helps him with that, then Tom cries and the rest I leave it to you as you want😅

-----

With his back to the door, Tom sat behind his desk. From the doorpost, you watch dark clouds gather above him. You could sense the frustration hanging about him—his chin resting on a tightly clenched fist. Once in a while, his other hand laced through his curls. Murmuring inaudible things to himself. Gaze stuck to the pages with endless lines for his next project. The fact that Tom didn't learn his lines on the coffee table or in the corner of your big, cozy couch was a definitive red flag. Usually, he would be all around the house. Practicing his lines, sharing his thoughts. His enthusiasm dragging you into enacting his favorite scenes with you. But not this time.

You take careful steps into the room, taking a seat beside the desk. "I've made you tea." Sliding the cup slowly across the wooden surface, resting your chin on the palm of your hand, quietly observing Tom, letting your presence sink in.

"Thanks..." He mumbled with his eyes stuck to the paper. Not paying you any attention. Watching him retrace the same line over and over again with his finger. A big draw of breath moves his hunched and depressing pose. "You know…" The mutters in a downcast tone you already dread hearing. It's gut-wrenching to see Tom like this. Quiet and turned to himself. "... I'm not-" Releasing a long sigh of frustration while shaking his head. Swallowing half his sentence. As sharp as his jawline already was, it sharpened even more as his jaw clenched hard. Struggling to regain his temper. His feet tapping the floor unimpeded. With a quick turn of his head, he eyed the door you came through. Rushing from his seat to close it. Just a tad bit too harsh as it collided with the frame. The loud slam resonating through the room and into the hallway. Poor Tessa. You only manage to catch a few fleeting words as he utters something about a draft before returning to this seat. His figure more hunched and leaning into the desk.

"Tom…" You try to reach him again. "What's bothering you?" With one hand, you slowly rub his shoulder.

By now, you got to know Tom well. You have to let him fume, release his frustrations. There were never personally directed at you. But stressful times could bare down hard on him. And even Tom had his limits. His sleep became irregular, mood swings to the extreme. And self-esteem at an all-time low. Tom became sensitive to so many things. Irritated by the simplest things. Sounds, simple gusts of wind, beams of light, reflections off surfaces. Stirring your coffee with a spoon could set something off. Everything was distracting him. The only remedy was allowing him to vent.

"It's just…!" He snarls, throwing his pencil to the wall. "I can't do it!" His voice boomed. Full of rage and frustration. Slamming his fist onto the paper, as if to punish it. "The words!" Tom wheezes while his nostrils flares angrily. "I have four more days, two of which are travel." He hangs back in his chair. Raking his fingers through his curls in frustration. "And I can't get these fucking lines into my bloody brain." Knocking a few papers from the stack with an aggravated swoop of his hand. He continues to avert any sort of contact with you. Staring at the ceiling while combing his fingers through his curls. They were unkempt. Tom didn't even bother to. A mess. That's what he was. His shirt was wrinkled, litter all-around—cups and wrappers from candy. Tom's shirt hangs loosely around his frame, his shoulders hanging low.

You re-seat yourself on the chair. Allowing your eyes to run across the lines. But before you are able to utter another word, Tom's ramble continues. His emotions finally let loose because of one thing. His eyes connect with yours. You stare into his eyes for a moment. Captivated by his pain. His misery. You only respond with a small smile—a reassuring one. Words wouldn't help.

"I won't!" He yells out. "I… just, I... can't do it!" Rubbing his hands across his face, shielding them from you. His breathing is heavy as everything else turns quiet. Just the two of you. He seemed so conflicted, shaking his head. Mumbling things to himself. "Everyone expects so much from me… and -and…" His voice suddenly breaks, seeing his chest heave up and down. Slow sobs begin to rack his frame. "I… can't." Tears start to stream freely down his cheek as you take his hands away. They tremble uncontrollably. Revealing his red teared up eyes. "I can't do it (Y/N)." He said while his whole body was taken over by the shaking from his sobs.

"Poor thing." You manage to get out as lump formed in your throat. "C' mere." Pulling him towards you, taking his shaking body on your lap, as he locks his arms around you. Burying his face against the side of your neck. Slow sobs turn into long sorrowful wails. Paused by moments of him recovering his breath. "It's going to be alright." Stroking your hand along his back. "It's ok, Tom…" Whispering soothing words into his ear.

"T-The words… they j-just d-don't stick." He snickers, clinging onto you for dear life. Seeking safety and comfort. Like a terrified infant. Rocking him slowly to and through. He felt broken. All his defenses washed away into tears. And you let him weep, howling at his insecurities. It's difficult to make out words as he continues to sob in between hicked breaths. "One moment they dance, the other they make no sense." Hugging himself tightly against you. "It takes so much energy. I… I can't do it." He weeps. "I just can't…"

"That's ok." Combing his curled up locks of beautiful brown hair with your fingers. You press a gentle kiss behind his ear. Tom was all warm to the touch, your shirt all wet and moist from his tears. The sobs trembling his frame to his very core. "Hey…" You whisper. "Listen…" Trying to get his attention as he slowly begins to calm down. Pushing the strands of brown curled hair from his forehead. Planting a kiss there. "Let's take a break." Lifting his face by his chin. Tom's gaze full of sorrow and misery. "Clear your mind. Find some fresh motivation, renew your energy, and start over."

"But, there's simply no time." No more tears came, but his lip jutted out, trembling.

"I'm here for you, Tom." Stroking your hand through his luscious curls. Feeling his breathing slow down. The tension in his frame subsiding. "I'm going to help."

"B-But... how?" Rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, being all runny. "I… don't know how."

"Hop in the gym. Release your frustration." You give him a reassuring smile, pressing your lips on his. "It'll help."

"Are you sure…?" Looking at you with big sad puppy eyes. "Don't you hate working out…?"

"I'm not going to." You chuckle. "You some time alone. I'll be here. I'll help you."

For a while, he said nothing, rising to his feet, standing there, digesting the information. His head hanging low. Gaze plastered to the floor. The exhaustion evident on him, as he weighed up the words. He looked hollowed out. "Ok…" He nodded, followed by a long weary sigh. Dragging his feet across the floor. With that, he disappears from the room. You turn your attention to his script. Highlighting his lines, putting on straps of paper, and more. It pained you to see Tom like this. But this time, you were prepared. Moments later, you hear the sound of progress. Sporting equipment being used vigorously, a boxing ball getting punished, and heavy weights slamming up and down.

"Babe!" Tom rounds the corner into the living room. Eyes glued to his script. "How'd… you-?" Reading through the many edited pages. "This is amazing!" To your relief, you see that cute smile returning to his features. Tom finally being himself again. Outgoing and joyful.

"Once you feel like it, let me hear your lines." You say with a growing smile. His happy response made the whole place light up again. The darkened mood finally gone from the air. "I've got plenty of space on this couch." Giving him a wink while opening a spot for him. The L shaped couch had this perfect spot in the corner. Cushions and blankets, space to stretch your legs. From day one, it's been a battle who sat there first.

"You're a lifesaver, you know that?" Jumping on the couch, thanking you with a long deep kiss. Before curling into your embrace between the blankets and cushions. His back snuggled up tight against your chest, allowing you to put an arm around his torso. "How did you figure this out?" He asks, pulling the blankets back into position.

"I knew it hindered you. I've seen you struggle before. But I wasn't aware how much more it affected you on set."

"I'm not proud of it." He sighs. "But please understand I wasn't trying to hide that from you on purpose. I... just didn't want you to worry."

"It's alright." Resting your head against his. "I'm just glad Harrison told me." Feeling all dreamy and happy Tom was himself again. "That's why I took a sort of course on it."

"Are you... for real?" He turned and raised himself on his arms, hovering mere inches away from you. A look of wonder painted across his face.

"I am, I've got the certificate lying around here somewhere." You said with a stretching smile. Actually feeling a bit proud of it. "I did because I wanted to get a better understanding of it all. The differences and variants and all that. But most importantly, how to help someone who has it. To help you. To lend you a hand. Give you tips and tricks. Because for me, it's been incredibly difficult to see you struggle. I've felt helpless for long enough."

"Darling." Tom lying on top of your chest, dragging himself upwards to kiss you. "That's incredible. But how'd you manage that besides the rest you do? You already have so little time for yourself. If you'd ask-..."

"Tom, I know you. If I'd ask you... you would have said no. I mean… you can be quite stubborn." Booping his nose with your finger. "You're a hardworking guy. You can take on the whole world if you need to. You played in the biggest movies with the greatest of actors. And turned into one. You became a role model for an entire generation. You're at the top of your career." Combing your fingers through his lovely brown curls, sighing dreamily. "And you deserve every bit of it. Yet there's so much weight on your shoulders. The eyes of the world are on you all the time. So, if there's one thing that hinders you from doing the things you love. I'll do anything to help you with that."

"Oh my God, babe..." His eyes sparkled with life, staring deep into yours with adoration, joy, and pride. You pull him closer to you. Feeling so comfortable together. Watching him, sucking on his lower lip, eyes slowly turning red, rubbing his face with one hand. Slow and steady, a small tear began to roll down his cheeks. You manage to catch it with the pad of your thumb before Tom connects his lips with yours. A passionate and loving kiss, deepening it by the grace of this hands on your cheek. "That is the sweetest thing you ever said to me." Crossing his arm on your chest, head on top, swaying with the heaves off your breathing.

"Tom, what does it say about a person, who faces his personal dilemma every single day, head-on, so he can do the thing he loves doing most?" Pressing a kiss on his forehead. "That takes guts. Determination. And a ton of it as well. I admire that in you. I really do."

"Shit..." Pushing the tears from his eyes. "I… I never knew you thought of me like that. I feel even more terrible about today. I'm so sorry." Kissing your lips in rapid succession.

"Don't stress it, we all have our off days." Pulling his soft lips back onto yours. "Even Spiderman."

"Tell me, love, what's your secret?" Snuggling closer to you. "You're always so calm. Always smiling. You radiate peace. How do you do it? It's like you don't have bad days."

"It's because of you, Tommy. I have you…"

"That leaves me with little to top that." A smile of pure joy and pride beamed onto you. "You're really special to me, you realize that?" He is cupping your cheeks with both his hands, leaning into you, and taking your lips onto his. Following into a long, tender kiss to strengthen his words. "I love you so much."

"I'll always be there for you, Tom." Feeling a small tear roll down your cheek. "Always."

The brown-eyed boy's gaze was so intense, so unbroken. Full of love. "I'll be with you." He whispers back. "Till' the very end."

[random-mha-thoughts]

Bully Part 2 (Bakugou x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Genre: Crack, fluff, slight angst, Baku-having-feelings-and-being-soft (bc that's totally a genre)

Sequel to Bully (part 1)

Word count: 2,319

Tags:  @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog

a/n: This ended up being longer and slightly more emotional than I expected.  Seems like I’m following the trend of getting the BNHA boys to say what’s really on their minds (I’ve already done this for Todoroki in case you were wondering), so Baku will be ooc and soft here.

This came out later than I intended because...let’s just say I was having a mental breakdown over a really long and really naughty Todo fic here and I ended up calling my little cousin and crying and laugh-crying and shaking and losing my collective mind because none of my friends would know what I was going through.  And I was in no headspace to write fluff afterwards, she had to force fluff headcanons into me to go back to normal.  Yall should thank her.  Enjoy~

None of us had any idea how or why Bakugou suddenly started acting this way.  Apparently, he was completely normal until I walked in.  All I did was open the door to the classroom, my gaze just so happened to land on Bakugou, and suddenly I heard loud stomps towards me.

I held out a defensive hand, ready to shoot out branches at him if he got too close.  "Bakugou-" I threatened.  And he did the unthinkable.  He gripped me in a choke hold around my shoulders and neck.

Actually, no.  He...hugged me?

My clenched fists and the hush that fell over the rest of the students told me this is the first time all day he's done something out of character, something I definitely wasn't expecting.  We hadn't talked since I almost jumped out of a window last week.  This entire week, he was ignoring me.  I was preparing for the day he would finally confront me, and I pictured it would be an aggressive encounter.

This is far from anything I'd imagined.

I never ever thought this porcupine-head could even show affection, that he even has a single gene of softness in him.  Yet he was embracing me tightly, nuzzling his face in my neck.  The shock of it all made me freeze up and cast a sideways glance at Midoriya, who was just as freaked and confused.

"Get off, Bakugou, what are you-"

The boy lifted his head up, his scarlet eyes softened into fondness and a gentle smile on his lips made the rest of my words catch in my throat.  This entire expression was foreign to all of us.  His face can look like that?

"I missed you over the weekend."

My jaw dropped.  HIS VOICE CAN SOUND LIKE THAT??  The smooth and sweet honey tone was way out of character for him.

But like hell I trusted any of this.

I wiggled my arms up to push his weight off me.  "I don't know how you managed to become such a great actor," I succeeded in separating from his vice grip, "But if you think disorienting me like this can be some sort of revenge, you're sorely mistaken."

Bakugou tilted his head, resembling a sad puppy.  "What do you mean?"

I straightened my uniform.  "Nice try, I know you're just acting so you can, like, throw me off the building or something."

That seemed to hurt him, his jaw gaping open before holding my face in his calloused hands.  "I'd never do that to you."

I quickly swatted his hands away, wary that he was about to blow my face off.  "Don't. Touch. Me."

The boy froze in place, then rubbed the back of his neck.  Regret seeped through his eyes as he stared at the ground.  "I'm sorry, about everything."

A strange warmth rushed through me.  Something about how genuinely vulnerable he looked shook my entire being.

"I just...really wanted you to give me a chance all this time, but I went about it the wrong way."  He encased me into another bone-crushing hug.  "But I want to make up for it."

I felt a thud in my chest,  probably from fear that he might hurt me.

At that moment, the teacher walked in.  "Alright everyone, take your seats."  He noticed Bakugou's position, gawked for a second, and cleared his throat.  "Uh, Bakugou, let go of (L/n) and take your seat."

"I dare any of you extras to yank me off, I'll blast you into next week!"

He's back, kind of?

Nobody made a move to do anything, they were all frozen by the sight of Bakugou clamped onto me like a koala.

"I'll survive...somehow," I assured them, unsure myself how exactly I would do that.

For the entire rest of class, the boy clung onto me.  He had taken over the seat of the person who normally sat on my left and scooted the chair over so he can stay attached to me.  Though I reasoned for him to hold onto just my arm (since he wouldn't let go no matter how many times I asked), he hugged my waist with both of his arms, face buried in my neck.  I was just glad he left one arm for me to write notes with.

If this was just an act, he did a splendid job of keeping it up.  I thought he would've given up after an hour or two, but he stayed like that even after lunch until the end of the day.  Anytime anyone would even walk past us, he would glare at them until they scurried off.

It was super weird at first, but I got used to the arrangement somehow.  I hate to admit it, but I even felt comfort by his warmth.  His breath tickled my neck as his solid arms held me in a vice grip.  I found myself hoping this wasn't acting, and thanking whatever miracle made this happen.  This was never going to happen again, I might as well enjoy it for now.

.

"Back off, you damn Deku!"  He bares his teeth at the cowering Midoriya, still attached to me at the hip.

I sigh, finally fed up with this whole ordeal.  "Midoriya, I'll handle this, I'll call later."

The poor broccoli boy nods and scampers away from us.  Bakugou insists on not letting go until I'm home safe, even when I repeated that I live in the opposite direction as him.  He won't even let Midoriya near me.

I lead us both over to a bench outside of school.  I'm still not convinced that this isn't an act, but I might as well try to talk to him after the incident last week.  "Get off," I order, scooting over to one side of the bench.  When he doesn't obey, I add, "I wanna talk, so I need to see your face."

After a brief moment of hesitation, he eases off my body, rolling up to sit facing me with a leg propped up on the seat.  A dumb smile is on his face.

God, that still freaks me out.  I stare at him calculatingly.  He hasn't said a word to me the whole day, only barking at other students as he holds onto me.  I want answers.  "You're sure this isn't some stupid revenge plot to get back at me?"

He shakes his head, propping his arm up on the seat and resting his head there.  His wordless, lovestruck stare probing me.

I sputter, "Why are you acting this way then?"

"I like you."

I almost choke at his quick response, my chest throbbing again.  "S-Stop looking at me that way, I can't take you seriously!  I admit, it's freaking me out!"

"My feelings freak you out?" he says sweetly, brushing the side of my face softly.

I slap his hand away, "You don't have feelings for me, just drop the act already!"

His smile disappears.  "It's not an act, I'm being serious."  Hurt laces his voice.

I cross my arms over my chest.  "Yeah, well, it's very hard to take you seriously when you've been a heartless, pompous, mean jerk for all of middle school."

Bakugou's eyes downcast and his arm falls into his lap.  "I...I don't know how else to show how I feel."  Raw emotion drips from his eyes as he bites his lip, almost like he's gathering his thoughts.  "I act like a jerk because...  I just feel so pressured.  Everyone expects so much of me just because my quirk is so strong."  A dark chuckle emits from him, "Even my mom has ingrained it in me that I need to be strong so I don't burden anyone with being weak.  So I've been projecting my frustrations onto everyone else.  Deku is just the easiest person to pick on because he's the weakest person, he has no quirk!  And I'm just self-centered because I have to tell myself that I'm strong or else...I might slip.  Call it an inferiority complex, I guess."

I won't lie, I didn't go into this expecting a therapy session.  Part of me does sympathize with him, but the rational side of me is still skeptical of this entire monologue being an act.  I wouldn't put it past him for thinking up such an elaborate plan in a week.  And none of it excuses him for telling Midoriya to kill himself.  "Not that I don't believe you, but so what?" I blurt out.

He grabs my hand in both of his, eyes fully emotional and staring into mine.  "I like you, (Y/n).  I see how kind you are to everyone else, how you've stayed by Deku and supported him this entire time.  I admire you.  You're the kind of person who I know would become a great hero because you always know just what to say to people to make them feel better, not to mention you're so badass too.  And...in a way, there's something in me that wants you to care about an idiot like me, too."

Tightness tugs in my chest.  Damn it, he needs to stop being so emotional, I can't handle it.  "I want to help you, Katsuki, but what you said to Midoriya crossed a line.  I can't overlook that."

His head drops onto our joined hands and his body starts shaking.  "Damnit!" he grits out, "I can't believe I've done so much wrong that the person I like can't even forgive me."

I shut my eyes, not wanting to see him cry.  "Katsuki-"

Bakugou's head snaps up and takes my head between his hands.  "Do you even have the smallest feeling for me?"  His red orbs swim in tears.

A soft spot in my heart persuades me to gently rub the wet trails off his cheeks.  "I'm...not sure."  I won't lead him on, I really don't know how I feel anymore.  It's that I hate him, I don't like the things he says or does.

"Help me, (Y/n)," he practically begs, "I'll become a better person, I promise, but I need you to guide me, please."

This sudden magnitude of emotion other than anger disorients me.  Is this something he's kept locked away somewhere in the recesses of his mind?  I absently nod in agreement against some of my better judgement.

His shaking form steadies as he stares me down quietly.  "Can I...kiss you?" he whispers out of the blue.

My lips slightly part and my eyes widen as he leans into me, softly pressing his mouth against mine.  Our kiss is innocent, as if time just stood still and washed a warm glow on us.  My stomach flips weightlessly, and I gently grip one of his wrists to ground me.  He pulls away just for a moment, letting us linger in the moment and sensation of one another.

His eyes flutter open, facing me with the same loveliness he's showed me all day, before confusion suddenly dawns on him, and then his cheeks color red and he pulls away, almost retreating to the other edge of the bench.

I blink, not sure what just happened, but the tumbling in my abdomen still present.  "Uh...Bakugou...?"

The boy doesn't even want to face me.  "Did I really just do that?" he mutters to himself, the raspy growl that's more characteristic of him returning.

My heart sinks.  "Do you-?"

"Hey, don't look so upset," he glares at me before flushing again.  "I...somehow...know everything I did...  It was me...but it wasn't...really me."

"But everything you said-"

He growls and crosses his arms over his chest, looking away from me.  "Everything I said was true!  I just... I'm surprised I did it, and I was such a pansy about it."

I roll my eyes.  He's back, for real this time.  "Well, if that's the case, I won't hold you accountable-"

"Wait," Bakugou sighs, running a hand through his hair.  "I stand by everything I said, even the whole...thing...about you helping me."  It almost hurts him to say it.

I fold my arms over my chest and stand up.  "You don't have to force yourself to be good if you don't want to.  Things can go back to the way they were."

"I don't want it to!" he yells.  "I'll work at being less of an idiot if it means...that you'll...go out with me."

I examine him, all red-faced and uncomfortable, unable to look me in the eyes.  "I'm not gonna go easy on you."

He stands up and finally garners the courage to look at me again.  "I'm willing.  I'll try hard, I promise."

After thinking it over a moment, I relax my figure and place a kiss on his cheek.  "That's your reward for consciously admitting that you have a problem."

Bakugou's eyes bulge out of his head and I have to suppress my chuckles.  "Will there be more rewards?" he mumbles.

"Only if you really try."  I lean forward, catching him off guard and finally letting out a small fit of laughter.  "You know for most of the day, you were hanging onto me like I was you handbag, now you're shying away from me."

He scratches his burning neck.  "Hey, that wasn't me."

"It was a you that probably showed your deepest darkest wants," I tease, a smirk playing on my lips.

"Sh-Shut up, don't be so smug about it!"  He lightly shoves me away, digging his hands into his uniform pants pocket.  "You're the one asking for it because you liked it, stupid."

"Ah-ah," I hold up a finger like a teacher reprimanding a kindergardener.  "First thing is for you to stop calling people names."

He groans.  "Fine.  (Y-Y/n)."  His cheeks color all over again.

I slip my hand in his and his blush intensifies.  "Was that so hard to do?"

"Shut up," he mumbles softer this time.

He's a fixer-upper, he's still got a lot to learn, but hopefully, he'll get there eventually.

[runnfromtheak]

Darling!!!!!!!!!! I dare yo to write an alternate Deathly Hallows where Draco yeets the Elder Wand.

Challenge accepted. Here’s my first venture into HP fanfiction, I suppose. :)

“HARRY POTTER IS DEAD!”

 There’s something to be said about shock.

Something to be said about going into shock, but he can’t be bothered to care at this moment. The words slip from his grasp, falling aside as worthless details and half grasped concepts.

They aren’t real, nothing feels real, because as much as he’s hated Harry Potter, as deeply as he’s despised him, he’s never dreamt of his corpse. Not once, not even at his darkest, not even with his Aunt Bella egging him on as the muggles screamed…

 He’s never wished Potter dead, even if he hated himself for it.

 He freezes as the Weasley girl screams, as her father grabs her tight as he can to hold her back from the Death Eater’s loud cheers. Draco can see him – the object of his envy and hatred and irritation and complete and utter loathing – in the Half-breed’s arms, draped haphazardly like a delicate princess. It almost looks like he’s sleeping, like this is all some sick joke, and the stupid prat’s Chosen One powers are about to kick in at any moment.

 But then Draco looks at Granger and Weasley, looks at the shock in their eyes, the broken and haunted way the tears gather in their eyes, and he knows this is real. This isn’t school years, where his worst secret is the humiliation lingering after Potter’s rejection in first year, where his biggest concern is winning the Quidditch game just to show Potter up or the House Cup to give the finger to Dumbledore.

This is real, and it’s terrifying, terrifying in a way he’d barely tasted in sixth year, half-mad with desperation and the burden of that brand on his arm, the dark ink marking him as evil and wrong.

 (“Draco, years ago, I knew a boy who made all the wrong choices. Please, let me help you.”)

 He hadn’t let the old man help him, had watched Severus Snape kill him, and he feels a pang for the optimistic fool doomed to die. He never set out to make the wrong choices, but he did anyways. There were no choices, there had been honor, and duty, and loyalty, but never a choice.

 (What’s the right choice when every action leads to a death? When inaction leads to death? What is the right choice when your father bartered away your ability to make them for the loyalty of a madman drunk on power?)

 Malfoys don’t have choices, they have responsibilities.

 He’d been damned from the start.

 “SILENCE!”

 No one speaks, no one breathes, not even Draco. His eyes linger on Potter, blood-spattered and dirty, as if he’d tumbled through dirt before ‘Avada Kedavra’ struck. He wonders if it hurt, if Potter had been afraid.

Potter’s a Gryffindor, so he doubts it – what they lacked in subtlety and intelligence they made up for in fool-hardy bravery.

 (And isn’t that the conundrum Draco’s struggled with, surrounded by the Dark Lord’s suffocating presence, the toxic feeling lingering in Malfoy Manor – is it better to be a brilliant coward, or a brave fool? – Potter’s corpse doesn’t offer any answers)

 “Why didn’t you tell her? Bellatrix? You knew it was me. You didn’t say anything.”

 He’s never been ready for Potter’s death, even when the opportunity arose not once but twice – first at the hands of his family, second at the hands of his friends – he’d been so stupidly unprepared that he’d saved him, lied for him, even after the bathroom and all the bad blood accumulated over years of bitterness, years of envy and what he wishes he could call hatred.

 He’d never had a choice, but he let himself have one.

 His family asked him to save them, and he chose Potter, for reasons neither of them understand. ‘Understood,’ he corrects, ignoring the blathering of the Dark Lord as he glides across his field of destruction and blood, ‘Neither of us understood.’ Because it’s past tense now – hate is now hated, envy is now envied – and he still doesn’t know how to feel, even as he knows how he should feel.

Malfoys are calm, collected. Malfoys are perfect, in composure as well as pedigree. Malfoys don’t cower, nor do they fight.

As the snake strikes in the cover of tall grass, Malfoys strike in the dark, underhanded methods and crafty exchanges (money makes the bloody world spin, and the Malfoys have more money than they have emotion).

 He should be happy, should be smug, perhaps, over the death of the Boy Who Lived. The other Death Eaters are – ecstatic, actually – but he’s not the same as them, even if it would be easier for his entire family if he were. Potter is the Boy Who Lived, and he’s the fool unwilling to see him dead – the boy who had no choice – stuck on the subtle tug of his gut as Potter’s heart beats, as his green eyes glimmer.

 Draco hates himself for noticing that too, for not being what he should be for his family.

 “Draco, come.”

 His mother beckons him, lips pulled tight in a twisted mockery even he couldn’t call a grin. It’s forced, so disgustingly forced that he could scream, rage the way the Weasley girl tries to. Malfoys are calm, Malfoys are collected, and the look in his mother’s eyes – the whimper half released from his father’s throat – is anything but.

 Draco walks from the right side numbly, staring at Potter’s corpse even as the Dark Lord embraces him.

 He shivers in revulsion, sick as the man his family has served faithfully for so long embraces him as family. He’s stiff, goosebumps trailed down his pale – damn near translucent – flesh feels the Dark Lord’s words.

 Draco is released and his mother embraces him next, but his eyes still linger on the corpse that should not be, the last person he’d ever thought would die – even though Potter was the only non-muggle the Dark Lord truly wanted to die.

 No one calls him back, not that he expects them to, but he’s (mildly) disappointed all the same.

 He wonders if Potter would have attempted it, self-righteous in his own beliefs that Draco couldn’t be truly evil, truly wrong, if he’d defied the Dark Lord to let him live. He probably would have, might have called him a git or pathetic, and it’s nearly enough to make Draco laugh.

 How far he’s fallen, to crave the predictability and reliability in banter with his greatest rival. That mutual irritation… They got under each other’s skin in ways no one else could, even if Draco hadn’t killed anyone.

 “…Longbottom.”

 He ignores his surroundings, ignores his mother’s soft attempts to coax him out of his self-imposed silence, ignores his father’s whimpering and the ashen appearance that’s such a far cry from before…

 Before life became real, and actions had consequences, and his choices led to death and pain for people who didn’t deserve it.

 Somewhere between Albus Dumbledore’s death and Potter’s, he’d changed.

 Life used to be so clear…

 But his father had been abandoned to Azkaban, cast aside in his own home for the Dark Lord’s acceptance. His mother had suffered – quietly, in ways those who didn’t know her wouldn’t see – in ways she’d never suffered before. And Draco… Draco…

 “…You knew it was me. You didn’t say anything.”

 He doesn’t know himself anymore.

 “Draco,” his father murmurs, and he pulls back, tearing his gaze off Potter for the first time since Voldemort’s loud declaration set in this cold, this numbness, settling in his limbs as if it was meant to be there.

 His mother strokes his hair, nearly as tense as he is.

 His father… looks pathetic. His once luminous blonde locks are stiff and dirty, as worn down and decayed as the rest of him. He’s lost weight, enough for his cheeks to appear sullen and sunken in, enough for his perfectly tailored robes to hang off him in ways not befitting a Malfoy.

 He shoots his father a glare, furious at the tears he can feel prickling at the corners of his eyes.

 “What?” He demands, ignoring Longbottom’s nervous words, the exaggerated gestures he makes as he speaks, drawing the crowds of right and wrong’s attention.

 “We must leave, Draco,” Narcissa interjects, eyes cold and empty. There’s a kindness in her touch that her perfect face can’t convey. “Now.”

 But he shoves her away, because his eyes are back on Potter – infuriatingly, stupidly, fixated on the boy turned man he couldn’t hate no matter how desperately he wanted to. Steady breath, in and out.

 “…a boy who made all the wrong choices…”

 He feels his mother eyes linger, demanding answers he can’t give, perhaps is unwilling to give.

 Longbottom’s shouting now, speaking of sacrifice and how Harry Potter’s stupid heart had beat and bled for them all – and honestly, after all the years and pain and suffering, how could they not already know that? How could they question that, when he only hated those who aligned themselves with pain, with hatred and wrong choices.

 Unexplainably, there’s a twitch.

 Corpses don’t twitch, and it’s small enough for Draco to nearly brush off, to dismiss it as a fight of fancy for his not-hated rival, but he knows Potter. Knows Potter far more than he likes admitting, and he sees his right hand – the same hand he extends towards the snitch every match with that infuriating grin – twitch again.

Potter can’t sit still, never has been able to…

 And Draco knows the truth before Longbottom draws the sword of Godric Gryffindor from the dirtied Sorting Hat, knows it as Voldemort laughs.

 “Harry’s heart did beat for us! For all of us! And it’s not over!”

 Harry Potter grunts, louder than the rapid tempo of Draco’s heart, and he flings himself from the Half-Giant’s arms to the cold stone floor of the half-destroyed courtyard.

 The Dark Lord turns, smug grin turning as the gasps reach his ears…

 Potter’s wild-eyed, hands grasping for a wand that evidently wasn’t there, still glaring at Voldemort defiantly.

 Draco Malfoy is a boy who’s never had a choice, burdened by his family’s legacy, by the weight of expectations and tradition and self-importance piled on by his father. He’s always followed his father’s rules, his father’s ambitions…

 He’s been perfect, as close as he could get.

He’s been obedient, even as it tore his soul and mind apart.

He’s been cool, even as screams scratch at his throat, demanding to be released.

 But when the Dark Lord turns, when he frowns and his eyes narrow into dark slits, Draco makes another choice, ripping his arm from his mother’s grasp.

 “Draco—” His father tries, but he’s already gone.

 “…all the wrong choices…”

 “Potter!” He shouts, ripping the wand straight from Voldemort’s bony fingers. Potter’s emerald eyes – still glimmering, Draco can’t help but notice – snap onto him, hardened and suspicious, until they notice the wand he holds in a death grip.

 He tosses the wand, ignoring Voldemort’s angry shout for another wand, and Potter catches it, looking alive and confident…

 “CONFRINGO!”

 Nagini hisses, sent flying towards the Death Eater’s as Voldemort yells again, sending waves of flames towards Potter and – fuck – him. They both jump over rubble, ducking between pillars as they run.

 “If we die,” Draco hisses, dodging another furious attack from Voldemort, “I will kill you again, Potter.”

 Potter sends him a curious look, one that makes him catch his breath.

 “If we die,” He echoes, lips curling upwards. “Tom won’t succeed, not this time.”

 Draco blinks, nearly struck by another jet of flames he doesn’t notice.

 “Who the bloody hell is Tom?”

[artificialqueens]

Good Morning Campers, Chapter 1 (Crystal x Gigi) - Gelato

It was another beautiful summer at Camp Blue Springs.

At the start of every June, hundreds of girls flooded to Kansas City, Missouri for seven straight weeks of fun in the sun. Filled with activities from sunrise to sunset, it was the ultimate sleep away camp experience.

Busses filled with excited young ladies, ranging in age from 12 to 17, pulled swiftly into the entrance of the sprawling camp that was nestled just off of Lake Blue Springs. It wasn’t long before thrilled campers began filing out, the once silent camp ground now filled with their voices as they unloaded their bags and reconnected with one another. Some girls were local, others having to endure lengthier trips to reach their destination via bus from across the state or country.

Others had the luxury of a first class seat followed by a private car ride from the airport, a certain leggy red head from California being amongst those few.

Gigi Goode had been a model camper since the summer of ‘84, and was practically bursting with joy at the opportunity to be a Junior Counselor for the class of ‘89. She not only adored the camp and the friends she had made over the years, but was even more thrilled for the volunteer hours she would rack up over the summer to add to her already impressive college applications.

She stepped gingerly out of her private town car onto the dirt road of the camp’s entrance and didn’t hesitate to fill her lungs with fresh, pine-scented air. It truly was her happy place, the great outdoors, the glistening lake,

The girls.

She quite literally shook that last thought from her head. What sort of upstanding young woman from Los Angeles would think such a thing?

It was easy to ignore back home. Spending all her time with school activities, her family, even managing to drum up a relationship with the captain of the lacrosse team. Oh yes, she had the perfect life down pat. The perfect daughter to her parents, a straight A student, the captain of the cheer squad, and a cute athletic boyfriend to match.

But she always felt something was missing deep down inside. A certain itch that needed scratching. Something that she busied herself to no end in order to forget. Something that became that much harder to ignore when it was quite literally in her face. Hundreds of girls, and one camper in particular that always managed to catch her eye.

Crystal Methyd from cabin 702.

She cursed herself after noticing she had been scanning the crowd, hoping to catch a wisp of blue hair amongst them.

“Is that Gigi Goode I see?” A chipper voice snapped her out of her trance. A curvy woman with perfectly quaffed hair and secretary glasses, complete with a clipboard in hand made her way to Gigi.

“Mrs. Davis!” Gigi exclaimed, happy to greet the camp’s director. They embraced briefly, Gigi overjoyed to see the woman that acted as a second mother to her over the years.

“It’s so good to see you, dear! We’re so excited to have you on the team this year. Well, so much to get started on. Once you’ve unloaded your bags we’ll all gather in the pavilion, so keep an ear out for bunk announcements!” Mrs. Davis instructed with a smile before disappearing into the over zealous crowd.

——-

Gigi had a carry on bag and two large suitcases absolutely stuffed with clothes, although they had a uniform code in place. She always accessorized her plain white camp t-shirts and shoes with cute tennis skirts, and of course hoards of fashionable casual pieces on hand to wear for other camp events. Others couldn’t really afford to travel so heavy, but luckily her family paid her driver handsomely to unload each bag with care.

She made her way to the pavilion, running into and latching on to her camp clique along the way.

Gigi, Nicky, Violet, and Naomi had been fast friends since meeting one another on the lake over the years. Each one hailed from wealthy families across the country, or in Nicky’s case, across the Atlantic, as she was the only international camper and traveled all the way from Paris to be here.

They all shared similar passions in excelling in both the beauty and brains department, and had luckily all been bunked together for the years prior, expecting this summer to be no exception.

“I can’t wait for the volleyball tournament, I’ve been practicing my serve all year.” Naomi shared, pleased for the opportunity to show off her athletic prowess.

“Speak for yourself. I can’t stand sweating. I’m just ready for the midsummer formal!” Violet interjected. Having spent all her time back home at an all girl’s catholic school, and summers at an all girl’s camp, she was more than ready for the one night a year that the Blue Mountain’s camp for boys across the lake merged with their own for a dance.

Gigi cringed internally at the thought. She loved the idea of dressing up, having brought several gowns to choose from for the event, but dreaded the idea of a sweaty teenaged boy approaching her for a dance. She barely danced at formals with her boyfriend back home for the similar reason of simply not caring for a man’s touch.

She was taken out of her thoughts by boisterous laughter across from where they were seated in the pavilion. Her head snapped toward the disruption.

Oh no.

The Strange Gang.

Camp wasn’t without its cliques. You put that many teenaged girls together and they were bound to group off with one another.

You had the athletic types, always on the courts and fields. The nerds, spending all their free times bird watching and studying plants and wild life along the lake. The “Heathers”, or so they had only recently been dubbed by their fellow campers the previous year since the movie had been released. Gigi and her friends figured it was better than the “Rich bitches”, and embraced the new name for their entourage.

And then there was the “Strange Gang”. A group of self proclaimed weirdos of the camp. And boy, did they live up to the name. They were often known for elaborate pranks and general mischief.

Crystal, Adore, Katya, and Evie. All grouped together, they were a mess of wild makeup, unnatural colored hair, and body piercings that they somehow got past the Senior Counselors. Gigi, having disdain for any sort of disorder or disruption, loathed them.

Especially Crystal. The loudest and most daring of the group. Breaking dress code left and right with her bright blue hair and gaudy accessories from head to toe. She was always laughing and smiling from ear to ear.

The cutest laugh and most beautiful smile Gigi had ever seen.

But she wouldn’t ever admit that.

“Great. You’d think after years of being social outcasts they wouldn’t bother coming back.” Gigi huffed, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes at the group.

Her eyes locked with Crystal across the pavilion. Had she been staring at her this whole time? Crystal quickly noticed Gigi gazing back at her and her smile grew even wider. She wiggled her fingers in a dainty wave toward the red head.

Gigi flushed pink and quickly averted her eyes. She hated how Crystal made her feel. Almost like she was teasing her. As if she knew exactly how she made her heart beat faster with every look her direction.

“Good morning, Campers!” Miss Davis captured the attention of the crowd with her megaphone from the center stage of the pavilion. The girls shouted a greeting in response.

“Let me just start off by saying how excited we are to have all of you here! We look forward to having the most memorable summer yet! Now listen closely for your bunk assignments. I’ll be starting with our Junior Counselors. As you hear your name, please gather your bags and make your way to the cabins. In bunk 700, that’s 7-0-0, we have miss Trixie Mattel, Courtney Act, Violet Chachki, and Naysha Lopez.” Mrs. Davis announced.

“What? We’re being separated? That can’t be right. I put in a request that we would be together!” Violet couldn’t contain her rage, gesturing between her and Gigi. She flagged down Mrs. Davis from the front row of the stage and pleaded with her to make a change.

“I’m sorry dear, bunk assignments are final until further notice. You’ll just have to make new friends until then.” Mrs. Davis apologized half heartedly before continuing her announcements.

“Hey, it’s alright. I have it good with Mrs. Davis, I’ll just talk to her about it in her office later, we’ll get it fixed.” Gigi whispered assuredly to her heated friend.

“Fine!” Violet exasperated, grabbing her bags and storming from the pavilion to the cabin grounds.

“Now for Cabin 701, that’s 7-0-1, we have Alexis Mateo, Brooke Lynn Heights, Gigi Goode-“

Gigi practically jumped from her seat and began to grab her things, excited to make her way to the bunks.

“- and Crystal Methyd!” Mrs. Davis finished.

Gigi froze.

There was no way. No how. This was some sort of sick joke. One of the Strange Gang’s pranks for sure. How could a trouble maker land a spot as a Junior Counselor?

Her head went dizzy, vision got fuzzy, heart raced, and palms began to sweat. She barely made out the bouncing, teal haired figure that bounded toward her from across the room, a Lisa Frank duffle slung over her shoulder, the stone necklaces around her neck jingling with every step.

“Hi roomie! Need help with your bags?” Crystal greeted warmly, her sweet voice dripping with sincerity and excitement.

Gigi tried her best to return to the surface, but was too late.

She fainted right there on the pavilion’s wooden floors.

———

Gigi’s eyes fluttered open and she let out a soft groan, immediately noticing a sharp twang at the back of her head. Her hand instantly darted between her head and the pillow it rested on to feel the tight knot that had formed from her nasty fall.

Her eyes stayed gazing up at the ceiling, realizing quickly from the florescent lighting and the smell of rubbing alcohol that she had been laying in the infirmary.

“The nurse said not to let you touch it.” A voice piped up next to her.

Gigi’s head snapped quickly to her side, dread quickly filling her once again as she noticed Crystal sitting cross legged in a lounge chair not two feet away. Her eyes zoned in on the flash of hot pink panties visible up Crystal’s skirt from the way she sat. She instantly blushed red from noticing and looked away.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to sit that way with a skirt on? You can see right up it.” She partly fiend anger at the unexpected view.

“Oh, sorry.” Crystal giggled and untucked her legs from underneath each other to sit more properly in the chair. She straightened her back and placed her hands in her lap, her sweet smile never moving from her lips.

“It’s whatever. What are you doing here anyway?” Gigi continued, trying her best to sound more annoyed than elated. She secretly didn’t mind waking up to Crystal by her side, but she wasn’t about to let her know that.

“Mrs. Davis thought it would be best if you had someone to walk with you back to the bunks.” Crystal explained, bouncing up from her perch on the lounge chair and making her way to sit at the edge of Gigi’s infirmary bed.

Her backside sat flush with Gigi’s waist and without a thought, her hand rested on her thigh. Gigi inhaled deeply and tried to remain calm, swiftly sitting up and effectively pulling herself from Crystal’s touch.

“Well, you didn’t have to wait. I’m sure one of my friends will be here any minute to help me back.” Gigi huffed. She was still dizzy from the fall, otherwise she would have left right then and there on her own.

Crystal’s smile fell a bit and her brow furrowed.

“Are you sure? It’s been about two hours..” She replied softly. Her head tilted to the side as she gazed questioningly back at Gigi like a confused puppy.

Gigi’s heart broke slightly from the sense of abandonment by her so called friends, but warmed a little from Crystal’s obvious concern.

It was sweet.

She realized how difficult it would be to keep up this charade of hating her. But her reputation with her friends and the entire camp was on the line. She pulled herself out of her thoughts and emotions.

“Fine. I’ll just go myself.” Gigi replied, not daring to look Crystal in the eye before pulling herself out of the bed and heading straight for the door.

Sore head or not, she couldn’t stay in that room any longer.

——-

Crystal sat puzzled and stared blankly at the empty pillow where Gigi’s head once laid. She reached out and brushed her lime-green painted fingers across it.

It was still warm to the touch.

She really could have left long ago. Hell, she didn’t even have to follow the camp medics as they carried Gigi back to the infirmary. But she insisted on sticking by her side.

The little crush she had on the most popular girl at camp had blossomed into a full blown obsession. She looked forward to every summer spent here, saving every penny earned at the Springfield bowling alley to finance her camp expenses.

She had made great friends along the way, but in all reality she kept coming back for a chance to see Gigi.

“Well, that blows.” She whispered to herself with an exhale, popping up from her seat on the bed and making her way out of the cabin.

She was greeted right away by Adore who had been waiting at the doorway.

“How’d it go?” Her friend asked, raising her eyebrows in question, a coy smile playing at her lips.

“Struck out.” Crystal replied with a shake of the head.

“Yeah, I figured.” Adore laughed, making her way down the infirmary stares ahead of her friend.

“What? And why is that?” Crystal fiend offense.

“Oh, I don’t know. Something about how she practically ran out of here without you anywhere in sight.” Adore laughed uncontrollably, earning herself a playful shove from Crystal.

“I’m still hopeful!” Crystal exclaimed, jumping on Adore’s back for a piggy back ride.

“More like hopeless.” Adore replied jokingly, happily carting Crystal back to the bunks.

____

The Junior Counselor’s cabins had their perks.

Instead of the usual eight to a space, there were only four, meaning more space for each girl to sprawl out and personalize their areas. Gigi had been looking forward to choosing her spot in the cabin and making it her own, so you could only imagine her annoyance that she had missed out at first pick.

The only beds left were across from one another in the back of the cabin, no where near the bright bay window she had dreamed of laying next to at night to watch the moon.

Her bags had already been set next to the bed on the far left side. It sat in a corner under cobwebs and was practically in the dark compared to the other two across the cabin. She flopped onto it, burying her face in her arms and letting out a near silent sob, thankful that her bunkmates hadn’t been there.

This day couldn’t have gotten any worse, or so she thought until she heard now familiar footsteps followed by jangling, chunky jewelry. She quickly sucked her tears back in and wiped away whatever was left on her face.

Crystal slung her duffle bag on top of the empty bed across from Gigi. She hadn’t planned on sleeping this close to her, but did a happy dance in her head at how well it all worked out in her favor.

“Sorry, it’s the only one left.” Crystal apologized to Gigi softly before unloading her belongings onto her bed.

It was amazing how much she could fit into that Lisa Frank duffle. Clothes, shoes, endless necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. She even managed to pack a leopard print blanket and multicolored stuffed animals to decorate with.

Gigi still laid on her stomach, turning her head slightly at the noise Crystal was making while unpacking. She stared in awe at how the wooden walls of the room’s corner now exploded with color.

It had just then registered in her head what Crystal had said just moments before. She.. apologized? Gigi immediately felt guilty. She was a lot of things, but rich and beautiful didn’t make her a bully. That was more Violet and Nicki’s territory. Crystal had really been nothing but sweet to her this whole time, her reputation as a trouble maker aside.

“I’m sorry.” Gigi stated plainly.

Crystal looked back at the red head, confused and taken aback at the unexpected apology.

Gigi sat up.

“Thank you for waiting with me. I guess I was just in a grumpy mood after waking up. I should have thanked you instead of being such a bitch, huh?” Gigi laughed slightly, hoping to God that there were no hard feelings.

“You weren’t a bitch.” Crystal laugh along with her, turning around completely and walking over to Gigi’s side to plop herself beside her.

Their laughter died down and the two sat in silence for a few moments. Gigi took all of Crystal in.

She hadn’t noticed how long and beautiful her legs were. She had a sun-kissed complexion, a stark contrast to Gigi’s milky white skin. Her blue hair, that Gigi once thought to be tacky, actually suited her and tied in well with her dark, almond shaped eyes. She had sharp cheek bones that balanced perfectly with a slender, yet soft face.

Her full, pillowy lips were next. Painted a baby pink with a swipe of shimmery gloss. Lips she had always daydreamed about feeling on her own. How would those lips feel on her neck? Her chest? Between her legs?

They inched closer, slowly bridging the gap between them.

This was happening.

This was real.

Gigi looked into Crystal’s eyes, almost as if asking permission. For what? She had no idea. Maybe just to keep moving closer. Crystal bit her lip lightly and nodded her head slowly. Her eyes locked onto Gigi’s lips.

The door busted open, Nicki and Naomi storming in. Gigi quickly backed away, realizing only then how close her and Crystal’s lips were to touching.

“There you are! See, Naomi, I told you she would be back here by now.” Nicki said, gesturing to Gigi who now hurriedly stood from her bed.

Crystal snapped out of her state of shock at both what had just transpired between her and Gigi and the sudden intrusion.

“Well, that one said she wouldn’t be up for hours so excuse me for thinking she was still in the infirmary.” Naomi rolled her eyes and gestured flippantly at Crystal.

Gigi’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Wait, you came for me?” She asked her friends, suddenly realizing that they hadn’t abandoned her after all. She looked sharply at Crystal, who was now flushed red.

“Of course we came for you. But your little.. friend wouldn’t let us wake you. She said she would see you back herself.” Nicki continued, her brow raised and she crossed her arms.

So Crystal had lied, Gigi thought. For what? She wondered. She shook her head clean of that thought. And with it, shook away everything that had just happened between the two of them in the cabin just then.

“Let’s get out of here.” She sneered, shooting a dirty look in Crystal’s direction before storming out of the cabin with the other two Heather’s in tow.

Crystal sighed and beat herself up mentally for thinking she could get away with stretching the truth earlier. She chastised herself for being so selfish.

Back to square one.