#I’ll gladly be of their service if they spare me my life when they do take over

[aaronsmith94]

RIP Lolita, may your spirit get to swim all over the ocean now since you were stuck in a bathtub for 50+ years.

[caiuscassiuss]

oppa! | ot7 (I)

Description: Being raised by a caring yet distant father, a close, tight-knit family is the one thing you have craved in your short life. After your adventurer father remarries a rich woman, you’re stuck with seven new brothers. Seven very hot, very different men. This is not what you meant by family.

Arc 1: Stepbrother Introductions

Genre: OT7 x Female!Reader | Brother’s Conflict AU | stepbrother au | fluff | slice of life (For this chapter: PG 13) WC: 15k Warnings: swearing, dub-con (??). In later chapters there will be explicit mentions of depression, panic attacks, thoughts of suicide, self harm, and graphic smut.

Chapter 1: Enter the Oldest Type, Jin!

Fiddling with the charm on your phone, you looked down at the blue text bubble that spelled out the address of what might possibly be your home for the next few years.

You had googled the place as soon as you got home, expecting it to be a random apartment somewhere and boy oh boy, you were wrong. First, the house (not apartment) was on the outskirts of Seoul, on one of the hilly inclines overlooking the Han River. Second, the place where it was located was expensive.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when you saw the housing prices of properties nearby on this popular real estate app. Sure, your father was a celebrity adventurer with his own cable show and so you were used to a certain amount of comfort, but this type of wealth was way beyond your league. Who was this woman that your father married, Jesus Christ?

On the Google streets view (you swear you aren’t weird), you saw the place had at least 2 gates to get through and your father hadn’t told you of any code or given you any pass to get through. You had a feeling if you tried to go in there blind, you would be immediately detained by the police.

Biting your lip, you paced on the fluffy carpet that felt like a dream. Your father was gallivanting off in some remote corner of Nigeria, so he was bound to have no cell service there. You knew no one in the family— much less how to contact them so you could meet up for a coffee or something. It would seem rude not to do something…

Your apartment doorbell buzzed throughout your apartment. Folding your arms over your chest, you shivered as you walked towards the doorway. You had turned up the Air Conditioner too high to ward off the muggy Seoul heat and now it was freezing inside your apartment.

“Hello?” you asked in to the intercom.

“Hi, is this Y/N?” a masculine voice asked at the other end.

You frowned and shifted your weight on your other leg. You don’t recall expecting any guests today.

“Excuse me?” the man asked again after you refused to respond.

“Hi, sorry, who is calling?” you said politely.

“I’m Seokjin, Seoyeon’s son. I’m your, uh, new brother?” he said haltingly, his voice raised at the end.

Gasping softly, you felt your mind pile up with questions and questions until it was spinning. How did he get here? How did you know who you are?

“Oh! Uh, yeah, please come on up.”

You pressed the button to allow the elevator to go to your location and you heard a bright “Thank you!” before the intercom shut off.

You zoomed around your apartment like a psychopath, picking up spare pieces of clothing and putting the dishes in the dishwasher. Your apartment reeked of mild depression, suppressed anxiety, and the beginnings of an unhealthy reliance on take out and that was not the first impression you wanted your newfound brother to have of you.

Putting your hands on your hips, you scanned the now clean apartment. It looked like a moderately adjusted human lived here.

Good timing indeed, as your buzzer sharply rang throughout the apartment. Taking a deep breath, you grasped the door handle and pulled it open.

Your lungs really said “Bye, sister!” and decided to quit working as soon as you saw this man. You couldn’t breath because standing in front of you was one of the most beautiful men you have ever seen in your life.

He was tall, taking up the entire doorway with his height. A dash of neatly groomed, brown hair graced the top of his small head and big eyes peered at you curiously above a strong nose and a pair of big, pouty lips the color of strawberries.

The second thing you noticed about him after his overwhelming beauty was his navy scrubs and the large badge attached to his pocket that read “Kim Seokjin; Pediatric Doctor at Seoul National University Pediatric Group”. You’ve seen people in scrubs and they were, favorably said, unflattering but on this man… he looked like he stepped out of a catalogue.

“You’re Y/N, right?”

Speechless, you nodded.

His entire face lit up with a grin. “Oh, that’s a relief. It’s fantastic to meet you, I’m Kim Seokjin. You can call me Jin though.”

Your voice decided to be nice and start working. You held out a hand and he reciprocated with a handshake. “Hi, I’m Y/N. It’s really nice to meet you. Please, do come in.”

He took off his sturdy shoes politely at the doorway and you retreated further into the hallway of your apartment.

You shivered again through your thin top and crossed your arms. God, you were going to have to raise the temperature. It felt like a fridge in here.

Jin turned around with a smile on his face before his eyes went wide. His eyes flickered down your body and quickly flickered back up to your face.

“I’m sorry if this is a bit sudden,” he started, red climbing up his neck and rising up to his cheeks. “I—” His eyes flicked down again before staying resolutely at your face, despite his very red cheeks.

Did you have a stain on your pants or something? You cast your eyes down at yourself and—

Oh.

Your very regrettable decision of turning your A/C up resulted in stiff nipples poking out from your thin top. To make matters worse, your crossed arms emphasized your breasts.

You felt yourself going red as an unflattering squeak left your mouth. Pulling a cardigan from behind the couch (there goes your good first impression), you quickly threaded your arms through the sleeves and covered your chest.

“I am so sorry—”

“It’s alright!” he said, his voice unwieldy. Jin’s eyes widened again as he realized the meaning of his words. “No! I mean— ugh,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands.

You giggled as you saw his mature composure crack in front of you. 

“I must seem like a pervert,” Jin groaned. “Here I was, hoping to come off as a cool older brother, and I just,” he shook his head. “Forgive me.”

The awkwardness defused, you laughed again, ultra conscious of your chest. “Please don’t worry about it! I had hoped to make a good first impression as well but look at me! Pulling clothing out of furniture.”

He snorted and you both started laughing, filling up your once silent apartment with sound. 

As the laughter died down, you offered him a seat on your couch. He gladly took the invitation, throwing in a joke about being on his feet all day.

“Yeah, I’m sorry to barge in all of the sudden. I didn’t have your contact information— only your address and I realized that you had no way to get to our house. So, here I am,” he grinned, eyes forming cute half crescents.

“I actually have to thank you for it,” you said, setting down a glass of water in front of him. “I was thinking of going to your house myself but I saw the security around it and I knew I’d probably get detained or something.”

“Well, it’s good that it all lined up so well,” Jin commented. “I better introduce myself, don’t I? I’m just a pediatric doctor with the SNU pediatric group and 26— the oldest of all of us. I was born in Gwacheon and moved to Seoul to attend university.”

You smiled softly, despite your unease at his use of the word “just”. “A pediatric doctor? That’s very nice. What made you want to be a doctor?”

Jin’s smile grew strained and you saw his broad shoulders tense up. 

Feeling like you wanted to hit yourself over the head, you threw out your hands in apology. “I didn’t mean to—”

He shook his head. “Please, don’t worry about it. It’s a common question. I chose this specific profession over the OR or surgery because, as a child, I knew someone who was injured a lot and I couldn’t help them at all.” He grimaced, but pasted on a very good smile. His eyes were crinkled at the edges, his head tilted upwards, but you could see through it. “Now I can, yeah?”

“I get what you mean,” you said sympathetically. You were often sick as a child too, and it was… difficult, when your father was off scampering across half the world. 

Jin straightened up in his seat and lost that faraway look in his eyes, zeroing in on you. “What about you, Y/N? You’re college-age, yeah?”

“Yes, I’m 21 and attend Yonsei University as a junior. Although it’s not as exciting as wanting to be a doctor, I want to be a counselor one day,” you told him, your eyes cast down “I want to help people.”

“That’s really admirable, Y/N. If you ever need any help getting an internship or opportunity, I know some counselors and I’d be more than happy to facilitate a meeting,” Jin smiled warmly at you.

A blush infused your cheeks. “I, ah, thank you. I actually work as an operator on Crisis hotline right now, but I’ll definitely need all the help I can get.”

“Of course! You’re my cute younger sister now.”

“I’ve never had a sibling, I’m very excited to have seven older brothers now,” you grinned.

“Yeah! About that,” he coughed awkwardly, “— are you considering moving in with us? Your father told my mother that you would be moving, but I wasn’t sure if you were completely willing?”

You nodded. “I’m considering it. I’d like to meet everyone first, however. Just to get used to your personalities.”

“Completely understandable, all seven of us can be,” he paused, “—a lot. However, if you’re up for meeting a few of us, I can take you to our house for a visit. I can drop you back and everything.”

“That’d be lovely.”

He waited patiently for you as you locked the door to your apartment, carefully watching you as you stepped into the elevator.

“Where did you park?” you asked, craning your head upwards to look at him. “I hope you weren’t forced to park on the street, it can be very expensive.”

He shook his head. “I found the visitor parking, it’s all good.”

The doctor led you through the underground parking, weaving through cars and concrete beams with ease until you stopped in front of a bright white car with a silver trident in the middle of its grill. Eyes wide, you knew what this car was. Your dad had admired Maseratis for the longest time, and this one looked to be very new.

Jin gestured to the white Maserati, looking unfairly suave in his scrubs and next to his fancy car. “Hop in.”

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Mature Type, Namjoon! 

Chapter 2: Enter the Mature Type, Namjoon!

Jin was a model driver, driving carefully on the streets of Seoul. He looked both ways before crossing an intersection and took slow turns. However, it amused you how he hissed at the console as it beeped to warn him if there was a car or curb too close to him.

However, as you looked out the window, the streets got quieter and the houses a whole lot bigger as you crossed into a residential part of Seoul. You were driving parallel to the Han River, and you saw many people doing water activities or boating to cool off in the hot September weather.

Jin slowed down as you entered an avenue lined by trees and you could see a guardhouse at the end of the picturesque street. However, the two of you avoided the guardhouse completely and took what was presumably the resident’s entrance, where he passed by easily with a scan of a barcode on his tire.

“Do you drive, Y/N?” Jin asked, one elbow resting casually on his open window and the other on his lap.

“No, I never really had time to learn.” More like you never had someone to teach you.

“Okay, so we’ll just need a resident pass for you,” Jin muttered to himself, eyes focused on the street.

He drove through large, green spaces with the occasional building speckling the landscape. You gripped your purse harder. Green spaces unencumbered by large buildings blocking the view were rare in Seoul, the cost of natural land so astronomically high only wealthy business people or very famous celebrities being able to afford places like this. You gulped. Their family was definitely out of your league.

The car stopped in front of a very modern looking townhouse and the garage opened, Jin driving into what seemed to be a much more expansive parking garage under the house. However, instead of boring concrete and fluorescent lighting, sandy colored marble and warm lighting lit the space as you descended through the underground.

Biting your lip as Jin backed in his car easily with just one hand steering the wheel, defined forearms catching your attention, you mentally smacked yourself. He’s your brother, for god’s sake!

You froze up as the doors started to lift up like wings on a butterfly, but relaxed. This level of wealth would definitely take some time to get used to.

He placed a warm palm on your shoulder, his fingertips reaching your collarbones, as he guided you to the entrance, up the dimly lit stairs and to a large, wooden door.

“I wish I could’ve taken you through the front door since it’s much more impressive,” he sighed, and pushed the wooden door open with a thumbprint scanner. “However, welcome to our humble abode.”

An abode it was, but humble was it not. You were only on the ground floor, but the ceilings were very high and you were surrounded by many floor-to-ceiling windows. The main theme of the building was warm marble and dark, rich wood with jewel tones interspersed between.

“Woah,” you breathed out. “You guys have a lot of space.”

“Yeah, “ Jin grimaced. “We kind of need it when some of us like to roughhouse and tend to break things.”

You laughed as he then guided you towards a spacious living room, a large window overlooking the Han River and greenery.

“Sit tight, I’ll get us something to drink,” Jin said, his voice getting fainter as he strode to a room off the massive living room.

Ankles crossed together, you peered at the large room. At first, it looked neat. Everything was in its place and perfectly coordinated by the eye of an expert designer. However, you could see the signs the place was well-lived in. The wear-and-tear of the orange and beige blanket emblazoned with an H that was thrown over the chair of the couch, the mess of wires from various gaming consoles, and even the small depressions on the pillows. 

A shelf of colorful books framed the huge TV and you stood up, perusing them. You expected the books to be typical, non-offensive living room books with dust on the covers but to your surprise, the books on the shelves were well loved with their cracked spines and rounded edges. Tracing over your fingers over the books you whispered the titles to yourself.

Candide, Crime and Punishment, The Metamorphosis…

“I’m sorry, but who are you?”

A deep voice echoed behind you and you jumped in surprise. Whirling around you saw another tall man with neat ash blond hair, glasses neatly perched on his straight nose with a pair of fierce eyes peering out from behind the frames. His charcoal suit was well-fitted to his body and his build reminded you of a tiger; sinewous muscles cording his arms, back, and thighs and tensed, ready to jump into action.

A nervous smile crawled up your lips. “I’m Y/N L/N. Are you one of my new brothers?”

The man relaxed minutely but the fierceness of his eyes did not subside. “I am. I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s a pleasure to meet you Y/N.”

He strode across the room in long, confident strides and took your hand. His handshake was strong and you tightened your grip in response, narrowing your eyes at him. His right eyebrow quirked, but he said nothing as he turned his attention to the bookshelf.

“So, what caught your attention here?” He murmured, tenor voice traveling the length of your spine and stroking your sensitive skin. “Is it… this?”

He pulled out a copy of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, obviously less worn than the rest.

A smirk tugged at your lips. “No, not that one.”

He stared at you longer, before crossing his arms over his powerful chest. “Oh? Enlighten me, then.”

With nimble fingers, you pulled out a red, slim novel and handed it to him. You carefully tracked his reaction as he took it from your hands, face and eyes saying nothing. He ran a thumb over the agonized face on the cover, and you felt a shiver go down your arm at the sheer sensuousness of it.

“Clockwork Orange,” he breathed out. “Interesting. Are you a Lit Major?”

You continued to stare at the bookshelf, feeling his eyes boring holes into your face. “No, I’m not. I’m majoring in psychology.”

He hummed, eyes tracing the rough artwork of the novel’s cover. “I liked psychology, but at that point I was already double-majoring. I majored in philosophy and business, which are not as different than they seem.”

“Are you out of university, then?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual.

Namjoon nodded affirmatively. “I’m 24, but I matriculated at SNU when I was 18. I run a conglomerate group now.”

Trying to keep your mouth from falling open in shock— what kind of twenty something year old owned a large business, much less a conglomerate— you nodded coolly.

“Given or made?” you questioned, an edge in your voice. Something about Namjoon made you want to test him, to prod at him constantly.

His fierce eyes turned to you and they blazed. 

“Made.”

Your lips lifted upwards, minutely, until you heard a clinking of glasses.

“Y/N? Sister-dearest? I got you— oh!”

Jin stopped in shock at the sight of you two seemingly huddled together in front of the book case.

“Do you two know each other?” Jin asked, absolutely bemused, as he set down a pitcher and some glasses on the coffee table.

“We don’t,” Namjoon answered. “However,” he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, “—I can see we’ll get along nicely.”

You did not get the same impression, but you digressed. He was one of your brothers now. Another factor was that one of his biceps, even though it was hidden inside his suit jacket, looked like it could strangle you.

Jin continued to stare in suspicion, before shrugging his wide shoulders and settling down on the couch.

“So what were you chatting about then?”

“A couple of books I had on the shelf. Y/N has some interesting taste,” Namjoon commented.

Jin snorted into his water with lemon. “Oh, ew, now I have two bookworms as siblings? Reading was the worst part of university. I liked all the practical stuff.”

“Sometimes I can’t believe that rational parents would let you near their kids,” Namjoon retorted, helping himself to a glass.

“And I can’t believe some women come near you,” Seokjin replied heatedly.

The two of them stared at each other seriously before breaking out in guffaws, hiding your expression behind your glass of water. This was such a weird dynamic and it was only two of them. Well, the best you could do was adapt the situation.

Just like you always had.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Rough Type, Jungkook! 

Chapter 3: Enter the Rough Type, Jungkook!

As the three of you chatted about yourselves (apparently, some of the brothers were biologically Seoyeon’s children or were adopted), Jin’s eye caught the clock behind you and his eyes widened.

“Oh dear, it’s almost 6 o’clock,” Jin fretted, leaping up from the couch. “Everyone should be arriving home soon– excuse me,” he said as he retreated into the kitchen.

“Ah, I guess that means I should get going,” you said apologetically to Namjoon, standing up and straightening your ruffled skirt.

“Please, stay for dinner,” Namjoon smiled, gesturing for you to take a seat.

“Yeah, Y/N, stay for dinner!” Jin yelled from the kitchen.

“I mean, if you’re sure…” you trailed off, hoping you could stay. You felt too lazy to cook for yourself tonight.

“Please do, we hope to see you a lot more around here,” Namjoon said, warm smiling at you.

The security system dinged, signalling a door had opened within the house. Namjoon’s ears perked up.

His eyes flew towards the doorway. “That must be Taehyung or Jungkook, coming in. They’re usually the first to arrive.”

You wondered why both of those names seemed familiar and a heavy door slammed shut.

“Jungkook-ah! Your new sister is here! Come and greet her, you punk!”

The footsteps thud to a halt at the foot of the steps and you spin around in your seat.

In the hallway, a buff man in a loose-fitting white t-shirt and grey joggers stood in front of you. In almost humorous contrast to his hulking, muscled body, the cutest face with big eyes and pouty lips you have seen peered at you.

He looked familiar to you and you bit your lip, trying to figure out where you had seen him. Oh wait! Charger guy!

“Jungkook! You’re in my Calculus class, right?”

“Yeah…” he whispered, looking at you like he saw a ghost.

“It’s so funny that you’re here. It’s nice to meet you as my brother,” you grinned at him, tilting your head to the side.

He nodded mindlessly, frozen at his spot in the hallway.

“Jungkook? Are you good?” you prodded.

Namjoon snorted as he kept on typing into his phone. “Jungkook can’t speak to girls, so he gets frozen like this from time to time. Hyung, you fix him.”

“I’m cooking, you dolt!”

“And I’m trying to earn money so I can provide the food. Go.”

Jin shot you a look, as if exclaiming “look at how I’m treated around here!”, and dusted off his hands. Striding over to a frozen Jungkook, Jin poked Jungkook’s very built chest.

Jungkook still didn’t move and Jin pursed his lips. He poked him again. “Yah! Why aren’t you working?!”

The youngest brother broke out from his trance and looked at Jin seriously. 

“No.”

“Pardon?” you asked, wondering if you misheard.

“No.” Jungkook shook his mass of black, shaggy hair and ran a tattooed hand through it, looking in disbelief at the ground. “No, no, no, no, no no.”

Your slight smile is frozen on your face and you feel your shoulders tense up and, nervously, you look to Jin.

“Jungkook—“

“Fuck!” He threw his hands in the air. Jungkook pointed a finger at you, a line creasing at his forehead. “I did not sign up for this! Fuck!” 

Spinning around, he marched back into the hall and you could see the powerful muscles in his back tense through his thin t-shirt.

“Well…”

Jin, with his hands rubbing his temples, sighed heavily and deflated at the counter. “God, I’m sorry about that Y/N. I don’t know why Jungkookie is acting like that; he’s normally really amiable and nice.”

You laugh softly, trying to defuse the awkward tension that had settled around the kitchen. “Jin-ssi, please don’t worry about it. It’s a huge shift in his life and some people are going to take it harder than others. It’ll take some time, but I’m sure he’ll get used to me being his sister.”

Namjoon scrutinized you with hooded eyes. “You’re very kind. I hope my brothers don’t take advantage of it.”

Your grin cracked a bit. “We’re family. I don’t mind.”

—————

Jungkook would not come down from his room, despite the hilarious mix of threats, blackmail, and aegyo Jin tried to coerce him down with.

You could hear Jin rapid-fire lecturing Jungkook outside Jungkook’s bedroom door and Namjoon sighed, his temples in his hands. 

“Hyung, just give up. The kid’s being moody again.”

Jin acquiesced with ill grace, throwing in a last good “You punk!” up the stairs. He stomped down the carpeted stair well, retying his apron and set to reheat many of the things.

“See if I feed him tonight, that ungrateful brat…” Jin hissed, moodily chopping some screen onions.

Namjoon leaned towards you and beckoned your ear towards his and you obeyed, curious. His scent wafted towards you, yet was not as punchy as a normal cologne. It was subtle and musky, carrying notes of old books and bergamot. Perhaps it was a lotion?

“Jin says that all the time, but will leave him leftovers anyways,” Namjoon whispered into your ear, making you unconsciously shiver. “He’s too much of a pushover.”

You snorted as Jin came out of the kitchen with a dish in hands. “Yah, what was that, Namjoon?”

“Just commenting on how good your food is, hyung,” Namjoon replied coolly and leaning away from you.

Jin glanced suspiciously at Namjoon, before setting down the dish. You gasped, immediately getting to your feet.

“Oh, I’ve been such a rude guest! Can I help in any way? Set out the dishes or something?”

The apron-clad doctor clutched his heart, and wailed, “Look! My cute dongsaeng! Finally, a member of this household that is kind and offers to do their part!” Jin’s voice got progressively louder as he directed his voice up the stairs.

You muffled your laugh with a cough, and turned to Jin again. “Jin-ssi?”

Jin shook his head, clicking his tongue as he directed you to stay in your seat. “No, sweetheart, you’re a guest. Joonie-ah, set out the plates.”

Namjoon got up to get the plates, but as he did, his phone buzzed. Namjoon’s forehead creased as he looked at whatever was on his screen.

“Hyung, Taehyung-ah won’t be here today. Apparently his shoot on Jeju is lasting over night.”

Jin sighed, bustling around the kitchen. “How about Hoseok? Yoongi? I know Chimmy is out of the country right now.”

Taehyung, Hoseok, Yoongi, Chimmy, you memorized in your head. These were the four brothers you had yet to meet.

Namjoon snorted and put down the silverware, forks and spoons tinkling brightly. “You know Yoongi— he’s like a stray cat. He’ll be here when he wants. As for Hoseok, I think he might’ve just fallen asleep at the studio.”

“I’m sorry Y/N, I wish I could’ve introduced you to our other brothers,” Jin apologized. “Now, you’re just stuck with us two grandpas.”

You shook your head. “I’m just happy I could have dinner with you guys. Thank you for inviting me over.”

Jin watched you with a fond smile and Namjoon contemplated you carefully again.

Everything was set out and the three of you dug into Jin’s delicious food.

“Jin-ssi, this is very good. Your food tastes delicious. Did you put brown sugar into the sauce? It really rounds out the taste,” you complimented.

“I haven’t heard a compliment from these ungrateful brats about my cooking for 10 years,” Jin sighed dramatically. “Such a cute dongsaeng.”

Namjoon shook his head at Jin’s immature antics. “I might as well introduce you to Jungkook, since he elected not to do it himself.”

“You seemed to know him from university, yes?” Jin asked.

Nodding, you dabbed your mouth with a napkin. “I know of him, yes. He’s in my calculus class? Although, I feel like I might’ve had him in some of my core curriculum classes.”

“Jungkook is at Yonsei for a technology degree, although at first he was reluctant to go to university,” Namjoon revealed. “He wanted to be a Pro-Gamer and streamer full-time, but Seoyeon, Hyung, and I convinced him to get a degree.”

“He chose technology because he wants to combine his passion for gaming and technology into something in the future,” Jin continued, taking a sip of his water.

“That’s a very smart move of his,” you said politely. You wondered why Namjoon referred to his mother as ‘Seoyeon’. Maybe he was one of the adopted ones?

“That brat upstairs might look like he just screams at the monitor and works out, but he’s much more,” Namjoon reflected.

———- 

When you were cleaning up, you felt bad that Jungkook hadn’t had dinner yet. That man must need like four square meals a day and tons of snacks to keep up his bulk.

“Jin-ssi, Namjoon-ssi, I’m going to deliver some food to Jungkook. He must be hungry,” you called out, scraping some of the food onto a plate.

“You don’t have too, Y/N, he usually sneaks down to get something from the fridge,” Namjoon said as he typed furiously on his phone.

“Don’t worry about it, I want to help him,” you grinned, climbing up the stairs.

Namjoon mumbled something suspiciously like, “You’re too kind for your own good” but you had already gotten to the second landing. Stopping in front of Jungkook’s door, you knocked.

“Jungkook-ssi?” you said when no one responded. “You must be a bit hungry, so I just got a plate together for you.”

Complete radio silence. 

Exhaling sharply through your nostrils, you pouted and bent down to set down the plate next to his doorway.

“Well, if you change your mind, I put it next to your door. I’ll be going now!”

You strode down the hallway, making sure your footsteps trailed off. You hid behind a corner, making sure to conceal yourself completely.

After waiting a few minutes, you were sure he wasn’t going to come out  but his door clicked open and Jungkook emerged in a grey-blue hoodie. He took a surreptitious glance around the hallway before his eyes found you behind the corner.

Blushing, you decided to wave at him. To your surprise, instead of scowling or ignoring you completely, Jungkook’s face turned tomato red as he hurriedly gathered up the plate and slammed his door.

You scratched your head. Maybe he was shy or something.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Bright Type, Hoseok! 

Chapter 5: Enter the Bright Type, Hoseok!

“So, how were your brothers? Nice? Weird? Ugly?” Hyerim pestered as you walked by the subway.

You bit your lip. “Um, really different?”

Hyerim fixed you a look.

“Okay, so I met three out of the seven yesterday. The oldest one— his name is Seokjin, but I call him Jin— is 26 and he’s a pediatric doctor. The other one—”

“Wait, Seokjin?” Your friend squinted at you. “Does he happen to work at SNU Pediatric Group?”

Blinking, you turned to her. “Yeah? How the hell did you know that?”

Hyerim let out a half strangled scream as you stepped down the stairs of the station. You were instantly surrounded by dozens of power blue ads with a purple suit-clad man in the middle, perhaps in the middle of a hip trust, all reading Happy Birthday in aesthetic cursive.

“Hoe! He’s my brother’s fucking doctor, I can’t believe this!”

Your eyebrows nearly touched your forehead. “Shit, really?”

“Yes! Holy shit, did you not listen to me complaining to you about how hot he was? And now he’s your fucking brother? The star must’ve aligned for me! This must mean the rest of the brothers are good looking!” Hyerim squealed.

“Does Jongin not exist anymore?” you asked as you both swiped your subway passes.

“Shhh, just because I’m off the market doesn’t mean I don’t get to look,” she giggled, her pony tail swishing back and forth.

You shook your head, amused at her antics, and continued.

“Anyways, the other brother I met is some fancy-schmancy businessman. Namjoon-ssi is 25? 24? He’s older than me but graduated from college when he was just 18.”

Hyerim’s eyes took on a perverted light and she simpered underneath her hand. “Oh? Am I hearing of sugar daddy material?”

You squawked and hit her shoulder. “Hyerim, stop! These are my brothers, not matches on Tinder!”

“I don’t care, you need a boyfriend— even if it’s a secret and taboo one,” Hyerim said, pushing her hair off her shoulder.

Rolling your eyes, you sat down in a seat next to her. “Anyways, the boys invited me to dinner again tonight in hopes we’ll catch more of the boys in the house. Jin-ssi says trying to get them all in one place is like waiting for a blue moon— it’s very rare.”

“So are you going straight there or going home to change?”

Shaking your head, you gestured at a laminated white pass in your hands. “I wanted to get there early today so I can go home early. Jin-ssi drove me home last night and I don’t want him to be caught in rush hour traffic again.”

Hyerim peered at the pass in your hands. “Hannam the Hill? Hey, doesn’t Han Hyo-joo live there? The actress from Brilliant Legacy?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you leaned into the hard plastic seat. “I don’t know. Probably? All I know is that the place where they live is very ritzy and takes like two security gates to get into.”

“Okay, they’re all sugar daddy material then,” Hyerim commented. She ducked to avoid a hit over the head and you huffed, crossing your arms.

“Stop, they all do pretty well for themselves and I heard my stepmother is some fancy businesswoman from a well-to-do family. They’re just my family now.”

“The train is approaching Yangwon station. I repeat the train is approaching Yangwon station,” the bright voice announced over the intercom.

“Oh, that’s my stop,” you remembered. 

“Wait, you said you met another brother. Who is he?” Hyerim asked as she patted her nose with a compact.

The train slowed to a stop and you got up.

“My other brother is Jungkook. The one from our Calculus class? The streamer?”

Smirking, you dramatically walked away and heard Hyerim’s shriek of disbelief as you stepped onto the train platform.

————— 

“I’m sorry, what?” you asked the guard in disbelief.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but your visitor pass has expired,” the security guard said calmly, eyes scanning you detachedly. Like you were another crazy female.

You were going to kill Jin. Forget his awesome jajamyeon, you’ll bitch-slap both him and Namjoon into another dimension.

“Are you sure you can’t just let me in? Like, call the house or something,” you asked desperately, hands crumpling the visitor pass.

The guard looked like he desperately wanted to roll his eyes, but he picked up his corded phone.

“Building 10, yes?” he asked boredly.

“Yes.”

He waited for the call to be picked up but after several rings, no one picked up.

“Apologies ma’am, but no one appears to be at the house. If you’re done, I’d like to ask you to leave and come back later,” the man said with an air of finality, and turned back to his station and looked at the 6 monitors surrounding his desk.

Your mouth open, you were aghast at his lack of sympathy. He could’ve at least offered for you to let you wait! It was nearing sun down and the boys had invited you to dinner again, and it would be rude to be late.

You don’t even know why they needed this much security. Sure, Namjoon was the CEO of a large conglomeration but wasn’t as high profile as Samsung’s chairman or someone crazy like that. It wasn’t like one of your brothers was a high-profile celebrity, right?

Standing on the sidewalk and looking like an idiot, you decided to call one of your damn brothers. Huffing, you flipped open your phone and selected Jin’s contact. After several rings, the call picked up.

“Y/N?”

“Hi Jin-ssi, sorry to bother you right now. I’m sure you’re busy right now,” you apologized, accidentally meeting eyes with the security guard who stared at you suspiciously.

“You’re fine! Is everything alright?” Jin asked, his voice tinged by concern.

You bit your lip as the security guard raised an eyebrow and picked up his phone, his eyes not letting go of you the entire time.

“I’m trying to get to the house, but the guard told me the visitor pass expired,” you explained, breath hitching as the guard spoke rapidly into the phone.

Jin swore over the phone, the sound muffled as he moved his phone away from his face.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, Namjoon and I were so sure it was still active. Sit tight wherever you are, I’m texting one of the boys to get you through the gate. Hoseok is about a few minutes away from you.”

“Um, I don’t mean to rush,” you said, eyes widening as the man gestured to get out of the guardhouse, “— but I think the guard is about to detain me.”

“Goddamn security,” Jin hissed. “I’m calling the guard office right now, I am so sorry.”

He hung up and the guard continued to advance towards you, and you grasped your phone a bit tighter. The summer humidity suddenly pressed into your skin, slipped between your waistband and collar to make you sweat. Your eyes flickered to the station. No one was in the guard office to take Jin’s call so you steeled for yourself for what was about to be an ugly confrontation.

“Ma’am, I firmly ask you to leave the premises before I am forced to—”

“Y/N!”

The guard and you turned in the direction of the sound, and you saw a man in a bright yellow windbreaker and black sport shorts somehow jogging towards you in socks and sandals.

“Y/N,” he said, out of breath, as he stopped in front of you and the security guard. He held out a hand as he put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“Hoseok-nim,” the guard bowed in respect, “Do you perhaps know this young lady?”

You got a good glimpse of him as he lifted his head and tennis cap. He pulled down his white mask and you saw his pointed nose, unfairly smooth skin, and sharp chin. You sobbed inwardly. Did all of your brothers miraculously get the luckiest scratch off tickets for the genetic jackpot? The man grinned at you and nodded in affirmative at the guard.

“Yes, I do,” Hoseok said, straightening up.

“I’m sorry, the young lady did not have the proper credentials to enter. My apologies.” The guard continued, speaking to Hoseok as if you did not exist.

Hoseok’s happy expression vanished and his brows furrowed. “Please, don’t apologize to me. My sister looked frightened. My brothers and I would appreciate it if you treated her a bit more politely.”

You hadn’t even noticed how frightened you were as you felt a drop of sweat roll down your temple and the shivers stop.

“I apologize, young lady,” the security guard said, taking off his cap and bowing politely. You smiled tightly and accepted with grace, gesturing for him to get up.

“That being said, we haven’t had time to get her resident pass processed. I’d like to add her to a list of visitors so a mix-up like this will not happen again,” Hoseok said seriously, staring down the security guard underneath his tennis logo cap and eccentric outfit. It almost put a smile to your lips, to see a beefy man in a suit and tie nearly cower under a boy at least half his age and centimeters shorter than him.

“Of course. Hoseok-nim, young lady,” he bowed, and the security guard scurried towards the office.

Hoseok turned towards you and his face brightened, rounded cheeks pulled upwards. “Hi Y/N, I’m so sorry for this mess,” he said, eyes shining with regret.

“I completely understand,” you placated. “You’re… Hoseok-ssi, right?”

He beamed. “Yes, I’m Hoseok. I’m 24, the middle brother. Please, call me oppa, we’re siblings now!”

He slung an arm over your shoulder and you couldn’t help but beam along with him. His bright energy was so infectious and immediately warmed you to him, drawing you into his orbit.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you replied, smile tugging at your lips. “I’m Y/N, 21 years old.”

“I’m so excited to have a cute younger sister,” Hoseok confessed as he walked you through the streets towards the house. “I was always jealous of my friends that could take care of their younger sisters, even though they acted like they were annoyed by them.”

You grinned more brightly. “Me too. I’ve been an only child all my life and having seven new brothers is very exciting to me.”

“You might want to take that back when you’ve met all of us,” Hoseok laughed. “You’ve met Jin-hyung, Namjoon-hyung, Jungkook-ah, right?”

Nodding, you spoke, “Yes, I have. Jin-ssi and Namjoon-ssi are very nice to me, but I don’t think Jungkook-ssi liked me very much…”

Hoseok waved it away. “Don’t worry, Kookie-ah doesn’t socialize well with girls. Or people. It took him ages to warm up to us after he got back from his grandparents.”

“Kookie-ah?” you asked curiously.

“Yes,” Hoseok grinned as he turned you onto a familiar street. “It’s our nickname for our youngest. He’s too cute not to tease.” Hoseok frowned as he remembered something. “Even though he is taller than me now.”

Hoseok was pretty tall himself, and you were starting to think that if you all took a family photo one day you’d look like the dwarf in the middle. Namjoon, Jin, and Jungkook just towered over you.

“On the other note, what do you do, Y/N? I’m curious about what my younger sister does.”

“I’m a university student at Yonsei, Hoseok-ssi,” you coughed, still not comfortable calling anybody oppa. “I’m studying psychology so I can be a counselor.”

“Yonsei? So my dongsaeng is a smart nut, I see,” Hoseok teased. “Did you know Jungkook before you met him as your brother?”

You shook your head. “I saw him around, but I only knew of him. What about you, Hoseok-ssi? What do you do?”

“I’m a dancer,” Hoseok announced, the house getting closer in view. “I’m part of this dance group, Neuron. We travel to perform and compete in competitions.”

“That’s awesome!” you clapped. “You must be very persistent. I tried ballet when I was younger and it was a disaster.”

“I haven’t heard that before,” Hoseok said, looking curiously at you. “Most people have told me I must be very talented or pull girls easily. But you’re right, I worked very hard.”

“What can I say?” you shrugged. “I just see through people.”

Hoseok guided you up the front steps of the doorway, fumbling through his pants to get his key. As he unlocked the front door, you heard the rumbling of a car going through the streets.

Going at least 100 kilometers per hour, a metallic blue Lamborghini skidded to a halt in front of the house. The weird doors stretched upwards and you saw both Jin and Namjoon emerge from the car.

“Y/N? Baby? Are you alright?” Jin asked worriedly, running up the front door.

“I’m good, Jin-ssi,” you comforted but he ignored it, taking your face in your hands and tilting your head to his view.

“Aish, those damn security guards!” Jin complained, clutching you to his chest and turning to Namjoon. “It’s your fault! Why did you give her that pass! She could’ve been detained! Put into cuffs like—like a criminal!” he ended dramatically.

Namjoon looked flabbergasted. “Me? You’re the one who got it!”

As the two descended into bickering, you peered at Hoseok from in between Jin’s arms. Your eyes screamed save me!

Hoeseok helpfully pried you from the still arguing doctor’s arms.

“Sorry about that, Jin is a bit protective over all of us— he practically raised us. We call him our mom sometimes,” Hoseok revealed, getting you into the house and leaving the now huffing and puffing duo on the doorsteps.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Moody Type, Taehyung! 

Chapter 7: Enter the Moody Type, Taehyung!

As you entered the house, the faint strings of what might be a Daniel Caesar song flowed throughout the house.

“Oh goodie, Taehyung must be here!,” Jin clapped, setting down his keys on a hook near the door. 

Namjoon snorted. “He’s the only one of us that listens to this moody shit.”

Through drought and famine, natural disaster, my baby has been around for me.

A door slammed somewhere on the ground level, and the click clack of heeled boots echoed like muffled gunshots on the marble of the house.

Kingdoms have fallen, angels be calling, none of that could ever make me leave.

Turning the corner, your heart stopped.

Leaning on the wooden doorway was the most heart-breakingly beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes upon. His dyed ash-grey hair was messy around his face, but behind his bangs peeked half-lidded eyes shaped like tear drops. A strong nose and pink lips, like the petals of a flower, were parted open as he stared through you.

“Oh? Is this our new sister?” he said softly, his gravelly voice filling the hall.

You grinned uneasily, fighting off the urge to cover yourself with a blanket or something. It wasn’t that his gaze was improper; those mercurial eyes just seemed to look through you.

“Taehyung, meet Y/N. She is our stepfather’s daughter,” Jin said carefully, eyes flicking between you like a tennis match.

It’s not fair, you thought. His clothes shouldn’t even match. The silky sleeveless tee had a paintbrush stroke across the chest and was bunched into baggy canvas pants covered in paint. It should’ve made him look like those wacky tube inflatables near car dealerships yet he looked like he walked out of a magazine.

“It’s nice to see you, Y/N,” Taehyung nearly whispered, head tilted to the side like he was evaluating a particular interesting museum installation. He made no move to shake your hand or embrace you.

“And you too, Taehyung-ssi,” you replied, bowing politely. He inclined his head.

“Well, I better get back to my red room. My pretties are coming along nicely,” Taehyung pronounced matter-a-factly, spinning sharply around to disappear into the dimly lit hall.

Namjoon face-palmed. “Well, now it sounds like he has a kinky sex dungeon. He just sees the world a bit differently than us, that’s all. It took some time for us to interpret his words when he came to us; for example, his pretties are his photographs.” The businessman looked suddenly pensieve. “Perhaps that’s why he’s so good at what he does.”

“Oh? What does Taehyung-ssi do?” you inquired, feeling like a strong breeze had swept into the room and left as suddenly as it came. You know that feeling? Where your skin tingles in the aftermath, your lips are suddenly dry, and like you could be knocked over the lightest touch.

“He’s a magazine editor, Y/N-ah,” Hoseok grins, putting down his heavy dancer bag on the couch carelessly. “It’s this really new-age, artsy magazine with a cult following. Maybe you’ve seen it? I think he named it something cryptic like ‘V’.”

“I’ll look into it, then,” you beamed, hoping to diffuse the weird tension that had settled on your shoulders.

———- 

Hoseok excused himself to take a shower and Namjoon had to take an important phone call, so it was just you and Jin left.

“Well, I know us five are at least here, and I know Jungkook is due to arrive soon from the gym. However, I don’t know if someone is going to drop by so I just leave an extra plate in the fridge just in case,” Jin said, stroking his chin.

“So, what’s on the menu today?” you asked playfully, taking a seat on the barstool.

Jin ruffled through the fridge, the fluorescent light highlighting his casual t-shirt. “Well, with what we have in the fridge, I can make some Chap-Chae and perhaps Kimchi Jjigae. However, we’d have a lot of chicken left and we need to eat it soon. Hm…”

“Jin-ssi, I know a good chicken recipe. Dakgangjeong? It’s this crispy fried chicken slathered in sweet and spicy sauce.”

The doctor frowned for a moment, leaning against the countertop.

“Is someone allergic? Or doesn’t like Chicken?” you asked worriedly, biting your lips.

Jin shook his head and chuckled. “No, everyone really likes fried chicken here. I’m just trying to remember if we have the ingredients.”

“That’s a relief, because it’s one of my favorite comfort meals.”

Opening the pantry, he bent down to look for something. “I think we do have everything here, thank goodness,” he grinned at you as he got up. “Do you cook a lot?”

“Yup, it’s my hobby,” you revealed, washing your hands at the sink. “I had to learn how to give myself food as a child.”

“Okay, awesome! You get started on the chicken and I’ll do the other dishes,” Jin said brightly, putting some ingredients on the table.

“Sounds good to me!”

You probably weren’t meant to hear it, but Jin giggled underneath his breath, “I have a sous-chef now.”

————

You put the finishing garnishes on your chicken and stepped back. The glaze looked very savory underneath the kitchen lights and dipping your finger into your glaze pot, it also tasted very good as well.

By the looks of it, Jin had finished with his two dishes. Wiping his hands with a towel, he put his hands on his hips and yelled, “Children! Get down here to eat, you punks!” 

As soon as you set down your plate of chicken, a multitude of footsteps resounded throughout the house.

Namjoon strode in first, only in a white shirt and trousers, and nodded coolly at you. The man looked very attractive out of his form-fitting workwear, and you wish your gaze hadn’t lingered on his tan, exposed skin.

Hoseok and Jungkook came in second, rough-housing with each other in the doorway before taking their seats. Hoseok greeted you brightly but Jungkook stared at you without a word before averting his gaze.

Finally, V came into the dining room in a more casual outfit of an oversized shirt and lounge pants, but still exuded an air of effortless grace. He grinned at everyone and plopped down into his chair.

“Alright everyone, eat up!” Jin fussed, setting down the steaming hot bowl and plate he was somehow carrying. You trailed after him with your dish grasped with both hands, hoping you wouldn’t accidentally trip and spill your hard work over the very expensive carpet.

You had to lean over Jungkook to place your chicken in the middle and you heard a startled “eep!” from beside you.

“Jungkook-ssi, are you alright?” You asked, sitting down in your seat next to him.

He nodded wordlessly, his ears red and gaze intensely focused on his plate. Running your eyes over him, you shrugged and grabbed your chopsticks.

The whole family dug in, loud and boisterous as people argued over which cut was better and devolved into personal attacks. Something warm curled up in your chest and warmed your cheeks, hoping to constrain the ridiculous smile that threatened to split your face. Is this how family looks like?

Watching Jungkook engage Taehyung in a very one sided conversation about the benefits of eating a certain part of the meat versus the other was very different than your empty apartment and lukewarm food.

“Wah, hyung, you’ve really outdid yourself with the chicken,” Hoseok gushed as he took a big bite of your chicken. “Please make it for us more!”

Jin chuckled, and set his chopsticks down. “I didn’t make it, so you’d have to ask her if you want more.”

Namjoon, with a strange light in his eyes, gestured to the nearly empty chicken plate with his chopsticks. “You… made this?”

Nodding in affirmative, you took a sip of your cola and cleared your throat. “Yes, I hope you guys liked it.”

Jungkook choked on his water and Jin rushed over to roughly pat his back. “Breath Jungkookie, breath!”

Hoseok yelled in delight and took out his handphone. “My cute little sister made this for me? Wow, my friends are going to be so jealous!” he grinned, snapping a few nice pictures of your glazed chicken.

Jungkook recovered at this point and was trying to fend off mother-hen Jin. “Hyung, I’m fine! I swear! You don’t have to baby me!,” he whined, cheeks red. “Besides, it was probably a bone or something.”

Your oldest brother huffed and sat back roughly into his seat, muttering something about ungrateful kids, while you tried to roll Jungkook’s comment over in your head. Bone? You used boneless chicken?

Deciding to push it away from your mind, you discreetly glanced at your cell phone and realized it was nearing 8 o’clock.

“Oh dear,” you muttered, catching the attention of the men at the table. “It’s almost 8 o’clock and I need to get home to water my plants,” you fretted.

As if on cue, a crack of thunder shook the table and you heard the rain start to hound at the windows and walls.

“Well, I be-leaf they’re getting watered,” Jin commented, cleaning up the last parts of his plate.

Staring at him in disbelief, you started to giggle and soon you were clutching your stomach with how hard you were laughing. 

“Did she like his shitty joke that much?” Jungkook whispered not so discreetly to Namjoon, who looked a bit weirded out himself.

“I’ve- I’ve never met a man with such awful jokes,” you laughed, wiping a tear from your eyes. “But I can’t help finding them so funny.”

The doctor aha-ed and pointed at Jungkook. “See? My jokes are so bad that they’re good!”

Snorting in disbelief, the youngest brother leaned back into his chair with his arms crossed over his built chest. “She’s our sister, she’s obligated to,” he murmurs sulkily. He sneaks a peek at you and you giggle at his adorable moodiness, to which he reddens and avoids your gaze.

Namjoon looked worriedly out the window, quickly turning on the news with his phone.

“— strong windstorms and rains are going to be surrounding Seoul overnight—”

“I can’t, in good conscience, let you go back home in this weather,” Namjoon stated, eyes flickering between you and the loud weather outside.

You hesitated. You were kind of worried for Mr. Ukyo, your cute succulent on the porch. “I—”

“Y/N, please,” Hoseok begged. “What kind of brothers would we be if we left you alone tonight? Stay in. We have a guest room with all the stuff you need.”

“I… okay. Thank you guys,” you smiled uneasily.

Hoseok laughed and patted your back as he got up to put his plate away.

“Sleepover…” Taehyung mumbled as he passed by you. On his way out the door, he gave you a boxy smile that tugged at something in your head.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Cool Type, Yoongi! 

Chapter 7: Enter the Cool Type, Yoongi!

“Hi, my cute dongsaeng!” announced Hoseok as he strode into your guest room. “I come bearing gifts!”

You grinned at your exuberant brother as he danced through your doorway, having a pile of stuff in his arms.

“We usually don’t have guests over, but sometimes our mother stays at the house and now we have a bunch of, uh, woman stuff,” Hoseok coughed.

“Thank you, Hoseok-ssi,” you said, moving to sort through the items.

“Call me oppa,” Hoseok whined.

Namjoon peeked through your doorway and saw Hoseok pouting at you, and instantly wacked the back of his head.

“Yah, you literally just met her today. Let her grow more comfortable with us first,” the businessman scolded, before turning to you.

“We have some t-shirts and shorts that don’t fit Jungkook anymore but please don’t tell him that we kept his childhood items,” Namjoon shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “I got you a toothbrush and toothpaste, plus some face products.

“You’re really kind, I feel like I’m in a hotel,” you joked, moving to plug your phone into the wall outlet. The place felt like your hotel suite suddenly got upgraded. This guest room was bigger than your entire living room and everything was so nicely decorated, you couldn’t help but gawk like a tourist at the fancy light fixtures and furniture. Maybe if you broke a vase you’d have to work in a host club...

“Ah, really? That’s nice to hear,” Namjoon said, sitting down in an armchair near the window overlooking Seoul and the Han River. He steepled his fingers together, tilting his head at you. “However, if you moved in, this room would be yours.”

Your slight smile turned slightly downwards and Hoseok, sensing the change of mood easily, turned over and whacked Namjoon over his head.

“Who’s the one going too fast now?” Hoseok retorted, before plopping down on the chair opposite of Namjoon.

“No, no, you’re fine, Namjoon-ssi,” you acknowledged. “I just… I don’t want to intrude. Plus, the amount of testosterone in this building…” you trailed off.

“Y/N-ah, we just met you but we already know you’d be a good fit with our family,” Hoseok said, smiling softly at you. “Seriously.”

“I don’t want to seem overbearing and I know you’re very independent, but the idea of you living alone worries Jin-hyung and I,” Namjoon confessed, wringing his hands and looking towards the window. “What happens if there is any emergency? Or you got sick? It’d be hard for us to take care of you.”

Tears welled up at the edge of your vision and your mouth twitched downwards. Quickly pressing a hand to your mouth, you averted your eyes from the boys.

“Y/N-ssi, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” Namjoon asked worriedly, getting up from the armchair.

You waved him away, discreetly wiping your nose. “I-I’m fine, Namjoon-ssi. Really. I’m just really emotional all the sudden, that’s all.”

“Y/N-ah, are you sure?” Hoseok piped in concern, craning his neck to see your face.

A hand thrust some tissues in front of you and you took them gratefully, dabbing at your eyes.

“I- I just…” you sucked a breath in, and turned towards the fretful pair of brothers. You suddenly beamed at them, eyes crinkling into crescents and grin splitting your cheeks despite the visible tear tracks on your cheeks. “I’ve never had someone care for me. Thank you.”

The two boys felt their heart stutter at the surprisingly vulnerable confession from the ever-polite yet distant you. They shared a look.

We’re in trouble.

———-

The house quieted down and all the lights were turned out as the rain seemed to get louder. However, despite the busy day, you tossed and turned in the very comfy cotton sheets.

Turning on your side, you watched the rain stream down your window in awe. While the window was big, a building partially blocked your view of the Han river and the Seoul skyline. You unplugged your phone from the charger on the wall and looked at the time. 1 A.M.

For some reason, you couldn’t sleep. Perhaps it was the unfamiliar environment or the dozens of thoughts crowding your head, but you couldn’t force your head to turn off despite counting hundreds of sheep.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you untangled yourself from the sheets and set your feet on the heated marble. Padding quietly to the door, you tried your best to open and close the heavy wooden door softly.

The house seemed bigger when it was not filled by the loud voices and eclectic, varied personalities of your brothers. Clutching a throw blanket over your shoulders, you made your way down the stairwell with only the city’s lights shining through the large, floor-to-ceiling windows around the house.

Flicking the low lights on in the kitchen, you searched the many cabinets for where they kept their tea packets. You finally found a jar of chamomile tea in a corner of the pantry, turning on the tea kettle and waiting for it to boil.

Leaning against the corner, your eyes got accustomed to the dark of the living room and roved over the personal effects of the brothers. There was a large picture of all seven boys on the mantle of the fireplace with their mother sitting in the middle, however, you could not see the faces of the two brothers you had not met due to the reflection in the glass.

Could you see yourself living here? With the amiable and fussy Jin, and the mature, erudite Namjoon? Wake up every morning to see the infectiously bright Hoseok at the counter and the mercurial Taehyung floating through the house like a wraith? Even go to school with your confusing classmate, Jungkook?

The kettle whistled loudly and you took it off its burner, pouring water into a cup. Flicking off the underhead lights in the kitchen, you padded towards the living room and curled up on the outrageously soft, leather couch. Blowing on your tea, you took a sip as you gazed in wonder at the rain streaming rivers over the large, bay window.

For years, the rain had been your only friend when your father traipsed the globe. It had softly knocked at your window to check if you were okay when you were sick and playfully splashed you when you were sad. The rain sang you to sleep every night when you were young and alone, afraid of the thundering din outside.

Looking at the portrait of the seven boys, you saw a new family.

Smiling into your tea cup, your mind was made up.

A loud beep rang throughout the house and a click reached your ears. Your eyes tried to look through the darkness at the basement entrance, where a figure clad in all black emerged. Feeling a momentary panic seize your heart, your fingers tightened over your mug and you tried to think straight. This was probably your other brother, Yoongi or Chimmy.

“Oh? Who are you?” A raspy voice said, shutting the door behind him. “Are you one of my brother’s girlfriends?”

Shaking your head, you got to your feet. “No, I’m your new sister, Y/N L/N.”

The figure made an affirmative noise and removed his shoes at the massive shoe closet next to the entrance. “Ah, I see. I’m Yoongi, your second oldest brother.”

A crack of thunder shook the house and a few seconds later, bright white lightning flashed through the room and illuminated you both.

In that split second, you saw pitch black hair constrained by a headband. However, what caught your attention was his eyes. Contrasted against pale skin and fierce, arched brows, were lids shaped like the outstretched wing of a bird. He stared at you lazily before they widened minutely.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Yoongi-ssi.”

“You too,” he mumbled and bowed politely, shuffling up the stairs like a gloomy specter.

You blinked a bit at how calmly he took this into stride. Christ, were your brothers fazed by anything?

—————

“Y/N-ah. Y/N-ah, wake up!”

You groggily opened your eyes to see Jin close to your face, his brows bunched together in concern.

“Y/N-ah, are you alright? You’re on the couch.”

Straightening up you could see that you, indeed, were still on the couch. You must’ve fallen asleep while watching the rain.

“Oh, yeah, I am,” you stated, rubbing your eyes and yawning. “I must’ve fallen asleep here last night.”

Jin sat across you and looked worried. “Did something happen last night? Was the guest room not comfortable? Did—”

“Oh no, nothing like that!” you tried to say. “The sound of the rain was better here.” 

He looked at you strangely but accepted it with a shrug of his shoulders. “Anyway, I’m about to make breakfast, why don’t you clean up a bit? I’ll wake up the other brothers.”

You nodded and almost stumbled trying to get off the couch, before Jin caught you with an arm. You turned your head to see his face uncomfortably close to yours.

“Careful,” he whispered, his minty breath trailing across your cheeks and his eyes roving your face.

You felt your cheeks heat up before you almost threw yourself out of his touch. “Yeah, um, thank you!” you yelled behind you before you fled to upstairs.

————

By the time you cleaned your face and put on a bra, all of the boys— in various states of consciousness— were gathered around the dining counter.

“Y/N-ah!” Hoseok said enthusiastically, obviously one of the more awake ones. He wore a pair of flowered pants that ahjummas usually wore and white, long-sleeved tee. “Yoongi came in last night, he’s our other brother.”

“We met last night, Hoseok-ah,” Yoongi mumbled into a large cup that, hilariously, was engraved with the words “Daddy-Size”. “I came home around 1 AM and saw her on the couch.”

“Oh, was everything alright?” Namjoon inquired politely, stretching his broad muscles as he yawned. Even his loungewear looked professional.

Smiling uneasily, you took a seat at the counter next to Jungkook, whose head was buried in his arm. “Yeah, couldn’t sleep and the city lights calmed me down,” you reassured.

Jungkook suddenly jerked awake next to you, alarmed eyes peeking through his messy black hair. “H-huh?”

You grinned at him. “Good morning, Jungkook-ssi.”

He mumbled a good morning in the direction of the ground before his eyes zoomed into something at your collarbone.

‘Y/N-ssi, i-is that my shirt?” he asked shyly— the first words he has directed towards you.

You looked at the oversized navy shirt, which you had tucked into the pair of denim shorts you wore yesterday. “I think? Namjoon told me it was one of your own.”

His gaze whipped to Namjoon and he started sputtering as Namjoon snickered, putting on a pair of thick-framed glasses.

Suddenly, Jin swore as he looked at his phone. “Sorry guys, but there’s an emergency at the hospital. I need to go,” he said rushedly, racing to the closest to put on a pair of tennis shoes. “Yoongi, cook for them!”

He shut the basement door with a slam and suddenly the house was silent.

“Yoongi-hyung, please,” Taehyung, who had emerged from some hallway, begged with a pout on his petal lips. His voice was extra raspy this morning.

The black-haired man grunted before hiding his face behind his coffee cup. You took that as a no.

“We’re going to starve,” Jungkook complained into Hoseok’s shoulder, who cooed and patted the muscled man cutely.

“Well, I can cook for us if you’d like? As a thank you for letting me stay over?” you said nervously. All eyes turned towards you and you gulped, not used to having all of your brothers’ attention on you.

“That’d be lovely,” Namjoon said, squinting at a novel he had produced out of nowhere.

“Aw, is our cute dongsaeng going to cook for us? I’m living the dream,” Hoseok sighed dramatically.

You snorted and got out of your seat. “I saw enough ingredients for what I want to cook, so just sit tight.”

The boys thanked you and some exited the kitchen towards the living room. You tried to remember where you saw the ingredients yesterday, but the kitchen was extremely big and had those weird cabinets where you had to push in a certain corner to open.

“Uh, where are the onions?” you asked no one in particular.

“Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok nudged the still tired looking man. “Next to Jin, you know the kitchen the best.”

The black-haired sighed heavily and got out of his seat, leaving the “Daddy-Size cup” on the counter. He opened the fridge and bent down to a drawer you hadn’t seen. “Green onions.”

You took the bag and thanked, expecting him to leave the kitchen. “What else do you need?”

He stood there, eyes boring a hole through your face. Even as he was sleepy, he still looked like a cool older brother.

Scanning the ingredients, counting the things you had and didn’t, you turned back to him. “Um, I just need butter, tomatoes, and cheese.”

Wordlessly, he grabbed the ingredients and set it down on the counter next to you. Really expecting he’d leave, he surprised you by pulling out a chopping board and knife.

“How do you need the onions and tomatoes cut, Y/N-ssi?” he asked roughly, raspy voice causing the hair at the nape of your neck to rise. You shook your head. He’s your brother, for god’s sake!

“I need both diced, but slice some of the tomato into thin wedges for presentation,” you asked politely.

He nodded and washed both of the vegetables, before quickly and neatly dicing them with an experienced hand.

You broke the eggs and as you whisked the egg mixture with a pair of chopsticks, you decided to break the silence.

“How old are you, Yoongi-ssi?” 

He didn’t pause in his slicing. “25 years old. How about you?”

“21, but turning 22 soon.”

Yoongi hummed and started on the tomatoes. “Ah, that means you’re university age then. Are you attending university right now?”

Nodding, you grabbed some salt and pepper to add flavor to the omelette.  “Yeah, I’m actually attending Yonsei with Jungkook-ssi. What about you?”

“I’m a freelance producer,” he said carelessly, neatly scraping diced tomato onto a plate. “But I graduated from an arts college overseas in classical performance.”

It seemed like many of the brothers were artistically-inclined, you noted as you washed the spinach. But it amused you that this cool-looking brother of yours, with pierced ears and effortlessly stylish street clothes, could play a fancy-looking instrument.

Your step brother cleared his throat and he stepped back. “Is there anything else you need me to do?”

You looked at the finely chopped tomatoes and onions and shook your head. “No, that’s all. Thank you for helping out.”

He inclined his head and padded out of the kitchen, collapsing on the couch with his hoodie over his head.

Turning on the heat, you put the omelette mixture in the pan and waited for it to cook through. As you were gathering the other ingredients to put in the pan, a chin nestled itself onto your shoulder.

“Oh? What is this?” a deep, husky voice rumbled next to your ear.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Taehyung’s finely chiseled face so close to yours. Squeaking, you turned your attention back to the pan.

“Breakfast omelettes, Taehyung-ssi,” you replied a bit shakily, feeling the weight of his head on your shoulder and his breath puffing into your ear. “I hope you like it.”

Adjusting his bent over position, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face into the crook of your neck. “I will, Y/N-ah. It’ll be delicious.”

Your face flamed and you willed the egg to cook faster, trying not to focus on how his large hands pressed warmly into your stomach.

“Hyung!” Jungkook exclaimed, barrelling out of nowhere. “Hyung, you can’t do that! Stop!” 

“Oh? Why not?” the editor asked monotonously, his lips moving over the sensitive skin of your neck. You stiffened and muffled a squeal, neary getting hot oil over your fingers. Your muscled classmate tried, unsuccessfully, to tug Taehyung’s arms from your body but for some reason, Taehyung’s hold on you was ironclad.

In the midst of Jungkook screaming in the background and the shouts of your other brothers, Taehyung sighed heavily and melted into your body. “I miss this,” he murmured.

Next Chapter: Press [ X ] for the Cheeky Type, Jimin! 

Chapter 8: Enter the Cheeky Type, Jimin!

Over the next few days, you slowly got used to the vibrant and varied personalities of the boys. The brothers were a rowdy bunch but they coaxed you out of your shell with unintentional hilarity and clumsy warmth. Even Jungkook, with your weird first meeting, took to accompanying you throughout school and engaging you in shy conversation. Visiting the house frequently, someone was always there to entertain you and coerce you into trying to move into the house.

However, as the days passed by, you saw neither hide nor hair of the mysterious seventh brother. None of the brothers seemed to be fazed. One day, as Namjoon drove you home, you decided to press the subject.

“Namjoon-ssi? Who is my seventh brother? I haven’t heard much of him,” you inquired shyly.

He hummed, leaning an arm casually against the window and driving between lanes with just one hand. Namjoon didn’t drive as recklessly as Jungkook, per se, but he seemed to think other cars were just nuisances on the road.

“I was wondering when you’d ask about that. Our other brother is not home a lot because he’s usually on tour,” Namjoon revealed in his deep voice. “He’s an idol.”

You gasped and looked at Namjoon in surprise. “You’re fucking with me.”

He chuckled, a chocolatey, rich sound that filled your ears and did funny things to your belly as he turned to exit the highway. “No, I’m not. Our little Chimmy is an idol.”

Taking out your phone, you opened up the web app. “Chimmy? Is that his name? Or does he have a stage name I need to find.”

Namjoon shook his head. “No, his name is Jimin. 23 years old, debuted 3 years ago.”

Smacking your head, you exclaimed, “Oh wait! I know him! I saw his birthday ads all over Seoul a few days ago. Wow, my brother is a celebrity, huh?” 

Typing his name into the search bar, millions of results popped into your browser. Gorgeous, fan-taken photos filled the image section and you clicked on one.

Wow. Jimin looked ethereal on stage, in a loose, white shirt and tight, black pants as he performed some sort of strenuous dance move. His plump lips, sharp jawline, and high cheekbones were still stunning in low quality photos. You were seriously starting to think your stepmother secretly paid for them from a lab. It really wasn’t fair that you, an average 4, were now related to solid fifteens. 

You clicked on a video with nearly 12 million views of him at a fanmeet event, his eyes crinkling and lips pulled up in a grin as he did aegyo for his adoring fans.

“He’s very popular, isn’t he?” you asked Namjoon rhetorically.

Namjoon snorted. “An understatement. We can’t go out in public with him unless he covers his hair and his entire face. He has security tailing him when we go to crowded places, it’s ridiculous.”

Something clicked in your head. “Ah!” you exclaimed. “That’s why you guys live there! And here I was, thinking you were all paranoid.”

His laugh filled the car again and you got a whiff of his musky cologne as he leaned over to adjust the air conditioner. “Yeah, even when we moved there a few years ago before Jimin’s popularity exploded, he had some crazy fans. Seoyeon, Jin, and I decided to choose Hannam Hill for their security.”

“You’re such good brothers,” you grinned at him. You swore you saw a hint of red beneath his collar as he cleared his throat.

“And we’re lucky we’re gaining such a good… sister.”

You tapped at your purse. “At least with my residence pass I won’t be detained now.”

The man next to you groaned and nearly facepalmed into the driver’s wheel.

“Do you have to remind me of this? I take it back, my sister sucks.”

——— 

Jungkook and you walked through the campus gates, finished with the Calculus class and exhausted after the test.

“Wait, shit, did I derive number eighteen right?” you fretted, your sweaty hands fiddling with your bag strap. “Oh my god now, I didn’t foil correctly!”

“Relax, Y/N, you did fine,” Jungkook snorted, no longer as painfully shy as he was when he first met you. You never did get why he had such a violent reaction to you at first, though.

“Easy for you to say, Mr. I-don’t-study-yet-I-still-get-A’s,” you huffed in annoyance, accidentally bumping shoulders with him.

He laughed and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. An ‘eep!’ escaped your mouth but you found you couldn’t protest as Jungkook looked down at you with the cutest, bunny smile you had seen.

“Relax, Y/N. It’s just one test.”

You sulked and crossed your arms, trying to push the heat in your cheeks away. Clearing your throat you ducked from underneath his arms. You thought you saw a flash of disappointment in Jungkook’s face, but you quickly linked arms with him so you could walk more comfortably. His eyes widened and he looked upwards, the tips of his ears a flaming red.

Ignoring several stares from your fellow university students, you walked to the campus parking lot where Jungkook had parked his car.

“Jungkook-ah? Which car did you drive today?” you asked, flushing a bit as you heard your own words. Imagine what the you from a few weeks ago would’ve said. What kind of rich bitch did you turn into?

“The silver one. The Mercedes,” he said casually but you knew he was beaming with pride. He had revealed to you, one day when driving home, that he bought this car with his streaming money and not with cash from his brothers or family. Jungkook was insanely protective of this car. 

“Gotcha.”

Throwing your bags into the backseat, he started up the car. Feeling that it was a bit hot, you decided to roll down the window. Fumbling for a hair tie in your bag, you decided that putting your hair up would be smart.

“—gry, Y/N?”

“Huh?” you asked confusion, hair tie in your mouth. 

“I just asked if you were hungry, Y/N?” he said, voice trailing off in a question as he looked up from his phone. His eyes widened at you.

“Um, not really? But if you are, I can whip us up something once we get home,” you said confidently, twisting your hair into the tie. Huh, when did you start calling it home?

“... Jungkook?”

He nervously cleared his throat as you looked at him, pulling back your hair into the tie. The tip of his ears were red and he seemed a bit flustered. Your brother fumbled with the controls, accidentally turning on the windshield wipers. Biting back a smile, you smoothed down your hair.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

————— 

The house was silent as the two of you entered. It seemed no one was in the house today, all of your brothers very busy with their respective jobs.

“I’m going to take a shower, Y/N, “ Jungkook said as he climbed up the stairwell. 

You hummed affirmative as you threw your bag at the foot of the coffee table, collapsing into the comfy leather couch. Switching on the TV, you couldn’t find anything interesting so you settled on an entertainment channel.

“Thousands of fans crowded Incheon Airport’s International Terminal today…”

Snuggling into a sun spot on the couch, you nuzzled your face into a pillow. The warmth made you feel drowsy and you decided a quick nap was alright. Nodding off, you could hear the shower turn on upstairs.

“...as international Hallyu star Jimin arrived back in Korea …”

—————

“Oh? Who are you?”

You groggily opened your eyes to the high-pitched voice that was honey to your ears, an unconscious “huh?” coming out of your mouth. In your bleary vision, you saw lavender-blonde hair and pink, plump lips hovering above you.

The man snickered and you felt a smooth hand grasp your jaw to turn your head upwards. Your eyes focused and you swore you were still dreaming, because the face so close to yours could only be an angel’s. Ethereal eyes like a storm looked lazily down at you, his high cheekbones and narrow jaw highlighted by the warm light of golden hour.

“Are you a fan? You shouldn’t be here,” he scolded in a sing-song voice, clicking his tongue as he stroked a thumb over your chin.

You couldn’t think after being awoken from such a deep REM cycle and being near such an unearthly man, your thoughts jumbled and disjointed.

“Naughty, naughty girl,” he whispered, minty breath puffing against your face. “Well, if you’re here, I might as well make the most of it.”

With strength you hadn’t expected, he suddenly caged you into the couch— a leg between yours and the other on the floor, his hands trapping your hands above your heads. His silk shirt brushed against the exposed skin of your belly, making you shiver.

“H-hey!” you said, regaining your thoughts. “What the hell?”

He chuckled, a cruel edge to his voice as his face neared yours. “Oh, playing the innocent card are we?” His lips neared your ear and you froze, eyes wide as his plump lips brushed against your earlobe. “Don’t worry, baby girl, you’re pretty enough to pull it off.”

The man started to press a kiss at space between your ear and neck, and slowly started to trail down your sensitive neck. You inhaled sharply as his teeth and tongue prodded at your skin and he snickered, his voice vibrating against your skin. An involuntarily squeak left your lips as he bit playfully at your collarbone.

“H-Hyung?”

You both turned to see Jungkook, hair still wet from the shower, staring at you two in disbelief. His eyes were wide and his lips were opened in shock as he suddenly froze in the middle of the living room.

“Jungkookie!” the man said brightly, no trace of the breathy, seductive voice he had used to lull you into a trance. His limbs no longer trapped you as the lavender haired man sprang up and ran to the stock-still Jungkook.

“Aw, Jungkookie, I missed you,” the familiar yet still unknown man cooed as he clung to Jungkook’s broad shoulders. “It’s been so long,” he whined, lips pursed in a pout.

Still breathless from lavender boy’s attentions, you sat up on the couch and saw stars as the blood rushed to your head. Blinking to clear it away, you reached up to your neck to touch the spots where lavender boy had touched.

“Jungkook-ah?” you whispered, voice rough from lack of use. “Who’s this?”

Your classmate still stared at you in shock as lavender boy clung to him like a leech, cooing at Jungkook.

“Aw, is this your girlfriend, Jungkookie?” Angel boy said fretfully after a moment of silence. “I’m so sorry, I thought she was a fan! Forgive me!”

You cleared your throat nervously, righting your disheveled clothes and messy hair. “Look, I have no idea who the hell you are, but I am not Jungkook’s girlfriend nor your fan and either way, you should not be— be assaulting unsuspecting girls who just wanted to nap!”

“Who the hell am I?” Lavender boy retorted rudely, no longer seductive or cutesy as his eyes narrowed at you. “I live here, wench!”

“Well I’m about to, fool!” you sneered, crossing your arms.

“Jungkook-ie, call security as I deal with this clearly crazy lady!” The still unknown boy huffed, advancing towards you.

Jungkook finally got out of his trance and grabbed Jimin by the shoulder. “Jimin-Hyung, stop! Haven’t we talked about her in the groupchat a lot? She’s our new sister!”

Jimin froze and his eyebrows lifted minutely, whirling around to look at Jungkook. “Wait, what? We have a sister now?”

He looked at you differently, eyes scanning your figure disinterestedly. “Did Seoyeon—” he spat out the name like it was stale gum in his mouth, “—find another baby we didn’t know about? Another poor bastard like me?”

You got whiplash with how much he changed moods and started to inch away. Well, it seemed like your step brother was nothing like how he portrayed himself in the videos you had seen online about him. A frown pushed at your lips.

Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, hyung, mom got married again to Y/N’s father. She’s our new step sister now.”

Jimin stayed silent before he turned to you again, his eyes mocking. A shit-eating smirk crawled up his lips. “Well, sister dearest, welcome to the family!”

Arc: Character Introductions Ended. Press [ X ] to continue?

A/N: If you’ve watched BroCon and you’re curious to who each person is based on, here’s the guide:

Jin (Doctor) = A mixture of Uyko and Masaomi

Namjoon (Businessman) = Natsume

Jungkook (Gamer/ Uni Student) = Yusuke

Hoseok (Dancer) = Himself lol he was supposed to be Subaru but i didn’t want to make him super angsty. Don’t worry, in this story he’ll be more than just his stage persona :)))

Taehyung (Magazine editor) = Louis

Yoongi (Producer) = mixture of Yuusuke’s tsundere-ness and Iori’s calmness

Jimin (Idol) = Fuuto with a bit of Tsubaki’s personality

Anyways, if you enjoyed it, please comment and reblog!!! I appreciate any feedback you may have, whether it be a sentence or a whole dang paragraph— I love it all :))) Please, if you’re doing okay, please help me pay for school through my Ko-Fi (link in my profile).

Arc II: Decisions and Settling In will be released in a month!! Comment if you’d like to be tagged :))

[dulafer]

TWIN REVENGE

This is an old one, just thought I’d share..... Its of my shortest stories. Any feedback appreciated - dclouser@mac.com 

REUNION

I’ve always been the odd twin out. Will and I were both named William C. Witt with the only difference being our middle names – Charles and Conner. I’ve never liked being called ‘Willy’ while William preferred ‘Will’. Growing up, our parents couldn’t tell us apart - we even have the same birthmark on our chins. 

I’ve always been jealous of Will for being the favorite. Many times, I’d answer to my brother’s name on purpose or force Will to swap places with me. The first time I was Will was when he was failing algebra in 9th grade and didn’t want our parents to find out. We swapped places so I could take his tests. My condition was that I stay as him for the day – soaking up my parent’s adoration and love. Will was definitely our parent’s favorite which pissed me off the older I got, often lashing out for attention. In high school I started impersonating my brother to get him in trouble. Sometimes, I would get caught because my brother would have an alibi with friends backing him up, or I’d would slip up wearing my hair differently or some other little detail. 

By our junior year, I started hanging with another group of friends and dealing drugs. My reputation for trouble followed me as my ‘business’ grew. Will knew what I was up to because people would mistake him for their dealer. Weeks before graduation, the principal caught me selling drugs red handed, thanks to a tip from Will. Since Witts are a powerful family, Dad worked a deal to allow me to graduate on the condition that I spend the summer in rehab.  The deal was made and the day after graduation, Dad drove me to the rehab center. I lasted a week before escaping and never being seen again.

My drug pals smuggled me out of Los Angeles to northern California.  San Francisco was the perfect spot for me. With my college age looks, I blend in on local high school and college campuses where my business grew exponentially. I wear the college gear that fit the campuses I was working daily. I’ve always been thrifty with my earnings and always a light user myself so I saved my money for a future free of drugs. When I can, I sit in on college classes, mostly political science since my father was always drilling politics into Will and I. 

Will on the other hand, was the perfect son. He attended college for political science, becoming a staunch conservative. But Will wasn’t always perfect. After two years in college, he dropped out and was hired at Prager U as a campus correspondent to interview students and follow trends. Will quickly picked up a fan base nationally and within months was buying a condo and new car – with the help of a proud rich father. Will travels the country giving speeches, interviewing people and blogging.

Mom and dad have all but forgotten about me. I faked my own death and changed my name when I heard my family was looking for me.  It was convincing enough that the Witts even had a funeral for me. 

CAMPUS LIFE

I’m at Stanford University working my regular ‘route’, supporting my boys with product. A few girls spot me, come running over and one screams. “Oh my god, Will! I’m your biggest fan.” 

I wonder why they’re calling me Will and fawning over me? “Hi, thank you so much.”

“We can’t wait to hear you speak.  You going to do a ‘man on the street’?” the other one squeals.

“Sure am.” Not knowing what that is even. I see one of my boys coming over for his weekly stash. “Excuse me ladies, I’m meeting an old friend.”

Tyler comes over with his usual swagger carrying his backpack. “Do I have competition bro?”

“No, not at all! You know you’re my main man.” We do his frat’s handshake. Anyone watching us would see us both in Stanford gear and just assume we’re students. We take a seat on a nearby bench, talk business, two minutes later, he’s leaving with my backpack full of drugs.

I walk around campus, wondering about those two girls calling me Will.  When I get to the campus hub, I see my face plastered all over the board. The flyers reads ‘Will Witt, Prager University, Topic: Campus Diversity’. I pull one off the board, fold it up and place it in my backpack pocket. I’ll be damned, my little brother in town. I have to see this for myself.

I get home and study the flyer, find the Prager U site and start watching my brother’s videos. We’re so alike with our political beliefs – neither of us have fallen far from our father’s tree. We both have the same attitudes and beliefs as good old dad. He even sounds like dad did, around the dinner table our entire life. I then log into his Instagram account, using Will’s password he’s been using for a decade. I’m getting envious of my brother’s life – he’s still the golden boy and I’m sure dad is super proud of him. He’s traveling all over the world thanks to this Prager gig. On top of that, he’s become famous on Fox and other mediums for being very articulate and full of energy. 

As I watch him, I’m getting very envious of Will. I’m as smart and talented as my brother. I could have been the favorite son, the celebrity.  ‘Should be, could be, will be.’ I think to myself. That should be my life.

The next day, I head to a theater supply store and buy a fake belly, beard/mustache and some make up. I’ve got to see my brother in action today. Will is scheduled to do a ‘man on the street’ interview on campus this afternoon, then the speech later tonight. 

I show up for his man on the street interview but hang way back, out of sight of Will. With my disguise, I’ve gained 50lbs, a full beard, sunglasses and wearing a tie dyed hoodie. I watch and listen as Will, his producer and camera man set up everything. I record everything with a shotgun microphone - hearing the back and forth banter between Will, his cameraman Gavi and Mike, his producer. That evening, I attend the lecture in another disguise just to be safe. I’ve haven’t seen Will in over two years but he’s still the same arrogant Will in private. In public he’s very friendly and charming. As I’m listening to Will speak, a plan starts to formulate in the back of my mind. Willy is already dead to the world, so why not become Will. It’s not like I’m inexperienced in doing it. It would always piss Will off when I would steal his identity and fool his girlfriends. While he was taking a shower, I would get dressed first, take his clothes, phone, car and pick up his girlfriend who was clueless. Will would be pissed but I would apologize and he would forgive me. One time Will called his girlfriend while I was impersonating him and couldn’t convince her that he was actually Will – I was that good. 

I start tracking my brother via his emails, calendar and social media. Will is flying from Los Angeles to Washington for a week, with Turning Point USA to promote Prager U and himself. Our parents will also be gone on vacation to Europe for months, with plans to hook up with Will in London for lunch and a show in a month.

MOVING TO LOS ANGELES

I need to formulate a detailed plan. Will has lived the good life long enough, it’s my turn now.  I start with cleaning up my life here – telling my friends that I need to disappear again. They buy it easily as it has happened before. I clean out my bank account – about $1m, and drive to Hollywood where Will lives.

I rent a furnished apartment across the street from Will’s condo. It’s perfect – from my living room and bedroom, I can see his entrance and garage. I keep my fake beard and baseball cap on all the time, and only use the back entrance to go anywhere. On his departure day, I watch him being picked up by an airport service and confirm his flight took off on schedule. I head to my bathroom and remove my beard and hide my longer hair under a baseball cap. The condo manager gladly provides ‘Will’ with a spare key when I tell him I lost mine.

Will’s condo is very nice with an open floorplan. There’s 3 bedrooms and 3.5 baths. The lower level is a 2 car garage, lots of storage, a large video recording studio and utility room. His silver Porsche 911 Cabrio is parked next to a motorcycle. On the wall is some leather gear, boots and helmet. The 2nd floor has a large living room with exposed brick walls, huge flat screen, fireplace, bar, gourmet kitchen with top end stainless steel appliances and a personal office. The 3rd floor is all bedrooms with a huge master suite with large bathroom and large walk in closet. The one spare bedroom is sparsely decorated with just a bed, dresser and chair. The other bedroom is mostly empty. It’s a great ‘crib’ but I’m certain daddy helped pay for most of it.

I get to work quickly with my plans.  I try to check out his studio’s computer but its password protected and I can’t get it to unlock. This isn’t a problem after I plug in a thumb drive with keystroke tracker and some other tricks. In a minute, I gain access to all his computers and social media accounts.  The password was his usual password but backwards.

His iMac Pro is a wealth of information – full of his unedited videos, speeches and even a digital diary. I thought he stopped doing a diary in 11th grade but apparently not. He updated it just this morning before leaving. I’m sitting there for hours reviewing his life since I left. His comments about my death and funeral are cruel to say the least.  He blames me for fucking up life with my death, how mom & dad are glad it’s over and they’re all better off. Even my father agreed with him. That’s fine by me, they won’t miss Will at all when I take his place.

I decide to spend the night here and continue my studying. In his basement studio there is a green screen, professional video cameras and teleprompters set up in one corner which he uses to make his cutesy videos. I turn on the equipment, click on a file and up pops the words to his last blog on the teleprompter. On another display in front of the green screen pops up the empty stool where he sits. On the stool is a remote I believe is for controlling everything. I plop my ass down, face the camera, and see myself, or Will on the display in front of me. I fuss with my hair to give me Will’s prominent cowlick, press ‘record’ and the words start moving for me to perform. “What’s up guys, Will Witt for Prager U” I repeat his performance, then delete file before passing out at 2am, after seeing his posts on landing in Washington DC. 

LOOKING THE PART

My brother prides himself on his hair, especially the huge cowlick that he’s proud of. According to his calendar, he had a haircut a few days before leaving for Washington. I make myself at home taking a shower, and pulling on some of his clothes – dark gray skinny jeans, t-shirt, jacket and his black high top converse sneakers. I’m missing his clunky watch and ring he wears all the time, and also his rope crystal necklace he’s been wearing since he was 15. The one time I was with one of his girlfriends, not having that necklace on, gave away my identity. I jump in Will’s Porsche and find a salon with a great google rating. I ask for my usual and show her pics from two days ago. They’re very close up and detailed. In half an hour, I’m smiling at Will in the mirror, running my hand through his cowlick. 

Back home, I pull in to the garage and before I can close the door, some pretty little thing is running over to me. 

“Will! Hey there, I’m glad I caught you.”

“Oh hey, you caught me.” I smile and act surprise.

“Tammy and I are having a party tonight.” She hands me a flyer ‘Jen and Tam’s Big Party’.

“That sounds like a blast, ‘Jen’.” Hoping she’s the ‘Jen’ on the flyer.

“I was just going to slip it in your mailbox. Thought you were going to Washington or someplace exotic again.”

“My DC trip was postponed, so I’m here.” I give her a typical Will smile. 

“Washington’s lost is our gain. You have to come. Besides you can crawl home if you get drunk like unlike last time.”

“I’ll try my best but super busy here.” I chuckle with her, not sure what she’s referring to but Will’s diary will probably help me remember some of it. I’d love to go but there’ll be lots of iPhones around and plenty of pics/videos posted on social media.

A friend sent me a lot of WiFi HD fiberoptic video cameras and microphones to bug my brother’s place. I place a few in each room then sync them to my iPad. Walking from room to room I test them all for activation. It takes all day to hide them properly. Later on, Will’s latest VLOGs and antics from Washington start appearing on his desktop. 

His video reminds me how different our styles are. Will was always conservative dresser while I went for the grunge look. His videos confirm his tastes haven’t changed at all except becoming more expensive. I’m making myself at home – it’s going to be my future home soon anyway. With my new haircut, it only takes a little of his gel to look exactly like him.

 It was always fun turning myself into Will when we were younger, it’s still a turn on now. I print out some pics from his PC files, showing various outfit he’s worn.  I’ve got to nail his ‘look’ perfectly for my future life. There’s one of him in a sharp black suit, white shirt and black tie playing a piano, with a red lapel thingy at a Prager U gala a month ago. We both took piano lesson but I was always a little better.

It’s easy finding the outfit in his very organized closet.  He took it off, left the lapel pin in and probably hasn’t worn it since. There’s a video of the gala in his files that I watch, providing me glimpses of his shoes and watch. I strip out of his jeans, and into the outfit. I couldn’t find his watch – it’s probably in Washington on him but I slip on his pinky ring and a different watch from his jewelry box. Back in the studio, I start a new file – Prager Gala, pretending that I’m Will being interviewed about the night’s events. I sit on the stool, hit record and adlib the event starting with Will’s signature “What’s up Guys” intro, including flashing his two fingers. Being Will is all very natural for me. I’m up half the night learning the equipment, checking out his videos and closet. I just need a few weeks of studying him before I replace him. 

To access his cell phone, a friend puts me in contact with a local guy who clones Will’s iPhone. It costs $2000 but I now see his text messages, calendar and listen to his voicemails. I can also listen in on his calls while he’s talking to people. I can’t speak to them, and they can’t hear me but it’s perfect timing. With him in Washington, his entire life is going through his cell phone, providing me with up to the minute information. He’s working on his schedule for the next few months. With access to all this, I’m learning who his coworkers are, listening to work conference calls, what they’re working on and what Will’s job entails as Prager’s ‘social media influencer’.

Will has a spare set of keys for our parent’s place so I visit just to see what changes have been made while I’ve been gone. The most obvious change is the lack of pictures of me. Their mantel has no pics of Will and I together. It almost looks like they have only one son – that I never existed. Everything else is pretty much how it was three years ago. As I was leaving, Mrs. Tarantolo, their neighbor sees “Will” and comes running over to say hello. She thought it was sweet I was keeping an eye on their place while they were away “Such a good son.”  She claims to be my biggest fan and hasn’t missed any of my videos. She’s clueless about me, as she should – when even our parents couldn’t tell the difference, I’m not worried about anyone. 

My week consists of listening, watching and reading everything he’s up to. I take his Porsche out to grab lunch or dinner to remote places so I’m not seen by anyone that could know him. A few times, fans mistake me for Will and I sign autographs using “What’s Up Guys”. They’re thrilled and its harmless fun for me.  

The week flies by and I return to my apartment across the road.  I return the spare condo key to the manager after making a duplicate of it. On schedule, Will returns via  LAX shuttle service. My surveillance system works perfectly as he moves around his condo.  I see him taking a shower, changing into sweats and working in his studio.  His buddy Mike arrives later with pizza and they brainstorm in the studio about their next VLOG and ‘man in the street’ topics. Listening to their banter helps me learn the lingo and their personal relationship.

Will has not changed a bit since I left Los Angeles – same old anal retentive asshole. It’s fun watching and learning about him. He’s still an avid runner, and like clockwork, he does five miles around a nearby park most mornings. Prager U is just a few miles away and he’s there daily unless he’s traveling. He has a new girlfriend he casually hooks up with but it’s not serious, so that’ll be easy. He writes about meeting her in his diary. He’s got his work schedule planned for the next few months and I know enough to handle it. After a few weeks, my gut is telling me I’m ready to be Will Witt. 

Will’s next major trip is to London for a scheduled Turning Point USA promotion/MOTS and speech at Oxford University – same as he did at Stanford. My plan is to replace him when he arrives home. This gives me another 10 days to get up to speed with his life. I watch him pack, see LAX shuttle service pick him up and confirm his plane took off as scheduled. I make myself at home but keep a low profile, rarely going out. 

Between his phone and computer, I’m kept busy 24 hours/day just keeping up with his life. He’s definitely a video freak, not only recording content for Prager but also everything else like his hotel room, what he had for breakfast, his shopping excursions. I can’t wait to wear his new $7000 bespoke suit he purchased during his shopping expedition on Saville Row. I listen in on his phone calls with our parents, his friends and girlfriend Lisa. This helps me get up to speed with what’s going on in his life. Mom & Dad meet Will for lunch at his hotel, then go to see Hamilton. There’s plenty of selfies and videos to make his life mine. He’s spending a fortune on food, wine, clothes, cigars and trinkets. 

A few hours before he returns, I’m armed with chloroform, truth serum and various knock out drugs.  I hide in his bedroom, ready to pounce with a heavily soaked rag of chloroform. It’s almost enough to knock me out just holding it. 

HONEY I’M HOME

The door lock jiggles and Will enters, plopping his luggage inside the door. He makes a beeline to kitchen and opens the refrigerator. He’s there quite a while before I hear him dragging his very large suitcases up the stairs. I’m crotched in the corner, behind the door as he struggles to get both bags through. The perfect moment happens when one of the bags get stuck in the door jam and I hear him say ‘fuck’. In a split second, I pounce and have the chloroform soaked rag over his nose and mouth. A split second after that, he almost falls to the floor as I catch him. I drag him out into the hallway, and finish putting his bags in the bedroom.

“Welcome home Will, have a good trip?” I look down at him passed out and ask.

“Awesome trip man, had fun with the TP USA team, saw Hamilton with the parents, and hit up lots of pubs and cigars. I’ll have to show you all the pics I took.” I respond to  myself in Will’s typical enthusiastic lingo.  

I drag Will to the empty bedroom and start stripping him. Of course, he’s in a sport coat and tie to travel. It’s so ‘Will’ I think as I carefully remove everything from him, amazed at how alike we still are. I strip off my old sweat pants and t-shirt and put them on him. I pull him up into a metal chair I anchored to the floor, then handcuff his hands and feet so he can’t move an inch. I kneel down next to him, grab his face, then rotate it side to side to check his appearance close up. My sideburns are about a quarter inch too long so I head to my bathroom and trim them to match exactly. 

 I carry ‘my’ clothes back to my new bedroom and slowly start my transformation into Will. I love pulling on the outfit he’s been wearing all day—his sweat and scents mixing with mine. Everything is still warm as I put on his black briefs and socks. His charcoal dress pants fit perfectly as I pull them up. His shirt has gunmetal gray cufflinks and is monogrammed on the sleeve with our initials ‘WCW’. I pulled the black lace up shoes off his feet without untying them. I wiggle into them, tuck in my shirt and fasten my belt. In the bathroom mirror I put on his tie using the same technique dad taught both of us.  I pull on his cool black sport coat with large dark gray plaid patterns. There’s a video of him wearing this outfit for red carpet Oscar interviews. I check his breast pockets, locating his iPhone, keys and wallet.  Tucked inside an outside pocket are his glasses. Slipping on his ring, leather wrist band and watch completes my transformation into Will Witt. I adjust my hair using his Cremo hair cream—Will is always fussing with his hair. Staring in the mirror, I only see Will Witt, just as he was traveling first class earlier. I grin at myself as I adjust my shirt cuffs and admire my looks. I do his usual MOTS intro flawlessly – “What’s Up Guys”. From this moment on, I’m Will Witt and no one will have a clue I’m not. 

My iPhone buzzes in my suit pocket, it’s Will’s girlfriend, Lisa calling. 

“Hey Lisa, I just got in the door babe.” I answer watching myself in the mirror, smiling and playing Will flawlessly.

“I thought you would be, I’ve missed you so much Will.” She whispers seductively.

“Same, may I take you out for dinner?” I ask as charmingly as Will does, remembering their conversation from a day ago, and Will promising dinner and a surprise.

“I would love that.”

“Great, I’ll pick you up at 7, Let’s dress up and go someplace nice. I’ll wear a suit and tie.” This gives me the afternoon to get settled into my new life. 

“Okay Will, can’t wait.”

“Bye Babe.” Will’s cutesy name he uses for all his girlfriends.

‘It’s show time’ I think to myself. I head back to my brother who’s finally starting to stir from the chloroform. I start slapping his face and he becomes more aware.

“Wake up Willy, Willy wake up.” I say playfully. 

He looks confused, slowly recognizing me, his eyes bug out, then starts to struggle. “But you’re dead?”

“Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. Don’t struggle bro, you’ll only hurt yourself.” I laugh at him.

“What’s going on Willy? Why are you in my clothes?”

“From now on, please call me Will and they’re now my clothes. I just got back from London and I’m really jet lagged.” I stand proudly, straighten my tie then reach into my breast pocket for my new wallet.

“Asshole, what do you think you’re doing?” he yells and gets pissed as he’s now fully awake.

“Well, remember when you planted drugs in my locker, turned me into the school principle and ruined my life?”

“Yeah, that was a good one! They all bought it too. Got rid of you for good.” He laughs.

 “Well, laugh all you want.  I’m borrowing your life.”

“You’ll never get away with this. Whatever you are planning, won’t work.” He predicts.

“Well I’m taking Lisa out to dinner tonight to celebrate my return. In other words, I need pussy but Will doesn’t talk like that. Let me rephrase it – I’m taking my girlfriend out for dinner and hopefully make love to her. Better?”  I leaf through my wallet checking it out, pulling out the debit card. “Bro, is your PIN still 8991? I may need some cash for my date. You only have a $40 in here.”

By the look on his face, I know he never changed is PIN. “Thanks bro, just needed to confirm that.” 

“She’ll know you’re not me, don’t even try it.”

“Bro, you’re talking to the guy who fooled all your girlfriends in high school. You’ve been dating her for what? About 6 weeks after meeting her at Jen’s last party where you got wasted and don’t remember getting home.”

“You’ve been reading my private diary?” 

“Well, you could say it’s my diary. So, I was just reviewing my life for the past few years.” I laugh at him. “Which brings me to a new issue – where should I take her for dinner, and do afterwards?”

“Fuck yourself.” He yells.

“Bro, I’m hoping to fuck her, not myself. You don’t want me to do something brash, ‘unWill like’ and ruin your relationship do you? I bet she doesn’t even know you have a twin brother, am I right?” I laugh at him. 

“Willy, what are you doing? Just untie me and I’ll forget this ever happened. I promise.” Trying to soften me up.

“Let’s get this straight, for the time being, I’m Will Witt, you’re nothing, don’t call me that again.” I yell at him. “Now, you’re going to help me be you or I’m going to really fuck up your life. You know I can do it. If you lie to me, there will be repercussions. Do not test me.”

“Okay.” He responds defeated.

“Okay, what?” I demand.

“Okay Will. Lisa loves Italian and there’s this little family owned restaurant called ‘Papa Joe’s’ near her house. She loves it and so do I. That’s where I was planning on taking her tonight. I always get the ‘Lombardo’ dish with an ice tea of course.” He answers defeated. 

“That’s good information bro, I really appreciate that.” I watch his face and have always been able to tell when he was lying. “What after that? What are her limits?  I need everything to be you with her. Give me the full history.”

He proceeds to tell me everything I need to know about Lisa – at least I hope so. 

“Now I need details about my job.  I know where you work, and what you do but more details about the people, office layout, where your office is and how I get in?” He gives me looks that could kill. “What’s up guys?” I mock him with his catch phrase. 

“My work ID badge gives me complete access anytime. It’s in the front pocket of my backpack. I have an office on the second floor, just left as you get out of the elevator. My name is on the door. You can’t miss it.”

“What do you do when you first get there, in the morning? Routine? Pals? Coffee? conference room? Where do you go for lunch? I need it all Willy. You don’t want me to mess up your perfect little life, do you?” I subtly threaten him.

Once I pump him for everything, I grab the bag from the corner, pull out a needle and inject him. He screams at me for about two minutes then become docile. I walk him to the bathroom and order him to relieve himself. Once secured back in his chair, I give him dose of Midazolam that will keep him out for 12 hours and put a ball gag in his mouth. I shut and lock the bedroom door, head back to my master bedroom finishing my unpacking. 

I slip easily into Will’s routine.  My shirts and suits will go to my cleaner per the receipts in the Porsche, the rest go into the washer. Carefully tucked inside his luggage is his new Saville Row Huntsman, a few new dress shirts and the Big Ben charm I bought Lisa in London. I can’t help but try on the new suit, admiring the fit and material. I head downstairs and see Will’s work backpack he has with him all the time. I take it down to the studio office and start going through the content…. A few cameras, my passport, iPad and MacBook Pro.  There’s a printout of my next Prager assignments and hand notes he made in the margins. I find his work ID, clip it to my suit, repack his backpack and head to the office. 

A DAY IN THE LIFE

I’ve followed Will to Prager U but have never stepped foot inside. I pull into an empty parking lot, and park in his assigned spot. Will says no one is ever there but he sometimes goes in to get a jump on Monday. My ID badge opens the main door. I easily find his office and make myself at home. On the wall I notice the signed photograph of Reagan that dad treasures and wonder how Will has it. I plop my backpack on the chair next to my desk and start exploring. I open my MacBook and it starts syncing with the LAN. I easily log in and upload my videos as Will does after all his events, according to his logs.  

I explore the entire building and everything is as he described – Boss’ office, video production, media center, studio, executive conference room etc. I confidently walk around taking in the names of my coworkers. In the men’s room, I smile at Will in the mirror and clean out my coffee mug. 

Back in the office, I settle into my desk and go thru my drawers, check my work email and respond to some.  I hear someone coming up the stairs, calling my new name, approaching my office.  I recognize it immediately as Will’s producer and friend – Mike.

“In here.” I yell out to him.

He pops his head around the corner. “Welcome back, how was your flight?”

“Uneventful, good to be home but jet lag.” I casually answer.

“My flight yesterday was delayed an hour from Chicago but not too bad.”

I heard their last conversation before Will took off this am, and continued it. “I’m good with the final edits from MOTS, just uploaded it so Alexander can add the graphics.” 

I pull up the video, knowing Will made a few cuts on the flight over, and show it to him.  

“You’ve been busy man, looks great. You want to grab lunch?” 

“Sure, you drive and pick.” I can’t resist the thought of testing my ‘Will skills’. 

Mike takes me to ‘In & Out’ for burgers.  He doesn’t suspect a thing, readily accepting me as his friend and coworker.  We talk about the trip, work and future trips. I feel as if I was actually there. He drops me off and I head back to my office and continue to familiarize myself with everything for a few more hours. 

My big test will be ‘my’ girlfriend Lisa.  I stay in Will’s slick outfit, donning his favorite Ray-Bans for the drive. She’s waiting for me outside and jumps into my car. Her unexpected full tongue kiss surprises me but I quickly adjust and give her full tongue back. We make out for a minute then I take her to Papa Joe’s.  Will was telling the truth, Lisa lights up as I pull in front and valet the Porsche. I use my brother’s pics, diary, blogs and text messages to talk about my London trip. When desert comes, I spring the Big Ben charm on her. She leans in tenderly, kisses me deeply and invites me to spend the night. 

At her place, we strip and jump right into bed.  In minutes, she’s moaning as I work her pussy, slowly penetrating it with the tip of my head. She starts moaning softly ‘oh Will, oohhh Will’ making me harder, pushing deeper into her as she climaxes. I explode in her, then collapse onto my back as she curls up under my arm and we fall to sleep.  She wakes me up with a blow job and homemade pancakes – Will’s favorite she notes. I’m not a big pancake fan but eat them eagerly as Will would. I’ve replaced Will completely and now have his sexy girlfriend. 

DAY TWO

I check on Willy when I get home and he’s starting to stir. My schedule today calls for video editing at Prager U with Gavi and Mike. I take a quick shower put on an outfit that screams ‘preppy conservative’ – which isn’t difficult as that’s all Will has in his closet, making my job easy. 

I pop my head in to the bedroom and see that he’s wide awake.

“Morning sunshine.” I cheerfully say.

“Let me the fuck out of these straps now!” he mumbles as I remove the ballgag.

“Sure thing, but first a little shot so you can take a dump and eat a little something. Hungry?”

“No, don’t drug me, it’s a fucking weird feeling.” He pleas.

“Sorry man, I can’t chance you getting free and having a fake Will running around.”

“You’re the fake Will, ass wipe.” He screams.

“Hmmm Lisa and Mike didn’t think so.  I ran into Mike in the office yesterday while uploading my latest VLOG and MOTS video, then had lunch with him.  He’s a good friend of mine. Oh, and Lisa… Damn did I hit her sweet spot last night as she moaned my name softly in my ears. She really loved the Big Ben charm I got her and the ‘Big Will’ I gave her. I think I’m in love bro.” I grab my crotch so he knows what I’m talking about. 

“You fucking bastard!!  Fucking asshole!! You’ll be caught. You can’t slip into my life that easily.” He screams.

“Now, now, Willy.  Guess you didn’t notice the video and audio bugs I installed throughout my new condo or the keystroke tracker on your computers. I’ve been catching up with you since Stanford. Your condo manager was gracious enough to give me a key after you lost it.” I run and grab my iPad and play some of the videos for him, then I show him the cloned phone and play his last conversation with Mike. 

“Guess I don’t need this cloned phone any longer. I have to admit, you’re quite the busy person. Your phone never stops ringing and beeping but don’t worry, I’m keeping up.”

“Fuck you Willy!  When I get free, you’re going to jail or worst.”

“If you get free, which I doubt. If you haven’t noticed, you’re bolted to the floor. Oh, don’t worry, I’ll have new carpet installed at some point. Nice thing bro – between my bank account and yours, I’m quite wealthy with a lot of future potential. In fact, after this gig, I’m thinking of running for office. Dad would love it and back me financially.”

He mutters. “Fucker.”

“Hey bro, don’t worry, I’m taking good care of your life. Enjoying it immensely, especially Lisa. She really knows how to wake me up but I’m not big on the pancakes.”

He thrashes back and forth in the chair screaming more obscenities at me.

 “Bro, seriously, how do I look? Do you approve my work outfit? I’ve noticed this sport coat is one of your favorites. Oh, and my new suit from London fits great and feels incredible. I just had to try it on.” I taunt him while adjusting my shirt sleeves and checking my watch.

“What are you doing here?” he quietly demands.

“Well the drug career pays quite well but is extremely dangerous.  After seeing you at Stanford, I decided a career change was necessary. Don’t you agree it’s a good career move?”

“You’ll never fool them for long.  There are things only I could know. You’ll tripped up.  What about mom and dad?”

“Are you serious?” I laugh out loud. “Mom and dad could never tell us apart, you know that. I did visit the house while you were in London and from the pictures displayed, it looks like I, Will, am an only child. They’re the least of my worries.”

“Oh, they’ll know you’re not me.”

“Why would they? Just look at me bro. I was always a better you than you, when I wanted to be. I do have to get fully up to speed with my new life, friends and girlfriend but that’s what all my new drugs are for. I kind of like your style so I’ll only wear what you already have in your closet.  I’m enjoying your preppy style. I think I’m rocking the Will look, you have to admit it.” I tug on my sleeves not interested in his rants.

“What about work?” He counters.

“Oh bro, that’ll be easy too. I’ve watched all your videos – the work and personal, edited and unedited. I taught myself iMovie to edit my MOTSs for uploading. I’ve seen you brainstorm with Mike on MOTS topics and question. It’s amazing how we even think alike politically. I’m ahead of schedule for today.  Like the anal person you are, I was in the office all afternoon while you were sleeping. I cleaned out my scummy coffee mug, organized my desk and left a note for Alexander on the graphics I’d like to see before the end of today. I can’t wait to meet the boss, have been a fan of his for years.”

“You can’t be me!” He slumps his shoulder in deeper defeat. 

“I am you, no one will have a clue I’m not.” 

I inject him with truth serum and a powerful muscle relaxer.  By the time I come back with breakfast, he’s docile and defeated. A few protein bars, quick trip to bathroom and he’s safely secured again. The truth serum is remarkable. I have a totally different discussion with him.

“Hey bro, how do I look? You like?” I spin around to model my outfit.

“I’ve worn that exact outfit before I think.”

“Thank you, now see, it wasn’t too hard to be nice, now was it?”

He spills his guts to me about all his coworkers, and what he thinks of them. While he’s drugged, I hit him up on family issues and his feelings towards me. He basically threatens to kill me and will since I’m already dead. It’s been on his mind since he woke up chained to the chair. I snicker to myself, knowing he’s the one who’s days are numbered. It’s almost time for work today, so I knock him out for another 12 hours.

My first day of work is a breeze.  I visit Alexander and review the graphics I want. Mike and I review the schedule and brainstorm future MOTSs and VLOGs. Will has the easy part and probably makes the most money. Prager’s staff writes his MOTS questions and helps him with upcoming speeches. He provides the topic, they handle it from there. Will was good enough to do my outline for his University of Texas speech next week. I turn them in and talk to Marissa, our content producer. I have the best gig – I just need to be the hip preppy conservative face of Prager U and get to travel all around the world. 

When I’m leaving Marrisa’s office, I run into Dennis Prager, the president of Prager University. He puts his arm around me and leads me back to his office.

“Will, good to see you, how was London? I just saw your rough video and it’s great”

“Thank you, Mr. Prager. London was great.” I respond and his face immediately looks puzzled.

“Since when am I Mr. Prager?”

“Dennis, sorry it just came out. I’m still out of sorts with jet lag and the British are so formal.”  I try to recover.

“I understand boy, plus you probably had too much wine and cigars I’m sure.”

“I sure did. I brought a few Charatan Robustos back with me” I chuckle knowing their conversations about them and using them to solidify my identity.

“And you’re not sharing? Will, Will, Will, how could you?” 

“I’ll bring them in tomorrow.” 

“Let’s grab lunch son.” 

I can’t believe I’m having lunch with Dennis Prager. He’s thrilled with ‘my’ work, wants me to do more TV appearances like Fox & Friends but also liberal networks. My ratings are through the roof. I talk about my London trip, showing him pics of my parents and selfies I took. We talk politics, going back and forth on issues. We get back to the office and I easily fit in and learn the ropes. By the end of the day, I’m very pleased with my new life. I pass on happy hour claiming I’m still of out sorts due to jet lag. 

CHECKING IN

Back home I check Willy. He’s awake but groggy.

“What’s up guy? How was your day?” I ask cockily as I strut in.

“How do you think, you sick fuck.”

“So sorry to hear that. My day was awesome. My latest VLOG and MOTS are killing it. I had lunch with my friend Dennis and he wants me to do more TV spots. It was probably the best day of your life, I mean my life.”

“My life! You fucker, my life.” He screams with pure rage.

“Wow bro, you smell. We’ll have to get you a shower but first I need to change. Be right back.”

I run to my closet and throw on a pair of running shorts and a Prager t-shirt. I keep my cell phone on me as it’s been going off all day. When I get back to Willy, he starts yelling at me.

“What are you up to? Did you get me fired? The truth, you owe me that at least.”

I laugh. “Now why would I mess up my career bro?”

“It’s my life and career. You’re going to pay for this you fucking asshole.” He continues to rant. 

“I’ve had enough of you already.” I grab the ball gag, shove it in his mouth and he starts thrashing again. My phone rings, it’s Mike calling.

“Hey Mike, What’s up?” Willy’s eye light up watching me.

“No, I’m fine, it was just jetlag and you know me…I tried all the beers and cigars in the pubs…Yeah buddy…thanks for your concern.”  I hang up and look at Willy. “Hey that Jetlag excuse will be good for another few days till I get the groove completely.”

He starts mumbling again but the phone rings again with Lisa calling. 

“Hey babe, how was your day?” I sincerely ask. Willy starts squirming and getting louder. 

“Hey babe, hang on, I’ve got my producer calling.” I put her on hold, walk over to Willy and gut punch him with all my force. I impale him and he shuts up.

“Sorry babe, did I thank you for last night?...Oh yeah, I’d love to but I’ve got a lot to catch up with…My parents are coming back Wednesday from their European vacation and we’re suppose to do dinner Thursday? Would love for you to meet them….Okay… love ya.” 

“Bro, see how easy this gig is for me? I still need you for some additional information like the combination to the safe in your office.” He stares at me but is keeping quiet. I grab my little box of drugs and mellow Willy out.  A quick shower, shit and change of clothes and he’s back in his chair. I feed him a sub and water that he quickly inhales. 

“Now Willy, what’s the number to my safe?”

“Go fuck yourself.” he mumbles.

“Willy, you know I could give you some truth serum or beat it out of you.”

“17858” he spits out as in disgust. 

I head down to his safe and open it up.  Inside is a gun, his birth certificate, social security card, and a stack of other seemingly important papers. I grab it all and take head up to review with Willy.

“Nice Glock Willy, let’s review what’s in my safe and why it’s there. Some quality bonding time. Most of this I know but the rest?”  I ask nicely.

“My contract with Prager U, noncompete, mom & dad’s will, my will, some stocks dad gave me.”

I leaf through it, reading it all and ignoring Willy. In between docs, I feed him some granola bars from the kitchen. I play with the unloaded gun in front of him, on purpose. I’ll have a use for it soon.

“Ok brother, more work questions. There’s ‘PR shots’ on calendar for tomorrow afternoon. What’s with that?”

“Joel, our CMO set them up.  It’s just ‘glamour’ pics for his new marketing campaign.”

“Oh, so that’s what my new suit is for I’m guessing. The email to Joel saying you’re all set after you bought it?”

“Yeah, please don’t fuck things up for me Willy. I’ve worked hard this past year.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m Will.” I gut punch him again.

“I’m sorry Will.” He cries in pain.

“That’s better Willy. So, tell me what to expect.”

“Easy, take suit to work, some of my shirts, ties and jewelry.  Collette in our makeup will take care of the rest. Just smile and do what they tell you in front of the camera.” he answers, still in pain.

“Shoes?”

“The black derbies I had on yesterday, I bought for shoot specifically, wanted them broken in. Doesn’t matter though – they only shoot from waist up.”

“Now that’s more like it. Don’t fight me, help me so I don’t fuck up your life.” as if he’s ever getting it back, I think to myself. 

“Yes Will.”

HANGING WITH FRIENDS

“Now, my friend Tommy wants to go out tonight, grab dinner. What would ‘Will’ do?” 

“He wants to do 71Above – it’s the highest restaurant west of the Mississippi. Tricia, his friend is host there and can get us in. Very high end, suit and tie required.”

“That sounds great.”

“Yeah, he’s picking me up, I’m paying.”

“I’m paying!” I correct him. “What were you going to wear?”

“There’s a black Tom Ford suit with a red lapel pin on it, I’ve only worn it once for a few hours. White shirt and any tie.”

“Oh yes, my outfit from the Prager gala where I played ‘blue moon’ on the piano. What tie, what shirt?” I demand.

He looks at me shocked. “There’s a new gold paisley tie, white spread collar shirt with cufflinks.”

“Why thank you brother. I better go and get ready.” I shove another granola bar in his mouth.

I easily assemble the outfit he was going to wear. After all my spying, I’m sure I would have selected something as tasteful. I skip the gold paisley and decide on a ‘men in black�� look, almost exactly as he had on at the gala. A quick shower, 20 minutes with my hair and another 20 to dress and I’m still 36 minutes early for Tommy.

“How do I look Willy? Now be honest.” I ask walking into the bedroom.

He checks me out head to toe. “You look good Will. You’re wearing my good watch?”

“My good watch brother, remember? You wore your smaller ring at the gala but I stuck with what I had on coming back from London. I think I looks great. Went with the gold black onyx cufflinks. And dude I even had my name embossed inside the suit, sweet!” I open up my jacket.

“You’ve been watching my videos.” He realizes.

“Of course, and reading your diary, all the way back to when dad drove me to ‘New Starts’ and abandoned me. I’m good Willy, been watching you for a month.”

Just then my phone rings in breast pocket. I pull it out and see it’s Tommy.

“Now keep quiet Willy or you know what’ll happen.” I warn him as I answer. “What’s up Tommy? On your way…yeah early is good, I’m ready… Okay, that sounds good, see you soon.”

“Please don’t drug me bro, I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

“Sorry Willy, can’t take any chances. Besides, Tommy mentioned about having a drink when he gets here. Sounds like it’s routine for you guys. What does he drink?”

“Rum and Coke, lots in the fridge just for him.”

I grab the knock out needle and give him a dose.  He doesn’t fight me at all.

“Why thank you bro. I’ll see you later tonight maybe, if you’re awake.” I laugh as I leave and lock the door. 

Tommy walks in without knocking, making his way to my bar as I make my way down the stairs. He sees me and lifts the glasses.

“The usual?” 

“Sure, sounds good to me.”  he’s right at home, grabbing the rum and coke.

“Cheers!” he hands me one, we clink glasses and swig.

I follow Tommy’s lead the entire evening but I know enough about Will to discuss his trip, girlfriend and work. Tommy talks about his auditions for a few movies and a commercial. Sadly for him, I’m a bigger celebrity than he is, as a few people ask for my autograph while waiting to be seated. Tricia has seats for us right next to the window with the best view of LA. It a fun night as a few of Tricia’s friends join us. It’s easy playing Will and his friends. I have everything put on my tab. Thank god he has an early audition for a new Marvel movie, so we leave and I’m home by midnight. 

MORE WORK

I’m up early but Willy is out cold still. He looks like death, probably from all the injections and being upright on the chair for days. Not that I really care as it gives me more ‘Will Time’. To keep in character, I put on some of his work out gear, grab my iPod and do my usual run around the park. I work up quite the sweat but it probably helps with all the alcohol Tommy and I consumed. I check on Willy and he’s now awake and not happy. A quick injection allows me to get him relieved and toss him in the shower. He’s not putting up any resistance so I give him breakfast, leave him in the tub but making sure to securely handcuff him to a grip bar. I take my morning shower in the same shower so I can keep an eye on him.

Willy is so beaten that he’s stopped resisting completely and is cooperative even. Believing that by helping me, I’ll get what I want from him and leave him to his old life. What he’s doing is sealing his fate faster. Once I no longer need him, we’ll head up to my parent’s cabin in the mountains and he’ll be fertilizer. 

After I towel off, I sit on the toilet seat next to Willy.

“How you feeling Willy?” I ask trying to sound concerned.

“Please Will, can I stay here in the tub all day? I promise I’ll be good.”

“I think I can do that but you have to be knocked out. But sure thing. Tommy is a fun guy bro. He sure loves his rum & cokes. We had a blast. I think he was hurt that women were coming up to me for my autograph but not him.”

“Yeah, that’s happened before when we’re out.” He looks really down.

“What is it bro? you look sad.”

“What do you think? I’m chained up and I can’t believe people are falling for your act.” he gets a little feisty.

“Come on bro, how could they not think I was anybody but Will Witt? Don’t worry, no one suspects a thing, so we’re good but I need your help with today’s schedule – sorta of ‘what would Will do’ session just to make sure I don’t fuck anything up for you. Okay?”

“Sure Will, it’s what I live for.” he responds sarcastically.

“How do you come up with the topics for your MOTSs?” 

“Who do you think? Dad, you know how opinionated he is. When we had dinner in London, he rattled off six topics for me to cover and things he’d ask these snowflakes.”

“Ah I thought you sounded a lot like dad when interviewing people. That explains the notes on your iPad. By the way, I’m having dinner with the rents Friday night, having them meet Lisa.”  I just smile at him. “Now about today’s pics, what should I wear? ‘What would Will wear’?”

“We’ve been through this – my new bespoke suit.”

“Exactly what you’d wear today – into the office and for the shoot. I’m just trying to help you Willy.”

“Dennis is always pushing for me in more suits and ties, to be taken more seriously outside the campus forum. Keep it simple – black button down shirt, my charcoal brooks brothers suit. For the shoot, the bespoke of course and take all my new dress shirts and ties, many pairs of cufflinks. I love my gold paisley tie, the one you wore last night. Hopefully you didn’t ruin it.”

“No, I went with a black tie, so the paisley is fine.”

“There’s a large suit bag in the back of my closet that can hold everything you’ll need.’

“I have to tell you bro, I’m gaining a real appreciation for your closet. My tastes have really matured in the past months. What’s with the glasses though?”

“They’re for eye strain bro, giving my eyes a break now from the contact lenses. I also wear them for important interviews or meetings where I want to look more mature and smarter.”

“Well your glasses and contacts work great for me too. My eyes have been changing but I never had them checked. Now, what about the shoot? Who’s going to be there?  How does it work? What does Will do?” I press him.

“It’s a larger version of my down stair studio. Someone will come get me when it’s my turn, take me to changing room, then make up, then to the set – green screen. It’s easy really.  There’ll be people in and out all day long.”

“People like who?”

“Candace, Charlie Kirk, Dave Rubin, Guy Benson and many others.  It’ll be a few days of craziness.”

“Nice!  Do I have any nicknames or personal things with any of them?  Like, how do you address Candace? or Charlie?” He stutters and hesitates. “Spill it or more drugs. Besides, you don’t want me to fuck up anything with your friends now do you?”

“Candace is ‘Candy’ jokingly, she’s getting married in a few weeks.” He continues with the others. I’ll use the information but it sounds childish – something a more mature, evolving Will would never use.  I’ll phase that nonsense out. 

“Good to know. Thanks. I’ve got to get ready for work.” I grin at him.

Dennis Prager alluded to my evolving image during lunch and that I should be wearing more conservative outfits. I agree completely with the boss and love the image. With that in mind, I ignore Willy’s suggestion and go ultra conservative. I remember a beautiful light blue shirt with white contrasting collar and cuffs that ‘I’ve’ worn a few times. It would be ultra conservative with my gray Brooks. 

In Will fashion, I lay out my work outfit on the bed, adding all the details. When I’m satisfied, I pull it on my underwear and socks, pull on my pants.  After I add the belt, I pull on the Brooks shirt.  To keep with the Brooks theme, as Will likes to do, I select the Brooks tie that he wore previously. The whole image screams ultra conservative and looks great. I add white gold cufflinks, his smaller ring and gold watch. I pull on the jacket and stare at myself in the mirror. I put some gel in my hair then fix it exactly as in the pic I found in an old MOTS video. Oh, almost forgot my tie clip. He’s famous on Instagram for his tie clips? I clip one on and it completes my image. I flash a Will smile and fingers. “What’s Up Guys?”. 

I must have nailed the look because when I entered the toilet, Willy’s mouth dropped. In the bathroom mirror, I admire myself, tug on my cuffs and adjust my tie. I don’t say a word.

“Well aren’t you Will Witt.” He comments snidely but I ignore him for a few more minutes as I run my hand thru my hair.

“Who else would I be?” I turn around to face him. “What’s Up Guys, Will Witt for Prager U.” flash my peace sign to him, pretending I’m holding a microphone.

“Probably a better choice for today. No pocket square Will?” 

“Oh shit, totally didn’t notice.”

“In drawer under jewelry box.”  He answers me without even asking. I run to his closet, find a nice silk white one neatly folded in a square. I tuck it in my suit pocket and check myself out in the mirror quickly.

“Better?” He’s silent.

I pull out his preppy glasses and put on and off. “Glasses, no glasses?” I look at him.

“I don’t care, up to you.” 

“Know what, think I’ll have pics taken both ways. I think they make me look older, which would kill my ‘frat boy’ image on college campuses but might help me with the older generation.” I turn to look at his expression but he looks broken. “I love this suit bro, it fits me great. I made sure the knot was right by noting the length of the tie, and location of stripes. Not used to wearing one, almost forgot the tie clip – my fans would have blown up over such a faux pas.”

“True, they watch everything I post.”

“Ok bro, I need to get to work, busy day ahead. I’ll probably be late tonight because Mike wants to do Furley’s for happy hour. I’ll let you in the bathtub so you’re comfortable but how about something to help you sleep?”

“No don’t do that please, I’ll be good.” He begs.

I ignore him, grab the needle and knock him out for the day. 

I jump in my 911 and head in for another day in the life of Will Witt. The suit bag weighs about 30lbs and takes up the entire seat of my 911. Everyone accepts me and I keep learning more and more.  The lingo is coming naturally to me. The routine of emails, small talk and understanding my role is easy. 

I hang my suit bag and jacket on the back of my office door, grab my coffee mug and ease into the day.  Just before lunch, Nicki, one of the film staff comes for me – it’s my turn. I’m seated in in one of the dressing rooms, in a makeup chair, in front of the mirror. Collette comes in all smiles. 

“Will, you’re looking great.”

“You too, so let’s get started. I’ve got a lot to do today on top of these pics.”

“There’s something we’d like to do different this time.”

“Oh yeah? That sounds ominous.”

“Well, how about we cut your hair some?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that Collette, it’s my signature, my “conservative with the best hair”.” Sounding uncertain for effect.

“Well, I was talking to Dennis and Joel, and we feel you should be the focus, not your hair. We’re not talking about shaving your head, just toning down the cowlick some. If you don’t like, it’ll be back in a few months.”

I think about it for a minute, running my hand through my cowlick, looking at Will in the mirror. I’ve seen videos where the wind destroys his giant flop, part of his gig but in the end, I nod in approval and let Prager U redo my image. 

The ‘Will’ PR shoot was so simple, but time consuming.  They brought in some famous stylist from West Hollywood to cut my hair – it took an hour! They went through my suit bag and laid out a number of outfits but didn’t question my taste. They took multiple pics of me in 5 different outfits including what I wore in this morning. I was there for hours. At the end of the day, we head to Furley’s as planned for happy hour. I left on my new suit and last outfit I was photographed in. What a happy hour – hanging with Charlie Kirk, Ben Shapiro and other famous conservatives was incredible. Thanks to Will’s unedited interview videos, I knew exactly what small talk he had with a number of these conservative celebrities and played them perfectly. 

When I get home, my first stop is to taunt Willy still tied up in bathtub.

“Hey bro, this suit is simply amazing. You were right, the shoot was really easy, except for having to change every 20 minutes. Like my haircut?” I tease

“What did you do to my hair?” 

“Willy, remember, it’s my hair. It’s a shorter, more mature, conservative cut. Everyone loves it.  I still have the best hair of any conservative. I texted it to mom and she loves it too.” I open up the iPhone and scroll thru pics from the shoot, then laugh and leave to change into sweats. Following the same routine, I inject Willy, help him to bathroom, feed him and put him to bed. In just a few days, he’s totally changed from being in control to being dependent. He’s definitely a shadow of himself but I’m now casting his shadow.

Every day as Will gets easier as I seamlessly take over his life.  I’m sure I’ve slipped up a few times but since no one knows Will has a twin, who would suspect me? Wednesday at work was incredible. I helped with the rest of the PR shoot, chatted with all of my new conservative friends. I especially liked talking to Dave Rubin and Candace Owens.  I had dinner with everyone that evening and it went really late. By the time I got home, Willy had wetted himself. I was so pissed that I shoved a hot pocket in his mouth, hosed him off and drugged him heavily. 

On Thursday Gavi and I do a man on the street, at Santa Monica Pier. I nailed it – quickly picking up Will’s attitude and methods. It was easy after watching all his videos from the past year. Back in the office I sit down with Gavi, edit his video and work with Alexander to add the graphics.  

Willy is awake when I get home. His eyes scan me from top to bottom then he starts yelling through the ball gag.

“Hang on Willy.” I pop out the ball gag.

“I hate you Willy and I’m done playing your game.” He spits and hits me on my shorts. 

I gut punch him with all my force, then inject him to keep him docile. “Now Willy, we’ll get you on the potty and fed quickly. I don’t have a lot of time, Lisa and I are going to dinner at mom and dad’s. I really like her.”

I get Willy settled, take a quick shower and head out to pick up Lisa. Dinner is a breeze as Lisa is the center of attention. There’s no discussion of Willy at all – just about me and how proud they are of everything I’m doing. As I expected, they were totally clueless I wasn’t their precious little Will. I have to admit, it felt great being home. I showed Lisa my old bedroom and got a BJ on Will’s bed. It was like old times, like his other girlfriends I fooled. Mom and dad announced they’re heading to Hawaii to celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary and ask me to watch the house while they’re gone. More time to get reacquainted with my new life as their loving son Will. I spend the night at Lisa’s but get up early to take care of things at home, then work.

Willy is awake and pissed more when I check in on him. 

“Morning Willy.” I cheerfully announce.

“You’re Willy asswipe.” He yells back.

I gut punch him with all my force. “Don’t make me repeat myself Willy, now who am I?”

“You’re Will, Will Witt.” He’s barely able to speak, I hit him so hard.

“Now that’s much better Willy. Let’s get you to the bathroom and fed.” I inject him and continue talking while it takes effect.

“So, mom and dad love Lisa bro.  I think she’s really falling for me.  She gave me a BJ in my old bedroom. Sadly, your old bedroom is now a workout room with no trace of you at all. I showed Lisa my swimming and track trophies, tried on my old letterman jacket and gave her the whole Will Witt history. Can you believe mom and dad are celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary? I can’t!” I lay it on thick as the caring son that Will is. 

“Fuck off.” The mumbles.

“Oh Willy, don’t make me hurt you more.” I warn him. I can see the drugs have kicked in, and start untying him. Just as I loosen the last night, Willy tries a fast one on me, trying to tackle me to the floor.  I’ve wrestled him too many times and know his ‘plays’ and another gut punch and I’m dragging him into the bathroom. A quick shower, shit and breakfast bar and he’s good for another 12 hours.

Once he’s secured, I jump in shower and prep for another day in the office. Fridays are so routine with a team strategy meeting for upcoming projects/videos/content.  This is followed by lunch and office time till happy hour at Furley’s. After happy hour, I meet Lisa and a bunch of her friends out for more drinks and dancing, then back to her place.

END OF THE ROAD

I’m up early and skip out of Lisa’s, telling her I have some chores to do for my parents and I’ll be tied up all weekend. Willy is awake and thrashing about trying to get loose. I enter the bedroom smiling, and clap my hands.

“Willy, good news! Road trip bro! We’re going to the cabin to take care of some things for Dad. I thought you’d enjoy it.”

He stares at me, blood shot eyes, a week of facial hair, looking like crap. “Good, could I sleep in one of the bunk beds?”

“Sure thing bro, then we’ll talk about next steps here.” He calms down, feeling better, probably thinking he’s getting his life back.  He’s not. 

I drug him, give him a shower, get him dressed and fed. The next morning, I get him ready for 4 hour trip to the cabin. The dosage I gave him should keep him out for most of the trip. I pack some clothes and fishing gear in case I get the urge. We leave at 5am to avoid any traffic. 

He sleeps the entire journey and I don’t stop once. I’m careful to drive the speed limit to not attract any attention from state police. I pull up to the cabin before 9am. There’s no one around, no one on the lake even – all peaceful and quiet.  With Willy securely tied up in the car, I walk around the cabin inspecting the place, reminiscing about our family outings and fishing trips. In the rear about 500 feet from the house is an old well that’s been dry for years. Dad has been talking about filling it in for safety for years, but never did. It’s the perfect place to hide a body.

When I get back to the car, Willy is stirring. I help him out of the car and walk him inside the cabin. 

“Will, untie me please. My arms and wrists are killing me.” He pleas.

“Sure thing.” Knowing he’s drugged still and couldn’t run anywhere or harm me. 

We walk out to the back porch and I hand him a coke and sandwich. He sits on the step eating and enjoying the partial view of the lake.  I laced the coke with enough fentanyl to kill him – he’ll just pass out and die peacefully. 

“So what’s the plan Will? I guessing this is it for me.  Am I right.” As he takes a large chug of the coke.

“Yeah that’s about it Willy.  You won’t feel a thing though, you’ll just fall asleep. Hope you enjoyed the coke, no after taste?”

“Nah, it tasted fine. You know I need a few cokes a day to keep the energy up.”

“Yeah, it’s a habit I’ve had to adopt. You know Willy, I’ve always been a better you and this life is perfect for me. Don’t worry, I love my new life and have seamlessly integrated into it.  I’ll take good care of it.”

He’s in a daze now, the drug is kicking in. I help him up and over to an Adirondack chair near the fire pit.  He puts his head back and starts breathe erratically. Within minutes he stops breathing. I waste no time stripping and dumping him in the well. I grab a shovel and start shoveling dirt into the well until I can’t see any evidence. For good measure I add another foot of dirt on top of that. 

I’m exhausted after that, take a shower and dress in clean clothes. In town I grab a bite at Palmer’s diner – a dive with good food. As I’m sitting there finishing up with a piece of Apple pie, Rob Decker, an old friend of me and Will come up to me. He’s a local who owns a few small businesses, most inherited from his father. 

“Will! How are you man? Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” He grabs my hand and shakes it hard. 

“Rob, good to see you! Dad asked me to check on the cabin and I needed a break from LA. I’m heading back to tomorrow.”

“Dude, got your gear?”

“Of course, was going to try the old creek before heading home.”

“I’ll join you, heck, even Tommy will go.  He’ll be thrilled to see you. He was talking about your videos on Facebook.”

“Sound great Rob, stop by tomorrow morning whenever.”

Back at the cabin, I start a campfire and relax. Once it’s burning good, I grab Willy’s clothes and toss it all in. I have an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and freedom now. I have a few beers and watch the fire slowly burn out. Sunday morning Rob and Tommy show up at 6am. They don’t even mention my brother Willy even though we were all friends growing up. We have a blast and they want to come to the big city and party with me soon.

I fly back late Sunday afternoon and clean up my condo – unmounting the chair, smoothing over the holes in my carpet, cleaning the bathroom and tossing out the rest of Willy’s clothes. I call Lisa and invite her to my place tomorrow night for dinner and love making.

Monday morning I’m in full Will Witt mode. I wake up and take my run, shower and fuss with my hair for 20 minutes. In keeping with Dennis’ wishes, I up my conservative appearance to match my new haircut. My new bespoke Saville Row suit anchors my identity as the only Will Witt. It’s teamed with my favorite blue Brooks Brothers shirt with white contrasting cuffs and collars.  I pair it with my new shoes and favorite tie I’ve worn a few times.  Joel loves my new attitude and appearance. At lunch, I pull a typical Will move – I escape to a nearby restaurant, hang out and work on my schedule as is habit. 

Life is great now. I have tons of friends and fans. Prager U is very lucrative and I’m in demand across the US and world for speaking appearances. No one suspects I’m not Will. I love the notoriety and acceptance. I even love my preppy wardrobe and new style. It’s grown on me and I’ll maintain it.  

[sasuhinasno1fan]

You see the real me

Hey @komorebirei, I’m your @lukadrien-winter gifter! Before we got our assignments, I had been rereading a lot of Sarah Dessen and Meg Cabot books, so this is kinda based on Sarah Dessen’s book Just Listen. If you have read it, don’t worry, I made sure it didn’t have any of your triggers in it. I hope you like it. I based it off one of my favourite scenes from the book. Mentions of ‘the cult’ and Nathan are from Divergance by @depressed-teacup-inc and @sarcasticsparkles (TwiglightMaster15). Hope you enjoy!

Clara Nightingale played from the speakers of Adrien’s computer as he dialled the number for the radio station.

“MIRC Radio.”

“I wasn’t at the mall to see Clara Nightingale; I actually know her,” Adrien defended. He then realised Luka would just use it as an excuse to tease him more.

“That doesn’t exactly clear you of being there,” Luka said. God, he walked right into that one.

“I had a meeting for the fashion show? I’m surprised Rose didn’t tell you.”

“She was more focused on seeing you and getting all that stuff from the swimsuit store. Also, why is Paris’ biggest model doing a fashion show at a mall?”

“You mean, the biggest mall in Paris that holds a total of 30 different stores that sell my father’s clothes? Kinda don’t have a choice.”

“Woo of being a model. Any chance you get to choose what you eat?”

Adrien raised an eyebrow. “Lunch on Friday was a bag of chips. What do you think?”

“Fair enough. Come get breakfast with me. It’s a tradition after every radio show. Nathan’s paying.”

Adrien thought of the red-haired bundle of energy. “Sure.”

“We’ll be at your house in 20. See you then.”

Adrien hung up and closed the webpage that had the radio’s website on it. Usually, he would sleep in on weekends, unless he had any photoshoots. But like many things that changed after the summer, waking up to listen to the radio was a new thing. All Adrien wanted was to get through school without any issues. Not that a certain person would make that easy. And of course because he made stupid decisions that pushed away any friends he could have had, Adrien was alone. It was like when he started school again.

Then…Luka. After a confrontation he’d rather not relive, Luka came to check on him. Even after seeing him hide in the boy’s room and actually get sick, he was there with tissues and water, asking if he was ok. It had been so strange then. To everyone, Luka was the weirdly silent kid who hung out with a ‘cult’, but would apparently beat up anyone who looked at him wrong. Adrien still remembered when one of the seniors had tried lording over him. Luka dropped his guitar case, punched the guy in the face and then walked off. He should have been terrifying. But like people started to believe the rumors following Adrien about him, he realised he had been the same for Luka. Luka was just a guy so in love with music and had trouble expressing himself without it, so he’d done it with his fists. But Anger Management had helped and now he actually had words and Adrien just couldn’t help but feel stable around him. 

Everything else in his life was going crazy. The rumors, the actual truth behind said rumors, Felix and issues with his mom and Adrien’s father, his loneliness because he couldn’t just talk to the people he’d been friends with for so long, the pressures of still doing modelling, everything. Luka made sense and even with his incredibly odd taste for music and odd sayings pulled from Anger Management classes, Adrien felt happy. Of course the crush that was growing might have also added things. He tried ignoring it, and maybe ignoring Luka, but the idea of losing him wasn’t something he wanted, so he accepted it. Whether or not he’d act on it was the question, but who knew.

The mansion was quiet. His parents were still out of town, Felix was no doubt still asleep and Nathalie never got up before coffee was made. He did find Gorilla in the kitchen doing just that though.

“Hey, I’m going out for breakfast. A friend is picking me up,” he told the towering silent man, who nodded after miming at him to have his phone.

He walked outside, already finding two motorcycles sitting outside the gate. Luka had his spare helmet waiting for him, his own visor pushed up.

“Question, how do you feel about bacon?”

“Bacon?”

“You know, pork product? Smells amazing? Best part of breakfast?”

“I mean, it’s not usually one of my list of things I can eat, but I guess I can deal.”

“Excellent, get on.”

Adrien had gotten very used to Luka’s very fast driving and before he knew it, they were pulling up to a large restaurant. Nathan was bouncing in place waiting for Adrien and Luka to get off the bike before he darted off to the front door. The restraint was modelled after an American diner and it was freezing inside.

“Oh, right. Sorry, I forgot to mention how cold they have it in here,” Luka said, pulling off his jacket, which Adrien tried to wave off. “Trust me. They keep it cold in here so you don’t stay all day.”

He took the jacket, taking in how warm it was. Luka’s scent wafted up, almost covering up the heavy smell of bacon inside the restaurant.

“Why does it smell like a meat store in here?” Adrien asked, sitting next to Luka.

“Well this place has always been the place we get breakfast from after the radio show. Ever since the first one. But they got a competitor not too long ago,” Nathan started to explain.

“With crap pancakes and service.” Luka interrupted.

“Yes. So to counteract it, they made every day double bacon day. Whatever you order, you get a double order of bacon.”

“Which he of course has to pay for.”

Nathan pouted. “You try asking for what I want.”

“I have.” Noticing Adrien’s confused face, he explained. “We’ve got a friend who makes D&D characters and she designs all of ours. Nathan here has a specific look he wants but he thinks it’s too embarrassing to ask for. I told him if he asked, I’d pay for breakfast forever. If he doesn’t, then he will. We’ve had two redesigns in the past year or so and he’s still chickened out.”

Nathan stuck his tongue out like a child. “Leave me alone.”

Adrien shook his head. This was his life now, with a music loving former rebel and an overactive redhead. This he would gladly deal with.

While the others ordered large platters, Adrien played it safe with a waffle and bacon, though Luka let him steal some of his eggs. Funnily enough, if Nathan tried, he’d get a slap on the back of the hand. He tried not to preen at the special attention.

Nathan had to head to work, so it was just the two of them as they drove back towards Agreste Mansion. It was still quiet in the streets and it seemed like there was no movement in the house.

“Thanks for breakfast.”

“No problem. If I had known playing pop songs would get your attention, I would have done it sooner.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “No you wouldn’t.”

“Ok no cause I hate that music but still. You said you won’t be at school on Monday, right?”

“Yeah, it’s the only time an outfit fitting could be scheduled. So Tuesday then?”

“Tuesday. I’ll see you later.”

Adrien had already entered through the gates when he realised that he was still wearing Luka’s jacket. He turned to try and give it back, but Luka had already sped off. Adrien started to pull it off anyway as he made his way through the door when he felt something in the coat hit against his leg. Inside one of the pockets was Luka’s iPod. His pride and joy. Adrien couldn’t remember a time when Luka didn’t have it on him. 

That first day of school, when Adrien avoided the lunch room or any of the lunch benches out on the quad, he sat next to Luka against a wall. He had his earphones in, eyes focused on a book. Adrien still didn’t know him then. If he’d been told at that time that Luka Couffaine would become his rock, his best friend, his, well, crush, he would have thought that person was insane. But here he was.

Felix was leaving the dining room when he went inside, looking surprised to see Adrien.

“When did you leave?”

“Early this morning. I got breakfast with a friend.”

Felix raised an eyebrow. “Same one who delivered that pizza before?”

One of Luka’s jobs was as a delivery person for a local pizza place. When Adrien had tried listening to one of Luka’s many made CDs for him – so he could be educated on the right type of music – and fallen asleep, it led to Felix meeting Luka for the first time. Adrien hadn’t been looking for it but it sounded like Felix approved and that gave him a feeling of happiness.

“Maybe.”

Felix let out a hum before heading to the stairs. He was happy he didn’t say anything more. Adrien wasn’t sure what he’d say anyway.

He collapsed onto his bed, ready to fall asleep again. He couldn’t though, because of a certain item. Luka’s iPod. He was never seen without it. Luka said the silence made him itch, like everything was too much to handle. So the thing that helped him was never far out of reach. It turned on, still a half full battery available. There were many playlists, the names making no sense, but one caught his attention.

ADRIEN

He knew sneaking around on it wasn’t the best idea but…he couldn’t help himself. He pressed the center button and the list of songs that appeared where a mash of a lot of things. Things that looked very familiar. Because they were all the songs he and Luka ever talked about. Luka had a playlist of all the songs they talked about and it was a lot.

He wanted to know if the way he felt was the same. If he was making things up or wishing too hard. He wanted answers. It took all of his energy to not go running after Luka and asking. He fell asleep after several minutes of slowly scrolling through the list of songs Luka had under his name.

                                                 _______________

Adrien climbed out of the car, watching as Gorilla pulled out his phone. He meant to leave the house earlier. He distracted himself with homework before he went to ask Gorilla to take him to Luka’s house, when he was interrupted by a mighty crash from the kitchen. Felix was attempting to cook. Adrien stayed back to help and eat with him before he left.

He crossed the gangplank onto the deck of the house boat. The deck was empty, though there seemed to be music playing in the area above. He didn’t remember the whole look of it from the last time he was here, but he was sure that was a sitting area. He knocked on the door below the deck, which swung open. Rose, Luka’s sister’s girlfriend, let out a shriek when she saw who was standing on the other side.

“Adrien! What are you doing here?”

“Is that Adrien Agreste?” A girl with dreadlocks, some strands of different colours, looked at him in awe. There was another girl with red hair and glasses and another with a baseball cap and Juleka. They were all staring at him.

“Adrien is my friend! Oh, come in!” He was yanked inside where music seemed to be echoing on the walls and the living room was a mess. “We’re having a fashion show sleepover. You have to stay and help us with our looks.”

“Oh, well, you see.”

“Rose, are you ready yet? I have…” Luka walked in with a DSLR camera around his neck. “A show to plan? Adrien, what are you doing here?”

“He’s here to help us with our looks.” Rose said, pulling Adrien further into the house. He sent a pleading look to Luka who shrugged. He had a feeling that telling Rose ‘no’ was a hard thing. He was dragged to Juleka’s room, though Luka’s was separated with a curtain that was currently pushed back. Juleka’s taste in decorating was darker than her brother’s, but a lot of things seemed to be similar, such as the guitar and bass sitting in their stands and the posters of Jagged Stone. Some pictures didn’t really fit Juleka’s theme. Pictures of models, both male and female.

“Look, these are you.” Pictures from his father’s brand, from cologne ads, from sporting wear, even from that department store ad, with the tux for the dance, the perfect outfit and hair after fencing, the perfect outfit to study in the library. “I loved that ad so much and its story. You were so cool. You were like…”

“The guy who had everything.”

“Exactly!”

“Rose, come on. I have a show to plan. Are we going to do this or not?” Luka said, finally pulling her attention away.

“Alright, alright. Who has the order lists?” 

The girls started to leave the area, but not before the one in the baseball cap turned and quickly slapped the back of Luka’s butt, causing them all to burst into laughter as he let out a startled yelp. They quickly disappeared when he turned to glare at them. Adrien couldn’t help but stifle his laughter. It had been a high pitch squeak.

“Not a word out of you,” Luka ordered upon seeing him laugh.

“Course not. Here, I wanted to give this back to you,” he said, handing over the jacket.

“Oh, I could have waited until Tuesday to get this.”

“I know. I’m just sure you couldn’t wait for this.” He pulled out Luka’s iPod from one of the pockets, watching his face light up.

“Oh I would so miss this! Thank you.”

“I had a feeling you’d flip all of Paris to try and find it.”

“Very true. So what commercial was Rose talking about?”

Adrien pointed to the pictures from the different scenes of the ad. “It was from the department store for their back to school campaign. I’m the guy who has everything. Don’t feel like it though.”

“Doesn’t really look like you.”

Adrien looked over at him feeling a little insulted. “You don’t have to like it.”

“No, I mean, I’m looking at it and I see this picture-perfect person and think, ‘that’s not my Adrien’. It just doesn’t look like the real you.”

Before Adrien could ask him who the real Adrien was, Rose called from what sounded like above deck. Luka looked pained as he turned, heading towards the stairs.

“This is gonna end in tears. Just you watch.”

It took a while but it turned out Luka was right. Adrien had been in his corner of the sitting area on the deck above surrounded by mountains of makeup when one of the girls, Mylène, burst into tears.

“I don’t want to do this outfit anymore! I’m always in this one.” It was a beachy outfit; which Adrien guessed her dreads played a part in. Everyone else had changed a good number of times, but Mylène always seemed to be in different versions of the same outfit.

He quickly swooped in and took Mylène downstairs. She directed him to the clothes she brought over and it took a bit of prodding to find an outfit. He sent her off to the bathroom while he rooted through the pile of shoes to find a pair that would fit her. He looked up to see Luka leaning against the post that acted as the centre between his and Juleka’s rooms.

“You’re good at this,” he said, smiling down at Adrien.

“Modelling does lead to tears. Just find something to distract them and give them lots of chocolate after. Works every time.” Adrien finally found the shoes he wanted and stood up to see Luka pointing the camera at him. Covering his face with his hand, he said, “No. I don’t like having my picture taken.”

“But you’re one of Paris’ biggest models.”

“I know. Trust me, getting cameras shoved in your face is not as glamorous as it seems.”

“Oh, come on. Let me at least show you what I see.”

Remembering what Luka had said earlier about the ad pictures not looking like ‘his Adrien’, he brought his hand down and relaxed his body. He felt the smallest smile come to his face as Luka brought the camera back up and clicked the shutter. He walked over, leaning close to Luka as he brought the picture up. The lighting wasn’t the greatest and in the mess of helping Rose, his hair and clothes were a bit messy, but…he understood what Luka was saying.

“This is the real you,” Luka said, his words just brushing Adrien’s cheek, that’s how close they were. “This is my Adrien.”

My Adrien. It wasn’t weirdly possessive. It was comforting and with every insane thing that was happening in his life, to be picked by someone just for being himself, that made his heart happy. 

Maybe that’s why when he looked up and saw Luka staring at him, eyes moving down to his lips, he kissed him. He felt Luka kiss back. Adrien wanted to grab hold of him because the kiss made him feel weak in the knees, it felt that good, but unfortunately, that didn’t happen.

“How do I look?”

The two sprang apart, Luka hitting his head on the post. Mylène looked worried and a bit confused, but thankfully it looked like she hadn’t seen.

“Are you ok?” she asked.

“Luka! We’re ready for group shots!” Rose called from above deck.

“He’s all good. Here, put them on quickly,” Adrien said, handing her the shoes and pushing her towards the stairs. He could tell she was confused, but thankfully she didn’t ask.

They didn’t get a chance to be alone until the photoshoot was done and Luka had gotten the call that his mom would be home soon and the house was a mess. Luka walked Adrien to the gangplank, still waving off his offers to help clean up.

“Don’t worry about it. The girls will take care of most of it. Thanks again for bringing my iPod.”

“Of course.” Adrien hesitated, wanting to ask if the kiss was a fluke or if it was real when he realised Luka was moving closer to him, gently pulling his fidgeting fingers apart and linking them with his own.

“This ok?”

“Yeah. Perfect.”

Luka was leaning down and Adrien started to go up on his toes when they heard Rose. She came bounding over with pictures in her hand. The one that Luka took of him was on top.

“Here, so you can decorate your wall.”

When she finally went back below deck, Adrien gave Luka the picture he took of him. “That way you always remember what I look like. I might be coming to school in a few makeup looks next week.”

“Bet you’ll still look amazing as usual. I’m very tempted to test my luck a third time, but I can wait. Would you be ok if I came and picked you up on Tuesday?”

Adrien nodded, taking everything in him not to pull Luka in for a kiss, no matter who was watching.

“Awesome. I’ll see you then.”

Adrien had to bite down his smile when he eventually pulled himself away and got into the car. Kissing his rock should make him afraid of messing things up, but how could he when everything felt so right? And if Luka came to get him for school on Tuesday morning and Adrien noticed that his lanyard that had his student ID on it also had the picture of Adrien, well. How was he supposed to argue with that?

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Heroes or Victims

Summary:  

"As Hange stared down at the man whom she believed was very much deserving of the title “hero,” she was reminded that he was just as much a victim as everyone else."

Hange reflects on emotions, relationships, war philosophies, and a future while taking care of a severely injured Levi.

Written for @levihanweek, Angstober 2020. Prompt: trapped/escape

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Notes: Here is my offering for LeviHan Week, Angstober 2020. Prompt: trapped/escape. I went a little overboard with the word count. Either way, I hope you enjoy. ;)

Credits to my betareader @scribusdomina

Any soldier who died in the field was presented as a hero of the walls. The stories told within the walls evoked images of violent charges, loud and emotional screams for their motherland and quick deaths.

Those soldiers were brave, honorable, and patriotic.

There is no better way to die than falling off one's horse battered and bloody, dreaming of the motherland.

It was a terrifyingly effective piece of propaganda that the lower class within the walls of Paradis welcomed with open arms and consumed too quickly. People saw the garrison and military police as equals to the brave soldiers who die a quick death in the battlefield, their moment of honor yet to come. Ironically, the survey corps members who actually died quickly in the battlefield were rarely afforded that same respect.

For that reason, and for many other reasons, those who survived past what could have been their first death and eventually became the veterans of the corps, ended up completely rejecting this train of thought.

As the numbers of the survey corps members dwindled, the war against titans morphed into a war of attrition. The survey corps did not have the hundreds of people to spare and those within the survey corps at Hange's command were trained to hide in enclosed spaces to preserve themselves until the enemy tires out. A war that starts with a brave charge ends with quick deaths and a quick end to the war, giving no time for the soldiers to ponder the losses and their purpose in the grand scheme of things.

The shift towards preserving life gave birth to a new type of thinker --- the battle hardened soldier. Levi and Hange having survived the longest through the bloodiest wars with the most cruel bouts of survivor's guilt, were at the forefront of this paradigm shift.

Every single person who died out there for the crown and for the people who lived within the walls were more victims than heroes.

Those words in particular rang louder to Hange as she stared down at the man whom she believed was very much deserving of the title “hero”. At that moment though, as he lay injured and vulnerable, with the beginnings of a fever, Hange was reminded that he was just as much a victim as everyone else.

Levi had always been trapped. He grew up in the underground city under Wall Sina, forced into a life of crime and violence just to survive. From what she remembered, he did not join the survey corps out of his own volition either.

Hange brushed Levi's bangs out of his face and reapplied the wet cloth on his forehead.

She shuddered as she listened to Levi's soft whimpers. His face was a mess. She guessed he had a few broken ribs, probably some internal bleeding. He needed to get to a doctor and even if he did survive, he could be left with a permanent disability.

While the rich kid who disobeyed her parents and willingly joined the battle, just came out blind in one eye with a few bruises and scars. Hange let out a pained sigh as she thought of how unfair it all was. She had experienced enough comfort growing up and could have gladly taken some of that misfortune off his shoulders.

Levi's history was a stark contrast to hers. Hange had come from a comfortable background and despite her parent's protests, had committed to joining the survey corps out of sheer curiosity on what existed outside the walls. To her, military service was an escape, an escape from the safe, comfortable yet predictable future her parents had set out for her.

"Now that I think about it, I was free to do whatever I wanted. I had the choice to live within Wall Sina, the choice to defy my parents and join the survey corps. So I shouldn't be regretting anything…" Hange lightly tapped her eyepatch. The pain had completely faded and as she put pressure on it, the only thing she felt was the phantom pain from the memory of the explosion and glass flying into her eye.

She looked back to the sleeping Levi, trying to gauge how much pain he must be in, given the gravity of his injuries. She ended up laughing at her own naivete. She had experienced her fair share of injuries. They were all painful yet none of them really evolved into a full blown hospital stay or an injury leave.

Back then, an explosion like that would definitely have put him on injury leave for at least a month.

As Hange reminisced on their old expeditions outside the walls, she gave a sardonic laugh. "Worst timing eh? Can't even take you to a hospital for decent healthcare. We have a war to fight and you're stuck in bed."

"No… time… for care. We need… to fight...”

Hange instinctively looked down when she felt something warm on her fingers. She watched, amused as Levi tried to find the most natural way to wrap three fingers around her hand.  "I'll go to your other side so at least it's your good hand wrapping around mine."

"No… Just sit near...."

Hange scooched closer to his hand and Levi settled for putting his right hand on top of hers. Levi's hand twitched a few times, possibly in protest to his attempts to squeeze her hand. She grasped it lightly and felt the hand on top of hers relax as she took on his burden. Somehow, his face seemed to relax more.

Hange lay down beside him on the forest floor, careful not to jostle his injured hand as she held it. She rolled over to her side and studied his bandaged face once again.

Ever since Levi had become a captain of the survey corps, he was constantly moving, constantly thinking. The weight of everyone's expectations on humanity's strongest was a heavy burden to carry. She had seen him fall asleep multiple times in Erwin's office or more recently, in her room next to her. He usually slept for three hours a night, easily awoken by the slightest sound, but there, right next to her, he looked like he had fallen into a deep sleep.

"Why now? How are you able to fall asleep now?" Hange asked softly with no expectations for an answer. By then, Levi's breathing had already evened out and Hange instead kept herself occupied, by mimicking the slow and steady breaths of the man next to her.

Somehow, she managed to fall asleep,too.

                                         Heroes or Victims

Levi's fever only worsened.

He wasn't awake yet but Hange feared that he could be in pain.

Hange searched the forest for familiar plants. She was no botanist but she had studied enough to know what could be used to alleviate pain, stave off infections.

Whether she would be giving it in the right doses and processing it correctly was the better question. She had seen the people in the infirmary do that same method multiple times as she supervised the treatments of injured soldiers who contracted fevers from wound infections. She was hesitant at first to even attempt such treatment on Levi without training but she had seen how a high fever deteriorates into chills, slow breathing, then eventually death without the right treatment. She decided for herself that it was a gamble she had to take. Hange only hoped that she remembered everything accurately enough that she wouldn’t end up poisoning him.

As she waited for the leaves to steep, she turned her attention to Levi. The wet cloth she had placed on his forehead was heating up alarmingly fast and Hange found herself shaking as she  wiped down his body with cooler water.

She recalled her own experiences in an attempt to placate her fears.

When was the last time she had felt that much heat come out of someone?

Maybe during her days supervising the injured survey corps members in the infirmary?

Did they survive?  

Back then, they had the safe, sterile environment of the infirmary. There, at that moment, it was just both of them in the middle of a dark forest. Her own attempts only served to worsen her already growing fears. Despite the high fever, Levi was sleeping like a log.

"Why do you look so fucking peaceful?" Hange teared up. She would have preferred to see Levi in a fitful sleep. Pain meant he was still there. Hange had learned, having watched countless soldiers die in the infirmary, that when the breath of the patient slows and they start to feel cool and clammy, it means certain death. Also, a peaceful sleep introduced the possibility that he might never wake up.

Hange resisted the temptation to shake Levi awake, risking further injury. Instead, she settled for putting her hand on his good one and squeezing hard enough to feel something back. She focused on the fact that he was still hot to touch. It meant he was still very much alive.

"Don't you fucking die on me."

                                     Heroes or Victims

Hange needed someone to talk to but at the same time, she was relieved that it had just been the two of them.

The ordeal with Levi's fever shooting up had left her exhausted, her eyes red and her nose running. As the poultice she had put together that night did its work and the fever started to subside, Hange had to stop herself from giving the injured Levi a good kick for all the stress he had caused her that night.

Hange woke up as soon as she heard the rustle of cloth next to her.

He's starting to come around.  

It was early morning and Hange wanted to use that time before the sun's heat became unbearable to wash the sheets by the riverside. She carried Levi a few feet towards the river bank, rested him on a tree and covered him with his green cloak.

The sheets were stained with blood and sweat and Hange made a mental note to change his bandages after cleaning out the bed sheets. Watching the blood stains disappear as the sheets flapped in the water was somehow calming. It gave the young commander enough time to reflect on the events of the night before, her own emotions and the fact that she was still lacking sleep. As the last bouts of sleepiness left her, the pent up emotions of last night started to take over.

"Levi, you asshole!" She screamed as she angrily pulled the wet sheets toward her. The sheet flailed as it fought between both her strength and the river carrying it westward. She needed a break. Emotions had built up inside her the night before with no decent outlet as she concentrated all her energy on keeping Levi alive.

"You fucking asshole!" Hange pulled the sheet out and threw it down into the water again.

The cold water that splashed towards her face somehow helped her cool off. Hange let the sheets flow along with the river, only holding on to them with the tips of her fingers. "It was fucking terrifying. You had this fucking face last night. You looked so peaceful. Like you wanted to sleep forever. Do you not want to live anymore? Is your life so shitty that you decide for yourself that 'hey maybe dying might be the better?’”

At that point, Hange did not know how much of what she said she actually meant. He could have heard it. Maybe he didn't. Hange though allowed herself the luxury of releasing everything that was bundled up inside her to the one person who would have understood her either way.  

"Life was shit. The dreams were good,” His reply was toneless and too rooted in their bleak reality.

Hange looked back to see that Levi was staring at her. For a while she wondered how much of her tirade he had heard but as she pulled the sheets out of the river and walked towards Levi, she found herself more interested in what Levi had just said.  

"Do you feel trapped?" Hange hung the sheet on a low lying branch then crouched down beside Levi.

"Trapped?"

"In life I mean. Like in this hellhole. You looked so free last night. For a while, I thought I was the selfish one for trying to keep you alive."

“I don’t know…”

Hange had to admit. It would be a difficult question for someone especially while recovering from a brush with death. She silently scooched closer to him and looked up, using that clear sky above her as a blank slate to organize her thoughts. She could at least use that extra time to predict an answer like she usually did.

What did I know about him? Admittedly, the two of them did spend a lot of time together but given their line of work, there was always something to discuss. They never had the free time to sit around and just discuss each other's histories. Everything Hange ever knew about Levi, she learned through the bouts of information he volunteered about himself in between sharing thoughts on the latest developments. Hange had taken the liberty to fill in the gaps herself on his personality using empathy, deduction, and pattern recognition.

She was reminded then, that although she knew Levi's personality and could easily predict how he'd react to most situations, she only knew so much about what his life was like before they met.

"Then let me ask something else." Before she even noticed it, Hange had softened her tone. The desperation and anger of a while ago was gone as it looked like Levi was going to survive.

"Hm?"

"What did you dream about?"

                                     Heroes or Victims

The world is a cruel place. That was something both Levi and Hange had concluded a long time ago.

The stark contrast between Levi’s dreams and the reality they lived in only made Hange feel worse for even taking out her frustrations on him. They had both experienced hell but Levi’s life had always been hell. From what she understood, he had grown up in abject poverty. He had experienced the worst the world had to offer--- starvation, discrimination, abuse. He had lost everyone he had ever loved. Only recently, he had lost everything he had known and suddenly was placed in a position of responsibility, forced to keep thinking, to keep moving.

Hange reflected on all these as she cleaned out his wounds. She couldn’t help but notice that Levi had stiffened up, possibly an attempt to control whatever natural reaction his body would make to the pain of the herbal poultice spilling into his deeper wounds. His attempt to hide the pain only served to intensify Hange’s guilt.

“It’s painful, huh?” She bit back tears. “I’m sorry. I was selfish.I didn’t wanna be trapped here alone but yeah,  I still have family alive. You have nothing and here I am being entitled, getting mad at you for almost dying.”

“Hey,” Levi said. He weakly grasped Hange’s wrist while she cleaned his wounds. “I’m not trapped. I never was.”

“How can you still say that after all the shit life has thrown at you?” Hange asked as she wriggled out of his weak grip and gently laid his hand on his bare chest.

“I had my mom. Then when she died, I had Farlan, then Isabel, Erwin, then my squad…When I lost them, it hurt like a bitch, every single fucking time.” Levi suddenly looked away from Hange.

Hange could tell from the slight crack in his voice that he was blinking back tears. She put her hand on top of his and squeezed, hoping that was enough for him to realize that he did not need to stop himself from showing emotion.  

Levi did not give in to his emotions though. The only sign that he was even about to cry a few seconds ago was that his voice had gotten softer. “But when I feel like shit, there’s always someone there to remind me that life was never just a hell hole. When this war is over, I like to imagine, life could get better. We could maybe live together, you can continue your stupid experiments, I can open a teashop.”

“Then we’ll fight over your black tea budget and how badly I clean the hallways,” Hange joked.

Levi’s mouth quivered into a smile and he closed his eyes. Hange watched as the sleeping effects of the herbal disinfectant took effect. She caressed his cheek and noted how his skin was still warm to the touch but not as hot as it was the night before.

When this war is over, I like to imagine, life could get better. Levi’s words echoed in Hange’s head. She closed her eyes, picturing the future he told her about a moment ago. It would take decades for the people within the walls to realize the futility of war and the vulnerability of the soldiers they had for so long revered. Either way, she let herself imagine spending a war-free future, stressing over mundane problems with the one she loved.

Before Hange left to scavenge for lunch, she allowed herself a few minutes to just stare at his sleeping face. She wondered if he was dreaming of that same future he had told her about. The subtle smile of a while ago had not disappeared from his face yet and somehow, he looked more peaceful than he did the night before.

Hange smiled. Maybe he was dreaming of the both of them. “You’re my escape, too,” she whispered.

Just in case he was.

[bookgirlfan]

An Office Engagement

A sequel to this story: A Dinner Engagement

“Dr Watson?” 

I looked up as the woman entered my practice, hand raised politely to knock on the doorframe. She was several years older than me, but still quite handsome, with soft brown eyes and hair artfully arranged. Her dress was just as cleverly devised, taking fullest advantage of her unusual height, the woman being not much shorter than myself. 

“I’m afraid I am just about to close for the day, so unless it is something particularly pressing, you may need to return in the morning.” 

Her smile widened. “This will only take a moment, doctor. I’m not really here for a consultation.” 

My eyebrows raised, and I examined the woman more closely. It was rare, but there had been occasions where people wanting Holmes’ services came to me first, often out of some belief that he would be more likely to help them if I pled their case. It never worked, as Holmes took all his cases at his own discretion, and I told as much to anyone who tried it. 

This woman, however, did not show the usual nervousness and agitated manner of someone looking for Holmes. She seemed instead quite relaxed, hands clasped loosely around her purse with the casual demeanour of one on a social visit. 

If anything, she reminded me more of the man who had once come to my practice to deliver a veiled threat connected to the case Holmes had been pursuing. Just like the woman currently in my office, that man had been quite self-possessed, coolly confident in his task and with no evidence of nerves or doubt. He believed I could be used as a mere messenger, useful only in passing his threat along to Holmes – he was wrong, but that is a story for another day. 

This woman had the same self-confidence, yet not the same air of malice. Taking a risk, I gestures toward the chair in front of my desk. “Please, take a seat. I can spare a few moments for you before I must leave.” 

“Thank you, Dr Watson.” Her skirts gently fell around her as she sat. “We have not met before, but soon we are to be quite closely related, and I wanted to meet you before then.” She flushed slightly. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you are less intimidating than Mr Sherlock Holmes.” 

I took no offence, because I could not but agree. Holmes’ natural reserve and discomfort with emotion easily came across as callousness, whereas as a doctor, I had worked hard to be approachable to people from all walks of life. Despite my occasional doubts of Holmes’ affection, or his irritation with my optimism, overall, it suited us well. 

It was the other part of her statement that caught my attention. “Closely related? How do you mean?” I had no living family, and as far as I knew, all of Mary’s relations had died before I’d met her. The remark about Holmes confused the matter further, as although I considered him as close as my brother – closer, in fact, as I was never particularly close to the brother I had grown up with, especially as adults – I was not sure he felt the same. 

For a moment, she looked slightly surprised, but the emotion was quickly hidden. “I am engaged to Mr Mycroft Holmes. I’m sure we’ll meet at the wedding, but I thought it important to meet his brothers before then.” 

“As far as I’m aware, Mycroft only has the one brother, Sherlock, but I would be happy to introduce you.” I stood from my chair, gathering my coat. “Unless he’s picked up a case since this morning, he should be at home.” 

“I’ll gladly take you up on your invitation, but I wanted to meet you as well, doctor.” She stood as well, looking at me with unexpected openness for a woman I had only met a quarter hour ago. “Mycroft has never been a demonstrative man, but when he does talk about your and Sherlock’s adventures, I know him well enough to see his affection. He considers you a brother also.” 

I sank back into my chair, rather shocked. I had come to know Mycroft well over the course of my friendship with Sherlock Holmes, especially in the years after Reichenbach, yet I never would have suspected him of harbouring such feelings for me. That I held some esteem in his eyes, I was aware of, but to consider me a brother? I found myself feeling unaccountably touched. 

Once the shock of that revelation had worn off, I was at somewhat of a loss. After this woman had displayed such wonderful honesty to me, I felt it would be unchivalrous to give her any less in return, yet would informing her of the truth only hurt all parties involved. I looked down at my wedding ring, and knew I had to tell her. It would only be more painful if she discovered after the wedding. “Madame, please excuse me for mentioning it, but are you sure Mycroft’s reasons for marriage are the same as your own?” 

She seemed confused. I could not help but glance down at my ring again, wondering what Mary would have said if someone had asked her such a question. Mary would also have been confused, I supposed, and perhaps a little angry that someone had doubted me. Hopefully, there would normally be the same reason here, but if there were, I had only myself to blame. 

The woman followed my gaze down to my ring, and to my surprise, she laughed. “Don’t worry, I know perfectly well Mycroft’s not in love with me,” she informed me cheerfully. “I’m not in love with him either. My first husband was the love of my life and I have no intention of replacing him.” 

“Then why...” I hesitated, stumbling over the indelicacy of the question. 

“Why am I going to marry him?” she finished. “Mycroft has been a great friend to me for many years, and I know I can trust him.” Her gaze grew wistful. “Sometimes, you just want someone to grow old with.” 

I thought of long evenings by the fireside with Holmes, his plans to retire someday and be a beekeeper, and the image of a cottage by the sea with two bedrooms. “I know just what you mean.”  

[angelic-holland]

Alice’s 4k Fic Rec List

Wow! I wanted to thank each and every one of my followers for putting up with me! As a little thank you I wanted to put together this fic rec list of some of my favorite fics. Feel free to send in your own fics and I’ll read as many as I can in my spare time. This is by no means a comprehensive list of fic recs but some of my absolute favorites! My little feedback paragraphs include some spoilers so feel free to skip over them when checking out the fics! 

Peter Parker x Reader

Three Words by @screamholland

Yeah this tore me to pieces! I remember reading it and crying and being like “why must angst hurt me this way” and now I’m addicted to writing angst. The way he looked at you made you feel like a masterpiece displayed in a museum. Yeah! Need Peter Parker to look at me like that. The innocence and beauty of someone’s first love is precious, so fucking precious. 

Band Ten Heart by @robbinholland

This fic is just SO cute. Peter being a fumbling dork is what I live for. The reader describing the cliches of band kid dating tropes hysterical! “Peter Parker, I’m really glad you didn’t quit.” Oh my GOD I squealed when I read that. Clarinet players have talented tongues??? I fucking lost it. Total cute feel good story even though I have no idea how band works, it’s still fucking adorable.

Quantum Heartbreak by @farfromhaz

The title is very very accurate. This fic tore my soul to pieces as I read it. Peter realizing he was gone for three years instead of hours, Peter realizing he has a daughter, the reader having to raise her alone for the first few years, wow that HURTED. But!!! The reader telling Peter she’s pregnant and Peter being so excited about raising his second kid. So bittersweet, absolutely amazing. 

When Peter’s Not Such a Good Boy by @marvelouspeterparker

Oh my god! I have never wanted to dom someone so much. Like the idea of teasing peter is sending me to an astral plane of existence. There are no words to describe how super hot this is. I read this at least once a week. No fucking joke. 

Tom Holland x Reader

We’re Only Kidding Ourselves by @wazzupmrstark

Wow I’ve been reading this series for a LONG time and I’m so in awe of it. It’s so precious, seeing the reader and Tom fall in love. I’m a sucker for enemies to lovers/being forced to work with someone who is a pain in the ass and then finding out they’re secretly a softie. Tom and the reader having those little room service dates? God I lived for it. When they went to the pool at the roof of the hotel oof I lost my MIND. This series is god tier and if you only read one Tom series in your life let it be this one.

Win-Win by @hillsnholland

Making Tom jealous? Oh god I would thrive in that environment. I want that so bad it’s ridiculous. The jealous sex that ensues, hot as fuck! Spanking??? Toms hands were absolutely made for that, there is not enough time to discuss how nice his hands are. Him calling you princess and making you beg for it? Yeah sign me the fuck up! Is there a wait list? I will wait all day. 

Instagram Live by @xoluvx

Tom!!!! Is a grandpa when it comes to technology. This is totally something that idiot would do. Harrison and Zendaya being the cheeky little shits that they are! Hysterical. Plus the smut is hot as fuck. Like i don’t care if the whole world can hear me I just want Tom to dick me down 

Kiss Currency by @madmadmilk

Wow wow wow. First off, Jacky always writes something so incredibly special, like her ability to write inner monologues/thoughts that feel so real and raw? Amazing. I was on the edge of my seat every second while reading this fic. i see “ah clueless idiots in love” and I’m like my kind of story. “I don’t want to see you kissing other people, Babe” duh!!! Reader!!! Ma’am! He likes you!!! anyways this was really cute story and I loved every single little detail from the themed parties to the awkwardness of trying to get a read of a person before admitting to them how you feel. It’s beautiful.

You Again by @strangertingle

Oof this series has me fucking anxious! Every time I get the notif that it’s updated I’m like “eek!” I love the idea that Tom went to California to see about transferring to be with the reader and then through a series of unfortunate events, that didn’t happen. And now here they are! And the reader is like woah maybe I do love Tom imma tell him then BAM! Just kidding! He’s getting married and his fiancée is a schemer! This was the cutest series ever ahhhh

Weekend Getaway by @naturallytom / @hauntedtom

Oof when Ally asked someone to read it I jumped at the chance because I’ve always loved her work. Anyways I adore spooky stuff. I was so fucking terrified the entire time and I loved the fluff to tension to absolute terror to relief Ally built in this story. Just downright amazing.

Up To Your Mouth by @gyllenwh0re 

Wow Alex just knows how to hit every single kink that she could possibly think of in this fic. My jaw was dropped the entire time reading it. Honestly she writes the best most filthy smut on this goddamn website and I always feel so blessed when she posts things because they fuel my wellbeing

Camera Work by @screamsbytom 

Shit I’ve never wanted to make a sex tape so bad. Also Tom being a dumbass and uploading it to the cloud where everyone can see it? Peak chaotic dumbass Tom and it’s 100% something he would do. Tom wanting you hear you moan for him and beg him? Yeah sir I will gladly do just that

You Up? By @thirsttrapholland 

Christ! Fuckboy!tom gets me every time. When he goes and just helps himself to beer I’m like !!! I wanna suck his dick !!! Idk why but Tom being a little asshole but a total softie at heart is such a turn on. Anyways!!!! Lying about missing him even when you really really did? To protect your feelings? Felt that! Nobody likes getting their feelings hurt! 

I Only Feel You by @stuckonspidey

Whew! This fic was absolutely beautifully amazing and devastating. It was so well written, I adore soulmate AUs and this was something else in the best way possible. Like the way the reader was hesitant to join the Holland mob at first, then slowly became okay with it. The push and pull of knowing Tom is her soulmate but being like “I don’t want to put myself in danger” and then deciding she’d ultimately do anything for the person she has grown to love. Wowza! I cant get enough of this fic I try to reread it often.

Goodnight n go by @honeymoonparker

Eek! Looking at the stars with Tom? Biggest goal in life for me tbh. I love the sky and the stars and kissing him underneath the stars? Sign me up for that good shit! Both of them being like aha yeah we’re totally friends aha unless? 👀 too funny I love clueless idiots who have a thing for each other. It’s great. It’s cute, sweet adorable heartwarming I legit read it and go “awwww” every single time. 

It’s Official by @dahliaspidey

Fake dating with Tom? Yes! Clueless idiots in love again? Sign me up! When he gave the reader that bouquet of flowers? Yeah gimme that type of love my dude! Him fumbling over telling the reader how beautiful she is? We love slightly anxious Tom that loves someone but can’t put it in words quickly enough. 

Polo and Prosecco by @keepingupwiththeparkers

Omg this was fucking great. I too do not understand polo but would freely participate for the booze. “You are not getting come on this dress” I YELLED. Because yeah I feel like that would be a bitch to get out??? Also sitting on Tom’s knee/lap yeah sign me up. Katie always writes Tom as such a passionate lover and I feel it in my very soul. 

Lingerie by @mcuspidey

Okay so when is Tom going to buy me expensive lingerie so I can show him??? But seriously lmfao this was so precious and Tom just praising his gal? Yeah sign me UP.

“tattooing all of his favorite curves- that even the lingerie didn’t show off quite as well as his own memory did- with the love that you deserved.” Yeah yeah yeah please I’m here for that I deserve that. Anyways fluffy hot hot stuff 

Harrison Osterfield x reader

Side Effect by @darlingosterfield

I generally don’t read fics with Harrison as the main, like ever. But this series has me hooked! Absolutely hooked! The dynamic between the two of them, the way the reader just really wants to do the god damn assignment but Harrison is a little shit! But he’s also lowkey a big softie. Anyways it’s so beautifully written and I can’t wait to read the rest of it

[taekemeaway]

info: namgi, teen, roommate/college au genre: fluff, slice of life | word ct: 6k warnings: devils lettuce, stoned antics summary: to everyone else, namjoon was a brilliant philosophy student that would make socrates swoon with pride. to yoongi, namjoon was the annoying roommate that laid awake at night mumbling things like,

"do jellyfish get lonely because there are no peanut butter fish?"

and yoongi hated him.

but he liked him more than he hated him.

cross posted on ao3

There was a lot to be said about Kim Namjoon, and usually it was good. He was a hardworking student with a kind heart, helpful and wise, he fought for peace and practiced it too. In his spare time he could either be found tutoring or volunteering at various school functions around campus with an awarding winning smile on his face. Didn’t ask for praise or recognition (even though he received it often). He was, for all intents and purposes, a good person. The only people who held any amount of disdain towards him were usually jealous of his success or insecure of the lack of their own.

Yoongi, on the other hand, was his roommate.

And he had plenty of things to say about him.

One fact that no one would argue, Namjoon was brilliant. Whether you loved him or you hated him (or you were Yoongi and found yourself somewhere in the inbetween) you had to admit that you had never met anyone more intelligent than him. He chose to study philosophy and posed the sort of questions that would make Socrates roll over in his grave to hide the massive boner he just received.

“You have to ask yourself,” Namjoon would begin as underclassman swarmed him, each hanging on his every word like well-trained minions, “if a man kills an intruder for fear of his own life, was he just for doing so? Most people would say yes. Murder is inherently illegal but this man will not go to jail for breaking a law to protect himself.”

Yoongi wasn’t sure if he paused to catch his breath or to build tension. Either way, his goons seemed to only become more entranced by his silence.

“Then is that man so different from the woman who buys prescription drugs from someone on the street if she needs them to stay alive because her healthcare refuses to cover it? She isn’t causing anyone any harm but more likely than not this woman will see jail time and the man who ended someone else’s life will walk free. They both broke the law, shouldn’t the punishment be the same if their intent was just?”

Yoongi would roll his eyes in disgust. Not because of what Namjoon proposed, it was a well thought out argument, but because late at night that same progeny of Aristotle would lie awake and utter things like,

“Do you think jellyfish ever get lonely because there are no peanut butter fish?”

It was a marvel that this was the same man that students and faculty alike fawned over. Yoongi sometimes found himself staring just because he had no idea how someone so smart could’ve said something so utterly moronic. Kim Namjoon was a bundle of chaotic contradictions wrapped up neatly in a well worn cashmere sweater. Hate was a strong word, and Yoongi didn’t hate him. Sometimes he thought it would be easier if he did. He was just fed up with their whole semester long situation.

Yoongi couldn’t pinpoint one singular reason why Namjoon got under his skin. There wasn’t something that he just couldn’t forgive, something that he had done that warranted such malevolence, Yoongi couldn’t explain it. He hated attention, he hated the limelight, whether it was on him or not. Namjoon, alternatively, was constantly bathed in it. Every step he took seemed to be toeing a red carpet that had yet to exist. Each word out of his mouth almost preluding an acceptance speech that was sure to come.

Maybe irritated was a better word.

He was constantly irritated by Namjoon and everything that he did.

He didn’t like to show it though, that was in poor taste. Namjoon never did anything to slight him personally but sometimes Yoongi just didn’t like people. In fact he usually didn’t like people. Some part of him felt that if he wasn’t forced to live with the most intelligent student (and person) on campus he would’ve at least been able to tolerate him. Even if that were true, the semester was almost over and they were never going to see each other again.

The idea didn’t make him happy per se, but it didn’t make him unhappy either.

“I don’t get why you hate him so much.” Taehyung mused while he flipped through a magazine. “Sometimes I swear you’re spiteful for the sake of being spiteful.”

“You’re right, I am.” Yoongi returned absentmindedly. “And I don’t hate him, I just can’t stand him for lengthy intervals of time.”

Taehyung scoffed. “You say that about everyone.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.” He mumbled in response. “If you’re going to lecture me, at least make yourself useful. Can you hand me that—thing.”

Rolling his eyes, Taehyung rolled off of Yoongi’s bed to grab that thing. “Yoongi, it’s your laptop. When are you going to stop referring to it as that thing.”

“When it decides to cough up that 15 page research paper it ate.” He explained.

Taehyung scoffed. “That was—that was two semesters ago!”

Yoongi didn’t look phased. “And?”

“Turn on autosave!”

“No.”

“And why the hell not?”

“I refuse to abide by its rules. That means it wins.”

Groaning in exasperation, Taehyung threw himself back onto Yoongi’s bed. “See? This is what I’m talking about. When faced with two options, one being a solution and the other being a problem, you willingly decide to let it be a problem! In what world does any sane person do that?”

“Dunno.” Yoongi clipped, opening up his hand expectantly. “Can you hand me that—other thing?”

Taehyung pressed his palms into his eyes. “Why do I—fine. What is the other thing?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Yoongi vehemently pointed to a rather expensive set of headphones that had been obviously tossed across the room in one of his fits.

Sighing, Taehyung grabbed it for him. “Alright, what did the headphones do?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Taehyung eyed the headset already sitting next to him. “Did you accidentally use Namjoon’s headset and realize that it’s so much better than your own?”

While Yoongi didn’t offer a response, his red ears said it all.

“Jesus, hyung.” Taehyung muttered, shaking his head. “Can’t you at least pretend to get along with him? It’s the end of the semester, it’s the holidays for Christ’s sake! He’s not the devil and your continued vendetta against him just makes you look like a royal prick!”

Taehyung statement hung in the air for some time, waiting for Yoongi to fill the void with something that resembled an explanation. He would be disappointed, as he often was.

“Did you say something?” Yoongi threw casually over his shoulder, pretending he hadn’t heard him.

“Nothing worth hearing, apparently.” Taehyung lamented. “Alright, my shuttle should be here any minute and I need to finish packing. I’ll see you next semester.”

“Later Taehyung.” He returned with half a wave. “Say hi to the folks for me.”

Taehyung almost smirked. “Don’t worry, I will. Try not to work yourself to death.”

“No promises.”

“I know, later Yoongi.”

With a click, Taehyung was gone and Yoongi was finally alone. Savoring the welcomed silence, he leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms overhead. The time in between semesters was his favorite time of year. He could stay at the dorms while everyone else dispersed to the countryside to see family they haven’t laid eyes on in months. It granted him both a reprieve from his disapproving parents and the other students that never ceased to get on his nerves.

And, most importantly, He mused happily, no more Kim Namjoon.

Of course he was still around. His side of the room was still dredged in chaos, his suitcase and other luggage remained mostly untouched from what Yoongi could tell. Not that he expected anything less, it was Namjoon’s routine. He would get so caught up in goodbyes and last minute philosophical debates that packing would be left until he was scrambling to get it all done. And Yoongi would have to endure it all and hope that he didn’t grind his molars to dust from pure annoyance.

In his defense, he didn’t start grinding his teeth until he met Namjoon. So he’ll gladly blame him for the dental bills that will certainly accumulate in the future.

One more day. He reminded himself. One more day and I’ll finally be free of him.

There was only one problem with his plan, by the time that Namjoon rolled in it was almost midnight. Well after all of the buses and shuttles had finished their routes for the night—for the whole semester, in fact. No one was coming or going from the school until service up to the campus resumed towards the end of January.

And Namjoon was there.

In their room.

Smiling.

Yoongi felt like he was going to be sick.

“You don’t look so good, hyung.” Namjoon pointed out, shouldering off his bookbag. “Don’t tell me you’re getting sick right before Christmas.”

Almost as if he was in a trance, Yoongi didn’t confirm or deny Namjoon’s assumption and instead found his jaw planted firmly on the ground. He was still in shock, frozen in time staring at his roommate and hoping that the horrible hallucination would vanish before his eyes. Minutes ticked by without incident, or any that was visible. Because Yoongi could swear that World War 3 was waging in his chest while his mind tried to wrap itself around the situation he was faced with.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you that I decided not to go home for the holidays.”

This—this is hell.

“So it looks like it’s just going to be you and me for the next month or so.”

This is the lowest circle of hell.

“Nothing but us guys and some fun philosophical conundrums to pass the time.”

Taehyung was wrong. Namjoon is most certainly the devil and he’s planning on subjecting me to his hellish torture!

Yoongi didn’t say anything as Namjoon got comfortable after a long day of—whatever he does. His mind was still careening off the tracks. The amount of time that they usually spent together in their dorm room was almost negligible, at least the time they spent awake anyways. He honestly didn’t know how they were going to survive for a whole month if Namjoon expected him to hold a conversation. Typically his responses varied somewhere between grunting and feigned oblivion. And that was perfectly fine for the twenty or so minutes before they drifted off to sleep.

He had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t be enough anymore.

“So, what are your plans for break?”

To take a break from you. “Nothing really.”

“Same.” Namjoon sighed, pulling out War and Peace in the original Russian like that was completely normal. “I’ll probably just catch up on some light reading, you won’t even know I’m here.”

Light reading? Yoongi exasperated. I can’t tell if he’s showing off or if he genuinely feels that War and Peace is such a breeze to read.

He decided that it was a little bit of both.

“Whatever.” Yoongi finally mumbled before turning his attention back to his computer and the track he’d been mixing.

But as much as he wanted to get back to work, he couldn’t. There was something about Namjoon, whether it was his energy or his spirit or whatever—Yoongi couldn’t concentrate. Namjoon was just so loud. Which didn’t make any sense, glancing over his shoulder Yoongi could see that he wasn’t doing anything. He was just reading, just sitting, just existing and it was too much for Yoongi to handle.

This is going to be a long break.

A long.

Hellish.

Break.

As usual, Yoongi’s concerns and grievances were grossly exaggerated. One would even say dramatic if they wanted to piss Yoongi off. He hated that word. He hated it most when Taehyung had turned to Hoseok in the middle of a crowded coffee shop and asked, “can I get a definition for dramatic?” to which Hoseok dutifully replied with, “intending or intended to create an effect; theatrical.”

Which wasn’t inherently awful but they were using it to make a point when Yoongi wanted to perform a sit-in when the girl behind the counter said that they were out of almond croissants.

“You’re being dramatic, hyung.”

“You don’t even know what that word means, dongsaeng.”

“Oh don’t I? Hoseok, come over here.”

So, yeah. He hated that word.

In context, Namjoon wasn’t in their dorm room nearly as much as Yoongi had been dreading. He was barely there at all. What Yoongi neglected to take into consideration, Namjoon had a life and friends. Why would be coop himself up in a broom closet? Yoongi, on the other hand, had an affinity for silence and being bitter and neither were too condusive to having any semblance of a social life. He could count his friends on one hand and one of them was the underclassman, Jeongguk, that was forced to deal with him when they were both in the studio late at night.

Taehyung said that he didn’t count.

He was being paid to be there.

(Yoongi counted him anyway. Screw you Taehyung.)

And the few times that Namjoon’s schedule permitted him to come back to the dorm, he mostly let Yoongi be. It really wasn’t too different to their dynamic when school was in session. Turns out, there was nothing for him to be afraid of. At least—nothing he wasn’t already afraid of. Like human contact, escalators, the second floor bathroom, and cilantro. All of which were equally terrifying in his eyes.

At first, Yoongi felt like he was in paradise. He was alone, there was quiet, he wasn’t needed and he didn’t need. On paper everything was perfect. Two weeks into break and he was already almost finished with everything he wanted to work on. Day in and day out he was just this over exhausted bundle of productivity. Eventually though, he realized that he had been plagued by an ungodly affliction. One that would surely be fatal if left unchecked. And it wasn’t his innate desire to make playlists.

He was bored.

That was the contradiction of Min Yoongi. He only craved quiet when there was none, loved solitude when he couldn’t get away. Something he didn’t take into consideration, never thought of, how did he know that he didn’t like people if there was no one there to constantly pester him? The answer was simple, he didn’t. As much as he hated people, he needed them. He needed them so he could hate them. Which didn’t make any of sense when he tried to explain it to Taehyung. That didn’t matter, to Yoongi it made plenty of sense.

Unfortunately there was only one person on campus and in his direct circle of friends to have enough time to humor his social neglect. One person in the entirety of the universe that could cure his deadly affliction. The same person he had been so keen to escape over winter break. He grimaced just thinking about it. Making nice with Kim Namjoon.  

The Kim Namjoon.

But, in all honesty, he didn’t know how. He could barely make nice with Hoseok and Taehyung, he tolerated Seokjin, and Jeongguk didn’t say much (which was why Yoongi liked him best). How do people talk to other people? For two days he sat at his desk with his hands fisting his hair in frustration, trying to figure out how to strike up a conversation with someone he had never had a desire to converse with before.

What do I say, you smell nice?

Oh God no that’s awful.

Do I say nothing?

Can I just bark at him?

Because honestly that’s the least awkward thing I can think to do.

It was madness.

Ugh, I need to smoke a bowl before I lose it.

So that’s what he did, he cracked open a window, packed his Kumamon bowl, and let some herbal refreshments drown his worries and social anxiety. He inhaled deeply and leaned back in his chair, suddenly more concerned with the fact that male seahorses give birth and wondering if in some apocalyptic future he’d have to do the same.

“Is that what I think it is?”

Eyes wide in fear, Yoongi swivelled around to the sight of Namjoon standing in the doorway with a similar expression on his dimpled face. Busted. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to burst into flames or implode on the spot. Either would’ve been better than having his Holier than Thou roommate running off to campus security and getting his scholarship revoked and his ass thrown out into the snow. Swallowing nervously, he decided to take one more hit in case any of those scenarios came to fruition.

“Maybe?” He admitted while he held it, exhaling it only when he couldn’t take it anymore.

Namjoon suddenly smiled. “I had no idea you smoked! If I had known I wouldn’t have tried so hard to hide my stash so thoroughly.”

Wait—what?

Intrigued, Yoongi watched Namjoon kneel down beside his bed and pull out a ratty old cardboard box from beneath it. Inside was a myriad of books, some old some new, each as inconspicuous as the next. As he opened up a fairly worn copy of The Scarlet Letter Yoongi managed to peep a small baggy of “oregano” tucked away neatly in a cut out portion of the pages. He wasn’t sure what caught him off guard more, the fact that Kim Namjoon took part in illegal activities or that he disfigured such an iconic book. For a good cause, of course, it was still shocking to say the least.

“Wow.” Was all that Yoongi could manage as his slower mental processes took in what was happening. He reflexively offered his bowl to Namjoon as silence descended upon them, sharing is caring as he always said.

“Thanks.” Namjoon smiled, pulling out his lighter and taking a puff. “It was getting harder and harder to hide this stuff from you, you never leave the room after all.”

Yoongi shrugged. “Sorry, I don’t like going outside. Or talking to people. Or moving. Or—I don’t like a lot of things actually.”

“I’ve noticed that.” He laughed as he let a stream of smoke pass between his lips. “I think you’ve said less than ten words to me since we moved in in August.”

“Probably.” Yoongi snorted, taking the bowl back and contemplating packing another one. “You gonna stick around? I don’t want to grind another bowl just for myself.”

Pursing his lips and eyeing his watch, Namjoon looked unsure. “Well—I was going to go get some lunch with my friends…”

“Whatever, it’s fine.” Yoongi waved him off. “You can come smoke whenever you want, I don’t really care.”

Namjoon arched a brow at him. “Was that an invitation to hang out?”

Yoongi felt his ears getting red. “Not really. You live here.”

“So do you.”

“And?”

“We’re technically always hanging out.”

Yoongi shrugged. “Then I guess it was.”

Watching his lips tug into a smile, Yoongi felt his heart skip a beat.

“Sounds good to me. I’ll see you later hyung.”

Click.

Sitting in silence, Yoongi found himself wondering;

Has Namjoon always been that handsome?

The answer was yes, obviously, but it was still something he had never noticed before. Yoongi found himself rolling his eyes at his own expense.

What, do you have a crush on him already?

What if I do?

Then that’s pretty sad and you’re a thirsty hoe.

He paused.

I need to stop having discussions with myself and start talking to actual people.

But he wouldn’t.

Instead, he created a playlist.

That was one of Yoongi’s pastimes, creating playlists. He created them for a variety of reasons, for relaxation, inspiration, to remind him of someone, and for whatever reason his somewhat successful encounter with Namjoon warranted a playlist. There wasn’t much yet, he put I’m a Freak by Radiohead on there and took it off when he remembered he wasn’t making a playlist about himself. After some pretty thorough deliberation, he had a whole whopping two songs on there. Wishing Well by the Gunpoets and The Enemy by Andrew Belle. He would continue to add songs as they hung out more so he didn’t stress over it. Good things come with time.

Besides, Namjoon liked Pierce the Veil. He really liked them. And they were one of Yoongi’s favorite bands. They actually spent a whole Thursday afternoon quoting their favorite lyrics to each other and he knew right then and there—they were going to be good friends.

And they really were. It happened gradually, but everyday Namjoon and Yoongi would hang out for maybe just a couple of hours. They were a good couple of hours too. They would each take turns playing their music, oddly enough they had similar tastes, and packing the bowl. It was a good arrangement. Not only that, it definitely cured Yoongi’s boredom and made their break start to fly by. Which could’ve been a good thing or a bad thing, depended on which one you asked.

Then, the storm came.

The storm itself wasn’t anything special, nothing more than snow and wind, but it knocked out the power. No big deal, except there was no power and that meant that there was absolutely nothing to do. Late at night, no lights, no computer, no music, nothing. Namjoon and Yoongi sat there dumbfounded while their marijuana riddled minds tried to grasp what just happened.

“Well shit.” Namjoon muttered first, supressing a cough. “This sucks.”

Yoongi fell back and groaned loudly. “This really sucks.”

“I know right?” Namjoon continued, using his phone as a light to peer into their mostly used up bowl. “We’re almost out too, I’m not nearly high enough for this.”

“Me neither.” Yoongi agreed when he was, in fact, stoned out of his mind. “What’re we supposed to do now?”

Namjoon narrowed his eyes at his phone. “I don’t know, my phone’s almost dead. What about yours?”

Lifting up his head, Yoongi grimaced. “We don’t speak of that thing.”

Namjoon scoffed. “I take it you didn’t like the new update.”

“Hell no.” Yoongi concurred, groaning louder still. “Do you have anything left to pack the bowl?”

He shook his head. “No. Besides, smoking it a lot less fun when there’s no music.”

“True.” Yoongi sighed. “Well—what’re we supposed to do?”

“We could discuss Aristotle’s position on goats—”

“No.” Yoongi cut him off. “We’re not debating some philosophical point right now. Philosophy hurts my sober brain and my stoned brain wants nothing to do with it—wait, did you say goats?”

Namjoon nodded. “He believed he could tell the gender of a goat by which way the wind was blowing.”

Yoongi couldn’t help it, he laughed. “This is what you’re learning in your philosophy classes?” Nod. “That’s crazy, those Greek dudes might not be so bad after all.”

“Really?” Namjoon beamed. “Because we could—”

“No.”

“But—”

“I said no.”

“Please—”

“NO.”

“Okay fine.” Namjoon finally admitted, pouting as he crossed his arms. “Then what do you suppose we do?”

Yoongi shrugged. “No clue. No laptop means no speakers, no speakers means no tunes, no tunes means no more grass for us. I would play for us but I pawned my guitar last semester for a term paper that I didn’t feel like writing. So no music.”

“You play guitar?” Namjoon asked. “I didn’t know that.”

“I play a little bit of everything.” Yoongi elaborated unenthusiastically. “Piano’s my forte but I couldn’t exactly fit a good keyboard in the dorms so I brought my guitar with me.”

“And then you sold it.”

“Pawned.”

“For a term paper.”

“Yup.” Yoongi reaffirmed with pride. “I skated through my prereqs thanks to bought term papers. I’m not ashamed of it.”

Namjoon’s eyes started swimming with curiosity, Yoongi could see those wheels turning. And he knew he wouldn’t like what was about to happen.

“What an interesting point.” He mused quietly, chin held between his fingers. “These courses aren’t necessary for your future, but you’re required to take them—”

I’ve unleashed the monster.

“—you’ve found a way around the situation by having other people write your papers. Which is, of course, against school policy and therefore you should be punished. But by not wasting your time on classes that hold no importance for you or your career you were able to accomplish more for yourself. How do we determine what is more important? Rules and regulations, or the promise of a better tomorrow?”

Namjoon’s question was met with an impermeable silence, which was what usually happened when he got all philosophical when Yoongi was in the room.

“Is that it?” Yoongi asked incredulously. “C’mon, get it out of your system. You know you want to.”

“Then we’d be here all night.” Namjoon chuckled. “And you wouldn’t like that.”

Yoongi shrugged nonchalantly. “Not necessarily.”

“Is that you admitting you like hanging out with me?” Namjoon teased.

“No.”

“I think it is.”

“It’s not.”

“Alright, whatever you say hyung.” Namjoon relented with a laugh. “So, what’re we going to do about this no music thing?”

Yoongi looked uninterested for the most part. “Beats me, probably nothing. You can sing to me if you want.”

“Now that’s funny.” He returned, checking his phone for the time. “I actually have a better idea.”

Curious, Yoongi propped himself up on his elbows and eyed Namjoon suspiciously. “Oh? Do tell.”

“What’re the odds that the security cameras are down across campus?” He asked. “Think they have a backup generator?”

“I mean maybe?” Yoongi offered halfheartedly. “Why? What exactly do you have in mind?”

Namjoon’s only response was a devilish grin. “You’ll see.”

Before Yoongi could question him further, Namjoon stood up abruptly and started pulling on layers. When he motioned for Yoongi to do the same, he did so without hesitation. Which, in hindsight, shouldn’t have been his immediate reaction but he was starting to learn that Namjoon had some sort of mystical power over him. In that Yoongi could tolerate him for extended periods of time without feeling the need to claw out his own ears. And that he actually felt happy until he realized that and instantly made himself unhappy.

I should stop doing that.

Once they were sufficiently bundled up they headed out into the cold. Yoongi followed Namjoon diligently across campus, dodging security cameras they weren’t entirely sure were even functional to wherever Namjoon was leading them. They passed the quarter, the girls dorms, and several other points of interest to—the music building of all places. Standing outside the locked door, Namjoon nodded his head towards it.

“You can pick locks right?” He asked, motioning towards the handle. “Work your magic maestro.”

Well, yes but how did you know that. Yoongi found himself wondering until he remembered that one time he broke into Mr Bang’s office to trash it in spite. While no one could prove it was him, everyone had their suspicions so he had a reputation no matter how small. Apparently Namjoon caught wind of it.

“Can I ask why we’re breaking into the music building?” Yoongi mused as he pulled out his tools, (he was always prepared).

“Well we’re going to get you a guitar.” Namjoon finally explained. “I figured this was the best place to find one.”

Yoongi let his hands fall to his side. “We’re seriously breaking into a locked facility on campus so we don’t lose our buzz? Either you’re more high than you look or you’re dumber than everyone thinks.”

“It could honestly be both.” Namjoon shrugged. “Now hurry up, the power could come back on any minute.”

Yoongi eyed him suspiciously but didn’t question him. He had no moral issues with what they were doing, he just had to wonder how much people actually know about Namjoon because he never would’ve pegged him for a burglar. First impressions were wicked things.

“Alright, that should be—” Yoongi started, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Clunk. “—it. After you, your majesty.”

Namjoon bowed gratefully as he grabbed the handle. “Why thank you.”

Chuckling, the two ducked into the building and headed towards the practice rooms. Usually instruments were left over break in case anyone left wanted to practice. There were a few music students still on campus, but they were all the classical musician types so the supply of violins and cellos were in high demand. Ratty old acoustic guitars were far less desirable and therefore there were a couple for Yoongi to pick from.

“Wait—holy shit!” Yoongi gasped, picking up a cherry red guitar and holding it in his hands. “No way, this is my guitar! What the hell is it doing here?”

“Maybe the guy you sold it to left it here?” Namjoon offered. “Was he a music student?”

Yoongi shook his head. “No, Liberal Arts, stoner. He just wanted to show off to his friends. There’s no way it would’ve been left here recently.”

“So it’s been here for a while then. Do you not practice often?” Namjoon asked. “Wouldn’t you have seen it?”

Yoongi pursed his lips as he admired his reclaimed treasure. “Not really. I’m in music production, I’m usually in the studio mixing together tracks that I produced.”

“Oh wow, you’ve produced music already?” He continued. “How old are you again?”

“This is my last year.” Yoongi mused without paying much attention to the question. “But yeah, I’ve produced a couple of albums. You can find them on Spotify along with the 80,000 playlists I’ve created.”

“Well shit.” Namjoon whistled. “That’s—that’s really impressive, hyung. I had no idea.”

Yoongi shrugged. “Not a lot of people do, I mostly keep to myself.”

“I know.” He sighed quietly. “I’m hoping that I can change that.”

Thump.

Wait, what did he say?

Before Yoongi could offer an unintelligent response, the power came back on. Simultaneously saving his from himself and making his blood pressure skyrocket.

“Oh shit.” Namjoon muttered. “Run!”

Without missing a beat the two bolted from the building, hoping that there was no one sitting in front of the monitors when the power came back on. They were halfway back to the dorms with guitar in hand, their cheeks flush from the cold wind, when they finally began to slow down. Huffing and puffing, they exchanged a couple of surreal glances before they burst out laughing in the middle of a snowstorm. Neither particularly caring that frost nipped at their exposed fingers (because fingerless gloves are cool).

Yoongi had to admit, Namjoon was pretty cool. And nothing like he expected. He was a whirlwind of contradictions, a happy medium between snob and stoner, something Yoongi had no idea even existed before he gave his roommate a chance. He was happy he did, because he liked hanging out with Namjoon. Liked making him smile, liked looking into his calming brown eyes. There was a lot that Yoongi liked about him, and the things he used to hate were mostly forgotten.

He liked Namjoon.

He liked him a lot.

Even if he didn’t realize it quite yet.

He actually realized it at about the same time Namjoon did.

It was Christmas, actually. They had already spent most of Christmas Eve trying to make joints into trees and both failed hilariously. Which neither really cared about, weed was weed and they liked it however they could get it. When Namjoon fell asleep Yoongi got back to creating another playlist, since it was his turn to play tunes the next day. Both agreed that Christmas songs were off limits because someone had rigged the intercom on campus to play I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus on loop for the past three days. They were getting sick of the holiday cheer.

So, there they were, lying down on Namjoon’s bed looking at the ceiling, Yoongi’s new playlist “brilliance is in the mind of the beholder” (all lower case because Yoongi didn’t believe in capitalism) filling their empty dorm with soft notes of melancholy and nostalgia. They passed a joint back and forth periodically, not really caring whether or not they got high and instead found themselves simply enjoying the music. It was nice.

“You’ve got good tastes, hyung.” Namjoon exhaled, passing the joint back.

Yoongi chuckled underneath his breath. “In music or in weed?”

“Both.” He concurred. “It’s a great combo.”

“Thanks.” Yoongi returned, taking a drag and letting the joint fall to his side. “Sorry you’re stuck with me on Christmas.”

Namjoon scoffed. “I’m not stuck anywhere, trust me. I like hanging out with you.”

“Same.” He agreed with a smile. “Glad you caught me smoking.”

“Thank you for smoking.” Namjoon nodded. “We wouldn’t be here without you.”

“Anytime.”

For a while after, neither of them said anything. Yoongi would periodically steal glances at Namjoon while he drummed his fingers against his chest to the music. When Namjoon really enjoyed music, he closed his eyes. He almost tuned out the whole world just so he could ride the soundwaves like an old road. Occasionally his lips would twitch into a grin or he would mouth along to the lyrics, maybe he would hum. But he would never sing, he insisted his singing voice was awful.

Yoongi wanted to hear it regardless.

Then, Namjoon tilted his head towards Yoongi and opened his eyes. The simple action was so surreal, so ethereal, Yoongi was speechless. He didn’t want to admit how often he stared into Namjoon’s eyes, but he couldn’t help it. They were so warm, so welcoming, he got lost in them time and time again. He was in a trance, one that was hard to snap himself from.

“Interesting song choice, hyung.” He suddenly muttered. “You trying to tell me something?”

Furrowing his brow, Yoongi had no idea what he meant. Taking another hit he tried to focus on the music, it was—it was—

Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight

Lead me, out on the moonlit floor

Lift your open hand

Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance, silver moon’s sparkling

So kiss me

Oh no.

His eyes opened wide with shock, the song that was playing was Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer, a cheesy song from the 90’s that had been in almost every romcom to date. Scrambling to his feet he pulled open the web player on his laptop and eyed the playlist. He—he didn’t mean to put that song on there.

He remembered his internal debate quite vividly, he was looking at the songs Kill Me on his computer and wondering which one he would add. There was Kill Me by The Pretty Reckless, a heavy metal song, pretty standard, not fantastic, and then there was Kill Me by Make the Girl Dance (a song he feels defines his personality perfectly) but neither really fit the aesthetic of the playlist. He remembered deciding on Kill Me by Christian Leave, another standard indie song that flowed with the rest. That’s what he wanted to put on the playlist.

So how did Kiss Me get on there?

Why do you have it in the first place?

Because I’m a basic bitch that likes sappy songs. Sue me.

I will.

“Sorry about that.” Yoongi tried to apologize, hoping that Namjoon didn’t get the wrong message. “I totally didn’t mean to put that on there, that’s my bad.”

“I think you did.” Namjoon disagreed. “All of the songs you played today were very—sappy.”

Yoongi arched an incredulous brow at him. “Wait—did I? I—I didn’t notice.”

“Love Lost by Temper Trap?” He started, sitting up and offering Yoongi a coy smirk. “Transatlanticism by Death Cab for Cutie? I need you so much closer? That lyric in itself is pretty telling.”

Oh no.

“Not to mention It Looks Like Love by Josh Rouse.” Namjoon continued. “If you were trying to send a message I’m reading it loud and clear.”

“I—I really wasn’t.” Yoongi insisted unconvincingly. “Those were just—they were just the songs I felt—I felt would be best for—oh fuck…”

I’m doomed.

I just confessed to Namjoon without even realized that there was anything to confess.

Or that I was confessing for that matter!

F U C K.

While Yoongi had a mild meltdown, Namjoon clucked his tongue and came up behind him. “It’s okay, no need to panic. C’mon, remember to breath.”

I’m trying really hard to forget though.

“Maybe this will help.”

He barely registered what was happened as Namjoon slowly turned around and leaned in closer. He felt something warm brush across his lips and he had to attempt to calm down in order to process what just happened. His brain was either screaming at him to focus or trying to rip itself apart, he wasn’t sure which it was so he was left wondering—

Wait, what did he just do.

Blinking past his panic, he looked up at Namjoon who in turn was looking down at him expectantly. Yoongi, who was having issues forming coherent thought, raised his finger to his lips. They were—wet. Warm. Which only meant one thing.

“Did you just—” He started, hesitating when he felt his voice begin to crack. “Did you just kiss me?”

Namjoon stifled a laugh. “Yeah, I did. Did you miss that?”

“Maybe…” Yoongi mumbled, his cheeks blossoming into a deep crimson. “Could you—could you do it again?”

“Do what again?” Namjoon teased. “I’m lost, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Kiss me beneath the milky twilight

Lead me, out on the moonlit floor

Lift your open hand

Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance, silver moon’s sparkling

So kiss me

“Kiss me…” Yoongi said so quietly he barely heard it himself.

“What was that?” Namjoon continued to torment him. “I didn’t catch that.”

So kiss me

“I said kiss me!” Yoongi blurted out, his blush creeping all the way down his neck. “Don’t make me say it again or I’m going to explode.”

Namjoon laughed easily, smiling down at Yoongi with affection. “Alright, alright. I can do that.”

So kiss me

This time when Namjoon closed the distance between them, Yoongi was hyper aware. He thought he was warm before but Namjoon proved to be even warmer. His lips were soft and sweet, he tasted like the box of chocolates they had stolen from the security office earlier that day, and that somehow made it that much more intoxicating. The sensation was exhilarating, one that made Yoongi’s knees weak when all of the blood rushed to his head.

Namjoon smiled against Yoongi’s lips and pulled away slightly. “Better?”

“Mmm…” Yoongi hummed happily, nodding lazily. “Yeah… can you do it again?”

So kiss me

[indecisive-asexual-space-dork]

Cruel and Unusual

Words: 15,066

Well! Here it is! the longest piece I’ve ever written for @ts-storytimes big bang challenge. I’d like to thank my wonderful artist @vdkstar. You can check out their wonderful pieces over on their blog. https://vdkstar.tumblr.com/post/187028616612/r%E0%B8%99%C4%93l-%E0%B8%84%E0%BA%96%E0%BB%93-%E0%B8%99%E0%BA%96%E0%B8%99%C5%9F%E0%B8%99%E0%B8%84l

In a small cell in the kingdom of Sandonia, a young man sat shivering, avoiding the eye contact of leering guards and the sniffling of other prisoners. As much as he hated it, he knew his purpose in this world and had long since past the point of crying over it. In this land, his people were considered slaves, playthings for the rich and perverted. Green eyes stared unblinking at the stone floor, the gaze of one who had lost all-purpose to exist. Behind him drooped wings of impressive size, their iridescence dulled by the enchanted pins attached to the base. 

The cell door swung open with a loud creak, the young man not even sparing a glance to the silhouette in the doorway. A hand reached out and caressed his cheek, forcing his eyes up. “Get up, slut.” the guard hissed, yanking the winged boy up roughly. “It seems your time has finally come to meet your master. I, for one, am definitely going to miss you.” The guard taunted, running his free hand down the faes lithe body, relishing in the shiver it caused. “Someone will undoubtedly pay top dollar for a pretty whore like you.” He dragged the boy out of the cell and up the stairs, tossing him carelessly at the base of a platform in the main room of the auction house. 

Logan was rightly terrified. The young fae had been born into this life destined to be a slave and, now that he had reached 18, was about to go to auction to find out which sicko was willing to pay to have him serve them. Logan's wrists twitched in the iron shackles around his skinny wrists, the cold metal burning him and undoubtedly leaving permanent scars. He felt the hungry eyes of the guards on his small body,  And he couldn't help the disgusted shiver run down his spine at their lewd comments. Logan was considered a desirable slave with his small frame and bottle-green eyes. Many had already taken it upon themselves to “train” the fae, though he was being falsely advertised as a virgin to turn more profit. Nobody wanted a used slave after all. He heard his number called and shakily climbed up onto the stage. 

Logan knelt on the cold wood, feeling perverted eyes travel along his body. “This one is a right fine specimen here folks!” The caller announced with a cruel jeer. “A rare moonlight fairy, weighing barely 90 pounds and with rare green eyes and iridescent wings! Completely untouched too!” The disgusting man tangled his fingers into Logan's short hair, forcing his face up as the small fae gasped in pain. “He is marked up with freckles but hey that might add to the appeal.” The auctioneer released Logan's hair and threw him onto the floor. “Bidding starts at five hundred silver bits.” Logan listened as numbers were called off, not even bothering to sit back up. He had resigned himself to his fate. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the cool wood. Might as well get any rest he could before the worst happened. His eyes shot open however as a deep voice called out a bid for five thousand silver bits. He got dragged off the stage still shell shocked and taken to who he assumed was his new master. 

Logan was thrown on his knees in a side room, finding himself alone with the deep voice. “You are rather pretty. I’d gladly take you home and make you my bitch for days.” The man purred, tilting Logan's’ face up and studying him. “Those pretty pink lips would look perfect wrapped around my cock.” The man grabbed Logan's arm, forcing him to stand and inspected him. Logan shuddered as the man's hand ran along his wing, fingering the device attached to the base that limited Logan's magic and ability to fly. “Shame you’re intended for my bosses son. Though maybe if I’m good, I can have a turn.” He laughed and pulled out a gag, shoving it between Logan’s teeth, at the same moment injecting the fae with a powerful tranquilizer. “Sleep, Pretty Boy. you’ll need it.” Logan's last thought before he lost consciousness was of how absolutely vile the man's breath was. 

Logan awoke with a jolt as he was thrown on yet another cold floor. This was becoming a hobby it seemed. He struggled to get up but was forced onto his knees by the same disgusting man from earlier. There was another man in the room now, a tall male in well-made clothing, whose mocking eyes looked at Logan like a piece of meat. “Well done Andres, you chose quite the little beauty. I’m sure Roman will love him.” The well-dressed man gripped Logan's fragile wings. Using that grip to force the boy to stand in order to avoid it tearing. “I’ll be taking my turn with you later.” he hissed, dragging the struggling fae into the living room and ringing a bell to summon his son. “Roman! I have a gift for you!” he announced when a boy around Logan's age appeared in the doorway. Romans eyes widened as they found the shivering fae, he taking a step forward. 

“Thank you, Father,” Roman replied stiffly, taking the pretty faes arm with careful fingers. Oh, how this made his heart ache, how scared this boy looked of him. “We’ll be retiring to my room for the night.” He felt the boy tremble, realizing what it had sounded like. He shook his head microscopically, taking the naked fairy up into his arms and carrying him upstairs. “Father and Andres will leave my home soon. We will stay in here until then.” He decided, setting the boy down. His heart ached as the boy sunk to his knees, obviously trained to present himself for sex when alone with another. “I do not intend to do that to you. I am not that type of man.” Roman placed a gentle hand on the faes shoulder, leading him to stand up. “Let's get those cuffs off before they burn you. And get that disgusting device off your wings. You are not an animal.” He hissed, undoing the cuffs and frowning at the burned marks on the boys' pale skin. “Does iron really hurt you that badly?” he asked, shocked by the sight. He began to apply a salve in order to help the boy become more comfortable. 

Logan tilted his head, blinking at the man in front of him. “Yes, Master. Usually, it's worse than even that, I have magic enough to keep it from scarring too badly,” he whispered, keeping his eyes averted. He was very confused by this Roman, finding his kindness to be completely foreign. He had mentioned removing the pins from Logan's wings, which floored the poor fae. The pins were a device invented to keep the fae bound, binding their magic and their ability to fly, quite painfully at that. Any attempt to remove it by anyone but the faes master would deliver a painful shock to the wearer, disabling them for hours. Sometimes the guards would tug on the device on Logan's wings in order to make him more pliant for them to use him. “They lied,” he mumbled, thinking of the guards. 

Roman looked up from the boys' wrists at the quiet murmur, making eye contact with the tiny thing. “About what?” he asked softly, thumbs rubbing along the ugly marks. He would have done anything to vanish these marks from the young man's skin, finding them to be repulsive. 

“About me, Master.” Logan nibbled on his lip gently, breaking eye contact. “They said that I haven't…… serviced anyone ...before.” He flinched at the hand coming into his field of vision, utterly floored as it came to cup his cheek gently. Logan couldn't help but nuzzle into the warmth on his cheek, even with how the kindness confused him after all his hardships.

“You don't have to call me master. Just Roman is fine.” Roman smiled, feeling his heart stop at the faes admittance. “You mean that you’d never been raped before.” He growled, feeling the young fae flinch. “That is detestable. The way you’ve been treated. Absolutely despicable.” Roman hissed, tilting the young man's face up. “That will not happen here. You will not be touched without your consent.” He assured, the prince's heart aching at the utter disbelief in the young man's eyes.  “That much I can promise you. Both as a prince and a friend.” He realized that the pins were still in this boys wings and stood. “Might I touch your wings? Just long enough to remove the pins.” He asked softly, waiting until he received a confused nod. Once given the okay he made his way onto the bed, on his knees beside the terrified fae. He removed the pins, wincing at the pained gasp from the younger male. “May I know your name?” he asked, resting a hand on the bed beside the boy. He wanted nothing more than to be able to hold the younger and protect him from any more harm that might have come to him.

“I am known as Logan, Ma-,” Logan mumbled, eyes widening as he almost slipped up. “But you’re free to call me whatever you wish.” He added quickly, staring at his hands. He felt his magic returning to him, a soft glow forming around the young man. 

“Nice to meet you, Logan. I’m Prince Roman Kingston. Am I to assume you’ve recently come of age?” The young noble asked, humming as the other nodded with a blush. “How many have had you?” he asked, turning to face the softly glowing boy. He couldn't have helped the widening of his eyes at the shy answer.

“I’ve lost count. It’s been happening daily since I was captured at the age of eleven. The guards would…. Take turns with me.” Logan sniffled a bit at the thought, suddenly painfully aware that he was filthy and naked on what were surely expensive sheets. He rubbed awkwardly at his bare arms, keeping his gaze on the carpeted floor. Logan tensed as a gentle hand tilted his chin up, green eyes meeting fierce gold. He nibbled at his lip, wings fluttering with anxiety.

Roman tilted his head and inspected the young fae. Logan was truly beautiful, there was no denying that. “Let’s get you into a bath. I’ll call a servant to bring you some clothing.” He decided and offered a hand to Logan with a hopeful smile. The fae took it and stood with Romans help, returning his gaze to the floor. Roman escorted the young man to his personal bathroom, showing him where the towels and such were. “I’ll come to get you later and show you to your rooms. Get you into a real bed.” Roman’s heart ached at the brief whimper that escaped the young man at that statement, quickly correcting himself. “A bed of your own. Nothing here will happen to you without your informed consent.” He softly shut the door behind him and went off to find a servant. 

Logan blinked a few times, standing in the center of a lavish bathroom. He made his way over to the tub, daring to fill it with hot water and lavender-scented bubbles. Slipping into the steaming bath elicited a soft groan from the boy, his tensed muscles relaxing in the heat. The soap worked its own magic on the young man, dirt, and grime giving way to snow pale skin and raven hair. Logan stared out the window at the full moon, a small smile finding his face for the first time. He reached a hand out of the water and captured a moonbeam in his fingers, the silver light pooling in his cupped hands. Logan stared down at the captured moonlight, The glow illuminating his face casting him in an ethereal light. 

Roman watched from the doorway, eyes wide with awe. The young prince had never seen real magic in action before. He slowly drew closer, perching at the edge of the tub. “Is that……. Moonlight?” he asked softly, staring into Logan's bright green eyes, illuminated so pretty by the pooled light. 

“Yes. I-I’ve never….. Seen it before. Is it always this bright?” Logan asked softly, swirling it in his hands. He tilted his head curiously and concentrated, causing the pool to rise and collect into an orb in the damp air. He got a gut feeling and waved a hand, turning the silver light into a mirrored surface. 

“Show me what you have to offer.” The fae spoke in a soft voice, the mirror rippling softly and showing an image of a young fae and a tall man. Logan watched, nibbling his lip as the tall man grabbed the arm of his younger self, forcing the young boy to his knees and binding his hands with a thick leather belt. He observed as the crown of stars is taken from him, stripping the, then eleven-year-old, of his identity, his birthright. Logan flinched and nibbled on his lip, waving again to dissipate the moonlight pool. “I-I.” He stuttered, casting his eyes away from Romans. 

Romans' heart ached from watching the scene in the moonlight, he wanted nothing more than to hug the boy in front of him. He gently took Logan's hands, smoothing his thumbs over the young faes skin. “You did nothing wrong, Logan. What has happened to you is no fault of yours.” His chest twinged at the sheer disbelief in the eyes of the other. Roman helped Logan from the bath, wrapping him in a plush towel. “I’ll step out so you can dress, then show you to your room. It’s right next to mine so do not hesitate to wake me should you need anything.” Roman murmured, stepping out of the humid room to wait for Logan. When the now-clothed fae rejoined him he smiled and took his hand. 

 Logan took a deep breath and nodded, signaling Roman that he was ready. He couldn't help but shiver as Roman brought him into a bedroom, the young fae lowering his gaze to the floor. He swallowed heavily as he was led to sit on the bed, toying with his fingers in his lap. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked, cutting his eyes up to meet Romans. “You say that you don’t want me for your own pleasure. That is all I know how to do.” Logan admitted in a soft whisper. 

Roman frowned, considering the question. He cautiously took a seat next to Logan, taking his hand. “I wasn’t expecting to be faced with this.” He began, smoothing his thumb across the back of Logan's hand.  “I will admit that you are quite beautiful, but I do not desire sex with someone not willing. I hold myself to a higher standard. Unfortunately, you can’t leave. My father is quite insistent that I keep any ‘gifts’ he decides to bestow me, though he does know my feelings about the treatment of the fae.” Roman crossed his legs underneath him, tilting his head. “You can serve as my…. Companion?” he offered, quick to clarify as Logan tensed. “What I mean is. For all intents and purposes, you will simply keep me company. Nothing will happen that you don’t consent to but it would help keep up appearances. I am a quite influential young man, people have been expecting me to take a slave for quite a while now. Most members of high society have them. I could never bring myself to go to an auction. But! Now that you’re living with me, there will be no more expectation for me. And no one will try and touch you lest they risk insulting me.” He explained. 

Logan frowned, thinking it over. “So I’m still going to be only seen as some rich, royal perverts toy rather than my own person with my own thoughts and ideas?” He sighed, pulling his knees to his chest. “I suppose it’s better than the alternative. Your father and his goons seemed to be quite interested in me. I understand that it would be detrimental for you to oppose them in that regard.” he shrugged, toying with a loose thread on the bedsheets. “Oh how the mighty fall. My forefathers would be most disappointed to see what has come of their bloodline.” he deadpanned, flopping backward on the bed. 

Roman frowned, tilting his head. “What do you mean by that, Logan?” he asked, curling his legs up to his chest. He considered the rest of what Logan had said as he waited, feeling a churning in his stomach. “T-there's a way to keep my father and Andres from touching you. But it would be most unpleasant for you considering what you’ve endured. If I were to claim you publicly and essentially declare you my personal toy, including a claiming mark, then legally they wouldn't be able to touch you. And the magic would prevent anyone but me from touching you.” He explained. “But it would tie your magic and life force to me forever. And I assume that is not what you wish?” Roman ventured, studying the fae in front of him. 

Logan stared out the window for a moment, considering the question. “Either you have sex with me once and nobody touches me….. Or you don’t and I’m at risk every second that I’m not by your side?” He asked dryly, fiddling with the edge of the blanket. His eyebrows shot up at Romans wince, filling with annoyance at his entire situation. 

“Well….. Actually, it would have to be a regular thing…… the claiming has to happen weekly or it loses strength.”Roman explained, fidgeting with his fingers. He shyly looked up and made eye contact, wincing at the dead look in Logan's eyes. “That is why I was certain that you wouldn't want to go that route.” Roman stood and fixed his jacket, giving a small bow to the young fae. “I suggest we discuss this in the morning. I’m sure you’re exhausted.” He decided to move to the doorway. “Goodnight, Logan.” He paused a moment and pulled out a key, placing it on the bedside table. “No one else has a key to this room. It is intended for my betrothed……. Or. It was.” 

Logan watched Roman leave, thinking of the last thing he had said. Had Roman broke off an engagement...or something worse? He relaxed into the pillows, feeling himself sink into the plush mattress for the first time in years. Logan pulled the blanket over his body, tucking his knees into his chest. He stared out the window at the silver moon, the soft light rippling over his face. He allowed his eyes to slide shut, the exhaustion of the past day weighing heavily on the young fae. 

❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

The next few weeks were difficult, to say the least. Roman had managed to keep his father away from the summer palace with odd excuses here and there so as to protect Logan from having to subject himself to any negativity. The two had become tentative friends, holding conversations regarding books or music and playing chess in Romans library. 

Logan was curled up on his bed with a novel, the young fae entranced by the words on the page and how the story was unfolding. He was so distracted by his book that he didn’t notice the door open until it slammed shut, startling him from his reading. He saw the head of security standing there staring at him. Logan didn’t like Charles one bit but he knew better than to be impolite with the man. 

“Good evening, Charles.” He greeted, setting his book aside cautiously. “Was there something you needed?” Logan's eyes widened as he was straddled, the larger man pinning his wrists to the headboard. He screamed as the man pulled iron cuffs from his pocket, clasping them tightly around the young faes wrists. 

“You, pixie,” Charles growled, running his hands down Logan's shivering body. “Have enjoyed far too much freedom in your time here. It’s time someone reminded you of your purpose.” he took hold of the collar of Logan's shirt, ripping the thin fabric from his lean frame. Logan yelped and tried to summon magic from the air but due to the drawn curtains was unable to draw any power from the full moon. He sobbed as the man dragged rough hands down his body, removing the rest of his clothing. He was supposed to be safe here. Roman had promised that he was safe here. 

Logan sobbed as pain racked through his body, pulling uselessly against the cuffs around his wrists. He had tried begging to no avail so he had fallen silent and prayed to the fae kings of old, his fathers and grandfathers. He thought bitterly of his old life, a fae prince indeed, as he was once again violated and made into a simple toy for some brute. He looked up as the door opened, eyes widening at the sight of Roman, his supposed savior. 

Roman had just come in from a night out with his friends, Patton and Virgil, who were standing a step behind him, watching in horror as one of Romans most trusted guards raped his guest. “Hey!” He shouted, rushing in and pulling the man off of Logan. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Roman demanded, holding the vermins collar in his fist. He dragged the man down to the dungeon of his palace, planning a suitable punishment. “I’ll deal with you later.” Roman hissed, slamming the door. He made his way back upstairs, finding Patton and Virgil trying to comfort Logan. 

Patton honestly didn’t expect this when Roman had invited him home to meet his houseguest. “It’s okay, kiddo. You’re safe now. Just breathe.” he soothed, honey-sweet voice washing over the young fae as he worked to get the cuffs off him. He glanced at Virgil who nodded and pulled out his lockpick, carefully avoiding touching the iron. 

Virgil's pale lavender wings fluttered anxiously behind him as he worked to get the cuffs off his prince. He wanted to get Logan away from any humans, knowing that the young prince was supposed to be kept pure. But it was too late. Once Logan's wrists were free, Virgil knelt, drawing Roman and Pattons eyes to him. “My prince.” He murmured, training his eyes on the floor. It had been years since he’d done this but it felt as easy as breathing.

Logan watched curiously as the other fae knelt. “It's been years since anyone called me that.” he mused, drawing his knees up to his chest. “Rise. I’m not much a prince anymore. You need not kneel for me.” He accepted the robe handed to him and wrapped it around his form. “Besides, Vivi. How many times have I told you that you’re ridiculous for thinking that you have to kneel for me?” 

“All due respect, highness, you’re still my prince,” Virgil smirked, standing and sitting beside Logan on the bed. He chuckled as the young fae flung himself into his arms, hugging his best friend close. “Even if you’re still scrawny and dorky looking.” he teased, kissing Logan's forehead. The older fae hugged his friend close, rubbing his shoulders as he had for years. 

“......um?” Roman raised his hand, gaining the attention of the two faes. “Care to explain what the heck is going on?” He asked, perching on the end of the bed with Patton. “I’ve never seen Virgil kneel for anyone, even Patton and they’re married.” The cheerful man in question giggled, poking Romans arm. 

“Logan is the prince of our people, it is custom to kneel for royalty,” Virgil explained, tilting his head. “Patton might be my master but he isn't my prince. Nor am I bound to kneel for you.” Virgil ruffled Logan's hair gently. “I am Logan's advisor, time apart does not change his status, nor my loyalty.” He shrugged, letting Logan tuck his face into his neck. “He’s also my best friend and I would be a right ass if I left now.” 

Patton giggled and took Romans hand, squeezing it softly. “I’m Virgil's husband, not his master.” he clarified, seeing rage flash in Logan's eyes. “I paid for his freedom from those awful traders but I would never require his submission. He just likes that dynamic.” Patton giggled at Romans deadpan of ‘kinky’, swatting his shoulder. He stuck his hand out to Logan cheerfully, “Pleasure to meet ya, kiddo! I’ve heard so much about you!” He chirped, shaking his hand. 

Logan glanced around the room at the others, pulling his robe around him a little closer. “Nice to meet you, Patton.” He mumbled, unable to force his voice any higher. He felt like he was going to cry at any second, feeling the wetness on his thighs. “I-if you’ll all excuse me. I-I believe I am in need of a shower.” Logan stood shakily and gathered clothing, vanishing into the bathroom. If the boys pretended that they hadn’t heard sobbing through the door when he joined them in Romans room he would greatly appreciate it. 

Virgil sighed as he watched his best friend vanish through the door, waving his hand and summoning shadow forms to his beck and call. He sent them down to the dungeon to torment the bastard that had done this with razor edges and nightmare visions. He would have very much enjoyed going downstairs and introducing him to the heels of his boots. He moved over to Patton and took a seat in his lap, deep in thought. 

“Roman, how offended would you be if I killed him?” Virgil asked, eyes dark. “Logan is my prince and my best friend. That…. Vermin took something precious from him. In our culture, such things would be punishable by death.” He curled his hands into fists, nails biting into his palms. “To think that humans would be so foolish as to disrespect a prince in such ways.” Virgil soothed as Patton hugged him, a small frown still on his face. 

“I know, Virgil. It is…. Despicable. A member of my household at that. I was under the impression that I had dispensed of all those with that mindset.” Roman mused, staring at the fire. “I personally can’t kill him, it would be seen as senseless murder as unfortunately Logan isn't seen as his own person.” He pulled his legs up underneath him, deep in thought. “If you did it Patton would be forced to make an example of you…… I will fire him, he’s been known to cause discord among the household. Then I can challenge him for disrespecting my property.” Roman spat the words, clearly hating what they meant. He wrapped his arms around himself with a shiver, smiling as Logan returned. 

Logan crept into the room silent as a ghost, sitting on the bed beside Roman and Virgil. “My apologies for all the trouble,” he whispered, placing a hand on Virgil's shoulder as the other fae had bowed his head when Logan entered. He pulled himself up further on the bed, crossing his legs underneath him as he leaned against Virgil. He sighed as the other fae wrapped his arms around him, melting into Virgil's protective hold. 

Virgil wrapped his arms around Logan protectively, tucking his chin above his head. “Don’t ever apologize to us for something like this, Moonglow.” he chastised, kissing Logans temple. “You haven't asked for any of this and I have half a mind to go down to the dungeon myself and take care of the bastard that would disrespect you like this.” Virgil shot a look over at Roman, nibbling his lip. “Ro, would you mind if I stayed here with Logan a few days?” he asked, eyes leaving no room for denial. 

“Not at all, Virgil. You and Patton are always welcome in the palace, you know that.” Roman agreed, standing and smoothing his clothes. He leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to Logan's forehead, smoothing his curls back. “Sleep well, Little Star,” he whispered, kneeling beside the fae. “Forgive me, Your Highness, I wasn't aware that I was in the presence of another prince.” He whispered head bowed before the wide-eyed fae. 

“Roman, please stand. I don't deserve to be knelt to. My kingdom is in shambles and I am little more than a common whore.” Logan protested, blushing furiously. “It is not appropriate for a human prince to kneel for a fae slave.” he insisted, tugging Roman up to standing. 

The other three exchanged glances, swallowing their protests for another day. “You’ve had a long day, Moonglow,” Virgil whispered, smoothing a hand over Logans curls. He pulled the blankets up over the young fae, smiling softly at him. “I’ll be here all night, okay? You’re safe now, Little Moondrop.” Virgil grinned, taking a seat in the armchair after pressing a quick kiss to Pattons lips. 

Patton smiled and waved at Logan, perching on the edge of the bed. “I’m a healer. Tomorrow I would like to take a look at you to make sure that no lasting damage has been done to you. Would that be okay?” Patton asked smiling as he earned a nod. “Great! And Logan?” He reached out and took the young fae by the hand, “I’m so glad that I got to finally meet you. My shadow over there has told me so much about the brave prince that sacrificed everything to save his people.” He winked, squeezing Logan's hand. “Always Remember Kiddo, You're a hero.” With that the healer stood and kissed Virgil's forehead, exiting the room. 

Logan swallowed heavily, rubbing his eyes. “Your Patton is quite the optimist,” he snarked to Virgil, leaning back against the pillows. “You know that you can join me here, right? We aren't so long apart that we can’t cuddle anymore.” he grinned, pulling the blanket back and allowing Virgil to slide in with him. “I missed you,” Logan whispered, tucking his face into Virgil's chest and breathing in the scent of lavender and safety that his best friend had always had. 

“I missed you too, Moonglow.” Virgil murmured, pulling the blankets up over them. He really had missed the younger fae, having lost his best friend the day that Logan had sacrificed everything to keep them safe. Virgil stared at the ceiling and lost himself in the painful memories of how they’d ended up here. 

❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

It was sunny on the day that the humans arrived, even the sky assisting in their deception.

 Virgil and Logan were just getting back from lunch in the village when Logan was summoned to the throne room. Virgil followed close behind and elbowed Logan playfully. “You think it's about your marriage to Damien?” he teased, earning a blush from the shorter boy. Logan had been betrothed to the shifter for most of their lives and, though they held no romantic love for each other, he was flustered by the prospect of getting to marry the other boy. 

“Dee and I won’t be getting married for another few years, Vi. I’m only 11.”  Logan protested, rolling his eyes. He smiled at the servants as they opened the doors for him and Virgil, missing the worry in their eyes. “Hello, Father.” he greeted cheerfully, making his way over to the usually joyful man. Logan stopped short of sitting next to his father when he saw the somber look on his face. “Father?” he asked, looking between the king and the other men in the room. 

“He’s just as pretty as they told us about, Arthur.” One of the men purred, moving to grab Logan's wrist. He snarled when the prince understandably flitted away, Logan's hand falling to his dagger. “Now, now. There's no need to be difficult, Pretty Boy. We just came to talk.” the vile man purred, glancing the young prince up and down. 

“You’re perfectly capable of talking without putting your hands on my person.” Logan hissed, standing tall. “Say your bit and then feel free to leave this place.” The young prince took a seat on his throne, glaring daggers at the men who dared come here when their kind was so senselessly capturing and endangering thousands of Logan's people. 

“Fine. since your brat is so poorly mannered, I’ll keep it brief.” the human inspected his nails, glancing up at Logan in a lecherous way. “We will stop the pixie hunts,” he began, a cold smile finding his lips, “But in return we want him.” he grinned, pointing a long finger directly at the prince. “Give us the precious prince of the fae, and, in return, we will let the forest kingdom be.” 

Logan's heart stopped in his chest. These men wanted him for their sick little slave ring? He made a choked sound in his throat, glancing between the man, his father, and Virgil. “I...I-I,” he stuttered, feeling very exposed and icky. He knew that he had to protect his people, even if it meant he gave himself up like a lamb for the slaughter. “I-”

“Absolutely not!” Virgil cut in, speaking out of turn for the first time in his career. “Logan is not some prize to be taken! None of us are!” he thundered, shadows gathering around him in his rage. He was silenced by an iron blade at his throat, held by one of the man's goons. 

“I’d be careful who you yell at, pixie,” the goon hissed, gripping Virgil's arm in a tight grip. He looked at the boy up and down and smirked, running a hand down his thin frame. “Hey boss, can we add this one to the bargain? I think it needs to learn some respect.” he laughed, shackling Virgil's hands behind his back and pushing the boy to his knees. 

“F-Fine!” Logan forced out, eyes fixed on his friend. “I-I’ll do it, no more of this! Leave the people of this land alone.” he choked, standing and making his way over to the man and kneeling down, ignoring the tears running down his face. “If I must sacrifice myself for you to stop this tyranny then I’ll go with you.” he decided, trying not to cry as his crown was torn off and stuffed into the man's bag. He ignored the too-tight belt forced around his wrists and stood, sparing a glance to his father. 

“Logan, I-” the king began, looking quite helpless.

“Don’t.” Logan hissed, standing tall despite his capture. “No king sits by as his people are made slaves. And no father lets his child make the hard choice for him.” he hissed, turning away from his father for the last time. “Tell the kingdom that their king is a coward who would sell his own son.” 

With that Logan glared at the man holding his elbow and swallowed his fear. He and Virgil were dragged out of the palace and thrown into a cage with iron bars, intended to be paraded around their home like war prizes. Logan blinked back tears as his home faded from sight, swallowing his fear and sadness in favor of curling into his best friend for as long as he could still be able to. 

The coming weeks were filled with darkness and humiliation for the young prince. His brilliant wings were fashioned with a set of enchanted pins that dulled their radiance. His previously long hair chopped short and bought by those who wished a lasting piece of the “Royal Slut” as he was advertised to the masses. Eventually, the novelty wore off, his title was forgotten and the young prince became just another fae for the auction. 

❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

After Logan had finally drifted off to sleep, Virgil stood and made his way to his and Pattons bedroom, leaning on the doorframe and watching his husband for a moment. “Hey,” he whispered, gaining his husbands' attention. When Patton looked up, Virgil smiled and made his way over to the bed, tucking himself into Pattons side with a brief kiss to his cheek.

Patton set his knitting aside, turning his attention to Virgil. “Logans asleep?” he asked, moving a hand to card through Virgil's hair. He was honestly worried about the younger fae, having seen the broken look in the prince's eyes. Patton kissed Virgil's forehead with a soft hum at the confirmation, hugging his husband close. “You’re cute when you fuss over him.” he teased, chuckling at the pout he earned. 

“I am not cute! I am an agent of darkness. Lord of the Shadows!” Virgil protested though the way he snuggled into Patton despite his pout proved otherwise. 

“Right….. The Lord of the Shadows that pouts when he doesn't get a goodnight kiss..” Patton teased, kissing the tip of his pouty husbands nose. “Either way, I’m glad you two found each other again. I know that you really missed him.” He mused, combing his fingers through the silky purple locks. 

Virgil nodded, deep in thought. He summoned a slate of darkness, commanding it to show him his friends attacker. The man was curled into a corner of the cell, being bombarded with shadowy visions and nightmares from Virgil's fit of rage. “How can someone do that to another?” he asked softly, peeking up at Patton with helpless eyes. “I know that we aren’t seen as anything but slaves to most but…. We still have feelings, we still can get hurt… how can humans see what's happening and feel nothing?” he asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. 

Patton swallowed as he stared at the image on the screen, nibbling on his lip. “I don’t know, My shadowling…… I wish that I had an answer for you but I just don’t know,” he admitted as his fingers stilled in Virgil's locks. “But that's a discussion for another night, yeah?” he asked, reaching over to snuff out the candle. “Get some rest, Shadowling. I get the feeling that things are going to get a lot harder before they get any easier.” 

Virgil nodded and tucked his face into Pattons neck, breathing in the scent of honeysuckle and cinnamon and home that had always radiated from the other for as long as Virgil had known him. “I love you forever.” He whispered, kissing Pattons collarbone. 

“And I love you forever and even longer,” Patton replied, pulling the other closer and wrapping around him, determined as ever to protect the fae from any more harm. 

If only they had noticed the eyes in the shadows before it was too late. 

 ❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

The next morning was difficult for Roman. He’d been plagued with nightmares the whole night of faceless figures hurting the people that he loved and the fear he had witnessed in those ancient green eyes. He trudged down to the dining room, rubbing his eyes. When he arrived he was a little surprised to see Logan, Patton, and Virgil already deep in conversation over their cups of coffee. Romans' heart skipped a beat as he heard Logan giggle at a joke Patton had made, the joyful sound making the fae seem younger than time and tragedy had forced him to be. 

Roman made his way into the room, taking a seat next to Logan and offering him a smile. “How you holding up?” he asked softly, searching Logan's face for any upset. 

Logan smiled at the prince and shrugged, studying him right back. “I am as well as I can be, considering the circumstances.” he decided, reaching over to pour Roman a mug of coffee. He handed it over with a small smile, fingers tingling where they had brushed Romans. The other prince was handsome and Logan would have been lying (which he was physically unable to do) if he said that Romans smile didn’t make his stomach do some impressive backflips. 

“That’s good to hear, if you need anything please don’t hesitate to ask,” Roman assured, relaxing back into his chair. “Now that everyone is here we should discuss how to move forward.” He mused, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ve already fired Logan's attacker, and I’ve sentenced him with……” he trailed off, not wanting to upset Logan. 

“Destruction of property.” Logan finished, staring at the grain of the table like it would fix all of this. “Say it like it is, Roman. I am your property and that hasn’t changed.” he met Romans eyes and shrugged, taking a sip of coffee. “On that note….. I think it would be a wise idea if you were to c-claim me,” he whispered, averting his eyes and wincing at the immediate protests from Virgil and Roman. “Let me finish, please,” Logan held a hand up to silence them, “I know that it isn’t ideal, believe me if there was another option I would have suggested it. But the fact of the matter is that the way Charles saw it is likely the way many people see it. These things will continue to happen until I’m either claimed or dead.” Logan swallowed around the lump in his throat, looking directly at Roman. “You suggested this when I first arrived and I didn’t see the merit until it was too late. Doing this would prevent another incident like this from happening and it would help your reputation. At the end of the day, it is the most logical course of action.” 

Roman was honestly floored at the straightforward and calculated way Logan had explained that he was okay with this. “Logan…… I can’t... You’re asking me to rape you,” he whispered, staring at the young fae. “You’re acting like this is the only option, w-we can find something else!” he protested, tears in his eyes. “I don’t want to be another person who just takes advantage of you.” 

Logan chuckled humorlessly, setting his mug down with a dull thump. “I know that it isn’t ideal. I probably know better than anyone what’s at stake. But it's the only way.” Logan rubbed at his eyes a moment, deep in thought. “What I’m asking you to do is claim me, to protect me. I trust you to do it more than I would trust anyone else. You have my full and informed consent to do so.” he explained, taking Romans hand between both of his own. “Please don’t make me beg.” 

Patton watched the two go back and forth with a small frown. “Logan's right,” he whispered, running a hand through his chestnut curls. He ignored Virgil's glare and sighed, glancing between them. “Logan’s body cannot take any more of the violence it's endured, the stress and trauma would likely kill him.” Patton grinned without any warmth, “Having Roman claim him would make it so that any violence would be cut down to a minimum. Even though you would be having sex, it would be easier on Logan's body with proper prep and such. It would also get rid of the threat of attack, which should lower his stress levels immensely.” Patton smiled between the two and hugged Virgil closer in his lap. 

Roman nodded and stood, raking a hand through his hair. “I understand. If you three will excuse me, I need to go get something ready.” he smiled and gave a half-bow to the other prince, making his way out of the room. 

 ❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

Logan was in his room with Virgil when Roman came to find him with the surprise. He raised an eyebrow at the out of breath prince when Roman burst into the chamber, red-faced from running. “Can I help you?” he asked, tilting his head at the other. 

“Yes!” Roman grinned, offering his hand to the confused fae. “You can come with me so that I may present you with a grand surprise that you’re certain to adore!” Roman bounced in his place like a giddy child as he waited for Logan to stand. When the other was ready he took Logan's hand and pressed a dramatic kiss to the back of it, gaining a pretty blush. 

“Might I inquire as to where exactly it is you are taking me?” Logan asked, following after the giddy prince. He couldn't help but be a little red-faced that Roman had not dropped his hand yet. His confusion did not ease when Roman suddenly stopped in front of an out of the way doorway. 

“If I told you it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it?” Roman chirped, grinning at Logan. “Close your eyes?” he requested softly, pushing open the door. Inside lay an ornate library, hidden away from the rest of the castle. “It’s for you.” he blushed, prompting Logan to look. “You like books so much and I figured you’d like a special place of your very own.” Roman took Logan's hand and led him into the room, smiling at the speechless fae. 

“Roman this is…..” Logan stammered, eyes filling with tears. “Incredible. Absolutely incredible.” he sniffled, pulling the taller prince into a hug. Later he would curse himself for his foolishness but for now, he was just so touched. “Thank you.” he sniffled, nuzzling into Romans' chest. 

Roman had originally been startled by the sudden hug but after a moment he smiled and held the small boy close. “Of course, Mi Luna,” he whispered, smoothing Logan's hair back. “You deserve to have a place of your own.” 

Roman knelt down in front of the other, taking Logan's hands in his own. “Mi Luna, I want you to know that, no matter what, you are important and respected with me, okay? We are equals and you are always encouraged to tell me if something is wrong.” Roman gently took Logan's face into his hands, cradling his cheeks like a precious treasure. “I never want to make you feel unsafe or like you are some slave for my pleasure. And if you would like me to I will make it so that this room is only accessible to you and whoever you want here. This is your space to feel safe.” 

Logan blinked a few times, wiping his eyes of tears. Roman was just so kind that it was honestly overwhelming. “Thank you, Roman. For everything.” he smiled, hugging once more onto the other prince. Logan pulled back and gazed around, taking in all the books and maps in this wonderful place. A carefree giggle escaped the young man, his wings fluttering behind him. Logan peeked over his shoulder at Roman before flitting up to go inspect the books. 

Romans' heart fluttered at that precious little giggle, a bright grin finding his face. Logan was absolutely precious when he let himself drop his walls. Roman settled into an armchair nearby to wait for Logan, picking up one of the many novels in the room. Occasionally he would spare a glance at the excited fae, marveling at how Logan's wings caught the light and sparkled like the moon reflecting on a still pool. 

Eventually, Logan, still weak from his ordeals, tired and with an armful of books settled down into a chair beside a tall window. He shot a smile over at Roman and scooted over, allowing the prince to join him in the chair. After a bit of maneuvering, they were situated with Logan settled on Romans lap, book in hand. “Thank you,” Logan whispered, peeking up at Roman through his eyelashes and trying to ignore the way that his tummy fluttered with butterflies. 

“Of course, Mi Luna, anything for you,” Roman replied honestly, staring fondly down at Logan. The tension was so thick that it could be cut with a knife, both boys waiting for the other to make the first move. After a second of prolonged eye contact, Romans eyes flickered down to Logan's lips, heart beating fast. “Logan? May I kiss you?”

Logan answered by slowly nodding and tilting his head up to capture Romans lips in a kiss as soft as butterfly wings. He let his eyes flutter shut as Romans hand came up to cup his cheek as the human prince cradled him like all the riches and treasure in the world would never come close to being enough to replace Logan. 

After a few long moments, Roman pulled away, eliciting a soft sigh from the young fae. “You’re radiant, Mi Luna.” Roman breathed, kissing Logan's forehead, his cheeks, that adorable button nose, earning giggles from his little love.  Roman pulled back with a soft smile, taking in the sight of Logan's blushing cheeks and a wide smile. “What did I do right that the fates blessed me with you?” he asked, earning pretty blue cheeks and a swat to the chest. 

Logan was practically a blueberry from Romans sweet words and gentle touch. “You saved me,” he whispered, giving Roman a sweet smile. Logan laid his head on Romans chest, cracking open the book he was holding with a content little sigh. 

 ❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

The next few weeks were magical, no pun intended, for the two princes. Logan was steadily working up to a healthy weight, he had his best friend nearby at all times and Roman… oh, Roman was perfect, so gentle and supportive and safe. Logan had realized that he was very quickly falling for the human prince. 

Of course. All good things must eventually come to an end, as proven by the message that a servant had brought Roman one morning at breakfast. The prince took it curiously, thanking the servant with a kind smile. He began to read the letter aloud, letting Logan see from where he was seated in Romans lap. 

“Prince Roman, 

It has come to my attention that you have been keeping me from the summer palace with odd excuses and dodged notes. This behavior is entirely unacceptable from the Crown Prince and must be addressed. I and Andre shall be making our way to the palace in the morning to see what exactly it is that you would forsake your father for. I expect that pretty little pixie of yours to be waiting for me in the King's chambers so that I may relieve the stress of the long journey. I shall also require you to join me for supper every night for the week I am there, else I shall be locking you in the dungeon every night you refuse. 

Do not presume to disappoint me, 

King Richard”

Roman made a wounded sound as the letter slipped through his fingers. He felt the tension in the boy on his lap and scowled, balling his hands into fists. Roman gently lifted Logan out of his lap and handed the shell-shocked fae over to Virgil so he could stand. 

“That bastard!” Patton exclaimed, balling his napkin in his fists with an angry growl. “Who does he think he is? Demanding that Logan be “Ready” for him! I oughta-!” Patton cut off when Logan made a scared sound,  biting his lip. “He can't do that. Can he?” he asked, looking to Roman for answers. 

“He can do whatever he wants….. He’s the king, remember?” Virgil croaked, cradling Logan's head where it was tucked into his shoulder. His wings fluttered behind him tensely, the fae wanting nothing more than to send a shadow straight through the king's heart.  Virgil shushed the trembling Logan, who had yet to say anything about this situation, and smoothed a hand through his hair. “Ro?” he asked, studying the prince. 

“I can’t deny him access to the castle…. That would be treason.” Roman muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he smirked, sitting down and gaining everyone's attention with a wicked smile. “Boys. I think it’s about time that Sandonia had a change of leadership, don’t you?” 

 ❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

Logan sat on the bed, wrapped in the finest silk and lace the castle had to offer. Illuminated by only soft moonlight and a few flickering candles, he had his hands bound behind his back with delicate silver cuffs, decorated with vines and flowers. He leveled beautifully lined eyes on the door as it swung open, meeting the eyes of the king for a moment before averting them demurely. The fae prince had a crown of starlight atop his head and looked for all the world to be the very picture of a submissive, eager slave. 

“Well, hello there, Little Pixie.” the king purred, striding forward and running a hand along Logan's bare side with a hum of satisfaction. “My son really went all out with you, didn’t he?” Richard chuckled and took Logan's face in his hand, inspecting his artfully made-up eyes and painted lips. “I cannot wait to destroy all this work.” he hissed, shoving Logan down on his back and roughly ripping away the delicate silk and lace. 

Logan whimpered but didn’t fight as he was straddled, focusing instead on gathering the moonlight in the room into a single strand. Just as the vile king was about to force himself upon Logan the moonlight seized him and pulled him off, forcing the king to kneel to the Fairy Prince. Logan stretched and arched his back like a cat, taking his time to even bother with the bound king.

“What the hell is this? Let me go, you Pixie slut!” Richard barked, struggling against the magical bonds. “I’ll have you hanged for this! If you know what’s good for you, You’ll release me and get on your knees like a good little who-” The king was cut off by a wad of cloth being shoved into his mouth by Virgil, who had melted out of the shadows to his princes' aid” 

“Goddess, do you humans ever shut up?” Virgil asked, leaning against the wall with a roll of his eyes. “I swear that whenever I meet one of you perverts that you spend too long blabbing away. Honestly, it’s exhausting.” Virgil inspected his nails, gaze lazily flickering over the king. 

Logan sat up lazily and undid the chains around his own wrists with a snap of his fingers. “You’d do well to address me as “Your Highness”, King Richard.” he purred, summoning a robe of pure moonlight to wrap himself in. Logan lazily made his way over to the armchair in the room, sitting and poured himself a glass of cider. “See. I've decided that I am sick and tired of playing the captive prize. It's time that the  Fairy prince has a little fun, Hmm?” Logan gestured and the door opened, revealing Patton and Roman where they had been waiting in the doorway. 

“Hello, Father.” Roman greeted, making his way in and perching on the arm of Logan's chair. “See. we’ve talked about it and I think a change of leadership is in order for the kingdom. Your reign of terror has gone on for quite long enough. So… you have two choices. The first is that you give up the crown and waste away to nothingness after I exile you for your crimes.” Roman explained, studying his fingernails, “The second is that my friend here puts a shadow blade straight through your heart.” Roman gestured to Virgil who gave a mocking bow to the vile king. 

Logan stood and made his way over to the king, pulling the gag from his mouth. “Or…. there is a third option, Richard Kingston,” he growled, the air sparking with power. “See. you humans got so caught up in your magic for capturing us, hurting us, killing us… That you’ve forgotten the first rule of dealing with a fae. You should never let us know what your name is.” Logan grinned, teeth suddenly looking a lot sharper than they should, “Now… would you make a better pig? Or should I turn you into a tree? Or maybe… since you like using others for your pleasure……..” Logan shook his head, patting the fearful looking king on the cheek mockingly. “No. I wouldn't do that… even you don’t deserve to endure that… suffer as I have.” Logan stood, staring down at the king with contempt. “You put my people through so much. I think your fate should be left in their hands. Virgil?” 

Virgil smirked as Logan took a seat once more, bowing to his prince. “As you wish, Highness.” he grinned, turning his gaze to the kneeling king. “I think you should see what you’ve wrought.” Virgil summoned a shadow from the corner of the room, gathering his memories into it of all that he’d been forced to endure before Patton, sweet, wonderful, perfect Patton. He took that shadow and stared coldly down at the begging king, covering his eyes with the shadow and forcing the king to relive his pain. 

Richard screamed as he was forced to see the faes memories, feeling his body taken over by perverse hands, beaten, burned, taunted, all kinds of torture that he himself had brought on to innocent creatures. When it was over he had fallen to the floor with tears running down his weathered face. “P-please,” he whimpered, body trembling, “No more.” 

Patton laughed, surprising everyone with the ice in his tone. “Where was your sympathy when you did this to hundreds of thousands of others? When children were dragged away from their parents? You brought this on yourself.” he hissed, glaring down at the king. “Personally, I think death is too kind a fate for you.” 

Roman walked forward and tilted his head as he knelt. “Have you made a decision, Father?” he asked, already knowing what would happen. Roman took a deep breath and reached into his pocket, fingers closing around his mother's locket. “Something to take with you, because despite all that happened since she died… I think Mama would want to be with you when you die,” he whispered, dropping it around his father's neck and standing, taking one last bow to the man he no longer considered a human, much less a father. 

“Goodbye, Your Majesty.” 

The only thing Logan heard as he left was a short scream and a dull thump.

 ❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

The day of Romans coronation was a colorful, vibrant, stress-filled day for the little foursome. Logan had stolen his boyfriend away for a moment into his private library so that Roman could catch his breath. They were lounging on one of the armchairs when Roman while smoothing his hand over Logan's hip had ventured, “Do you want to get married?” 

Logan looked up from his needlework, arching an eyebrow. “Like… husbands? Lawfully wed, ruler of the land and all that?” he asked, eyes wide. 

“Yeah….. Like. Married.” Roman nodded, playing with a lock of Logan's hair. “I love you. We’re happy together, why not?” he asked, studying Logan's face. 

“Because I’m not human and up until a week ago it was perfectly legal to hunt my kind for sport? 

Roman blinked and tilted his head, thinking it over. “If we did it would help to illustrate that prejudice will not be tolerated. And it would stop any demands that I marry a princess from one of the neighboring kingdoms. I love you, Logan. And I want to marry you.” he whispered, eyes full of hope as he studied his lover. “You’re everything to me.” 

Logan flushed and hid his face in Romans chest, smiling softly. “Okay.” he agreed, peeking up at his King with a sweet smile. He tilted up to press a shy kiss to Romans lips, giggling as Roman deepened it. 

Soon enough the two were utterly breathless, Roman pulling away to grin at his Logan. He watched the small chest heave with breathlessness and chuckled, beginning to trail kisses down Logan's pale neck and shoulder. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, hugging his love close and chuckling at the whine the compliment had earned. 

“We don’t have time, my prince. You have to get dressed.” Logan chastised, pulling Roman up to standing so he could drag him along to their bedroom, where the official coronation clothes were set out. “Maybe if you behave at the ceremony we can retire to bed a little early… we have an engagement to celebrate after all.~” Logan teased, kissing Romans hand where they were laced together. 

Roman smirked down at Logan and scooped him up, relishing in the little giggles that he earned. “You’re adorable.” he cooed, nuzzling his nose against Logans playfully. They arrived at the bedroom and roman set his fiance down on the bed, beginning to get undressed from his casual clothes, 

“Falsehood. I am not cute!” Logan protested, flopping down into the plush pillows with a happy hum. “I am an intellectual. Completely and totally serious.” he deadpanned, peeking over at Roman. His protests were slightly dampened by the way his cheeks flushed at the sight of Romans bare chest. 

“A-dor-able.” Roman singsonged, winking at Logan with a charming grin. He dressed in the ceremonial attire and waited for Logan to change into his own fancy clothes, a deep navy jacket, and white pants. Logan summoned his crown of stars and placed it atop his curls, pulling on his heeled boots and taking Romans arm. “You look very handsome, Mi Rey.” Logan blushed, peeking up at Roman. 

“And you are as exquisite as all the stars in the sky.” Roman flirted, leading the way down to the Grand Staircase where they would be introduced. He knew that there would be whispers about how one of the “Pixies” was escorting Roman to the coronation, prejudice would not disappear overnight, but he knew that the Fairy Prince Logan could handle himself. 

“Ladies, Lords and Nonbinary Royalty.” announced the officiant, gesturing to the top of the stairs. “All rise for Prince Roman Kingston, heir to the throne of Sandonia. And his escort King Logan DeLuna of The Enchanted Forest.” 

Logan faltered, eyes going wide. King? Was his father? He shook those thoughts off, for now, pasting on a polite smile. This was Romans day. He was not going to mess it up by asking questions. When they arrived at the dais he stepped aside, bowing politely to Roman and stepping into his place beside Patton, who was dressed to the nines as well. 

The actual ceremony was rather boring, the priest droning on for a good twenty minutes before Roman was actually crowned. He knelt to receive the crown, repeating the vows that he would protect this land as king. Roman stood and turned, facing his kingdom with a wide grin as he was announced King of this land. Roman offered his arm to Logan, ignoring the gasps and hisses from the crowd. 

“Hear me now, As your King, I have declared it illegal to hunt, capture or otherwise harm the fae of the Enchanted Forest. But now I intend to prove that this statement holds true. King Logan and I have decided to marry and any slight against the fae is a slight upon your king and will not be tolerated. Sandonia is entering an era of peace and acceptance…. Any that are found to be keeping any member of the enchanted forest as slaves or otherwise against their will shall be punished.” 

Romans speech was met with quiet murmurs across the crowd, some scowling and cursing and others rejoicing. Suddenly a voice rang out from the midst of the crowd, causing Logan and Roman to freeze. 

“We paid good money for those pixie sluts! I ain't givin mine up because you went and fell in love with the “Royal Slut”. You must be outta your mind.” the man jeered, forcing his way forward and making Logan's blood run cold. The man who had demanded his sacrifice all those years ago was staring at him and it was all Logan could do not to drop to his knees in submission. 

“This one gave himself up fair and square, didn’t ya, Pixie?” he jeered, pointing at Logan. “Y’all should hear him when he’s beggin and cryin… most beautiful sound I ever heard.” The man reached out, only to be stopped by a spike of shadow pointed directly at his jugular. 

“I’d be careful about how you proceed.” Virgil's voice was deadly calm, eyes as hard as cold steel. He stalked forward, darkness gathering around him despite the sunny day. Thunder crackled as the sky darkened, the sky itself at Virgil's beck and call. The taste of ozone was palatable as the livid fae leveled his gaze on the loathsome creature in front of them. 

The man felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as his eyes darted between the two fae, neither looking very forgiving or whimsical. It was at that moment he remembered the stories whispered in the dead of night about the catastrophic power of the fairy folk. “P-please… spare me,” he begged, feeling the cold fear penetrate his veins. 

“No.”

Virgil glared up from the raised stage, merciless eyes sweeping over the gathered masses. “You would all do well to remember this. Next time I will not be so kind.” he snarled, lightning flashing behind him and casting him in silhouette.  It became apparently clear that now that Virgil wasn’t bound by magic and convention that he could completely level the kingdom without breaking a sweat. 

Patton stepped forward and placed a hand on his husband's shoulder, whispering in his ear and gaining a smile from the fae. The sky began to clear and Virgil stepped back, checking with Logan that he was okay. “Well!” Patton chirped, adjusting his glasses cheerfully. “Are we just gonna let all the food for the party go to waste?” The cheerful man asked, dissolving the tension in the room. 

Roman laughed and threw an arm around Logan's shoulders, grinning a little too tightly. “Of course!” he agreed, lacing his fingers with his fiance and planning their departure as soon as possible. “If you’ll excuse us momentarily, I wouldn’t want to ruin the ceremonial garments!” he remarked, leading Logan up the stairs and into their bedroom. “Logan, love?” he asked, ready to catch his beau when the poor fae dissolved into tears. 

Logan fell into Romans' arms, hiccuping sobs wracking his body. He felt the other card gentle fingers through his hair, gripping onto Romans shirt desperately.  “I-I’m sorry.” he sniffled, scrubbing at his eyes. “If it wasn’t for me, You wouldn’t be in this mess.” Logan felt much less like a king than he did a child that had been forced by time and tragedy to be an adult much too fast. 

“Hey now, none of that.” Roman chastised gently, cradling Logan's cheek in his palm. “None of this is your fault. I promise,” he swore, wiping a tear from Logan's face. “This Mess is exactly where I want to be. Because I’m in it with you.” Roman grinned, booping the tip of his fiance's nose. 

Logan let out a wet giggle, nuzzling into Romans' palm. He placed his hand on top of Romans and laced their fingers, staring up at the king with a wet smile and shining eyes. “You’re so good to me.” He whispered, gazing up at Roman with those soulful eyes. After a few moments, Logan had composed himself, grinning up at Roman with a decisive nod. “I think I’m ready,” he confirmed, taking a breath. “Sandonia needs its king.”

“Does the enchanted forest need theirs?” Roman asked softly, lacing his fingers with Logans. “I obviously don’t want you to leave but if you need to go to your people, I don’t want to get in the way of that.” He whispered, resting their foreheads together. “I love you.” 

Logan nibbled on his lip, peeking up at Roman with barely concealed fear. “I don’t want to leave you….” he trailed off, shifting his weight on uncertain feet. “It's been so long since I’ve been there….. I was eleven when I left…. What if they-?” he bit his lip,  staring at the floor like it would give him the answers he sought. “What if they don’t want me to lead them? I didn’t exactly protect them.” he scuffed his shoe against the floor, fighting back tears anew. “I failed.”

“Logan, look at me, please,” Roman asked, tilting the faes chin up to look at him. He knelt down and cupped Logan's cheeks in warm hands, blue eyes searching his face. “You are the strongest, bravest, most incredible being that I’ve ever met. You gave yourself up to save your people and if that isn’t the mark of a leader than I don’t know what is.” Roman brushed his thumb along his lovers' cheekbone, resting his forehead against Logans with a small smile. Staring into those ancient green eyes the human king whispered, “Anyone who doesn't want you is a fool. And you are so much greater than the opinion of fools. Now. Chin up. Shoulders back. Go show those fools what a hero is made of.”

Logan rolled his shoulders back and nodded, offering Roman a small smile. “You’re my hero,” he whispered, peeking up at Roman. 

Roman leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Logan's forehead and then his lips. The two stayed like that for a few moments, locked in each others embrace as they kissed. Roman pulled back slightly, slowly trailing kisses down Logan's neck. “Do we really have to go down though? You’re the only one that I want to celebrate with….” he purred, enjoying the way his fiance shivered from the sultry tone. “We got engaged….. We’re kings, you look really good in that jacket. The kingdom can wait for a little while…. They won't even notice.” he flirted, gently placing a hand on Logan's waist. 

Logan giggled and looped his arms around Romans neck playfully, leaning into his body. He leaned in close so that his lips barely brushed against the shell of Romans ear, hot breath making the newly crowned king shiver. “Roman, My Love….” he trailed off, toying with the top button of Romans shirt, “As much as I would love to stay in here with you. The kingdom needs you down there.” Logan pressed a placating kiss to Romans lips, giving him a small smile. “You can have me all night, for now, your duty is as king.” he reasoned, pulling away and smoothing his jacket down.

Roman pouted, adjusting his collar haughtily, “Teasing vixen.” he griped, gently tugging a lock of his fiance's hair. He pressed a kiss to Logan's cheek, lacing their fingers together. “Why must you be so logical?” he bemoaned, hand over his heart as he led the way from the room. “It really gets in the way of my attempts to romance you into letting me worship you.” 

Logan chuckled and winked up at Roman, sticking his tongue out. “It’s more fun that way.” he grinned, locating Virgil and Patton in the crowd. The two made their way over and grabbed drinks as they passed a waiter. “What did we miss?” Logan asked Patton in a low whisper. 

“Mmm… one of the advisors from the old kings' court was pitching a fit about me being here because I “Abandoned my birthright” or whatever, Some choice words were uttered regarding your relationship, oh! And someone from the Enchanted Forest is around here somewhere… they had snake scales on their face…..” he trailed off, searching the nearby crowd to find the fae that had been asking for Logan. “There he is! He’s talking to Vi!” he pointed, admiring how pretty his husband looked in his fancy clothes. 

Logan glanced over and his heart stopped, a bright grin finding his face. “Dee!” he squealed, flying over the crowd and tackling the other fae in a hug. “Oh gosh! I haven't seen you in ages! How are you?” he asked, pulling back and studying the others face worriedly. “Have you been hurt? Do you need help?” he fretted, brushing Damiens bangs back like a worried mother. 

“Calm down, Loganberry, I’m okay,”  Damien assured, hugging the smaller fae once more. “I managed to escape before the humans invaded, you bought us some time with your fucking stupid sacrifice.” he chastised, bapping Logan across the head playfully. “What were you thinking, Little One? Sacrificing yourself like that. We could have figured something out.” he brushed a thumb over Logan's cheekbone, taking in how pale the King had become. 

“I did what I had to do. I had to protect my people.” Logan shrugged, peeking up at his old friend. “Oh! You need to meet my fiance, Roman!” he gasped, grabbing Damiens hand and tugging him over to where Roman and Virgil were playfully bickering. “Ro! I have someone I’d like you to meet!” he chirped, lacing his fingers with Romans. “This is Dee. he was the one that I was gonna marry before all this.” 

“I don’t need to be worried, do I?” Roman asked playfully, putting his hand out for Damien to shake. 

“Not at all. Logan and I are just friends.” Damien grinned, ignoring the soft pang in his chest. Logan was happy and that's what mattered. He’d get over the king eventually. “I’m happy for you two.” that wasn’t a lie. He’d do anything to see Logan smile like that. Even give him up.

“Stay a few days, won’t you, Dee? For the wedding?” Logan asked, squeezing Damien's hand. “You and Vi are the only people that I consider family and I’d love for you to be there.” 

Damien agreed with a painted smile, promising that he would watch the only man he’d ever love walk down the aisle to marry someone else. 

 ❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

When Patton and Virgil returned to their room later that night they scarcely had time to remove their coats when a shadowy figure slipped in and blew a sleeping powder into their faces. The two were dragged away, only leaving behind their coats and the faintest hint of danger in the air.

 ❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

Logan paced his library anxiously, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The last few days had been filled with joy and preparation for the wedding tomorrow but he’d been sensing a tension. Logan glanced at the clock, bitterly noting that it was the eleventh hour, fitting that he felt anxious he supposed. A knock on the door startled him from his pacing,  the young fae snapping his gaze up and opening the door. He raised an eyebrow at the panting courier, wings fluttering nervously behind him. 

“Sire! The courtyard! Master Virgil and Sir Patton! It’s urgent!” the young man panted out, leaning on the doorframe for support. Logan was out of the room and down the stairs in seconds, flinging open the door and freezing at the sight in front of him. 

Virgil and Patton were lying unconscious in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by what looked too much like blood. Patton was covered in bruises and cuts from a small blade. Logan checked over the two, feeling so much rage. Their eyes were closed and they were breathing which brought Logan some small comfort when he saw what was to come. Logan dropped to his knees with a startled gasp when he took a closer look at his best friend. Virgil’s beautiful wings, a faes discerning feature and something tied so deeply into their identity, were gone, torn away and thrown carelessly on the ground beside him. The once beautiful lavender was dull and torn, stained with their owners’ blood. 

Logan felt rage grow inside him. The night sky going black as the moon fairy rose into the air, having stolen the light from every star in the sky. He swept fiery eyes over the people in the courtyard, searching their very souls to find out who had done this to his friends. His eyes bore into a man in the corner, seeing his self-righteous smirk as he held up a serrated knife. 

“Nice to meet you, highness….. Did ya like my new art project? I call it ‘Normalization’ its a real showstopper huh?” he taunted, striding forward and kicking Pattons form as he passed. “See. I figure that you pixies are so determined to live with us normal folk that I’d just help ya to fit right in……” The man laughed, twirling his knife as he strode forward, uncaring when faced with the rage of the Fairy King. “And ya know, highness? It was soooooo satisfying. Hearing the way that shadow boy screamed when his flappers went rippppppppppp. And the healer? Oh, he was so much fun!” The man giggled with the eyes of someone who had long since lost their mind. “He begged, ya know? ‘Please! Not him! He doesn't deserve this!’ HA! Like the pixie actually has feelings. I definitely made the right decision making dear old Patton watch as I made his little slut fit in with us normal folk. Do you think it’ll be different when he fucks him? I mean his center of gravity must ae all off.”  

Logan seethed as he listened to this monster talk about his friends like some toys. “Silence!” he hissed, flinging a shard of pure heat at the man. “You have no right to speak of them like they’re some toys for your amusement!”

“Ooh! Are we playing tag now?” The other chirped, hopping out of the way of the projectile. “Maybe we should play with them! Wouldn’t want to leave our friends out!” he took aim quickly and chucked his blade directly at Pattons leg. “Awwww. He didn’t run.” He pouted, crossing his arms like a petulant toddler. “Oh well! Maybe he’ll be more motivated to move when I start using his little husband as my personal toy… I hear you fae are quite the satisfying little fucks huh? Virgy must be out of practice with that boring husband of his. Don’t worry, he’ll get the groove back soon.”

“Who in the hell do you think you are?” Logan hissed, fire dancing in his eyes as the moonlight surrounding him formed into spears ready to be hurled at the person tormenting his friends. The fae looked less like a human and more like a force of nature with every passing second. The Fairy King looked to be made of moonlight itself, the body becoming a mere silhouette with pitch-black eyes and teeth as sharp as jagged glass. 

“Why, highness. How rude of me! I haven't introduced myself. Why I’m the Duke of course! Has brother dear not mentioned me? I was wondering when I was gonna get my invitation to the wedding?” The Duke asked, tilting his head. “Oh, I suppose he wouldn't. Romans always been rather ashamed of his little brother.” The Duke cackled, relishing in the way Logan's face morphed into a look of confusion. “Now that I think about it…. Shouldn’t your precious fiance be out here lecturing me on how what I’m doing is “wrong”? Oh! There he is!” the man pointed, drawing Logans attention to his fiance, tied and gagged at the top of the bell tower. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Highness. My name is Remus and I can’t wait to see how you bleed. Will it be red like a normal person? Or maybe it’ll be black like shadow boy over here?” Remus hissed, drawing another blade and charging the distraught fae. He was a man so far past the point of madness that it didn’t even occur to him to be afraid of the livid king. 

Logan whipped around and time seemed to slow down. He brought a hand up and the moonlight in the courtyard all rose to his call, binding Remus from head to toe in white-hot energy. Logan himself seemed to glow as he strode forward, the earth-shaking with every step. Logan came to a stop in front of the man, eyes glowing a harsh silver as he gripped the vermin by the throat.

“I don’t think you get to have a voice anymore.” Logan sneered, ripping the sound out of Remus’s body. Logan had made certain that no noise, even the man's heartbeat, would ever escape him again. He stared into the eyes of the other, lip curling in disgust. “You’ve torn away his wings, his identity. I think we do the same to you. From this moment forward you have no name… no titles, not even a memory to call your own. Everything from the hair on your greasy head to the air in your vile lungs belongs to me.” He watched as the color drained from Remus’s face, bringing his long nails to scratch over the sallow cheek, a line of crimson blood following his finger. “I would take great pleasure in dismantling you atom from atom until you’re nothing more than the dust filling in the gaps between molecules. But that's too kind a fate for you.” he tilted his head, waving a hand and relishing in the fear that had finally entered the eyes of the leech in front of him. “I think we make something useful of you…. A pine tree, I think?” he mused, watching the skin before him turn to bark, the mouth open in a silent scream that would harden into just a knot in a very ugly tree. “They do make good firewood” he laughed humorlessly, snapping and setting the tree ablaze, watching it burn with a hollow expression. 

Logans form slowly became that of his normal self, expression flowing from fury to heartbreak as he gazed on the scene before him. His fiance strung up on the tower, staring at the pile of ash that has used to be his little brother. His friends on the ground surrounded by their own blood and the scarred remnants of Virgil's wings. Logan felt no remorse for his actions against Remus, yet he felt a pang of guilt strike through him at Romans expression. 

Logan quickly went about getting Roman down, setting him on the ground a few yards away from Patton and Virgil, kissing his forehead softly. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he whispered, cupping Romans cheek softly as the king stared at the pile of ash. “I know I should have consulted you before-”

Roman shook his head cutting Logan off. “It had to be done. My brother stopped being human a long time ago,” he mumbled, looking past the ashes and to his friends. “Is Virgil?” he asked, voice choked with worry. 

Logan sighed and shook his head. “He’s alive….. Fae can live without their wings but….” he trailed off, his own wings fluttering anxiously behind him. “It is seen as a symbol of dishonor. Usually taking someone's wings signifies that that person has committed a crime worse than death. Our wings are tied so very heavily into our identities… they’re like fingerprints, no two are alike. Taking Virgils is subjecting him to a fate worse than death in our culture.” Logan knelt next to his friend, murmuring ancient prayers to the fae kings of legend and their goddess to forgive them. 

Roman bit his lip and stood, making his way over to the crumpled wings on the ground, arranging them and smoothing them out. “Can we do anything to reattach them?” he asked, gathering them up and placing them carefully next to Virgil. 

“You? No. But I can.” came a weak voice from beside them. Patton struggled to sit up, eyes fixed on his husband as he nibbled his lip. “He and I are bonded… It would have to be me that fixes it.” He murmured, taking one of Virgil's hands in both his own. “He wouldn’t like it.” 

“Patton, you don’t mean?” Logan gasped, taking a step forward. 

“There’s no other way!” Patton sobbed, tears in his eyes. “If there was any other way I would. I love him, Logan! Of course, I don’t want to.” he hissed, studying his husbands face. 

“What are you two talking about?” Roman demanded, feeling very left out and angry on behalf of his friends. 

“I have to betray Virgil's trust, it goes back on an ancient fae marriage ritual that we never do anything without the consent of the other. It helps make the marriage stronger. I can give up the purity and make a sacrifice in order to help him. But it puts the bond at risk. I’ve never done a single thing to Virgil without his consent and if I do now…… will he trust me again?” Patton explained, pulling himself over to the wings and matching them up. “I see no other way but have heard no permission. I relinquish myself to save him and sacrifice our purity,” he whispered, a tear falling from his eye and becoming the binding replacing Virgil's wings onto his back. “Forgive me?” Patton sobbed, eye going blank and sightless. 

After a moment of tense silence, Virgil began to stir, nuzzling into Pattons lap where he was held by his husband. He slowly blinked awake, violet eyes fixing on Patton in confusion. “P-pat?” he asked, reaching up and cupping Pattons cheek gently. Suddenly his eyes widened and he looked behind him. Whipping his head around to try and find his wings. When he caught sight of the golden binding holding them in place along the jagged lines he slowly turned back to Patton, eyes filling with tears. “You didn’t,” he whispered, earning a tearful nod. “Oh, darling.” 

“I-I had to. Your wings are important to you.” Patton whispered, staring at the ground, tears escaping his sighted eye. “You’re everything to me, I didn’t want you to be upset.” he shrugged, biting his lip as he peeked up at Virgil. 

Virgil stared hard at his husband a few minutes, expression unreadable. “You idiot.” he laughed, pulling his husband into a tight hug and letting him cry. “You’re important to me too! More important than some silly wings!” he insisted, smoothing a hand along Pattons back. “Patton, My Heart, I love you. Not what you can do for me, not your abilities, you,” he whispered, kissing Pattons temple with a soft sigh. 

After a few moments, Patton pulled back, scrubbing at his cheek with a whimper. “I love you too,” he whispered, peeking up at Virgil with a wet giggle. “I’ve always loved you.” Patton went to stand up but was stopped with a sharp pain in his leg. He screamed slightly and collapsed back down on the ground with a grimace. “Was anyone going to bother to tell me that there was a knife in my leg?” he asked with a forced smile, pulling the knife from his leg and sprinkling some healing potion from his belt over it. 

Virgil helped his husband to his feet, the two supporting each other as they made their way back into the castle to rest. 

 ❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

The next few days had been filled with rampant preparation for the wedding, which stressed Logan out to no end. His fiance was nothing if not enthusiastic about the ceremony and party afterward, having acquired all sorts of extravagant flowers and bringing out the finest tableware in the nation. The castle was positively teeming with color and light in anticipation of that afternoon. 

Logan stood on a raised platform, staring at himself in the floor-length mirror. He studied the person staring back at him, almost not recognizing himself. After a moment he swallowed and squared his shoulders, reaching up to adjust the crystalline crown in his hair. There was no doubt that he looked beautiful, midnight blue gown brushing against the floor as he moved. He wore a delicate necklace of silver teardrop gems and a crown of stars to hold his veil back. 

“You ready, Lo?” Virgil asked from the corner, leaning on his cane. He made his way forward, brushing his friend's hair from his face. “Oh, Moonglow… you’re stunning,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Logan's forehead. “Romans gonna be blown away when he sees you.” Virgil teased, fussing with the veil until Logan caught his hands. 

“Vi. Stop fussing, I’ve already had three maids and the tailor try and fix it.” Logan chastised gently, squeezing Virgil's hands. “Now… isn’t it time to go?” he asked, leaning in for a final hug before the ceremony started. Virgil would be the one to walk him down the aisle, it was an obvious choice really. He took the offered arm and stood on tiptoes to press a kiss to Virgil's cheek. 

They heard the music swell as the doors swung open, revealing a large aisle decorated with flowers and smiling faces. Logan peered down the aisle at Roman, giving him a shy smile as he was escorted down the carpet. His Roman had tears in his eyes that both made his heart ache and swell at the same time. When he arrived at the end of the aisle to the altar he noticed that Roman was all but a sobbing mess. 

“Hi,” Logan whispered, reaching up to wipe his fiances' cheeks of the tears. 

“Greetings, My Love,” Roman whispered back, staring at Logan like he’d hung the stars in the sky. He was wearing a beautiful suit of white silk, red sash across his chest placed just so. Roman stared at his love with nothing but pure adoration in his eyes for the beautiful boy before him. “You’re positively radiant, Mi Luna.”

The priest cleared his throat, gaining their attention. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two people, not destined to be together, but rather made a choice to defy the odds and the rules and chose to love one another.” he began, winking at Logan. 

Logan honestly tuned out the priest for a while in favor of looking around. He noticed Damien in the crowd, looking happy for him but holding a bit of melancholy in those golden eyes. He saw Patton, leaning on his crutches at Romans side with a smile big enough to light up the entire world. And he saw Virgil, staring at Patton with a soft grin, lost in love for his husband that would have sacrificed everything for him. Logan saw all of this and, for the first time in many years, his heart was so full of love that he could burst. 

Then he looked back at Roman, who was honestly the best part. His king looked so handsome and he could hardly believe his luck. So when the priest asked if he took this man to marry? What more could he say than “Of course I do.”

 ❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

@msu82 @sceptre-of-luminescence @gayzelley @pendragonqueen09

[angeme8een-blog]

Casualties and Survivors

CHAPTER 1: AIRPORT LOUNGES AND FIDGETING LEGS

The romanticisation of airports has made life more difficult for travellers. It has permitted such overwhelming, not to mention unnecessary, public display of affection that inconveniences those who just want to methodically get from one country to another. Case in point are the hipster lovers who refused to detach their lips from each other, causing quite a ruckus at the drop-off lane. The already noise-polluted terminal air got more chaotic as several cab drivers started honking and yelling expletives at the tanned brunette and her blond lover.

“These young people know no manners anymore, aist!” Mr. Yang expressed his irritation as he scratched the side of his head. Brett wanted to give a cheeky response but he caught himself in fear of being given a proper lecture. Showing your dad how sassy your mouth is on a terribly hot day is a formula for disaster, and Brett knew well enough not to further rile-up his dad when his Chinese accent has already come through. Besides, he was just 30 seconds away from getting out of his dad’s 1997 Toyota Corolla. Might as well keep his thoughts to himself.

“Bretty boy, where is Eddy, huh?” his dad asked as he parked the car on an open drop-off spot and turned on the hazard light. Brett unlocked the passenger’s seat and began collecting his things while responding “he’s probably near. He told me his mom wanted to personally see him leave, unlike the last time we went on tour.” Mr. Yang helped Brett carry his luggage to the curb and onto a trolley before giving his son a hug.

“Now you go with my blessing. Be very good and kind, especially to Eddy. Call your mom from time to time, okay?”

“I will, dad. Thanks again for dropping me off. You should go back to the car before security decides to clamp your tire”

“Aist! I’m an old man, they should show respect!” Mr. Yang scratched the side of his head once more before going back to his car. Brett waved a final goodbye before he pushed his trolley towards the entrance. Once inside, Brett brought out his phone to check-up on Eddy.

“Bro, where you at? I’m already in line for security”

“Bro, please don’t kill me but I’m going to have to take the next flight out tomorrow morning. My sister went into labor five minutes after I left my house. We had to go back home to fetch her because no one else could drive her to the hospital. So now I’m here with Ma and we’re rushing to Queen Elizabeth’s” Eddy explained.

“It’s been 9 months already!? Damn, I totally forgot that Belle was pregnant” Brett slapped himself in the forehead.

“Dude…how could you have forgotten? Have you seen her tummy? It’s like she swallowed Pluto just after NASA announced it’s no longer a planet”

“I fucking heard that Eddy Chen!” Belle’s voice erupted in the background, prompting Brett to move his phone away from his ear.

“I’m sorry” Brett heard Eddy whisper to his sister. “Just hang in there, we’re about 10 minutes away from the ER. Now shush”

“Anyway, bro, so yeah. I’m really sorry about this” Eddy said.

“No worries! Just be there for your sister. Also, tell Belle I said goodluck! Wait, is that the appropriate thing to say to someone who’s about to give birth?”

“I’m not really sure but I think that kinda works. Update me when you’ve landed, alright? Don’t have too much fun without me. Also, practice!” Eddy said before hanging up.

Brett gave a small chuckle as he pocketed his phone. Leave it to Eddy to still be roasting his sister while she’s already in labor. The man’s sense of humour and quick wit are truly remarkable, not to mention unparalleled. Even Brett recognises the indispensable role of Eddy’s creativity in the growth of their channel. He concedes that most of the comedic content in their videos are products of Eddy’s ingenuity. There’s never a dull moment when Eddy’s around, and that’s why Brett is slightly disappointed that he would have to fly solo in his trip to the States. Just thinking about the long hours of sitting down and getting arse cramps every hour or so is already enough to bring Brett to a state of despair. Country hopping is fun, going from one city to another is too, but the actual travel is what really takes a toll on Brett’s energy and mood. He hates every single minute of it, especially the long wait in the airport. There are always way too many people, way too much noise, and way too much walking to do. He’s a musician, for Pete’s sake. His physical activities are limited to five minute walks (usually less since he spends most of his time indoors anyway) and the occasional Lingling workouts that push him over the edge. Just getting through security was enough for him to break a sweat.

After passing through the first round of metal detectors and the x-ray machines, Brett proceeded to the check-in counter of Qantas. It was a long wait before his turn so he decided to check on the ticket sales of their tour. Only two performances in the last city in their itinerary have not sold out yet, but he’s positive that it will eventually. TwoSet’s popularity suddenly grew during the first two weeks of January which the pair did not really expect. The abrupt spike in the number of views per video, not to mention reaching 2 million subscribers much earlier than expected, made the duo ecstatic and grateful beyond words. But their growing fame was a double-edged sword for it meant more work for both of them. It didn’t help that Eddy made a promise to their fans that once the channel reached 2 million subs, Brett would drop his Tchaikovsky recording. And so he had less than a month to perfect the popular piece before he finally performed it during the livestream they did last February. More than a million of the Lingling wannabes from all over the world watched him play the same piece he performed during his debut in 2012. It was nerve wracking, but it was pretty exciting too. Performing for his fans have always brought Brett so much joy, and he will gladly do it until the time when he physically can’t anymore.

“Sir? Please” the voice of the ground stewardess urging Brett to come forward to the counter broke his stupor.

“Sorry” Brett apologised as he handed his ticket. He was loading his luggage on the counter when he heard a pleading voice at the counter next to his. He decided to get a glimpse at the commotion, noting how disheveled and desperate the woman looked and how equally impatient the ground stewardess was becoming. Brett then abruptly withdrew his stare when he and the woman accidentally caught each other’s eyes. Brett continued to load his luggage so it won’t seem too obvious that he was eavesdropping.

“I’ll take any open seat. Please” the woman begged. The fatigue in the woman’s voice was evident, and Brett could not  help wondering if she was hungover or she just came from baby-sitting seven toddlers all at once.

“I’m sorry, madame. But so far the flight is fully booked. If you want, there’s another plane coming in at noon. I can book that for you” the passenger service crew explained.

“No, no. That would be too late. But please, if ever an opening comes up, please do notify me. I’ll give you my number” the woman said as she started scribbling on the piece of paper that the lady behind the counter gave.

“Mr. Yang, here are your boarding pass and your luggage tag. By the way, you received an upgrade courtesy of the airlines. You can use the Business Class lounge while waiting for your flight” the lady smiled at him as she handed Brett everything he needed. Upgrade? Brett thought to himself. That’s weird, specially since the other lady just said the flight’s fully booked.

“That’s generous, thank you” Brett said gratefully. “Oh, by the way, my friend Eddy Chen was supposed to fly with me but he won’t be able to make it because of a family emergency” he added before leaving the counter. Brett internally cringed at what he just did. He knew for a fact that the airline could not possibly use that information. They had protocols to follow when it came to cancellations. Aside from that, it was a really random thing to do.

Well, not random. Brett thought. You just wanted to help the panda-eyed woman without being to obvious. Damn she was tired. And damn, was I really obvious though.

Brett decided to shrug off that awkward incident by texting Eddy while he walked towards the lounge. He did not get any reply right away so he figured that his best friend was probably still attending to his sister. Upon arriving at the lounge and finding a spot to sit in, Brett decided to do some work. After he finished, he went to the bar to get something to drink and eat. He was munching on his crisps when he got a text from Eddy.

Bro, update our fans. Was supposed to do it but I totally forgot. And I reckon they’re not really interested in seeing a bloody head emerge between my sister’s legs yeah?

Jfc Eddy, you could’ve spared me the mental image. But yeah, yeah. I’ll do it.

Brett opened their instagram account and started going live. He once again thanked their fans for all the support they have shown, and then proceeded to update them about why Eddy was not with him at the moment. He was doing a mini Q&A when it was announced on the PA system that his flight is going to start boarding passengers in 15 minutes. Brett bid their fans goodbye, pocketed his phone, and left the bar to go back to where he sat before. He was ten steps away from his seat when he noticed that someone else was occupying the chair near the window. It was the same woman from the other counter, the one who was desperately pleading for a ticket.

Lucky her. I guess she did get what she needed after all. Brett muttered to himself as he sat himself in the sofa facing the woman. He placed his violin on his left and his carry-on luggage on the floor before bringing his eyes back to the girl near the window. She was holding a book open in front of her, though it appeared that she wasn’t really reading it. Her hazel eyes stared blankly at the pages of Sara Borjas’ Heart Like A Window, Mouth Like A Cliff as she bit on her left thumb.

Is she nervous? Brett wondered as he continued observing her.

He brought his eyes to her hair and noticed how it was haphazardly wrapped around a bun on top of her head, and it seemed like it would unravel itself at any moment. She was pale for a person who lived in Australia (summer is just about to end after all), but her cheeks had a little bit of red in them.

Is she ill? Has she just cried? Brett pondered. He continued staring at her as if she was a specimen in a laboratory.

Brett noticed that her right leg, which was crossed over her left, would not stop fidgeting. It would slow down from time to time but the shaking did not cease. Sometimes her free hand would slide down to her lap and she would start tapping it in sync with her fidgeting leg. There were instances when she’d bring her head up from her book and her eyes would almost lock with Brett’s, but he was quick enough to avert his stare whenever she was on the verge of moving her head. It was as if they were playing a game of hide and seek, except that no one was really seeking because only one was playing and he wasn’t even playing it well. He was just there, in plain sight, in open space, staring and ogling with no particular purpose. Just staring. And wondering.

Like a creep. Aist. Brett huffed as he realised how wrong it was to be people watching. Well, not people watching in general. Just the one. More aptly put, person watching. Or stalking he thought if I’m going to be honest with myself.

Brett’s slow descent into his own thoughts was interrupted once again by the PA system. His flight number was called, and its passengers were informed that they were to board in Gate C7. Since Brett got an upgrade into business class, he had the privilege of being accommodated first. Not to mention not having to walk all the way to Gate C7 because the airline lounge had a direct jet bridge that connected to the Boeing 787-9 which would carry hundreds of passengers from Brisbane straight to New York. Brett collected his things and walked towards the airline staff who collected his boarding pass and assisted him to the plane. He was greeted by the plane crew once he entered, and was directed to his seat.

“Would you like me to put that away for you?” The stunning flight attendant gestured to his violin.

“Would it be possible for me to keep it on my side?” He asked.

“Of course, Sir. I’ll just fetch some straps to keep it in place. I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable” she smiled before leaving for the cabin.

Brett immediately took a selfie and posted it on instagram. He messaged Eddy about the upgrade and teased the latter of leaving the duo to become a soloist. Eddy immediately replied with a picture of him with tears in his eyes. This made Brett laugh but also feel a twinge of melancholy at the same time because bantering with his best mate was way better in person than doing it digitally. Moreover, Brett started engaging in creepy recreational activities because of Eddy’s absence, and it was so out of character for him that he gave an internal scream.

Thank god that’s over Brett told himself as he inhaled deeply and settled himself in the plush window seat. He sent last minute text messages to his friends and family before he turned off his phone.

“Excuse me sir, here are the straps for your violin” the flight attendant from earlier returned with a pair of 13 inch black straps which she handed to Brett. He gave a slight nod and mouthed a thank you while receiving the straps. He then  proceeded to secure his violin to the side. Brett was about to close his eyes when the woman from the lounge entered and stopped at the chair beside him. She whispered something to the flight attendant who was assisting her before she took her seat.

Not again. Brett muttered to himself as he once again stared intently at the woman. He couldn’t take his eyes off her and he did not know why. She wasn’t exactly a head turner, but she had this aura about her that piqued Brett’s curiosity.

Curiosity. That’s it, I’m curious. That’s exactly the reason why I can’t look away. Brett thought.

There’s a story, surely there’s a story behind those tired hazel eyes. There must be because no one looked like that, like she carried the weight of the entire world on her shoulders, but at the same time radiate (but only minutely) a different, more positive energy.

Independence?

Brett guessed.

Gratitude?

Fulfilment?

Success?

It’s like he was playing charades with Eddy again, only this time the other person was a complete stranger and he can’t communicate, much more confirm, his guesses. He looked at her more intensely as he searched for more clues about the type of person that she was. First, he looked at her hands to check if she might have callouses similar to his. She had some, but it was on the wrong places. She was not a musician. Maybe she was a writer, or an architect. Brett was not able to come up with a proper conclusion as to her profession, but he decided that whatever she did had something to do with using her hands.

Second, he considered what she was wearing. She was just wearing tight jeans, black boots, and a plain knitted white sweater. She had no accessories nor any other apparel that would help her battle the weather once they land in New York.

Unless she has one in her carry-on. But I highly doubt that. Brett thought. He did not see her with any luggage at the check-in counter, nor in the lounge. She only had a big tote bag with her which she also declined to be placed in the overhead compartment. Brett inferred that this trip was a product of spontaneity, or panic. It really could go either way. But what was obvious was she did not plan this through.

Brett slowly lifted his sights up to study her face once more. But what happened next caused him to feel a rush of blood to his cheeks. She was staring at him. She saw him staring at him. And now their eyes were locked at each other and Brett did not know what to do.

Fuck.

[griffinsandpeacocks]

Loony Two Writing challenge Week 2 Prompt

  I keep waking up to silence filled with soul deep dread.It’s been like this for almost a month now. Everyday I wake to the eerie silence that’s blanketed the castle with a winter like chill. Yet there’s still hope within the silence, everyday I wake up to the silence without it being split by my mother’s grief stricken wail I know father is still fighting. It should have been me laying in bed life draining away from some incurable poison. The attack was aimed at me. The crushing guilt has been festering and slowly gaining weight as the days stretch by. I drag myself out from beneath the royal purple sheets and dress in one of my more formal suits of dark purple accented in gold and silver.

  I take a last glance in the mirror as I place my circlet on my head. The dread comes back in a harsh flood and I shiver. Even having been raised to take the crown it feels wrong; just thinking about father’s crown feels wrong. Even if I’d had longer would I ever fill the throne like my father had? He was touted as one of the greatest Kings of Griffin’s Keep History. Even if my namesake was the first King,I felt like a failure already. What kind of King would I be? I couldn’t protect myself, I couldn’t protect my father, how was I supposed to protect an entire Kingdom? A knock sounds at my door, as I walk over I know who it is even before opening the door.

  “Good morning Sir Oberon I’ll assume it’s time for me to meet with... The councilors.” My discomfort at the idea they’ll soon be my councilors must show through because he reaches out and pats my arm. His demeanor rarely softened though since he had saved my life many years ago we had been close, and he had quickly risen as a prominent Knight within my father’s service. I’d thought myself invincible thanks to Oberon I was spared the harsh fate that awaits most who foolishly flaunt such beliefs when faced with a forest. I’ve been grateful he followed me into the forest when as a moody teen I tried to run away. He was only ten years my senior yet still had much more martial skill than I could hope for. If the recent assassination attempt had anything to say it was my incompetency.  

  “Aye it is.” He says tone as neutral as it can be given how close he is to my family. I feel sick and guilty as a quite insidious voice in my mind asks why it wasn’t Oberon who had taken the dagger instead of father. He must have similar thoughts... Me in my father’s stead.

 “Let’s be off.” I say faking a smile though it feels brittle as glass on my face as I step out and shut my door. The click of the lock sounds ominous in the heavy winter like silence that’s fallen over the entire castle. Oberon matches my stride as I head for the Council Chambers, which must be easy given our almost matched height. The silence bears down with the weight of a mountain, so it was a near thing I didn’t startle when Oberon breaks it.

  “No matter your doubts or anyone else’s you shall make a fine King. One that I, at least, will gladly serve.” Oberon rarely spoke, he was a man of action, however, he was no dolt. He carefully weighted his words before speaking, it was a quality I had admired him for often, one that my father praised him for frequently. I pause mid step blinking at him in shock.

  “I am delighted that makes at least one person who believes I can be a good ruler.” I reply and look away and keep walking certain the council will be much less supportive as it was my fault my father currently lay dying in his own chambers. We step into the room and the hushed whispers all suddenly cease and silence envelops the room like a sickly fog. One of the higher ranking councilors stands and gives me a sympathetic look as he bows his head and clears his throat.

  “My liege, it is regretfully we must inform you King Corvus has passed. Last night in his sleep he simply slipped away, our condolences for your loss.” He says and my vision blurs as white noise fills my ears. No, this can’t be right. I fall to my knees not caring about the harsh impact into cold stone, my emotions cut my strength into shreds as the pain pulls me into the abyss. I feel hands on my shoulders and it snaps me from the stupor I shake them off standing and tripping over myself as I turn and run out. No, this can’t be right, I would have heard mother’s scream. I run as fast as I can breath tearing at my lungs as I tear through the halls I see knights lower their heads as I pass all of them moving if they’re in the way none making attempts to stop me as I run to my father’s room.

  “Mother!” I cry bursting into the room and she sits by my father’s side she looks up tears still falling down her cheeks and she holds an arm out for me keeping one hand over my father’s hands that rest over his chest. I break again stumbling over and collapsing into her side. I look at father whose eyes are closed the dark circles the only thing making him look less than peacefully sleeping, albeit he’s been sickly pale for days now. I reach out and he’s cold I look to mother and she nods, confirming my worst fears.

  I thought my father would never die, he had been King for so long a running joke of the Kingdom had been to say ‘Long live the King!’ King Corvus the Immortal he had been called. He was Immortal no more, I choke trying to force the saying one last time and I can’t I collapse over my father with a cry of anguish. I can’t do this! Mother rubs my back hugging me as she sobs.

  “Long live the King.” Oberon says softly, he must have caught up but I can’t move I never wanted to be King, I feared I would never fill the hole my father would leave behind, he was beloved and wise, and had years of experience I was lacking. He was a skilled warrior while I was just a well studied fool.

  It is several days before I can summon the strength to leave my mother’s side both of us shut within the Royal chambers. When I do leave Oberon is at my side. I prepare the rights and ceremony with the help of the advisers and councilors closest to me and mother. Mother and I wear matching black attire and I wear my heir’s circlet for the last time, my hair is pulled into a high tail and my golden eyes are stark against my pale skin and all black attire. My golden circlet bearing two griffons holding aloft an amethyst moon feels heavy as lead as I bear the lantern through the dark town as we carry father to the tomb in the gardens at the back of the castle. Many of the citizens had gathered from beggar to noble and all bowed their head as my mother and I passed followed shortly after by those carrying my father’s body on a pallet.

 “With crown and sword we send you on, may you serve the Gods as faithfully as you have served us in life.” I say and I set the lantern upon the head of the coffin as he is lowered into the coffin carved with a life like relief of him upon it’s lid. As they seal it I lead them out locking the gate and leaving the lantern to burn out. I look out over the sea of faces sharing my and my mother’s grief.

  “We stand still. The line is unbroken, and I swear upon my father and every King before him back through them unto my name sake King Griffin, I will stand as resolute as he did and I will serve this Kingdom till my dying breath, to defend it’s interest, your interests. For Griffin’s Keep, For it’s people, From the mountain to the Skies!” I have practiced this in my head since I woke up but the shouts that answer of the Kingdom’s service motto is still deafening the crowd all raise their fists to their hearts in salute cheering back the line to me, and I bow my head tears falling as I place my hand over my own heart and bow to them.

 As I rise Oberon unsheathes his sword and raises it and all the knights around follow suit and call the same oath, For Kingdom, for it’s people, from our humble starts to greatness. I steel my resolve and as we reenter the palace I feel weight easing off my shoulders as Oberon smiles at me and inclines his head and Mother though sadness lingers around her smiles at me proudly. Perhaps I can be a proper King. It is not might or wisdom that makes a King, my father once told me, it is his heart.

  “Your coronation will be held in the main square the preparations shall be complete within the week, Your Majesty.” The Chief Councilor says simply as I walk past I nod and go to the office Oberon staying with me as a personal guard and this must irk him. Often he and my father would ride out with a handful of other knights upon hunts or scouting parties and yet the best I could offer was him watching as I hunched over a desk and poured over finances and supply reports making sure that the city would run properly. It’s late when Oberon pulls me up despite weak protests he drags me to the balconies that overlook the city. The skies have darkened to indigo and the stars glittered like far off diamonds.

  “This kingdom looks up to you. Not just as their protector and ruler, but because they’ve seen you walk the same streets they have and seen your grief at loosing a loved one, the same grief all of them know or fear. You are so much more than you fear Griffin. You are the King we need, for within your heart burns the desire to see us all safe above all else.” Oberon speaks softly hardly disturbing the peace this sight bears and the city he looks out to with candles and lanterns softly illuminating it is the home I’ve known all my life. He’s right I want nothing more than the safety and happiness of my people. It was the lesson my mother and father taught me well. The needs of the many shall always outweigh the needs of the few.

  “Thank you.” I say just as softly he hasn’t looked away from the city below but he looks to me as I step closer. I kiss him softly feeling a rush of so many years of fought back emotion and I feel him stiffen and pull back fearing the reaction. He pulls me right back into a deeper kiss and I melt into him. I hardly remember the hurried walk back to my rooms feeling his gaze bore into my back like two ruby fires. When I enter my room he presses into me and I give in, I don’t want to fight though I was trained in combat I never liked fighting. I especially don’t want to fight in this. He wraps his arms around me which is simple as he’s easily two of me side by side though roughly my height.

 “Submitting already my King?” He teases and I look over my shoulder to him admiring his pale skin which matches my own alabaster, where I am sleek elegance he is rugged power, his hair is pulled back in a lose tail showing the soft waves in the white hair. He was albino, but that was never seen as a flaw to my family, merely a curious trait.

  “I don’t wish to fight. I yield to you.” I say softly praying he understands and as he pulls me to bed I smile knowing it does. I forget a moment everything that troubles me and perhaps a moment I’m flying with my name sake through the heavens. It’s early when I feel him leave I open my eyes and he looks back at me when I touch his back not wanting him to go. He turns and sighs he dresses slightly before coming back to bed and curling around me.

  “You know you’ll have to marry to produce an heir?” He cautions softly and I shake my head the though churns my stomach. A King is not made by blood.

  “A wise man once told me it is a King’s heart that makes him. Not his blood, his power, or his wisdom.” I reply and Oberon chuckles softly.

  “Aye.” He agrees and the next few days are a blur of preparations and meetings and I do my best to keep up a front that I am fine. It hurts and I’m plagued with doubts that I will fail. I wasn’t able to defend myself. I train when I have spare time with Oberon I used to only train enough to keep sharp now I do it to improve my skills. I don’t want to just be competent with my sword, a light saber that’s as elegant and sharp as it is deadly. Oberon is a master at the long sword and he gives me no quarter driving me hard as I asked him to do.

 At the end of the week I am dressed in the kingdom’s colors, black, silver, gold and royal purple. My circlet has been placed in a box and my crown waits with the Chief Councilor at the foot of the main square fountain. It’s a design I remember on King Griffin’s crown but with a few variations. Two golden griffons reach up cupping the silver moon and they’re wings arch out and around highlighted gold and silver. The eyes are amethysts. My Black boots and pants lead to a dark purple high color shirt and a black trimmed over coat that bears the Kingdom crest upon the back. They’re elegantly embellished with silver and gold depicting the mythic beasts we bear on our crest. I stare at myself not sure I can see me in my own reflection.

 “Are you ready?” Oberon asks and I shake my head and look at him my mother waits with the Chief Councilor so it was just me and him.

  “This doesn’t feel real. I imagined father would hand over the crown not... Never this.” I say in pain and he comes close to hold me and he looks me in the eyes holding my face steady.

  “You are not at fault Griffin. You never meant to hurt a soul.” He assures and I take a deep breath nodding and we walk down the knights flanking the roads leading to the city’s main square draw their blades and raise them over head as an archway of steel I pass under as flowers rain over me from balconies and those upon the streets. I keep calm though I want nothing more than the safety and quite of my rooms. I step up the steps that lead to the fountain that my mother and the Councilor wait at.

  “You have come far young Prince, yet a Prince you are no longer, are you ready to accept your role as the rightful King?” The Councilor asks voice carrying over the crowd that has grown silent. I pause uncertain the words feel like venom on my tongue. Can I do this?

  “I object! I am the King’s rightful heir!” A voice calls and all eyes go to the man striding out of the crowd. He is strangely familiar and I pause looking to the Councilor about to abdicate to the stranger. Then I look back a small crest on the hilt of his sword catches my eyes I knew it well, after all the blade had been close to me though it had been the dagger no doubt in his boot. Pure rage fills every fiber of my being as I draw my own saber and stand in the way of the crown and my mother.

 “Come no further liar!” I shout and he pouts smiling as he stops cocking his hip and tilting his head as he crosses his arms over his chest.

  “What a shame! Whatever gave me away?” He asks and I shake with the emotions coursing through me.

  “Your damn crest! I know it from that cursed night! How dare you come here spouting such filth a mere few days after my father’s death! This will be finished.” I snarl and he laughs drawing his own blade he bows and has the gall to move a hand behind his back.

  “Indeed it shall... You’re move first... You’re majesty.” He sneers and I lunge in the clash of blades and shrill scream of the crowd and the knights shouting to create a ring to protect the crowd and all I focus on is him. Silence reigns as tension builds and we dance dangerously blades clash and we pivot and step again and again.

  “You fight well for someone who needed Daddy to save them.” He says and I don’t take the bait an uppercut slash sending him back.

  “Big talk from someone trained to kill before the target can fight back.” I spit back both of us circling before lunging back towards each other.

  “Looks like the fledgling’s growing in their feathers!” He barks and I smirk at him as an idea unfurls it is dangerous but if it works... I spin creating an opening he lunged for I step away and back bring up my blade and this time it meets flesh instead of steel. He drops his blade crying out in pain but I give no quarter coming up for the kill I lunge burying my blade through his leg I draw back as he falls my blade at his throat dripping crimson beads on his skin.

  “This ‘fledgling’ has long left it’s nest. If it weren’t for the fact you won’t give me a name or the antidote to the concoction you used I’d let you live. Instead you will die here and now for your crimes against The Crown.” I say voice steady despite how much I feel sick though there’s this strange glee at seeing my father’s killer at my mercy. He looks up wide and crazed eyed.

  “Wait! I can give both!” He cries and I pause I gesture a guard closer, Oberon answers and he grabs the man’s sword.

  “Sir Oberon, this is now your problem to solve. Once he gives you the information be sure to throw him in the dungeon.” I am filled with anger but I will keep my word. I wipe my blade with the cloth another knight offers and I sheath it back at my side.

  “But, you said-” He tries and I pivot on my heel walking back to the Councilor and mother I look over my shoulder down at him with contempt.

  “I said I would let you live. I said nothing about you going free.” I state coldly as I kneel to the councilor who places the crown on my head as I stand and turn out to the crowd I hear him chuckle softly.

                                              “Long live the King.”  

[argetlam007]

Chapter 2 : Inside my Heart is Breaking

Pairing: John Seed x FemaleDeputy

Word Count: 2,509

Warnings: Injuries, Some Swearing

Summary: Rook decides not to kill John in the final mission of the game and spares his life. But he’s in a far worse condition than she’s thought. She tries to be a hero again, this time for his sake. Perhaps he’s more than an enemy for her? Maybe they all just need an incident to see it all.

A/N: Please go easy on me everyone :) This is my first time writing these two and I can’t get enough of them. I hope you like it. Feel free to send me your favourite John/FemaleDeputy fictions :D If you enjoyed reading my story, I’m waiting for your comments and kudos on Ao3! :’)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19857439/chapters/47025070

The rest of the ride was a blur for John. How he got to the place he was now in, was beyond him. He hoped they didn't drag him in the mud or something. Did these miserable resistance members have any idea how much his coat costs? Probably no, but he’ll make a point, one day. By the way, where is he, really? 

The moment he chose to open his eyes, was a moment everyone would dread waking up from their slumber to.  

The said doctor, Charles goddamn Lindsey was inserting an IV to his forearm. He grumbled to wakefulness with the sudden rush of pain bolting through his arm.  

“God damn it vet, that's my dominant hand!” John shouted and flinched away. Him being not a doctor but a vet made this simple procedure more painful than necessary. 

“Take your paws off me!” John roared and tried to trash away from the hands that he pictured as assaulting. In his delirious state it was nearly impossible to talk some sense into him. Rook was watching the whole scene play out sternly in the corner. 

“Rook, tell him to behave himself or I'll gladly let him bleed to death. I'm not under oath or something.” Charles smiled slyly to John. Rook sent a warning look in John's direction then she neared towards the bed. Bed? For god's sake, if this thing counts as a bed, then what do you call the big, comfy one at his ranch?! This ridiculous thing is definitely not a bed, thank you very much. 

With the help of his inner turmoil, John realized he didn't take a glance around. He wished they sedated him sooner, because he was in a cell, in Faith's region, in jail of all places and surrounded by sinners who are probably thinking about all the different ways to kill him slowly and painfully. A yelp left his mouth when a heavy weight was placed on his bad shoulder. Speaking of shoulders and upper parts of body, why the hell did his collarbones feel like they were on fire and going to pop out because of the throbbing pain? He tried to swat away Deputy's hand on his shoulder with what he assumed was his 'good' arm, because the other one seemed to be temporarily out of service at the moment, he felt grinding and a starting of an intense ache in his shoulder blades. His eyes burned with unshed tears. The pain was literally everywhere and poking and prodding didn't help his broken body. 

Pulling his aching arm towards his chest, he exchanged a drained look with Deputy. When she was content that he's going to listen to her willingly, she started: 

“John, stop making it worse and tiring than it already is. Do you remember what happened?” a quick nod. Well, maybe too quick because the cell started spinning. 

“You’re hurt, pretty badly I can say.” Oh, jeez really?

“I know from experience that you're in enormous pain and it's because at least one of your clavicles, I mean collarbones is definitely broken, if not two of them. Moving your arm is absolutely not a wise choice. And … as for your shoulder, we don't need an X-Ray or MRI to confirm it’s dislocated. But I’m sure Charles here has to check a few other complications that I’ve no idea about. Oh, and you’re still bleeding.”  John felt a sense of deja vu rushing over him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Maybe he knocked his head harder than he would liked to admit. Rook sent an encouraging look towards Doctor’s way. Charles was doing his best to take his time and bruise John’s ego. I mean, who likes to lie in a filthy cot bleeding with his Armani’s on? And also being in enemy territory didn’t help much either.

“Yeah, Rook here could be a pretty decent doctor. On the other hand, your breathing didn’t sound too great either.” he pointed his index finger towards John’s direction. John arched one of his eyebrows with interest. Huh, that’s why it feels like there’s not enough oxygen in the room, or more accurate, cell.  

While doctor continued to list all the details of his injuries, Rook started to apply pressure to the gashes which were bleeding profusely. There were innumerable gashes across his torso and face. There was a pretty huge one on his temple, which continued to bleed freely. The blood was dripping from his temple to jaw. The area around the gash was covered with dried blood which was now sticking to his ungelled hair. Rook set to work quickly, cleaning around the wounds all the while ignoring John’s hisses and grunts, making sure they won’t kill him in the near future because of the blood loss. He really needed to make it up for her one day. This one on the contrary, in near future.

“...Also, I need to check these ribs. And Rook, he definitely needs an MRI, I don’t want this bastard to die from an internal bleeding after I’m done with him.” he continued.

“Oh, how very generous of you, doc.” came a gravelled voice from John. 

“Joking with doc is off the limits, Johnny boy.” said Rook and John grumbled, he would have replied with a witty comeback to her but his lids were starting to close again, the sedation was making its way into his system and his head was feeling heavy but John could still make up their blurry figures moving around him. So that, was what they call conscious sedation. Well, then it sucked because he felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen left in the enclosed space he was now trapped in. 

He couldn’t breathe, it felt as if someone was choking him. His heart was racing and all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and wait for someone to save him. Even to his own ears, his breathing sounded labored. John knew he was panicking, but he couldn’t let his body take enough of the precious oxygen his lungs craved. Luckily Rook was the first one to notice his discomfort, her beautiful brown eyes filled with worry.

“Doctor Lindsey, I guess he’s having trouble with breathing.” she said while trying to control the quiver in her voice. Charles was looking at his notes on the nearby desk and turned towards John and Rook’s direction abruptly.

“Oh, does he now? My apologies, I must have overdosed him.” Rook couldn’t help but notice the ghost of a smile appearing on doctor’s face. The well known wrath that John accused of her having was now resurfacing and god help Charles Lindsey if he crossed her like this again.

Literally everyone outside the Project hated Seeds, they despised them and she was sure if civilians and Resistance members were given a chance, they wouldn’t agree the Seeds to be arrested and put behind the bars. They’d definitely take the matter at their own hands, just like they were doing at the moment.

Rook didn’t know what was the reason for her sympathy towards John, he was a torturer and a cold-blooded maniac but… Was he really? Doesn’t everybody wear masks nowadays, what’s the reasoning behind his actions? Were they really his actions at all? She was sure he adored his brothers and wanted to please them in every way possible but is he really that blind? Can’t he see what he’s doing to innocent people? Is there any remorse in his heart? Or is he a heartless monster like others accused him of?

Suddenly a hand gripped her forearm and she realized John reflexively extended his arm for her when Doctor Lindsey started to put an oxygen mask to his face. He sighed and looked at her. She used to believe his glacier eyes were ice-cold, that they knew no warmth and never shared loved. Those baby blues can not belong to a monster. She’ll fight with anyone who tries to prove the opposite. 

John’s pupils were dilated slightly and his hand on Rook’s forearm didn’t leave its place. There was a slight twitching of muscles of his arm. She could feel the vibrations across her whole body. If Charles overdoses him one more time, she’s definitely going to lose it.

With the help of the oxygen mask, his breathing slowly returned to its usual pace. Thanks to the sedations, Doctor Lindsey so gracefully provided, John won’t be able to feel the pain but be conscious throughout the whole procedure.

Doctor Lindsey placed his materials on the table nearby and completed a set of examinations on John. Rook expected him to act like a toddler but he could always manage to surprise her. He laid completely still on the cot while Charles kept moving his arm in various directions to check for a reaction. John’s skin was pale and clammy, eyes closed in a grimace. He was doing his best to keep silent but this doctor clearly had a problem with adjusting proper doses, he could still feel the pain. Rook approached his side and talked constantly in his ear and stroked his hair. Rook didn’t know touching someone she was supposed to be hating constantly would feel so comforting and great. Judging by the relaxing of the muscles underneath her fingers, John felt the same way.

Like Rook suspected, his left shoulder was dislocated and Charles placed it into its socket with a loud pop. Even though, John was high on meds, intense pain filled his eyes. Charles quickly handed Rook a pack of ice, she got the hint and applied it to his shoulder which was now looking a lot better than it was a few minutes ago. The pain was increasing in waves, small lulls giving false hope of an end. Each peak robbed John’s ability to speak. All he can do was writhe, the occasional whimper escaping his lips was affecting adversely to Deputy’s mental health. Other than that, one of his collar bones was broken. Later Rook explained to both John and Charles that it was pretty common to occur when someone ejected themselves from pilot seats. Hearing the keyword “pilot”, John’s eyes glistened with joy. Oh God, he was really a boy in a man body. 

After the whole torturing process was completed, John had a sling on his right shoulder and a splint was applied. And the look on his face was… Well, let’s not dwell on that now. If looks could kill, Charles would be dead at that moment. She had to pin him to the bed to make all of that happen in the firsts place. Pinning him to the bed, without injuring him further was the real deal. Oh God, Rook thought to herself, John was going to hate every second of it and he’ll make sure everyone around him felt the same way about it.

“I guess I’m all done here, Rook. I have no idea why you’re not letting this fucker go to hell but I owed you one, so I’m trying not to judge you. So I probably won’t be around, and I’m not going to tend his scratches. They are yours Deputy…or should I say he’s all yours?” If she didn’t kill him that day, he can probably live to see the apocalyptic disaster Joseph claimed to happen. Charles ignored her deadly glares and continued to list all the things he thought were necessary.

“The reason I made him wear a splint is pretty crucial. He needs to wear it against the skin under his clothes.” From the corner of her eyes, Rook could see that John’s bare torso was decorated with cuts and bruises. She didn’t even remember taking his shirt off.

“... And it’s not to be taken off until I say so. Which is a very long time for now.” John groaned with displeasure. 

“Its purpose is to spread out his shoulders so his collarbone can fall into its place. Rook, you need to check it periodically. It may need readjusting and tightening, he won’t be able to do any of these by himself. If splint loosens, just pull back the straps until his shoulders straighten up. He also has a mild concussion, so he needs to lay down and rest, stay hydrated and I would say limit his exposure to bright lights but hopefully he’s in a cell where he belongs.” Rook had to apply a warning pressure to John’s torso to restrain him from getting up.

“Oh and I don’t know if I need to tell you this but… be careful with this one. He’s not as harmless as he seems right now.” Rook kindly smiled to Charles. “Harmless” is definitely not a word she would use to describe John.

“Thank you, Charles. I really appreciate it and I believe John here is going to thank you too.” she turned her head in his direction to indicate him to start talking.

“Thanks for torturing me, Doc.” he smiled coyly and tilted his head sideways. Rook, apologetically put his oxygen mask back on to refrain him from speaking and shaming her further in front of Charles. Doctor smiled kindly back and just as he was leaving the cell, the last person Rook would like to see right now entered.

Joey.

Hudson.

Urgh… Great, today was becoming more and more like a nightmare with each passing minute. 

Hudson’s face was red with suppressed rage, and Rook thought for a minute that she’ll lash out at John. White knuckles from clenching her fist too hard, and gritted teeth from effort to remain silent, her body language told Rook everything she needed to know. She had to think and act fast before something bad happened. Hudson shifted on her feet and squinted her eyes with discomfort in an attempt to confirm her doubts. Rook probably couldn’t find the correct words to describe the horrible look on Joey’s face when she made sure it was really John Seed lying on the cot before her very eyes. Hudson’s hand was on her holster within seconds and before Rook could realize she was wrestling Joey’s gun out of her hand. Because for God’s sake, she’s going to kill him after everything Rook’s pulled through to keep him alive.

On the cot, John was struggling with his oxygen mask. Having two of his arms injured, he had the ability of a toddler, well maybe an infant. When he finally managed to get out of it, he said those words, Rook wished wasn’t spoken at all.

“Oh, Deputy Hudson, you come to visit, good old me?” A wet cough left John’s lips with the simple effort he put into forming that sentence. He started to hack continuously for a while then took in a sharp gasp of breath. Hudson lowered her hands and Rook thought for a minute that coast was clear. That was her second biggest mistake today.

Following John’s intake of breath, a single shot echoed in the prison.

And a scream followed it.

Thanks everyone for making this awesome week happen! Waiting for your kudos and comments on ao3 too :’)

[oftheflamingheart]

Barabbas the Wild

Or: How Fortune Favors The Meek

Inktober Day 16: Wild

Barabbas POV simple AABB (and so on) poetry

-

I was a sweet and sensitive little lad

Although I grew up with less than others had

There was less than for Barabbas the Child

Than even now there be for Barabbas the Wild

For a disastrous play I was exiled

Although all truth be told, the charges filed

Were in excess of what in truth occurred

Though in my defense no one would speak a word

There was a servant then a chamberlain

Whose counsel and wisdom excelled Merlin

He warned against my free speech it is true

But I was bold and knew what I must do

Our Western lands were given once to lies

About exceptionalities, surprise

That we exceeded our Eastern counterparts

And so deserved their treasures for a start

When Western Queen once more gave way to hide

To keep the truth away from her son’s side

I staged a play, the thing to catch the queen

And guide her and her son from faltering

This play received less than fav’rable reviews

And in our quick construction more bad news

For the bleachers we constructed fell to bits

And took out fifty souls in one fell blitz

For speaking truth to power, and those deaths

In my own kingdom I drew my last breaths

And in forbidden forest I so found

Cutthroats, crazy curs and monsters around

I played my part admirably it’s plain

Two associates, allies I gained

And with our foul business we survived

On ransoms, thefts, and murder we, well, thrived

Then two princes came across our way

Their faces bright with young love plain as day

And so to their lies I did commence

To play my sympathies in their defense

They tricked us fair and square in cursed woods

A willing robbery, our weapons, goods

And so I sighed relief that my two “friends”

Would for a time be harmless once again

When Forbidden Forest once more turned to fair

Our lives, once forfeit, now were gladly spared

No spiders, evil plants, or storms to rage

The bars were once more lifted from our cage

Could I find my love again would he remember?

Though we both are quite well in Life’s December

If to the Western Queen I could apply

I’d be acquitted then, or I would die

And so my fate I leave in royal hands

My life, service, and breath at their commands

Perhaps I’ll get to speak once more to him

Just one last time, at their Majesty’s whim

I’d tell him he was right, and I was wrong

I’d play for him once more our lover’s song

My last words would of love be so entranced

My exit would be blissful at a glance

Dear Chamberlain, I hope that I can stay

And in your arms my fears once more allay

But if this wretched world sends me off stage

Then I wish you love, anew e’en at our age.

[lisinfleur]

Under His Blues

Author’s Notes | I want to put some good ending into this, so I hope you like it! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Body Guard! Björn x Princess! Reader Info | Modern AU, requested by anon for 5CW3 Words | 2678 ⁑ Warnings: ANGST, cursing

Being part of the royalty had its benefits.

But most of the time, it sucks.

You couldn't go shopping like a normal girl without making it become a fucking police operation! Bodyguards everywhere, secret service, your friends having to register and have their families scanned from the minor details to be sure no one was trying to kidnap you for political stuff...

Your life was shitty and of course, after all, no boy wanted to be your boyfriend and face all that shit for being by your side.

Maybe that was the reason why, after 22 years old you were still living that shitty life of waving like a princess forbidden to say simple words and curse like anyone in your position would do.

"Fuck..."

"Y/N!" Your older brother called your attention and you rolled your eyes.

"We're inside the car, Aethelwulf, for God's sake, no one will hear me unless they have microphones up into our asses" you complained, causing him to twist his face annoyed once again.

His wife even tried to ease things but he didn't spare you from the speech.

"You're a princess! A daughter of King Ecberth. It doesn't matter if we aren't in a time of Kings and Queens anymore, you must behave to not to shame our family, Y/N! We're still..."

"Representative figures that show the world the tradition and greatness of our kingdom, I know, Aethelwulf. I was fucking taught the same damn way you were. Oh, no, of course, I was taught like a girl, because girls dress baby pink and men, baby blue. Oh, fuck me. I'm tired ok? We already have a Premier to take care of politics. Why do we have to behave like dolls? Just for the pride of a monarchy that doesn't even exist anymore?"

"Rules are rules and we follow them," Aethelwulf said, looking at you "If you want them to change, become queen and change them. Until there, you'll follow, like all of us."

"Fine... Everyone is unhappy and you must be unhappy too. Ok, brother, I got it. You don't need to yell. Remember, by the rules, a prince never screams," you taunted him, causing Aethelwulf to grunt before the car stopped for you to go out.

Same routine: door would be open, a bodyguard would be standing beside the door to cover your exit from the car and then, three others would surround you to keep you protected until you were into your home: the enormous castle where your family was still living after all those centuries.

Aethelwulf blind loyalty to the normative and rules of your family was something you couldn't understand. He got married without love, had sons without willing. And soon he would push you into a marriage you didn't want for some stupid politic deal or to reinforce alliances that didn't break in centuries and didn't need to be reinforced after all. You knew he was already planning to marry you with that odious Duke from Frankia to put the diplomatic relations in between the countries in a better stage and you rather die than live the rest of your days alongside that pustule. He even settled up a dinner for tonight to settle details about your life in which you weren't consulted.

You couldn't accept it. Especially when your heart was already taken since you were younger...

He came when you were 18 and was working in your personal security through the last 4 years. They called him "Ironside" but you knew his first name was Björn.

The princess of Wessex in love with a bodyguard. Aethelwulf would explode a testicle if he could hear your thoughts every time Björn was walking by your side that way. He would never accept to break the rules for you to have a chance to even know if Björn ever thought the same about you.

Unlike your brother's bodyguards, the guards of the princess weren't authorized to even look at her. Which means he never turned those beautiful blue eyes towards you. Instead, he was always focused on his work, serious and attentive enough to already have protected you twice from paparazzi and unauthorized media.

You wanted to know more about that man. You wanted to talk to him, to see that beautiful laugh you once saw him showing to the other bodyguards while talking opening for you.

You wanted to be a normal girl and live a normal life and flirt with the man you liked without being obligated to hear him answering always the same words to everything you say.

"Yes, your highness..."

You were tired of this.

You knew diplomatic dinners were targets, but nothing could change your mind about trying to find a way to be alone with Björn, to talk to him where no one would force him into that robotic shitty behavior. And after 22 years, no one ever tried more than taking a picture from you! What could go wrong?

When you found a breach, you took a different way from the one that was in your programmatic and of course, Björn followed you, appearing to be worried about your sudden change of plans.

"This is not the right way to the dining room, your highness." he pointed and you smiled, looking at him as soon as you left that enormous old building to the back gardens with him right behind you.

"Look... You know how to speak," you said, smiling "Now say: this is not the right way to the dining room, Y/N," you said, teasing him to say your name.

"This is not the right time for games, your highness," he insisted, serious, causing a little of frisson in you when his sentence begun and you thought he would really say your name.

You sighed, with growing frustration.

"Is there any time for games, Björn?" you said, knowing he wouldn't answer your question "There wasn't time for games when I was a child, no times for games in my youth. I have no time for life. Never! I'm tired of waving like a damn doll while they are inside that dining room deciding who I have to marry, without even consulting me!" you mourned, causing Björn's face to change in a sad expression.

He could understand your situation. Your need for the freedom he’d never seen you having since he came.

It was all rules, norms, protocols... He worked by your side for four years and this was the first time he was looking into your eyes to talk. And shit! He could fucking lose his job for this!

"It's hard for me to think soon I'll be dressed in a fucking enormous and heavy bride dress walking like a condemned to the arms of a man I barely know! I'll have to bear his children! To make them... Jesus, I feel my stomach turn only thinking about this!" you said, embracing your own arms, looking at the sky. "This is probably my last day of freedom if there was any freedom in my life one day, so... Can we talk?" you looked at him, causing Björn to freeze.

Talk?

He wasn't supposed to be looking at you. And you wanted to talk?

"I know... We shouldn't. I know you have lots of rules around your collar. But..."

"What do you want to talk about?" he said, causing a big smile to form in your mouth.

Björn smiled back. He knew his job was lost, but he had heard the personal guard of the princess would be dismissed after her marriage and her security would become Frankia's responsibility so...

What's the matter about giving you something so simple like a talk?

"Would you believe me if I say I fell in love for you?" you went directly to your spot.

You knew you wouldn't have more than an hour until the security found the two of you there. You had no time to lose.

Björn twisted his face and you chuckled.

"Yeah, I know. It is stupid. I fell in love with a man that never told me more than three words in a sentence," you giggled "But you were different from them... I don't know why. I think I just found something in the way you walk or talk with the others... You're special to me and I would like to be a common girl, so I could flirt and maybe call you for a drink after your work..." you sighed "But I'm nothing but a wax doll to be exhibited. And you probably already have a girlfriend... I don't even know why I'm saying these things," you blushed, regretting your words and sincerity.

"I'm single," he spoke again, catching your eyes into his "And you're not a wax doll... Y/N".

Your name sounded so beautiful in his hoarse voice. If you were already in love, he got you fascinated by his courage to break the rules for you, even in such a small thing.

"You're a human being. And I'm sorry your freedom is taken this way. Most of the time we try to do things and protocols to protect your life, but many of them are things I disagree as well." you heard him saying, catching your attention completely. "I wish things could be different. But since I'll probably lose my job after today, I think I'll take my chances to tell you what I really think. You're a gorgeous woman, Y/N. And I want you to know if you were a common woman as you said you wish to be... If you flirted and invited me to a drink, I would gladly accept your invitation and surely I wouldn't be single anymore."

Your heart skipped a beat when he touched your chin with his thick fingers.

For a second, you thought he would kiss you. And he would. But his eyes caught a red spot coming from the bushes behind you.

"Don't move..." he whispered, breaking the moment with a frozen sensation in your belly when his hand touched the gun in his waist "When I say, you'll go down to the ground and go inside the faster you can, did you hear me?"

"What about you?" you asked, feeling his face nuzzling to yours softly, pretending to continue the innocent caresses you were about to exchange.

"I'll be fine..."

You saw his grip at the gun to be tighter and his voice in your ear to be lower, as confessing a secret in your ear.

"I took this job to be your bodyguard because I always thought you were the most beautiful princess I had ever seen and I would love to have kissed you tonight, your highness," he whispered, widening your eyes before his voice sounded like an order, a command. "Now!"

He pushed you down to the ground and you started hearing the shots that called the rest of the security to the back yard. Scared, you did as Björn said and crawled to the door, but you looked back to see him exchanging shots with someone in the bushes.

Someone who was surely taking your moment of inattention to shot you.

An attack like that could cost the relations between Frankia and Wessex. If it costs your life, it would destroy any possibility of reconciliation and maybe create a war!

And all you could think was Björn in that crossed fire.

"Björn!" you yelled.

"Go inside!" he answered.

However, your scream warned the shooter of where you were hidden. And Björn got himself uncovered to get a precise shot at the same time he would attract the bastard's attention.

"BJÖRN!" you yelled louder when the bulled crossed his shoulder, taking him down at the same time the shooter fell with a bullet in the middle of his eyes.

You got up to run towards him, and even when your personal guards tried to hold you, you slapped them, pushing them away from you and going to where Björn was laid, going on your knees by his side and pulling his body to your arms, softly lifting his torso up.

"You gonna get yourself stained..." he said.

But you took your scarf and used it to pressure the wound, trying to contain the bleeding.

"You gonna be fine," you said, trying to believe in your own words more than you were trying to tranquilize him.

Björn touched your hand over the scarf. And his eyes came to yours, serene.

"Don't worry...".

He was secure. You felt tears pouring from your eyes, but you nodded. It was easier to believe in him than in yourself.

The medical team arrived, so as your brother, your soon-to-be fiancé and the rest of the guests of that circus Aethelwulf built to decide your life.

"What is going... What are you doing, Y/N? For God's sake, are you ok?" Aethelwulf came closer while the medical team was starting to prepare Björn for leaving to the hospital.

"I'm fine. Björn is wounded. He took a shot for me." you said, worried.

Too nervous to pretend you weren't worried about your beloved bodyguard.

"Björn? The bodyguard?" Aethelwulf said, almost with disdain "Fine. He did his job. We'll think about a prize, now come inside. We were all worried about you! What were you doing so far from the dining room? We must..." your brother stopped speaking when you pulled your wrist from his hand, preventing him to drag you inside.

Your eyes fiercely into his.

"I don't fucking care about what we should be doing now, brother. I won't go anywhere with any of you."

Your expression and cursing causing half of those guests to sigh surprised and Judith to hide a giggle behind her gloved hands. She always said you should stand for yourself...

Not for you, but for him, there you were.

"Y/N... Behave like a..." Aethelwulf tried to start in between his clenched teeth but you stood firm in your decision.

"I won't behave like any fucking thing! You've heard me, Aethelwulf. I won't go anywhere with you nor with this despicable human being by your side," you said, causing the Duke's eyes to become wide beside your brother.

"This is absurd!" he said, causing the anger to boil up into your throat.

"Absurd is my brother thinking I should get married to a low-life piece of shit like you!"

Another sigh of surprise from everyone. Some flashes... You were sure you would be the first page of magazines next morning: never in the history of the royal family they had so many cursing came from a princess' mouth.

"Y/N!" Aethelwulf tried to take the reins and you looked at him, angrily.

"Don't come to me with 'Y/N'! This dinner was a circus since the beginning! You knew pretty well I can't handle this asshole and even then, you ran over me and settled up my marriage as if someone had died and made you king! Dad is still alive, Aethelwulf!"

"And he agrees with your marriage to the Duke!" Aethelwulf insisted causing you to giggle.

"Our father doesn't even know you're acting against my will! But he will know, even because, I need his approval to bring my boyfriend home."

"What?" Aethelwulf almost gasped.

"I have no time for this now," you said, turning your back towards the ambulance.

"Where do you think you're going?" your brother insisted and you looked over your shoulder towards him.

"Take care of the man who saved my life. You should get used to Björn's presence, Aethelwulf. He is indeed your soon-to-be brother in law!"

Two more steps and you lowered yourself, tearing up all the extra tulle of that stupid dress, leaving half of your skirt on the ground before going into the ambulance.

No one into that place dared to defy you when you sat beside Björn, holding his hand.

"Soon to be brother in law?" he asked, with a cocky smile stained by pain.

"You said you wouldn't be single anymore," you smiled "Welcome to royalty." you joked, causing him to giggle, painfully, but happy.

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Septon Meribald: Septon to the Poor

Septon Meribald is a character who we see for a short while through Brienne’s POV in A Feast for Crows, and manages to become a popular minor character in both the book and series. Alongside Arya’s journey through the riverlands from ACOK to ASOS, Brienne’s journey highlights the effects of war on the civilian population, and Meribald serves as an important voice for the smallfolk during this arc. Meribald as per Martin’s characterization, wouldn’t be out of place in any medieval fantasy when you first meet him, but is also a three-dimensional character with a past that would make him out of place in that same setting. He is best remembered for his “Broken Men” speech in the chapter we meet him. The speech is eloquent in how it captures some of the grim realities of war, and contains some of Martin’s best prose. However, while I will analyze his speech, I think he deserves a more thorough examination and analysis based on more than just one speech.

Introduction:

"There's a man," Ser Hyle said. "A septon. He came in through my gate the day before you turned up. Meribald, his name is. River-born and river-bred and he's served here all his life. He's departing on the morrow to make his circuit, and he always calls at Saltpans. We should go with him."

- AFFC Brienne V

The donkey carried such a heavy load that Brienne was half afraid its back would break. "Food for the poor and hungry of the riverlands," Septon Meribald told them at the gates of Maidenpool. "Seeds and nuts and dried fruit, oaten porridge, flour, barley bread, three wheels of yellow cheese from the inn by the Fool's Gate, salt cod for me, salt mutton for Dog . . . oh, and salt. Onions, carrots, turnips, two sacks of beans, four of barley, and nine of oranges.”

- AFFC Brienne V

Meribald is introduced as a traveling septon who works and lived in the riverlands his whole life.

Circuit riders, as they were called, were a not uncommon feature in the early United States, especially west of the Appalachians as many settlers pushed westward. With an increase in the US population and many people living in rural areas, the Methodist church had to deal with too few ministers to staff parishes in these small, rural and some of them, new communities. They also had to deal with the fact that permanent, full-time ministers weren’t economical and have enough “work” in a community with a very small congregation. The US Methodist Church dealt with this issue by assigning ministers multiple officiates in an area that formed a “circuit” as the minister was to travel to and attend each parish on a regular basis.

Meribald is a septon in this vein who makes his regular circuit providing religious services to the villages that are too small and poor to have a septry as well as distributing food to the poor. He provides both material and spiritual sustenance to the smallfolk throughout the riverlands.

“The septon could neither read nor write, as he cheerfully confessed along the road, but he knew a hundred different prayers and could recite long passages from The Seven-Pointed Star from memory, which was all that was required in the villages. He had a seamed, windburnt face, a shock of thick grey hair, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Though a big man, six feet tall, he had a way of hunching forward as he walked that made him seem much shorter. His hands were large and leathery, with red knuckles and dirt beneath the nails, and he had the biggest feet that Brienne had ever seen, bare and black and hard as horn.”

- AFFC Brienne V

“I have a weakness for the orange, I confess. I got these from a sailor, and I fear they will be the last I'll taste till spring."

- AFFC Brienne V

His unkempt appearance of a windburnt face, leathery hands, dirt-filled nails, and black, hard feet give the picture of a man who has lived a hard life without much of anything in the way of luxury, and if anything, avoids it. He is a down-to-earth man whose only luxury he’ll let himself have is oranges, and he gives most of those away. His feet show that he doesn’t own any shoes, something even most smallfolk wear, and he goes barefoot with a simple wooden staff like the popular Saint Francis of Assisi (more on him later). The dirt in his nails show he doesn’t seem to adhere to the maxim of cleanliness being close to godliness, and with his bare feet, give him a kind of earthiness, being close to the land and its people. Septon Meribald is described as tall, but his posture makes him appear smaller, a physical representation of Meribald’s humble attitude with the way he lowers himself towards the people he interacts with. Generally, they are the smallfolk where a septon like himself would normally enjoy a marginal higher status, and one can see the gentleness he shows towards them. He confesses “cheerfully” his illiteracy, which resulted from a lack of formal education that is usually provided by maesters to the upper classes in castles and the Citadel. That is part of his veneration of simplicity rather than anti-intellectualism with all the passages and prayers he knows he learned by rote like Brutha from Practchett’s Small Gods. His unkempt appearance and illiteracy also give the misleading impression of a man who seems simple, but actually possesses a profound intelligence.

Septon Meribald walking beside them with his quarterstaff, leading a small donkey and a large dog

- AFFC Brienne V

Septon Meribald is always accompanied by two animal companions: a donkey and a dog. The donkey is an animal that features prominently in the Gospels. It was used to carry the pregnant Virgin Mary to the inn where she gives birth to Jesus, and later was used as a mount for Jesus upon entering Jerusalem. Donkeys were (and still are) used as beasts of burden meant for carrying loads on their backs and pulling carts and plows. They also were occasionally used as mounts by those who were too poor to afford horses. They were and still are considered to be the cheapest form of agricultural power after human power. That is opposed to the more expensive stallions, especially coursers and destriers, that are often used for cavalry or war chariots. That Meribald would use a donkey as opposed to a stallion fits perfectly with his veneration of poverty and simplicity as well as his anti-war views which we’ll get into later.

"It must make for a lonely life, septon."

"The Seven are always with me," said Meribald, "and I have my faithful servant, and Dog."

"Does your dog have a name?" asked Podrick Payne.

"He must," said Meribald, "but he is not my dog. Not him."

The dog barked and wagged his tail. He was a huge, shaggy creature, ten stone of dog at least, but friendly.

"Who does he belong to?" asked Podrick.

"Why, to himself, and to the Seven. As to his name, he has not told me what it is. I call him Dog."

- AFFC Brienne V

"Dog keeps me safe upon the roads, even in such trying times as these. Neither wolf nor outlaw dare molest me when Dog is at my side."

- AFFC Brienne V

Meribald is also accompanied by his Canine Companion, a large sheepdog he simply calls “Dog.” Dog isn’t used for hunting, a common leisure activity for aristocrats as well as one of survival for smallfolk, nor is he a regular pet. He appears to just be Meribald’s traveling companion as well as protector. He is described as a big dog that is capable of killing wolves, but is nonetheless friendly. The Starks and their direwolves will make you forget that wolves have a history of usually being portrayed in literature, especially religious texts, as evil with the shepherd protecting his flock from wolves is a common trope in Christianity. Dog fulfills the function of a sheepdog for Meribald, protecting him from wolves and outlaws, and his presence helps to emphasize Meribald acting as a shepherd to the smallfolk wherever he goes. Meribald’s treatment of Dog is unusual compared to other dog owners in both Westeros and real life. He doesn’t do something so simple as name the dog, because the way he sees it, he doesn’t own Dog, and thus, has no right to impose a name on him. Meribald treats Dog, not as a pet, but as belonging “to himself, and to the Seven,” an autonomous creature entitled to the dignity and respect of a living being. People demonstrating their humanity or lack thereof through their treatment of animals and relationship with nature is a trope used throughout fiction. Fantasy is no exception with Tolkien portraying the good races, like elves, as in harmony with nature while portraying the bad races, like orcs, as at odds with nature, exemplified by the eagles and trees (Ents) aiding the good races against the bad. Francis of Assisi even remarked on the connection between man’s relationship with animals and that with his fellow man: "If you have men who will exclude any of God's creatures from the shelter of compassion and pity, you will have men who will deal likewise with their fellow men." He wasn’t the only one to observe that. Philosopher Immanuel Kant stated “He who is cruel to animals becomes hard also in his dealings with men. We can judge the heart of a man by his treatment of animals.” Meribald’s treatment of Dog makes him stand out in his treatment of all life as deserving of kindness and compassion, including those valued the least by society: the poor and animals.

"The brothers will ferry us over on the morning tide, though I fear what we shall find there. Let us enjoy a good hot meal before we face that. The brothers always have a bone to spare for Dog." Dog barked and wagged his tail.

- AFFC Brienne VI

"And your tides," suggested Meribald. Dog barked agreement.

- AFFC Brienne VI

"I shall make time," said Meribald, "though I hope you have some better sins than the last time I came through." Dog barked. "You see? Even Dog was bored."

- AFFC Brienne VI

"Gladly," said Meribald. Dog barked.

- AFFC Brienne VI

"It is being common-born that is dangerous, when the great lords play their game of thrones," said Septon Meribald. "Isn't that so, Dog?" Dog barked agreement.

- AFFC Brienne VII

"We'll have silver. Else you can sleep in the woods with the dead men." Willow glanced toward the donkey, and the casks and bundles on his back. "Is that food? Where did you get it?"

"Maidenpool," said Meribald. Dog barked.

- AFFC Brienne VII

It helps that the author manages to give Dog an almost human-like quality. There are plenty of scenes where Dog barks right after Meribald says something as if Dog understands what he is saying and expresses agreement with him, and even Meribald acts as if Dog actually does. It manages to emphasize the bond between the two as fellow companions with Dog providing protection and Meribald providing food.

Backstory

Now, we go into Meribald’s personal backstory. We learn from the start that he is a lowborn riverman, the son of a peasant. We learn about his life before becoming a septon, and what likely led him to become one. We’ll start with the earliest, his part of the past he mentions right after he delivers his “Broken Men” speech that explains a large part of his character.

The quiet stretched and stretched, until finally she said, "How old were you when they marched you off to war?"

"Why, no older than your boy," Meribald replied. "Too young for such, in truth, but my brothers were all going, and I would not be left behind. Willam said I could be his squire, though Will was no knight, only a potboy armed with a kitchen knife he'd stolen from the inn. He died upon the Stepstones, and never struck a blow. It was fever did for him, and for my brother Robin. Owen died from a mace that split his head apart, and his friend Jon Pox was hanged for rape."

"The War of the Ninepenny Kings?" asked Hyle Hunt.

"So they called it, though I never saw a king, nor earned a penny. It was a war, though. That it was."

- AFFC Brienne V

Meribald is a veteran of the War of the Ninepenny Kings, and he fought when he was just a boy aged no older than thirteen. It puts his comments to Podrick Payne: "I have never known a boy who did not love the Warrior” in another light. Meribald was probably no exception to the rule. He had his head filled with the songs praising war when he first enlisted to avoid feeling left out, and thought it would be a glorious adventure the way Quentyn Martell did of his journey to Daenerys. This romantic notion is further emphasized by his older brother William saying Meribald could be his squire as if he were a knight, which the protagonist in these kinds of songs usually is. And as is the case in the series, these romantic notions crashed into brutal reality as Meribald lost his three brothers along with a family friend. It is no secret that war can be a traumatizing experience with many veterans suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). I once studied alongside a veteran of US wars in Iraq and Afghanistan in college who was around my current age. He confessed to suffering from PTSD to the point that when he sat down for lectures he always sat at the end of the seat rows so no one could sneak up on him. Of course, while he was an adult when he fought, Meribald was still a child, even by Westerosi standards. His knowledge of broken men is so detailed, because he was one. His words at the end of the chapter show that the trauma from that experience still haunts him to the present-day. After the war, Meribald couldn’t adjust to life like it was before, and that experience is ultimately what led him to decide to become a septon.

"Going barefoot was my penance. Even holy septons can be sinners, and my flesh was weak as weak could be. I was young and full of sap, and the girls . . . a septon can seem as gallant as a prince if he is the only man you know who has ever been more than a mile from your village. I would recite to them from The Seven-Pointed Star. The Maiden's Book worked best. Oh, I was a wicked man, before I threw away my shoes. It shames me to think of all the maidens I deflowered."

- AFFC Brienne V

We learn that for all his saintly qualities, Meribald is still human. He ashamedly admits that in violation of his vows of celibacy, he abused his position as a septon by going to isolated villages seducing inexperienced, young women while preaching. His war experience likely plays into that early part of his career. People have different ways of dealing with pain as Robert did with womanizing and drinking, and the trauma from the War of the Ninepenny Kings likely played a role in Meribald’s womanizing. His biography doesn’t exactly make him a complete saint, although to be fair, the Church is filled with saints with worse records than Meribald’s. Famed theologian St. Augustine of Hippo had a history of frequenting prostitutes and womanizing including impregnating the daughter of the wealthy Roman family he served. St. Moses the Black was a former highwayman who robbed and likely murdered a number of people. St.Ignatius of Loyola, founder of the Jesuits, was a military man with a history of gambling, womanizing/whoring, and brawling and dueling, especially since he was sensitive to insults. It does make one wonder what standards are used for picking saints.

The reason he doesn’t wear shoes is because he went barefoot as penance for his womanizing ways. The act itself of throwing away his shoes basically symbolized a turning point for him in terms of personal development by turning back on his old ways akin to Jean Valjean of Les Miserables deciding to turn a new leaf after his remorse over stealing from Petit Gervais. Meribald’s backstory shows him to be, not a born saint, but a flawed human being who had to undergo some personal growth to become the man he is today.

Faith and Philosophy

He led his donkey down the slope, beckoning them to follow. "If you would sleep beneath a roof tonight, you must climb off your horses and cross the mud with me. The path of faith, we call it. Only the faithful may cross safely. The wicked are swallowed by the quicksands, or drowned when the tide comes rushing in. None of you are wicked, I hope? Even so, I would be careful where I set my feet. Walk only where I walk, and you shall reach the other side."

The path of faith was a crooked one, Brienne could not help but note. Though the island seemed to rise to the northeast of where they left the shore, Septon Meribald did not make directly for it . . . His footprints filled up with water as soon as he moved on. By the time the ground grew firmer and began to rise beneath the feet, they had walked at least a mile and a half.

- AFFC Brienne VI

Essentially in this scene, with his staff, he is Moses leading his followers through the Red Sea to a literal land of milk and honey: the Quiet Isle. His footprints filling with water is could also be referencing Jesus walking on water. I think this passage can itself be an allegory for the path to spirituality/enlightenment with a priest leading his followers through treacherous terrain to safe haven. As Meribald probably sees it, it isn’t a direct, straight path, but a longer, crooked path as Brienne notes. In Herman Hesse’s most famous novel, Siddhartha, the titular character starts out as a Brahmin’s son wanting to achieve enlightenment, becomes an ascetic, and then becomes a merchant gambling, making love to a courtesan and living a hedonistic lifestyle. He later finds himself having sunk so low he goes to the river to commit suicide, only to reconsider at the last minute. He finds a teacher in the ferryman, and by “listening” to the river, finally achieves the enlightenment in his older years that he started out seeking as a teen. Meribald’s own path to spirituality was similar: a peasant’s son from the riverlands who became a soldier, and later as a result of that, became a broken man and a septon who slept around in spite of his vows of celibacy until he reformed into the man we meet in A Feast for Crows. Given his own story, he knows that people can change, and there can be bumps and turns along the road to faith and personal development.

History shows that everyone approaches faith differently. Interpretation of Scripture can largely depend on the interpreter. As Reza Aslan pointed out, up to the Civil War, people on both sides of the debate over slavery used the Bible to support their arguments, including drawing from the same passages. It can go both ways; people will draw values from Scripture and at the same time, people will often insert their own values into Scripture. To give an example, Meribald is like the last High Septon AKA the High Sparrow in being a barefoot, traveling septon from the riverlands with sympathies towards the smallfolk, but his approach and practices separate him from the more zealous, power hungry High Septon, especially in their attitudes towards armed conflict given Meribald’s experience as a soldier. There are also people who use faith for their own self-aggrandizement from bishops and popes of medieval times all the way to televangelists and megachurch pastors of modern-day.

In Geoffrey Chaucer’s magnum opus, Canterbury Tales, alongside some bawdy tales, there was some commentary on the Roman Catholic Church in the subtext. In the first group of pilgrims being made up of aristocrats, one sees the problems of corruption within the Church represented by the Monk who liked to ride, hunt and wear expensive clothes in violation of his vows of poverty, and the corrupt Friar who took bribes for offering absolution, preferred associating with the wealthy over the poor and slept around in violation of his vows of celibacy. Martin is similar with his treatment of the Catholic Church analogue in his series with the Faith of the Seven, and the corruption within the institution is plain to see. The High Septons and Most Devout wear cloth-of-gold and cloth-of-silver along with the High Septon wearing a crown made of crystal and spun gold. The first High Septon we see is given to the vice of gluttony as demonstrated by his obesity when the rest of King’s Landing was starving in A Clash of Kings to the point that Moon Boy jokes about it. Among the Most Devout, Septons Raynard and Ollidor visit brothels in King’s Landing, and Septon Luceon (Frey) served Arbor gold and suckling pig to thirty of the Most Devout in an effort to buy their votes for his campaign to be the next High Septon. The process seen for selecting the next High Septon among the Most Devout mimics actual history when the college of cardinals would elect a new pope with many bribes and deal making behind the scenes to win, or rather buy, cardinals’ votes for the preferred candidates. A number of the Most Devout and the High Septon (the fat one) would fit right in with the Monk and the Friar’s group. However, in one of the last groups consisting of the very poor, one finds the Parson.

But rather would he give, in case of doubt,

Unto those poor parishioners about,

Part of his income, even of his goods.

Enough with little, coloured all his moods.

Wide was his parish, houses far asunder,

But never did he fail, for rain or thunder,

In sickness, or in sin, or any state,

To visit to the farthest, small and great,

Going afoot, and in his hand, a stave.

This fine example to his flock he gave,

That first he wrought and afterwards he taught;

Out of the gospel then that text he caught,

And this figure he added thereunto-

That, if gold rust, what shall poor iron do?

For if the priest be foul, in whom we trust,

What wonder if a layman yield to lust?

And shame it is, if priest take thought for keep,

A shitty shepherd, shepherding clean sheep.

Well ought a priest example good to give,

By his own cleanness, how his flock should live.

. . .

He had no thirst for pomp or reverence,

Nor made himself a special, spiced conscience,

But Christ's own lore, and His apostles' twelve

He taught, but first he followed it himselve.

-Canterbury Tales: General Prologue (Translated for modern audiences)

I glimpse the castles of the great lords only at a distance, but I know the market towns and holdfasts, the villages too small to have a name, the hedges and the hills, the rills where a thirsty man can drink and the caves where he can shelter. And the roads the smallfolk use, the crooked muddy tracks that do not appear on parchment maps, I know them too.

- AFFC Brienne V

While acknowledging the pervasive corruption within the Church, Chaucer wasn’t wholly cynical towards the Church and Christianity. He uses the Parson as an exemplary character, and puts him in the group where Chaucer made each person, although very poor, represent all the Christian virtues. The Parson is a model cleric who lives a simple life of poverty, travels far to reach his parishioners, and shares his income and goods with the poorest of them. The Parson practices what he preaches, setting an example for his parishioners, and serves as a representation of the ideals of Christianity. The clergy closer to the aristocrats tend to be corrupt while the ones closer to the poor tend to be virtuous. Meribald would fit right in with the Parson’s group. His speaking of being far from castles, but visiting the towns, holdfasts and villages demonstrate his association with the smallfolk and poorer members of society while foregoing association with the aristocrats. While he is not opposed to aristocrats as shown by his treatment of Brienne, Hyle and Pod, he prefers to be with smallfolk. His parish is effectively the riverlands within his circuit; he always travels far to attend to people, and gives his food to the poorest parishioners. Meribald is to the Faith in this story as the Parson is to the Church in Chaucer’s: he is a representation of his faith’s ideals of humanity, peace, charity and justice. He provides a direct contrast to the corrupt clerics who run the Faith. As Victor Hugo told his son in response to his opposition towards making a bishop, Myriel, "a prototype of perfection and intelligence" in Les Miserables: “I cannot put the future into the past. My novel takes place in 1815. For the rest, this Catholic priest, this pure and lofty figure of true priesthood, offers the most savage satire on the priesthood today.”

His association with the smallfolk can be seen further in his preference among the Seven.

"I have never known a boy who did not love the Warrior. I am old, though, and being old, I love the Smith. Without his labor, what would the Warrior defend? Every town has a smith, and every castle. They make the plows we need to plant our crops, the nails we use to build our ships, iron shoes to save the hooves of our faithful horses, the bright swords of our lords. No one could doubt the value of a smith, and so we name one of the Seven in his honor, but we might as easily have called him the Farmer or the Fisherman, the Carpenter or the Cobbler. What he works at makes no matter. What matters is, he works. The Father rules, the Warrior fights, the Smith labors, and together they perform all that is rightful for a man. Just as the Smith is one aspect of the godhead, the Cobbler is one aspect of the Smith. It was he who heard my prayer and healed my feet."

- AFFC Brienne V

Meribald’s preference for the Smith is very much in line with Jesus and Isaiah of favoring peaceful, productive labor over war and conflict (swords beaten into plowshares). Meribald’s comments on the Cobbler reveal an understanding of the ideas behind it, and it further emphasizes his association with the common people by preferring the common-oriented Smith over the more aristocrat-oriented Warrior. His statement regarding the Smith, and extending it to other tradesmen, even farmers and fishermen, displays a social consciousness, an acknowledgement that the laborers and craftsmen are the ones who actually add value to society and keep it running as opposed to the generally unproductive warrior caste that rules over Westerosi society. As the smith creates the “bright swords of our lords” suggests, he points out that even the martial aristocrats are wholly dependent on this segment of society that they usually look down on. His own personal experience with war would also make him reluctant to favor the Warrior. He himself knows the negative effects war can have just going by the speech he is best known for.

"More less than more. There are many sorts of outlaws, just as there are many sorts of birds. A sandpiper and a sea eagle both have wings, but they are not the same. The singers love to sing of good men forced to go outside the law to fight some wicked lord, but most outlaws are more like this ravening Hound than they are the lightning lord. They are evil men, driven by greed, soured by malice, despising the gods and caring only for themselves. Broken men are more deserving of our pity, though they may be just as dangerous. Almost all are common-born, simple folk who had never been more than a mile from the house where they were born until the day some lord came round to take them off to war. Poorly shod and poorly clad, they march away beneath his banners, ofttimes with no better arms than a sickle or a sharpened hoe, or a maul they made themselves by lashing a stone to a stick with strips of hide. Brothers march with brothers, sons with fathers, friends with friends. They've heard the songs and stories, so they go off with eager hearts, dreaming of the wonders they will see, of the wealth and glory they will win. War seems a fine adventure, the greatest most of them will ever know.

"Then they get a taste of battle.

"For some, that one taste is enough to break them. Others go on for years, until they lose count of all the battles they have fought in, but even a man who has survived a hundred fights can break in his hundred-and-first. Brothers watch their brothers die, fathers lose their sons, friends see their friends trying to hold their entrails in after they've been gutted by an axe.

"They see the lord who led them there cut down, and some other lord shouts that they are his now. They take a wound, and when that's still half-healed they take another. There is never enough to eat, their shoes fall to pieces from the marching, their clothes are torn and rotting, and half of them are shitting in their breeches from drinking bad water.

"If they want new boots or a warmer cloak or maybe a rusted iron halfhelm, they need to take them from a corpse, and before long they are stealing from the living too, from the smallfolk whose lands they're fighting in, men very like the men they used to be. They slaughter their sheep and steal their chickens, and from there it's just a short step to carrying off their daughters too. And one day they look around and realize all their friends and kin are gone, that they are fighting beside strangers beneath a banner that they hardly recognize. They don't know where they are or how to get back home and the lord they're fighting for does not know their names, yet here he comes, shouting for them to form up, to make a line with their spears and scythes and sharpened hoes, to stand their ground. And the knights come down on them, faceless men clad all in steel, and the iron thunder of their charge seems to fill the world . . .

"And the man breaks.

"He turns and runs, or crawls off afterward over the corpses of the slain, or steals away in the black of night, and he finds someplace to hide. All thought of home is gone by then, and kings and lords and gods mean less to him than a haunch of spoiled meat that will let him live another day, or a skin of bad wine that might drown his fear for a few hours. The broken man lives from day to day, from meal to meal, more beast than man. Lady Brienne is not wrong. In times like these, the traveler must beware of broken men, and fear them . . . but he should pity them as well."

- AFFC Brienne V

This is the speech that earned Meribald his notoriety among the fandom. It is one of the few times where GRRM is very on the nose, and hammers his message into the text explicitly. The speech is a beautiful passage that stands as the biggest denunciation of war in the series, and showcases the anti-war stance of Martin, himself a conscientious objector during the Vietnam War. Every battle that the reader has seen firsthand or been informed about is generally through the view of a member of the nobility, including Davos, who while being born one of the smallfolk, is still a nobleman. The lords are first and foremost a warrior caste who have usually trained for battle their whole lives up to that point, and usually go to battle well-armed, armored and mounted. Here, Meribald presents a very thorough, eloquent and articulate view of war through the eyes of the smallfolk who often lack the extensive military training and armaments of the lords, and yet, make up the majority of feudal armies that engage in battle.

In battle, the smallfolk in these feudal levies can take wounds, both physical and mental, from the injuries sustained in battle, the act of killing itself, the terror of the battle and seeing the people they knew die in gruesome fashion. After battle, they strip the dead of necessities like armor, clothes, weapons and any coin the bodies may have on their persons. Due to the poor supplying of feudal armies, if the infantrymen want to eat, they have to resort to foraging, or taking supplies by force from local smallfolk. They also kill the livestock as part of chevauchee, and rape the local women, since law enforcement is notoriously difficult in warzones. Then, after having undergone so much trauma, some men break during battle and desert. Broken men are deserters suffering from PTSD, usually in an unfamiliar land, where their feudal obligations to serve their lords no longer mean anything nor their fear of divine judgement, but everything takes a backseat to survival. They have often retained their weapons or at least some of them, along with the tactic of foraging. The application of these things can usually result in broken men engaging in banditry to survive. Even when the war is over, the effects of it can remain.

"It is being common-born that is dangerous, when the great lords play their game of thrones," said Septon Meribald.

- AFFC Brienne VII

Meribald’s anti-war attitude is drawn not just from his personal experience as a soldier and broken man, but likely witnessing the destruction and suffering among civilians in the War of the Ninepenny Kings and the War of Five Kings. Along his circuit, he likely has seen villages and towns destroyed and people ravaged by the Lannisters, Brave Companions and Starks. His comments on the smallfolk suffering when the lords go to war is comparable to the observation made by Varys: "The High Septon once told me that as we sin, so do we suffer. If that's true, Lord Eddard, tell me … why is it always the innocents who suffer most, when you high lords play your game of thrones?” The smallfolk always bear the greatest costs of war from the broken men to the foraged, and even massacred, smallfolk. With Meribald’s words, we can look at Tyrion’s description of the army defeated by Robb at Oxcross being largely made up of “raw—apprentice boys, miners, fieldhands, fisherfolk, the sweepings of Lannisport,” in a new light, with much of the people killed in battle being poor smallfolk who are there by circumstance.

They can often be the group in battle to suffer the highest casualties and receive the fewest personal gains. The former is especially true given as Gendry points out: "Knights and lordlings, they take each other captive and pay ransoms, but they don't care if the likes of you yield or not." Highborn combatants are worth ransoms or can make useful hostages, creating an incentive to capture rather than kill them while lowborn combatants have no wealth or connections to call upon, and as prisoners-of-war would be just more mouths to feed in an army that crawls on its stomach, leaving little incentive to capture them.Excluding chivalry, with exceptions like Elia Martell, Lord Hewitt’s daughter and Bracken’s daughter, highborn women usually have some protection from rape via their status with anyone knowing her family would have swords to call upon to defend her honor while women among the smallfolk have no such protection with no swords to call upon. The lords can be rewarded with lands and castles for their services and ransoms from captured lords or knights in service while the smallfolk see hardly any of those rewards, except small ones such as the loot they can obtain if they sack someplace, or strip a dead body. If they’re really lucky, and perform some great feat, like saving a lord in battle, they can be richly rewarded with gold, lands, a keep and their sons serving as squires, or essentially be welcomed into the nobility and get a foot through the door into lordship for their families. That was the case with Ser Bartimus and the man-at-arms who saved Ser Harys Swyft in the Battle of the Blackwater. To borrow from the American Civil War, Westerosi wars can be perfectly summed up as a “rich man’s war, but a poor man’s fight.”

We come across examples of both broken men and raided smallfolk in Brienne’s POV with the raid on Saltpans led by Rorge. We see much of it caused by broken men, and an example of a lord neglecting the obligations of his status.

"Back on the road, the septon said, "We would do well to keep a watch tonight, my friends. The villagers say they've seen three broken men skulking round the dunes, west of the old watchtower.”

"Only three?" Ser Hyle smiled. "Three is honey to our swordswench. They're not like to trouble armed men.”

"Unless they're starving," the septon said. "There is food in these marshes, but only for those with the eyes to find it, and these men are strangers here, survivors from some battle. If they should accost us, ser, I beg you, leave them to me."

"What will you do with them?"

"Feed them. Ask them to confess their sins, so that I might forgive them. Invite them to come with us to the Quiet Isle." 

-AFFC Brienne V

"Ser Quincy is an old man," said Septon Meribald gently. "His sons and good-sons are far away or dead, his grandsons are still boys, and he has two daughters. What could he have done, one man against so many?"

- AFFC Brienne VI

It was Hyle Hunt who finally put words to what all of them had realized. "These are the men who raided Saltpans."

"May the Father judge them harshly," said Meribald, who had been a friend to the town's aged septon.

- AFFC Brienne VII

Where everyone else, is faulting Ser Quincy Cox for not defending his town when it was brutally sacked by Rorge, Meribald is the only one that tries to express some understanding towards Cox. He says that Ser Cox was likely afraid for his family as well as himself, and knew he couldn’t have done much against the raiders. This can be partly due to Meribald himself being a veteran, and knowing what it is like to be afraid facing an onslaught. He was also willing to help three broken men who he knew might be dangerous and potentially harm him by giving them food, knowing they might be starving, and an offer to perform services for them and take them to the Quiet Isle for refuge. One of the closest times we’ve ever gotten to Meribald judging and badmouthing someone is his comments regarding the hanged raiders of Saltpans. He doesn’t show pity for the hanged men likely being broken men despite his words in his famous speech, and deviates from “May the Father judge them justly” to “May the Father judge them harshly.” Of course, in this case, his anger is completely and understandably justified. Meribald’s comments regarding Ser Cox when taken with his sympathy towards broken men show him to be a compassionate man who tries to be understanding and avoid judging people too harshly. This can be partly given to him acknowledging his own mistakes in the past, and thus, be less judgmental towards others’ shortcomings as opposed to someone like the inquisitorial High Sparrow

Meribald’s background largely influenced his own approach to life and faith. His experience in the War of the Ninepenny Kings gave him anti-war views, and his past mistakes helped him to acknowledge that people are people and anyone can fall off track. His experience as one of and interactions with the smallfolk as well as the hardships they face explain his smallfolk-centric worldview. We can look at a historical figure in Catholic Church hagiography that likely inspired Meribald’s character.

Meribald’s Real-Life Counterpart

If there is any historical influence for Meribald, it should be obvious for anyone who has even a basic knowledge of Catholic saints: Francis of Assisi. To give a little basic info, he is one of the patron saints of Italy and the environment, the eponym for San Francisco (in a way fitting with the city’s liberal reptuation) as well as Pope Francis and founder of the Order of Friars Minor, more commonly known as the Franciscan Order. He is also described as the first to receive the stigmata, or receive wounds/marks on his hands, feet and side corresponding to Christ’s wounds from his crucifixion, and credited with creating the first Nativity scene. Francis is a very popular saint, even in Protestantism with Franciscan orders in the Anglican and Lutheran churches, given he embodies many of the qualities that one would look for in a saint. It is said no one was more dedicated in imitating Christ and carrying out the Christ’s work in Christ’s way than Francis to the point that he is even sometimes described as alter Christus, or literally “another Christ.” It comes as no surprise then, that he was canonized less than two years after his death.

Francis was born Giovanni di Bernardone in 12th century Assisi, the son of a wealthy cloth merchant and a noblewoman from Provence. He was informally called Francesco or “the Frenchman” by his father to honor his business success and enthusiasm for French things. Francis wore lavish clothes, and was known to be one of the biggest party animals in town. Albeit, better born than Meribald, Francis shared the commonality of being a veteran whose war experience caused him to re-evaluate his life. Francis originally wanted to be a knight joining in Assisi’s war against Perugia. He was taken prisoner at the Battle of Ponte San Giovanni, and spent a year imprisoned in Collestrada where he suffered a long fever. During the fever, he started to re-evaluate his life. Two years later, his search for victory and glory lead him to leave to fight for Apulia, serving under Count Walter III of Brienne (I kid you not). Apparently, a strange vision made him return home to Assisi. Francis later decided to foreswear his inheritance and become a wandering beggar, and taking Christ’s words literally, stripped himself of the lavish clothes he once liked to wear, and replaced them with a coarse woolen tunic tied with a knotted rope in place of a belt. He traveled from place to place, working to rebuild ruined churches in the countryside of Assisi and Umbria, nursing the sick, including the outcast lepers and giving alms to the poor. He preached brotherly love, peace and penance to the ordinary people in the countryside despite not being an anointed priest. Francis, as Meribald does, celebrated and venerated his poverty, and traveled the countryside preaching and giving aid to the poor. Win Wenders, when talking about the film he made about Pope Francis, described St. Francis as having “an incredible social consciousness, and identified with the outcasts and the poor of his time, and really lived a life of radical solidarity with the poor and outcasts.”

Francis also went so far as to go over enemy lines during the Fifth Crusade to speak with Sultan al-Kamil of Egypt to convert him, or be martyred in the attempt (he failed at both). Francis and Meribald fought wars in their youth only to become men of peace when they grew older in both word and action. There are legends such as Francis healing a leper through prayer. Another being one of his friars scolding three robbers for stealing food and drink from Francis’s monks, and Francis responding by having his friar apologize to them and give them bread and wine. Those three robbers would be moved enough to join Francis’s order. It reminds me of Meribald’s comments regarding what to do if three broken men in the dunes come upon them: "Feed them. Ask them to confess their sins, so that I might forgive them. Invite them to come with us to the Quiet Isle."

Francis is the patron saint of animals and the environment given he displayed kindness and respect towards animals in a way Meribald wouldn’t disapprove of if Dog is anything to go by. He saw nature as a “mirror of God,” and he referred to animals as “brothers and sisters.” His attitude towards animals would have been met with approval from the SPCA and other animal rights organizations with words such as “Not to hurt our humble brethren is our first duty to them, but to stop there is not enough. We have a higher mission - to be of service to them whenever they require it.” There are stories and legends of birds gathering to hear him preach, half-frozen bees crawling towards him to be fed and the famous tale of the Wolf of Gubbio.

The story goes that the town of Gubbio was terrorized by a large wolf that preyed originally on its flocks, then also began to feed on the townspeople and finally switched to eating only people. It supposedly could not be harmed by an weapon, devouring anyone who tried to kill it. Francis went up to confront it and chastised the wolf for its actions, with the wolf responding by bowing its head in submission. Francis than made a deal with the wolf: “I promise thee that thou shalt be fed every day by the inhabitants of this land so long as thou shalt live among them; thou shalt no longer suffer hunger, as it is hunger which has made thee do so much evil; but if I obtain all this for thee, thou must promise, on thy side, never again to attack any animal or any human being; dost thou make this promise?" The wolf placed a forepaw in Francis’s outstretched hand in agreement to the oath. Francis then walked with the wolf following him to town to the surprise of the townspeople. The wolf died two years later, and the town was saddened given he had become a symbol of Francis’s sanctity and divine power. The legend says they gave the wolf an honorable burial and later built a church at the site.

Crazy enough, during the renovation of the Church of Saint Francis of Peace in 1872, the same church where the wolf was said to be buried, under a slab near the wall of the church they found the skeleton of a large wolf that was likely several centuries old. They reburied the wolf skeleton inside. My guess is that in real-life, a wolf may have preyed on Gubbio’s flocks, and Francis came up with a simple solution: feed the wolf and it wouldn’t have to feed on their flocks. The description of the Wolf of Gubbio does also bring to mind a certain canine in the series.

“They say the pack is led by a monstrous she-wolf, a stalking shadow grim and grey and huge. They will tell you that she has been known to bring aurochs down all by herself, that no trap nor snare can hold her, that she fears neither steel nor fire, slays any wolf that tries to mount her, and devours no other flesh but man."

- AFFC Brienne V

I wouldn’t be surprised if a similar situation happens with Meribald regarding a seemingly invincible, large wolf terrorizing the riverlands, devouring its flocks and people: Nymeria. Dog wouldn’t be able to protect him from Nymeria if she came upon him, and Meribald, being a man of peace, would deal with her in a way that men of war have tried and failed to do. I’m willing to bet money on it.

Conclusion:

Meribald plays the role of guide for his fellow travelers as well as the reader, and the mouthpiece of the author on war. Being the only one among the group who is one of the smallfolk and not the nobility, he provides a much needed perspective on war through the eyes of 99% of the population. His good-natured, country bumpkin-esque appearance masks an intelligent man with profound insight on war, society and faith. He probably has a worse background prior to joining the Faith and shortly after than most of the Most Devout and High Septons, but he turned out a better man than any of them. He is the closest to a saint we’ve seen in this series, more so than any other septon we’ve encountered. Hopefully, I think we will meet him again in the series, and I look forward to hearing what more insights he has.

[eirianerisdar]

Waiting in the Quiet, Part 2

General Summary: Gren, from his first meeting with General Amaya to the end of Season 1 of The Dragon Prince. 

This chapter: Amaya realises that Gren’s newfound fluency in sign language is invaluable in more ways than one, Gren discovers what it means to serve, and someone, finally, understands what it means to wait in the quiet. To wait is a beautiful thing, but it also requires a quiet heart.

Read from Chapter 1

Chapter Index for Waiting in the Quiet

Chapter 2: And the Voice Listened

Two things occurred in Gren’s second year of service.

One: Amaya became a General.

And two: They both came to a realisation as to the usefulness of Gren’s fluency in sign language.

It happened like so:

“General, I don’t see why you would refuse to allow my personal guard to ride with you into battle! They are all well-trained, I assure you!”

Amaya stood with her hands clasped behind her back, blue-accented armour sleek and freshly oiled, and stared down the shapes the visiting noble’s mouth made as he spoke with agitation.

Stood a few paces away and quite invisible to a noble of such stature, Gren watched as Amaya raised steady hands and replied, “I do not doubt their training, my lord. But they do not know the border, and we have orders to protect you while you rest here before continuing your journey north. It would be foolhardy to–”

Her signing was forcefully broken off as the man batted her hands aside and continued his tirade, the shapes of his moving lips curling and slipping in their anger. 

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” the noble snarled. “Surely you wouldn’t deny an esteemed guest the opportunity to further train his personal guard?”

Something flashed in Amaya’s eyes – something fiery and quick and dangerous, but it was gone again so quickly that Gren doubted if anyone in the command tent saw it except him, who knew her so well. She waved away her guards (whose hands had been drifting towards their swords), and reached to the sideboard for parchment and ink.

Gren saw the noble’s frustration before the man could open his mouth again, and his gut seethed at it with sudden vehemence.

He took three steps forward to draw level with Amaya so she could see him speak, shrugging off Corvus’s questioning hand on his shoulder as he did so. “The general said,” Gren said, dropping his voice into the cool control that Amaya had exuded as she had signed those words, “that she does not doubt the training of your men. But they do not know the border and we have orders to protect you as you rest here on your journey.” He paused. “My lord,” he added, belatedly.

The noble was staring at him with such an expression of silenced shock that Gren bit back a laugh, smoothing over his features.

Amaya moved in the corner of his vision; attuned to her as he was out of habit, it seemed all too natural to turn slightly towards her and incline his head expectantly.

There was a spark of wonder in Amaya’s eyes as met his gaze, but then she turned back to the visiting noble, dropped her eyebrows, and began to sign again, quicker and more freely than before, and Gren’s sharp blue eyes tracked each movement with the ease of long practice.

He began to speak. “My lord, I understand your wishes. But the situation on the border hangs in fine balance, and I can ill spare men to stay here with you should a true need for battle arise. In that case, your guards know you well and can best protect you by your side here, in camp–”

Gren broke off here, because the noble did what nobles did best when they heard something they did not like – interrupt.

“I don’t think you’re being forthright with me, General,” the noble hissed, leaning forward – though admittedly to little effect, as tall as Amaya was. “You will allow my guards to–”

Amaya’s hands moved sharply.

“And you,” Gren said in a voice of steel, knowing the emphasis on that second word by the rise of Amaya’s chin, “You, lord, will follow the orders of your king. As I am.” The noble reared back, staring at her with wide eyes. Gren would wager half a month’s wages that the man had not expected to be interrupted by someone who could not speak out loud.

Amaya took a slow breath. Gren reined back the ice in his voice accordingly.

“I have orders to protect you while you are here, from the king himself. I know from experience the best way to do so will be to keep the fighting away from you. Would you prefer that in switching out two dozen of my best men with your guards, a single moonshadow elf might slip through the new gap in the battlefield and slaughter you in your sleep? Two dozen unwarned men will not stop a determined elf.”

The noble blanched. “Of-of course not,” he stammered. “I’ll…I’m fatigued, from my journey. I’ll retire now.”

Amaya grinned. There was a touch of predatory grace to it.

“Sweet dreams–” Gren bit back a yelp as he read Amaya’s next word, and hastily amended, “Uh. My lord.”

He glanced at Amaya to find her raising a challenging eyebrow, but she did not berate him.

The noble left, stumbling slightly.

Gren became suddenly aware that he was stood at the forefront of the party; shoulder-to-shoulder with General Amaya as a lowly Second Lieutenant, while her command chain fanned out behind them.

He blushed.

Amaya considered him for a moment before jerking her head in the direction of the tent flap.

Gren followed her out into the cool air of late winter, towards the edge of the camp, where the trenches and wire of the camp defenses stretched out towards the direction of the Breach. There, he stood with his hands folded behind his back and waited.

Amaya did not say anything for a long moment; only looked out across no-man’s-land towards the reddish glow of magma, far in the distance. The winter wind caught her hair and swept it past her cheekbone.

Then she turned to him, and Gren found himself skewered in place by a look so sure and bright that he thought he might spontaneously combust.

“Gren, I’m promoting you,” Amaya began.

He stared at her hands. Nothing about that made sense – he hadn’t accomplished anything in his year in service except to improve the paperwork chain of a battalion that saw action as often as this one – an achievement in circumventing red tape, but certainly not anything worth lauding.

She saw his confused surprise and blasted through it as bluntly as one of her famed shield-rams. “You’re going to be my interpreter, Captain Gren.”

Interpreter.

Captain.

What happened to First Lieutenant?

Gren’s mouth fell open. “Uhhhhh,” he found himself saying. His hands were twitching. He should say something with them, but the only thing coming out of him was this garbled syllable from his lips. 

Amaya smirked, reached out with a blue-gloved hand, and lifted his chin so his teeth clicked together. When her glove left his chin, a ghost of it remained, feather-light.

“Gren, you’re going to be my voice,” Amaya said.

Oh.

Oh.

He nodded once, made to bow – but Amaya pulled him into one of their brief hugs that they shared whenever she returned from the battlefield and in moments like these, and Gren knew, as he hugged her in return, that this was to be his purpose – a role he would come to savor, in the years of his service to Katolis.

To Amaya.

As Amaya’s interpreter, he spent every day from sunup until sundown by her side.

His existence became that of a binary star – the world as he knew it skewed towards her first in everything, and even if someone should address him and Gren’s attention should stray elsewhere, always there in the corner of his vision was his General; and the merest shift of her shoulders or flicker of her fingers had him instantly at her side again, head inclined just so, watching intently. He chose places to stand and directions to face based on whether he could see her – whether she could call on him in a moment’s notice. Even when they rode out he kept his horse even with hers, just so he could see her hands on the reins. In battle he trusted his guards with his life, and watched her blood-slick fingers to shout her orders.

She taught him the sword, although it was not her preferred weapon, nor was it his (he preferred no weapon at all, if he could choose), but he rode into the thick of battle with her, now, and should there come a moment when he had to take up arms himself, Gren knew he would never forgive himself if he did not go down fighting. 

Now, at least, if a sword hilt was thrust into his hand, he could make some use of it. 

Sparring with Amaya was joy in laughter – utter seriousness that always ended with him on his rear in the dirt for some reason or the other, but Amaya was always there with an extended hand to help him up, and those few hours were theirs alone daily – no lip-reading, no interpreting, only two friends together.

And then Gren met Amaya’s family – and further joy entered his life before he fully understood it.

He journeyed with her to the capital when she had the rare chance to take leave – there, he met her nephews, met the King and Queen.

There was one moment, when Amaya was occupied with hugging the stuffing out of her nephews, where Queen Sarai took him aside and held his hand in both of hers. Her sword-calluses were so very similar to Amaya’s.

“Thank you for what you do for my sister,” the Queen murmured.

“It is my honour and privilege,” Gren replied, and the Queen gave him a radiant smile, dropped his hand, and allowed him to step forward to his place at Amaya’s shoulder once more. 

Then Ezran toddled over, tugged on Gren’s trousers (the tallest part of Gren he could reach), and babbled for a shoulder-ride, which Gren gladly obliged; Amaya reached for Callum and potato-sacked him around the room, growing boy and all.

Afterwards, Gren ate at the King’s table with the rest of the family, and it was only as he absentmindedly fingerspelled a reply to Amaya’s comment (his other hand was busy stuffing the best partridge he had ever tasted into his mouth, as politely as possible) that Gren realised he had been accepted into the family as an extension of Amaya’s presence.

He was no longer simply a paper-pushing soldier. He was a friend, as close to family as any non-royal member of Katolis could be.

Amaya smiled at him across the table as Ezran stole his pudding from right under his nose, and Gren smiled back so widely his cheeks ached.

Time passed – a handful of years that seemed longer than they were, where Gren woke each dawn already seeking the movement of Amaya’s hands and went to sleep every dusk with the graceful shapes of her fingers still imprinted behind his eyelids. There was an easy camaraderie between them now, in the angle of their heads and the inside jokes in every movement.

Gren was in that hazy gap between twenty-one and twenty-three – that span of years where he was technically already a grown man and yet maturing further so quickly that he did not realise it, when the battle at the border grew fiercer, and Amaya took the blow to her head that scarred her right cheekbone for life.

They would speak of it lightly, in the years after; casual ease in their signing and the quirking of their eyebrows.

The reality had been quite different.

In the slow, horror-filled moments after the blow fell and Amaya tumbled off her horse and the battalion around them seemed to rise like a rage-filled wave to drown the elf that had dealt the blow, Gren leapt off his horse and scrambled to find his footing in the blood-soaked mud, his heart in his throat as he stumbled his way over his General.

She was sprawled in the mud, a gash open on her right cheek, eyes closed and deathly pale, her shield half-buried beside her. Gren pushed back on the sickening falling feeling that burned within him and felt for a pulse at her neck instead. A sob of relief trapped itself in his throat as her blood flickered under his fingers, strong and steady.

He resisted the impulse to lift her out of the mud – there was no surety that she had escaped a neck injury. He simply drew the dagger in his boot and stood watch over her while their guards formed an impenetrable ring around them – until the battle was won, and the healers came.

Even when they bore her back to the outpost on a stretcher padded with the bloodstained blue of Standing Battalion cloaks – not one man or woman of the battalion would deny their General greater comfort for their own warmth – Gren was there, by her side; the healers worked around him in his bloodstained armour and ragged half-cape until Corvus slipped into the tent, his own leather hauberk stained crimson, and pulled Gren away with the admonition to wash up.

Gren was back within half an hour, and there he stayed.

Amaya remained in a dark tent for three days; the healers said her headache would yet worsen with light for a while, and that it was best that she remained still and recovered without even firelight.

And so Gren sat by the side of her cot for three days and nights, in complete darkness, resting with his head pillowed on his arms when his head drooped. There was no possibility he could see her signed words when she shifted and woke, so he spelled words into her hand, and she spelled back, and he held her hand through the utter nothingness of the darkened tent, knowing that she had no point of reference in this place except for his palm – not when she had not hearing, and now in this place, sight.

She recovered in due time – examined the new, scabbing scar on her right cheekbone in the mirror when the healers finally brought in candles, and looked to Gren.

Gren shrugged. “Piratey,” he spelt, and reflected her fierce grin at that back at her. Something in his chest twisted anew – the spark of something unknown.

They took care of their daily responsibilities together as usual for the rest of that day; Gren’s heart flipped constantly the entire time, leaving him distracted, slower in his motions. Amaya, naturally, noticed; she was as attuned to him as he was to her. He suspected it was partially for his sake that she retired early, even before evening meal.

He stumbled back to his own quarters for the first time in three days, and collapsed into his own cot fully clothed.

His heart was still thudding in his chest.

Gren pressed his aching face into his hard field-pillow and attempted to sleep, but sleep eluded him as the hours crept deeper past midnight.

His heart would not calm itself, nor could his mind.

Amaya’s grin hovered there at the forefront of his mind, and nothing he did could erase it. His hand still ghosted with the phantom hold of fingers that were not his own.

What…what was this?

It was like he was losing his mind.

Or perhaps…

Perhaps his regard for Amaya was no longer simply admiration.

Gren sat up abruptly at the thought, pressed a hand to his hammering heart. It was the darkest watches of the night; the camp around him was still and dark and silent, save for the telltale steps of the night patrol.

The first thing he did was force himself to accept that yes, he did indeed feel something for Amaya more than a loyal friend would. It was there in his yearning to be by her side more than anything, the flutter in his stomach in the instances where she chose to hug him, and in the warm glow in his chest when they shared evening meal together, as they had for years now. It was a different feeling to when they first befriended each other, back when he was a strapping young recruit with a fondness for calligraphy.

So, the question remained: what was he going to do about it?

Gren lit a candle, fumbling at it with exhausted hands. Sat properly on the edge of his cot, rested his chin in his hand to think.

The first and indeed most important consideration was if Amaya felt the same; Gren mused over the question for a little while before shelving it away. Amaya had not expressed anything out of the ordinary, and until he had reasonable cause to think that she would, it was not in his business to say anything regarding his newfound sentiment.

Second, and also important, was the problem presented by their differing roles and ages. There were fewer than ten years between them, and that would matter less as Gren grew older – but years as interpreter and diplomat had given him the ability to pause, and reflect, and wait. It was the natural result of spending each and every day as a quiet observer more often than not – speaking someone else’s words rather than his own, and willingly doing so.

He knew, then, that he would have to wait.

It wasn’t simply that she was older than him – Gren didn’t put much stock into the idea that men had to be older than the women they courted – but simply that he was aware of his own faults due to his age. Faults that would change with time – he was Commander now, and Amaya’s extended will over dozens of men at a time – but he had not grown into that role yet, and he knew that he would mature further.

Gren glanced at the wall of his tent – towards the direction of Amaya’s larger command tent, directly beside his.

It was not as though what he felt was not real. But he was also painfully aware of his own youth, and the borderline hero-worship he had felt when he first met her.

He needed to be sure that this was not simply an extension of that.

So he would wait. Wait, and serve.

There was nothing more he wished than to remain by her side, and that he could do, day after day, as her most loyal and closest friend.

Any future change would come when it chose to, and only should Amaya wish it.

Gren killed the candle, leant back in his cot, and eventually found sleep in the scant few hours before dawn.

His General scrutinised the bags under his eyes the next morning with a subtle expression of concern, but Gren simply inclined his head formally, and settled in his place to wait. 

And wait he did.

Next Chapter: Queen Sarai was kind, perfect, strong, and unbreakable - but that did not make her immortal.

I have about half of the next chapter done, and I hope to get it out in a couple of days. This next week promises to be a busy one, but if I can sneak time to write I will. Stay tuned for more! This is cross-posted to FFN!

Chapter 3

Chapter Index for Waiting in the Quiet

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