#if you truly cannot decide flip a coin

[anantaru]

— cute things they do unintentionally

including tighnari, scaramouche, alhaitham, kaveh x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, crack??, very sweet and loving, they adore you

— tighnari + his ears twitch and he blushes easily around you

the usual self assured and poised tighnari had a lovely habit of being all over the place in front of you— after all, he‘s unquestionably in love with you, wholly, and he adores you.

on the treacly occasion of that— when you decide to casually meet up for a tranquil walk with your sweet forest ranger or a serene spending at home enclosed by his arms, you can clearly see a diverse change in mannerism, yet one detail in particular outshines the others abundantly.

it‘s when he reacts at one of your jokes, but not just that, it can be a random notion or story you would happily talk about, what you happened to do these past hours you had been apart— perhaps a pretty rose catching your attention, its sprouting scent squaring over your nostrils, each petal so beautiful and soft— but his cheeks then idly bristle with a fire-like convulsion when you drift off into your day dream while hugging yourself into his chest, and tighnari shelters a pink color on his face.

regardless of how, his ears then, you called it! twitch.

once, twice, it's frantic, far and wide— but he knows what that feeling is too, he knows better than to desperately fight against it so instead he swiftly averts his gaze from you to recollect himself, somehow.

for tighnari, it was clear as day that this task was challenging, at bottom you were simply irresistible to him— you meet him and his breathing shortens, but he is content with you, yet wholly engulfed that it left him bereaved of required oxygen.

of course, well, this was indeed happening to him right now, but he asks himself, then grunts in frustration, not again, why must it always happen on the most burdensome times for him to lose himself, especially when he was just growing tired and had attempted to fall asleep surrounded by your consummating scent and weightless traces?

"is something the matter?"

it wasn't unusual for you to point out a dissimilarity of his habitual behavior, and your eyes were webbed with transparent worry that tighnari felt immensely guilty over, because it was him who inflicted it upon you.

to flip the coin into a distinct course of action, he says your name— a little breathy, silk-like— but it translates into the language of your heart and exudes into your body.

"i‘m alright, *cough* just caught something in my eye."

— scaramouche + gets all happy and excited when he tells you stories

scaramouche's velvety, smooth voice plays in your head on repeat, when he talks to you it's a sign of love, a sign of i want you to know this, or to elaborate further, it's evident to;

'i need you to know this because you're important to me and only you matter.'

you're fixated on his ecstatic sewn pupils and you openly admit to yourself that you cannot get enough of all the witty stories he would tell you on a daily basis— it did not matter to you how minuscule or of little importance they may be, what truly mattered was that scaramouche had begun to be more open and forthcoming towards you.

what your charming boyfriend was not aware of nor fathomed, was how contrasting his behavior would turn whenever he's thoroughly meshed in his story telling mode.

true feverishness and a drastic hurdle of thrill settles in his mannerism as he excitedly continues his own personal anecdotes of the passing day.

but those eyes, those spirited indigo eyes were vitally euphonious to the concealed dimples on his face that split larger after each new word spelled out, around the corners of his mouth to be exact, therefore accentuating his doughy, handsome physical responses.

extending far down, scaramouche was acquainted with undoubtable sureness that it was you who helped him grow, who showed him an escape route from the blooded thorns of his past.

"hey!" wow, what a way to snap you back to reality.

scaramouche sounded like he was in dire need of some attention from you and his hands were awkwardly tugged to each side of his body— though, let me get you in on a secret, the secret of all secrets, he actually longed to have them drawn on your frame, in effect, glissading them over your soft skin to pull you into a hug afterwards.

"are you even listening to me?!"

"of course i am!" you're lying, you're not.

in actuality you leaned into the delicious easement of your thoughts again— precisely about comforting memories from your boyfriend, even though he was right in front of you, in all of his splendor beauty, feeling understood even in your silence.

"okay, so what did i just say?"

"uhm."

damn you scaramouche and your refined ability to look right through someones skin and capture a glimpse of everything he needed to know.

"okay okay." you lean back into your chair— defeated, hands dramatically throw up in the air while fighting back the urge to say something that would drive your boyfriend off the edge.

but, at long last, you go in anyways, "you're just very cute." and it's the same again, his eyes widen in eternal radiance— rivaling celestial bodies in outer space while kuni seals his lips together in frustration because you managed to catch him off guard again.

the man huffs before erratically coughing out, attempting to distract you from his flustered face, but we all know he won't manage to accomplish that.

— alhaitham + scrunches his brows together when he complains about something

alhaitham abominates working. the end.

precisely supplemental hours of his existing work tasks that mostly focus on him aiding helpless akademiya scholars in their failing research.

while— being in a relationship with the acting grand sage of the sumeru akademiya naturally came with a lot of things, both good and bad feats— as might be expected the goods always outshine the negatives, you despite that understood your boyfriends increasing urge to get rid of his current title as fast as possible.

alhaitham was a busy man now, even busier than beforehand— and he regarded it with disgust, throughout-going abhorred it, that he couldn't come home at his routined time to spend some additional hours with you, his sweet significant other.

what alhaitham does know was that whenever he did arrive from a fatigued day— you will always, heavy emphasizing on the always, earnestly wait for him with a giant hot cup of tea being planted on the kitchen counter, on stand by and ready to be tasted by the man you loved like nothing else on this world.

"you're home later than usual."

a gasp of surprise evaporated from within as you began to point out the obvious, excitedly strolling towards alhaitham to gift him a proper welcome home, accentuating the passion filled gesture with a little peck on his warm cheek.

"it's unbelievable, isn't it?" someone must've woken up a tilt grumpy today, you figured, but let him carry on with his words.

"—and one might think that if there is nothing to do, i can simply take my leave." he continues, kicking his boots off his feet, one by one, while breathlessly sinking into the giant couch.

before the tea would turn cold, you decided to gracefully hand him the home made beverage, but not darting yourself off him, listening eagerly to what he had to say.

"but no, they need me for every. minuscule. task."

and alhaitham's eyes twitch, again— though his brows, they were pressed together so damn tight, if you didn't know any better you would've expected him to pop a blood vessel by now.

"do i look like i am interested in social interactions?" he asks you now, yes, dead serious while pulling you in with his hypnotizing eyes— although lifted with some serious eye bags, they continued to hold a graven significance that had you drawn to him the most.

but this situation was wearing thin, at least alhaitham was alarmingly more tested than usual, but at last you couldn't help yourself and work against your honest reactions, laughing at how awfully adorable he could be at times, without smiling— but it's so sudden, his face was showing so much emotions and it only encourages the sharp sting inside of you to giggle once again.

but do not get those particular things messed up nor into wrong directions— because seeing alhaitham have a hard time at work wasn't the humorous part at hand, it was the way he had told them to you— nose held up high while he repeatedly huffs away the bothering hair strands falling into his face, which only adds fuel to the burning frustration in himself, or his eyes a touch nudged together and rolling into the back of his head at each of his own sentences spoken.

an outer perspective would ultimately determine that he's in reality talking and agreeing with himself.

"have i unintentionally said something humorous?"

"no." you immediately snort back at him and swiftly rub over your saturated eyes, because yes, you indeed laughed yourself to tears.

"or maybe you did." and you idly lean next to him while keeping one hand on his thigh, "but you're home now, please rest."

perhaps this was what alhaitham had wanted to hear all this time— as the second you said it he exhales deeply, through his parted lips but greatly, he doesn't think he has any more energy left in his body if he was being honest.

but that's it now, it was the ideal time to rest, nothing matters, not the past nor the future. he was in the precious, safe confines of his home with the person he loves the utmost (and his roommate napping next doors).

"you're right, apologies." you immediately know alhaitham's embarrassed when he's muttering his words, but he feels his heart audibly beat in his chest and so do you.

"nothing to apologize for, my love."

— kaveh + searches for your touch whenever you spend time together

kaveh's heart blossoms throughout the entire day with an immediate segment of impassioned love the trifling moment he catches onto your silver like voice musing into his ears— thank the archons you‘re here, because he might‘ve lost his mind if he was about to stay without your company for much longer.

in point of fact, it's beyond easy to forget the pressuring hardships he has experienced in the past when he looks into nothing but your fascinating eyes— it's spellbound, featherlight.

on the other hand, in his own imagination, kaveh was sure that in reality he had nothing to offer back to you— even with you kindly assuring him that he’s nothing but the best and perfect in your eyes, over and over until it’s carved into his damned skull, he continues to harvest that deep rooted insecurity in him. although regardless of his broadening insecurities, he continues to treat you like you deserve nothing but the world.

it can be spoken with enormous confidence that he can‘t get enough of you. kaveh didn't think of wanting to show you off— or maybe he did but not in an over the top way, he was just so much in love with you and had made it his own personal achievement to make the entirety of sumeru know that you're taken, yes it's true, everyone keep their hands off you because you are taken, and he was the one who captured your heart.

now with that out of the way, whenever you would decide to go out on a walk or grab a beverage to go, kaveh would unintentionally plant his palm on your lower back, keeping it there.

or when you're enjoying a warm day outside, finding great comfort in the beautiful panorama of sumeru city with the gratifying scent of padisarah establishing in your nostrils, he'd cautiously flicker his fingers against your own while interlocking them in the process, so he could hold your hand and be with you, even closer than before, and experience those little things that had him weak on the knees and indisputably giddy.

he needs his hands on you— around your shoulders, scattered on your back, coupling fingers into each other or a fine-drawn peck on your cheek before entering the cafe together.

while he does most of those things unintentionally, you will push him over the edge the moment you initiate those things yourself, when it is you who does it to him— it's when his lips slightly part and his eyes are blown out with both surprise and deep rooted love, when you cheekily smile back at kaveh while taking his hand to walk and rush him towards another precious spot you had been made aware of in sumeru city.

"you'll love this place baby, trust me!"

you assure kindly, cheeks prickling a warm cradle with your belly welcoming the sweet butterflies courteously— pulling kaveh to the desired destination and by the matching reactions of your connected bodies, he does the same to you.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #alhaitham x reader #kaveh x reader #tighnari x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #al haitham x reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin impact alhaitham #tighnari x you #scaramouche x you #kaveh x you #alhaitham x you #genshin drabbles #genshin impact drabbles

[sofoulandfairaday]

Please share all of your Sirius and Bellatrix thoughts ♥️

I have way too many, darling.

The TLDR is it is our choices that show us who we truly are, far more than our abilities. The long version is under the cut.

When reading about them I usually prefer stories where their original 8-9 year gap is preserved (it annoys me to no end when people write the Order and the Death Eaters as entirely made up of people in the same couple of years in Hogwarts —really? Was the conflict exclusively waged by child soldiers? Were Dumbledore and Voldemort just chilling before 1977, when they decided to start recruiting?). With that being said, I can also enjoy fics where - for shipping purposes - their ages are more compatible, to make them share time in Hogwarts or during the First Wizarding War.

I think they are very, very alike personality-wise. The narrative draws some delicious writing parallels between them, both physically and in their expressions, vices and virtues, and choices. Directly between them, might I add. The author underlines the difference between Bella and Narcissa more than once, we're meant to see it, and similarly we're meant to see the similarities between Bella & Sirius.

They are haughty, passionate, powerful, competent, arrogant, bright, much more intelligent than the fandom thinks they are. In general, they suffer from the stigmatization that many characters - but some people in real life do too - that someone who is intense and impulsive cannot possibly be as intelligent as people who are meek, soft-spoken, generally more controlled. Think what the fandom does to Sirius vs Remus and Bella vs her sisters, when every arrow points to the fact that they are actually the cleverest in these pairings.

They are both some shade of mentally ill, and not because of the curse of the Blacks - half the Blacks went mad didn't they? What's the saying? Every time a Black is born the gods flip a coin. god the Targaryen-Black parallels are gold - Sirius is very likely horribly depressed in OOTP, something no one around him seems to understand, infuriatingly. The only one that seems to get it is Harry, who has the literal Dark Lord living in his brain (= bigger problems to deal with). Bella is... I don't know what she is, ask me after my psychiatry module next year, but my money is on PTSD after Azkaban - after all, she didn't have the escape of an Animagus form behind bars. She would also very likely be victim-blamed for these different feelings, which would lend itself to a delicious nobody else in the world understands us but us type of post-Azkaban dark!fic which I would love to read.

They are both skilled at magic, and while they might despise each other for their respective political views, they respect each other because of this. Bella is probably above him in terms of magical power and skill, because she's 9 years older and because of Voldemort's training, but Sirius seemed to be keeping up quite well with her during their fight in the DoM.

Speaking of which, I am sure that Bellatrix's scream of triumph was due to her winning their duel, not because she thought she had killed him and that is probably the single thing I love the most about HBC's interpretation of her in the movies. That look. 10/10.

I am of the opinion that Bella is all bark and no bite when it comes to certain members of her family, especially her sisters. Sure, she might say that she wants to prune her family tree but 30 years later in the beginning of DH, she still calls Andromeda sister. I'm sure she would want nothing more than to put him under lock and key for the rest of his life and never let him escape, not kill him. And, to me, the way Sirius speaks of his family is very interesting. I'm sure he firmly believes that he hates them, but his actual feelings are more complex than that. You can hate someone and still desire their love, their respect. You can hate that they are the only people in the world who understand you - and hate yourself more in turn, for it.

Sirius seems to me like someone haunted by his own darkness. He, much like Harry, would be constantly worried that he's becoming like them. I'm sure it's a weak spot for him and I wish we had heard more bickering, or at least a full interaction between Bella and Sirius (I feel like she would claim him as hers, underline how much he cannot escape his own blood, even just to mock him/unsettle him in battle). But what Dumbledore says to Harry is true: it doesn't matter how alike they are, it's their choices that matter much more. And I feel like this is why the two of them would never reconcile in canon. They stand for different things.

I also think there might be some - and I know Freud is controversial nowadays, but bear with me - penis envy, on her part. Because Sirius was born the heir - something she would have given her left hand to be: to be born and die a Black instead of being expected to marry into another family - and he squandered it all away by consorting with werewolves and mudbloods. But no. He got everything and pissed on it, and it's just not fair. And by choosing not to come back, even in the two years after Regulus' death, he made sure that the Black Family name will die with him- and I think that is just something she can never ever forgive him.

Now. Everybody knows I don't like TCC and my preferred view of Bella is someone with fertility issues, even to the point of being sterile.

[I read an amazing fanfic once and a line from it stuck in my brain - "If I can't be life, then I'll be death"]

But. If we do see it as canon. This is also the reason why - despite being overjoyed at Delphi's birth - I am convinced that she wished for a boy when she was pregnant. If she had a boy with the Dark Lord, who couldn't possibly give them his name, the House of Black would have an heir. This is also the reason why I don't thing she was necessarily opposed to having children with Rodolphus - the "spare" would have been her heir.

Bellatrix would say that Regulus was her favourite cousin, but truth be told, it was really Sirius whom she respected more - at her core, in my opinion, Bellatrix is really only someone who respects power. Sirius is like her that way.

But Bellatrix is clearly a cruel person, which Sirius is not (or at least, he tries not to be: Kreacher and Snape are two very particular cases of people who are mean to him back). Also, Sirius' view of the world is much more egalitarian - If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals. Bellatrix is clearly someone who sees the world in terms of hierarchies, and lives within them (see: how she acts around Voldemort and what is implied of her treatment of house-elves who obey their masters: there is a scale and some serve others, and as long as they do so well they have certain rights; disobey, you get punished).

(Bellatrix is somewhat a feminist character but let's be real- she's not a revolutionary. She went to the Dark Lord and showed him just how powerful she was - aka my wand is bigger than all these male DEs' - and he said "okay, fair, I'll give you the Mark", thereby freeing herself. She is not a "equal representation for women inside terrorist organizations!!" type of girlie)

I also love how her death parallels Sirius'. It's thematically beautiful and it excuses her death coming at the hands of one Molly Weasley (who could never ever in a million years have beaten her on skill alone). She dies because she is arrogant. It's one of her traits. Overconfidence. She was always meant to die like that.

[coincidentally one of the reasons why she would not be a hufflepuff like some suggest: this woman is not humble]

I could go on, but I think I've rambled enough.

P.S. Let's not sleep on the fact that the two of them together would be hot.

#sirius black #bellatrix lestrange #bellatrix black #sirius x bellatrix #asks #answered

[coinofsilver]

WHAT'S THE CRIME: harvey's tireless pursuit to uncover and punish corruption amongst gotham's most powerful eventually catches up to him. one evening, while leaving court, dent suffers an attack. due to the building's high security precautions, guns are not allowed anywhere near the premises --- though a bullet wound might have been preferable to the acid. the attack affected the left half of the face, neck, chest, forearm and hand, leaving these areas deeply scarred.

this is the catalyst to harvey dent's fall from grace. the DA had already been battling the ghosts of undealt childhood trauma and anger management issues. these allied with the stress and pressure of his new position as gotham's district attorney only caused his downfall to be more severe. harvey had been disfigured as an intimidation technique and those who had ordered the attack would never be properly punished. they'd never suffer like he had suffered.

WHAT'S THE MOTIVE: harvey dent, once gotham city's handsome defender had now become the face of the city itself --- and he vowed to do that which the lawful mechanisms given to them could never do ( THE LAW IS BLIND AND NOW SO IS HE ). judge, jury and executioner, post-attack harvey trusts no one. everyone is a possible offender and dent decides those who live and die with a flip of a coin ; the cruelty and randomness of the universe finally applied to those who truly deserve it.

it's no use trying to reason with him. it does not matter if the crimes committed were out of fear or desperation. it does not matter whether it was an accident, a mistake, how much you truly knew or understood about what was being done, harvey ( two-face ) dent will flip his coin regardless. that gesture cannot be corrupted, cannot be bought, LUCK ALONE IS FAIR. and he will not hesitate applying violence to those deemed guilty. the instrument with which he applies justice is a gun. he's never be as cruel as those who targeted him.

WHAT'S THE SENTENCE: two-face's mood fluctuates violently between the charming, cocky poster boy he once was and a bitter violent brute who knows no mercy. it is a facet that has always been there, buried deep in harvey, occasionally bubbling up to the surface in smaller and healthier ways. this new way of life, this NEW HARVEY is profoundly unhappy. he has lost all hope for kindness, for change...all gotham can hope for is total extermination. burn the foundations down and start over.

he despises cops, despises government, despises his own department...the batman had the right idea. but the one line the bat refuses to cross will be his downfall. dent alone knows what needs to be done. alas, to take down those he deems to be responsible for his city's misery he might work together with the very same criminals and mobsters he once judged. at least they never hid their intentions. never gave gotham and its' people any false hopes.

#* HEADCANON . #* CH. STUDY . #* TAILS / YOU DIE . #ngl the words “big bad harv” give me cringe chills #but i rewatched the two-face origin btas episode the other day #and got very nostalgicbhdfj

[literal-dungeoning]

Escape From Barovia (Drake Rupple)

This is not the first time Pijjirik has awoken in a place he did not fall asleep-- or an approximation of that. Not even the first time to wake up next to a corpse-- neither of these times, he conclusively decides, without inspection of this second body. He's a military man and reforming (perhaps) gambler who used to park in shady and inhospitable places... not a common occurrence--- especially the corpse but he's able to gather himself well enough to flip the note over.

Pijjirik has, recently, taken to taking other people's advice after previously ignoring them and getting horribly, horribly swindled. As long as they're open and honest with him, which this note seems to be. It, at least, does not reek of lies or whatever. He's got nothing. The point is, he has to trust in until he can find out:

where he is

how far he managed to get himself from Tymanther

how long it will take to get back

and how much it will cost to get someone to cart him back

So far, the 'dreaded land' is a bit dingy, sure but it's a sweet change of pace. Different trees. Pijjirik takes a moment to disrespect the dead, passing over it's pockets. [Investigation (4)] and finding nothing. He figures he should head to the manor, at least generally-- so far the plan is to shoot wide and come around back.

There's a remarkable amount in her short spiel that stops Pijjirk short— first and foremost that this woman can leave this “Dreaded Place” and that he can't, but secondly, and perhaps a bit more relevant is she's the new currency? She's talking of. He's used to the good old reliable copper, silver, gold and so he opens up his draconic jaw to jabber.

“Essence, auch now, tell me what manner of good is that?” She waves her hand dismissively, clearly a question she's been asked countless times, “Well adventurer, the beasties have them and I, like, like to have them— take em good as coin! They look mite like a marble, if it'd've been flattened. Blue-blue-ish, if you can see color, fair wanderer.” Pijjirk scratches the scales under his chin, ”Anyone else... take them?“ ”Not that you'll meet!“ The merchant replies cheerily. ”Or, adventurer, not that I think you'll meet. Like, it's completely reasonable to give them all to me.“

Pijjirk frowns. No, he won't think he'll do that. He'll spend them if he needs something, but not a moment sooner. Charity is good— but it needs a cause. He figures if he can get essence, better to spend that over gold. A cursory glance at her ware shows nothing.

”Are you looking for magic items, adventurer?“ She speaks peeks over his shoulder as she looks with him. ”Ah, for 200 I can find something for you— and then you can see it and see if you wish to buy it then.”

Pijjirk distinctly feels the weight of only one-hundred gold in his coin purse.

“Auhck, who needs it?”

Him, desperately. If the danger of the Manor— his way out, and hey, wait.

”How's it you can go?“ The merchant gestures broadly before her, ”I know the mists, I was taught how to travel through them, I cannot take people, but I can take things.“ ”Couldn't ya teach me?“ [Persuasion 8] ”Certainly! But I do not like you so.” Pijjirk nods. Well, best to get some essence... probably. He waves an amicable goodbye to her. She opens a pack to entice him back, but really, truly nothing has caught his eye.

#solo dnd #barovia unoffical side module #escape from barovia #Pijjirik #doing this to hopefully improve my dming #want to get better at the language aspect

[emblemxeno]

JP vs. Localization in Fire Emblem Fates: Revelation

(Okay, for real this time lol)

Again, here’s a link to my sources post.

Fortunately, this route follows suit in terms of good localization quality after Conquest. It’s the shortest out of all the posts, since I don’t really have a lot to talk about. Mostly subtle line changes, references and a few key points of information that were cut out. I also went through Hidden Truths and Heirs of Fate to see if I could add stuff from those on here, but there were no big problems that I found.

Once again, the main part of this post will all be put under the cut. If a chapter isn’t covered, it means I didn’t think there were any differences worth talking about.

I’ll use localized names for characters and locations, unless I feel the need to do otherwise.

I’ll be using she/her when referring to Corrin in this post. (I flipped a coin to decide the gender lol)

Also, note that after Chapter 14, the translation of this route on Fateswartable ends, so I mostly relied on the English patch done by Serenes at that point forward. (I also used PegasusKnight.com as a reference to fall back on if I needed it)

Chapter 7

-A minor gripe I have with localization. The JP version compares Touma (Valla) to hell constantly. To jump ahead a bit, I believe in the JP versions of the End of All Sky/Land/Below tracks are even called The End of All Roads Heaven/Earth/Hell. The Vallites are also often called demons in the JP version, and Anankos himself is known as the ‘Invisible Demon Dragon’.

Another cool thing I just thought of too, is a connection to a popular Japanese short story. Zelda fans might be familiar with the story, “The Spider’s Thread”, which inspired the Ancient Cistern dungeon in Skyward Sword.

The beginning of the story has Buddha walking through paradise (heaven), before coming across a pond. The pond is filled with crystal clear water, and covered with water lilies/lotuses. As Buddha gazes further into the pond, he begins to see the depths of hell.

Sound familiar? “Azura is walking through Hoshido, before coming across a lake. The lake is filled with crystal clear water, and when she gazes into the lake she sees the fallen kingdom of her birth. Valla, the kingdom associated with water lilies/lotuses in the game, has been turned into hell itself.”

This association loses its meaning a bit when the comparisons to hell are a bit toned down, as well as when the Buddhist inspirations were kind of supplanted in favor of Greek renames. It’s not supremely important to the plot as a whole, but it’s something interesting I wanted to bring up.

-In the JP version, while explaining what happened in Valla, Azura eventually says “Using the art of manipulating people’s souls, he (Hydra/Anankos) made the people kill each other.” This bit of the people killing each other was cut in localization.

Chapter 12

-In the JP version, when Corrin asks Flora if she knows anything about dragons, Flora says “Sorry, I don’t know…The ancestral dragon of the Ice Clan has already perished and isn’t part of the legend. I don’t know what role it plays, sorry…” Localization makes her response “I'm sorry, but I can't think of anything... They've been gone so long that we don't even have tales of dragons in the Ice Tribe. I'm sorry I couldn't be of more assistance...”

So, the JP version explicitly says the Ice Dragon is dead (I believe Fates’ second artbook mentioned this as well), whereas the localization only says the First Dragons have been gone for a long time.

Chapter 16

-There’s not really much of a problem that I have with what Ryoma says about Corrin “having leadership qualities at a young age” but I wanted to do comparisons regardless cuz the word choice might lead one to different conclusions. In localization, Ryoma says this:

Ryoma: Huh... So she told us the same thing... I don't think it's in Corrin's nature to lie. And there's a leadership quality about her that just attracts followers. I remember being jealous of her as a child, in fact. Even at such a young age, she displayed the characteristics of a ruler. Silly to be jealous of her, right?

In the JP version, Ryoma says this:

Ryoma: Oh... So, she told you the same thing. …Corrin isn’t one to tell lies. She’s been like that since childhood. She’s always genuine and honest... She has this mysterious appeal that draws people to her. Seeing my younger sister with the qualities of being a ruler... Honestly, it makes me feel envious. …What a ridiculous thing to say, right?

Again, I don’t necessarily have a problem with how it was localized, but some might. The localization version might have people think that Corrin somehow was a fantastic leader at such a young age, but JP is more clear that it was about the qualities she had at a young age that would be valuable as a leader.

Chapter 19

-A minor gripe. In the localization, Azura says that Anankos uses his magic to send Vallites to Nohr and Hoshido to stir up conflict. In the JP version, she says he uses magic, along with the help of a body of water. That’s why whenever you fight Vallites outside of Valla proper, there’s a body of water nearby; Hoshido’s lake (and the ponds shown in Hinoka’s CQ battle which are in the capital) for Chapter 5, the sea for BR chapter 11, the burning falls for BR chapter 21, and the city for Rev chapter 13. Similarly, the consequences of being a victim to the curse are described as “turning into sea foam” in the JP version. Localization as a whole kind of toned down how much water has an influence on the story.

Chapter 23

-Probably the pettiest gripe I have lol. As Arete is fading away from Azura’s arms, Azura has a different reaction in localization and Japanese. In localization, Azura says “Mother? Mother!” while a voice clip of her in-battle pain cries plays. In the JP, she says  “*Sob... Sob*…! Mother... Mother...!”, while a voice clip of her crying plays. Her crying voice clip I don’t recall hearing anywhere else.

This is one of the few times in the you get to see Azura express a heavy and heartfelt emotion, since her rough childhood caused her to remain guarded and stoic around everyone. The equivalents to this scene in other routes is her death scene in Birthright, and her crying with Corrin over Ryoma’s death in Conquest; a normally unflinching and aloof character breaking down is a rarity, and indicates that the cause of it is something to take note of for the character as a whole. Localization softened this aspect, and I take issue with it, despite it probably seeming trivial to most other people.

Chapter 24

-When Corrin is questioning the phantom Mikoto, an exchange happens. In localization, part of it goes like this:

Corrin: But this can't be... Are you truly my mother?

Mikoto: I am. Even as a puppet of Anankos, my spirit at least remains my own.

Corrin: I... I believe you.

In the JP version, it goes like this:

Corrin: It can’t be... …Are you really my mother?

Mikoto: Yes... I became an Invisible servant, controlled by the Invisible King... Even so, I am your mother.

Corrin:  …………

Again, a minor thing that I don’t personally have issue with, but replacing Corrin’s silence with an admittance of belief could make some believe she has “reverted” back to being too naïve.

Chapter 26

-While Gunter is relaying his past, an exchange happens. In localization, it goes like this:

Gunter: I ask myself that, every day. I cannot understand the minds of royals. To you all, we commoners are little more than pawns in your schemes... Or weeds to be killed on a whim.

Corrin: That's not true...

Xander: Is that how people view the royalty?

Ryoma: Such an impression would easily breed powerful resentment...

In the JP version, Corrin, Xander and Ryoma don’t say anything. They just remain silent.

Endgame

-Not a major problem so much as a general thing about the game, but I can think of like... at least three memes that Treehouse inserted into the localization. Now I like memes, but there is no better way to date your media nowadays. One of them was Kana’s “That’s dragon for I love you” which tbh, is kind of cute and isn’t the most well known meme so I guess I can let it slide. Another is Felicia saying “I had one job!” when she messes up in the dining hall, which isn’t that big of a deal since the dining hall is very optional.

The last one I can think of is why I put this specific grievance here, and it’s during Corrin’s speech before facing Anankos.

Corrin: We won't back down! This is my... This is our destiny! Ready your weapons! Fight for your friends! With the Seal of Flames... With the Fire Emblem on our side! We fight for our world!!

Yeah, she says “Fight for your friends” which is everyone’s favorite Ike line from Brawl. Now, this isn’t even a totally inaccurate translation either, but it kind of just... makes the moment funny for the player when it’s supposed to be commanding and serious I guess.

But yeah, not the most important issue by far, but something I’d thought to mention. Hell, it’s not even that bad compared to how they made Peri’s, Effie’s and Hisame’s quirks into exaggerated and tired jokes. And the Beruka-Saizo support. Never forget.

-When Azura and Corrin are by the lake and discuss the latter’s plans to rule, Corrin says this in localization:

Corrin: I'm going to make Valla a wonderful place! In honor of the true last king and for Queen Arete. And everyone who fought... I promise to make them all proud.

In the JP version, she says this:

Corrin: I’ll make the Invisible Kingdom (Valla) into a great land. For the previous monarch, Queen Shenmei (Arete)… And for all of my allies who fought beside me. I promise.

So, JP version only mentions Arete as the reigning monarch of Valla. Which makes sense, cuz unless there was some wild “keeping the bloodline pure” shenanigans in Valla, Arete being the Queen keeps in line with what we know about the rest of Valla’s history. Arete was royalty from birth, as was her sister Mikoto. Arete is the one who passed down Lost in Thoughts and the pendant to Azura.  

#fire emblem #fire emblem fates #fire emblem if #fe14 #corrin fire emblem #azura fire emblem #ryoma fire emblem #xander fire emblem #hinoka fire emblem #camilla fire emblem #takumi fire emblem #leo fire emblem #sakura fire emblem #elise fire emblem #hoshido #nohr #valla #meta #treehouse localization #stop calling the route revelations that's not the name gdi

[house-of-galathynius]

Only You ~ Rowaelin

A Rowaelin fanfic, set if Aelin’s parents had lived and she had met Rowan under normal circumstances, if Erawan and Maeve weren’t threats. Hope you enjoy! 

Prologue ~ Chapter Two

Chapter One: Meeting 

 Summer had always been Aelin’s favourite time of the year. It was the soft breezes and the long days, the late nights. It was the time of year where she didn’t have to be a princess. There was no need for the formalities or the pretending. 

Summer was the season of freedom. 

And when she had woken up that morning, the sun was still low in the sky, the mist dancing between the trees and the bird song was mellowed, quieter somehow. She had known that summer was over; her Fae senses could feel the shift of the season. Summer giving way to the crispness of autumn. And despite the peacefulness and beauty of autumn, it was also her least favourite time of the year.

Court would begin again. Gone would be the long nights of stargazing, the lazy days lounging in the sun with a book or the trips to the Staghorns; now was the time for her royal duties to start once again. 

A gentle tap of the door had Aelin groaning and shifting in bed. 

“Your Highness? Your father would like to know if you will be eating breakfast with them this morning.” Her maid Elspeth was one of the good ones. She was in her late forties and had been with Aelin for her entire twenty years. She was a short woman, her hair starting to grey at the roots, her cheeks always rosy and plump. But Aelin loved her like a mother.

Elspeth slid into the room and closed the door behind her, she strode over to the towering windows which looked out over the forest beyond the castle. The thick curtains were opened to reveal a grey morning. Elspeth didn’t wait for a response from Aelin as she continued her way around the room to the balcony on the far side. She opened the doors and Fleetfoot, Aelin’s beloved dog perked up and trotted off to the fresh air. 

Elspeth was well versed in the ways of Aelin. Which is why her final task was to perch on the edge of her bed and pull the covers back. 

“Aelin, you have guests arriving today.” 

She shot up in bed, staring at Elspeth. She had forgotten about the guests. If she had, she definitely would have been up earlier. She said as much. 

“The Queen of Doranelle, Sellene Whitethorn is arriving with her family.” 

Of course. There had been turmoil in Doranelle for many years and finally, only a few months ago, they had decided on a new queen. It had been a surprise to her Uncle Orlon when it had been announced, but nonetheless, had extended an invitation to visit once the new queen had settled into her new role. Just as the offer would be extended to me one day- when I became queen. 

“I suppose I cannot get away with my usual attire today?” She said. Elspeth laughed and shook her head. “I’m afraid not. A dress will be required.” 

Elspeth had picked a simple yet regal gown in a deep Terrasen green. Elspeth tried and failed to get Aelin to braid her hair, or at least put it into a simple updo. But Aelin enjoyed her hair free, the long blonde locks were one of her favourite assets, and never understood the need to hide it. 

She surveyed herself in the mirror, despite her late night with Sam, she looked awake and bright eyed. Ready for a day of acting like a princess. 

When Aelin arrived into the breakfast room, her father and mother were already seated, Orlon too. She took up the seat beside her mother and smiled apologetically to the three of them. Tardiness was one of her weaknesses and had frustrated all of them to no end. But with the night she had just had… if only her parents knew. 

“Late night again, Aelin?” Orlon grinned. He had always been privy to Aelin’s whereabouts, where she would sneak off to, who she would meet. 

Sam was not royal, in fact, he held no title in Terrasen. He had moved when he had been sixteen years old; escaping the grips of an assassin in Rifthold. He had stowed away on a ship, not knowing where it was going, but hoping that anywhere was better than before. He arrived in Terrasen with a few coins and his wits about him. He’d managed to secure work at a library. The owner had been old and frail, unable to lift the books, unable to do much at all. Sam had taken it upon himself to help in any way he could. And six years later he was the proud owner. It’s where Aelin had met him. Since then, she had been sneaking off to see Sam every chance she could; the only person knowing being Orlon. 

She knew it could never be more than it was with Sam, a reason why she had been so quick to shut down his offer the night before. And despite Terrasen being a forward-thinking country— the King was married to a man for Gods sake— they still drew the line at commoners and royalty marrying, or even being involved, the only exception being a mating bond; something so rare and final that no King or God could argue with it. So she tried to enjoy the stolen moments she had with Sam. Avoiding the advances of any foreign royalty that may come her way. The King only allowing it on the condition that when a serious offer of marriage arose, Aelin would accept and take her place as the next heir to the throne. She loved Sam, and on occasion had been angry at the impossibility of it being anything other than what it was now.

There was the other problem of her immortal lifespan. Sam was human and at some point it would have to end anyway.

“Did you forget about the arrival of the Whitethorns today?” Her father asked.

“It may have slipped my mind.” An easy lie. She took a bite of the pastry in front of her, savouring the sweetness. “But I am here now, and ready to be the perfect princess.” Another bite. 

Her mother chuckled to herself, sipping on the herbal tea that she would drink every morning without fail. Orlon cleared his throat, giving her a look. 

“The queen is new to this Aelin. We must ensure she is welcomed and feels comfortable during her stay.” 

A roll of her eyes. “I think I can manage being nice for a few days.” 

“Weeks.”

She stopped mid-chew. 

“The Whitethorns will be here for at least three weeks. Their castle is under renovations, so we offered them a place to stay whilst they were underway.” 

She had never heard of such a thing. A new queen, leaving her territory for weeks? 

“Darling, you are not expected to entertain them alone, nor be present at every minute.” Her mother had always been the diffuser; ensuring the conversations remained civil, if not for her sanity, for the sake of Aelin’s temper that had resulted in a few fires. “But the sneaking off will have to stop. Lysandra will understand.” Lysandra being Aelin’s excuse for when she was actually sneaking off to see Sam. 

She smiled politely and confirmed that she would be well behaved for when the guests arrived.

And that was that. 

She finished breakfast quickly and excused herself before they could make her stay longer. Aelin made her way to the training ground just beyond the walls of the garden. Orlon had had it built when it was evident Aelin needed a place to train with her powers. Fire magic was a rare gift, one that hadn’t been in the royal family since Brannon. She was grateful for the space, even if she no longer needed to train to the same extent. Only meeting with her trainer once every month.

“I thought I might find you here.” Lysandra’s voice echoed across the stones. “Hiding?” Lysandra laughed. 

“Something like that.” 

Lysandra was silent as she perched on the stone bench, watching as Aelin made shields of flame, as she danced the fire through her fingers and flung her powers towards the wall.

“I won’t be available for a while Lys. The Queen of Doranelle and her family are arriving today.” Aelin held the flame in her palm. “I need you to send a message to Sam for me.”

Lysandra had been the daughter of one of her mothers maids. And when her mother had died, Aelin’s mother could not stand the thought of Lysandra going to an orphanage. So she had housed Lysandra and trained her as a lady-in-waiting for Aelin. And even though they hated each other as children, the older they got the more they understood the other. 

“I heard one of the Whitethorn princes is extremely handsome. Do you think he’d be interested?” Aelin snorted. Any person would be insane not to be attracted to Lysandra. 

“Gods help the poor male if you pursue him.” Aelin returned to her flame.

“We all know that you’re going to marry me one day.” 

They both whirled at the sound of the male voice at the archway. Aedion stood there in all his glory. He wore a midnight blue jacket and dark pants, clothes for important people, Aelin thought. It was envy that Aelin was feeling. Aedion may be a prince, but he would never be King; marrying Lysandra would never be a problem, if she ever agreed, that was. 

Lysandra rolled her eyes and flipped her hair to the side. “Aedion, we both know you can’t handle me.” 

“We’ll see, Lysandra.” Mischief glittering in his eyes. 

Aedion took his wandering eyes away from Lysandra and back to Aelin, who had already lost interest in their banter. 

“What do you want Aedion? Aelin and I were busy.” 

“I’m here to tell Aelin that the Whitethorns will be here any moment, and her father wishes for her to be in the great hall to welcome them.” 

No peace. Summer was well and truly over then. Her flame flickered out and she brushed down her dress that was lightly coated in dust. She shook out her hair and let it fall past her shoulders, running her fingers through it to release any tangles. 

“How do I look?” 

“Like your father is going to kill you when he see’s the mess on your clothes.” Aedion held his arm out, she linked hers through it and smiled back at Lysandra who was brushing her own dress down.

“I’ll see you later Aelin.” A smile. “Always a pleasure, Aedion.” And then she was gone. 

Aelin and Aedion strolled down the path that led back into the gardens and then into the tall white palace of Orynth. The guards bowed their heads as she passed, the only acknowledgement that they would give. They continued into the palace, the halls empty of people. 

“Did they have to put out so many flowers? I feel like I’m just going to sneeze the entire time.” Aedion laughed, but didn’t respond as they approached the doors to the great hall. 

The room was only ever used for special occasions, I suppose a new queen included that. The room was large, taking up an entire wing of the castle, it’s ceiling tall, gold chandeliers dropping from it. The walls were painted white, with green and gold accents dotted around— the colours of Terrasen. The room was magnificent, every inch dripping in wealth and splendour. 

When she entered she dropped into a low curtsey. Orlon was sat atop the Antler Throne, his eyes fixed on her and Aedion— who was also bowing low. Her father and mother were sat on two smaller seats to Orlon’s left. A second, smaller throne rested next to Orlon’s; for the consort of the king. Which was unusually empty; Orlon’s husband usually filling the spot. 

As soon as she was in her place and everyone else were in their correct spots the guard at the end of the hall announced the arrival of the first Whitethorn family members. Aelin knew this formality all too well— get the lesser family members out of the way first, and then announce the most important. So she dropped her eyes and fiddled with the hem of her sleeve. She kept her eyes averted as the guard listed off the names of lesser royals and their spouses. A pinch on her shoulder made her look up, she spun to berate Aedion for being an ass, when the guard started to speak once more. 

“Your majesty, I would like to present Rowan Whitethorn, Prince of Doranelle and  Endymion Whitethorn, Prince of Doranelle.” 

The two males stepped through the open doors and she met the eyes of the shorter male. He was handsome, of course; and she smiled politely at him, wishing this would go faster. He smiled back, lowering his head slightly before doing the same to Aedion. Aelin tore her eyes away and looked at the second male stood next to him. Her breath caught in her throat as she beheld what was in front of her. 

It took him a moment to look toward her, and when their eyes met she felt every hair on her body stand up. His pine green eyes met her own and it was like the world was falling around her. She swallowed and forced herself to breathe, her body heating. 

The male in front of her seemed to be doing the same thing. His breathing turned shallow and he couldn’t tear his eyes from hers. 

It was like everything around her was spinning or maybe she was falling, Orlon’s voice faded to the background, all she could hear was the pounding of her heart. 

As she stared into the eyes of her mate.

#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #aelin ashryver #aelin ashryver galathynius #aelin galathynius #throne of glass fanfiction #heir of fire #queen of shadows #empire of storms #kingdom of ash #tower of dawn #sarah j maas #sjm #sjmaas #only you rowaelin

[blossom-hwa]

To Bloom in the Night - JOOCHAN

I accept half the blame for this fic but the other half has to go to one casey @thepixelelf​​ both for coming up with the title and for convincing me to make this angst instead of the original pure fluff it was meant to be.... anyway casey this fic and the universe as a whole is dedicated to you because without your big brain I would not have been able to figure out all the storylines

(This is set in the same universe as weaver!Bomin, whose masterlist is linked below!! Also if you want a visual for Joochan think wannabe era like in the gif) 

Pairing: Joochan x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au

Triggers: cursing, brief mentions of death and blood (nothing graphic), one implication of abuse, asshole parents

Word Count: 24.4k

Death cannot exist without life, which is why Joochan can’t exist without you.

To Spin a Yarn | Golden Child Masterlist

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived two princes bestowed with magic. They were beautiful, kind – even their parents’ hardened hearts could not break the bond between them. This was fortunate, for in one prince lay a secret that would set a rift in the family for years to come.

The second prince was blessed, a golden child. His charming face and smiling lips drew attention the second he walked into a room, and the mere sound of his voice made all those present swoon. His song was rapturous, magical – his music possessed the ability to heal the deepest wounds and soothe the coldest hearts. He was useful to his parents, the perfect heir, especially when they decided to pass over his brother, the first prince, for claim to the throne.

For this brother was said to be cursed, cursed with the magic of death rather than the blessing of life. His beauty was darker, eyes piercing where his brother’s were soft, and his song, though achingly beautiful, cleft the very wounds his brother healed and wrought pain on the soul. Despite being first born, despite having a kind heart that never wished a single person harm, the king and queen looked upon him with fear and disgust, lavishing their favor on his brother instead.

Yet despite their differences, the brothers loved each other to the fullest. The elder did not resent the younger for his freedom to sing and only encouraged his art, while the younger saw beyond the sorrow woven in his brother’s voice and into the goodness of his soul. All those who saw the pair marveled at their friendship, in the way their eyes shone whenever the other was near, and many whispered that the royal family was blessed, even if the king and queen themselves refused to see it – these two young princes, blessed with handsome looks and gentle hearts, were more than the cold-hearted rulers truly deserved.

But love, the brothers would learn, meant more than simply staying together. Sometimes a love born of shared blood was not enough to keep one by the other’s side. In time, the first prince would wither under his curse of death, unable to smile even with his brother’s golden light glowing upon his face, for not being free to use the voice he was gifted by the gods cut gashes in his heart deeper than even his brother’s song could heal. Music lived in his soul, song shimmering in his blood, but so long as he was a pariah in his own home, he could not exercise his gift for fear of bringing death upon an innocent.

(It had happened once already.)

So he sang at night, music confined to the corners of his room. His voice echoed between the thick stone walls, lachrymose, sorrowful even with the happiest of songs. He sang for only himself to hear, never daring even to open the windows unless he knew no one stood below on the blank patch of stubborn grass that somehow still managed to grow, even under the curse of his song.

Then the gardener came with their night-blooming roses, petals of the darkest midnight blue blossoming under shimmering stars. And when the first prince stepped onto the balcony to perform for a crowd of what he thought was no one, he heard, for the first time in his life, someone wholly, fully alive, singing words of healing back.

From then, night by night, the prince began to unfurl his withered leaves, darkened flowers reaching for the moon as starlight glinted on his petals. For in this duet with his night-blooming rose, the first prince learned the lesson of the gods, imparted to mortals in centuries past but lost to fear of the unknown, of the darkness beyond the sun.

Death cannot exist without life, as life cannot exist without death. They are opposite and the same, two sides of a single coin. And in this gardener of the night-blooming roses, the first prince had found the life to his death, a second half in ways even his brother, loving though he was, could not yet hope to contest.

This is the story of the first prince, marked as a curse from the age of five, who grew to learn the gift behind his melody of death when it first twined with the harmony of life.

. . . . .

Joochan’s stomach roils as he stands in front of the mirror, silently waiting for the half dozen servants scuttling around his feet to finish the last adjustments to his suit. It fits him perfectly already – he doesn’t understand what they’re still doing to the hemline of his pants or the shoulders of his shirt – but Joochan doesn’t have much knowledge about clothes. Only music.

And curses and death.

His stomach doesn’t flip this time, only sinks as he closes his eyes briefly against reminders of the magic that flows unused through his veins. They don’t fade, though, only come to the forefront of his mind even as he tries to beat them back. His magic is the reason he’s wearing this suit, after all.

“Please turn left, Your Highness,” a soft voice says. Joochan doesn’t argue, just shifts in front of the mirror, and someone goes to work on his left pant leg.

Can’t show up looking sloppy today, not when he’s about to meet the princess his parents have promised him to for the rest of his life.

Joochan bites his lip hard, probably ruining the delicate lip stain applied to make his mouth appear softer, pinker, sweeter. Already he can see one servant frowning in disapproval as she dips a brush into the pink color before swiping it lightly back over his lips. She doesn’t say anything, but Joochan bows his head in apology regardless. It softens the tightness in her lips.

It seems Joochan can’t do anything without apologizing, really. Walking too loudly, biting his lip, breathing, living, being born…

He’ll probably do something and have to apologize to the princess today, too. Trip over her skirts, maybe, or spill his drink. He’s known to be clumsy, much more so than his brother Bomin (though in his defense, he never had the same lessons in posture and deportment that Bomin did, not after they erased his claim to the throne). At least this kind of thing is easier to apologize for than the reason they’re being married.

If Joochan wasn’t so cursed, after all, his parents wouldn’t be this eager to have him shipped off so early.

And he wouldn’t be stuck in this stupid suit.

A careless needle pricks the back of his shin. He flinches. Someone murmurs an apology and he ducks his head briefly in acknowledgement. A needle in his skin is less of an issue than his tiny breakfast threatening to make an appearance on the floor –

With effort, Joochan reins himself in. Just in time, too – the servants have finally stopped crouching around his feet and begun filtering out the door, leaving only Jaehyun behind to help him into the matching coat. “Ready?” he asks, settling the fabric over Joochan’s shoulders.

Joochan relaxes a little with the warmth in Jaehyun’s voice. He only ever speaks when they’re alone for fear of someone seeing him overstep his station (which would not end happily, especially if word reached his parents), but he’s still one of Joochan’s oldest friends in the palace and Joochan knows Jaehyun cares for him, feels it in the light touches, the subtle looks, the brief nods and smiles that the servant passes him when the time is right.

With only a handful of people whom Joochan can say truly know and care for him, he treasures every spot of comfort any of them can give.

“No,” Joochan replies honestly, shrugging his shoulders under the coat. He’ll have to take it off once he reaches the tearoom, what’s the point of putting it on in the first place? “You know I don’t want this. But…”

But a lot of things, all of which Jaehyun already knows.

Jaehyun’s lips turn in sympathy. “She’ll probably be nice,” he says, dreamy voice reassuring. “I mean, she’s Donghyun’s sister. Even if you haven’t met her yet, you know he wouldn’t speak so highly of someone he didn’t care for.”

Joochan swallows. Jaehyun has a point, the same point Joochan has made to calm himself many times over the past few weeks. “Yeah,” he breathes. “I hope so.”

Before Jaehyun can say any more, a knock sounds at the door, heavy and light all at once with an energy only Joochan’s personal guard can muster. “Time to go!” Jangjun calls through the stone.

Deep breaths. Joochan clenches his fist once. Lets go. Tries to relax himself as he stares at the door.

“Joochan?”

He blinks, registering Jaehyun’s concerned face. His lips tilt into a brief smile. As bad as this might be, at least he’ll have Bomin and Jangjun there, even if Jaehyun has to stay behind. Donghyun, too. Three friends out of four will have to be enough for today.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I’m fine.” Reaching forward, Joochan opens the door to Jangjun’s carefully stoic face.

Jangjun raises an eyebrow at Joochan’s countenance but says nothing about it. “Ready, Your Highness?”

No.

“Yes.” Joochan bites the inside of his lip so as not to ruin the makeup again. “Let’s go.”

. . . . .

Joochan’s hands ache by the time his parents have had enough of his playing and Bomin’s voice, motioning for them to sit down and take some of the refreshment they’ve been nibbling at during the hour of music. He gladly does, settling himself on the soft chair as he nurses the tension in his forearm. His fingertips have hardened after years of playing the violin, but even after nearly two decades of playing the piano, his muscles still tense after he plays too long.

He looks to the side and his stomach flips unpleasantly, remembering why he’s here.

Donghyun’s sister sits next to him, eyes carefully fixed on the small plate placed in front of her. There isn’t much there – similar to Donghyun, then, in his bird-like appetite, unless it’s just nerves – and she doesn’t look up to face him, even when he almost meets her eyes.

Something curdles in Joochan’s stomach. She’s Donghyun’s sister and Donghyun is one of his good friends. If it were anyone else he’d been promised to, Joochan might be inclined to raise a bigger fuss, but the fact that she’s a member of Donghyun’s family keeps his lips tightly shut.

Bomin wordlessly passes him a plate of cookies. At a warning glance from his brother, Joochan takes one, breaking off a piece and putting it in his mouth. Sweet frosting crumbles between his teeth but all he tastes is sawdust.

At the other end of the table, Donghyun’s mother begins lavishing praise on Joochan’s and Bomin’s talents. She’s a sweet woman, to be sure – if Joochan were normal, he wouldn’t be so opposed to being her son-in-law – but all Joochan can think of as he gives thanks for her kind words is that his parents are forcing him to inflict his cursed little self onto Donghyun’s happy family just so they can be rid of him once and for all.

Well, it’s not as if they’re completely blameless either. The princess isn’t actually royal, just the orphaned daughter of high nobility whom the palace took in when she was young. A match like this is advantageous for them, too – the first prince of a powerful kingdom, even one passed over for the throne, is a good match indeed for one who doesn’t even have royal blood. Even the insult of marrying someone barren of magic can be overlooked.

Children are only pawns for their parents, pawns on a little chessboard where their parents play. They’ll forever be pawns until their parents die, and then they’ll become the players, using their own children as pawns in the new generation’s game of royal chess…

Joochan moodily stirs sugar into his tea. The silver spoon scrapes lightly at the bottom of the cup and he flinches slightly at the grating sound. If Donghyun’s parents knew the truth – hell, if Donghyun himself knew the truth – they probably wouldn’t be pushing this marriage so hard. They probably wouldn’t be pushing it at all.

Not for the first time, Joochan ponders the consequences of telling Donghyun or his sister the real story, the one where he isn’t devoid of magic. The one where he can sing, beautifully, even – it’s just that anything alive will drop dead after the first few bars of his song.

Well, except the grass beneath his balcony window. Joochan doesn’t know how it keeps growing, but he appreciates the effort.

Bomin pokes his side. Someone said his name.

Joochan looks up, almost spilling his tea. The cup rattles in the saucer and he winces, already feeling his mother’s subtle glare out of the corner of her carefully blank eye. “Yes?”

“Why don’t you take your fiancée for a walk in the gardens?” she asks. “Our gardens are always lovely on such a clear day.”

It’s a demand shaped as a question and Joochan doesn’t bother to dispute, only nodding briefly before taking his fiancée’s arm as they stand. “Of course.”

On his other side, Bomin makes a small fist in encouragement. Donghyun smiles from across the table. Joochan does his best to return the gestures before walking out of the tearoom with his fiancée – gods, he hates that title – on his arm, Jangjun following silently behind.

“Do you actually want a tour of the gardens?” Joochan asks when he’s sure they’re out of sight. Jangjun won’t say anything, and his parents probably don’t actually care where he really goes – they just want him away for a little, presumably to get to know his future wife. Bitterness fills his mouth – future wife – but he swallows it down. “We could go somewhere else, if you want. Anywhere, really.”

She only raises a curious eyebrow, jerking her head slightly towards Jangjun where he stands, a silent presence. Joochan understands her unspoken question and smiles, this time genuinely. “Jangjun won’t tell,” he says, glancing back at his guard. He receives a wink in response.

Something in the princess’s expression cracks with relief. Her lips curve, gaze turning brighter with careful amusement. “I almost thought you were going to be one of those suck-up princes,” she says, eyes cautiously teasing. “Thank you for proving me slightly wrong.”

Joochan raises an eyebrow. “Slightly?”

“Only time will tell the full truth.” She shrugs. Joochan appreciates her honesty. “And I wouldn’t mind seeing the gardens, actually, Your Highness. Your gardeners sing to the flowers, don’t they?” Her gaze turns curious.

“Please just call me Joochan, we’re of the same rank.” We’re going to be married soon, anyway. “And yes, they do,” Joochan confirms. It’s wondrous to watch them coax withered leaves into brightness, wilting petals into bloom, even if he himself will never be able to create such beauty. “The gardeners might be on their break right now, but if they are, I’ll see if you can listen to them sing before you leave next week.”

“Thank you.” She smiles, and in another body, in another universe, Joochan thinks he could have fallen in love with her. Donghyun’s sister seems bright for the most part – intelligent, kind, curious, with a pinch of much-appreciated mischief. Her dance was captivating earlier, and she certainly has the same appreciation for music that Joochan and Bomin do.

But Joochan would always have to hide around her, hide his song and his curse. For that reason, he can’t bring himself to contemplate even the notion of truly falling for someone around whom he’d always have to pretend to be a different person.

They walk quietly for a while, stopping under larger trees every so often to admire the flowers from the shade. She compliments his skill at violin and piano, and he admires her dance. Neither of them speaks of his supposed inability to sing. Joochan dutifully picks a small bouquet and presents it to her – all different types of tulips, her favorite (his are roses, but he doesn’t mention that) – and they keep making small conversation, all the while keeping an eye out for any gardeners tending to the blossoms.

It’s a good thing Joochan knows how to talk, because as the half hour mark ticks past, there hasn’t been a single gardener in sight. The grounds are large, of course, and many are probably still on their afternoon break, but words become harder and harder to find and Joochan is almost ready to suggest turning back when they round a corner to see a solitary figure bent over a bush of roses, softly singing to the blooms.

No matter how many times Joochan has listened to those with healing music breathe their magic into plants, the scene never grows old in his mind. Listening to your song, watching the pink roses unfurl their petals under the sunlight, Joochan almost forgets the lady on his arm. It doesn’t matter, anyway – Donghyun’s sister stands just as still as he, gaze fixed on the sight.

If only he could inspire such life.

Too soon, the song ends. Joochan blinks, clearing himself of the daze of your music, and Donghyun’s sister sighs softly at his side, eyes sparkling with rapture. He’s about to suggest quietly that they move on so as not to disturb you from your work, but you turn around first.

Joochan balks as your eyes widen, taking in his dyed pink hair just before you sink to one knee, respectfully bowing your head. “Your Highnesses,” you murmur softly.

Your spoken voice is as beautiful as your song.

“Please rise,” he replies, smiling. The ever-present ache in his heart seems to have relaxed slightly with the sound of your music. “We were only listening to your song. You sing beautifully.”

“You really do,” his fiancée echoes. “Wondrous.”

A flustered smile lifts the corners of your lips and you duck your head, bowing once more. “Thank you, Your Highnesses. I am honored at your praise.”

“Are you new?” Joochan asks on impulse. “I apologize, I just haven’t seen you around before. What is your name?”

You nod. “Yes, Your Highness. I only began work a few days ago. My name is Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N, I hope you have been properly welcomed into your employment.” Joochan smiles. “My fiancée and I should be going so we won’t disturb you further, but thank you for gracing us with your voice.”

The smile on your face grows wider. “The pleasure was all mine. Thank you for gracing me with your presence.”

Joochan turns away, Donghyun’s sister following on his arm. Grass rustles behind them as you presumably get back to work. “That was amazing,” she whispers, eyes still rapturous.

“I know.” Joochan shakes his head. “Every time I see it, I still can’t believe my eyes.”

They lapse into compatible silence once more, quietly admiring the flowers on all of their sides. Joochan peers at a new bush of roses, studying the white petals, when Donghyun’s sister stops beside him. He looks up. “Is something the matter?”

“Oh, no.” She smiles, pointing ahead at an empty patch of grass underneath a tall balcony.

Joochan’s heart freezes. How did he not realize they were coming through this way, under his own rooms?

Too late, he realizes Donghyun’s sister is waiting for a response. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I was just noticing that the garden was slightly empty up there.” She points again briefly. “Is there a reason for it?”

The lie, though bitter, falls quickly from his lips. “Oh, for some reason, things don’t seem to grow well over there other than the grass.” He shrugs, hoping his words don’t tremble. “The gardeners can’t figure out why. They’ve tried everything.”

His fiancée looks mystified, but she accepts the explanation without further questions. Silence falls again and stretches until they return to the tearoom, ready to face cautious siblings and eager parents once more.

. . . . .

“So?” Bomin raises an eyebrow as he and Joochan enter their shared hallway, pausing in front of his room. He looks around, but no one’s there. Jangjun got held up a couple minutes ago, and Bomin has carefully placed himself where no other guards will hear him if he speaks quietly. “What did you think of her?”

Joochan studies a crack in the stone wall. “She was nice. I liked her.”

Even without looking, Joochan can tell Bomin’s second eyebrow has risen. Why they don’t look strange against his brother’s ashy dyed hair, Joochan doesn’t know, but Bomin somehow looks good in everything. Even dark eyebrows against grey-white hair.

“Not in that way, though.”

Joochan doesn’t refute Bomin’s statement. His brother is even more perceptive than he despite his younger age – after so many years growing up alongside each other, Bomin picks up on Joochan’s nuances of language and action more easily than Joochan himself realizes. He just shrugs.

Bomin sighs. He doesn’t say anything, but one look at his carefully schooled expression reveals the apology coating his tongue. It doesn’t fall, of course, because Joochan told Bomin to stop apologizing years ago, but the impulse is still there.

Joochan almost smiles. At times like this, even Bomin isn’t so difficult to read. “It’s not your fault,” he says, words slipping off his tongue with deceptive ease.

“Still.” Bomin bites his lip, smudging the thin sheen of lip stain that’s somehow still there after the entire day. “I just…” He sighs. “I don’t know. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy.” As if to prove it, Joochan widens his lips into a smile and forces his eyes to crinkle in a way that sometimes (rarely) manages to fool his brother. “At least, I might be. In the future. You know.” His lips curl in mischief. “Might fall madly in love with Donghyun’s sister after she saves me from an assassin’s knife, like those –”

A hand covers Joochan’s mouth before he can go on. He smiles behind Bomin’s fingers anyway, a real smile, because Bomin’s ears are red and nothing delights Joochan more than flustering his younger brother.

“We don’t mention those books,” Bomin hisses, face flushed. “Right?”

Joochan licks his hand and laughs at his brother’s cry of disgust. “I didn’t mention them,” he teases, mouth free. “I only hinted.”

“I hate you.” The way Bomin’s hiding a smile, though, confirms that his words are just a lie. “You absolute insufferable menace. I’m going to suffocate you with a pillow.”

“That is, unless a brave princess saves me from my evil brother –”

Joochan dodges Bomin’s swipe, cackling, before skipping over to his door and darting inside. After a second, he pops his head back out. “Goodnight!”

A grumbled “goodnight” follows with the sound of a second closing door, and then Joochan is left to feel the smile slide off his lips as he faces the stone walls of his room.

Alone.

Joochan swallows, staring at the darkened night outside his windows. The stars glitter, moonlight just beginning to seep onto the cold floor.

Already he knows it will be a sleepless night.

He goes through the motions, answers the door to Jaehyun’s light knock and allows his servant to help him undress. Jaehyun doesn’t ask much – maybe Joochan’s expression isn’t as neutral as he thought – but squeezes his arm slightly before he heads back out, closing the door behind him with a low thud. Joochan blows out the lantern on his desk with a practiced puff of breath, crawls into bed, and closes his eyes even though he knows it won’t do anything.

Sure enough, when the palace clocks strike midnight, Joochan is still wide awake. He heaves a sigh, rolling over one more time in a last ditch effort to fall asleep.

No use.

Joochan swings his legs out of bed. Using the moonlight as a beacon, he feels his way over to his desk and picks up the violin and bow sitting on top of all of his books and music. He plays a few quick scales before settling the instrument more firmly beneath his chin and turning to the window.

He wants to sing. Aches to. The longer he stands by his desk, staring out the balcony, the more he feels the urge as though the moonlight itself tugs at his heart, the way it does to the tides.

So he does. The walls of his room are thick for a reason – if no one can hear him playing his violin so late at night, no one will hear his voice, either. He draws the bow over the strings, fingers plucking in practiced motions as he raises his voice with the highs and lows in a wordless melody, achingly beautiful even to his own ears, a song of sorrow and pain under the darkness of night.

When he finishes, he’s somehow migrated to the balcony window, staring out at the barren garden below. The hand holding his bow reaches out, touches the cool glass.

No one will be out so late, not tonight. In just four days, there will be a grand ball celebrating his engagement – everyone will be catching up on sleep tonight before three days of rapid preparation. Guards have never been posted under his balcony for safety reasons (their safety, not his – Joochan honestly thinks his parents would be fine if he dropped dead), and gardeners don’t work at night until they’re tending the night-blooming flowers, none of which are in this stretch of garden. So Joochan shifts the glass aside, letting in a cool breeze that rustles his abandoned blankets and ripples through his nightshirt, and steps into the night air.

Joochan raises the bow once more, bringing it to the strings as he lets his voice loose, singing to silent audience as he leans into the violin like a lifeline. His song carries in the soft breeze, fading beyond the trees, but Joochan doesn’t care if his song merely disappears into the air instead of echoing in a tearoom, in a shrine, in a concert hall. So long as he can convince himself there is an audience listening that isn’t just him, convince himself that people can hear and love his voice as he draws his bow over the violin strings, he will be content, at least in this moment.

His song begins a crescendo and he closes his eyes, sparkling stars and the waxing moon splashed like a mural across his eyelids. His throat strains to keep the melody and he reaches the highest note, slowly, slowly climbing back down as a smile spreads across his face –

The violin almost falls from his hands when a voice begins singing back.

Someone is singing back. Meaning – someone heard his song – and they are not dead and somehow singing back –

Joochan stumbles backward, almost falling into his room. He catches himself on the side of the balcony window, shoulder throbbing where he hit it against the stone, but he can’t even register the pain because someone is down there and heard him singing and gods, maybe they’re about to die and Joochan will have killed a second person in his short life, two people, two people too many –

The song continues. Softer, yes, but deliberately so, not weakened by a failing heart or incoming death. It continues, smooth like starshine, coaxing, beautiful…

It doesn’t stop.

Step by step, Joochan walks forward and peers over the balcony edge. In the moonlight, he catches a glimpse of roses beneath the stone platform – yes, roses, midnight blue roses of Joochan’s favorite variety that only blooms at night – blossoming under his balcony which means they somehow survived the curse of his voice.

And not just them.

Someone steps out from directly under the balcony into Joochan’s line of vision. A vaguely familiar figure with a vaguely familiar voice – no, not vaguely, an entirely memorable voice from just hours before –

Y/N.

Wide, shocked eyes meet Joochan’s directly in the moonlight, confirming his suspicions. His heart leaps into his throat and stays there as you stare at each other, a prince and a gardener, one with a cursed voice and the other seemingly unaffected by it – unaffected by it, which should be impossible –

Too late, Joochan remembers that his face is memorable if not for the fact that he is a member of royalty, then by his head of dyed pink hair. Which means you can recognize him. His feet stumble back into the room and he all but crashes into the side of the balcony before managing to shove the window in place. He nearly crushes his hand and violin between glass and stone before he slides to the floor, head thudding painfully against the stone wall.

You know.

You know.

You – a simple gardener, wholly new to the palace – know now from his stupid face and pink hair that he has a curse that wilts flowers and kills people and yet somehow – somehow your voice is strong enough to make withered roses bloom once more and even more importantly, somehow you didn’t die upon hearing his song.  

Joochan doesn’t get a wink of sleep that night.

. . . . .

Jaehyun walks into Joochan’s room the next morning and upon seeing his face asks, “What happened to you?”

Joochan just groans and covers his face with a pillow. It’s day two of Donghyun’s family’s visit and he has to be up for meetings and showing his fiancée around and whatnot, but he knows he has to look like death after an entire night of racing thoughts and zero sleep. “Do I look that bad?”

In reply, Jaehyun goes and finds a small army of servants skilled in the underappreciated art of makeup who spend over an hour dispelling the gray from his skin and bringing back the slightest shade of color to his face.

It probably helps, at least somewhat. But even Jangjun, who normally can keep a neutral expression during the worst situations, makes a face when Joochan walks out the door. “Did you sleep at all last night?” he asks quietly as they set off down the hall.

“Some,” Joochan says truthfully. He did drift off sometime toward dawn. But there was less than an hour between then and Jaehyun waking him up again, so it doesn’t count for much.

Jangjun raises a disbelieving eyebrow but only follows Joochan down the hall to breakfast.

All day long, Joochan itches to run away. Not from the palace, not exactly (he’s been wanting to do that since he was a teenager, that’s nothing special), but to the garden grounds where he knows he has the best chance of finding you.

But of course there’s no time, no time at all. Immediately after breakfast he’s whisked off to Sungyoon for the morning lessons Joochan can barely pay attention to. Lunch is barely a moment in passing before Soojung takes him for his afternoon classes, then Jangjun is depositing him in front of the grand ballroom for a special partner dancing lesson with Donghyun’s sister because of course, at their engagement ball, they will be expected to dance. Together.

Joochan tries, he really does. He keeps his hands in place on his fiancée’s waist, doesn’t twitch when she puts her hand on his shoulder. He’s a fair dancer – of course Youngtaek will find areas to critique, but he’s literally a court musician and the dance instructor – but today he trips over skirts and feet and who can blame him when every unexplained sound is a knock at the door summoning him to his parents, who will then ask how he was so careless as to let a simple gardener learn his secret?

And then what would they do to you?

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes over and over to his fiancée as he finally walks out of the ballroom, Youngtaek sick of dealing with him for the day. “I’m sorry, I’m really so sorry about everything –”

“Relax, Your – Joochan. It’s fine,” she says, smiling lightly. He feels even worse – somehow, she can still muster the strength to give him a smile while he can’t even focus on an hour or two of dance. Dance is her magic, her calling, just as Joochan’s is his voice, and she’s already toning down her skill for him – why can’t he concentrate enough to respect that?

“Hey, I’m serious.” Her voice pulls Joochan out of his thoughts again. “Did you sleep at all last night? From what Donghyun said, it isn’t like you to act this way.”

A bitter laugh almost leaves Joochan’s lips but he swallows it away, opting to just sigh instead. “I sometimes have trouble sleeping.” It isn’t a lie. “Last night… was just a little worse than usual.”

She falls silent, then, lips turning down as she undoubtedly tries to process the meaning behind Joochan’s words. He panics. “It’s not – not anything to do with you!” Stupid, stupid, stupid! “I just – sometimes I start thinking and I can’t stop –”

“Joochan!” Two hands fall on his shoulders and Joochan shuts up as Donghyun’s sister stares him dead in the eyes. “Joochan, really. Calm down. It’s fine. You’re fine. I’m fine. Okay?” She smiles again. “One bad day doesn’t mean anything.”

He swallows. “Sorry.”

She waves his words away. “Stop apologizing, I already said it’s fine.” Her gaze is full of concern. “Maybe take some time to rest and relax this evening? I think you need it.”

This evening. Joochan blinks. There’s nothing planned for this evening, at least as far as he knows. Just dinner with Donghyun’s family, then nothing…

This might be the only time he can go to see you.

“Rest,” Joochan echoes. “Yeah.” He swallows, knowing full well he’ll be doing anything but that. “Thank you.”

. . . . .

The minute the excruciatingly long dinner is over and he’s excused himself to rest (even his parents don’t argue, which says a lot about his appearance), Joochan takes off down the halls, walking fast, fast, faster until he’s running –

“Your Highness!”

Why did he ever think he could outrun Jangjun?

Joochan stops because there’s no point in trying to leave his guard in the dust. Jangjun catches up quickly, barely panting, and fixes him with a stare. “Asshole,” he hisses, eyes crinkling with slight amusement. Then they turn serious. “Where are you going?”

Jangjun knows. When he was given the position of Joochan’s personal bodyguard, he was fully briefed on everything about Joochan, including his curse. Joochan trusts Bomin above all, but Jangjun is a close second. For this reason, he considers telling Jangjun the truth.

No. Joochan clenches his fist, nails biting into his palm. Not now, at least. He needs to clear this up first – it’s his fault, after all. He’ll only consider bringing Jangjun into this if things grow exponentially worse.

Hopefully, they won’t.

“The gardens,” Joochan says shortly. “Don’t follow me. Please.”

Jangjun’s eyes narrow. “You’re not being blackmailed, are you?”

“No!” Joochan shakes his head quickly. “No, not at all.”

“No secret meetings, no rendezvous with anyone other than the princess?”

Joochan groans, face turning pink. “No, Jangjun.”

“I’m following,” Jangjun decides. Joochan opens his mouth to argue, but his guard cuts him off. “I’ll stay far enough that I won’t hear what you say, if you end up saying anything. You won’t see me either. But if you think I’m going to leave you alone when you’re acting like this, you’re crazy.”

Well, it’s better than it could’ve been. Joochan nods tightly. “Fine.”

They exit the palace and Jangjun slips into the shadows, unseen even though Joochan knows he’s there. He tries not to sprint into the gardeners’ sheds, but he still gets there too fast.

One of his hands rises to knock on the door of the largest shed. He prays you’re inside.

A gardener – Joochan thinks his name is Seungmin – opens the door. Immediately his eyes widen and he swings the shed fully open, sinking down to one knee. “Your Highness.”

Joochan tries to peer around Seungmin into the shed, but a few large tables piled high with plants and tools block his vision. “Please rise,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry to interrupt you as you all are leaving for the night, but I just wanted to speak to one gardener. Privately. Um, their… their name is Y/N?”

Seungmin blinks. “Of course,” he says quickly, though his eyes burn with suppressed curiosity. He ducks back into the shed. “Y/N!”

“Just a moment!” you call back from further inside.

Panic rises in Joochan’s throat at the sound of your voice, so sweet and smooth and healing, everything his isn’t. What if you’ve already told someone? What if you run away just on seeing his face?

What if you’re afraid of him?

Footsteps pad on the floor of the shed and then you push past Seungmin, looking around in apprehension. Your eyes meet.

And you freeze.

Seungmin dithers by the door, looking unsure what to do. Joochan does his best to give him a smile. “Please leave us.”

He disappears into the shed. The door shuts.

Alone with you, Joochan is struck with two realizations.

One: you look about as haggard as he does. Which means you know or at least suspect something is up with him.

Two: he has no idea what he wants to say.

Oh, gods. Joochan fights the urge to bury his face in his hands. Why did he ever think this was a good idea? Why did he even think to try and find you? If he’d just left you alone, would you have just lost your suspicion naturally? Why did he confirm things by coming here? What does he do and what does he say?

You cut his thoughts off by dropping to your knees. Joochan steps back in shock.

“Please, Your Highness.” Your voice, previously so sweet and clear, now trembles with anxiety and fear. Joochan swallows, shame and repulsion building in his heart.

Since when did he learn to inspire such terror?

“I apologize.” Your words shake as you prostrate yourself on the ground. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been there, I shouldn’t have been trying to plant the flowers at night – I didn’t know, I won’t tell, I swear by all the gods –”

Joochan falls to his knees on impulse, reaching out towards you. You flinch away. Hurt blooms in Joochan’s chest but he lowers his hand – he is repulsive, after all, a prince marked by death itself. He shouldn’t be surprised you feel the same way as he thinks.

Even if it hurts.

“I’m not here to punish you,” Joochan says, voice surprisingly steady. “Not at all, I swear. I just –” he swallows – “I just need to know how much you know…?” He winces at the uncertainty in his tone. Even now, he still doesn’t know what to say. “Actually, is there a more private place where we can speak?”

Your eyes widen. Joochan balks. “No – I – I’m not trying to take you somewhere else where I can hurt you,” he frantically explains. “It’s just – I just –”

You cut him off by pointing to a small copse of trees. “There,” you suggest, still looking like your heart wants to beat out of your chest. “We can speak… there? Your Highness.”

Joochan almost holds out a hand for you to take before he remembers that would probably make you feel even more uncomfortable. Instead, he lowers his half-raised arm before standing and following you to the trees. “Thank you,” he mumbles.

Hidden in the foliage, you look a little more relaxed, as though in your natural element. Joochan envies how easily you shift between the trees. “Is there… something more you wanted to say to me, Your Highness?”

Your voice still shakes. Joochan tries not to cry. How can he convince you that he really has no intention to do you any harm, that he just needed to come and see for himself how much you knew?

He takes a deep breath. “Did you tell anyone?”

You shake your head vehemently. “Not a soul. And I was alone that night.”

Relief replaces a touch of the anxiety welling in his heart. “May I ask why you were there?”

“I just saw that that part of the garden was more or less empty,” you say. “I thought it would be nice to plant something there, and night-blooming roses are my favorite, so I…” You trail off. “I didn’t realize there was a reason for that. No one – no one told me I wasn’t supposed to be there –”

“It’s not your fault,” Joochan says automatically. “If no one told you, then you can’t be blamed. I’m at fault, mostly.” He looks down. “I shouldn’t have opened my window, I just didn’t think anyone would be outside that night.” A lump rises in his throat. “I can’t sing around most people, you know.”

Silence falls. Joochan starts to panic again. He said too much, definitely said too much – why did he even say that last bit, what was the point –

“Most?”

He lifts his head. “I’m sorry?”

“You said most people.” Your eyes brighten slightly with curiosity. “Are there any who can…?”

Joochan swallows as his earliest memory surfaces. His breath catches and he shoves the recollection away. “No, just you,” he whispers.

“Are you sure? It could just be that your magic only withers plants, I might not be –”

“It’s just you,” Joochan snaps.

Silence falls. Joochan takes a deep breath. He tries not to think of his disastrous first and only singing lesson but that just makes the image more vivid – his instructor’s smile freezing, legs buckling, hand coming up to clutch his heart as blood trickles from his lips –

“Your Highness?”

With effort, Joochan jerks himself out of his daze. He looks at his hands, almost expecting to see his instructor’s blood dripping rivulets down his palms, but there’s nothing. “I’m sorry,” he chokes hoarsely. “Please don’t press it. It’s just you.”

You bow your head. “I apologize.”

Quiet fills the air once more. Joochan is pretty sure the conversation is over. “I’m sorry for taking up your time when you were probably getting ready to go home.” He tries to smile. “I’ll leave you now, I know you must be tired after a long day. I apologize for any anxiety I have caused you. Just please, don’t tell anyone, because then I don’t know…” Panic crawls up his throat. “I don’t know what would happen to me or you.”

“Never.” You shake your head. “I’ll keep my silence. And I apologize for any anxiety I have caused you, Your Highness.” You look down. “I should have asked before deciding to do what I did. Speaking of… would you like the roses to be taken away? I could –”

“No!” Joochan flushes with his sudden outburst. Check yourself, Joochan. “No, please don’t,” he continues more softly. “I like them there, if you have the time to keep tending them.”

The small, genuine smile that creeps up your face nearly makes Joochan take a step back. Even as the sky grows darker, moonlight replacing the last rays of the sun, your eyes seem to glow in the deepening night, sparkling softly almost like the night-blooming roses you’ve planted beneath his balcony. “It’s my job, Your Highness.” You bow slightly. “I am honored to serve.”

Joochan feels a smile widen his lips slightly, glowing in the light of your own. “Thank you.”

. . . . .

The rest of the week comes and goes. Joochan puts on a blithe smile, escorts his fiancée anywhere they need to go, dances with her at the ball like a dutiful future husband. He tries to enjoy his time with Donghyun, who’s the only person from the delegation that he’s really happy to see, and when his family eventually leaves at the end of the week, there’s a little bit of genuine sadness at their departure.

It doesn’t match up to the utter relief at not having to pretend anymore, though.

So Joochan settles back into his normal life, deciding to make the most of the next few months alone without fiancées or future in laws, just his blood brother and two friends. His parents seem satisfied with how he conducted himself during his engagement bar the first couple of days, and Joochan slowly slips out of notice as their attention returns to Bomin’s upcoming kingship.

That’s one side effect of Joochan’s semi-exile from royal life that he doesn’t mind. The pressure of being the crown prince, having to act the perfect child even when he wants to do nothing but scream… sure, Joochan doesn’t actually scream when that happens (not until he can bury his face in his pillow, at least), but he has a little more freedom to act out than Bomin does.

Good thing Bomin has always been a good actor.  

But with Bomin’s busy schedule, Joochan has less time to talk to him. And he has so much he wants to talk about – mostly about the marriage, yes, which still turns his stomach every time it’s mentioned, but also other things. Inane things. Stuff like how Soojung could be a little less sarcastic when he’s forgotten a math concept or how the flowers in the garden have begun to fully bloom.

More specifically, the flowers just under Joochan’s own balcony.

They’re growing well. Joochan doesn’t know how many nights you’ve spent tending to them over the past couple of weeks, but the bushes of midnight blue seem to be growing even faster than they usually do. The last time he took a walk through, the buds were just appearing. That was a week ago. He didn’t see you then. In fact, he hasn’t actually seen you since the night you two spoke.

Which is normal. Gardeners don’t usually interact with princes, and Joochan himself doesn’t spend as much time as he’d like walking through the grounds. Besides, not all gardeners have shifts at the same time. But Joochan kind of wishes he could hear your voice again, if only for your song to soothe his mind.

He doesn’t dare go out onto the balcony anymore, though. If you’re working on the roses, it’s entirely possible that someone else might be with you on any given night, singing to the blooms. The flowers would die. And just because you’re somehow immune to his song doesn’t mean anyone else will be.

Joochan does not want to test that out.

So he keeps singing to himself within the thick walls of his stony room to an audience of his furniture and books. He sings more often these nights – life feels a little more barren with a lack of Bomin’s presence and the knowledge of his marriage hanging over his head – but he won’t go out onto the balcony. Not again.

Until a bouquet of roses is delivered to his room.

Once every week or two, gardeners and servants switch out the flowers around the palace. Joochan likes to keep a vase on his desk, usually some variety of roses, and it’s always nice to see a new bouquet replacing the wilted flowers of the past week, their faint scent perfuming the air.

When he walks into his quarters after a long day to see a bunch of midnight blue roses streaked with white sitting on his desk, clustered in a delicate vase, Joochan doesn’t think much of it. He smiles a little – of all roses, the night-blooming ones are his favorite type – but they don’t seem to signify anything deeper until he sees a tiny piece of something white poking out from behind the petals.

It’s a bit of ripped paper. Eyebrows furrowed, Joochan unfolds it.

You are still welcome to sing, you know. No one comes with me - they all seem to think I have some magic touch.

Then, almost as an afterthought:

You have a beautiful voice.

The note isn’t signed, but only one person could have sent it.

Joochan’s chest tightens the longer he clutches the note. You sent him roses, roses from the bushes underneath his balcony – maybe you were even the one who placed the vase on his desk – and left a note, too, a note that welcomes him to sing during the night when you are there.

You have a beautiful voice.

His stomach flips when he reads the line again, but not in the same way it always flips at the mention of his engagement. It feels lighter, sweeter, nervous but almost playful.

It feels nice.

But he still doesn’t dare go onto the balcony and start singing unannounced, so that night, he heads to the garden instead of standing above. Jangjun doesn’t stand guard at night, and it’s much easier to get past the night guard than to get past him. He waits by the rose bushes nervously, knowing there will be many questions if someone somehow catches him.

You appear after the moon has risen. From the way you start, Joochan gathers you didn’t expect him to actually be here on the grass, waiting for you on land instead of on his balcony above. Still, you take it in stride, bowing low as you approach. “Your Highness.”

“Y/N.” He nods slightly. “Thank you for the flowers.”

At that, you smile. “I thought you might like them.”

“I did, very much.” Joochan looks away, fiddling with his shirt sleeves. “I… saw your note. I appreciated that too.”

Your smile grows more hesitant, but it doesn’t disappear. “I apologize if I was too forward, Your Highness.” You swallow visibly. “It’s just that… forgive me for my presumption. I couldn’t live without my song. I can’t imagine how it feels for you.”

Pain, a pain that cuts even deeper than Bomin’s ability to heal. It can be soothed by another’s song, but only singing himself can truly heal it. Joochan barely knows how to describe the feeling – it’s been present ever since he can remember. But he doesn’t say any of that. “Thank you for your sympathy,” he says, trying to smile. “And for trying to understand.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Your smile heals Joochan almost as much as your song.

The conversation lapses into silence, then. You turn to the flowering bushes, pruning some of the longer tendrils and singing softly to the growing buds that have begun to open slightly under the influence of your magic. Joochan sits down against the palace wall and closes his eyes, listening to your soft melodies fill the air –

“I gave you the note with the intention of you singing, Your Highness.”

Joochan’s eyes fly open to see you looking at him, a teasing smile lifting the corners of your mouth. “You came here to sing, didn’t you?”

“But the roses,” he protests. “They’ll die.”

“And I can bring them back,” you counter. “Sing, Your Highness.” Your gaze softens. “It will help.”

Joochan doesn’t know how you know his pain, or even a semblance of it. Your magic heals, doesn’t kill – that means something else must have happened for you to understand a fraction of what he feels. Somehow you do know, though, and Joochan feels more compelled to listen to you than his own doubts when you say that it will help.

He leans back again and hums a brief melody, warming up his throat. Immediately the leaves closest to him begin to shrivel at the edges and he almost stops, but you hum a bar of your own, perfectly mixing your voice with Joochan’s song. You nod, still clipping leaves, and Joochan continues with your encouragement.

The song starts and finishes quietly, Joochan not wanting to disrupt your work too much, but his heart feels lighter by the time he closes his mouth around the last bars. The roses look no worse for wear – your soft humming, barely audible beneath Joochan’s quiet song, seems to have sustained them – and you wear a soft smile on your face that fairly glows under the moonlight. “That was beautiful,” you praise.

Joochan feels blood rush up to his ears. “Thank you, but I never had any formal training,” he says, dipping his head. “I’m nowhere near your level.”

“I know.” Your eyes twinkle when he looks over at you in surprised confusion. “I can tell you haven’t had lessons. It’s something in…” You pause, contemplating a rose. “Something in your technique. It’s a little lacking.” You look up from the bloom. “But regardless, your voice has a very raw power. That can’t be learned. If you had any training at all, I think you might sing as well as your brother, Your Highness.”

“You’ve heard him sing?” Joochan tries not to feel jealous.

You hum a short melody to a bud, which eagerly responds to your song. “Once or twice, at festivals.” Your gaze turns to him, still teasing. “I watched you play your instruments at those same festivals too, you know.”

Joochan flushes again. Was he that obvious?

From the glint in your eye and the restrained smile on your lips, the answer is yes. Thankfully, you don’t push it. “Would you sing again?” you ask instead. “Your voice truly is wonderful, Your Highness.”

Courage bursts in Joochan’s chest and he opens his mouth. “Will you teach me to sing?”

You blink. “You already know how to sing? Your Highness.”

“You said my technique was lacking.” Joochan plays with several blades of grass nervously. “Could you give me pointers? Or at least tell me what you think is the problem?”

“I – Your Highness, I’m not a professional.” Moonlight shines on your face, uncertainty now painted across your lips. “I mean – I just – I don’t want to say anything wrong –”

“If you really don’t want to, you don’t have to,” Joochan cuts in, already feeling regret for asking. His fingers wrap around a blade of grass. It comes away in his hand. “But…”

You cock your head, listening cautiously.

His voice grows small. “You’re the only one who can listen to me without dying.”

Silence falls after his admission. Joochan doesn’t dare look at you for fear of pity or rejection in your eyes.

“I… will try.” You meet Joochan’s wide eyes, uncertainty still present in your own. “I mean, I’ll do it, Your Highness.”

Joochan almost reaches out to touch your arm, touch your hand, anything in thanks, but he restrains himself. You’re already probably uncomfortable enough. “If you really don’t want to, I won’t force you,” he repeats, despite the hope filling his chest.

“No, I want to.” Uncertainty fades in favor of a gentle smile. “I’ll do it, Your Highness.”

“Thank you,” Joochan breathes. “Thank you so much.”

“It is my honor,” you reply, dipping your head. When you raise it, there’s a twinkle in your eye. “Now sing, yes? I can’t critique you without a song.”

Joochan has never opened his mouth faster.

. . . . .

With you so uncertain, Joochan wasn’t honestly expecting too much from you as a vocal instructor. You seemed so hesitant about the whole affair – he only really hoped for a few basic tips every now and then. Maybe, as he just got more used to singing, he would get better naturally.

But that first night, you give him a lesson, a whole lesson like the ones his paid instructors give. Open your mouth a little more, Your Highness, close it here. Hey, try a falsetto – see, it sounds much better like that, right? Don’t strain your throat too much, Your Highness. Your voice doesn’t only come from the throat, it comes from the body. Use your chest – yes, that’s it. You’ll have to practice this more on your own, but don’t be discouraged if you don’t get it in one night. It took me weeks to master it.

You’re a good teacher. Really good. Joochan would even hazard to say you’re better than some of the royal tutors and instructors he’s had over the years, and by the time the moon has fully risen and you decide it’s been long enough, Joochan feels like he’s soaring among the stars.

“Remember to practice,” you remind him before you part that night. “I may be the instructor, but it’s your voice.”

He does. Night after night, on those evenings he doesn’t steal away to the gardens to meet with you, Joochan runs through his scales and the vocal exercises you gave him the last time. He scribbles notes, questions, reminders on scraps of paper that he hides in his drawers but shows you on those lovely nights under the moon and stars, singing for you and the roses to hear.

“You’re dedicated,” you say one evening, smiling. “If I were a full-time instructor, I think I’d be blessed to have you as a student, Your Highness.”

Joochan colors at your praise. It makes him feel like one of the roses you tend, blossoming under the sound of your warm voice. “I have a good teacher,” he replies, focusing hard on one of the blooms to avoid your eyes. It’s fully open, silky petals spread wide under the moon. Little stripes of white sparkle like stars on the midnight blue. “How are you so good at this? Who taught you?”

For several seconds, you don’t reply. It’s long enough that Joochan looks up, heart beating uncertainly in his chest. Did he say something wrong? “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer if it’s not something –”

“No, it’s okay.” You swallow, not even noticing you interrupted him (the first time you did, Joochan had to reassure you over and over that it was completely fine). Joochan stays still as your lips thin, eyes trained on the bud you’ve been coaxing open. “My father taught me.”

Your father. From the forced flatness in your tone, Joochan gathers there’s something more behind your words. He stays silent, waiting to see if you’ll continue.

You do. “My mother died giving birth to me, so it was just me and my father for as long as I can remember.” Your smile doesn’t look like a smile, more of a pained gash across your face. Involuntarily, Joochan shudders. “He was a real vocal instructor. Taught me most of what I know of healing, and all that I know of singing.”

Snip. Joochan flinches as a leaf goes fluttering to the ground, cut off by your shears.

“He died when I was eighteen,” you say bluntly, shears held in a vice grip. “Without him, I came to the capital to… you know. Try my luck. I was always a better gardener than a physical healer, so I worked at some of the noble estates before someone recommended me here.”

So that’s the pain. Joochan clenches his fist. That’s the pain that helped you understand even vaguely how he feels, unable to release his song. Different types of pain, yes, but similar in intensity.

He tries to imagine what it would be like to lose Bomin, Jangjun, Jaehyun. Knives seem to dig into his chest.

Your pain is probably even more intense.

“And, well.” Your voice interrupts Joochan’s thoughts. He looks up as you shrug, smile sardonic. “Here I am.”

Joochan swallows, picking at the grass. He knows how empty his words will sound before he even says them. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, it wasn’t your fault.” Your smile is understanding, though, even in its sadness. A bit of a teasing tone finds its way into your voice. “You sure apologize a lot, don’t you, Your Highness?”

Hearing the mischief in your words, Joochan would normally feel a smile beginning to creep up his own face. This time, though, a little needle wedges itself into his ribs, deep enough to wound even if not enough to kill.

You’re right. He does apologize a lot. It’s kind of hard to stop when he’s been made to apologize for his entire existence.

“I apologize.”

Joochan looks up at your words. You hold his gaze, unflinching. “I apologize,” you repeat again. “I assumed a level of familiarity that we haven’t reached yet.” This time, you look away. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s not –” Joochan swallows. “It’s not about familiarity. It’s… other things.”

He catches the exact moment your eyes widen, the exact moment you understand. Your mouth twists and you look away again, though Joochan sees shame in the thin press of your lips. “I understand,” you reply softly. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

“It isn’t your fault,” he says automatically, the same way he does to Bomin. The words leave a bitter aftertaste – it never gets easier, absolving people of blame they never even incurred. His mind searches for a way to change the topic. He’s good at that. “As for familiarity…”

You raise an eyebrow. “Hm?”

An idea pops into his thoughts, an idea he’s been toying with for a while but that he was too shy to suggest. “Don’t call me Your Highness anymore,” he says boldly. “Just call me Joochan.”

It takes a moment for you to process, but then you scoff. “You’re funny, Your Highness.”

“Joochan.”

“Your Highness.”

Unconsciously, he pouts. “You were the one who brought up the topic of familiarity,” he points out. “Shouldn’t you be happy about this?”

“Ever heard of too much of a good thing?” you retort, putting down your shears. “Too much familiarity won’t mean good things for either me or you, Your Highness.”

“Joochan,” he corrects. “And does that mean you think us being familiar is a good thing?”

You groan. “Walked right into that one,” you mutter. Joochan grins, but you’re not done. “Your Highness, there’s a level of respect I have to maintain for you and your position. I’m sorry, but me calling you by your given name is not something I see myself doing in the foreseeable future.”

Joochan’s pout deepens. “We’ll see about that.”

“Is that a challenge, Your Highness?”

“And if it is?”

You pinch a bud between your fingers, scrutinizing it under the moonlight. Your head turns just slightly so Joochan can see the twinkle in your eye. “Then, Your Highness, I’m afraid you’ll be fighting a losing battle.”

. . . . .

Joochan thinks you might have underestimated his stubbornness.

“Your Highness, don’t you have better things to be doing than bothering me all night?” you ask, pausing in your humming to face him. “Royal duties and whatnot? Or, I don’t know – sleeping?”

“I feel like we’re becoming more familiar even if you refuse to call me by my name,” Joochan says obnoxiously. “What happened to propriety? Speaking respectfully to a prince?”

You pat some soil into place. A few nearby blades of grass seem to perk up when you hum briefly. “Calling you by your title is about the last mark of respect I’m still giving you,” you point out. “Do you really want that taken away, too?”

“Why not just let it go, if we’re already that far?” he counters. “Jaehyun calls me by my name when we’re alone. So does Jangjun.”

“Jaehyun…” You frown, then snap your fingers. “Is he that servant? You know, the puppy-eyed one?”

Joochan blinks. Jaehyun does have large eyes like those of a puppy. “… Yes? I think so.”

You look sidelong at Joochan. “If it helps, I like your eyes too, Your Highness.” Your gaze narrows teasingly. “They’re sharper. Like a fox.”

Joochan’s cheeks burn. “What –”

You burst into a peal of laughter. “Work on not pouting when you want attention,” you say, grinning.

Too late, Joochan realizes his lips have unconsciously turned downwards into a pout. He lifts them immediately, cursing internally – no wonder he’s so easy to read. “Don’t change the subject,” he says, catching himself again before the corners of his lips fall. “Why can’t you just call me by my name like Jangjun and Jaehyun?”

“You’ve likely known them far longer than I’ve known you and you’ve known me, Your Highness.” You put down your small shovel. “It makes perfect sense that you could convince them to bow to your whims, if you’ve been friends for as long as you say.”

Joochan gives up on suppressing his pout. “It’s not a whim,” he says. “I really do want you to call me Joochan.”

“Be that as it may, it isn’t proper, Your Highness, and I’d rather not get scolded for accidentally calling you by something above my station on accident.” Your eyes narrow. “Actually, is something wrong, Your Highness?” you ask, the teasing bite fading out of your voice. “You aren’t usually this forward about just your name.”

Something tightens in Joochan’s chest. He knows you’re perceptive, has known it ever since you rooted out that little bit of jealousy at the mention of Bomin’s singing, but as admirable as it is, he sometimes wishes you couldn’t read him so easily. “What, you don’t like it?”

“You’re deflecting.” Leaning forward, you fix him with your gaze. “What’s bothering you, Your Highness?”

Lots of things. There are only a few months until Donghyun’s family comes back for the second round of forced courtship. His parents are giving him more unwanted attention – asking about his studies in their cold, uninterested voices, reminding him of his duties every time his lip so much as twitches in rebellion.

And earlier in the day, he had the first fitting for his wedding clothes.

Joochan shudders, remembering white silk sliding over his arms, pins poking all over his body as the fabric tightened against his skin, smooth, cold, cloying around his throat and shoulders and torso. It was only the shirt for today – there are still the pants and coat and jewelry, not to mention different hairstyles and makeup combinations to try, all so his parents can get him out of the palace once and for all – and just thinking of how much there is left to do makes Joochan want to throw up.

“Your Highness?”

Your voice, full of concern, brings Joochan back to earth. “Sorry.” He blinks the memories out of his eyes. Gods, he has another fitting in a week, even though the wedding is still months away. “I – yes. Some things are bothering me.” He curves his lips into the imitation of a smile. “I’ll be fine, though, if you would just stop being stubborn and call me by my name.”

By the look in your eyes, you don’t believe him, but thankfully you don’t push it any further. “I’m the stubborn one?” You scoff lightly. “Who’s the one who’s been pressuring me to stop using your title this whole time? I didn’t bring it up.”

“Please?” Joochan asks, making sure to pout as fully as he can. “Please?”

Something breaks in your expression and you shake your head, suppressing a smile. Joochan’s heart lifts in victory –

“No.”

His jaw drops. “You –”

“I’m kidding.” You turn back to him, eyes sparkling. “If it really will make you happier, I’ll stop calling you by your title, Your –” You catch yourself. “Joochan.”

Something bursts in Joochan’s heart when he hears his name from your voice, sweet, clear, songlike in the melody of your tones. A rose in bloom, perhaps, petals unfurling from the bud at his name on your lips…

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His words tremble slightly despite his attempted bravado.

You smirk. “Almost sounds like it was harder for you, Joochan.”

Damn your perception. “Am I going to regret this?”

Your smirk deepens. “Whatever happens, just know you brought it on yourself.”

. . . . .

“You look happier,” Bomin remarks one afternoon.

Joochan looks over. “Do I?”

“Yeah.” His brother nods. “There’s more… something.” Bomin waves his hands around aimlessly. “Something in your face. And in the way you walk.”

“Something.” Joochan snorts. “Is that what all of those literature and speech lessons are teaching you to say?”

“Shut up,” Bomin snips, pushing him away. His gaze turns more serious. “I’m glad.”

Joochan blinks. “Glad about what?”

“You being happy.” Bomin smiles. “Did Donghyun’s sister finally win you over?” He shoves his face into Joochan’s. “Exchanging romantic letters?”

The grin freezes on Joochan’s face as visions of you flash through his mind. Dark nights, pale moonlight, stars shimmering on your eyes and hands as you hum a melody that twines with his, keeping the roses in a delicate balance between alive and withering away…

He could tell Bomin. His brother is a secret-keeper to the last and knows how to act. But something tells Joochan that he would disapprove is he said anything, and even if that wasn’t the case, there’s a selfish desire to keep you to himself.

Joochan doesn’t want to share this… whatever it is, between you and him.

“Something like that,” he lies.

And for some reason, Bomin looks like he believes it.

. . . . .

Except, apparently, he doesn’t.

. . . . .

There is no moon when Joochan steps onto the balcony, peering over the edge to see whether or not you’re there, pruning the bushes. You don’t often come out during new moons – something about the absence of light not inspiring your song – but Joochan checks anyway.

To his surprise, he sees a sliver of movement, a flash of metal just beyond the balcony that looks like your shovel or your shears. It doesn’t take long for Joochan to sneak out of his room and into the garden grounds, a smile on his face as he rounds a corner to see –

“Joochan.”

Jangjun?

His guard steps forward, arms crossed and eyes visibly narrowed even in the darkness. Starlight shines coldly on his face. “Who are you meeting out here every other night?”

Stall? Lie? Joochan keeps his mouth resolutely shut as his mind races for something to say. He can’t mention you, can’t bring you into this mess that you never asked for, but Jangjun has known him for so long and might even be more perceptive than you so what kind of lie will even sound believable when Joochan is right here in the garden like he was expecting someone –

Jangjun’s eyes widen with realization and Joochan’s stomach plummets. “You’re meeting that gardener. The one you were talking with when Donghyun’s sister was here.”

Joochan just stares. How did he figure it out so fast?

“Tell me it isn’t true, Joochan.” Jangjun steps forward, lips pursed. Any sign of his usual mischief has fled from his eyes. “Joochan.”

He stays silent.

“Gods.” Jangjun rubs his temples, the metal of his arm guards catching the faint starlight. Damn, that was what fooled him. “Joochan, seriously? What are you doing with them? You weren’t lying before, right – they’re not blackmailing you or anything?”

Joochan ignores all of his guard’s questions in favor of his own. “How did you know I was sneaking out?”

Jangjun sighs. “I don’t know why you still sometimes think you can lie to Bomin.”

Bomin?

A conversation from two weeks before flutters into Joochan’s mind.

“Did Donghyun’s sister finally win you over? Exchanging romantic letters?”

“Something like that.”

Bomin. Joochan shuts his eyes tight and takes a deep breath, trying to dissipate the flames of anger beginning to lick in his chest. Of course it was Bomin. Bomin sees through everything.

And right now, Joochan hates that.

“So Bomin sent you to figure out what was going on with me.” He laughs, short, bitter. “Even though he said I was happier, he still –”

“You lied to him, Joochan,” Jangjun cuts in. “You never lie to him and he never lies to you.”

“So maybe I lied for a reason!” Joochan snaps. “Seriously – why is it that you can’t just leave me alone like my parents –”

“Because we care about you!”

“Then why are you trying to cut off the reason I’ve been happy?”

Silence follows his outburst. Jangjun actually takes a small step back. Joochan clenches his fist and takes a deep breath. Calm down.

He closes his eyes. Breathes. Opens them again. “So what are you going to do now?” he snaps. “Report to Bomin about my actions? Report to my parents?”

“Joochan –”

“Actually, don’t.” He scoffs. “I’ll go talk to Bomin myself. And Jangjun, even if you won’t leave me alone about this, listen to me on one thing.” Joochan steps forward. “Do not bring Y/N into this.”

With that, he turns on his heel and storms back into the palace.

. . . . .

Bomin’s attendant, Sanha, opens the door with a confused expression. “Your Highness?”

“Where’s Bomin?” Joochan demands, brushing past.

His brother pops out from behind one of the doors, eyebrows furrowed. “Joochan?”

Joochan bites his tongue to keep from shouting right then and there. “Dismissed,” he says bluntly, barely returning Sanha’s low bow. The door shuts.

And Joochan snaps.

“You sent my own guard to spy on me?” he yells. “With all the spies our parents have in the palace, you seriously sent Jangjun after me – my literal guard and one of the few people I trust – because you thought I told one lie?”

“I was worried!” Bomin says, eyes wide. “Joochan, you never lie to me –”

“Don’t tell me that’s it,” Joochan snarls. “There’s no way this is the only time you’ve ever thought I lied – if you sent Jangjun after me every time –” his eyes narrow – “unless you did –”

Bomin shakes his head wildly. “No! It’s just – I’m worried about with you and Donghyun’s sister!” He steps forward, eyes pleading. “Joochan, if your marriage doesn’t go through –”

Joochan laughs into his hand. “You too?”

“… What?”

“It’s always my marriage, my stupid marriage,” he rants, voice rising. Thank the gods for thick stone walls. “Has anyone ever considered that I don’t want it, I don’t fucking want it –”

“It’s your escape, Joochan!” Bomin snaps. “It’s your ticket out of this palace, so you can be free from –”

“From what?” Joochan laughs, high and mirthless. “From what?”

“From us!”

“And you’d have me gain my freedom by forcing me from one prison to another?”

Bomin’s mouth snaps shut.

“I can’t do anything because I have this stupid curse,” Joochan snarls. “I’m the unwanted son – don’t argue with me, you know it’s true – it doesn’t matter that I’m the oldest, I’ve literally been passed over for the crown because of it! And I don’t even care about that – all I fucking care about is being able to sing and of course I can’t do that either because people will drop dead half a second after I open my mouth – remember my first voice instructor? You think that’ll change once I get married? You think that’ll change?” He scoffs. “Donghyun and his family don’t know for a reason! And even if they did, it wouldn’t matter because singing around them would make them drop dead too!”

Tears have begun to burn in Joochan’s eyes. He blinks furiously, trying to keep them at bay, but months of pent-up rage and anger only make them push harder. Bomin’s eyes shine – they look watery, too – but Joochan turns away with thinned lips. He doesn’t have the energy to apologize to his brother, much less comfort him. It isn’t even his turn to be comforted.

“You don’t understand,” Joochan manages when the silence has grown too thick. “I love you, Bomin, and I know you love me too, but just like I’ll never understand the pressures of being the crown prince, you won’t understand what it’s like not to be able to sing.” He swallows. “You couldn’t even heal that sort of pain. And just when I’ve found someone who can listen…”

When Bomin sucks in a breath, Joochan realizes what he’s said. He panics, mind scrambling for a way to cover up his slip of the tongue – Joochan, you absolute idiot –

But it’s already too late to take anything back.

“You – someone can listen to your song?” Bomin whispers, almost as though he can’t believe it. “How…?”

Joochan groans, putting his head against the wall. Why can’t he do anything right? “It was an accident,” he says shortly, brushing away the stray tears that have fallen.

“But how –”

“Don’t ask me about it,” Joochan snaps, whirling around. His previous anger comes back in full force – not anger at Bomin, at least not as much, more anger at himself for not controlling his mouth, but it’s easier to direct it at his brother. “And don’t send my own guard after me for any more answers. If you think I’m lying, say it to my face, Bomin.”

Before his brother can say another word, Joochan throws open the door and stalks out.

. . . . .

Joochan doesn’t know what to do about you.

Well, there isn’t anything to do about you, per se. He just doesn’t know how to convey that he let things slip and now both Jangjun and his brother have more knowledge than they need, and maybe you two should hold off meeting for a little while.

You aren’t supposed to come around for a few days or so – you and Joochan have worked out a rough sort of schedule based on when the roses need tending and how often he wants a singing lesson – which should give him a few days to work something out. Instead, all he uses the time for is to sulk.

He’s still annoyed at both Jangjun and Bomin. More so at his brother because Jangjun has less leeway when given orders (which were given by Bomin in the first place), but still both of them. Bomin stays quiet when Joochan is near and Jangjun doesn’t even attempt conversation, though Joochan catches him staring over sometimes with a strange look on his face. He doesn’t bother to question it.

By the time night has begun to fall on day three, Joochan still has nothing. He debated going to the sheds and trying to find you there, but that would draw attention from anyone else who happened to be present, and also Jangjun never leaves his side. He tried to catch you in the gardens on the off chance that Jangjun isn’t looking, but you seem to disappear when he’s there – it’s like you magically end up on the opposite side of the palace grounds when he’s looking for you on the other.

In the end, all Joochan has is a rolled up piece of paper and a long piece of string that he hopes will reach the garden from his balcony. He hopes you can read. It’s not that uncommon anymore for commoners anymore, but there are still some. You were the one who wrote him that first note, though, so he isn’t too worried about that.

He’s more worried you’ll be angry with him.

Night comes. You appear at the end of the garden. Joochan waits on the balcony, heart ready to beat out of his chest, and sings a brief note when you get closer.

You look up. The waxing moon glows on your face.

Swallowing, Joochan waves a hand in the air, the hand holding the rolled up note attached to the string. He walks to the edge of the balcony and lets it drop.

The string tenses slightly, then goes lax. You’ve pulled it off and are hopefully reading it. His explanation, his apologies, his understanding if you don’t want anything to do with him anymore out of fear of your own safety…

Nothing happens. Joochan’s heart keeps pounding. You make no sound, no indication that you read anything he wrote –

Then the first bars of a song wisp through the air. Your voice flutters up to the balcony, soft and warm and inviting, singing words of forgiveness, melody soothing to his ears. It’s a little thin, laid slightly bare from the distance separating you, but Joochan latches onto the notes, sitting against the balcony rail and closing his eyes to the sound of your voice.

Your song tapers away eventually. Joochan swallows around a lump in his throat when it ends, fully expecting you to pack up your things and go once you’ve finished tending to the roses (it shouldn’t take as long as usual today since he’s not singing), but the ensuing silence almost has an expectant quality to it.

Like you’re waiting for something in reply.

Joochan clears the lump from his throat. Opens his mouth. Begins to hum softly to wake up his voice, then starts singing back.

It’s strange, not hearing your voice meld with his. You must be humming a little to keep the roses alive, but from his balcony, Joochan can’t hear it. After so many nights of singing duets with you, changing your melodies to fit the other’s, it feels a little strange to listen to himself sing like this in the open air. But he continues until the end of what he has, voice fading into the night.

A beat of silence follows. Then you begin singing again, but it’s a familiar melody this time – one of those that you like to use as a starting point for Joochan to follow, letting your voices twist and harmonize until you’ve created something new together, something fleeting but beautiful in its improvisation.

“You won’t remember the melody afterwards,” you say, cutting off a branch. “But you’ll remember the feeling, and sometimes that’s more important. Music is about making people feel, after all.”

Feeling. Joochan feels a lot, day by day. It’s part of being human. Tonight, singing an ephemeral melody with you…

He feels at peace.

. . . . .

Weeks pass. Joochan tries to live on his biweekly duets on the balcony with you. It won’t fill the void of not being able to talk to you – it’s just more natural to moderate the volume of his song, whereas calling down from a balcony would be more of a hassle – but it’s enough to hear your voice. Or so Joochan tries to tell himself.

(You sometimes leave him notes with the new flower replacements, white paper nestled between dark green thorns and midnight blue petals. Joochan puts them in the box under his mattress where he keeps his most treasured belongings and threads a hair between the lock to make sure no one gets in.)

Jangjun apologizes. So does Bomin. Joochan accepts it – he can’t stay too upset at them for long – and they go back to normal, Jangjun snickering whenever Joochan trips over a rock, Bomin suffering through Joochan pinching his cheeks whenever he so pleases.

Yeah. Normal.

Until weeks have somehow flown by and Donghyun’s family is arriving at the palace gates once more for the second stage of courtship.

They arrive late in the night, so Joochan thankfully isn’t required to be awake to receive them. Their meeting will be at dinner the next day, giving the entourage more than enough time to freshen up, which just means Joochan has more hours to sit on the floor of his rooms after lessons and stare at nothing while he waits for his impending doom.

He knows he’s being dramatic. But he also knows that he really, really, really doesn’t want to go through with this marriage, even more so than before.

His gaze lights on the latest bouquet of flowers sitting on his desk. The roses are white this time, interspersed with light pink blooms. You probably didn’t choose them – there was no note – but they’re pretty, anyway, even if they aren’t the night-blooming roses growing under Joochan’s balcony.

Joochan walks over to the flowers. Contemplates them for a moment. Picks up one of the white roses, imagines it in his fiancée’s hands as she walks down the aisle…

Thankfully, a knock sounds on his door before he has enough time to imagine more. Getting overly dressed for dinner is preferable to locking himself within his mind.

But then dinner actually comes.

And Joochan literally does not know what to do with himself.

His parents keep up chatter at the other end of the table, of course, all polite greetings and inquiries about the trip and we hope your quarters have been to your liking despite the fact that Donghyun’s family stayed in the exact same set of rooms last time they came and liked them just as much back then. Not to mention that said rooms are the fanciest guest rooms in the entire palace. If they weren’t satisfied, Joochan doesn’t know what would work for them.

Meanwhile, at his end of the table, Joochan is trying very hard not to make so much as a single noise against his plate or cup because if he does, everyone will look at him and he’ll be forced to break the awkward silence.

It’s even worse than the first time. At least then, Donghyun was still smiling, and his sister attempted conversation with Joochan. Bomin was fairly able to put people at ease when even Joochan’s social tendencies failed. But now there’s a tense set to Donghyun’s jaw, a burning anger in his sister’s eyes, and Joochan can’t think of anything he might’ve done wrong considering he hasn’t seen them in months. He’s sent letters to both and acted (at least outwardly) like he was fine with this arrangement. He hasn’t done anything to his parents’ knowledge that would indicate he’s opposed to it – he knows that because if he had, he would’ve gotten a scolding and maybe something worse –

Joochan winces as an old scar on his back suddenly twitches with pain. Bomin looks over, concerned, but Joochan quickly schools his face back to neutrality. Damn the memories.

“Is anything not to your liking?” Bomin asks quietly, bravely breaking the silence. His gaze flits uncertainly between Donghyun and his sister.

Both of them blink in tandem. Donghyun’s face relaxes a little and some of the anger fades from his sister’s eyes, their lips upturning slightly in sheepish surprise. “No, not at all,” his sister replies. “I apologize. The trip was long, and some of our nerves are… frayed.”

Judging from the shadow that passes through Donghyun’s eyes, “frayed” is a weak way to put it.

The silence, lifts though, and they converse more normally after that. Joochan catches a flicker of relief in his father’s eyes when they meet for the briefest moment, and even his mother gives a tiny nod of approval when the excruciating meal is finally over.

Everyone splits off, then, to do whatever they have in their plans for the night. Joochan and Bomin take a walk in the garden. Donghyun and his sister disappear to who-knows-where. It’s peaceful. More or less.

Until Joochan and Bomin are returning (they didn’t see you) to their quarters for bed and they happen to pass by the guest rooms, where shouts echo faintly behind closed doors. With unspoken agreement, the brothers start walking quickly down the hall, trying not to listen to what the other pair of siblings is saying.

Then a door flies open and catches Joochan in the face as his fiancée storms out in a swirl of skirts and fury.

For a moment, there is only dead silence as everyone tries to comprehend what just happened. Joochan brings a hand to his nose. It comes away bloody.

Great.

“Gods above,” his fiancée whispers. “Your Highness – Joochan – I’m so sorry –” She turns to Bomin, who still looks like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on. “Where’s the infirmary?”

So Joochan ends up sitting on the edge of a white infirmary bed, pinching his nose between large bundles of gauze. Bomin has gone off, presumably to tell Donghyun what happened, and Joochan’s fiancée sits next to him, wringing her hands in apology even as he tells her over and over again that it’s fine – actually, it’s even a little funny.

Bomin will definitely be teasing Joochan about this by tomorrow.

“I’m so sorry,” she says again, staring into her lap. “I was just so angry – I didn’t see you –”

“I’m fine,” Joochan repeats, voice still slightly distorted by the residual pain in his nose. “If you were as upset as you sounded, I completely understand.”

She stiffens. “I – you heard us?”

“Not much.” Joochan winces in embarrassment. “I could only hear that you were yelling, neither I nor Bomin could actually make out anything. The walls here are thick.” For a reason.

Relief floods her face. Joochan looks at her for a moment, trying to see if it’s anything he should be worried about, but he turns away. He’d be alarmed if anyone heard any of his arguments with Bomin, after all, even if they were light.

One of the physicians comes in soon after. His nose doesn’t look to be majorly injured, so he sings Joochan a brief, warm melody that stops the bleeding (his voice isn’t as pretty as yours, though) and sends him on his way. Donghyun’s sister helps him wipe away the last of the dried blood, and then they walk back down to the guest rooms, where Joochan bids her goodnight.

She pauses before entering her quarters, though. “I just remembered – could we take a walk in the gardens tomorrow, Joochan?” Her eyes sparkle strangle, a mix of eagerness and muted anxiety. “I couldn’t forget watching the flowers bloom over these past few months.”

Joochan blinks. “Of course,” he says, even though his mind whirls with possible reasons behind the sudden request. The flowers are beautiful, of course, and there are new varieties blossoming with the change of seasons, but the anxiousness etched into the set of your lips speaks of something more than wishing to listen to some song. “In the afternoon? We can take a walk after lunch.”

“That sounds perfect.” She smiles. “Thank you, Joochan.”

He returns the smile. “It’s no problem.”

. . . . .

Everyone seems surprised when Joochan leaves together with his fiancée after lunch, citing a stroll in the garden, but it isn’t bad surprise. Bomin looks interested, Donghyun less annoyed, and Joochan even catches something like satisfaction in his parents’ eyes as they sweep out of the room.

It makes his stomach curdle a little inside.

Joochan starts the conversation, idly talking about the new season and which flowers the gardeners have begun putting into the ground. The air is crisper, cooler, and Joochan takes comfort in the breeze against his cheeks as he walks her around the grass, pausing every so often to listen to one of the gardeners sing. She doesn’t speak much, but at least the singing seems to make her look a little happier.

They pass by the stretch where Joochan’s balcony is, providing a spot of shade under the afternoon sun. Joochan tries to hurry past – he doesn’t want questions about the roses now stretching across the walls, blooming beautifully from your song – but then his fiancée gasps in surprise. “The roses!”

Something tightens in Joochan’s chest. He doesn’t know what it is – it doesn’t feel good, like a cross between fear and anxiety and… he can’t figure it out. None of it. But his fiancée is looking at him and he has to put on a smile so he curves his lips and nods, trying to ignore the feeling. “Yes, one of the newer gardeners managed to make them grow. You met them last time.” He tries to ignore the feeling in his heart, even as it tightens its hold. “Y/N.”

Y/N. You. You made them grow with your gentle hands and lovely voice. You made them grow despite Joochan’s cursed song, molded your melodies with his so they wouldn’t kill so easily, wouldn’t act so much the curse they were always meant to be…

He swallows, trying to banish all thoughts of you from his mind. For the first time on one of his walks in the garden, Joochan feels guiltily glad that he hasn’t seen you.

You and his fiancée don’t exactly coexist well in his thoughts, for reasons Joochan doesn’t have the time or energy to pick apart.

“They’re beautiful,” she whispers, clearly oblivious to Joochan’s internal conflict. She steps forward until they’re both under the shade of the balcony, marveling at the midnight blue roses streaked with white, galaxies in the night sky. “Do they bloom year round?”

“Yes, this variety does.” Joochan rubs a soft petal between his fingers, trying to recall just how many nights have passed since he last saw you face to face instead of just hearing your voice from up above. Too many, probably. “They wilt a little more easily in winter, but they can still grow if the snow isn’t too heavy.”

She hums in acknowledgement, still staring at the flowers. Her fingers twitch near a couple of the blooms, but she doesn’t do anything more than touch their petals.

Oh. She wants to pick one, maybe. Take it back to her rooms. Admire it.

For some reason, the thought of your flowers in his fiancée’s hands and in her rooms makes the feeling in Joochan’s chest intensify.

His lips fight hard to stay in a neutral smile as he reaches out, fingers trembling, to snap off one of the flowers just above the crown of five leaves at the base of the stem, the way you showed him how to so many weeks ago when he still met you under the moon and the stars, listened to your voice wash over the plants and his ears next to you, not from far away. Carefully, as his fiancée watches, Joochan pulls off the thorns, all the while trying not to feel like he’s betraying your song, your art, then nestles the bloom gently behind her ear. “For you,” he chokes, forcibly ignoring the tightness in his chest.

She touches the rose gently, fingers brushing against the petals. She looks beautiful in that moment, eyes shining, figure lovely against the green garden and sunlight, and not for the first time, Joochan wishes he could have just fallen in love with her. It would make things so much easier.

But the knowledge that he’d have no freedom in this marriage even if he was able to love, keeps his heart from racing too fast in her presence. He couldn’t fall in love with Donghyun’s sister, never – there are too many secrets and hidden agendas behind their match.

“Thank you,” she says, voice soft. For a moment, her eyes sparkle with true peace, true happiness, and Joochan feels a little happier for her. But then a shadow falls over her gaze and she looks away, hand falling limply from the rose to her side. Silence stretches.

“Shall we keep going?” Joochan finally says once he feels uncomfortable enough that he needs to speak. Thankfully, she nods, the smile reappearing on her face as he takes her arm once more, leading her out of the shade and into the sun.

He tries not to look at the midnight blue rose he tucked behind her ear as he forces conversation. “Do you truly like the flowers here?”

“I love them,” she says earnestly. Joochan can tells she’s speaking the truth. “My kingdom has flowers too, but for some reason, the ones here just… they’re so much brighter. Livelier.” She smiles briefly. “Maybe it’s the song.”

Joochan knows what he should say next. He should say something like, “when we’re married, we’ll have a garden of our own,” something that a fiancé in love with his future wife would say.

He’s not in love, but he says it anyway. Because he should. And he thinks maybe the thought of a garden for herself will make her smile a little more, even if the marriage he mentions isn’t anything she wants.

At least, he thinks it isn’t what she wants. She’s polite enough and hasn’t said anything to indicate it, but body language and silence sometimes speak more than words.

Her smile turns smaller, lips pressing together as she shifts away from him, ever so slightly. Joochan confirms his suspicions. “That would be lovely.”

The expression on her face indicates anything but. And even though she was the one who initiated the walk, was the one who seemed to want to talk, she doesn’t speak for the rest of the afternoon. 

Neither does Joochan. 

. . . . .

Several days fly by in a blur. There’s another ball next week, even bigger than the last – Joochan will present the second courting gift to his fiancée, as per his kingdom’s tradition (the first was sent on a long time ago), and she will engage him for the first dance, as per hers. On the one night you two are scheduled to meet, Joochan lowers down a note saying I’m sorry, Y/N, but I’m exhausted tonight – I can barely stay awake long enough to write this.

You’ve taken to bringing a stub of a pencil with you on these nights so that your communication isn’t only by song. This time is no exception, and Joochan quickly lifts up the string at your subtle tug.

Need a lullaby?

Your voice almost soothes him to sleep on the balcony.

He gets through the next couple of days, gets through the last minute fittings for new clothes (as if he needs more), opinions on the appetizer menu (shouldn’t they be asking the cooks?), what flowers would fit best the theme best (they bring in a vase of night-blooming roses and all Joochan can think of is you). Joochan tries to go through it with a smile on his face – he doesn’t trip over his fiancée’s feet or skirts when they have their lessons, which makes Youngtaek seem a little more satisfied – but when the night of the ball actually arrives, Joochan almost fights Jaehyun when his servant comes to drag him out of bed.

The flowers in his room were replaced about a week ago, yellow and red tulips forming a bright sunburst on his desk. Perhaps someone was just trying to cheer him up. Or maybe they somehow knew his fiancée’s favorite flowers were tulips and decided to make a little joke.

Joochan tries not to look at their slightly wilted stems. They only remind him of a certain night-blooming rose whose face he hasn’t seen in weeks.

He wears a dark suit, deep blue trimmed with silver embroidery around the shoulders and cuffs. Jaehyun puts a few last touches on his makeup and hands Joochan an earring, telling him to put it in – “You’re the servant, shouldn’t you be dressing me?” “Are your fingers that inept, Your Royal Highness?” – before taking the prince’s crown off the pillow it was delivered on, silver and jewels glinting in the evening light filtering through the window. The cold weight settles on Joochan’s head.

“There,” Jaehyun says softly. “You’re ready.”

Joochan lifts his gaze to the mirror. A young man stares back, faded pink hair swept elegantly off his forehead, an earring glinting just above his shoulder. Makeup around his eyes makes them darker, more piercing, and he wears a fine blue suit, slim silver chains draping over the shoulders and around the neck. The jewels in the crown sparkle brilliantly, even in the fading light.

He swallows hard. The young man copies the movement. He averts his eyes, clenching his fist.

This man in the mirror, the man Joochan knows is himself, looks fine and elegant and handsome, almost exactly what a prince should be. If he didn’t know he was cursed, Joochan might even dare to say he was the perfect model of royalty, second only to maybe his brother.

He’s never hated it more.

Jangjun’s characteristic knock sounds at the door before Joochan can take more time to hate himself. Jaehyun helps him out of the chair and squeezes his shoulder slightly, their previous teasing mood forgotten in the wake of what they both know Joochan has to do next. With a brief “good luck” and “thanks,” Joochan opens the door.

Both of Jangjun’s eyes rise the second he sees Joochan. “Looking good, Your Highness.”

Joochan scoffs lightly. “You just want me to say you look good too, right?”

He does look good. Few people are blind to the fact that Jangjun is actually very handsome, and Joochan has caught more than a few servants staring sometimes when he walks down a hall, his guard stepping along right beside him. With him dressed as a partygoer instead of in his usual uniform, Joochan thinks his guard will attract even more stares than usual tonight, but Jangjun doesn’t need the ego boost. He can live without it.

“Caught.” Jangjun’s eyes crinkle into a smirk. “But I know I look good, so I don’t need you to say it.” The smile fades, replaced with determination and concern. “Ready to go?”

No.

“Yes.” Joochan steps further into the hallway. Briefly, he wonders how people would react if he tripped while presenting the gift to Donghyun’s sister. “Come on.”

. . . . .

He doesn’t trip. The princess gets her gift without anything more than the usual fanfare, a circlet of gold with a moonstone set into the front that Joochan places on her head with hands shaking both from nervousness and just in general not wanting to be there. Whoever did her dressing left her hair devoid of accessories, thankfully, just some clips holding a few strands back, so Joochan doesn’t need to awkwardly remove things or try to fit the circlet around preexistent ornaments. One less thing to worry about.

He accepts his dances, too, sailing about the ballroom on feet much heavier than hers that seem to be made of air. No mistakes on his end, though – he notices Youngtaek nodding in approval somewhere in the watching crowd – and when they separate at the end of the ball with the last traditional song, Joochan feels satisfied, even if not happy, that he’s at least played his part well.

(It doesn’t matter that when he walks his fiancée back to her rooms and bids her goodnight, he sees the rose he picked for her standing upright in a vase, taunting him with memories of you.)

(It also doesn’t matter that when he returns to his own quarters, the wilting tulips that were on his desk have been replaced by a bouquet of midnight blue with a tiny note sticking out from behind the petals, almost blending in with a streak of starry white.

Sleep well.

Joochan lies awake for at least another hour.)

. . . . .

Because the gods have somehow managed to keep him from seeing you on his walks in the gardens, Joochan doesn’t feel too worried that you’ll meet when he wanders down to the flowers after another wedding suit fitting. He needs to feel sunshine on his skin, not cold silk and satin.

To his surprise, he meets Donghyun’s sister by a patch of roses, and at her suggestion, they continue on together, mostly keeping a comfortable silence. It chafes at Joochan a little – was there something she wanted to say last time, something that she can still say now? – but she doesn’t say anything about it, only admires the flowers. He follows suit.

Then Joochan rounds a corner, trailing his fingers along a vine that creeps up the stone palace walls, and sees a familiar figure kneeling over a small patch of tulips.

He freezes. No, there’s no way that can be you –

The figure’s head lifts, and Joochan catches their eye almost accidentally.

He’d know that face anywhere.

“Your Highnesses.” You bow low, stiff, formal. Joochan aches for even a bit of familiarity to bleed into your voice, your actions, but you keep your face neutral as he bids you to stand. He searches your eyes, your lips, for something, anything –

But there’s nothing. And Joochan understands. It isn’t just you and him, this time – his future wife stands at his arm, and you must maintain your composure.

His fiancée’s voice jerks Juyeon out of his thoughts. “I believe we’ve met before, haven’t we?” she smiles. “You sang beautifully the last time I was here.”

Your head dips in respect. “Thank you, Your Highness. Your words honor me.”

“Joochan told me you were the one who managed to make the roses bloom under the balcony where no other gardener succeeded,” she continues. Joochan hides a flinch when his name falls from her lips, startlingly casual and almost a slap in the face to you, who can’t use his name as you always do for fear of punishment. Something in your eyes flickers, too, but Joochan can’t do anything more than hope his silent apology reads clear in his gaze as his fiancée keep speaking. “Your gift is great.”

Again, you bow in thanks. Your eyes remain downcast, demure and humble, as you speak. The lightest hint of detached teasing colors your tone. “Perhaps the roses were only waiting for the right person’s song, Your Highness.”

Donghyun’s sister clearly thinks you meant to teasingly brag about your own ability and she responds accordingly, laughing with a brightness he rarely sees on her face. But as she laughs, you lift your head slightly, fixing his gaze with yours.

Perhaps the roses were only waiting for the right person’s song.

The right person’s song.

The right person…

Joochan stares into your eyes, watching them soften. You meant him, he’s certain, as self-centered as it sounds. By the right person, you meant him.

Oh. Oh, gods…

“I agree,” he replies softly. 

Only he thinks that the right person was you.

Your eyes widen for a split second as you take in Joochan’s meaning. Something cracks in your expression, something raw and beautiful and so, so sad, and Joochan tries to memorize it so he can pick it apart later on – why do you look so radiant and so defeated all at once as your eyes flicker to the laughing fiancée at his side –

The right person.

The right person…

No. No. Joochan swallows hard, breaking his gaze from yours as his mind races. Nights spent under the moon, talking, singing, laughing as you clipped roses and leaves and soothed him with your voice…

Joochan is not in love with you. He isn’t, he can’t be, not when his fiancée is literally standing on his arm –

Your gaze catches his once more, and Joochan barely manages not to lose himself in your eyes.

He’s in love with you. Completely, wholly in love with you –

In his mind’s eye, Joochan sees your gaze flicker over to his future wife, turning dark upon contact.

Oh.

Joochan is in love with you.

And you might be in love with him.

He almost falls with the realization. Only his fiancée’s grip on his arm keeps him from swaying forward. Joochan looks at you, drinking in the sight of your eyes and you let him, staring back with a fervor as great as his –

But Joochan’s fiancée has finished her peal of laughter and you both have to look away, your eyes clouding into something darker while Joochan fights the ache in his chest. “Well, we won’t disturb you further,” she says, seemingly oblivious to his pain. “Thank you for your time.”

You bow, and when you straighten, your eyes linger on Joochan for a second longer than it should. “The pleasure was all mine.”

. . . . .

Joochan lies awake that night and several more, still reeling with the sudden realization that he is in love not with the person that people would like him to love, but with a gardener whose voice makes him feel like a night-blooming rose, petals opening in the night, free to blossom and free to grow, free to sing without causing pain.

And this gardener is in love with him too.

He tries to hide it. No one really notices – he keeps up a joking banter with his brother and Donghyun, fights playfully with Jangjun, and performs his duties as a future husband without fail. But several times, he catches Bomin looking at him with a weird expression or Jangjun staring over out of the corner of his eye.

It might be easier if he could tell them what he’s done, how he feels. But both would probably disapprove – Jangjun already suspects something about you, and Bomin, though he now understands Joochan’s revulsion to the marriage, wouldn’t be happy about him having fallen in love with someone else. It will only hurt Donghyun’s sister, too, and she doesn’t deserve that.

When Joochan makes his way back to his rooms several nights later, debating whether or not to even go out onto the balcony because he still can’t think properly, he doesn’t expect Jangjun to stop him just outside the door, a strange expression on his face.

“Joochan.”

He blinks. “Jangjun?”

The guard’s eyes flicker. “Go see them.”

“I –” Joochan frowns. “What?”

“Go see them,” Jangjun repeats in a hushed whisper. “They make you happy, don’t they?” A faraway look comes into his eyes for the briefest second before it disappears. “And you can sing in front of them.”

Joochan’s eyes widen. “How did you –”

“Don’t get mad,” Jangjun says, holding up his hands. “Bomin told me what you let slip to him. I didn’t tell him anything about Y/N, I swear – I just put two and two together, and, well. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” He holds Joochan’s gaze. “Don’t get mad at him. He’s just trying to understand. He hasn’t said a word to anyone else, not even Sanha.”

Joochan leans against the wall, trying to process all of the information. “I – Jangjun, what in the world –”

“Listen, Joochan.” Jangjun steps forward. “I know what it’s like to suppress a part of you for so long it feels like you’re dying.” His lips twist in a grimace of pain that Joochan barely has time to decipher. “If you’ve found someone who is able and willing to listen to your song, I’m not going to stop you.”

I know what it’s like to suppress a part of you for so long it feels like you’re dying.

Joochan frowns. As far as Joochan knows, Jangjun is ungifted – he just doesn’t have magic. What part of himself would he have suppressed, and for what reason?

The look on his guard’s face convinces him not to ask.

Swallowing, Joochan takes a deep breath and tries to focus on the meaning behind Jangjun’s words. He wants him to go, to meet you in person under the moon and stars and sing to the roses until midnight. A sick feeling rises in Joochan’s stomach. If Jangjun had said this months earlier, maybe even weeks, he would’ve run out right then and there. But now that he knows what he feels for you, not just for your song but you as a person…

Joochan swallows. He does need to speak to you, though, even briefly. And if Jangjun is willing to cover for him in case something goes wrong, then he should take this opportunity, shouldn’t he?

He nods. “Okay.”

Jangjun gestures to the end of the hall, down the secret passageway Joochan always took to find you. He doesn’t bother to question why Jangjun knows about it. “Then go.”

. . . . .

When Joochan arrives, you’re already under the balcony, humming to some of the rosebuds. You look up at his approach, eyes wide with first fear and then surprise. No wonder – you probably expected him on the balcony again, not right in front of you on the grass.

Joochan’s heart thumps. Gazing at you now, ethereal under the pale moonlight, he has to wonder how he didn’t realize he was in love with you until just a few days ago. Every piece of him aches to reach out, to hold your hands in his, to walk with you around the garden like he does with his fiancée…

His stomach twists at the thought of Donghyun’s sister. Why did their parents have to arrange this marriage?

“Joochan,” you breathe, standing up from where you were kneeling by the bushes. “I –”

“I love you.”

You freeze. Joochan freezes. For a moment, all that hangs in the air is silence and the echoes of Joochan’s words in the wind.

He doesn’t know what made him say it now, so suddenly like this. All he knows is that when you turned around and he heard you say his name, the only thing he could think was I love you, I love you so much I can’t even say and then it all came spilling out.

Finally, you swallow. For the first time since he spoke with you that day in the shed, you look rattled, discomposed, hands shaking as you fight to keep your voice steady. “You – you love me?”

Joochan swallows. Dips his head. “Yes,” he whispers. “I love you.”

Your expression cracks the same way it did when you met in the garden under the light of day, speaking of the roses right by you with his fiancée at his side. Splinters appear in your eyes, a rose’s petals withered past the point of growth even with the help of song, and Joochan can’t help but step forward, try to take your hands in his –

You jerk away and Joochan falters, suddenly unable to meet your eyes. Did he read you wrong? Do you not care for him the same way he cares for you? Because if you don’t, hell, Joochan doesn’t know what he’ll do –

“Joochan.” You swallow. “I mean, Your Highness.”

Pieces splinter off his heart, ice shards shattering on the floor with the sound of his title and not his name from your voice.

“You can’t – you can’t love me,” you whisper, pointedly looking away. “You have a title, you have a fiancée, you have everything –”

“I don’t have freedom,” Joochan interrupts. “No one can hear my song without dying and for that I don’t live, breathe the same way other people do – do you know how much everything hurt before I met you?” His eyes search yours for understanding, but you blink them closed. “Y/N, please.”

“Is that all you love me for, then?” you ask, features twisted in pain. “Just that I can listen to you sing, despite your curse?”

“No!” Joochan shakes his head wildly. “No – I love you for everything you are, beyond your voice and song –”

You remain silent as he speaks, words stumbling over more words as he tries to articulate everything he feels for you, his night-blooming rose under the moon and stars, one of the few people he trusts, one of the few around whom he feels like home. He loves your wisdom, your gentle teasing and sweet song, he loves the way you care so deeply for every living thing around you bar the pests you see sometimes eating the plants, he loves you for you, everything that makes up you –

“I love all of you,” he finishes, tears pulsing behind his eyes. “Not a part of you. All of you.”

Your gaze glitters with unshed tears. You don’t say anything.

Joochan panics. “Please, say something,” he pleads. “Just – anything. If you don’t feel the same, I’ll go away and I won’t come back, I promise, just please say something – tell me if you feel the same –”

One hand drags across your eyes. You swallow hard, finally meeting his gaze. “I do,” you say roughly. “I do love you, but we can’t – I can’t –” An angry sigh bursts from your lips and you wipe your eyes again. “Joochan, this could never end well.”

The relief at you using his name and not his title softens Joochan’s sadness, but only barely. “Run away with me,” he says desperately. “Just give me the word, Y/N, and I’ll run away with you. I won’t look back.”

“No.” You shake your head. “Neither of us is going to run away, Joochan. You have your life and I have mine. What we feel…” Your lips curve into the barest smile, lovely, haunting in the moonlight, before it disappears. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.”

“It matters to me,” Joochan protests.

“And it matters to me, too.” You attempt a smile and more pieces shatter from Joochan’s heart at the sight of you trying your hardest to remain strong when he’s already such a wreck. “But it won’t matter to others. You have a fiancée and a whole life ahead of you. My life will stay here, with the flowers.” Your smile grows briefly. “It’s okay. Just knowing that I will see you in the gardens is enough for me.”

“What if it isn’t enough for me?” Joochan asks. “What if I want to marry you, not my fiancée? What if I want us to have a garden together, not just one where we’ll see each other periodically –”

“That life isn’t for us,” you say softly, voice cutting clearly through his desperation. “It isn’t for us, Joochan.”

And with that, the last of Joochan’s heart falls away, cracks to pieces on the cold ground. For a moment, you only stare at each other, a million silent words filling the still air.

“Can we just have tonight, then?” Joochan whispers. “Just tonight.”

You chew on your lip. Joochan’s heart pounds.

Then you nod, and within seconds, he’s folded you into his arms, memorizing the warm weight of your body pressed against his. You shudder into his shoulder – you’re crying, he realizes, just as tears begin to fall from his own eyes – and then wrap your arms around him too, pulling him even closer than before. “Sing for me?” you whisper, voice cracking with tears.

He opens his mouth, begins to hum a song he learned years ago from sitting in on one of Bomin’s lessons. It speaks of hope, a new day, love blossoming as flowers do in a garden, as a night-blooming rose does under the moon. It’s strange, singing alone without your faint humming in the background as you keep the roses alive, but even as the flowers wither, Joochan steadies his voice enough to sing softly, smoothly, knowing that this will be the only night he can hold you like this.

You pull back after his song and for one brief, terrified moment, Joochan thinks you’re going to leave. But you only stare at him, stars sparkling in your eyes, and brush a strand of faded pink hair out of his forehead before your gaze lowers, settling on his lips. “May I?” you whisper, sounding almost frightened that he will say no.

Joochan doesn’t deign you with a verbal reply, only closes the distance and kisses you.

Bitterness on his tongue, sugar on your lips, Joochan pulls you close, close, closer, tasting the bittersweet from your mouth as you kiss under the moon. You separate for air and Joochan gasps a little, dizzy from the taste of your lips, and then you kiss him again, deeper, sweeter, again and again until it finally feels okay to stop for a little longer and you end it with a last brief peck on his lips.

“I love you, Y/N,” Joochan whispers as you bury yourself against him once more. “I love you.”

Your voice shakes as you reply. “I love you too, Joochan.”

(Neither of you notices a shadow at the edge of the wall, disappearing into the night.)

. . . . .

By some unspoken agreement, you and Joochan don’t meet under the stars anymore, not even with him on the balcony. That last night was an ending to something bittersweet and beautiful, but you made it clear that that was where things had to stop. Joochan is just grateful you let him have those last hours with you.

At least, that’s what he tells himself, even as he stops singing to himself in his empty room.

It isn’t the same. Joochan can’t sing, doesn’t want to sing if there isn’t someone to listen, to smile, to sing back a melody of their own. It doesn’t feel right. It feels like a betrayal.

You still come under his balcony sometimes to check on the roses. Joochan sometimes sits under the railing so you won’t see him (at least not as clearly), straining his ears to listen to you hum your song to the buds. The seasons are going to change soon, spring turning to summer, and you’ve talked about the changes you need to make when tending to the blooms with the shift in weather. He listens to the faint sounds of your movements and your voice, and he thinks you know he’s there, too, even if he doesn’t join in on your song.

Jangjun begins to look more and more confused as the days pass and Joochan just looks worse. He knows his guard meant well and expected him to be happier after that meeting he encouraged, so Joochan doesn’t have the heart to reveal what actually happened. Jangjun doesn’t ask, but he knows something went wrong.

You disappear from the gardens again. Joochan doesn’t see you when he takes his walks, and even his fiancée remarks on how they never encounter you after a few weeks pass with no sign. For you, Joochan is grateful – it clearly only hurt you to see the two of them together, and he doesn’t want you to hurt at all – but selfishly, he wishes he could see your face just one more time.

“It’s okay. Just knowing that I will see you in the gardens is enough for me.”

What’s the use of that when you never let yourself see him in the first place?

But Joochan respects your wishes, and even when people start remarking on his pale face and the dark circles under his eyes, he doesn’t say anything. He just smiles, nods, says I’ve just been busy lately, don’t worry about me, and carries on. No sense in telling anyone about his broken heart.

He takes a walk in the gardens one afternoon, alone. Bomin offered to come, but Joochan wanted to be by himself (well, by himself with Jangjun, of course). Almost unconsciously, his feet take him under his balcony, where the night-blooming roses grow.

Joochan sits on the grass in the shade looking at the roses. Most of the buds have blossomed with the warmer summer weather, and he fingers a few of the midnight blue blooms, runs a hand over the soft white streaks on their petals.

Then he blinks. Scoots back. Takes in the scene from a farther distance, eyes narrowing in confusion, then widening in surprise.

They’re overgrown. Not by a lot, but still a noticeable amount. The branches that you kept so carefully trimmed now crawl up the wall, creeping past the shade and just barely into the sun.

Joochan frowns. There’s no way you would be this careless normally, but maybe you’ve been busy over the past week or so and haven’t had time to tend them. After all, the rest of the gardens are your main focus – this bush was something extra, since nothing is ever really planted here out of fear of his voice. Come to think of it, Joochan hasn’t heard your voice from the balcony in a few days – he thought it might’ve just been you singing too quietly, but maybe you weren’t there at all.

Busy. You must be busy. Joochan stands, casting one last uncertain glance at the overgrown rose bush before walking off, ignoring Jangjun’s look of concern. He’ll come back and check in a few days to see if they’ve been trimmed.

A few days pass. Then a week. Joochan waits on the balcony every night, straining for a single note that sounds like your voice. Nothing.

And the rose bush is out of control.

. . . . .

On the fifth visit, Jangjun finally says something.

“Your Highness –” he looks around before deciding they’re alone, then drops the formalities. “Joochan, seriously, is something wrong?”

Yes. Something is very wrong. Joochan has come to look at the roses five times and each time they’ve just grown even more out of control. No one is taking care of them.

Which means you haven’t been here. In weeks.

Joochan swallows, debating whether or not to tell Jangjun everything. He could help – Jangjun knows the palace almost better than Joochan himself does, and he has a way with words that lets him seek out the information he needs without giving away what he wants. Joochan might talk to Bomin, but his brother is both busy and in closer proximity to his parents. Plus, he doesn’t have as much freedom to maneuver as Jangjun.

He swallows. “Jangjun, can you find out if something has happened to Y/N?”

Jangjun frowns. “The gardener? Why?”

“They haven’t been here to tend the roses in weeks,” Joochan says helplessly. “Please don’t ask me how I know, but…” He gestures at the overgrown bush. “I think something’s happened to them.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Jangjun sets his jaw. “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you.” It isn’t a question.

“Not… not now,” Joochan allows. “If something happens, though…” He takes a deep breath. “I’ll tell you what you need to know. All of it.”

Jangjun nods. “Fine. Give me a few days, I’ll see what I can find.”

Joochan only hopes he isn’t too late.

. . . . .

Two days later, Jangjun grabs Joochan out of nowhere and shoves him into an empty room.

Joochan coughs on dust particles flying in the air. “Jangjun, what the –”

“Joochan, you need to tell me everything.” Jangjun’s eyes hold no mischief whatsoever. “Y/N is sitting in prison underneath us this very minute and I need to know how it could have slipped that they know of your curse.”

How it could have slipped.

Slipped.

How –

“What?” Joochan sputters, heartbeat rising. “I couldn’t – I don’t know how anyone would have – we haven’t spoken in a month –”

“Seungmin told me they haven’t been at work for at least two weeks and that they just disappeared. It matches up with the time a new prisoner was brought in,” Jangjun snaps. “Try to remember. Something, anything.”

Joochan closes his eyes. Tries to think. You’re in prison, in prison, because someone somehow found out that you know of Joochan’s curse even though no one has been around when you two sang together – that has to be true or else they would’ve died at the sound of his song, and no one died –

Was there a time when he wasn’t singing?

Oh.

There was – that last time –

His eyes fly open. “That time you told me to go –” he chokes, does his best to continue – “we met, and I told them that I loved them but –”

“But what?”

Joochan puts his head in his hands. “We agreed that it couldn’t work out so we just spent that one night in the garden – nothing happened, don’t look at me like that – but neither of us sang much and someone could’ve heard something and – they could have pieced it together?”

“Okay.” Joochan hears Jangjun take a deep breath. “Okay. That would… that would explain it.” Hands place themselves on Joochan’s shoulders and he opens his eyes to Jangjun’s serious expression. “What do you want to do about this?”

Joochan blinks. What does he want to do about this? What kind of question – “I need to get them out, obviously!”

“Then they’ll be on the run for the rest of their life,” Jangjun counters. “Granted, they’re just a gardener and they might be able to blend in somewhere on the outskirts.” He squeezes Joochan’s shoulders so hard it almost hurts. “Would you go with them?”

In a heartbeat. In a heartbeat.

“Even if it meant giving up living in the palace, bringing a lot of trouble on Bomin and possibly breaking your fiancée’s heart?”

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

“Bomin – Bomin will understand,” Joochan says, desperately trying to convince himself. “And Donghyun’s sister doesn’t love me. She doesn’t want this marriage any more than I do.”

“There will be political ramifications,” Jangjun warns. “I know you weren’t raised as the crown prince, but you have to know this much.”

Joochan scoffs. “My parents will try to pull it off as a kidnapping or something,” he says. “No way would they let it slip that I dared to run away.”

“Then they could send an assassin or a mercenary after you. Kill Y/N, bring you back. Force you to return to everything you tried to run away from.”

Fear bubbles in Joochan’s stomach, but he swallows it down. “If Y/N is willing to deal with it, so am I.”

Jangjun searches his expression for several excruciating seconds. When Joochan doesn’t flinch from his gaze, he finally pulls back and nods. “Prison break is the last resort,” Jangjun says. “Right now, you need to go to your parents and see if you can convince them to let Y/N go. Swear them to secrecy, keep them under watch in the palace or something – it doesn’t matter. Getting them out of here will be much easier if they’re not imprisoned in the first place. Tell Bomin, ask him to help you convince them if you think that’ll help.”

Joochan swallows, still feeling the burn of Jangjun’s hands on his shoulders. The residual pain clears his mind, helps him think. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”

. . . . .

Bomin takes it about as well as Joochan thought he would, which is not as well as he would’ve liked but better than it could have been. After seemingly endless explanation, he agrees to back Joochan – you’re only a gardener, after all, this is kind of overkill, and Bomin is just a good brother like that. It almost makes Joochan cry again.

As the doors to the throne room open, Joochan’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. He hates facing his parents, hates looking at them and speaking to them more than most things in the world, but for you?

He’ll do it.

Joochan walks into a silent room, boots thumping on the cold stone floor. Bomin’s footsteps just behind him give him strength as he looks up to his mother and father, sitting with blank expressions on their thrones. “I request that the room be cleared.”

His father searches his gaze. “Request granted.”

It takes a minute for all the guards and officials to filter through the doors, during which Joochan tries to calm his beating heart. Finally, the room is empty save for his immediate family.

Joochan swallows. “I ask that you take Y/N out of prison.”

Eyebrows raise. Joochan hates that they don’t even seem to recognize your name. “The gardener,” he almost snaps, reigning himself in only just in time when he catches Bomin’s warning look.

Faces clear. Eyes become stone. “They know the secret of your curse,” his father says, voice flat and cold. Joochan can hardly believe he has healing power – his voice sucks all the heat out of the room. Your voice always made him feel warm. “They cannot be left to wander the kingdom and spread the word.”

“So bind them to secrecy. Keep them under watch in the palace,” Joochan counters. “They shouldn’t have to be stuck in prison – there are already people outside our immediate family who know, and they’ve kept their mouths shut!”

“They have not been vetted by the palace,” his mother snaps. “They are liable to speak, and as such, they must be kept away.”

Kept away. Like an inanimate object, a toy from ages past, to be locked in a cupboard and never shown the light of day…

Bomin shoots him a sharp glance, but Joochan is sick of this.

“Are you serious?” he yells. “You – have one single ounce of sympathy, will you? Or is that impossible with the way you’ve been running your kingdom – your household – for so long?”

“You are marked by death,” his mother snarls. “It is imperative that no one know this beyond all those necessary.”

“Father, they’re just one person,” Bomin breaks in before Joochan can explode again. “It’s entirely possible to not keep them in the prison and just keep watch over them –”

“You clearly have much to learn before you become king.” Their father shakes his head, as though disappointed. “Just one person? One sick person can spread an illness to a city within days, and illness travels even slower than words. How fast do you think news of this would spread if your gardener decided to speak?”

Joochan scoffs. “You never have any problem paying people off to be quiet or do things you want them to do. What’s so different this time?”

“I? Pay off a gardener?” His father laughs. “Who do you think I am?”

Joochan explodes.

“You think so highly of yourself, don’t you?” he yells. “You think so highly of yourself just because you wear a crown made of some shiny metal and jewels – you think you have the right to rule because of your supposed royal blood even though there’s nothing but cold evil under the surface? We are the descendants of killers – your father wiped out the weavers and you have no sympathy, so how can you think you have the right – why do you think you can just play people as pawns and have them do whatever you want – even your children – do you ever think about what we want?” Angry tears brim in his eyes but Joochan keeps them back. “I never wanted any of this! I never asked for my gift, I never asked to be born, I never asked to be the evil, death-marked child you always made me out to be, I never asked for the arranged marriage, all I ever wanted was to be happy and to use my gift but I couldn’t even do that – and now you’re taking away half the reason I still want to live by shutting them in a prison because of something they found out by accident –”

“You have no gift,” his mother intones, voice icing Joochan’s veins. “You are cursed.” Her lip curls. “Your song is no gift to us.”

Bomin makes an outraged sound in his throat, but Joochan barely hears it. All he can register is the blood roaring in his ears, the cold look on his mother’s face, the abhorrence and disgust on his father’s –

And he knows it isn’t true. You’ve taught him otherwise. Death is a part of a cycle – some flowers you can’t even bring back from their withering, it is just their time – and life needs it just as much as death needs life. Just as much as he needs you.

But hearing the words come directly from his mother’s lips, the woman who bore him, hurts almost more than your words can heal.

Joochan swallows. He could end it all right now. Tell Bomin to get out, sing, watch his song wither his parents away like the petals of an old rose – no, not a rose, even a withered rose is a sight better than the two monarchs sitting in front of him –

But he isn’t a killer. Not by far. He can’t do it.

Joochan steps back once. Twice. His voice, though small, carries in the silence.

“You know,” he chokes, “for people who pride yourselves on your ability to heal, all you really do is cause pain.”

He doesn’t wait for Bomin to follow before he runs out of the room.

. . . . .

Jangjun finds him in his quarters with Bomin half an hour later, sitting on the floor and staring at the wall. “It didn’t work out.”

Joochan doesn’t need to say anything to confirm it.

“So what happens next?” Bomin asks, still rhythmically patting Joochan’s back. It helps a little.

“We break Y/N out,” Jangjun says. “And they run away with Joochan.”

Bomin doesn’t look surprised, but Joochan’s heart still twists. He doesn’t want to leave Bomin or Jaehyun or Jangjun behind – they’re some of the only people who’ve kept him sane since he was old enough to think – but at the same time, he’s been itching to just leave the scrutiny of his parents for years.

After so much pain, even brotherly ties won’t keep him here for much longer.

“I’m going with you.”

Joochan’s head snaps up. Bomin furrows his eyebrows. “What – Jangjun?”

“They might send assassins after you and Y/N.” Jangjun crosses his arms. “I know you’re good in a fight, but Y/N doesn’t know anything about that sort of life. I do. You need me there to lead people off track, plant evidence –”

“That’s not the only reason,” Joochan interrupts. His eyes narrow. “You’re hiding something.”

Jangjun’s jaw works. He doesn’t look angry, exactly, maybe worried –

No.

For the first time Joochan has ever seen, his guard looks scared.

Bomin casts Joochan a concerned look. “Jangjun, it’s fine –”

“I’m a weaver.”

Joochan’s jaw drops. So does Bomin’s. Jangjun just stares back, defiant, arms crossed to hide the shaking in his hands.

A weaver. Joochan’s guard is a weaver. His loyal guard is one of those his forebears tried to wipe out generations ago – so why is he here, protecting the descendant of those who probably killed his family, his ancestors –

All of a sudden, Jangjun’s words from so many weeks ago make sense.

I know what it’s like to suppress a part of you for so long it feels like you’re dying.

He’s a weaver. One of those who wove stories into clothes, one of those his grandfather tried to massacre.

“Why?” Joochan manages.

“I was decent at fighting and needed a stable roof over my head that wasn’t the orphanage,” Jangjun explains. An unreadable look flashes through his eyes. “Took the first opportunity I could get and thought I would hate it. But then I realized… neither of you are your parents. Not even close.” He swallows. “So I stayed. Longer than I expected to.”

“So why leave now?” Bomin asks. “You could still stay – I mean, if we’re the only people who know –”

“Daeyeol knows too,” Jangjun says. Bomin starts at the name of his personal guard. “He knows, and he told me that some of the higher ups have been getting suspicious of… things. My unknown parentage. Why I’m so good at sewing.” He scoffs. “Like only commoners can be good at sewing. But yeah. No one will care how loyal I am if they find out I’m a weaver, so I’m going to have to run off at some point.” His jaw sets. “I might as well go along with you.”

Joochan has to try hard not to cry. “Thank you.”

“Don’t be a sap.” A sliver of the old Jangjun comes back in the scowl that paints itself across his face. “Bomin, you could come with us, you know that right?”

He shakes his head. “No, I need to stay back. If both of the princes disappeared, there’s no telling what our parents would do.” Bomin swallows. “Who knows. Maybe one day, when they’re gone, you might be able to come back.”

That would be a dream.

“Thank you, Bomin,” Joochan whispers.

His brother squeezes his hand in response.

“Well, that settles it.” Jangjun snaps his fingers before Joochan can do something stupid like cry. “Get moving. We need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

. . . . .

Joochan does not like the prisons. He’s been there before, but every time, the mildew smell and darkness make him want to hurl.

The fact that you’re in here, though, spurs him on.

Jangjun makes quick work of the last guard, slamming the handle of his sword into his head. The man crumples to the ground. Joochan stands over another unconscious man, peering forward into the darkness. “Down the hall?”

“Yeah.” Jangjun looks down at his arm. “Oh, come on.”

“What happened?”

“Just a scratch.” Jangjun waves him off. “Go and find them. I’ll stand guard here. There should be one more left, two at most. You can handle it.”

Heart in his throat, Joochan turns towards the dark. Several torches flicker light onto the stone walls and he takes care to remain in their shadows as he creeps down the line of cells, eyeing the guard standing at the end.

One shot. One chance. Joochan takes another step. Another –

The guard turns around.

For a moment, they only stare at each other, eyes wide. Then Joochan leaps forward.

Metal clangs. Armor crashes. Joochan whirls, dodging a metal-covered fist before slamming his sword against the side of the man’s helmet. He crumples to the floor.

Joochan experimentally prods the body with his foot. Breathing, but unconscious. Good. He plucks off the ring of keys –

“Joochan?”

He spins around at the sound of your voice and meets your gaze, face thinner, eyes wider, but still you. Still you.

“Y/N,” he breathes, rushing forward. His fingers tremble as he tries one key after another, all the while trying not to cry. What did they do to you? “Give me a second, we’re getting you out.”

A key finally clicks and Joochan drops the ring, pulling open the cell door and letting you fall into his arms. He holds you close as you shake against his shoulders, chest heaving, not crying yet but the small sounds in your throat make it seem like you’re close –

“We need to go,” Joochan whispers, squeezing you one more time. “Come on, Y/N.”

You lift your head. “Where are we going?”

Good question. Joochan doesn’t even know. Just away, away from the palace, away from everything…

“We’re running away,” he says. “Both of us. And Jangjun.”

To your credit, you take it without question, only nodding and pulling back. Joochan wants to hug you again, but there’s not time. “I guess we should go, then.”

. . . . .

Bomin meets them as they emerge from a dark passageway, immediately pressing a bag into Joochan’s hands. Something rattles inside. “Money,” he says. “And hair dye. You need to get rid of that pink.”

He wraps Bomin in a hug. “Thank you.”

“Live a good life, yeah?” Bomin pats his back, hand steady even as his voice trembles. “I’ll see you again.”

Joochan blinks back a tear. “Definitely. Tell Jaehyun, okay?”

“Of course.” And with that, they separate.

Joochan only hopes that another meeting will come to pass.

Jangjun leads them down endless halls and passageways, some even Joochan doesn’t know. All the while he holds your hand, pulling you forward anytime it feels like you’re faltering, and in the end, Jangjun pushes open a last door and you burst into the early evening, a floral scent in the air. The gardens. 

He looks around. 

Meets a familiar face.

Shit.

“Joochan?” His fiancée takes a hesitant step forward, eyes flickering between the three. Your grip tightens on his hand. “What – where are you going?”

Jangjun looks at him. So do you.

He says nothing.

Her eyes widen. “You’re running away.”

No one needs to confirm it. Their clothes, the bag on his shoulder, the weapons strapped to his and Jangjun’s waists say everything.

“Yes,” Joochan finally says, lifting his chin. “I’m sorry.”

Her expression sinks, though she puts a smile on her face. “I understand.” Her gaze shifts to you. “You were never in love with me. It was obvious.”

The ache in Joochan’s heart grows even stronger. “I –”

“It’s fine.” Her smile takes on a semblance of mischief. “If it doesn’t hurt your ego too much, I was never in love with you.”

Joochan almost laughs. “I figured.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Her lips turn down slightly, a little wistful. “Shame, though. I think we could’ve been friends.”

“I think so, too.” And it’s true. If they hadn’t been forced into all of this…

“Well, I never saw you. Not even a glimpse.” His former fiancée begins to turn around. “Don’t mind me, just walking in the gardens.”

He calls her name, just before she fully turns. She looks back. “Hm?”

For a moment, Joochan falters. This could go very wrong.

But he decides to take a chance.

“Find Bomin,” he says. “Tell him I said he could tell you everything. Donghyun, too. And for what it’s worth…” He swallows. “I really am sorry.”

“Things rarely go according to plan.” She smirks. “Our parents should’ve thought of that first.”

They really might have been friends. Joochan tries not to think of what could have been as he follows Jangjun between bushes, helping you through trees, crawling under fences until they reach the edge of the forest that borders the palace.

Jangjun plunges in, but Joochan pauses. Looks at you. Even gaunt, thinner from weeks of prison, you are radiant under the rising moonlight that filters between the trees.

You smile at him, squeezing his hand. “Ready?”

So many times, he’s been asked that question before balls, before events, before arranged marriage meetings, and every time, though he said yes, his real answer was no.

This time, however…

“Are you two done being saps?” Jangjun hisses from further into the forest. “Hurry up!”

Nothing is certain anymore. He might now technically be a fugitive. But tomorrow is a new day, and though Joochan is on the run, he’s with you. 

And he’s free.

Joochan smiles at you, ignoring his guard. “Ready.”

Together, you slip into the night.

. . . . .

The palace called it kidnapping. There was a manhunt for months, search parties looking for a gardener and a royal guard, the prince’s alleged kidnappers. Many thought it ludicrous, however, that a mere gardener and a guard who had been known to be loyal to the prince for years would attempt something as ridiculous as this, and simply left the palace to fumble through its affairs in the wake of the disappearance.

The former prince himself dealt with assassins sent after his partner, bounty hunters charged to bring him back (dead or alive, he learned, it didn’t matter – if he were dead, at least no one would have to deal with him anymore). The guard lured them all away. Together, the three plunged further into the country outskirts until there was no trace left, not even of the last assassin who had been sent to take care of them all.

This is where the story should end, with two black-haired brothers and a gardener settling quietly at the edge of a forest. Yet though the words now come to close, the world still remains.

The end of one story, after all, is only the beginning of another.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for a certain trio + a prince back at the palace)

#kpopscape #golden child #golcha #gncd #joochan #hong joochan #golden child joochan #golcha joochan #golden child scenarios #golden child imagines #golden child oneshots #golcha scenarios #golden child joochan scenarios #golcha joochan scenarios #golden child x reader #golcha x reader #hong joochan x reader #joochan x reader #golden child joochan x reader #golcha joochan x reader #fluff #angst #fantasy #tw death #tw cursing #tw blood #royalty!au #wisdom weaver!au #to bloom in the night #scriptura-delirus

[murdocking]

𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭

c𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟣; 𝗍𝗌𝗎𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗆𝖺 𝗄𝖾𝗂/𝖿𝖾𝗆! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒. 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗂𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌.

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌. 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁. 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗂𝗄𝖺𝗐𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗌...𝗆𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗇...𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗌𝗁...𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝖫𝖬𝖠𝖮𝖮𝖮 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖻𝗎𝗍... 𝗐𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝗀𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗇

Lights adorned every crevice of the wonderous palace, the land decorated with vibrant flowers covering the twisting vines on the archway to the prince’s home. Carriages and stallions littered the entrance of the stone castle, beautiful people with smiles on their faces made their way to the open doors where music played by the talented Takeda swarmed the main room. As couples whispered small compliments to each other and gossiping mothers chose appetizers for their husbands and children- the prince was being dolled up by his irritatingly clingy friends.

“please tsukki- it’s just a little more left-“ “I cannot even breathe through this disgusting paste on my face- god can these imbeciles leave this is pointless.” The prince sighed in heavy annoyance, his blonde hair being tied back (he swore he was going to grab one of Miss Yachi’s knives and cut it himself) and glasses thrown on the vanity’s hardwood. “oh be quiet- its only for a few hours not to mention you enjoy ridiculing your people Tsukishima.” Sugawara grumbled, tired of his complaints as he mixed more water in his brush to loosen its bristles; to which Tsukishima jerked his head, standing up to look down on his older companion. “don’t you forget your place.” Yamaguchi simply stares at the articulate tile below his foot, wanting nothing more than to be immersed into the joy the people displayed outside of the stuffy room he was currently in.

Ukai stands behind his companion, Takeda, while his delicate fingers hit every key on his piano perfectly- simply whispering to him about future songs the two would be playing later during the prince’s ball; Takeda would answer with a distracted tone to all the questions Ukai posed, frustrated the blonde to no end.

“you’re lucky you have an excuse not to be paying attention right now, Takeda.” “of course, that’s perfect monsieur Ukai.” “god dam- “

The moon seemed to be even brighter that night, and to Tsukishima Kei- it was as though the gods had decided to mock his name as he spent another year alone for his birthday, hands of his ‘servants’ fixing his appearance while Sugawara spoke with faux pride in the main room to introduce his prince. The room filled with harsh silence as Tsukishima’s tall stature stepped quietly down the carpeted steps with an uninterested gaze over the crowd of people he didn’t know, and didn’t wish to know. “my prince, it is my honor to begin your-“

The dark doors that had been shut close suddenly opened, the creak of its hinges holding more volume than Sugawara or Takeda could have ever wished to achieve. A battered down woman limped in, her hair was thin against her fragile face- her wrinkles holding dirt and mud, evidence of tough travel conditions. Tsukishima could barely contain his chuckle at her appearance.

“m-my prince…! Please, if you would be so kind a-as to help me, I seem to ha-“ “and you have the pure audacity to enter my home, disgustingly ruining the beauty of this ball…and not even bring me a gift…? You are a bold woman…” Tsukishima scoffed under his breath, Yamaguchi frowned at just how hurtful his best friend had become. “b-but my prince, I do bring you a gift…” she turned to her worn down and sopping satchel, pulling a beautiful rose that even Sugawara could smell from his place in the middle of the room. Its petals shimmered in the candlelight of the party- and its green stem was of such a pigment that all attending were sure not even the finest of painters could achieve such a hue.

Tsukishima breathes hard, walking closer to the elderly woman before gently taking the rose. He stares at it a moment, his hands moving on their own as he throws it behind his back with a small “oops”. the woman stared at his highness in pure disbelief, his arrogance had upset her to the highest degree.

“very well.” she stands up, and its as though she was growing in front of Tsukishima as he stared at the elderly woman morph into a beautiful woman who seemed to only be in her 20s. ‘well fuck?’ she held a strong glare at him as her ripped hood lifted off of her short brown hair, twisting into dark silver crown that never met her strands of hair. “Tsukishima Kei.” He gulped slightly, his hands grabbing onto the end of his shirt as he tried to focus on the (slightly blurry) scene before him, the lady easily moving behind him to grab the flower he had earlier discarded. “although appearances may be deceiving, all should know who you really are at heart” her delicate hand pushed harshly against his chest, her eyes never moving from his “I damn you to become what you really are” her finger snapped in front of his face and stole his coming breath instantly. “a detestable beast.”

When he opens his mouth to retort, a scream erupts instead as his bones and joints of his hands felt like they were being stretched by a torture machine, his spine felt contorted against his caving and heaving stomach. the enchantress watches in amusement, her stare towards his party held no remorse as the flick of her wrist opened the doors once more. “I will count down from 30. You have that long until you join your dearest prince.” it was something out of a manic state that made families depart without a care for each other- a child being separated from their father, and a man being lost without his love. the cooks in the far back of the palace broke the windows with a poor attempt of leaving the horror of the castle as Tsukishima’s screams of pure agony and pain changed into animalistic growls. the enchantress twirls the rose in her hand, her voice of honey contrasting the words that fell out of her mouth “if by the last petal falls, and you have truly loved someone and they have loved you back- you and everyone here will be free from my curse. However,” she cranes her neck and motions her hand downwards- closing the gates to the castle and boarding up all the glass pane windows, “if not, you will forever be a beast. And everyone here will be part of your castle- for eternity.” And with a final roar of protest and pain, Tsukishima had truly become a beast.

 -----

“I don’t think I understand that- how could you be selling a whole loaf of bread for 3 coins yesterday and today it is 7 coins for half of a stale loaf? What sick game are you playing here, Bokuto?” You speak with annoyance, tapping your foot on the stone floor while your friend gives you a short smirk “im not playing anything besides business. That, my friend, was merely a discount. You have to pay my full price.” He retorts, giving a smile to a child as the boy hands the older one a bag of coins- setting two loaves of fresh bread onto the kid’s small hands “now I know you’re lying straight to my face, Bokuto.” You say, stuffing your hand into your dirty dress pocket, counting the silver coins in your head as you pull out 2 more before pressing them onto the wooden table. “there’s no way I’d be receiving your ‘discount’ for nearly 19 years. Just give me the bread and I’ll be on my way.” he ponders for a moment, his eyes getting lost in the crowd when he sees the black tuff of hair wandering through the middle of it. “fine, just this onc-“ “thank you Bokuto pleasure doing business with you!” You quickly snatch the fresh bread beside him instead of the one you two had previously agreed on, to which you heard his protests fade out as you stuffed the bread into your woven basket. you greet the widow by the bookstore with a wave and a quarter of poorly cut bread.

“you know, you never have to give me this my dear.” “it is alright though! Kou always lets me off the hook, so I don’t mind sharing Ms.” You say, giving a curt nod before departing- heading inside to catch the eye of Akaashi, his eyes quickly scanning your outfit and bag, seeing the bread inside. “he was looking for you again” “should I feel honored?” you scoff, and he lightly rolls his eyes as he hands you the newest supply of books. “im sorry to disappoint, Y/n- but all we have are the same old stories. Even I’m getting tired of them all” the male beside you sighs, rubbing his eyes as you coyly take the one on the top of the stack. “oh that’s just fine Akaashi, I don’t mind it. It isn’t like I have much to do anyways” “you could be making friends but I mean, that’s just my input…” “now you-“ “hey akaashi!” Bokutos face suddenly comes in, startling you as Akaashi perks up- giving his friend a wave as his shirt and pants is coated in scattered flour. “bokuto what did I say about cleaning off before coming inside…” “but…” “well! I need to be going! Thank you again Akaashi for the supply. I’ll be back later with the ones I took last week” “you know you don’t have to y/-“ he speaks as you stand up, not wanting to be in the middle of the tense atmosphere. “I don’t mind it, I’ll see you both around okay?”

And as every day, you walk through the bustling town- ignoring the stares and whispers directed at you while you flipped the page of the book you were currently reading, the characters felt more real to you than the literal people bumping into you. you kept walking, following the same dusty stones as the day before to lead up a small hill to your part of town- small chicks running beside your foot as their mother hens stood behind them. “father, I’m home.” silence, he wasn’t home yet.

“you know, in a few years- instead of you saying that it could be our child.” You jump, being caught off-guard by the taunting voice of the most annoying piece of shit you had ever met. “oikawa… I don’t know if you know this, but- you’re quite delusional monsieur!” you speak with a fake pep- his smile never faltering as he gives your free hand a kiss. “oh but imagine the sight y/n. wouldn’t you agree it would be quite exquisite?” “no.” “oh” he stops speaking for a moment before a ‘tsk’ leaves from between his lips. “you know y/n, im honestly doing you a favor by asking you to be my wife. Everyone adores me and…I suppose you- you would be comfortable with me. I mean not to mention,” he leans down a little to meet your eyes, “when your father passes, there will be no suitors for you. of course, you are stunning- but being a wife ah… you’re probably…last on the list there. You wouldn’t want to end up the new village widow, would you? living off the kindness of the townsfolk?” his harsh words slipped from his pretty lips, and you stared in disbelief- you were genuinely hurt. “well,” you cleared your throat, blinking a bit to stop any form of an emotional outburst from rising to the surface. “I would rather be a street rat stealing from whoever than being someone’s medal from his war to show off and be of use for pleasantries.” You say, begging internally you wouldn’t crack under his strong gaze. “wow, I wouldn’t peg you for the type to bite. That only makes you more hm…” he gasps. “irritating.” “you should leave oikawa.” “you know where to find me, Y/n.”

-----

𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘓𝘔𝘈𝘖𝘖 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘪 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 + 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #haikyuu x reader #beauty and the beast #beauty and the beast au #haikyuu!! #haikyuu fanfiction #kei tsukishima #kei tsukishima fanfiction #tsukishima fanfiction #sugawara koushi #sugawara fanfiction #yamaguchi fanfiction

[msraven929]

**** Another of my TOG minifics. Joe x Nicky ****

Nicky woke suddenly, unsure what had pulled him out of sleep. It was still dark outside and he hadn't had a nightmare. Then it registered that the bed behind him was cold and empty.

Over the past few weeks—after Merrick and Booker and Copley—Nicky had only fleetingly noticed that Joe had begun separating himself. He stayed back when they walked and kept out of conversations unless directly addressed. Nicky had been so distracted by Andy and Nile that he let himself believe Joe was only taking extra time to adjust to having Nile with them. Now, Nicky was starting to realize his mistake.

Joe was so outwardly explosive in his joy and his anger that it was easy to forget how deeply his emotions truly ran. Nicky was more pragmatic and able to channel his negative thoughts to something useful, like caring for Andy or training Nile. Joe tended to internalize and often allowed his emotions to swirl into a dark maelstrom that was difficult to escape without help.

Nicky stayed in bed for another minute, but the house remained still and quiet. He slipped out from under the blankets and out of the bedroom. He passed the empty bathroom as he walked through the hall, then down the stairs into the small living room. The remnants of the fire they'd lit in the fireplace provided just enough light for Nicky to see Joe's sketchbook sitting open in front of the hearth. He stepped closer to crouch over the book and flipped through several pages, all of them blank. Joe never sketched when he was upset, unwilling to bring his darkest thoughts onto the paper.

The barest sound reached Nicky's ears and drew his attention to the far corner of the room. He stood and turned on the small lamp, unwilling to have this conversation in the dark. Nicky mirrored Joe's sitting position, their backs to the wall and knees up for their wrists to rest on. Nicky sat close enough so that their sides touched, but was still able to turn and watch Joe's face. Joe continued to stare, unseeing, in front of him.

"Will you tell me what's troubling you?" Nicky asked.

Joe took a long breath that sounded painful and constricted to Nicky.

"I'm afraid," Joe answered.

"What of?"

"Of loving you so deeply. Of what I'd become if I lost that love."

The words and the pang it sent through Nicky's heart were both familiar and unexpected. It had been so long since either of them had been conflicted about their love.

"Why?" Nicky prodded.

"Booker—" Joe choked on the word and his face twisted in pain. For a moment, Nicky wished that Booker were here so he could see the devastation his betrayal was still causing.

"We cannot understand what drove Booker to do what he did," Nicky reasoned calmly.

"But I can. I can understand because I am no different than Booker."

"No," Nicky replied with vehemence. "I don't believe that despite what you've convinced yourself to think."

"If you hadn't woken from that last shot—"

"If you lost me, you would suffer and never be the same," Nicky conceded, "but you would not turn to cruelty or sacrifice the others."

"How do you know?"

"You forget that my love for you runs just as deep. I know you better than I know myself. I know your heart. I know that you were the first to offer your hand to me in peace. You were also the first to offer me your friendship and then your love. After all the bad we have seen in our lives, I watch you, time and again, lead first with gentleness and I love you more each day because of it."

Joe shook his head. "I am also capable of brutality."

"Yes. So am I. So is Andy. There is always some brutality in fighting. But we have always tried to do some good with what we fought for. That does not make us evil or cruel."

"And Booker?"

Nicky sighed because he hadn't spent any energy trying to understand Booker's actions.

"I cannot explain Booker," Nicky replied honestly.

"He saw our love as salt to his open wounds."

"That is his failing, not ours. We never flaunted ourselves and I will not denounce you to soothe his selfish heart."

Joe finally looked at Nicky, eyes wide with surprise. "You're angry."

"Of course I'm angry. I watched you be stabbed, tortured, and killed several times in that lab. Did you think I wasn't?"

"You didn't act as if…"

"I didn't want to add to Andy's conflict and I've never shown my emotions as outwardly as you. You... do know I love you?" Nicky hated how the end was posed as a question.

"I never doubt it," Joe answered sincerely. He reached out to take Nicky's hand and Nicky's shoulders sagged with relief at the action.

"Then never doubt that your pain won't leave me unaffected." Nicky was beginning to see what had started Joe down this path of self doubt. "I'm sorry if you thought you were alone in your anger. Does it help knowing I feel the same?"

"Yes. I… I thought maybe I was wrong to be angry."

"We have every right to be angry. No matter his reasoning or his pain, there is no excuse for Booker's betrayal. He knew neither of us were looking for death, even if he thought Andy was."

Joe nodded and then sighed. "I want to understand how Booker could do what he did."

"We may never understand."

"I understand his despair. I felt it in that moment before you woke from that bullet."

"But knowing you could feel the same does not make you a reflection of Booker's failings."

"I'm not as sure."

Nicky turned to face Joe fully and gripped Joe's hand in both of his. "I do not lie to you. Do you believe me when I tell you that I've seen nothing in our long lives together that makes me think you're like Booker? And most definitely not like Merrick or Keane or any of the other truly cruel men we've known?"

"I believe you."

"Are you still afraid?"

"Yes. I am."

"I am too," Nicky confessed. "Not of our love, never that. If I lost you… I am most afraid of forgetting, in my grief, of what it feels like to be loved by you."

Joe looked at Nicky as if the thought had never occurred to him. Their fears were different, but rooted in the same place, in the same love. Nicky was confident that neither of them would be willing to discard their love just to keep the fear at bay.

"As always, we are two sides of the same coin," Nicky said and Joe smiled at the sentiment. "It also seems that we still have things to learn after all our years together. I should have voiced my own fears and anger. You are never alone, my love."

"I'm sorry for worrying you."

"I'm sorry for forgetting how deeply you take things within yourself. I've been neglecting you."

Joe shook his head. "The others needed you and it helps you to care for them."

Nicky smiled at Joe's understanding and leaned forward to give his cheek a kiss. "That is no excuse. However, it is repairable. You should get cleaned up while I pack our things."

"Are we switching safehouses?" Joe asked as they both stood. Dawn was just starting to break outside.

"No. You and I are going away for a bit."

"But—"

Nicky kissed Joe to stop whatever he was about to say. "We both need it. Andy is fine. Nile is good for her. They're safe here. We won't go too far or be gone for too long."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm very sure." Nicky hadn't realized how much he wanted time to themselves until he'd said it. He'd been neglecting himself as much as he had Joe.

Joe smiled and leaned forward to give Nicky a lingering kiss before he moved away.

They were close enough to head to the sea, Nicky decided as he watched Joe pick up his neglected sketchbook and head upstairs. Both of them had been born near a coast and the water still had a way of lifting their spirits. Even if Nicky couldn't find them a boat to rent, he'd find a house near enough to the shore that they could let the sounds and smells of the water soothe their souls.

Andy would understand Joe and Nicky's need to be on their own. Nile had been helping Andy find new life, but Nicky and Joe needed time to reaffirm their faith in themselves and each other. Nicky and Joe would return in a few weeks with Joe's sketchbook full of pictures—the small cabin with a leaky roof, the sailboat they'd rented for a few days, a family of stray cats, the view out their bedroom window, and a multitude of Nicky.

Back together, the four of them would cement their friendship and find their way to a new peace.

#the old guard #joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #minific #my fic #immortal husbands #x-posted to AO3

[cloveroctobers]

• ROHAN WASTI•

IG info/bio: @/niceguyroasti | 175k followers | Just here for a bit of fun 🤹🏽‍♂️! They don’t call me the brown handstand king for nuthin, mate 🎪🤸🏽‍♂️

(23) 25 (26) years old

From Wolverhampton, England

Before you ask...no he’s never met Liam Payne but Rohan’s sure he’s a great lad. (He was asked this question in one of his lives, he secretly thinks it was talia from one of her secret burner stan accounts lol) He’s got a nice tune with a boogie w da hoodie that he likes??

Anyways...he’s of Pakistani heritage

His mother used to work for a printing press company until she along with 15 other employees were laid off back in Sargodha

She was out of work for months becoming a stay at home mom (which his father initially wanted) 

While his father continued in ironwork

They uprooted their family to the uk two years later after Rohan’s father also got laid off

Rohan was about 7 years old when they moved to Wolverhampton

he picked up on the English language faster than his parents

Always a quick learner

He has two younger brothers

Who are really his cousins/friends of the family that his parents brought home from Pakistan after their parents passed in a tragic accident

he was eleven years old when he met them at the airport and was super excited to have sibs! & even encouraged his mom to let him buy them something they would like sort of like a ice breaker which they seemed to appreciate 😭

His parents wanted him to major in software engineering or any form of engineering really but that quickly became a “hell no” vs “hell yeah” after those courses started to rot his brain?

So what does he do? He decides he’s gonna major in psychology instead!

That seems more of his speed? Kinda? As long as he’s not dealing with that hardware shit then that’s cool with him tbh

Psych held more of his interest since he doesn’t have a issue with the whole science aspect tied into it but it’s deff lengthy and can be draining sometimes too

He doesn’t psychoanalyze everything like our girl marisol does

marisol will be like “hmm...you’re distributing narcissistic behavior based on your superego more than your ego ya know?”

but Rohan will either think it or think nothing of it and just continue to go with the flow lol. He’s that kinda guy

Why was he majoring in this in the first place? Just to say he had the degree in something maybe?

He’s 50/50 thinking he’ll just get the degree he’s halfway there but he really wants to be part of the circus

And now has circus themed tatts that he’s proud of thank u

Always had the obsession with all that comes with the circus, he had his paternal grandfather to thank for that

His grandfather used to juggle along with other forms of entertainment but mostly juggling on the street back in Pakistan to earn $ since there were a lack of jobs

The atmosphere there also was what got him into doing handstands cause why tf not

You can absolutely guess that the acrobats, trapeze acts, and tightrope entertainers are his favorites to watch

His parents just assumed it was a hobby of his and never took him serious even tho he openly said growing up that’s something he would like to do in life

He now understands the purpose of “freak shows” even tho he can honestly say those parts of the circus used to terrify him until he learned that not everyone is the same and there should be no shame in that

He will train on the side until he finishes his degree to make his parents happy but he knows he truly belongs in the circus and that’s where he will be someday whether his parents approve or not— after all this is his life

Lives on campus and is currently looking for a flat off campus to share with a roommate or two (he thought about asking jake & Tim but decided against it FOR NOW)

Mostly had temporary and odd jobs to get by each semester, has not had a steady job due to fully being a full-time student

He’s tried to be a full time student and full time employee (working as a package delivery man) just to burn himself out and never attempted to be a part time employee. It was not something he could handle sorry

His mother spoils him...he’s a bit of a mama’s boy

When it comes to relationships, it never seems to be what he thinks it is? One moment things are going great then the next he’s in the friend zone so he’s never quite sure where he stands with his significant others?

Which is why he thinks it’s safe to always start off in the friend zone or unintentionally puts those who have interest in him in the friend zone because that’s what’s comfortable to him

however if he’s really into you & you’re showing that you’re into him but it’s causal dating or whatever u want to call it? & you up and decide to pick the other over him catching him off guard he’s gonna be in his feelings about it 100% ex.) how he picked erikah over mc the 2nd time around and felt some type of way when erikah hopped on reeses dck

he wants communication even if it’s hard

and he wants someone to love unconditionally and for them to love him back

Definitely likes to sweep his loves off their feet

Especially when he’s kissing! The whole dipping you while you kiss, hand on the small of your back, or hands gripping your waist while he’s pressed up against you. Probably likes to bend you over things or have you pressed up against objects as well—Sign me tf up

I feel like he’s always warm and his hands are surprisingly soft with how many handstands he does in a damn day

He purchases hand moisturizing gloves

can always hold his own weight

enjoys core exercises

Will carry you on his back or his shoulders if you need to see better at festivals/concerts

He’s sexually fluid

It’s canon/hinted that something went on between him & jake when mc walked in that we missed by a few seconds or even a minute but I do think he’s attracted/was to jake and it’s canon that jake is bi bby

Plus he got excited when mc suggested that he’d date jake if jake doesn’t find someone in the villa so BOOM 🤗

Always active as a kid trying to do flips and shit likes he’s doing parkour much like Bobby ending up with bruises, scrapes, and surprisingly no broken bones? Well maybe scratch that last bit out...He did crack his head open a little bit once giving his mother a heart attack but his mother doesn’t dare speak of it — haram!

Loves his sleeveless shirts and silver thick chains

Keeps a five o’clock shadow + might grow a little stubble here and there, feels like it’s part of his signature look

Won’t grow a full beard due to the racism/prejudice he witnessed his father, grandfather, uncles, and cousins go thru!

Will spend coin on some aftershave, none of that cheap shit when it comes to that! Sorry he takes pride in his facial area

probably went thru a mild case of cystic acne when puberty hit & had some insecure moments when it comes to his appearance & still has moments where it’ll hit even tho he beat it thanks to some remedies but tries his best not to let it get to him

He knows how to manage his $ but can splurge every now and then but will never showcase what he has — that’s v corny to him to be overly flashy. He’s looking at y’all @/leggy @/jasper/@/miles

Doesn’t take high quality photos of himself, it’s always zoomed in or extra zoomed in photos—yup he’s got that type of feed

Regrets putting mc in the friend zone & wishes he put more effort in making things work with erikah

But slowly learned to be happy that she’s with Reese even if he wasn’t at first. He really thought there could have been something for him & erikah

he secretly thinks their “relationship” is superficial & based off of shallowness and lust. What else do they have? Nothing that he could have given her but what’s the point in being bitter over this?

Reese is a shit stirrer that thinks he can get anything he wants because of the way he looks & if he knows outside info that he can use again you, he WILL

& erikah? He doesn’t know where her head is at majority of the time. She likes to throw rocks then acts like she didn’t mean to do it but why do it in the first place if you didn’t mean to? + she seems to lose interest fast if they don’t fit her standards besides their physical appearance...yeah Rohan caught all of that

So did she even genuinely like him or want to besides what he brought to the table physically? Who knows

He just thinks people deserve their chance at happiness and he possibly could have had it if he wasn’t standing in his own way...and he absolutely won’t stand in anyone else’s way if they don’t see potential happiness with him

He’s cool with cherry but deep down he knew there wouldn’t be anything long term between him & her after some time. She’s a beautiful/hot girl but she wasn’t his type + he didn’t like how she portrayed herself in the villa even tho she claims there was more than what meets the eye when it comes to her

she proved that to him which she didn’t HAVE to!!! outside of the house and they actually remained friends unlike the now growing distance he has with erikah

I cannoned that him and Hannah give it a go. I think they’d be cute together? She told him from the moment they met at a festival that they were now dating after they ended up holding hands but he didn’t take her seriously since she was a little drunk?

She messaged him two days later asking him when they were going on their date and that was enough for him to give it a go

They only lasted for a couple of months since they outgrew each other slowly but surely. ‘Not all things are temporary,’ he had to remind himself

It was no bad blood thankfully and they continued to be friends with him wishing her well on her new relationship with Carl. He was genuinely happy for her as he always was for his friends

Cannot cook for shit but makes the best coffee with cinnamon & cardamom

once tried to make Aloo Chaat but with a twist! With the use of Potato Skins instead! for a family dinner party and his mum almost sent him home due to the insults his father spewed at rohan trying to fool them all that it was his wife who prepared such a thing

It is evident that his father only enjoys his wife’s cooking

he still makes it for himself when he’s starving despite what his father thinks

Is fluent in Urdu, English came second

Never ashamed of his culture although his father thinks he is...

His fav shows are misfits + the IT crowd and he is currently watching & enjoying truth seekers + mr. selfridge since Tim recommended it to him ofc

his fav American show is the challenge

when asked what his fav American movie is, he got dragged since ppl assumed it would be the greatest showman but he can’t take all the singing...musicals aren’t his thing sorry

But he’ll bust out a rap only if Tim & jake are around, he rarely does it alone

Even looked into producing music for fun but never took THAT seriously

closest with jake & Tim, doesn’t have much of a relationship with the other lads 🤷🏽‍♀️ but there’s no real beef with anyone he knows how to let shit go

But you’ll never catch him having a chat with Reese or following him back on ig. What they had to say to each other was already said and done so?

If erikah agrees to get engaged to Reese, he’s happy for her but cordial to him

if she doesn’t end up with Reese, he’ll be her shoulder to lean on if she needs it

his love language is physical touch with a splash of acts of service

Commonly sleeps curled up, his mum says he was like that in the womb as well—(same dude)

He’s probably a good 5’9 - 5’7 on bad days

Is he a Pisces? Idk

His signature cologne is probably Antaeus by Chanel which is described to have notes of: lemon, lime, coriander and sage w. A blend of thyme, basil and rose

Loves black pepper, specifically garlic, onion, black pepper, and sea salt all mixed together

has a vitiligo spot on the right side of his lower spine that is commonly covered with the waistband of whatever bottoms he has on

has a pogo stick

Wants to go skydiving next, has gone bungee jumping—which was such a adrenaline rush!!!

probably knows a few tips on how to survive in the wild or if the apocalypse hits...you can never be too sure

If he ever gets a pet he might get something like: Satanic Leaf tailed Gecko, Kinkajou, or a Pac-Man frog. He likes being different okay

he actually enjoyed season 3 despite the negative remarks made about it. It was “different” basically drama free which was a shocker knowing how production likes to take things take a shot every time ro explains his decisions/opinions as such lol

BUT he won’t go as far to say he liked it better than his season yet he did enjoy keeping up with it. He def has a crush on iona, aj, vieve, Camilo & tai

Yasmin actually joined one of his lives, which he doesn’t do too often but he couldn’t sleep one night and thought he’d give it a go. She’s quite nice & quiet but he ultimately felt calm around her + they bonded over bohemian lifestyle & his love for the circus + a little about their cultures

Long term goals? He doesn’t have a set timeline of when he wants everything to happen because pressure is not fun

but he wants to be in love and loved back, wants to be married, wants to have kids, wants to try out the circus for awhile and if that doesn’t work out he can always fall back on his psych degree—he just wants to be happy and share that with someone, that’s one of the biggest adventures he can possibly have

His anthem = Blxst, “No Love Lost”

#litg #litg3 #litg Rohan #I’m replaying s1 again and I still dislike erikah but we’ll discuss that later when I do her hcs #I’m also trying my hardest to meet sammi! #they did us dirty and ofc ro dirty cause he’s a catch and deserved more screen time than Levi’s ass #mason is nonexistent if you’re not on his route but I’m not complaining too much about that still not crazy abt his ass either #litg headcanon #litg mc #litg oc #litg headcanons #it’s easier for me to do the girls this season for whatever reason lol I’m gonna have to search hard for doing the guys if I choose to #litg jake #litg erikah #litg Tim #litg reese #litg iona #litg aj #litg genevieve #litg camilo #litg camillo #litg tai #finally finished this after this sat in my drafts for almost a week and some change now #litg s3 #litg Bobby

[theavengerfairy]

One Step Closer - Chapter 6

Previously known as “Gravity”

He had a lot on his mind. It wasn't his expression that gave Callum away; rather, it was his lack thereof. His warm glow had not once wavered in the face of adversity since Anora met him, but now as they walked along with the moon as their guide, her watchful eye observed it flickering dangerously, violent gusts of restless thoughts threatening to snuff out the light at its source. When he believed no wandering gazes were upon him, the young prince would risk a glance at Rayla, first at her face and then at the pocket in which the coin was tucked safely away. Whenever his attention shifted to the latter, fragments of icy bitterness crystallized in his eyes where warm kindness and tender concern had dwelled not much earlier. Between his somber aura and the way he trudged forward with his back bent and his shoulders stooped, one might assume the weight of the world rested upon him, and it was a sight that Anora, for one, could not stand.

"It isn't much farther. We should have the element of surprise, but it would be best not to take any chances. Callum, come up here with me, would you? I know you're inexperienced, but you are our best offense against another mage so we need you front and center. Rayla, bring up the rear please and keep alert for any surprises from behind. Maddie-"

"Yeah yeah, I'm in the middle with the baby dragon." Maddie cut in with an offhanded wave, her other hand already scrounging through her bag in search of her wristbow.

Rayla's nose wrinkled and her lips puckered ever so slightly as she stared hard at Anora, obviously not convinced the rather out-of-the-blue request was what it appeared to be on the surface. Nevertheless, she receded to the back of the group without protest, blades already drawn and hanging at her sides in wait. Meanwhile Callum hurried forward, his head sinking even lower between his shoulders, and fell into stride with Anora, his face averted as though he could hide from her what she had already seen.

"Something's troubling you, Callum."

Callum's fingers picked nervously at the strap of his backpack. "I'm worried about Ez."

"That's not all though, now is it?"

Were all Oceancry elves this insanely perceptive or was he just that terrible at being subtle? It didn't truly matter either way; however it had happened, Callum was caught. Compelled by guilt, he began to crane his neck to check on Rayla yet again, but she had hardly manifested as an abstract blur in his peripheral before Anora beckoned his attention back to her with a crisp yet kindly staccato.

"Ah ah ah, not a good idea; she's still trying to decide whether or not I'm up to something. You flash those big, telltale green eyes at her and we're both done for."

Callum knew she was right of course; it was honestly a miracle Rayla hadn't figured him out already. A cluttered, jumbled mind was a luxury he could not afford; he needed to have his wits about him should their encounter with Castel go south. And yet, no matter how hard he struggled to seize hold of just one of the many intertwining threads of his thoughts, the strand would swiftly slip from his grasp again and rejoin its brethren as they continued to weave and knot themselves into an even tighter, more complicated tangle.

If not for Rayla's vigilant watch, Anora's hand, which twitched at her side, would've clasped Callum reassuringly by the shoulder in an instant. For now, however, she only hoped the extra softness with which she coated her voice proved capable of conveying the sincerity of her compassion, "You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to, Callum, but I would like to help somehow if I can."

He wanted to say something, to release into the open the festering bitterness that had slithered its way into his core when he wasn't looking and to allow the fresh air to cleanse away any gunk that lingered behind. To do so now, however, meant Anora witnessing that exorcism firsthand, and to expect anything less than her recoiling from him in response was preposterous. Was he to suffer in silence for the preservation of his pride or was he to expunge the darkness before it could fully take root, even at the cost of unpleasant potential consequences that might follow?

With a deep breath, the brisk, purifying night air filled his heavy, aching lungs, and when he exhaled, the pent-up words and feelings all came tumbling forth.

"Runaan isn't just someone dear to Rayla. He's an assassin, an assassin who still killed my stepdad and planned to kill my brother after seeing for himself that the egg of the Dragon Prince was safe. Calling off the mission would've meant some risk for him and his team, I get that, but he didn't even consider it. And what about Ez? Even if I could somehow look past everything that murderer has done, it isn't fair for me to expect the same from him; he's just a kid. And how do we know that Runaan won't just pick up where he left off and try to harm him again if he gets free? We don't! I can't put Ez in that kind of danger! When we found the coin earlier and I said I would help, I was thinking about Rayla and nothing else, but now...I don't want to hurt her, and I know I'm a horrible person for saying this, but would it really be so awful for him not to get out?"

His heart and lips stung raw. It was out, the toxic smog that had been corroding his heart and soul, and now all he could do was wait with apprehension's bony fingers already coiling around his throat before he could get another breath in. Why had he thought that this was a good idea?

"You're not a horrible person, Callum; just a real one who has endured a great deal of hardship and loss. You've had your world flipped upside down and that is bound to leave you with questions and frustrations and doubts. You cannot hate yourself for that."

"I still have to make a choice though, and that decision is going to affect more people than just me!"

"But your voice matters too." Anora's hands had found their way into one another's grip, hanging in front of her at waist level and squeezing each other tightly to keep them both locked in place as they could not be trusted to ignore the pleadings of her heart to seize the boy and wrap him in the hug he so desperately needed and deserved. "There is nothing wrong in asking 'What about me?' What about you, Callum?"

What about him? He was angry, hurt, grieving. He was torn between loyalties to different people who he all loved deeply and didn't want to hurt. As a prince, he had been taught from a young age to strive for noble character, but his heart yearned so strongly to be selfish just this once that it physically ached. He longed to live like the child he was once again, to have someone else make the hard choices while he carried on in the ignorant bliss of youth. It wasn't fair; it was all so much, too much.

Callum's eyes fixated on a stone sitting idly directly in his path, and before he could give it much thought, he swiftly drove his foot into it with considerable force. Unfortunately, the rock proved to be larger than it appeared and also securely nestled in the ground, so instead of taking flight, it sent an acute pain rippling throughout the prince's foot as he stumbled a little.

"That...was really stupid." he groaned, concealing his flushed face behind one of his open palms. "Why did I just do that?"

"Well, one of you was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. The question is whether it was you or the rock."

Anora's quip wasn't even that funny, but it proved just enough to return a smile to Callum's lips for a fleeting moment. Even when it vanished, Callum's frown wasn't quite as deep or pronounced as it had been before; it was a small improvement but an improvement nonetheless.

"Runaan staying in the coin won't bring my stepdad back, but to just let him go…" Callum wrapped his arms around himself, "My mind's all over the place. How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to figure out the best choice to make when at least one person I care about is always going to wind up hurt no matter what I decide?"

"Well, perhaps that's why you're stuck; you're trying to process everything all at once and it's overwhelming you." Anora mused as her eyes drifted up to the moon which peered down at them through gaps in the leafy canopy above their heads. "There are moments when it is best to look at the big picture, and then there are moments where one must focus on a single part of an issue...What can you tell me about Runaan?"

Callum blinked at her, somewhat taken aback by the seemingly sudden shift of attention. "What good is talking about him going to do?"

"Runaan is but a single piece at play, yet much of your turmoil ties back to him in some way, yes? While it may not bring you all the answers you seek, understanding him better might just grant you some clarity and closure that can aid your decision-making." Noticing a low-hanging branch that was about to smack Callum square in the face, Anora held it aside until he had passed and then let it fall back into place with a soft rustle. "You've already named him your stepfather's assassin as well as someone of significance to Rayla; what else can you figure out about him?"

"I don't know. I only encountered him once, and all he did was refuse to hear us out before fighting Rayla while she covered my brother and I's retreat with the egg. What else is there to say about him except that he is cruel and arrogant and close-minded?"

To Callum's surprise, Anora said nothing, but as he swiveled his head to look at her, a jolt shot through him when he found her staring him down, her lips curled into a little smirk and her brows arched ever so slightly. Her eyes reflected not condemnation but rather a blend of mild amusement and skepticism. She was calling bull on his shallow analysis, and what made the matter worse is that she knew that they both knew that she was right. If Callum truly saw things through so narrow a lens, the last place he would be was here, traveling with a party of elves and humans on a quest to return an abducted dragonling home even after all the pain the residents of Xadia and the human kingdoms had caused one another. He understood that the world and those who lived in it were not so superficial, and she was not going to let him get away with pretending otherwise.

He didn't want to think back to that night, his skin crawling and his throat constricting at the mere notion of it. Even so, he lifted his face towards the sky above with a sigh and allowed his mind to wander back, back the many miles they had come, back to the palace wall where those turquoise eyes had judged him as vermin without a second thought. However, the harsh gaze, that stern face, had slackened for an instant when Runaan first beheld the egg with his own eyes. Ever so briefly, the man beneath the warrior had been visible before being buried again, and as Callum studied those same eyes and remembered how that fierce voice had quivered as Rayla pleaded with Runaan once more, his breath caught in his throat.

"What is it, Callum?" Anora purred, her voice little more than a whisper as not to shatter the boy's delicate focus.

"He did hesitate actually; it wasn't for long but he did. I think...I think he was torn about what to do."

"Like you are now?" Anora let the question hang in the air for a moment before continuing, "Callum, do you think he might have been a bit afraid?"

"Afraid? But he's…" Callum stopped, his argument already crumbling apart on his tongue.

"What would he have to fear, Callum?" Anora prodded further, her head tilting slightly to one side as she waited patiently for him to mull everything over.

"He...he was the leader. He made the calls for the group. If he ordered something that was too risky and something bad happened, it would fall back on him-"

"What would fall back on him?"

"The responsibility and...and the guilt." Callum's expression suddenly soured again. "But how could he think that working together to bring Zym home was riskier than attacking a king with a palace full of soldiers who knew they were coming?"

"Perhaps it is not a question of greater risk but of unfamiliar risk. Runaan and the other assassins already understood and accepted the dangers of their mission. To abandon their original task in favor of working with humans to bring the Dragon Prince home would mean taking on new risks, some known but many unknown. If it had been only his well-being at stake, maybe he would have acted differently, but as the leader, he had to consider the welfare of the others also. I'm not saying that I completely agree with his choice, but I do understand it."

"I'm still not sure I do." Callum dragged his fingers rather roughly through his hair then let his arm drop limply back down to his side again. "Rayla knew the risks and cared about the other assassins too. How come she was still willing to take a chance and he wasn't?"

"Hope comes easier when one is young. When you live many years in a world that has been one way for a long time, it is easy to lose sight of how things could be and surrender oneself to what they are now. Like most, Runaan's perspective has been shaped by the longstanding bitterness between humans and Xadians, a resentment which neither side has been willing to try and lay to rest."

"You're not like that though."

Anora's gaze dropped to the ground, her kind features now marred by a rueful smile. "I wish that were true, but I fall short of such ideal virtue as well."

Callum made a face. "But you saved Maddie, even though she was a human…"

"You're right, and I have learned to trust a handful of other humans as well. That hardly means it comes naturally though. The me that you see now is the result of continuous effort on my part to grow despite my own deep-rooted fears and assumptions, and even now, after much hard work, some of those aversions have managed to endure."

"Is there really any chance of humans and elves ever truly reconciling then? I mean, you're one of the most open-minded elves I've met, so if you're still struggling that much, will Runaan or others like him ever be able to see things differently?" Callum's body felt very heavy all of a sudden, as though some phantom of the night had stolen past them and sapped his strength without him noticing until now. His stomach had also begun to ache like it did after he failed to block an attack from Soren during practice and received a wooden sword to the gut with a painful smack.

"Yes, I am a work in progress, young prince, but that in itself is proof of hope and the potential for change living on. I still struggle, yet because I have found not only hope but proof that affirms that hope, I press onward without fail."

"So Runaan needs proof that not all humans are bad? Proof other than the Dragon Prince being alive and well and two human princes being willing to return him home in hopes of preventing a war?"

Anora gave a small laugh. "Some of us are more stubborn than others."

"So how do I figure out what might convince Runaan to give humans a chance?"

"Perhaps Rayla could give you some ideas once you feel ready to talk to her about this."

"You two wrapping up with your juicy gossip? Because I think we're here, unless there's some other giant lake in this general direction with enough magical energy to make the cube thingy light up super bright like it is right now?"

Anora and Callum both felt their hearts perform a nosedive into their stomachs as they whipped their heads around to find Rayla standing not so far behind them, Zym atop her shoulder and crooning as she scratched the underside of his chin. Peering around the elf, Anora shot Maddie a pointed look from where she was lurking at least a yard behind the rest of the group and only received an apologetic smile paired with a nervous shrug from the redhead in response.

Positioning herself between Anora and Callum, Rayla wordlessly glanced from Callum's face to his satchel and then back again. Her expression was hard for him to read, appearing both impassive and irritated at the same time, and while Callum wanted to ask her just how much of their conversation she had heard, his mouth remained shut.

"I know you already gave me an answer but I'm going to ask you one more time: are you sure about this? That cube is something your father wanted you to have; we can search for some other magical artifact to trade with Castel."

Callum's gaze fell to his satchel just as his hand was reaching inside to retrieve the mysterious key, which was indeed glowing so brightly that its light was shining clean through the fabric. Drawing it out, he couldn't help but notice the comfortable warmth radiating from it along with a low, rather calming hum while it pulsed in his palm, and though the glow somewhat hurt his eyes, he just stared at it for awhile, his face distant while the heat mimicked the embrace of those strong but gentle arms he so missed as it crept its way throughout the rest of his body. Ever so briefly, his grip on the cube tightened, but it eventually went lax again.

"There isn't time to look for another artifact. This is what we have to do."

Circling around so she was directly in front of Callum, Anora slowly laid her hand on the cube. Once more, the prince's fingers latched firmly onto the tiny box, but eventually he permitted her to gradually slip it free from his grasp.

"I'm the only one here who is familiar with Castel's tricks, so I'll negotiate with him. It would be best for you three to wait up here-Wait, let me finish, Rayla-so he can't gain any more leverage than he already has by getting his grubby hands on you too. Maddie, do you have a hairpin on you?"

"What if something goes wrong while you're down there? How are we supposed to know so we can help?" Rayla protested as Anora carefully traced a rune onto her skin near the base of her neck before accepting the hairpin Madeleine offered to her. When she said nothing, merely offering her a morose look that left a dreary heaviness hanging over the group, the message was clear enough: were something to go wrong, there would be no helping her or Ezran. That would be it.

After brushing her bangs out of her eyes and securing them into place, Anora marched into the lake, only stopping to glance back at her companions who were crowding along the shore when the water had reached her waist. Despite her own thundering heart, she stood up a little straighter and flashed them a reassuring smile before diving beneath the surface, allowing the water to swallow her up.

#tdp #tdp fanfic #tdp fanfiction #THE DRAGON PRINCE #tdp oc #oc fanfic #oc fanfiction #runaan #runaan tdp #tdp runaan #original species oc #alternate timeline #alternate timeline fanfic #runaan x oc #oc x canon #canon x oc

[calla-lefford]

The funeral of Grover Tully

Location: The Riverlands, Riverrun

Under the cut you will find Calla’s interactions at Grover Tully’s funeral with Wylla Tully ( @wyllatully ), Garrett Erenford ( @garrett-erenford ), Garland Hightower ( @garlandhightower ), Brynden Tully ( @rvrprnc ), Cedric Tyrell ( @visxionaries ), Harrion Stark ( @harrionstark ), Henry Lannister ( @henryoflannister ), Elyse Tully ( @goldcnaura ), Cian Tully ( @rxverlanders ), Hal Storm Jaehaerys Targaryen ( @targaryenstorm ), Mellara Tully ( @mellaratully ), Tyrin Lannister ( @tyrinlan ), Guinevere Lannister ( @gcuienveres ), Clare Tully ( @ladyotheriver ) and Araya Frey ( @ladycfthecrossing )

WYLLA TULLY: Planning and execution were two of Wylla Tully's greatest skills. There was nothing she couldn't put together that would not be excellent. A dinner to bring together the allied forces against Grover Tully in the very halls he used to roam on the same day he was buried as the Tully tradition dictated? Easy. A meal fine enough for kings but still tame enough for a funeral day was spread out for the family and their guests. As the last servant poured the wine and the last plate was brought out to pick from, she motioned for the family and guests to dig in. “Please, enjoy yourselves.” She kept her voice relatively somber, settling down in her chair fully after she spoke to the room, eyes settling on faces she'd never seen but had helped end her father's tyranny in one way or another.

GARRETT ERENFORD: The commander's respect for Grover Tully had been nonexistent, though a man in his position could at least pretend a certain amount of deference for the old trout. It was expected of him to be present at an event such as this one, he supposed, though he only found himself in attendance because of Grover's children, not the corpse himself. Some of them were family to him. As Wylla Tully spoke, he raised his glass and nodded in silence, knowing better than to offend her with condolences. He didn't say honorable words about the old man, all he hoped for was that the gods -if there truly were deities watching over this wretched world- would grant the Tully children long, better lives than that of their late father.

GARLAND HIGHTOWER: Garland didn't know why he was here. Well, he did, he knew his prince had decided on a deal with the Riverlands that made balancing the Reach's coffers and books more than a headache for the past few weeks as all the last details were ironed out between him and the Lord Frey in charge of the Riverland's gold. Sitting next to Cedric, Garland kept his wounded leg straight under the table while the good one bounced with anxiety as he drained his first glass of wine after given leave by the Tully princess. Such a position also let him favor the arm of his chair closest to his future king. “So far everything's settled in terms of the numbers, and we can start everything agreed upon when we return to Highgarden.” he said low enough to Cedric. “Unless you have last minute changes?”

BRYNDEN TULLY: There has been a long time coming. Between justice and un, the Tully children have been dealt a strong deal of both. Where they are now is not without the strength of family, duty, and honor that they make of their words and their values. Though, there was question brought to Brynden. What are they if not family? They stick together, their bond is true, but what are they if individual beings? A king is a king, not equal to one's brothers and sisters, nor even parents. A king is individual. Brynden could not be, he could not rule without his four sisters and half brother a title as great, and so would it be fair to call him king? Most especially after his findings? Findings calling another, king. There had been much thinking, observing done in the most recent of days. Questions of strength, self, and integrity. All Brynden knew he could be, or wanted to be was who he was before the war, and it was the version of self he would give it all up to go back to. His siblings would always be his siblings, and now he would choose to always be him, the Brynden that came before the neverending dance with spins and twirls. Brynden clears his throat, calling forth the attention of those who are seated around him. “Call it what you may, but this is an unfortunate passing, a passing that came not by traitorous acts, traitorous allies; worn masks by foes. Today I lost a father, and my siblings theirs. Today my father and mother meet again by the grace of the Seven. There is loss here, and there is sadness. And at the end of the day we all sit here, yours and ours,” he gestures to the parties joining the Tullys. “To bid farewell to one king and welcome another in his place. A place, that was meant for me.” His eyes move to Cedric, “but it is a place I cannot take, and will not take.” He raises from his lap a paper that he hands to him first, “It is for Cian to take. The legitimized heir, signed by with no other than the handwriting of my father.”

CEDRIC TYRELL: Cedric found himself remaining briefly in the Riverlands for the funeral of a king; an anointed king, with a bloodline that could be traced for a thousand years, he who seemed the most stable of all high within the walls of Riverrun. For the situation had grown effortlessly dire, with the River King remaining safe behind the walls of Riverrun whilst it looked as though they would have to siege; and all of Westeros knew, one could not siege Riverrun as though it were simply a castle made of paper cards. “See to it the books are kept safe under lock and key until we have returned to our soil.” Cedric spoke under his breath as he watched a serving girl pour him a glass of wine, turning his attention toward Brynden Tully, who had risen from his seat to utter some words. Family was a fickle matter; Cedric perhaps understood better than others how dire relationships between family could become, giving the correct circumstances. After all, were there not thoughts in the back of his mind, hoping the King of Thorns would befall some tragic accident?

Bringing the goblet of wine to his lips, he noticed the man's eyes looking over at him; they were beginning a new chapter of life around similar times. At least, that was until... his thoughts trailed to the books he had just spoken to his Master of Coin about; he had made his condition explicitly clear, it was only his childhood friend Brynden he would trust to start this journey with; with Reach money funding the Riverlands, there would be progress. Or would have been. There were no words to come from his mouth, his gaze remaining fixed on the man, his orbs becoming increasingly colder with each minute. Then, finally. “It would be wise to reconsider.”

HARRION STARK: Harrion felt like he had stepped back in time, sitting in the hall at Riverrun like he had done so many time during his time fostered here. And yet, so very much had changed. For one, Grover Tully’s formidable figure no longer sat at the front of the room. He had spent most of the day with his eyes trained like a hawk on Elyse, watching for any sign that she might not be alright, and moving to stand next to her or to throw her a smile across the crowd when it seemed so.

He had found a seat next to her during dinner, his leg pressed reassuringly against hers under the table in a manner neither of them had chosen to acknowledge. His wolfskin cloak, the best he owned, was draped over the back of her chair from when he had wrapped it protectively around her shoulders on their way back inside. Normally the loudest man in every room, his rough norther accent unmissable, he had grown quiet tonight.

When Brynden, the oldest friend he has, the closest thing he has to a brother next to Rodrik, clears his throat, Harrion’s attention is caught like a fish in a net. His head tilts ever so slightly to one side, a frown marring his brow, trying to figure out what it means. He manages to bite down on the curse against the dead man that threatens to leave his lips. It was not often he would willingly agree with a Tyrell, but he nodded his assent. “Bryn…” he looked from the man he had always assumed would take Grover’s place at the helm of the Riverlands and then the the Rivers bastard of the same auburn hair as the rest of them. “Surely not…”

HENRY LANNISTER: Truthfully; Henry Lannister little for the Grover king, and even less for the Tullys overall, for it seemed as though once again some element of family theatrics were spilling before the world stage. The man, dressed in velvet maroon and gold, was sat to the left of his siblings. he took a deep gulp of the Arbor wine in his goblet as the Tully prince stood to make a speech, no doubt regarding his limp, dead father. The man was expressionless, his eyes surveying the notable guests in attendance, those who had made their presence known, those who had sent delegates and thoughts and respects. In truth, such a man who would risk such turmoil upon his own lands would not be granted a funeral; but rather be hung, drawn and quartered. If one chose to behave like a thirsty animal in life, they would meet their end like an animal.

Though, his eyes looked up as it seemed Brynden Tully was renouncing his right to the River throne, all for a man called Cian to come and take. His gaze fixed upon the other Tully male, older than the prince in question, who looked as though the world had just been flipped from beneath his feet. Looking sideways at Tyrin and Guinevere, he simply shook his head. It was not something they should pursue any further, in his own opinion; they needed to ally with an experienced leader. “It no longer benefits this family.”

ELYSE TULLY: The mood had altered so much within the span of minutes that the Tully princess nearly felt faint. It made her queasy to think that things truly were out of their control. She had laid her eyes upon the lit boat, the flames embracing it had taken a liking to the river all the same. The girl had stood there, watching the flames for a moment too long before turning her back on whatever remained of Grover Tully. Harrion had been waiting for her, he had wrapped his cloak around her and she had gratefully accepted. Though the chills that claimed her body were perhaps not because of the wind.

Light gaze watched her brother as he stood, comforted by the presence of her family and the touch of the northern prince. she is unsure what she was expecting from Brynden but the words that spew from his lips… well, she was not expecting that. Gaze flickers instinctively to Wylla and she bites back a grimace as Cedric speaks. Eyes find her big brother, legitimized by her late father as a last means of perhaps being a pain even in death. She’s conflicted - Brynden had grown up expecting to take his father’s place, knowing he would and now… Cian was everything his siblings always saw him as. A Tully, not a Rivers.

“Cian?” Elyse calls quietly, glancing at him where he sat besides her. “Are you alright?” His life was about to change just as much as the rest of theirs and she cannot help but worry for him, wonder what exactly is going through his mind. Finally, her gaze finds Brynden. What was to come of him? “And what of yourself, brother ??” There’s heaviness in her heart, a silent sign she will not like his answer. Slowly, a hand finds Harrion’s beneath the table.

CIAN TULLY: The man remained sat as his brother rose to his feet, ready to make his euology regarding Grover Tully; and what a man he was, long before the dragons danced in the sky. He was a man that endured his bastard son was treated well within the triangle walls of Riverrun, ate at the same table as his siblings, was in family portraits, was called son regardless of surname; Cian himself never once felt a sense of resentment or anger toward his father, for it was his inviting nature and his prioritisation of family that gave Cian the confidence to be the man he was today. For yes, he were a bastard; but he were more than that too.

And yet, as Cian listened intently to the words of his brother, there were certain words he did not think to ever hear. For he had been legitimised; he was a Tully in name and heart. And yet, it came at a price, a price that could knock the wind from him. The man rose to his feet briefly, standing beside his brother and putting a hand on his shoulder, keeping his voice incredibly low.

“Come on lad..” Cian muttered, his tone concerned yet there was an element of irritation behind it, at the very back of his throat. “Think rationally, he wasn't in his greatest of minds toward his final days. This...” he trailed off, a slight laugh of shock escaping from his lips. “This isn't happening.”

HAL STORM JAEHAERYS TARGARYEN: Tension. It made him nostalgic for family dinners. He almost wanted to stand and give a speech. He didn't have a speech to give. He was hungry and he did want to eat. There were pluses. He could learn something new. There could be some information that he didn't know before. Jae looked around the table and smiled into his cup, taking another drink.

He didn't care about the Tullys. He didn't really hate fish unless it was in a stew. Maybe something thick cut. Jae put his cup down and considered offering something. He supposed that all funerals came with their own sort of tensions. Headaches. Dead men meant one thing. Schemes and Jae liked schemes. Especially schemes he could watch safely from the sidelines.

“Enjoy is a strong recommendation. give the circumstances. lovely table setting.”

MELLARA TULLY: The words from her brother clearly sent a shock wave throughout the entire hall. It was clear none of them knew this information was coming. Mel stared at her brother, dumbfounded he had no warned her of his news to come. After all the two of them had been through together. Everything at Dragonstone the two of them suffered, the night of the attack, the trials. Their time in the Vale, the war. All of that they had shared together and he could not tell her of this earth-shattering news.

Her eyes flickered over to Cian, clear by his expression he had little idea what was happening either. Cian was a good man, a good brother to them all. A Tully like he always had been. There was little doubt in her mind about that. But never had she thought of him becoming king, since that spot had always been in line for Brynden. And now everything was out of sorts. The quiet in the hall seemed never-ending as she waited for someone to say something. Lucian happily babbling away sitting on her lap stretching out his arms to his nearby aunts for attention, not aware of the changes his family was facing.

Mel wanted to say something to Cian but before she could, he rose from his seat and went towards their brother. Mel unsure of what to say or what even could be said. “Is this not something that should be discussed later?” she asked, her voice low hoping only her siblings could hear it. There were too many others here. But maybe that's what Brynden wanted. To announce in front of others. His words could not be taken back now after being heard by so many.

TYRIN LANNISTER: Tyrin is a man for surprises, but not this one. This news would mean that the Lannisters and the Westerlands would have to come up with a plan B, but they only ever needed their plan A's. There was frustration, anger within him. The wine he was to bring to taste, near came pouring out of his mouth. Who would give up their regency? And to a bastard? “You speak against your region if you speak for a bastard.” A bastard should never be king. Clare was better suited for queen than was a bastard and she was a full-blooded daughter when a full-blooded son was born and still breathed. The Tullys and Riverlands would be another weak link for the Lannisters and Westerlands. Already Alaric and his own wife failed them, his wife proving again the queen she is by not attending. “What better is it for a bastard to take the Riverlands based off of a dead man's word? A formerly mad dead man's word?” he near wants to laugh. “You favor not an alliance, but a foe when you choose to put a bastard on your already cracking throne to weaken your kingdom and those they align with.”

GUINEVERE LANNISTER: Guinevere's head had been leaning in her cousin Calla's direction, the girls engaging in some talk regarding the members of noble society that had made themselves present for what they all silently prayed was the final curtain call on the Tully matter. The topic of conversation had also fallen onto a certain Lord Hightower; whom her cousin would soon find herself wed to, should all go smoothly and according to plan. She fell quiet however when she saw a distant head of auburn hair stand upon their feet, setting her cold glass of water down and looking briefly across the faces of the Tully chldren; they were to be the next generation of their neighbours, and she truly hoped the two regions would be able to secure a benefit from their close geographical proximity.

The words of Brynden Tully had caught her attention, the words drying from her throat as she sat and fully contemplated the consequences. Her two brothers seemed to move first, as they always did, though she remained in her seat. She didn't look over at the prince, whom she had discussed a deal with; though a trip to the wall had been left out before she approached the matter with the Lion King. She bit back her words on the tip of her tongue, words that would no doubt only add to the tension. All the benefits for trade with the Riverlands still stood, though their leadership was now firmly under question. Was it a risk worth taking? There had to be more, another promise, another bind to the alliance; her eyes fell over to the Tully women, one she had never seen before... “Can we not strengthen this partnership by adding to it?” she asked, glancing slightly at Tyrin, before looking over at Harry.

CALLA LEFFORD: The eldest of the Lefford children behaved as the courteous woman her mother had raised her to be, offering condolences to the newly orphaned sons and daughters of Grover Tully. A plentiful dinner was served for those in attendance and Calla found her place by her cousin’s side. At any given situation she chose Gwen’s company above anyone else’s, and that was especially true throughout this dreary matter. They chatted privately regarding Lord Hightower, the man she was bound to marry. The crippled knight, she’d called him when speaking to her mother. If anything, this event might serve as an excuse to begin seeing if there was more to the man than being crippled.

Calla did wonder how many of those present here truly mourned the passing of the old king and how many found themselves present due to some requirement of some kind. She took some sips of her wine and watched the chaos erupt between the Tullys after Brynden’s unexpected announcement. She schooled her expression into a composed, dignified one; though she couldn’t help but feel partially amused by the sheer stupidity of airing these sorts of matters in front of an audience. What credibility could be in a house that didn’t have its own affairs in order? “Pardon me, my lords,” she glanced towards Brynden and then to Cian, “It must be the wine causing some confusion,” she smiled politely. She was perfectly sober in spite of the goblet in her hand, a drink she nursed slowly while continuing to pay attention to those around her. She never got drunk in public events. “So, who’s to be called king after all this?”

CLARE TULLY: Clare took her seat next to Wylla, knowing full well she could trust the other with the underhanded comments she would surely be muttering to her all evening. The last thing she wanted to do was play the part of the mourning daughter of Grover Tully in front of the many Kings, Lords, and Ladies of Westeros. It felt like putting on a mask. It was feign. It was exhausting. Clare was tired of the pretending, but she assured herself this evening would be the last, and then gods willing she would have to speak of Grover Tully no more. She took a long sip of wine, her second glass already, a choice she'd likely come to regret, but the bold flavors of the liquid filled her with a courage she feared she couldn't muster on her own. Along with her siblings, she knew she'd make it through this night. That was, until Brynden spoke, shocking the entirety of the dinner party in one fell swoop.

At Mellara's comment about private matters, Clare gave a firm nod and spoke quietly back, “It should have been spoken of earlier.” Her voice was harsher than she intended, but her frustration was clearly not aimed at her sister. Clare closed her eyes, only a few seconds, composing herself, especially of the Tyrell King's comment, before sitting straighter, formulating an appropriate, diplomatic response in her mind.  “Trust is not earned over dinner, alliances are not forged strongly in just one generation. Your graces, my lords, my ladies, surely you will give the Riverlands a chance to prove your trust would not be earned in vain. We, together, plan to continue our father's vision for our Kingdom, as duty, honor, and family are the core values we all hold dearly. Many of you put your trust into Brynden, and perhaps our father before him, I implore you to trust his decision in this, or at the very least, open your mind to it.” It was important to her to leave options on the table, and she hoped that even if one at this table took her words to heart, it might make all the difference.

ARAYA FREY: The passing of her great uncle was bittersweet for most of the river lands who had seen first hand how the man had slowly lost his mind, to put it ever so bluntly. She sympathized with her cousins of course, because mad or not he was still their father. The woman also could not help but recall the passing of her own parents on this day, and it made the whole affair all that much unbearable. Thus her goblet wasn’t without wine from the moment it had first been filled. It was when Bryn made his announcement that she finally had reprieve from the looming grief, a distraction. Her gaze sought out her brothers curious to see how he was reacting to this news, and then Garrett though ever so fleetingly. “And here I was expecting a peaceful dinner. ” She muttered into her wine glass. Though anyone who knew her at all could guess at how dreadful the idea of peaceful anything was to her.

WYLLA TULLY: She was seeing red. Her younger brother had gone and decided a public dinner with their allies was the best time to bow out and throw them a stranger, their brother, to rip apart while he ducked away from the throne. She could understand why, with what grover had put his heir through and perhaps how unprepared he might feel... but now was not the time to tell everyone. Definitely not the time to tell his own family. It was the foreign royalty that kept her mostly contained, but anyone could see a fire in the Tully's eyes as she stood, kicking away her chair and snatching their father's legitimization to read herself. “As the only sibling with free access to our father in his last days, I can attest our father was more intent on causing chaos than he was on domestic affairs. This surprises even myself.” She made her voice carry through the hall, the tone cold as she read the paper. She knew the handwriting anywhere, and it was real. Giving it back to her brother with a burning look in her eye to him, she turned to the room. “Cian was raised among us as a brother until he reached majority and left to start his own life, your highnesses. Never was he a bastard. To call him such is an insult to each and every Tully in this room.” Her eyes pass over the Lannisters and Tyrells, begging for a challenge from them, begging for an insult that she could unleash on them for. “We as a family will settle this matter privately, but rest assured both of my brothers always have the good of the Riverlands and our friends at heart. For you are our friends.” It was all she allowed herself to say, for she could not bear to start more trouble for her family when the last of it was sinking in the rivers and feeding the fish. Turning to her brothers though, her voice was low and left little room for argument. “Sit. We mustn't let them smell the blood in the water from this.” Wylla then sat and scooped up her nephew, holding him close so she didn't strangle one of them.

GARRETT ERENFORD: The commander was shocked by the news as he supposed everyone else was. All this time he’d expected to serve Brynden. Not that he would be any less honorable in his service to Cian but- Seven hells, what had possessed his friend to make this announcement now? He figured that after all their years of camaraderie there would be trust and honesty between them. But then again, Brynden had clearly blindsided his siblings so why should he expect special treatment? He would try and get a moment’s privacy with his friend after all of this was over.

He caught Araya’s eyes on him, even if she looked at him only briefly. He was subtle in the gesture but he raised his glass to her in the trajectory of raising the drink to his lips.

ELYSE TULLY: Chaos threatened to unfold and… in a way, had already done so. Her family was in discrete shambles, a brother had kept things from the rest, a brother was horrified, all three of her sisters were infuriated and offended. The kings did not understand, they saw a bastard where the Tullys looked at a brother. His lack of sharing a mother meant nothing to them just as Clare’s did. They were siblings, through and through. No one, not the Lion King or the Thorn Regent would change that. Elyse nods as her twin mutters the fact that these are private affairs and as the conversation continues, Clare’s irritation floods her tone and Wylla’s fire is mirrored in oceanic hues… the youngest stands. She abruptly does so, suddenly feeling as though the air is thick and the spoken words of others adds to it.

“Pardon me.” Her digits unthread from Harrion’s, releasing his hand suddenly and moving to exit the room. The soft voice of the princess is not as hushed as she excuses herself, no glance spared to any of her siblings so as to avoid Wylla’s particular one. The princess furrows her brows as she rushes through the halls and out towards the garden, breathless. “Gods…” she mutters, hands lifting towards her lifted hair. The pins holding it up are removed, held in her grasp tightly as long fiery locks cascade down her back.

GARLAND HIGHTOWER: With the announcement made, Garland looked between Cedric and the Tully family, before wincing from his leg. It was a legitimate pain, as it was always slightly aching, but he let it play as worse than it was on his face. “I need to retire, your grace. My leg.” He says loud enough for the rest of the room before making a bit of a production of getting up and walking out, leaning heavy on his cane until no one could see. The books were already locked away, but this would set him at the very least on a long night of new maths and figures that he didn't exactly want to set out on yet again.

CALLA LEFFORD: It didn't go unnoticed by Calla that some attendees were beginning to step out now that some of the complicated matters had been spoken. She took a sip from her wine and set the goblet on the table. Her attention went to Ser Hightower as he excused himself, making it known that his injured leg was troubling him in some way. “The wine is getting to my head, I need some air,” she said towards her cousin. Her eyes darted briefly towards the now empty sear of the Hightower lord and then back to Gwen. A spoken excuse for the rest, a truthful explanation for her cousin. Calla barely knew the man she was to marry and this served as a perfect opportunity to learn more about the knight.

#event: the funeral of grover tully

[ikevampeventarchive]

[ERS] Expose His Heart ～ Arthur

Route Preview:

Upon touching Arthur, you’ve somehow gained the ability to read his mind?! Normally frivolous and easygoing as the wind, what his heart conveys to you are earnest feelings of affection.... 

The moment you touch upon the emotions hidden in Arthur’s heart, is the moment you come to understand a deep, deep love. 

—

[This is an unofficial work based on fan-translation. Copyright belongs to Cybird.]

Warning: Spoilers Underneath.

Route Summary:

Common Route

As the weather grows colder as winter approaches, the story starts with MC heading home after finishing some shopping that Sebastian tasked her with. She thinks to herself that it really does get cold after the sun sets as she puts away the spices. While she does this, she spots Arthur’s usual mug, and decides to make some coffee for him since he was probably still working. 

She delivers the coffee, and Arthur thanks her and remarks that Sebastian works her quite hard. She’s surprised that Arthur managed to figure out what happened, and he explains that he noticed her fingers are cold when she handed over the coffee, as well as that the scent of spices still clung to her a bit, and went from there. MC thinks to herself that Arthur’s deduction skills are as impressive as ever, and Arthur pulls her onto his lap, hugging her. 

Arthur: If we sit like this, both of us can warm each other up, so it’s two birds with one stone, no? 

MC: But I’m still in the middle of work….

Arthur: Even Sebas will approve of taking a break once in a while. 

Arthur: Besides…. Though you’re complaining, you’re not leaving. 

They’re so close to each other that MC blushes at the proximity. MC looks over at Arthur’s desk, and notices a coin with a strange pattern on it. She asks Arthur what it is, and he replies that it’s a so-called “wish granting coin” that he won from another patron at the bar. He continues, saying that it doesn’t really seem to be real, since his wish didn’t come true. MC gets curious and asks what wish he made, but Arthur teases, avoiding the question and instead challenging her to a game. They’ll flip the coin and whichever side lands face up, wins. MC chooses first, going with heads, and Arthur then takes tails. Arthur flips the coin, and it lands on tails. 

The two of them go back and forth for a bit, MC saying that she wants a rematch, while Arthur jokes and says that he even planned on telling her so thoroughly too. Eventually MC leaves to get back to work, and Arthur tosses her the coin, saying that it’s her prize for participating in the game and that she could try and make a wish, though he’s doubtful that the rumors are real. 

In the hallway, MC thinks over their conversations, and feels frustrated at how Arthur always seems to read her so easily, while she doesn’t always know what he’s thinking, though she also knows that there are parts of Arthur’s heart that are still locked away. She then looks at the coin in her hand, and makes a wish to be able to know what Arthur’s thinking, though she quickly qualifies that wish with a humorous quip of doubt. 

The next morning, MC was walking down the hallway after finishing her work, when someone suddenly hugged her from behind. She turns around and finds Arthur, exclaiming that she didn’t expect him to be there. Arthur jokes, asking that she wouldn’t do this with anyone else, would she? And suddenly MC starts hearing Arthur’s voice remaking that his lover is truly adorable. MC demures, and now it’s Arthur’s turn to be shocked, wondering to himself whether or not he truly said that aloud. 

Arthur then pressed their foreheads together and checks MC’s temperature, musing to himself that she isn’t sick. At that moment, Dazai walks through the hallway and asks if the two of them are fighting. Arthur thinks to himself that Dazai ruined a good moment between him and MC, and leaves to take care of business in town after promising with MC to meet in his room later tonight. Throughout this conversation, MC figures out that she could read Arthur’s mind if they’re touching each other. After Arthur leaves, she decides to test out if this is really true, and awkwardly grabs Dazai’s hand. She can’t hear anything from him, and asks Dazai what he was thinking. He teases her a bit, saying that he was thinking about writing in his journal about how assertive she was, though he quickly moves the topic back to her, asking MC why she looks so disoriented, offering to listen to her worries. MC decides to confide in Dazai, and they move to the living room to talk. 

MC: — So as things stand, I’ve somehow became able to read Arthur’s thoughts.

Dazai: …. I see. A coin that grants wishes, huh….

Dazai: However, even if you wished to know what’s in Arthur’s heart, I’m not sure if that could truly come true. 

Dazai: Because he has many parts of his heart that cannot be seen, no matter how much you try. 

MC and Dazai both agree with this statement, and MC worries about what she should do from now on, as well as how she would go about telling Arthur. Dazai interjects, saying that while troubling, this is also an unprecedented chance to win in a game against Arthur.

Dazai: Unforeseen circumstances are to take advantage of, don’t you agree? 

Dazai: Don’t you want to see what face Arthur makes when he loses? 

The scene then cuts to later that night, where MC is standing in front of Arthur’s room holding a deck of cards. She wavers for a few moments, but then musters up the courage to knock on Arthur’s room and invite him for a game of cards. He readily agrees, saying that he was thinking of how he wanted to see right at that moment too. However, Arthur’s desk was covered with manuscripts at the moment, and the two of them relocated to the lounge. 

As they discuss the game, MC suggests playing old maid, thinking that it’s a simple enough game, and she’ll be able to win since she is also able to read is mind. The wager stands that if MC wins, Arthur will tell her the wish he made earlier, while if Arthur wins, he has something he wants to check with her. They agree to the terms, and Arthur begins shuffling and distributing the cards. 

Both of them pick up their allocated cards, and MC then asks Arthur if she could hold Arthur’s hand. He agrees, outwardly looking as unruffled as ever, but when MC touches him, once again she is able to hear his thoughts. 

Arthur: …. Is this some sort of psychological battle? 

Arthur: If she keeps being so cute, I might just end up losing. 

(.... Huh?) 

—

Sweet End:

When our feelings are conveyed, we once again come to know each other a little better....

“The one who falls in love first loses; I guess it was true after all.”

—

The game ends with MC winning, and she’s shocked at the turn of events. Arthur easily brushes off the loss, saying that he doesn’t mind losing if it’s to her. This proves to be another surprise, and Arthur asks her what’s wrong when he notices her expression. MC admits that she thought he would be more frazzled by the loss. 

Arthur: … In truth, I thought I’d be more frustrated, too. But when I saw how you smiled when you won, I didn’t care anymore.

Arthur: Though really, I never thought a day like this would come. The one who falls in love first loses; I guess that was true after all. 

Hearing Arthur’s earnest thoughts towards her, MC admits that she did something bad to him. With a complete poker face, he slowly leans over the table to look at her face, and just when MC thinks he’s angry, he kisses her. The moment they kiss, MC hears Arthur’s thoughts once more.

Arthur: Something bad, like reading someone else’s thoughts?

MC startles at this, and when Arthur pulls back, asks him how he knew. Arthur starts explaining that while he had come up with many hypotheses as to why she was acting strange, and being able to read thoughts was one of those possibilities. MC then asks him why he let her win, to which he says that if he revealed that he suspected such during the game, that would make his victory void, and instead of a game of cards, it was more of a game to confirm “whether the secret MC has is the fact that she can see through my thoughts.”

MC is disappointed at the turn of events, and wonders if how he thought about her being cute earlier was false, and that he was thinking of something else — or rather, the opposite. Arthur says that those thoughts were actually genuine, and pulls her into his arms. His thoughts pick up the explanation, saying that because even though he had such a hypothesis, he didn’t know the caveat of MC needing to be in contact with him to read his thoughts. MC reacts with surprise, and Arthur teases her, calling her a pervert for peeking. 

They eventually went on to talk about the reason why MC wanted to read Arthur’s thoughts in the first place, and Arthur says that she needn’t make such a wish, because his thoughts when he’s with her are simple. 

Arthur: I love you. So much so that I’d show all of myself to just you — that I wouldn’t ever mind losing to you.

Hearing this, MC realizes the depths of Arthur’s affection and how he’s always thinking about her, and her well-being. Touched by this confession, she thanks him. The conversation then turns to how to get rid of the mind-reading ability, to which Arthur admits that he thought she was acting strange this morning, and had gone to ask the original owner of the coin about it’s supposed magical properties, as well as how to undo any wishes that have been made. MC connects the dots, and realize that this was the “important business” that he had to take care in town earlier. She is once again warmed by how Arthur is always thinking of her well-being, and thanked him again. 

MC then makes a wish on the coin to reverse the wish, and they confirm that she can no longer hear Arthur’s thoughts. She says that she can’t peek into his heart, but she feels like she gained a better understanding of his mind. Arthur teases her, saying that her wish is granted, so now it’s her turn to grant his wish. MC thinks about how much she loves him, so much so that she’ll continue losing to him in the future as well. 

The game ends with a kiss to both winners. 

—

Premium End

His truest thoughts, delivered directly from his heart to yours....

“I love you so much, it drives me crazy wanting to get my hands on you.”

From where your skin overlaps, love continues to endlessly overflow —.

—

They begin playing, and Arthur begins to flirt with MC, asking if the card game was just an excuse, and that she was seducing him. When she denies this, he then wonders if holding his hand had any other reason, and places a kiss on the back of MC’s hand, saying that if she says it’s nothing, then he won’t question it further. 

The game continues on, and as MC picks her last card, she’s surprised that it wasn’t the same card as what Arthur’s thoughts told her — thus the game concludes in MC’s loss. 

Arthur notices her shock, and starts confronting her about the situation, first asking why it seems like her outburst sounded like she was confident he wouldn’t win. He corners her in her seat after getting up from his, and touches her arm, mentally questioning her if she had read his mind. MC doesn’t say anything, but her expression was confirmation enough. She ends up asking him how he knew, and Arthur walks her through his thought process.

When they ran into each other that morning, MC was incredibly flustered, which meant that the highest possibility would be related to the coin he gave her last night. If she was so surprised, then that only would have meant that she made a wish, but never thought it would come true until that moment. However, it was only a hypothesis, and he only knew for certain when she came knocking at his door that night. 

Arthur then hugs MC in his arms, and she confirms all his theories. When she asks how he had tricked her, he replies that since she’s reading his thoughts, he could also change what he was thinking about. However, there were also things he didn’t change. MC questions this, and Arthur sulks.

Arthur: For example, like when you suddenly held my hand out of nowhere. And besides, this morning at lunch. Back then, I just thought it was a coincidence; there was no way I could’ve diverted my thoughts then. 

MC flashes back to his past thoughts, and realizes that even though he appeared calm on the surface, Arthur was always thinking of her and being affected by her actions deep down. Arthur then asks if she really wanted to read his thoughts that much, and when MC confirms, seems to think about something for a moment before asking her to stand up.  

When she does, Arthur hugs her close and says that even though he won, he’ll tell her what he wished for with the coin. 

Arthur: The thing I wished for was… your happiness.

MC: … Huh?

Arthur: It’s foolish, isn’t it? A mystery author making a wish on such a dubious thing as a wish-granting coin.

Arthur: But… that too, is what I’d do for you. 

(Arthur….)

MC: That wish, the reason why nothing has happened… is probably because it had already been granted. 

Arthur: What ...?

MC: When I’m with you like this, Arthur, I’m already plenty happy. Your wish, it’s already a reality. 

Hearing this, Arthur blushed and pulls MC into a passionate kiss. 

Arthur: Seriously, you’re so cute and precious to me… I’m having a bit of a hard time with these feelings. You probably don’t know, but I'm someone who is always losing to you. 

Even through the heat building between them, Arthur’s sweet thoughts are conveyed to MC. When they break away, MC asks Arthur how to undo the wish, to which he says that he knows of a method, but won’t tell her just yet. After all, since her wish was granted, they should take advantage of this opportunity to let her thoroughly experience his thoughts. 

Things start to get heated as Arthur begins to kiss down MC’s neck and caress her through her clothes, when MC questions the choice in setting. Arthur reassures her that no one will come, and she quickly figures out that this was what he intended back when he locked the door! Once again hearing Arthur’s thoughts, MC hears his passionate thoughts. 

And thus, two hearts overlap, dyed in a sweet and lewd love — …. 

Note: This is where the paid Epilogue starts.

—

Epilogue Preview

Sweet intimacy deepens the love between your overlapping hearts... —

Arthur: How adorable. So much so that I could positively just eat you up. 

MC: Arthur, are you really okay with this? Having all your thoughts bared to me, that is. 

(Most people would dislike having their private thoughts revealed to others...) 

When I said that, Arthur leaned away slightly, planting a kiss on my lips. 

Arthur: ... Having my thoughts read by you probably wouldn’t be so bad. In fact, you being able to do so makes me a little more excited. 

—

Event Info Post | Isaac Route | Theodorus Route

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #arthur #ers #dream event pt 1 #expose his heart #jp ikevamp #october 2019

[jq37]

The Report Card -- Fantasy High Sophomore Year Ep 1

Sophomores and Spring Break 

Note: Hey guys! I decided to try something a little bit different and slightly more structured than my usual recaps for FH: Sophomore Year. I’m hoping this will be a little easier for me and a more useful tool for keeping up to date since there will be a lot more eps to keep track of and they’ll be easier to miss. Lemme know what you think and if you want raw, unfiltered opinions on anything specific, feel free to send me an ask. I’m always down to go off about literally whatever. 

We’re back, baby! It is Sophomore Year at Aguefort and the gang is on Spring Break. A lot is going down so lemme break it down. The Bad Kids, having defeated Kalvaxus last year, are all entitled to a share of his hoard and all the red tape is finally cleared so they all get 20k gold each (which is an insane amount of money converted to USD if you use the WOTC conversion rate of a gold coin being around $145 (circa 2006 when they answered the question)--which would be close to $330 with inflation). Jawbone and Sandra-Lynn are moving in after less than a year into a profoundly haunted house and it’s kind of a Full House situation because Adaine, Fig, Kristen, and Tracker all officially live there (plus it seems that Zayn has also anchored himself to Adaine’s tower--btw, Adaine took the tower that the haunted house obviously has) and you know all the other Bad Kids are gonna be there on the regular. 

More importantly, Aguefort gives the gang their big project for the year--finding the crown of the Nightmare King which was stolen at the end of last season--which is worth 60% of their grade (Adaine does a full Hermione at this information). Each of the gang has info about the NK but the trail has mostly gone cold. Luckily, Fabian just got a hot tip about where Falinel is keeping Aelwyn and she seems like a pretty good lead to start with since she was super tied up in the bad side of all the messiness of last year. Adaine is displeased to say the least. 

Going off to find the crown is super exciting story-wise for two reasons. First of all, it means the gang gets to hire, well, hirelings to help them and temporarily join the party! They ping basically every cool NPC they can think of (except for Tracker for some reason which is BONKERS because (1) she probably would have done it for free and cutting her in would still be keeping the money in the family, (2) she’s dope as hell, (3) she’s a cleric and the party can always use more healers, (4) she’s a werewolf so presumably she has skills that would help in the woods, and (5) they’re t r a c k i n g down a crown and the girl’s name is literally T R A C K E R, but I will not backseat D&D) and eventually end up with Ragh (who has been without an adventuring party all year, poor guy), Sandra-Lynn (swayed by a nat 20 rolled by Fig), Cathilda (!?) ,and, for some reason, Gilear (which Fabian is happy about, mainly for the opportunity to maybe bump him off on the way). Second of all, if you recall, Elmville is a pretty modern town but the rest of the continent is less fantasy high, more high fantasy. Horses and lanterns and all that pseudo-medieval goodness. They are gonna stick out like a sore thumb. I am very here for it. 

Everyone goes home to rest up but, after some ominous dreams, only four of them wake up. Riz and Fig are left asleep and then Brennan mic drops and ends the episode which is a power move and I am extremely upset about it but also, respect. Right for the jugular immediately. I heard Murph and Emily are on tour in the UK next week which probably has something to do with this but, in the moment, I did not know that and I really felt the hammer drop in my heart. It was wild. Cannot wait to see where we go from here. Plus, who doesn’t love watching characters freak out because their friends are in danger?

Random Thoughts

I have no idea what the title of this episode is or if it’ll even have one and not a number but I gave it a placeholder one for now. I also don’t have access to the stream yet so I didn’t get to include some info I wanted to (like a record of nat 20s, and nat 1s so I can track their stats for the school year) and I probably missed some stuff because my brain can only hold so much info guys. I’m not Brennan. 

I mentioned this yesterday during the stream, but there will never be anything better than the pure D&D joy of everyone, in character, talking over each other to clown on each other. They get the friend-group banter that’s a hair breadth’s away from bullying so true to life and it’s so fun to watch. On the flip side, the opening scene with everyone introducing themselves and affirmatively claiming each other as their best friends was also peak D&D. Found family= best trope. 

Fig and Adaine burn spell-slots at basically the same time to try and beat each other to the best room in the (Scooby-Doo ass) house--which is exactly the kind of thing that would happen in this world. It’s such an intuitive setting. I love it so much. (BTW, Fig ends up staying in the false space under the revolving grand piano because, of course).

Fabian and Gorgug went to recruit Ragh, who assumed they were propositioning him for a three-way. In his defense, they did do it in a super proposition-y way and they were in the middle of the LGBTQ student union.

Also, Gorgug gives Ragh an inspiring speech about thinking you’re your own dad which makes him burst into tears. 

Speaking of, Jawbone offhandedly says he’s poly but, like, based on some of the stuff he’s said, I feel like that’s not really a reveal. He also gets along well with Gorthalax and would be down w/ a three-way if Sandra-Lynn wanted to which, again, totally checks out. 

Arthur Aguefort uses Chronomancy to rewind time and catch a snide comment Adaine made under her breath, which is exactly the kind of frivolous use of God-like power I’d expect from him.  

I really love Adaine’s energy coming into this season. She’s in therapy. She’s in a good home environment. She’s comfortable enough with her friend group to do stuff like prank Fig (love that they’re gonna be living together now). And she’s good friends with Zayn now which I want to see more of based on their one interaction in this ep which was very cute. I am already on record as saying I would be down with her getting a ghost boyfriend--I mean, for the aesthetic alone--but I’d be happy with just more friendship. 

Fabian is also hilarious this season because you can tell he’s gone a bit soft from having friends and leaning into that (the friendship necklace with Riz) but also he’s fully aware that it’s happening so he’s, like, ping-ponging back and forth like, “These are my friends,” and, “What am I saying? I used to be cool,” and it’s very funny. Very happy the Aelwyn storyline is happening right out of the gate, both because I think Aelwyn is a very interesting character with a lot of potential for nuance but also because Fabian reacting to her and Adaine reacting to Fabian reacting to her is always gold. 

Prompted by an offhand conversation from Fig about rock and roll, Brennan--earning another feather for his Cap of God Tier DMing--goes on an impromptu five minute long improved diatribe about a bard who played such a good concert that it instantly impregnated everyone in attendance (dudes too) who gave birth to kids with sick rocker hair and denim jackets and ascended to Rock Heaven on their 18th Birthday. You truly have to watch it to believe it. At a certain point I thought he was gonna drop it but that was the moment he doubled down and kept going. Amazing. 

Watching Murph, in real time, make up a girl/boy/whateverfriend in Fantasy Canada was a gift. 

I don’t have access to the stream yet but best quote of the night that I can remember is Kristen choosing her room: This is triggering and I’ll take it. (Her line about her lesbian starter kit and the one about wanting a horse were also bangers). 

The group talks about what they’re going to do for transportation outside of Elmsville since they don’t really use cars out there and they somehow get from “disguise Fig’s tour bus” to “commission Aguefort to create a brand new animal that can hold six people plus hirelings, one of which is Fabian who is also riding his motorbike”.

I love that Sandra-Lynn’s Mom Powers work on Tracker. 

Basrar doesn’t accept the invitation to come with on the quest, but he does give Kristen a bag of infinite ice cream sandwiches, which is basically just as good, IMO. 

Oh Gilear. The man is sleeping in the Seacaster garage, being bullied by skater kids, and now he’s stuck on this quest with his ex and Fabian who actively wants him dead.  

Speaking of, I’m psyched to see more of Sandra-Lynn. She was kind of a sleeper badass at the end of last season. 

Ragh is keeping secrets which I hope the cast doesn’t forget because it could be nothing serious (like the high school drama happening with Skrank and the 7 maidens--maybe he’s just crushing on Gorgug who did full kiss him during Promocalypse) or it could be Serious Business that will blow up if the don’t stay on top of it. We’ll see. 

Oh, almost forgot. Adaine wants an emotional support frog. Every time I think I can’t love her more.   

Detention

Fig for Not Respecting Personal Boundaries

Fig goes full Emily right out the gate and, after finding out that Skrank (nerdy bird dude who apparently can get it) was not only dating Ostentasia (rich, popular dwarf) but also dumped her in pursuit of Danielle Barkstock (one of Ostentasia’s party members, the scandal), disguises herself as him with Danielle to figure out what’s going on. And, wouldn't you know it, when she gives herself away, Danielle immediately is shocked and appalled, as you would be, obviously. We also learn that she’s still catfishing Dr. Asha which is, how you say, for sure a crime. Fig, please, I’m begging you. Cease. 

Honor Roll

Fig, Riz, and Adaine for Researching the Nightmare King

Fig made both lists, look at that. Wasn’t my plan for this to be a three-way tie (also didn’t expect to use the word “three-way” this many times in this writeup) but I think their contributions were pretty much equally valuable. Rainsolo on the Discord wrote up this summary of the lore dump Brennan gave them.

#fantasy high #fantasy high spoilers #dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #the report card #report card

[sailorshadzter]

across the sea and back again. chapter 3.

here it is, chapter 3! 

im excited to step into the next phase of the story. we’ve got 2 chapters left! i hope you guys enjoy this new chapter!! 

read on ao3. 

read chapter 1 on tumblr

read chapter 2 on tumbr. 

In King's Landing, a raven arrives.

"A letter, your grace." The servant bows and backs from the room, leaving his queen with the letter in her hands, seated just behind the desk of her solar. Turning it over, Cersei recognizes at once the seal upon the letter. Blinking, she breaks the Stark seal and unfolds the parchment, the handwriting familiar to her, even now.

This is your one and only warning. Abdicate the throne, as it was never yours to claim. The North does not forget and one day soon, the wolves will come again. 

 Sansa Stark, Queen in the North.

Cersei crumples the parchment in her fist and tosses it as hard as she can, jumping up from where she sits, storming across the room to stand at the window, peering out into the sunlit city, the sun beginning it's downward cycle towards the horizon. She's alive, Cersei grumbles to herself, catching her lower lip between her teeth, tearing at her flesh. And dares declare herself Queen in the North. She had heard the rumors- the rumors that Sansa Stark and Jon Snow were alive and gaining support in the North, but she had thought them to be just that- rumors. It had been almost two years since the pair had seemingly vanished, dead most assumed. Cersei had spent more than one gold coin on searching for the Stark girl, but every effort went without reward.

There comes a knock on the door and she turns as it opens. "Sansa Stark is alive," she says to Jaime when he steps into the room, the door falling closed behind him. "She calls herself Queen in the North." Jaime does not look all that surprised, telling Cersei that he too has been told of this new development. "Send someone. Poison her, cut off her head, I do not care!" Cersei jabs a finger into his chest, her anger spilling over. "I want her dead."

"I've heard. But Cersei... There is more." Jaime says, a hand to her arm calming the rage within her and though she opens her mouth to speak, she falls quiet, allowing him to speak on. "I've been written that Jon Snow is..." He glances left and right, as if to ensure they are truly alone, before continuing. "Jon Snow is Rhaegar Targaryen's son, begotten by that Stark girl he took off with at the tourney."

"Impossible."

"I thought so, too, but it seems as if it's been written of in the collection of the Septon's journals. He wrote of an annulment. A marriage."

Cersei's eyes widen, shock evident, but then those eyes narrow as she takes a step back from Jaime and turning her back to him as if she will hear no more. "A Targaryen heir," the golden queen murmurs, arms folding over her chest as she sinks into thought. "Do they bow to him?" She asks aloud, though she knows Jaime does not know the answer. "Do they call him the rightful king?" The North is extremely loyal, distrusting folk- they would stand behind Jon Snow, even with his newfound Targaryen blood, well before they would ever stand with her. "It doesn't matter," she decides with a shake of her cropped golden hair, turning back around to face her twin. "He will die, too in the end." Jaime nods, though more so because he knows what will happen if he disagrees, rather than actually agreeing with her. He hates to admit it, even to himself, but Jaime hates this woman Cersei has become. "What of Highgarden?" She steers the conversation elsewhere, to speak of their other enemies in other places.

He sighs, but he speaks anyways, for it's all he can really do.

[ x x x ]

They have taken up residence in the mountains that border the wolfswood, with House Flint; it is close to Winterfell, but not dangerously so. And the woods are full of wolves, ready and willing to bare their fangs at anyone who dares trek through the trees. Ghost roams among the wolves, his howls louder than all the rest, a reminder that House Stark is to come again.

It has been a long three weeks since the truth of Jon's birth came to light- among other things. The truth of their relationship, no, marriage, had to be explained and of course there was little Robb to introduce. Sansa considers herself lucky to be surrounded by lords who in the end, care more for the happiness of their queen and the security of the North than a child born out of wedlock. If anyone wonders about his age and when he was conceived, none speak of it- at least out loud. The truth was, the lords know that the birth of an heir only strengthens their power of independence. And more than that, with Jon as the true heir to the Iron Throne and an heir to follow after him only strengthens his claim. What did Cersei have to offer the realm of man? Certainly no heir. Sansa knows how little love there is for Cersei in King's Landing- she knows that they fear their queen and that she thrives on that fear. If I am ever queen, I shall make them love me. Those were the words she once thought, so many years ago and she can't help but to smile as she thinks of the Northern lords and their loyalty. It was not the crown she had thought to ever wear, but she would make her people proud. She would keep them safe.

"Your grace?"

She turns at the sound of the voice, still not quite used to her new title. It's Lord Royce that stands there, one of her most loyal of men, a man she considers herself lucky to have at her side. "I knocked, but..."

"My apologies," she smiles, tilting her head as she steps towards where the man stands. "I was so lost in thought, I didn't hear you."

The older man smiles and shakes his head, offering her a quick bow now that she faces him. "I don't mean to interrupt, it's just... This arrived just now." He holds out a letter to her which she takes, though at once she sees it isn't addressed to her, but to Jon. When Sansa looks up at him, Lord Royce nods. "It is for Lord Snow, but I thought you might wish to read it first." Sansa flips the letter over and she sees it; the Bolton seal.

Just like that, it's two years ago and she's standing in Winterfell, trembling as Ramsay raises his fist. Just like that, she's not strong, she's weak.

"Your grace?" Lord Royce is softly calling out to her, his hand warm when it gently touches her arm. She leaps from her mind and blue eyes snap back to the older man's face. "I'm sorry, I didn't think-" she can see the horror on his face and she softens, shaking her own head.

"It's fine." She says, swallowing down the fear that has jumped into her throat. "Perhaps Ramsay Bolton has written something that will interest us all," she goes on, walking around to behind the desk that sits just behind where she stands. "Send Jon to me, won't you? It's his letter and I will have him read it first. Then we shall decide what to do with the information inside, if anything at all." Lord Royce nods and then backs from the room with another bow, leaving Sansa alone once again with only her thoughts as a companion.

If she knows Ramsay, his letter will be full of threats, empty threats perhaps, but threats all the same. Not to mention... She thinks of Rickon kept in Winterfell's cramped, cold dungeon. He will die of the cold if they can't get to him soon, if Ramsay doesn't get to him first. Knowing what was done to her in Winterfell... What was done to Theon... Sansa shudders. She can't think about what could be or couldn't be happening to her baby brother. It would only drive her mad.

Jon doesn't take long to arrive, stepping into the room with a knock, though she's told him before he needn't bother. Behind him comes Brienne, Robb tucked carefully into her arms; Sansa smiles at the sight, her heart warming with the knowledge that her son has a guardian that no man in the world could defeat in a sword fight. Brienne might have pledged herself to her, but something tells Sansa that it is her son that has lay claim to Brienne's heart. Tormund and Edd come behind her and thats's when the door swings closed. "This has come for you," Sansa says without preamble, waving the still sealed letter for the room to see, though she passes it along to Jon. "From Ramsay." Jon's face darkens but she can see the surprise flicker across his face. "Open it."

He does. And then he begins to read.

"To the traitor and bastard Jon Snow, You allowed thousands of wildlings past the Wall. You have betrayed your own kind and you have betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine, bastard, come and see." Jon falls quiet, sparing a quick glance to Tormund before he goes on. "Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon. His direwolf's skin is on my floor, come and see." Another pause, for Sansa sucks in a breath and he can see as she curls her hands into fists atop her lap. "I want my bride back. Send her to me, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your wildling lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride North to slaughter every wildling man, woman, and babe living under your protection. You will watch as I skin them living. You will-" He stops, he cannot finish, he cannot read aloud the words that are written there.

"Go on." It's Sansa, a quiet command. He can't even open his mouth and so she leans over the desk, snatching the parchment his hands. Only he can see the quiet fury in her eyes, the silent anguish that threatens to overflow. "You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister. You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother. Then I will spoon your eyes from their sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see." She tosses the letter down atop the desk and leans back in her chair, raising her gaze to meet Jon's.

"Why does he write to me?"

"Either he's yet to hear about you, or he doesn't believe the rumors." She says, sitting up a little bit straighter, believing the latter. By now, the rumors of Jon's true parentage and the building of their army to reclaim Winterfell surely had reached him. And there was little chance that he had not heard about the declaration of her queenship. Despite it all, he still wrote to Jon, as if none of it were true. "Despite being legitimatized, Ramsay can't stand that he was born a bastard, and so he hates them all because of it. He means to insult you. To frighten you into submission." Her mind turns back to Rickon and she closes her eyes for a long moment before she opens them again and rises to her feet. "What do we do now? The longer we wait to attack, the longer Rickon is in his hands. He'll die soon if we don't do something."

Jon is staring back at her, his Stark colored eyes sharper than usual. "We will get him back, Sansa." He speaks with a confidence he isn't certain he feels. "I will write back, I will meet with him." She opens her mouth to protest but he shakes his head, silencing her before she can speak. "Perhaps we can solve this without bloodshed." In his mind, he's already begun to formulate the plan that might save more lives than it loses by the end of things.

She opens her mouth again, but she thinks better on it and after another moment gives a nod. "I trust you," she says simply, a wane smile curving on her lips. Jon leans over the desk to give her a quick kiss, a hand sliding into place against her cheek as he gently rubs his thumb along the length of her bottom lip, still warm from the touch of his.

"I won't let you down."

And she knows it.

[ x x x ]

"You don't have to be here."

Sansa turns her gaze towards Jon, who sits on his horse beside hers, waiting at the meeting spot for Ramsay, who they can both see approaching from over the hill. "Yes I do." Is all she says, tightening her grip on the reins, fingers icy cold despite the thick gloves that she wears. Her white mare shifts, as if she too can sense the discomfort of her rider, and somewhere behind them, Ghost howls.

Ramsay and his small entourage come to a stop just several feet from theirs and Sansa sucks in her breath as the man that tortured her for months levels his gaze with hers. His lips curve with a malicious sort of smile, one she's seen numerous times before. One she knows means danger. "My beloved wife," he greets as if he is the doting husband and not a monster in man's clothing. "I have missed you terribly all this time." His gaze shifts from her to Jon, eyes narrowing somewhat, though his mouth has yet to lose it's grin. "Thank you for returning Lady Bolton to me. Now," he pauses, smile vanishing, his dark eyes never once wavering in their gaze. "Get off your horse and kneel before me. Beg my forgiveness for stealing away my bride and raising an army against me. Name me the true Warden of the North and I will pardon you for all your transgressions, treasonous as they may be." He smirks now, as if he thinks he's got the upper hand, as if he thinks he's already won this battle. "I will even pardon these treasonous lords who have betrayed my house in your name. I will forgive you for the viscous lies you spread of your birth just to garner their support. And my sweet wife, I won't even punish you for allowing them to call you their queen." For a moment he turns his eyes back to her, surprised to see she glares at him with eyes sharper than any blade. This is not the young woman he recalls. "You don't have the numbers like I do, you don't even have Winterfell." Despite the support they've gotten, it was true that their army did not quite equate to the one Ramsay has. "Come bastard, there's no need to send your men to slaughter. There is no need for a battle." He's turned his attention back to Jon and once again, he smirks, confident that any moment Jon will slide from his horse and kneel before him.

Instead, Jon remains there in his saddle, watching as a cold fury crosses Ramsay's features. "Aye, you're right." Jon finally speaks, nodding his head as his horse shifts beneath him. "There's no need for a battle. Thousands of men don't have to die." Beside him, Sansa listens carefully, for these words are not what she thought she might hear Jon say. The truth was, he'd not revealed to her what he had planned to say to Ramsay here at this meeting, but something told her he knew exactly what he was doing. She trusted him and so she continued to listen. "Only one of us." She turns her head to him then, eyes rounding in her shock. Across from them, Ramsay's face changes, something like worry and surprise flitting across his features. "Let's finish this the old fashioned way. You and me."

At the sound of laughter, Sansa turns back to Ramsay, who is nervously chuckling at the words Jon has just spoken. "I keep hearing stories about you bastard," he says when he's sobered, shaking his head. "The way the people in the North talk about you, it's as if you're the greatest swordsman who's ever lived." He's heard those rumors- that there wasn't a man out there that could take Jon Snow down. "Maybe I would beat you, maybe I wouldn't." He shrugs, as if it means little to him. "But what I do know, is my army would crush yours."

Now they know, now they all know- Ramsay Bolton is afraid.

Jon ducks his head to hide the smile that's surfacing; he had not thought things to fall into place so easily. "Aye, you have the numbers to beat us," he replies, raising his gaze back up to meet Ramsay's. "But will your men want to fight for you when they learn you wouldn't fight for them?" A silence descends among them and Jon knows he has him right where he needed him to be. There would be nothing Ramsay could say that would stop the seeds of doubt from running rampant among his men.

Again Ramsay laughs, as if it matters not what he's just said to him. Truth was, a cold sense of dread was filling him up. "You're good. Very good." He's glancing left and right at the men that surround him, wishing for just one moment that he'd chosen different men to bring. These Umber's and Manderly's were only loyal because he held Winterfell- but their loyalty was fleeting, as was many of the men beneath him. He knows he must try something else to get Jon Snow where he needed him. "Will you let your little brother die because you're too proud to surrender?"

For the first time, it's Sansa that speaks.

"How do we know you have him?" She asks, not once looking away as Ramsay turns his eyes upon her instead. His mouth twitches with a smile and he looks to the man on his left, giving a quick nod of his head. They all watch as the man pulls the head of a direwolf from his saddlebag and tosses it onto the ground between them. Sansa blinks but she does not speak; she can't, she can't. No, she thinks, I am stronger than this. Ramsay opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts him off. "You're going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton. Sleep well."

Then she's gone, urging her horse away from the scene.

"She's a fine woman, your sister," Ramsay says when she's gone, that malicious smile returning. Jon's lips curl with a scowl, but he doesn't reply. "I look forward to having her back in my bed, even if she's been used by you like the rumors say." It takes every ounce of his self control not to leap from his horse and drive Longclaw straight through his fucking heart. "If you change your mind bastard, send word. Otherwise... I will see you upon the battlefield."

And then he too is gone.

[ x x x ]

The firelight bathes her, casting a golden glow to her ivory skin, illuminating her like a goddess.

He sits on the edge of the bed, watching her as she slowly comes towards him, sinking into his arms when he opens them wide. Her mouth is on his, capturing him in a kiss that would have surely knocked him off his feet had he been standing. When he breaks the kiss, it's to catch her face between his palms, committing to memory the softness of her skin, the glimmer of her eyes, everything and anything that he can. The way that she's looking at him, he knows she's doing the same. "I'll come back to you, you know." He assures her softly, knowing her worries without her even saying them aloud.

A smile tugs at her lips as she leans in, forehead against his. "I know." She speaks softly, a hand sliding into his curls. Curls that one day their son will wear, too. A day she looks forward to perhaps more than any other. Jon's arms tighten their hold upon her and as he gently draws her down onto their bed, his lips find hers. She doesn't even know she's crying until Jon kisses the tears from her cheeks, tender and sweet.

This is the moment she'll hang onto. This is the moment she won't ever forget.

[ x x x ]

Dawn breaks and there is a stillness to the air; the calm before the storm.

The sky is clear of clouds, streaked instead with the colors of sunrise, pink like her lips, crimson like her hair. She is everywhere. The wind is the whisper of her voice against his skin, the rising sun is the warmth of her smile. He closes his eyes and breathes in, slow and deep, the image of her as he'd left her only moments ago, asleep in their bed, coming to his whirling mind. And baby Robb, too, who had slept peacefully in his cradle in the room, not even stirring when Jon had brushed a hand across his soft dark hair.

He opens his eyes and in the distance is Winterfell, the Bolton flags waving in the wind; soon, those would fall.

"Ready, little crow?"  It's Tormund there at his side, Edd close behind. Their army has gathered, the various heads of the houses speaking to their people, giving them perhaps words of encouragement before the battle begins. Jon spares him a glance, a chuckle, and then a nod. "The queen is with the big woman, littler crow, too." He goes on, having only just left their sides a few moments ago. Jon feels his heart grow warm as it always does when he thinks of the relationship Tormund has built with Sansa and their son; he is grateful for those who offer them protection, for if something... If anything...

"If anything happens to me, take care of her, won't you?" Jon asks, turning to face the two men at his side. "Protect her. And Robb, too." He holds fast to their gazes and it takes only a moment for both men to nod. When he turns back to face front, they all can see Ramsay's army has begun it's approach and it is not the army they had perhaps expected to see him bring.

"It worked, eh?" Edd asks with a smirk, his eyes drifting along the lines of men. "Two thousand or so, you reckon?" Jon nods, knowing that there was no doubt his army now outnumbered the one Ramsay had boasted of only the morning before.

"Even the most loyal beast will turn on its master if it's not treated right," Jon says, knowing his words from the day before had not fallen on deaf ears. It was clear that Ramsay's decision to not stand up for his men and protect them from this battle had sent his men from him. He had no additional troops to rally to his side and now most certainly, he would be on the losing side of this battle. "It's time." He says, turning back towards the lines of soldiers he's mustered together, the men that will fight for Sansa, for Winterfell, for House Stark.

When he turns back, it's to draw Longclaw from its sheath. "For the North!" He bellows, thrusting his sword into the air, the men behind him cheering the words back. "For the Queen!" Again, the troops shout and hold their fists, their swords, high into the sky.

And then...

The battle begins.

[ x x x ]

In the end, it's thousands of men that choose not to fight for Ramsay.

Though he didn't know it at the time, some had deflected to Jon's army that very first night, some even the morning of battle. In the end, Ramsay's forces were crushed and then driven back... Back until there was no choice but to surrender.

When it's over and he stands at the edge of the battlefield, looking out at the dead, his heart is somber. Despite believing in what he was doing, it made killing no less easy. Not when it was Northern men who only fought against him because it was what they were told to do. Footsteps approach and when he turns, it's Tormund there, bloodied and bruised, but alive. Somewhere out there, Edd too was well, searching the field for survivors along with a few of the wildling men. "Bring her to me, won't you?" He asks and Tormund nods, needing to ask no further questions.

"What will you do with him?" Tormund asks before he goes, gesturing towards Ramsay Bolton that sits in chains just a short distance from where they stand. The man is bloody, beaten, his face swollen from the perhaps several punches Jon had landed before deciding it was not his place to take the man's life. And so he'd left him a bleeding mess on the ground, teeth knocked from his gums, nose broken, commanding the nearest man to bring him the chains that now encircled his wrists and ankles.

"It's for her to decide." Jon says, turning back to face Tormund who nods. "I have to find Rickon," he goes on, turning away only then. "Bring her to Winterfell, bring her home." He says over his shoulder and then he's running.

Running faster than he's ever run in all of his life.

Through the gates and into the courtyard, already full of frightened servants come to see the end results of the battle; one maid gives a little scream when she sees Jon rushing through, another drops to her knees in prayer, in sheer relief.

But he cares little for any of them, there is only one thing he cares about and that's finding Rickon. He rushes through the courtyard towards the door that leads down into the dungeons that Winterfell holds. Down the stone steps, nearly tripping over them in his haste to reach the bottom, Jon shouts his little brother's name. He pauses in the center of the long, dark corridor, breathing hard as he listens for any response. "Rickon!" He calls again, fear making him shiver as there comes no response.

Until...

"Hello?" It's a timid voice, a voice torn between boy and man. His heart skips a beat at the sound of it, coming from the cell just two from where he stands. Jon swallows against the lump in his throat as he peers into the bars of the cell, where Rickon now stands, probably just having got up from the cold stone floor. He's grown tall, thin perhaps from his time in captivity, but he is built like Sansa- like a willow tree. His Tully touched curls are long and unruly, desperately in need of a cut, but he can see the curls fall in the same way Robb's once had. He's right there then, hands grasping the iron bars, staring out at Jon, blinking as if he's trying to assure himself that he isn't dreaming. "J-Jon, is that you?" The boy speaks, quiet and tired, a voice of someone who isn't ready to believe that any of this could be real.

"Aye, it's me, Rickon. It's me and you're safe now." Tears are threatening to fill his eyes and so he blinks against them, his hand reaching out to gently touch the boy's, his skin cold to the touch. "Let me get you out of here," he glances down the hall and sure enough, there are the dungeon keys hanging on a peg on the wall, the same place they'd been kept since he was a boy playing down here with Robb. When he's grabbed them, he wrenches open the iron door and Rickon is in his arms, crying, laughing, clutching at the older brother he thought he might never see again. Jon wraps him in his arms, leaning over to press a kiss to the top of his curls. "Let's go get you warmed up," he hefts the boy up into his arms, unable to help but recall that first day Sansa had shown up at Castle Black- pale and cold, broken but not destroyed. Not entirely. Rickon seems thin and cold, but he seems unharmed for the most part, and Jon can only thank the old gods and even the new ones for perhaps protecting the youngest of the Stark's.

He carries him up out of the damp darkness of the dungeon and into the courtyard, where more people have gathered. Survivors of the battle litter the space, all soldiers from various houses, some bowing their heads in respect for the man that carries his little brother from the darkness and into the light, more falling to their knees in fealty of the man they know they will someday call king, be it of the Iron Throne or the North. But he moves past them all, carrying Rickon through the set of double doors that open up into the main corridor, the closet room to him the great hall. It's been years and years since he stepped foot into this place, into Winterfell, but his feet know the way as if he'd never even left.

The hall is blazing with firelight, for which he is thankful. He brings Rickon close as he dares and gently sets him on his feet, dragging a chair up for the boy a moment later. "Sit, warm yourself," he commands softly, a hand to his brother's head as the sound of footsteps fill his ears. He thinks it will be Sansa and Tormund, but he's surprised to see an old woman there, a woman he recalls from childhood. It's Agatha, perhaps the oldest of the servants in Winterfell now, that comes towards them, a blanket already in her hands. She silently offers it to Jon, who takes it and turns so he might drape it over Rickon's shoulders.

"Is she coming?" Agatha asks, softly, and Jon knows at once who she means. When he nods, tears fill her eyes and she smiles. "I have prayed for her everyday since she came here to marry that Bolton," she whispers, thinking back to the girl she had once served, to the girl who had endured so very much. "House Stark has come back to Winterfell." Agatha whispers before she curtsies to Jon and steps from the room, murmuring about the food she will have prepared for the entire castle.

Jon can't help but to smile and when he turns back to Rickon, the boy is staring after Agatha, his eyes wide. "What is it?" He asks, sinking down til he's at eye level with him.

"She fed me extra, she would sneak me food even though Ramsay forbid it." Rickon says softly, recalling the times Agatha would creep into the dark dungeon just to bring him an extra portion of supper, waiting until he finished eating to take the dishes back, to ensure they were never caught. Jon turns back to glance at where Agatha had once stood, knowing there was little he could do to repay the kindness that woman had shown Rickon, and most likely Sansa when she too had been a captor here. "She didn't come last night and I was worried." Jon smiles again and ruffles the boy's hair, rising back up to his full height.

"There is nothing you must ever worry about again." Jon says softly, peering down into the boy's blue eyes, ones that are shaped as Sansa's are, but not quite the same shade of color. "We're going to be a family again." Rickon holds fast to his gaze and after several long, silent moments, he nods.

[ x x x ]

She's never rode faster in all of her life.

Urging her horse on, Sansa rides through the gates of Winterfell with Tormund close behind. In the courtyard stands various people and she can hear their gasps and shouts as she brings her mare to a stop. But she cannot stop for them, she cannot speak to them. Not yet. And though people cry out their joy for her, she runs past them all, skirts clutched in her fists as she goes up the stone steps and pushes past the double doors to rush inside.

"In there."

Sansa turns to her right at the sound of the voice, surprised to see Agatha standing there, the old maid she's known since her birth. "In the great hall," she points down the corridor to the left, where the room is housed. "They're waiting for you, my lady." In the coming days, she would learn to call the young woman by her true title but for now, she can't help but to call her the one she's always known her as. "Welcome home, Lady Stark." The redhead smiles and then she's gone, dashing off down the hall, disappearing through the doors to the great hall only a moment later. Agatha smiles and takes to the stairs behind her, where upstairs maids have already begun to clean and change the lord's rooms, now to certainly be called the queen's rooms.

The doors to the great hall feel heavier than she recalls, but she pushes them open and steps inside, swallowing down the lump of emotions rising into her throat. There, settled just before the hearth, wrapped in a blanket and spooning soup into his mouth, is Rickon. The little boy raises his face, as does Jon who sits beside him, blue eyes widening at the sight of her standing there. "Rickon..." She whispers her little brother's name, tears already beginning their descent down her cheeks as she takes a single step closer to where he sits. Rickon is rising up then, setting his soup aside, the blanket falling from his shoulders to the floor. He has grown tall, his face lost of its childlike plumpness and she's stricken by the resemblance to herself in him. To their mother. Something between a sob and laugh escapes her as he rushes into her arms and she sinks to the floor with him wrapped in her embrace. And she might never let him go, in truth.

Jon watches the scene between sister and brother, smiling, yet again choked up on his own emotion. It was as Agatha had said, the Starks had come back to Winterfell, and they would never leave again.

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #essos au #i ended up writing more than i expected but there's nothing wrong with that i guess lol #my writing #i wrote this #got au #we say fuck canon on this blog

[gojos-eyedrops]

Second thoughts: The Fear of The Future and The Fear of Rejection

This pandemic has not been kind to me. Not because my life at home sucks, but because I've had enough free time to put things into perspective, work on my mental health, and make me consider things I had not considered up until now.  

So, this is me putting into words all the troubling thoughts that had been circling inside my head since this whole lockdown began in March. 

Having too much time has helped me see things I didn't 

Things I knew from way back suddenly become relevant again

Getting used to a slow paced life and running all the time

The beginning of my second thoughts

“If I could turn back time before I decided to go into vet school, I'd give it a more thorough thought before choosing”

The flip of a coin and its repercussions

Will this matter in two weeks? Most likely. 

The spiral leading to fear. 

Having too much time helped me see thighs I didn’t.

Normally, the summer break and the Christmas holidays tend to be the right length. It's time enough for me to rest and to mentally prepare for what's to come. And not long enough for me to actually get bored. 

It has been five months now. Time enough for me to run out of things to do, and I’m forced to slow down, and realize there isn’t any rush to do any of the things I have to do. It’s not like things are going somewhere else. Neither am I. Time slowed down. 

Just like everyone else, I got enough time to explore the halls inside my head. The way they stretch and turn, covered in dust, and some of them haven’t seen the light in years. Dusting away the dirt some thoughts and memories have accumulated over the time, I’ve become aware of who I am and where I come from. 

I’ve become aware. I’ve been staring in front of me, walking in a straight line, for so long, I’ve forgotten to look down at the map, or to even notice my surroundings. I've forgotten to see the whole picture up until now.

Things I knew from way back suddenly become relevant again

When I first started vet school, we were told about the misconceptions of what being a veterinarian really is. Being a career focused on medicine and healthcare, you cannot allow yourself to stop reading, to stop learning, to stop asking questions. Otherwise you’re left behind and become obsolete. Science keeps moving forward every day, and you have to constantly keep up with the pace. Always in a rush. Only those hungry for knowledge, always willing to learn will strive. 

“That's fine by me,” I said back then. 

Being such a demanding career, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise the statistics. That same day, we were taught about the suicide rates in veterinarians. One in ten commits suicide. A lot of this comes hand in hand with the fact that student debts are monstrous in the States. Something that, thankfully, isn’t that big of a problem down here. Student loans here aren’t as big. However, it’s still stressing to be a vet tech. 

The statistics didn’t scare me as much back then. Nowadays, those numbers seem more threatening. 

Getting used to a slow paced life and running all the time

Something I learned over the years is that wounds take time to heal. And there’s nothing to speed up that process. You have to clean the wound, and keep proper rest, avoid moving and making physical effort. If you forget to take care of the wound, stop cleaning it, it’ll get worse, hurt more and become infected. Mental health works the same way. You have to take it slow while you’re healing, you have to take care of it every day, and by ignoring it, it’ll only get worse. 

Something I’m thankful for, is the sudden slowing down of life. We were constantly moving, always with something to do, a deadline to meet, places to go. We never really stopped, did we? 

Not even when we are supposed to slow down we really slowed down. “Once we arrive at the hotel, let’s do this, and then this. Then let's go here, and by night lets go to this club” 

However, the pandemic forced us to stay indoors, with nothing to do, nowhere to go, and we’re back at worrying about our most basic needs. When to eat, when to sleep, everything else is extra. The whole world slowed down for the first time in decades, if not, centuries. 

This slowing down has allowed me to work in my mental health like I should have done a long time ago. My mental health has become my priority in the last months, as I’m constantly reading, journaling, meditating. Most of what I do when I don’t go to work is based on what feels best and what keeps my mind at ease.

I work at a vet clinic. I’m not formally working there, but I’m not going to stop and discuss the circumstances, let's just say I work there, as a student, I don't get paid, but I do get to learn first hand experience, something invaluable for someone in my position, since apparently everyone expects you to have plenty of experience by the time you graduate college and start applying for jobs. 

I only go to the vet clinic once a week, sometimes two. Because of the pandemic and safety measures, we try to keep the number of people in there to the minimum, but without being deficient. 

Something I've noticed is the more hands we have at our disposition, the more we’ll keep saturating ourselves and overworking. 

Being a veterinarian is stressful and if you're doing your job right, you're going to be busy the whole time. You see, vet techs don't overwork and saturate themselves because they’re workaholics. The love for animals, and the desire to help as many animals as posible is the reason why we’re always running inside the clinic, from one place to the other, in a rush, never really slowing down. You sacrifice your lunch time to keep working, you stay overtime, leave late, sometimes you don’t even leave and you stay on duty, sometimes you leave but return an hour later because of an emergency, you even put up with owners’ attitude and/or insults and complaints. And even when you finally make it to your house, you arrive home and read about several topics, reading articles, studying, consulting colleagues about your questions and asking for suggestions and opinions. You never truly stop. 

And once you see how it is from the inside, those suicide rates start making sense. 

The beginning of my second thoughts

With a lot of free time at my disposal, I did what everyone else did. I started focusing on my hobbies. I began writing more than before, I began drawing a lot more than before. I even grabbed my old dusty drawing tablet and decided to give digital drawing another chance. 

I can’t even remember how many times I tried to properly learn how to draw digitally. But for whatever reason I always ended up by giving up and staying comfortable in tradicional drawing. You see, drawing on paper and on a tablet are two very different things. Let alone coloring. 

This time, however, I was successful. I bought a new drawing tablet and became good friends with it soon after. 

My creative mind was fascinated. The characters I was constantly creating with lives and thoughts of their own could only be seen by others through my words. However, my new found talent allowed me to project my characters, and allow other people see exactly what I see. 

It was during this time that one of my closest friends asked me about it. He complimented me on my drawing skills, very much to my distorted perception of my own talents. The conversation soon grew deep and enlightening and touching. He asked me what I thought of giving animation a chance. And I'd be lying if I said I hadn’t considered it before. Time flows at an unreasonable fast speed once I begin drawing, and I easily forget about everything else when I’m at it. And since I like to write too, giving animation a chance would only seem right.

“I'm scared” I told him. To which he asked me what was I afraid of. And I answered: “I’m afraid I’ll end up liking animation more than vet medicine”. A series of questions followed after, and so, a door in my mind opened, and I haven’t been able to close it. 

In the end, it turned out I was afraid of disappointment. 

I’m lucky and immensely grateful to be surrounded by people who have faith in me, who constantly cheer me to keep going. Many people expect me to and wish that I come through, following the path I’d laid out for me. Friends, family, even the doctors I work with. Everyone is expecting great things from me. It's so satisfying and encouraging to see, but at the same time, it puts a weight on my shoulders, and makes me set higher standards than I would if I didn’t receive this much support. 

Now, imagine letting all those people down. 

You see, I’ve had a pretty constant life plan laid out before my eyes. Graduate in a year, work for a little while, save money, move to another city and do a postgrad. Afterwards, move yet to another city, and specialize in cardiology. A few dates and places had been considered over these last years, but my ultimate goal has stayed the same: become a cardiologist. The heart is my favourite organ, and it has been since I first learned about its anatomy and physiology in high school. Cardiology is what I want, or what I think I want. Those closest to me know this. And everyone who does, supports my decision and is cheering on me. It’s a great feeling, really. 

“If I could turn back time before I decided to go into vet school, I'd give it a more thorough thought before choosing”

I told that pretty recently to a friend.

Back in high school, one step away from deciding what is it that I want to do, I was torn between studying biology or vet medicine. In the end, I decided to let fate decide for me. Whichever career released their application form first. And we know which one of the two was the first one to do so. 

I don’t regret choosing from a flip of a coin. I’ve enjoyed vet school so much, and I genuinely believe it has been worth every bit of it. I don't regret, in the slightest, getting into Vet School, however, if I could talk to high school me, I’d tell her to give it a more thorough thought before choosing. Now that I’ve seen it from the inside, I can tell it’s not an easy decision to make. 

The flip of a coin and its repercussions

Anyone who knows me can tell how wildly passionate I’m about vet medicine. How I’m always eager to learn, and I’m constantly reading about things. I love sharing these things with other people as well. Clearly, I don’t regret getting into vet school. 

However, how much am I willing to put up with everything that implies being a vet? What it really takes? 

This quarantine, my mental health has become my priority, considering how easy it is for me to trip and fall into a spiral. I have to be constantly taking care of it. So, at what point does prioritizing my mental health meet prioritizing my job? 

In April I talked with a friend about what it was that I really wanted. And I began questioning myself, as well as my dreams. What I thought was my ultimate goal began getting blurry. 

In June, I decided to take a small break from my everyday life, and went to the woods. And as much as I love escaping to the woods for a little while and breathe some fresh air, this time, I didn’t feel like I got any rest at all. As I was haunted by exactly the one thing I was trying to run away from. 

Being in a constant “veterinarian mode” is tiresome. Always thinking of problems, solutions, questions, always being asked about these things, even when you’re not at work and are trying to rest. Even when I had planned to go into the forest to forget about my “vet tech life” for a little while, the vet tech life found me and haunted me. I didn’t get any rest at all. 

At what point this mentality becomes detrimental to my own health? Anyone who’s keeping up with it all has my absolute respect. Anyone in the health care area, not just veterinarians. 

I am starting to question whether I'll be able to keep up with this rhythm for the rest of my life. It's too fast. And now that I've gotten a taste of a slower paced life, I'm not sure I want to go back to the race.

You see, many people no longer see a person when they look at me. They see my profession. And it’s not bad, to some degree I  like it, being called a doctor feels nice. 

But sometimes I wish people forgot about my profession and asked me about what is it that I like, my hobbies, what books I've read. Instead of always asking me stuff about my job and questions they have about pets and animals in general. If I meet someone, we'll be talking of random things, but as soon as I mention I'm a vet tech, the conversation becomes focused on my career. I’m a human being first, you know? 

Will this matter in two weeks? Most likely. 

Whenever I feel like my anxiety is spiraling out of control, I manage to get a hold of it, and of the situation by asking myself: will this matter in two weeks? For the most part, the answer is no. And it's in that moment that I realize how many of the things that overwhelm me are for the most part, momentarily. 

However, this train of thought has been circling inside my head ever since April. Whenever I feel the anxiety closing in around me, and I ask myself if this will matter in two weeks, I answer myself no. Only to be proven wrong. This continues to matter, it has been for the last months. 

And the worst of it all, the more I think about it, the more it scares me, and every time I do, the anxiety drowns me at a faster speed. 

Will this matter in two weeks? Most likely. 

The spiral leading to fear. 

I’ve come such a long way. And there’s still a long way ahead of me. However, I’ve been staring straight in front of me for so long, I’ve forgotten to look at the map or my surroundings. And now that I’ve done so, I realise the beautiful landscape that surrounds me. Countless paths stretching before my eyes, all twisting and taking different turns, and I wish to explore them all. 

However, everyone talks of what I’ll find at the end of the path I chose to walk. This path will continue to get harder and harder, with countless obstacles in the future. But then again, all paths do. How much am I willing to sacrifice? How much weight am I willing to carry on my shoulders? It scares me. 

By this point, I’m scared to ask if I made the right choice. What if I didn’t? Even asking myself that makes my eyes teary and makes a lump grow in my throat. 

I guess you can say the answer is pretty obvious by now. But it is not. 

I’ll put it in simple words: I wish to be a vet tech, but without having to be one 24/7, but that's not how it works. 

It’s easy to take the leap when you’ve got nothing to lose. But the more there is at stake, the bigger the jump. The tower becomes taller, outgrowing your courage. And the more I approach the edge, the more scared I feel. 

I am lost. And I am scared. But I am not scared because I’m lost. I guess being lost isn’t as bad, since, in order to find new places, one must get lost first. I’m scared  because of everything I’ve said before. Despite life slowing down, and despite this year feeling so unbearably slow, many things have changed, so fast. I never thought I’d find myself questioning my future in just the span of a few months. I hadn't thought this much about my future since high school, when I had to choose a university and a career.

I'm still lost though, and out of balance. However, only time and working on myself will help.

I’ve still got a year left of school before graduating, and ultimately deciding what is it what I’m gonna do. And I’m willing to give this last year the benefit of the doubt, since so much has happened in just a few months, who knows what’s gonna happen the following year starting on monday. 

I wish for the following year to be gentle with  me. However, the best lessons come from the roughest times. 

In the meantime, I'll watching life unfold before me, and see how things fall into place. I'll continue to feel scared about the uncertain future hoping for the best.

#personal #rant #and as someone who has had suicidal thoughts back in middle school and first year if high school I think its safer for me to take it easy #and not putting myself in a situation that might unchain these thoughts again #or maybe I'm looking for excused which is still valid #i have to be honest with myself but I'm not ready to face it #i don't even know who I am anymore